The Jean Harlow Bombshell

by Mollie Cox Bryan

  “Send her up please.”

  I was happy that Kate would join me in my search through the secret room today. I didn’t want to do it alone. It gave me the heebie-jeebies, as we used to say when we were kids. A secret room. Like something out of the Trixie Belden books I loved to read when I was a girl. Secret rooms were never a good thing.

  Kate waltzed in the front door like she owned the place. Even dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, she somehow looked more pulled together than I ever did.

  “Hey girl,” she said and hugged me. “You look great.”

  “Thanks. I’m feeling so much better,” I replied.

  “I brought you some cream for the cut on your face. It’ll encourage faster healing and prevent a scar.” She set her bag down on a chair in the entryway and rubbed her hands together. “Let’s get to it, shall we?”

  “Do you want coffee?”

  “Sure, that would help. It always does. Hey, how’s everything at home?” We walked into the kitchen and I grabbed two cups, poured coffee into them.

  I told her what had happened with Chad Walters and Gram.

  “Good old Birdie.” Kate stirred cream, laughing. Then she followed me into Justine’s white bedroom, through the closet, and into the secret room. “Well, we have our work cut out for us.”

  “Where to start?” We stood for a moment among the covered furniture, paintings, and heaps of boxes.

  “Okay, we’ve already searched those boxes,” she said, pointing at the stack we’d examined before. “Let’s set them aside.”

  I carried them into the bedroom. “After we search through each one, let’s set the boxes out here so we won’t be reinventing the wheel.”

  “What are we looking for?” Kate said. “Anything in particular?”

  “Mostly papers. Anything to do with France, Jean Harlow, or Marino Bello, her stepfather. Maybe something to do with the ring?”

  “So let’s table the paintings and furniture and get started on the boxes.” She sat on the floor and reached for a box. “Have you told Den yet?”

  “Not yet, but I will as soon as I see him. I plan to hand it over to him.” I sat down against a wall to support my back as I reached for a box.

  “Nothing in this one but a pair of old sparkly shoes,” Kate said, pulling one out. Red and sparkling.

  I gasped.

  “What?”

  “Those are ruby slippers, aren’t they?”

  Kate’s eyes slanted. “I suppose they are.”

  I hesitated. “I thought all of the ruby slippers were accounted for, but maybe not. I need to check into it. Seems like I read something about a stolen pair that was recently recovered.”

  “Do you think she stole them? Was Justine a thief ?” Kate said after a few moments.

  “I never would have imagined that,” I said. I was learning more about my boss than I wanted to, perhaps. I’d always considered her one of the most honest people I’d ever known. Could a person be an honest thief ?

  Perhaps I hadn’t known Justine at all. Maybe the person she presented as was nothing more than a charade. I swallowed the disappointment.

  The next few boxes all held shoes in them. Some were labeled and some weren’t. Ginger Rogers’s tap shoes. Shirley Temple’s tap shoes. Why tap shoes?

  “Oh! Here’s a box with papers,” Kate said after she took several cartons out into the bedroom and sat back down. She held up the paper. “Looks like this is a will, and it’s attached to a deed. It’s the deed to this place.” She read it over. “Justine’s grandmother willed her this apartment.”

  “I’d wondered how she came to live here.”

  “Here’s Justine’s birth certificate, along with her parents and grandparents. They emigrated from Sweden.” Kate read over the documents. “That’s about it.”

  “One mystery solved. But not the one we need solved.” I opened another box with papers. “Why are all those things in the secret room instead of a lockbox or something?”

  “Justine wasn’t the most organized person.”

  No, she wasn’t. I was the one who organized her work. The computer files. The emails. The research. Sometimes I even helped organize the books.

  I plunged my hand into another box and pulled out a paper with a key taped to it. It was Justine’s membership to Club Circe. She was a lifetime member, complete with all privileges. “What privileges do you think those Circe Club members have?”

  “Oh, who knows?” Kate said. “But I imagine free drinks and food. They pull strings for one another for jobs, too. Like the old boys club, but instead the old girls club. Why?”

  “Here’s Justine’s membership papers.” I held them up. “With a key. Could it be the key to a locker? A lockbox?”

  “A room?” Kate said. “A lot of the old private clubs have rooms for out-of-town members. Or entertaining on the down-low if you know what I mean.”

  My synaptic fibers snapped and crackled. Justine. Did she have a private room at the club? Is that where she’d been living before she died?

  I left Kate in the secret room as I stepped out into the bedroom to phone Den.

  “Sergeant Den Brophy.”

  “Hi, Den, it’s Charlotte Donovan.”

  “Charlotte, how are you feeling?” He sounded genuinely concerned.

  “Better, and I’m back at Justine’s place.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Kate and I have been going through some of her things and we found her membership documents to the Club Circe, along with a key.”

  “And?”

  “Were you ever able to pull financials for the time right before Justine’s death?”

  “Ah, hold on,” he said. The sound of fingers on a keyboard came over the phone as he muttered, “Damn thing is so slow.”

  I waited a few more beats.

  “Okay, here we are,” he said. “Yes, and this is why it led us nowhere. The few credit card charges are in the city. There’s a period of about eight days where there are no charges to any of her credit or bank cards.”

  “What do you know about Club Circe?”

  “Not much. It’s a private club, so we don’t get called in there often. They take care of matters on their own.”

  “Matters? You mean like—”

  “Drunks and thieves, things like that. They just kick ’em out of the club, I hear.”

  “I’m wondering if Justine might have stayed there to write … and to hide.”

  Silence on the other end of the phone.

  “Is it possible?”

  “Maybe,” he said, drawn out. “If she stayed there, probably all the evidence is gone. It’s almost been a month. But it’s worth a shot.”

  “Can we meet at the club today or tomorrow?”

  “I could send someone down there,” he said. Message received. Again.

  What the hell? A cop who couldn’t take the way a roughed-up woman looked? Even though I’d been preparing myself for this, part of me had hoped he’d be different. But just like that, he was no longer interested?

  “You said these people are secretive, so I don’t think they’ll talk with a cop alone,” I said. “If I was there, they might. I was Justine’s assistant. They’ll trust me before you or anyone else. Should I take care of this myself ?” I sounded more zippy than I felt. But one minute he was telling me not do a thing without the cops and the next minute he was trying to send a strange cop to question the ladies of Club Circe. It made no kind of sense.

  “I told you not to do stuff like that,” he said. “I’m just going to send someone down there to ask about membership, and if Justine had a room there.”

  “They won’t tell your guy anything,” I said.

  “Look, Charlotte, I appreciate what you’re saying. But we have protocol here. So if we get nowhere and need a search warrant, I’ll c
all you. How’s that sound?”

  “Honestly? Like you’re putting me off, Den.” Yes, those words came out of my mouth. Sometimes my mouth had its own mind.

  “Putting you off ? Nah. I’m trying to keep you safe. You’re a civilian with no business racing around this city right now. You need to recover.”

  “I told you I’m fine. I’ll just go on my own.”

  A long silence on the other end of the phone. “Okay, Charlotte. But I’m driving up to get you. You don’t need to be on the subway right now.”

  “I don’t need your pity.”

  “Pity? What’s wrong with you? I just care about your well-being.”

  Did he? How would I know? I hadn’t seen him since he’d watched me leave Manhattan in a police-escorted boat.

  “Look, I’m a cop,” Den went on. “I think like a cop. I’m sorry. Let’s do this thing. I’ll pick you up around four. Can you be waiting?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  “What was that all about?” Kate said, coming up behind me. I relayed my theory and what had just happened with Den.

  “I think you’ve got him all wrong.”

  “I doubt it. You know my luck with men.”

  “You’ve been involved with some real jerks. But Den’s not like that.”

  “I guess it doesn’t matter,” I said after a few moments. “I’m not interested in a relationship. Not really. I thought he was, and I was charmed by that. But that’s all.” I still had to tell him about the ring. The longer it went on, the worse I felt about it. What was my problem?

  “So I guess I owe you some money. You’ve lasted four weeks. Can I pay you next week?” Kate grinned.

  “Absolutely,” I said.

  “You told me a while ago that you’d tell him about the ring,” she said.

  “I know.” I kept working.

  We straightened out the boxes, having at the least peeked inside each one and not finding anything more relevant than the key to something at the Club Circe. Next time we would unveil the large objects, but for now we’d made progress.

  “What do you think she would do with all of it?” Kate said, standing with her hands on her hips.

  “That’s a good question. Who knows where it all comes from.”

  “I can’t believe Justine would steal.”

  “Oh no, me neither. But maybe she bought this stuff on the black market. Just as bad.”

  “But still,” said Kate, flinging her arms out. “She had this all hidden. It wasn’t like she was even enjoying it. I don’t get it.”

  I didn’t either. And I thought I knew Justine better than anybody. But it was clear she’d gotten herself involved in more than one illegal activity. Who knew what we’d find at the Circe Club?

  Forty-Six

  I waited in the L’Ombragé lobby, surrounded by marble and soft lights. Kate left, muttering something about my not needing a chaperone anymore.

  When Den pulled the police car up to the curb, it was as if all the onlookers had never seen a cop car before. Snappy white with blue strips down the side, it made my breath hitch. Just a little. I drew in air and marched outside. Den was waiting by the door, and he opened it for me with a crooked smile. “At your service,” he teased, tipping his blue cap.

  I slid into the passenger seat, marveling at the dashboard with its sparkling blue lights and a computer screen.

  Den climbed in on his side.

  “It’s great to have a police escort,” I said.

  “Yeah,” he replied. “This car is one of the new smart cars. It’s a prototype. It’s full of all kinds of cool technology. Half of which I don’t understand, yet.” He laughed. “I mean, I’m a cop not a computer geek.” There was a hint of disdain in his voice.

  “Are you up for some kind of promotion? Didn’t you mention that?”

  He pulled away from the curb. “Yeah, I applied to be a detective. They have more time to investigate. I get a little frustrated with the paperwork and the chain of command I have to deal with. I always just wanted to investigate crime. Ya know, help people.”

  Little fireworks exploded in my chest. I gazed off, out the window. It was obvious Den would not pursue our relationship. But the attraction tugged at me.

  “What about you?”

  “What?” I asked.

  “What did you want to be? Did you always want to be an assistant to a writer?” He grinned. We stopped at a red light. I watched the crowd move from one side of the street to the other. Sometimes I marveled at how orderly things were, and how at any minute someone could change all that.

  “I always wanted to write,” I said. “I worked for Justine right out of college. I’ve learned a lot from her.” My voice cracked. And we left it there. Rode in silence the rest of the way.

  Walking into Club Circe was like stepping into an enchanted castle. I remembered being more than impressed during Justine’s memorial service. But I’d been in a haze and not truly able to appreciate the many details of the splendor. The ornately carved baluster. The gilded age murals on the ceiling. The huge stained glass window with the goddess Circe’s image.

  “Sergeant Brophy.” A woman approached us. “So glad to see you.” She turned. “You must be Charlotte Donovan.”

  I nodded. I wasn’t sure I could speak. Not yet. Her bearing was so precise, confident, and sharp. She was a woman used to having her way. Like Justine. It would take me a few moments to gather myself.

  “Follow me, please,” she said, and lead us into an office with a huge fireplace flanked by the plushest leather chairs I’d ever seen. Gorgeous red oriental carpets were well-placed throughout the room. Instead of sitting behind the massive desk, the woman took a position in the chair. There was a table with a set-up tea service.

  “Please sit down,” she said.

  Den and I took our seats.

  “Tea?” she asked as she poured. Her nails were perfect and smooth, but she didn’t wear nail polish.

  “No thank you,” Den said.

  “How about you, Charlotte? I won’t have to have my tea alone, will I?” she purred. And she was catlike, slinking about the hallways and now pouring the tea. So graceful but with a hint of edge, as if she was ready to pounce.

  “Sure,” I said, taking the delicate cup and saucer, Limoges, I was sure.

  “Justine was a close friend of mine,” she said. “She thought highly of you, Charlotte.”

  Air left my lungs as I tried to smile. I lifted the tea to my mouth and sipped.

  “Ms. Collins,” Den said, “was Justine staying here during the last few weeks of her life?”

  She drank from her cup, set the cup back in the saucer, and held it. “Yes, she was.”

  I sat the tea cup and saucer down on the table. As I did, my hand trembled. We were right.

  “We have private rooms for the exclusive use of our members. Justine was a lifetime member. She had a suite,” she said.

  Den looked at me and sort of rolled his eyes. Disappointment seemed to be lodged there. “Can we see the suite? It’s imperative to the investigation of her death.”

  “I’m sorry, Sergeant Brophy.” Ms. Collins held the tea cup to her perfectly lipsticked lips. “This is a private club. And as such, I cannot permit you to enter any of the rooms.”

  I swallowed. “But Justine was murdered. There may be something in that suite to help us find her killer.”

  Den held up his hand to quiet my blabbing. “We can get a search warrant. Private club or not. So, why not let us look today?”

  The woman smiled a stiff smile. “I’m sorry, Sergeant Brophy. I cannot allow you to enter that suite.”

  Den stood in a huff, chest out. A shock of excitement, fear, and attraction moved through me. Damn. He was all male.

  “Fine, you’ll hear from us soon,” he said and turned toward me. “Charlotte?”r />
  I stood. An awkward moment as my eyes met hers.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Okay,” Den replied. “We’ll be back with the search warrant. In the meantime, I trust nobody else will be going inside that room. Because that would be tampering with evidence.”

  “I can assure you, Sergeant, nobody has been inside since Justine’s death,” she said, standing. “Let me show you out.”

  “Nah, don’t bother.” Den waved me to walk in front of him. We headed toward the opulent entryway, opened the door, and exited Club Circe.

  “What the hell?” I said. “Why wouldn’t she let us see Justine’s suite?”

  “These society types,” he muttered.

  But these women were more than society types. They were learned and powerful. Several judges and congresswomen were members. You’d think they’d have a healthy respect for the law.

  I followed Den to the car. He opened the door for me and I slid in. He walked around the back of the vehicle. When he was inside, he pulled out his cell phone and pressed his finger on the screen.

  “This is Den Brophy. I need a search warrant for a suite in Club Circe. Has to do with the Justine Turner case. She was living there the last few weeks of her life.” Pause. “That’s right. Club Circe.” Pause. “No, man, I’m not kidding. Club Circe. Get it done.”

  He put his phone back in his pocket and glanced at me. “This won’t be easy.”

  But I wondered if it would have been easier if I had gone alone as Justine’s assistant, without Den. I made a mental note to call and ask Ms. Collins. In the meantime, I sank into the car seat and watched Den drive, enjoying my view, perhaps a bit too much.

  Forty-Seven

  After Den dropped me off, I headed to a nearby deli for food. I ended up with two bags filled with meat, cheese, olives, two kinds of bread, and wine. A feast for a queen.

  When I entered L’Ombragé, I stopped cold. There stood Judith Turner, glaring at me with evil spewing forth from her beady, made- up eyes. I started to walk by her and she grabbed me, almost causing me to drop my groceries.

  “Let go of me.” I jerked my arm away from her.

  “Don’t tell me you’re still staying here,” she said, with a sweep of her eyes up and down my person. With one glance, she communicated exactly what she thought of me. I regretted that. After all, she was Justine’s cousin, her only living relative.