The Big Brush-off

by Michael Murphy

  I finished unpacking, except for a leather case I slid under the bed without Laura noticing. I took a quick glance at the phone on the nightstand beside the bed and decided to make it easier for her. “You hungry, sweetheart?”

  “I’m famished. I could use a good meal and a cold beer.”

  “I’ll head down to the dining room and get us a table for dinner.”

  Laura grabbed two nighties and set them in the top drawer. “That sounds wonderful.”

  I kissed her cheek and left. I took the stairs and stepped into the lobby, where Edwin’s face blanched. “Mr. Donovan, everything is satisfactory, I hope.”

  “Everything’s perfect.” I glanced inside the dining room, where a couple occupied one of the dozen tables. “We’re a little hungry. Laura will be down in a few minutes. Until then I could use some fresh air.”

  Outside, I took a deep breath. I walked along the front deck and peered around the corner, where the deck continued on the west side of the inn. A single table with two chairs sat facing the grove of trees. Moonlight reflected off the pond between the deck and the tree line. This would be the perfect place to restart my novel.

  I returned to the front of the inn, where Edwin stood waving to a passing gentleman in a brown suit, admiring our rented Ford. “Would it be all right if I set up my typewriter on the west deck tomorrow? Sometimes the outdoors is helpful in my creative process.”

  A proud smile swept across his face. “Of course, Mr. Donovan, whatever you need.”

  When the phone rang, he hurried toward the door and went inside.

  I followed and took a corner booth in the dining room, near the entrance.

  The kitchen door flew open and a pretty redhead in a white apron rushed into the room, leaving the door swinging behind her. She looked a lot like Freddy, only a couple of years older and with a few more freckles. If they ever made a movie about Raggedy Ann, she could play the lead.

  While the elderly couple stared at her, she glanced around and stopped at the entrance to the dining room. When she peered into the empty lobby, her shoulders sagged. “Damn him! I’m going to kill my brother.” I wasn’t sure if she was speaking to me or herself.

  I cleared my throat and got her attention. “Is your brother Freddy?”

  She turned in my direction and set her hands on her hips. “The louse told me Laura Wilson, the actress, is here!”

  The young woman pulled a pack of Camels from her apron pocket. She lit a cigarette and blew a plume of smoke into the air.

  If a flair for the dramatic prepared someone to become an actor, this girl had real potential.

  I gestured toward the stairs. “She’s upstairs, in the honeymoon suite.”

  “Honeymoon suite?” She took another puff. “We don’t have a honeymoon suite.”

  “Room two oh two.”

  “Oh, I get it. It’s our only suite.” She flicked the ash of her cigarette onto the floor.

  “You must be Ginger.”

  The young woman cocked her head. “How do you know my name? Wait, how do you know Laura Wilson’s in the suite?”

  “I’m Jake Donovan.” I paused a moment to see if she recognized the name. “Her husband.”

  “Jake Donovan!” She slipped into the booth and sat across the table. She took another puff and waved the smoke away. “I read all about your ocean-cruise wedding and Hawaiian honeymoon.”

  I bet she didn’t know about the incident near Amelia Earhart’s plane or my near miss at Wheeler Field.

  For the first time, a hint of a smile crossed her face. “I’m sure Freddy told you what a movie fan I am. He probably made me sound like some kind of ninny.”

  “He didn’t mention how nice you were.”

  “I don’t mean to be.” Ginger batted her eyes and lit the candle in the middle of the table.

  I ignored her remark and stared at the growing cigarette ash that threatened to break off onto the table. I slid the table’s ashtray beneath the end of her cigarette. “Your butt’s about to fall.”

  Ginger tapped the cigarette on the side of the ashtray without taking her eyes off me. “Thanks for noticing.”

  “You’re far too young to be flirting with a married man.”

  She let out a puff of air. “It’s that obvious?”

  I cleared my throat. “Freddy mentioned you want to be an actress.”

  Laura stepped into the dining room wearing a casual white dress and a black hat. “There you are, darling.”

  Ginger shrieked. She leaped to her feet and stood beside the table, her cigarette dropping to the floor. The girl reached out her hand and might have fainted if I hadn’t steadied her arm and eased her back into the booth. “Ginger Conrad, I’d like you to meet my wife, Laura Wilson.”

  Laura smiled and stepped on the smoldering cigarette butt. “Are you all right?”

  Ginger twirled a strand of her red hair. “I’m so embarrassed.”

  “Don’t be.” Laura sat beside me and patted Ginger’s hand.

  Laura always handled fans with grace and understanding, but I couldn’t help smile at the young girl’s obsession. “Ginger wants to be an actress.”

  “Is that so?” Laura always took an interest in aspiring actresses. She’d been one not too long ago. “Have you done much acting?”

  She puffed up with pride. “This spring I had the lead in high school in The Adventures of Tom Sawyer.”

  “Tom Sawyer.” Laura chuckled and smiled at me. “Did you hear that, darling?”

  Ginger’s forehead wrinkled. “What’s so funny?”

  “That’s how Laura and I got together. I played Tom Sawyer. She was Becky Thatcher.”

  “It’s like it’s fate or something.” Ginger stared at me a moment. “Your husband’s very handsome.”

  Laura smiled. “Only by candlelight.”

  “Oh, and on Saturday I’ll be Princess Teleka, the chief’s daughter who talked him into letting Dutch immigrants settle in what’s now Hanover. I deliver a soliloquy that most people consider the highlight of Founder’s Day.”

  Princess Teleka. I searched my memory. Katie Caldwell was Princess Teleka on Founder’s Day.

  Laura smiled. “If you’d like, we can chat more about acting before Jake and I leave.”

  Ginger looked like she was going to faint again. “Really? How long will you be here?”

  Laura glanced at me, as if I knew the answer. “At least through Founder’s Day.”

  My wife looked genuinely interested in Ginger’s acting ambitions, like she might have seen herself in the young girl’s eyes. “So why do you want to become an actress?”

  Ginger lowered her voice as two women came in and sat at a table. “It’s the fastest ticket out of this dump of a town.”

  Laura patted Ginger’s hand again. “That’s what motivated me, as well. I wanted out of my home in Queens. So you’re the chef?”

  Ginger shook her head. “Chef, maid, whatever my old man says. I like to cook, but we don’t really get that many customers these days. Would you like something to eat?”

  I smiled. “That’s why we’re here.”

  Freddy bounded into the room, cracking his knuckles. “Hey, princess, Pop says you forgot to take the sheets down from the line. I’ll do it for a quarter.”

  Ginger ignored her brother, who stayed in the doorway. She rose. “What can I get you?”

  Laura cocked her head. “What do you recommend?”

  “You can’t go wrong with a steak and baked potato and a salad, of course. House dressing okay?”

  Laura glanced toward the kitchen. “Right now you could pour motor oil on the salad and I’d scarf it down.”

  Ginger laughed until she snorted. “You’re as funny as you are in the movies!”

  “Funnier.” I held up two fingers. “I’ll have the same.”

  Her brother held out one hand. “Okay, fifteen cents.”

  Ginger smiled. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Wilson…and you too, Mr. Donovan,” she said almos
t as an afterthought.

  “Did she tell you about her movie magazine collection?” Freddy laughed.

  “Ohh…brothers.” Ginger reached into her apron pocket and flipped him a dime.

  Freddy caught the coin, slipped from the dining room, and went outside, banging the screen door behind him.

  As Ginger waited on the two women, Laura smiled. “Brother and sister. I suspect they really care for each other.”

  “They should. They’re Fred and Ginger, just like in the movies.”

  Chapter 13

  The Yearbook

  The next morning, I awoke with thoughts of Blackie Doyle. I hadn’t felt this good about my writing in years. I climbed out of bed, trying not to wake Laura.

  After a quick shower and shave, I changed into casual trousers and my lucky purple shirt. The cuffs were beginning to fray. The shirt was a birthday gift from Laura, the day I began my first novel.

  I’d come to Hanover to save my career. I couldn’t wait to get started writing, but I’d promised myself I’d visit Mary. I didn’t want anyone in Hanover to suspect I’d returned to investigate Katie’s murder. If word got out, everyone would clam up like they did ten years ago.

  I tiptoed into the bedroom, where Laura stirred.

  She sat up. “Anything wrong?”

  “I need to go see Mary Caldwell before I start writing.”

  Laura scrambled out of bed. “I’m going with you.”

  A half hour later, Laura and I turned onto Maple Road, though I didn’t see maple trees anywhere. The house number on the slip of paper Mary Caldwell handed me in New York revealed a small house with a sagging roof. The place was much smaller and older than the house Mary and Katie had lived in down the street from the church.

  I parked the Ford in front of the brown, neglected lawn. There was no easy way to tell her that I wouldn’t look into her daughter’s murder.

  Laura reached for my hand. “Oh, Jake. I don’t even know the woman, and I can’t get over how sad the end of her life will be.”

  I knew how she felt. I swallowed a lump in my throat. Mary buried a beautiful young daughter she’d been so proud of. Now her end was near and apparently the authorities had given up on finding the person responsible. What could I do?

  At her front door, I stood beside Laura and knocked. I knocked a second time, but no one answered.

  Finally, the door opened a crack and Mary’s hands flew to her mouth. “Praise the Lord. Jake Donovan. Come in, come in.”

  In a gray cotton dress, Mary stepped back and let us in. The place looked even smaller inside, with a threadbare couch and a wooden rocking chair. In the far corner were a stove and icebox. A door to what must’ve been an even smaller bedroom was open.

  Mary blinked away tears. “I’d given up.”

  “I’m Jake’s wife.” Laura patted the woman’s hand then looked to me with glistening eyes. She sat on the couch.

  I remained standing and cleared my throat. “Mary, Laura and I arrived last night. As I said in New York, we wanted to come to Katie’s memorial service Sunday.”

  “But it’s Wednesday.” The flicker of hope in Mary’s face faded. “Please tell me you’re going to look into my daughter’s murder.”

  I knew this wouldn’t be easy.

  Laura spoke in a reassuring tone. “On the way here, we stopped by the Pinkerton office in Philadelphia and reviewed Jake’s file.”

  “We’ll drop by the sheriff’s office and meet with—”

  “Someone who gives a damn?” Mary sat in the rocker. “If you’re not going to try to solve the case yourself”—her face hardened—“why are you here, Mr. Donovan?”

  I wanted to tell Mary I hadn’t come just to write, but if I came up empty when I looked into Katie’s death, I’d never be able to walk away again like I did ten years ago. I couldn’t do that to the woman, or myself. “If I thought there was a chance of solving Katie’s murder after all these years…”

  “To me, it happened yesterday.” She struggled to her feet and pointed to the door. “Please leave.”

  I let out a ragged sigh and held my hand out to Laura. “Let’s go.”

  She shook her head. “I’d like to stay, if it’s all right with Mrs. Caldwell.”

  It appeared as if Mary didn’t know what to say.

  “Jake’s told me about Katie. I saw photos of her in the Pinkerton file in Philadelphia. If you don’t mind, I’d like to learn a little more about her.”

  Mary pulled a hankie from her pocket and dabbed misty eyes. “I have some pictures. Would you like me to get them?”

  Laura nodded to me before replying. “Of course I would.”

  Mary stopped on her way to the bedroom. “Good day, Mr. Donovan.”

  I walked to the door and stepped outside.

  I sat in the shade in the Ford’s passenger seat with the door open for almost an hour. The morning air was beginning to warm. When Laura came out of the house, she was carrying a book.

  I rose and wiped sweat from the back of my neck with a handkerchief and gestured toward the open door.

  As we drove off, Laura showed me the book. “Katie Caldwell’s high-school yearbook.”

  “You were in there for an hour.”

  “I think I smoothed things over between you and Mary.” She flipped through the yearbook. “You always said you can learn a lot about a person from their high-school yearbook. Let’s go back to the inn, and I’ll tell you all about my visit.”

  When we reached the inn, two couples occupied tables on the front deck.

  “Follow me.” I led Laura to my favorite part of the building, the west deck overlooking the meadow and the pond. Wind blew the windflowers, dancing through tall grass. Sunlight shimmered over the calm water, and dragonflies zipped over the surface.

  A pair of ducks swooped low over the tree line and glided in for a gentle landing on the pond. Laura took a seat. “Aren’t they wonderful? I love wild ducks.”

  “So do I, fried or baked.”

  Laura rolled her eyes and set the yearbook on the table. “This is lovely. I can see why you’d want to spend time here.”

  “I need to start writing.” I sat across from her and folded my arms. “Did you have a pleasant visit with Mary?”

  “Don’t be snippy.” Laura’s eyes left the scenery, and she stared at me. “Do you want to hear what Mary and I talked about or not?”

  “I’m sorry.” I wasn’t mad at Laura. I was angry with myself for not solving Katie’s murder ten years earlier.

  “After you left, Mary shuffled into the bedroom and returned carrying a box that looked far too heavy for such a frail woman. She showed me Katie’s baby book. Then we went through stacks of old photographs, down through the years.”

  Laura described the Katie I knew, an athletic young girl who loved to climb trees and sleep outside in a tent. As the girl grew older, she began to change.

  Laura opened the yearbook and showed me Katie’s sophomore picture. “By the time she got to high school, she was a beautiful young woman, and I suspect she began to like the changes she was going through.”

  From what everyone told me years ago, she was one of the most popular girls in school.

  Laura set the yearbook down. “When we finished going through the photos, we talked about who might’ve done such a thing to such a sweet girl. I asked who she thought might’ve done it.”

  “Alan Tremain.”

  “Bingo. It took her a long time before she said the name. Mary never liked Alan back then. She thought Katie could do much better than, as she called him, that skirt-chasing grease monkey. Over the years, however, Alan seemed to seek out opportunities to stop by and chat. Mary came to believe Alan’s alibi about working in his uncle’s garage.”

  “So did the police, eventually.”

  “Do you know he never left Hanover? It must have been rough being the prime suspect in the biggest murder in the town’s history. He stuck around and still works at his uncle’s place, Sam’s Garage. Lives
in a little shack behind the garage. Don’t you find that surprising?”

  I did. “When I first interviewed him, he talked about how he couldn’t wait to get out of Hanover.”

  “His uncle passed away last year, so we won’t be able to check on his alibi.”

  “Check on his alibi?” I reached for her hand. “Listen to you. Laura, that’s not why we came.”

  She looked away, toward the pond, her jaw tense. Then her face softened and she smiled. “I haven’t forgotten, but I spent an hour with that poor woman, who needs someone to take up her cause.” Tears glistened in Laura’s eyes. “Jake, I have to help her.”

  “Help? It’s too dangerous!”

  “I’m not talking about interrogating suspects. I thought I’d snoop around town and see what people think.” A smirk spread across her face. “People might talk to a Hollywood star.”

  Maybe they would, but I didn’t like the idea. “If the killer’s still in town, you’d be an easy target. He killed once, possibly to protect his identity. He’d do it again.”

  Laura jumped to her feet and set both hands on her hips. “You don’t think I can be careful? I was careful when I helped you and Mickey with your cases years ago. I was helpful in New York even before you came back from Florida”—her voice rose—“and when we got to Hollywood and the cops almost arrested you for murder…and Hawaii…”

  “Okay, okay.” I held up both hands and surrendered. “If you get arrested, I’ll post your bail.”

  “You’re very kind.” She blew out a breath and sat. “Don’t worry about me. I can handle myself. Now, shouldn’t you be working on your novel?”

  That’s exactly what I planned to do, but I was finding it harder to let go of the Katie Caldwell case with each passing minute. “I will, but tell me the rest.”

  Laura glanced at the yearbook. “I asked Mary if Katie had any other boys she liked or boys who liked her. Apparently, most of the male population of Hanover High had a crush on Katie.”

  Laura pulled a photograph from her purse. “You’ll love this.”

  The picture was a photo of Katie’s homeroom class. She stood in the front row beside her teacher, Mr. Hanson. “His smile looks phony. He seems like the kind of guy who’d look down a girl’s blouse when he walked past her desk.”