It's A Mod, Mod, Mod, Mod Murder

by Rosemary Martin

  We walked to the very end of the hall.

  "This is it," Stu said, pointing to a door marked 811A.

  We could hear loud music, "He's So Fine" by the Chiffons, coming from the only other suite on the floor, 811B. The song made me think of Bradley.

  The door to Patty's suite was open, a room-service tray wedged between the door frame and the door. Patty hadn't finished her scrambled eggs, or eaten any of her bacon. A half of a slice of toast remained as well.

  Stu put out a hand in front of Darlene and me. "This is odd. Why would Miss Gentry leave her door open like this? Why didn't she just put the tray outside the door and close it?"

  "Who cares?" Darlene said. "Maybe the maid left it like that. Let's see if Patty's here."

  Stu turned and faced us. "Look, girls, I'm going in there first."

  "What if she's not dressed?" I said. "You can't walk in on a woman getting dressed. It's not proper."

  "I'm not standing around here all day discussing it." Darlene brushed past Stu, pushed the door to the suite open all the way, and stepped over the breakfast tray. "Patty Gentry, I want to talk to you!"

  Stu and I quickly followed her into the room. Newspapers were scattered all over the living room, which was decorated in earth tones. At the desk, a portable typewriter sat, blank paper in the roll.

  "She's not answering us," I said. "She must not be here."

  Darlene pulled open a door that turned out to be a closet. A coat and three suits hung neatly. "Her coat's here."

  "Darlene," Stu said, "let me do the looking."

  But it was too late. Darlene opened another door, which led to the bedroom. She let out a piercing scream.

  Stu and I rushed to her side.

  There, lying on the floor, was the body of Patty Gentry. Her mod metal daisy belt, the one I had so coveted, was twisted around her neck.

  Stu stepped over to the body and felt for a pulse.

  Darlene and I stood together, our arms linked, our gazes unable to move away from the scene in front of us.

  Stu looked up with a grim expression on his face. "She's dead."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Needless to say, Detective Finelli was not pleased to find us sitting in Patty Gentry's suite with her dead body. Stu had made the call to the police. He had stated that the killing was connected to that of Philip Royal, so the detective was sent right over.

  "I just told the three of you to let the police do the investigating," Detective Finelli said, his normal composure slipping. He had already taken our statements as to what we had found when we came in. "What exactly were you doing here?"

  As a team of police filled the bedroom where Patty lay, the detective sat with us in the living room. He ran a hand over his crew cut, waiting for our answers.

  Stu said, "Miss Gentry made it clear in her newspaper article that she knew who killed Philip. We came by to find out what evidence she had and against whom. Astrid Loveday told Miss Roland and Miss Bennett that she was going to 'take care of Patty.' Killing her might have been her way of doing so. Remember all the evidence we have against Astrid."

  "The killer must have come here to collect the evidence," I said, feeling cold though the room was a moderate temperature. "But you must see if you can find anything left behind, Detective. I know you can do it."

  Detective Finelli looked at me. "Thank you, Miss Bennett. Let me ask you this: What if you had arrived while the killer was doing his work? Do you see how you are placing yourself in the path of danger by continuing to meddle in police business?"

  "We aren't going to quit 'meddling,' as you put it," Darlene said. "You refuse to clear my name. Do you think I killed Patty too? That my friends and I came over here after talking to you and wrapped that belt around her throat? Can't you see that Astrid is your most likely suspect?"

  "I'm not going to comment on this new case to you, Miss Roland," Detective Finelli said. "You are already under orders not to leave the city."

  Darlene got up and stood over the detective. "You've got a lot of nerve, mister! Accusing me of two murders. How dare you think I'm capable of such a thing. I'm going to report you to your superior, because I can't punch you a good one."

  "Darlene!" I exclaimed.

  Stu stood and took Darlene's arm. "That's enough. Let's go, doll."

  Detective Finelli was still looking at Darlene. "I didn't accuse you of anything, Miss Roland. But I wonder if you always react with violence when things don't go your way."

  "Don't answer that, doll," Stu said.

  Stu and I led Darlene from the room. We stood in the hall to wait for the elevator.

  Darlene was shaking with anger. "I can't believe that man."

  "He's only doing his job, doll. Try not to take it personally," Stu said.

  "How can I not when there's been a second murder, and I'm at the scene of that crime too? Detective Finelli is just waiting for an opportunity to arrest me," Darlene said.

  "He can't arrest you," I replied. "You didn't do anything."

  The elevator came, and we went down to the busy street. The clouds over the skyscrapers seemed to be moving fast. Rain threatened. As usual, cabs and cars drove down the street in no particular lane.

  "I have to get to work," I said. "Darlene, I'll see you tonight. Try not to worry." I leaned over and gave her a hug.

  "I'll take care of her," Stu said. "I'm taking her to the Plaza for lunch."

  Darlene turned to him in surprise, and he put his arm around her.

  I hailed a cab to the office. It was a little after two, later than I had told Bradley I would be. A lot later. Uh-oh.

  I slipped around the frosted-glass partition to my desk, and put my purse and gloves in the bottom desk drawer as silently as I could, thinking that maybe I could pretend I'd returned earlier.

  Bradley had a letter he wanted typed. I put the dictating machine's headset on, pulled out a piece of paper, and rolled it into the typewriter.

  Immediately Bradley came out of his office. I made my expression as innocent as possible, but I could tell I was in for it now.

  "Miss Bennett, come into my office." His body was stiff as he pointed to the doorway.

  "Yes, Mr. Williams," I said sweetly, taking the headset off, smiling at him, trying to defuse the situation.

  We went into his office. Bradley closed the door. He did not motion for me to sit down, so we stood there facing each other. Boy, did he look mad. I'd never seen him like that.

  "Where have you been? You told me you were going to see Detective Finelli and would be here by noon. You're over two hours late." His blue gaze never wavered, and he pointed at me when he said two hours late.

  I swallowed. I couldn't lie. But gosh, I really didn't want to tell the truth. What a pickle! Instead I said, "Have you been busy? A lot of phone calls?"

  "Yes, as a matter of fact. Since word has gotten out that we're not releasing the Beefeater's album, industry people are ringing me nonstop. But that's not what had me concerned. I didn't know where you were."

  So he was concerned about me, was he? Hmmm. I pressed my lips together and smoothed my lip gloss.

  "Don't think you can distract me from the issue at hand. What happened at the detective's office?"

  Okay, I could answer that. "Stu, Darlene, and I presented Detective Finelli with the evidence we have against Astrid Loveday. Darlene and I had even found one of her gold triangle earrings. You know, like the one in the picture you showed her that night at the Legends' lounge?"

  He nodded tersely. "When did you find the earring?"

  Darn, I was digging myself in deeper. "Darlene and I searched Philip's room last Sunday."

  Bradley's jaw dropped. "How on earth did you do that?"

  "We posed as maids. The earring came up when I was vacuuming." Maybe he'd see now how clever I was. Not just a 'kid.'

  "When you were vacuuming?" He put one hand to his brow. "You realize how much trouble you could have gotten into if hotel personnel had caught you?"

&
nbsp; Or Daddy. Or if those police officers hadn't believed us. "Well, nobody caught us. It all turned out okay. And we got some evidence against Astrid."

  Bradley's hand dropped to his side. "You are one stubborn girl."

  Girl! My chin came up at that. "I am one loyal woman. I'm loyal to Darlene. I want to see her name cleared. And I want to help you out of this sticky situation with the band and Rip-City."

  "I don't need your help, Miss Bennett."

  That cut it. "Well, you're getting it whether you like it or not."

  We stood staring at each another. Then he said, "So you've been at Detective Finelli's office the entire morning and two hours into the afternoon?"

  My heart rate increased. My hands twisted. "No, we went somewhere else afterward."

  "Where exactly was that?"

  Darn him! "Patty Gentry's hotel."

  "Patty Gentry's hotel.. . Wait, don't tell me you went there to talk to her about that article she wrote."

  "All right, I won't." I could feel myself getting angry at him. He was treating me like a naughty child.

  "You will tell me," he said, contradicting himself.

  "You know, Mr. Williams, this really isn't any of your business. I apologize for being late. It won't happen again."

  He looked stumped, and almost guilty, but still, he pressed me. "I think it's my responsibility to know where you are during working hours. Now tell me."

  Maybe he did care about me. "Fine. I went with Stu and Darlene. Patty had written that she knew who Philip's killer was. We wanted to find out what evidence she had. Maybe she could clear Darlene's name."

  "And what did she tell you?"

  I closed my eyes. "Nothing."

  "What do you mean 'nothing'? How could that be?"

  Oh, God, transport me to another planet right now.

  "I'm waiting, Miss Bennett."

  I shifted from one foot to the other. Then I opened my eyes and said, "She told us nothing because she was . . . um . . . dead." My voice finished on a squeak.

  "What!"

  "When we got to her suite, the door was open. We went in and found her strangled on the floor of the bedroom." I had to stop myself from cringing at his look.

  "She's dead? Murdered?"

  "Yes."

  "And you found her? After all my warnings about staying out of this investigation? How could you put yourself in danger like that?" He was breathing hard now and pointing his finger at me again.

  "I'm a modern woman, as I've told you before. I have free will to investigate this crime if I want to!"

  "What if the killer was still in the suite when you came in? You could have been hurt, if not killed, you silly girl."

  Silly girl! "I wasn't hurt or killed. I'm not as naive as when I first got to New York," I said, my own voice rising.

  "I can't believe you keep getting in deeper and deeper. And you've ignored my warnings. I am so angry with you right now, Miss Bennett, I could throttle you myself."

  "But you won't. And you know why?"

  "Why?" he yelled.

  "Because you'd have to touch me to throttle me, and you'd never do that!"

  "Is that right?"

  "Yes!"

  In a flash he swung one arm around my waist. His other hand came up and held my chin. He lowered his beautiful head and kissed me right on the lips, a long, leisurely kiss. His lips were incredibly soft, then demanding as he deepened the kiss.

  Shocked and drowning in pleasure, I took a moment, then put my arms around his neck and began to kiss him back.

  That was when he abruptly dropped the embrace and moved back a step.

  Gone was the angry Bradley. Gone was the passionate Bradley. In his place was a cool, composed businessman.

  "I'm terribly sorry. I lost my head. It won't happen again, Miss Bennett."

  To my mortification, I felt tears behind my eyes. He regretted kissing me. Was I not a good enough kisser for him?

  He went on: "If you feel you would like to be transferred to another department, I won't blame you. I'll give you an excellent recommendation. Rip-City doesn't want to lose a good secretary over my foolish behavior."

  Gathering every ounce of strength and pride I could muster, I said, "That won't be necessary. Your apology is accepted. Now, if there's nothing else, I have work to do."

  "Thank you, Miss Bennett," he said, moving to sit behind his desk. "I think that's an excellent idea. I've spoken to you too much about your private life. My only excuse is that you are young and new to the city. I've felt protective of you. But as you have pointed out to me, you don't need my concern. We must therefore keep this a business relationship."

  I turned and walked out of the office at a normal pace. I managed to make it all the way to the ladies' room before the tears fell.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Although there was plenty of work to do, and normally I would have stayed and finished it, I couldn't. I had to get out of the office and away from Bradley.

  So I left right at five. Bradley had closed his door for the remainder of the afternoon. I hadn't seen him after that kiss.

  I took the bus home, thinking the whole time of Bradley's lips on mine. And how Bradley regretted it, called it foolish. Tears burned in my eyes again. I had to fight them back lest I disgrace myself on the bus.

  At my stop, I got off and made my way up Sixty-fifth Street to my apartment. Harry, the wino, was hanging around the apartment building. I sighed and reached into my wallet for some change.

  "I knew I could count on you, Miss Sweet Face," Harry said, smiling at the money. "I need this tonight."

  He wasn't drunk, but he was shaking badly. "Get yourself something to eat, Harry," I said in a sad voice.

  He scratched his head. " 'Man does not live by bread alone,'" he quoted. He turned to leave, but then stopped. "Say, you don't look so good."

  "I don't feel so good."

  Harry narrowed his bleary eyes at me. "Trouble with a man?"

  "Yes. Is it written on my forehead?"

  "Nah, but I know only a man can put that kind of gloom on a woman's face. I don't know what kinda fella would treat a lady like you bad," Harry mused.

  Wearily I sat down on the front steps. To my surprise, Harry sat on the step below me. He said, "Want to talk about it?"

  Great, here I was discussing my love life, or lack thereof, with a wino. "There's not much to tell. I love somebody who doesn't love me back."

  "Ah," Harry said, shaking his head. "There's a problem. How do you know he doesn't love you back?"

  "He kissed me and then said he regretted it. That it was foolish."

  "Kissed you, eh? Must feel something for you then."

  I relived the kiss once again, closing my eyes against the late-afternoon sunshine and remembering how Bradley had held me tight, kissed me like he would like nothing better than to keep on doing so.

  "Maybe he does," I said in a small voice. "But he pulled away and apologized for kissing me. He said it would never happen again."

  "Never's a long time."

  "I don't know."

  "Not married, is he?" Harry asked.

  "No! In fact, he's quite the dashing bachelor."

  Harry slapped his knee. "That's it then. He likes you so much he doesn't dare kiss you again. Might give him thoughts of marriage. Threatens his bachelorhood. But he'll come around. Wait and see."

  I remembered that was Darlene's theory—that Bradley wasn't ready to settle down. Though I didn't think Bradley would "come around" anytime soon.

  Rising from my seat, I said, "Thanks, Harry."

  He got up. "Anytime. I'm always here in this block. The police kinda pass me by because I don't give anybody trouble."

  "Harry, I don't mean to pry, but have you thought of getting a job?"

  Harry scrambled down the steps. "I gotta go now, miss. Hey, I don't even know your name."

  "Call me Bebe." Obviously Harry wasn't going to discuss with me the reasons for his living on the streets. Maybe someda
y.

  I unlocked the apartment door and headed straight for my bedroom. Food would have made me sick, so I skipped dinner. After a long, hot bath, I crawled into my pajamas and went to sleep with my fingers touching my lips.

  I spent most of the next day, Saturday, eating Fig Newtons and hanging around in my bathrobe, feeling sorry for myself. Darlene was with Stu. Around six in the evening I remembered I had to meet Vince down at the Bitter End in the Village. What a bummer.

  I changed into a simple black dress with a neckline to my throat. I took a bus down to Bleeker Street—still afraid of trying my hand at the subway—and entered the coffeehouse.

  As I scanned the crowd for Vince, a man came up to me.

  "Hi, gorgeous, I'm Fred Weintraub. Can I help you?"

  "I'm sorry, Mr. Weintraub, but I'm meeting someone here," I said, wondering if he was trying to pick me up.

  Suddenly Vince was at my side. I had to hold back a giggle. Dressed in a black beret, black turtleneck, and black slacks, Vince was trying hard for the beatnik look. Pushing forty, he looked ridiculous.

  "Hey, Fred, I must've missed you when I came in. Good to see you," he said enthusiastically, shaking Mr. Weintraub's hand.

  Mr. Weintraub ignored Vince and looked at me. "Are you with him, miss?"

  "Well, we're both from Rip-City Records," I said, not wanting to give any wrong impressions. "I'm Bebe Bennett, secretary to Bradley Williams. Vince and I are going to check out a new act, a Mr. Neil Diamond."

  Mr. Weintraub smiled. "I'm happy to hear it, Miss Bennett. Neil is a fantastic singer. And please, while you're with us, be my guests. Drinks are on the house."

  That was when it dawned on me that Mr. Weintraub was the owner of the Bitter End. Otherwise why would Vince be groveling and Mr. Weintraub be offering us drinks on the house?

  I smiled at him. "Thank you, Mr. Weintraub."

  "Please," he said, "take a table at the front of the house. Just ignore any 'reserved' signs."

  "That's very kind of you," I said.

  "Great seeing you, Fred," Vince said.

  Mr. Weintraub went to welcome some new arrivals.