“Well, the short time I was in Reno, I can vouch for that. Casinos are raking it in.”
“You have to follow the money, Archer. It usually takes you where you need to go.”
“Then Armstrong and Kemper are in this together?”
“Could be,” said Dash.
“But then who’s trying to blackmail Kemper into getting out of the race?”
“How about Drake?”
“But he seemed like a straight shooter with good motives.”
“Drake is an idealist. He may believe if Kemper gets in there it’s the same as having Armstrong in charge again. He knows he can’t win the election on the up and up; there’s too much money and other things aligned against him. So he finds or makes up dirt on Kemper and tries to win the race that way so he can get in there and do a lot of good.”
“And the murders of Fraser and Sheen? You think Drake is involved in those?”
“Haven’t figured those out yet. And Archer?”
“Yeah?”
“Remember this, son, if you remember nothing else. What I just laid out is a theory. Theories are not the truth. To find the truth a gumshoe’s got to keep digging.”
Chapter 56
ARCHER DROVE BACK TO MIDNIGHT MOODS and was in the audience when Callahan made her formal debut later that night. To say she was a success would have been like saying the Allied countries had fought to a draw with their Axis counterparts.
The theater was filled to standing room capacity and Archer noted, with some surprise, that the number of women in the audience roughly equaled the number of males in attendance.
The curtains had parted and out had marched Callahan in the outfit she and Dawson had selected. Her long, dramatic strides bore the confidence of someone at home in the spotlight. Indeed, her smile seemed to outshine the stage lights. When she reached the microphone, Callahan motioned at the piano man to prime his fingers. He started to play and his skill was obvious; yet when Callahan opened her mouth and the sounds poured from it, Archer didn’t give the man tickling the black and white keys another thought.
One hour later the last note of her final song held in the air like cannon smoke after a twenty-one-gun salute. She took a bow, stood straight, and let the appreciation of hundreds of people rain down on her for holding them in luxurious captivity for the previous sixty minutes.
A man in his fifties seated next to Archer elbowed him and said, “Damn, son, is she a keeper or what?”
Archer smiled and nodded and concluded that Callahan was right where she was meant to be—in front of large crowds and sending them into a better existence than reality ever could.
As his gaze ran over the audience, Archer spotted him. He bent forward for a better look. Yes, it was definitely the man.
Douglas Kemper hadn’t grieved long for his campaign manager. He was in the front row, cigarette and drink in hand, and seemed to be fixated on Callahan.
Archer went backstage after the show to see her.
She was in her small dressing room with LIBERTY freshly stenciled on the door. There were baskets of flowers littering the floor, while she sat in front of her mirrored vanity table and reapplied her stage makeup.
“Well?” she said, looking at him in the mirror.
“I think you did okay.”
“Well, don’t give yourself a heart attack slinging out praise, Archer.”
“Do you want me to say you’re a star? Okay, you’re a star, Liberty. But you don’t need me to tell you what all those people already did. And you had as many ladies as gents in the audience. I’d say that’s something, all right.”
“You got your flask?” she asked, giving him a pretty smile.
He handed it across and she took a sip. “So, that was just the first act. I’ve got three more sets and then some hand shaking and drinks with some of the big players here, and the local rag is going to interview me and even take my picture.”
“You good with all that?”
“Hell, Archer, I was born for ‘that.’”
“Yeah, I guess you were.”
She lit up a Camel, blew smoke out, and swiveled around to look directly at him. “I heard someone else got killed here. That’s what Dawson was referring to, right?”
“Wilson Sheen. He worked for Douglas Kemper.”
“Kemper, huh? Someone told me he was in the audience tonight.”
“He was. In the front row looking very appreciative of your many talents.”
“Moneybags, right?”
“And married to a very lovely woman, so don’t get your hopes up.”
“So he has connections to Fraser and this Sheen guy. Is he a suspect in your book?”
“Everyone’s a suspect in my book, Liberty.”
“You wanted me to be your spy here. Should I start with Kemper?”
Archer hesitated. “You know, what I told you before probably wasn’t a good idea. It could be dangerous.”
“I can be dangerous, Archer, or have you already forgotten?”
“Yeah, well, you’re dangerous when someone is threatening you. These guys don’t wait around for that.”
“You’re worried about me, Archer. That’s very touching.”
“I am worried about you. Two people have bought it in this joint over a really short time.”
“Well, just so you know, I worry about you, Archer. And I’ve done a little snooping already since I’ve been here.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m observant. I keep my eyes and ears open.”
“And what did you find out?”
“Oh, so now you’re okay with me spying?” said Callahan.
“Liberty!”
“Okay, okay. Anyway, I finished my dinner and took my cup of coffee and found a little room to just have some quiet time and get my nerves under control.”
“And?” said Archer expectantly.
“And I heard some noise in the room next door. And your name came up.”
Archer frowned. “Who was it?”
“It was those same two thugs that roughed you up before, Archer.”
“Hank and Tony? But how do you know what they sounded like? You only saw them before. They didn’t say anything.”
“Easy. When they mentioned your name, I snuck out and peeked through the keyhole.”
“Liberty, that was a big risk.”
“My whole life has been a big risk. Anyway, I saw them.”
“And what did they say about me?”
“Oh, that they were going to kill you.”
Archer sat back and dead-eyed her. “Thanks for saving the best part for last.”
“You can take care of yourself, Archer, I’ve seen that. And now that you’re forewarned? Well, my money’s on you over those two goons.”
“They say why they want to kill me?”
“I heard them mention you were snooping around an island?”
Archer told her about the architectural mockups he and Dash had found and their connection to the island. And then his suspicions about the death of Benjamin Smalls.
“A casino, huh? Makes sense. And dying in your bathtub, Archer? Puhleez. That’s mob stuff. They either machine-gun you or do the ankle grab in the tub and under you go.”
“How come you know so much about that stuff?”
“You think the mob passed Reno by for some reason?”
Archer looked at her closely. “Is Max Shyner part of the mob?”
“I got out, Archer. Read into that what you want to. You got a gun?”
“I do.”
“And you got your aluminum knuckles?”
He nodded. “And I’m wearing underwear, too,” he said with a grin.
“Really? I’m not.”
His features sagged and his cigarette drooped. “Not now, Liberty. For chrissakes.”
She smiled demurely. “What’s your next move?”
He rose and put his hat on. “And the room where you overheard them?”
“Go right down thi
s hall, turn left, and then right again. Second door on the left.”
He tipped his hat. “You got great gams and a great voice, but you’ve also got a great brain. Don’t let anybody ever tell you otherwise.”
“You got style, Archer, don’t let anybody ever say you don’t.”
Chapter 57
THE DOOR TO THE ROOM WAS STANDING OPEN and it was empty, Archer could see. Hank and Tony apparently had flown the coop. He walked out to the terrace, found a seat, ordered a gimlet and a rack of olives and—because he hadn’t had his dinner yet—a roast beef sandwich with a side of potato salad. He drank and ate, and was lost in thought until he heard the voice.
“You don’t look so good, honey.”
He looked up to see it was the same waitress who had taken care of him and Kemper.
“Nah, I’m fine. Hey, you seen Kemper tonight?”
“I’m not that lucky.”
“You ever seen any other skirt here reel him in?”
“Not a one. And there wasn’t a lack of effort. Least it ain’t just me, right?”
“Right. Hey, you know Hank and Tony, Sawyer Armstrong’s bouncer boys?”
“Sure.”
“They’re here, right?”
“They were. Seen ’em leaving, oh, about an hour ago.”
“You ever try your chances with them?”
She planted a hand on her hip. “Hey, fellow, I’m not that desperate. And I like my guys with a little class. I mean, I don’t even think those goons can read. I got standards.”
Archer slipped her a buck and added a wink to it. “Thanks. And keep aiming higher. Who knows, you might just end up running General Motors one day.”
She tucked the dollar down her blouse. “What a comedian. You should try vaudeville.”
As she walked off, Archer checked his watch. He decided it was time to drive up the mountain again. And maybe bag two for the price of one.
The Bentley was gone, but the Triumph and the Phantom Rolls were out front. The door opened and the same servant appeared. He looked at Archer like he’d never seen him before.
“Are Mr. and Mrs. Kemper in?”
“Who shall I say is asking, sir?”
“It’s Archer. I was here before, with Willie Dash?”
“It is very late, Mr. Archer. I believe you should come back—”
“It’s all right, Chen, I’ll see Mr. Archer.” Beth Kemper had appeared next to her butler. “Follow me, Archer. You look like you could use a drink.”
And so, just like that, Archer followed her. He liked following her. He liked how she moved, like a panther slinking through the brush. It was inspiring, actually, simply how the lady walked. You couldn’t teach it, he knew. You could either do it or you couldn’t. And this lady could do it in spades. Just like Callahan.
She took him into one of the rooms he and Dash had passed on their previous visit. It was all marble and white and cold and, despite all that, interesting. He stared at a large figurine of a naked woman looking at something over Archer’s right shoulder.
He pointed his hat at it. “Does it cost more not to have clothes on?”
She sat beautifully on the couch, her bright red skirt fanning out and covering her legs all the way to her calves. The blouse above it was a creamy white. She looked like some sort of exotic flower in full bloom.
“In life it usually does, Archer, so why not in art? Would you like a drink? I’m going to have one.”
“You look very comfortable sitting there, so let me do the honors. Dry Manhattan do the trick?”
She smiled and waved her hand at the bar. He guessed they had a bar in every room, and wasn’t that just the stuff of everyone’s fantasies?
He poured and measured and jiggered his way through the concoctions. He presented the Dry Manhattan to her and took a seat facing the woman.
They raised the glasses to each other and took sips.
She said, “And what can I do for you so late at night?”
He dabbed a bit of vermouth off his lip. “I think your father might be mad at me, again.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, you know Hank and Tony gave me the once-over when your father learned that we had come up here to question you.”
“But I thought that was all forgotten and forgiven after we met at his house.”
“But then I was a bad boy a second time and gave them more reason to give me the treatment again.”
“And what exactly did you do now?”
“If I tell you, you’ll tell your father, right?”
“Not if you don’t want me to.”
A smile eased across Archer’s face. “Now that’s a good line, Beth. Although Willie doesn’t want me to call you Beth.”
She set her drink down, took out her cigarette case, tapped a smoke on the top of the coffee table, and lit up. “Why is that?”
“Something about different classes of people. You’re up here on the mountain and I’m down on Porter Street with the dirty rabble.”
“I don’t see it that way, Archer, I really don’t.”
“Anyway, your instincts were right the other night. I did follow you to that diner. Which meant I saw you and your father in the parking lot of the wharf. Which of course means I saw him come in on his boat from visiting that island that a company with your hubby’s fingerprints all over recently bought from the feds.”
Kemper sat back, tapped ash into an ashtray, and took a swallow of her Manhattan.
“You were a busy boy, then, although I have no idea what you’re talking about. I thought you were going to tell me you burned down one of my father’s olive trees.”
“So the island was owned by the feds. And now it’s not. It’s owned by your husband, apparently.”
“No, it’s damn well not.”
This didn’t come from Beth Kemper. It came from her husband. They both turned to see him standing in the doorway, his hat in hand. His necktie was undone, his shirt was wrinkled, his hair was disheveled, and he didn’t look like the sparkling golden boy at this precise moment in time.
Beth rose and said in a concerned voice, “Douglas, are you all right?” There was genuine concern in both her voice and expression.
“No, Beth, I’m not. I’m really not, honey.” He paused and looked at her. “I…I just need some…help.”
Douglas walked forward while Archer watched both of them closely.
Beth reached her arms out to him and Douglas did the same, and a moment later they were wound as tightly as wire on a coil. They stood like that for a full ten seconds before they stepped back from one another.
Wilma Darling was right—he does love his wife.
Douglas looked at Archer. “I have no interest in that island.”
“Paperwork filed in the town hall says otherwise. You’re listed as the chairman of the board.”
“Anyone can list anyone else.”
“Any idea who might have listed you?”
“No, no idea. What was the name of the company?”
“Stearman Enterprises.”
The Kempers exchanged nervous glances.
“Yeah,” said Archer. “That was the model of your mother’s plane. The Stearman 75. Someone’s being either ironic or downright cruel.”
She looked at Douglas. “Do you know anything about this? I want the truth!”
“No. I swear. I’m involved with no company by that name. And I…wouldn’t have named it that.”
“The money behind Alfred Drake, maybe?” suggested Archer.
“Maybe,” said Douglas doubtfully.
Archer shook his head. “Wrong. There is no money behind Drake other than his own. He’s getting swamped by the bucks you and your father-in-law are throwing at this election. He knows he’s going to lose.” He glanced at Beth before saying to Douglas, “Would you say your vision of Bay Town coincides with what Ben Smalls had in store?”
“I would say so, yes. I know what it’s like to be wealthy. But I also know what it
’s like to be poor.”
“And Alfred Drake also admired him, or says he did.”
“I believe they were friends, yes.”
“And you were friends with Smalls, too, correct, Mrs. Kemper?”
Douglas said, “His father was partners with Sawyer. You two grew up together, and he was at that luncheon.”
“When my mother died,” said Beth, without looking at him. “But I met him other times, too. We were friends.”
“Now that’s interesting,” said Archer. “Would you like to tell us what those other times consisted of?”
“No, I wouldn’t,” she said heatedly, which answered the question for Archer pretty well.
Douglas fast-walked over to the bar and poured himself a bourbon on the rocks and swallowed half of it before he got back to his wife and looked at her in a way that surprised Archer. It wasn’t angry or hurt or full of bluster. It was a look of resignation, of hopelessness. They sat hip to hip in the same chair, one of her hands resting on his thigh, Archer noted, in a protective manner.
Douglas said, “I wish I knew more to tell you, Archer. But things are not adding up.”
“Sheen’s dying, for one,” noted Archer.
“I can’t understand who would want to hurt Wilson.”
“You want to hear my theory?”
They both settled their gazes on him.
“You actually told me yourself,” said Archer.
Douglas frowned. “You’re going to have to spell it out, Archer. My thoughts are not too clear right now.”
“One question. Have the police been by to see you?”
Douglas wiped his brow. “No. But I think that situation is about to change, from what I’ve heard. But tell me why someone would want to kill Wilson.”
“Your wife has an alibi for the time Ruby Fraser was killed. She was with friends for dinner. Now, that alibi needs to be verified, and it will be. But the thing is, as you told me, Wilson Sheen was your only alibi for the time Fraser was murdered. You had dinner with him and then a meeting during the time Fraser was killed. Which means you no longer have an alibi, because dead men can’t give them.”
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