by Helen Jacey
I lifted my shades to read more. William Joyce, nicknamed Lord Haw-Haw, was American born. The genuine article of traitor; a diehard believer in the Third Reich.
They were busy hanging all the traitors now. I put the paper down and rubbed my neck, gently. I picked up the bouquet and tried to lose myself in the beauty of the flowers.
And there she was, Dolly, a flash of a pink and white, striding out of the elevators. A new dress, and a pretty bonnet hat made out of crisp white straw, with a pink ribbon.
With a bright smile, she handed her key to one of the girls at the front desk and made for the main doors.
I jumped up, about to call out to her. But something paralyzed me to the spot.
Her expression was clouding over. Determination? Not the face of a woman reveling in freedom.
The face of a woman with a plan.
I hid behind the flowers, and turned to look through the doors.
Dolly was on the move, getting in a cab.
I left the lobby, and ran back to Mabel, flinging the newspaper and bouquet on the passenger seat. A few freesia buds fell off. A shame.
Dolly’s cab headed westward. I kept a steady distance. Where was she going? I glanced at the fuel gauge. Soon I’d be running on empty.
Finally, the cab made a series of right turns and came to a stop. We were back where I’d been only three days ago.
Vivienne’s beauty shop in Westwood Village.
Straight out of jail she goes see Vivienne, Hunter’s old secretary? Customer or friend?
Dolly and Vivienne. Two degrees of separation.
I parked near the beauty shop and got out, taking the paper and bouquet. I wouldn’t barge in, just watch for a while. My instincts cautioned it.
Trust them!
Through the window, I could make out an older woman sat under a hair dryer. Vivienne and Dolly were locked in conversation, near an inner door. One sided chat as Vivienne seemed to be doing most of the listening. She was shaking her head. Upset? Protesting? I couldn’t tell.
Suddenly, Dolly pulled off her wig. She leaned forward, as if pushing her face into Vivienne’s.
I didn’t need binoculars to read Vivienne’s face. Dolly had dropped a bomb. Vivienne went behind her counter, and sat down, head in hands. Dolly followed. She opened her purse and got out a piece of paper. She slid it to Vivienne, who picked it up, staring at it.
In a flash, Dolly put her dark wig back on, and strolled out.
I lowered my head into the paper, to watch. This time, Dolly walked for a while until she could hail a cab.
Follow Dolly or go to Vivienne? Surely Dolly would head back to the hotel?
I opened the door and breezed in. A sleepy pug sat at the feet of the woman under the dryer. Vivienne was frozen, staring into space, clutching the paper. A worn envelope.
‘Hello, again! I was in the neighborhood.’ I grinned.
Vivienne’s head was turned sideways.
‘Remember me? From the funeral?’
‘Yes, I do. It’s Mary, isn’t it? Mary…?’
‘Saunders. Er…is this a bad time? You look kinda shaken up.’
Vivienne shook herself. She turned, just a little, to glance at me. ‘I’m fine. Nice to see you again.’
Poor thing, she was making a bad job of pretending. I glanced at the envelope. The writing was loopy and large. I’d seen it before. On the paper Pauline had given me with Agnes’s address at the Miracle Mile.
‘Not bad news, I hope?’
‘No, no.’ Finally, she turned to face me. ‘So, you’d like an appointment?’
First the writing. Now Vivienne’s eyes were familiar. Big orbs of blue. And one looked in a different direction to the other.
The same as Dolly’s.
‘What I really want is…’ I looked around. The woman under the dryer was still engrossed in her book. ‘…to know if Dolly Perkins is your daughter?’
Vivienne froze, her lips tight. Instinctively, she turned the envelope over.
‘Pardon me?’ Her voice was hoarse.
I kept my voice nice and low. ‘I’m a private investigator. The young lady who was just here, that’s Dolly Perkins. The woman who was charged with Ronald Hunter’s murder, and released today. Why are you the first person she goes see? You don’t look too happy.’
Vivienne slid the envelope under her hand. Her eyes welled up. ‘I thought I’d…lost her. Hey, I…I really need some time to come to terms with this.’
‘Lost her? How?’
Vivienne dabbed her eyes with her sleeve. She sniffed. ‘You couldn’t understand.’
‘Try me.’
‘I had no choice. I gave her up.’ She waved the envelope. ‘I wrote this, years ago, to explain why. She found it, brought it here. She doesn’t understand.’
‘You were in the Pineview Clinic?’
Vivienne stared at me.
‘Who are you working for?’
‘Nobody, anymore. I was helping Dolly’s defense. Guess now I’m just curious.’
She processed this, glancing at the woman under the dryer. ‘I’ve got to see to my lady.’
‘So, who’s Daddy? Ronald Hunter?’
‘No, it isn’t. Please go.’
‘You realize Dolly’s been screwing him?’
‘You’re disgusting! Get out!’
‘You were in love with him, weren’t you? Enough to organize little vacations to the Pineview Clinic for all those other secretaries. How long were you doing that for?’
‘How dare you!’ Vivienne raised her voice. We both instinctively checked the lady under the dryer. Still oblivious to the drama. Vivienne hissed at me. ‘Yes, I got pregnant, like a fool. To a loser, not Ronald. I told him, and he helped me out of trouble. He was a real gentleman.’
‘Gentleman? Really?’
‘All those girls threw themselves at him! All little tarts!’
Her cheeks flushed, and I saw her for what she was. A desperate, lonely woman who idolized a man who saved her from disrepute and, for that, she would go to the ends of the earth for him. In her own eyes, she was his wife—his secret second wife that the world would never know.
‘Little tarts like Dolly?’
Vivienne couldn’t answer that. ‘I didn’t know about that. Ronald is not her father, that much I swear.’
‘So, she’s found you. A nice mom-daughter reunion. Why aren’t you happy?’
Vivienne came out from behind the counter. She gave a smile to the lady.
‘So it’s just a coincidence Dolly fell in love with your old boss, is it?’
Vivienne stared at me. ‘She came to work for me a few years ago. I had no idea who she was!’
‘So what does she want now?’
‘She wants…me. To be with me.’ Vivienne started to shake.
‘Sounds cozy.’
Vivienne’s straight eye met mine, desperate.
‘She said we never have to be parted again. Says I can sell up now, that I have to!’ Horror filled her eyes. ‘I think she’s crazy.’
50
‘Booby, get the hell in here and bring the brandy with you!’ Beatty’s voice roared out through the walls. She could see me, hovering outside her office, through the two-way mirror. I hadn’t wanted to burst in, in case some forlorn spouse was pouring out their heart.
I found the brandy and crystal tumblers in the cabinet opposite the secretary’s desk. I put them on a polished pewter tray and went into Beatty’s office. She was behind her desk, in what was, for her, a rather subdued outfit. It was a mushroom and magenta woolen two piece. The skirt was heavily pleated, and the cardigan had the fashionable arrow features that I’d seen on the lady at the Pineview Clinic. The only difference was Beatty’s arrows pointed upwards to her face.
A look at me pair of arrows.
She wore a rope of glossy amber beads around her neck that clashed but it kind of worked, too. Classic Beatty.
When I had called her from the payphone, she could tell something was wron
g and told me to head over.
Now I splashed the liquor into the tumblers.
I sat down and took a big swig. Her face was dismayed. ‘Like that is it? No Happy New Year?’
I spluttered in shame. ‘Sorry!’ We chinked glasses.
‘Congratulations. I heard through the grapevine Dolly Perkins was released.’
I raised a brow. That was quick. ‘Yeah.’
‘You don’t look so thrilled?’
‘I think I’ve been played,’ I said.
‘By who?’
I met her eyes. ‘By myself, mainly.’
‘Intriguing.’ Beatty raised a brow. ‘Go on.’
I shuffled in my seat, uncomfortable. I explained everything that had happened since we last met. She listened intently. I concluded the saga with my tailing of Dolly. About Dolly going straight to Vivienne and confronting her with the truth—that she was Vivienne’s child that she had given up for adoption years ago through the Pineview Clinic. And what Vivienne just told me, revealing her sick and obsessional devoted love. ‘Vivienne was the woman who organized Agnes’s trip to the same clinic. She was devoted to mopping up his mess in the secretary department.’
Beatty’s face was pure distaste. ‘What else?’
‘Dolly’s behavior. She ordered Vivienne to move away from LA with her. Sounds unstable, right? And there’s something else.’
I told her about Zetty’s bizarre confession, that she seemed desperate to confess, desperate for witnesses. ‘She loved Dolly, wanted to save her from death row. She thought she was dying, and it was her last chance.’
Beatty absorbed this, but, like Lauder, was horrified I had been at the now notorious Santa Barbara party. ‘Jeez, you sure get around places you shouldn’t.’
I wouldn’t alarm her further by telling her about Maureen O’Reilly.
‘It’s sick. But it’s over. Should I keep poking around a closed case? I mean, I worked for the defense, and they’ve won. What’s the ethical thing to do?’
Beatty let out a long sigh. She put her glass down and took her glasses off. ‘All right. Something you should know. You and me are the reason Dolly Perkins was let off.’
‘What?’
‘I am Linda Hunter’s private investigator.’
My jaw hit the floor. Beatty had kept it from me, the whole time. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
‘That’s why my boating trip was cut short—Hunter’s murder. Linda’s been itching for a divorce for a while. I needed proof of these extramarital affairs, so they could come to a quick settlement. I knew about Dolly, Agnes, and quite a few others. When he was murdered, Linda was worried she would be seen as a suspect, particularly if news of his affairs broke. She had an alibi, but not the best. She was with Rufus.’
I was speechless.
Beatty went on, ‘When you told me Flannery was running with the stalker angle, I knew he would drop Dolly if he knew all the juice on Hunter. I gave Sonia my files, she did the deal, Dolly got released.’
I stared at her. Beatty let out a big sigh. ‘Linda Hunter married the wrong sibling. She soon got fed up with Hunter’s roving eye but by this time, she was pregnant and thought she could put up with it. But then she fell in love with Rufus. Little brother has spent years of his life keeping big brother’s reputation out of the press, all to protect the family name. As you know, Hunter senior likes young ladies, and he likes to get them pregnant. Dolly, Agnes, a whole run of them over the years, some of the kids are even in their thirties now. There have many payoffs, organized with the assistance of the late Mr. Minski. Hunter’s misdeeds never got out.’
Beatty lit her pipe. ‘Perv for sure.’
‘But how does it exonerate Dolly, the fact there were loads of affairs?’
‘Flannery was finally alerted about some blackmail letters. But that’s real evidence, and more convincing than a blonde who couldn’t lift a finger, let alone wield a cleaver, another in a long line of knocked-up girls. But even there, Flannery’s hit a dead end. Minski knew stuff, but being dead don’t help.’
Beatty sure had eyes in the police department.
We both sipped our drinks. I asked, ‘So what about Minski’s death?’
Beatty shrugged. ‘Dead is dead.’
If Minski was considered to know too much, or done too much, Rufus Hunter still could have bumped him off. Surely this occurred to Beatty? But she wasn’t going to volunteer it.
‘So, the Hunters can trust the cops not to leak this to the press? Everything they’ve hushed up over the years?’
Hushissimo.
‘Something for your rulebook. In this town, never underestimate the power of money.’
I met her eyes. ‘So I should leave well alone?’
‘Perkins is free. Obsession with a mother who gave her up is no crime. Just another sucker who wants love.’
‘What about Zetty’s confession?’
Beatty shot me a firm look. ‘Case is closed. Zetty wakes up? She’d be a darned idiot to confess now her pal’s released, especially if she said it because she thought she was snuffing it. Ronald Hunter’s still a hero. Injured veterans are going to have better lives thanks to his foundation. Nobody wins if his reputation goes up in flames.’
Had Sonia done a final deal with Rufus Hunter to pay off Dolly for her silence? I felt sick. Whatever, Beatty’s words felt like an order, jazzed up with the moral high ground.
She puffed on her pipe, the blue smoke dividing us. ‘This sleeping dog needs a nice long snooze.’
The big sleep, she meant. Do not resuscitate. She was being loyal to her client, Linda Hunter. And by default, the Hunter clan.
Beatty smiled. ‘It’s 1946. Move on. Things are gonna come up roses for you.’
51
‘What can I tell ya? Free as a bird!’
Dolly sipped her piña colada cocktail. Quite the exotic bird, in her expensive dark wig and pale tangerine suit, teamed with a light blue shirt with an orange palm leaves pattern. A necklace of pale blue gemstones around her neck. Her high-heeled shoes were in burnt orange snakeskin leather.
Edith Piaf, gone tropical.
The outfit looked pricey. More Bullocks Wilshire than Tilsons Department Store.
I felt a pang of envy. Was Dolly living the life I was supposed to live?
When I arrived, I had the front desk ring up to her room. Dolly had come down, quite willingly. She was pleased to see me, she said, as she was going out of her mind with boredom. ‘Sonia says I gotta lie low. No talkin’. But you’re a pal.’
Now we sat in the sunny hotel terrace bar. It was pretty empty, save for a few salesmen, pouring over documents.
I had opted for a black coffee, which tasted bitter. ‘I need to tell you something. About Zetty.’
Dolly grimaced.
‘I read all about it. Waitin’ in the Hall of Justice this morning took so long. So I grabbed a paper. Could not believe my eyes. A mobster hit of all things!’
She shook her head.
‘Sad life, real sad life. Sure hope she pulls through. You know, it could’ve been me singing at that party. I could have got topped. God really moves in mysterious ways! He did all this, to make me whole. So, I’m moving to New York. Pursue my singing. I wanna be on Broadway!’
So she wasn’t that cut up about her friend. I had been so blind to her self-obsession. It had been there the whole time. ‘You hanging on for Zetty?’
‘Why? Ain’t she a vegetable?’
‘Coma, she could wake up.’ I opened my purse and took out the photograph of Zetty and the boy. ‘I found this. Know who the kid is? Where it is?’
Dolly glanced at it, not really interested. ‘Uh-uh. Zetty showed it me plenty of times. That’s her little boy. They have these blood feuds in Albania. Some other family wanted him dead! She escaped on a boat to Sicily. ‘
‘Is that where she met Mrs. Luciano?’
‘Uh-huh. Mrs. Luciano had her trained up. To shoot, you know.’
‘So where’s the ki
d now?’
‘My lips are sealed.’ She mimed a zip over her mouth. ‘But Zetty don’t see him no more.’
‘Why not?’
‘To keep him safe from the bad guys. Mrs. Luciano sent him away, then to school some place. Zetty goes along with it, for his safety. She don’t think he could recognize her no more.’
She went on. ‘That’s why we got a special bond.’ She sucked on her straw. ‘My momma was forced to give me up. Difference being, not for my own good.’
She offered me a cigarette. I declined. ‘Hey, you bring me Ronnie’s hankie? That why you came?’
She hadn’t taken long to ask for it. That confirmed my suspicions. My green light.
I shook my head. ‘Sorry, I forgot. Brought you this, though.’
I got out the lipstick and held it up. Dolly stared, and then grinned. ‘What’s that? Makin’ yourself pretty?’
I twisted the case off, revealing the blunt, squished end.
‘This is the same lipstick you used to try to frame Linda Hunter. You got Zetty to kill Hunter, didn’t you?’