Loren D. Estleman - Valentino 03 - Alive!

by Loren D. Estleman

  “Based on prima facie evidence, I would answer in the negative.”

  “Legal Latin only works in court documents. I am, to use a hard-working old Anglo-Saxon word, pissed. The Elks Hall canceled our reservation for the wedding reception. The registrar, a quaint old gentleman of a hundred and eighty, stirred himself after six weeks to look at the books and discovered that you haven’t paid dues since the week Ronald Reagan was inaugurated.”

  “I overlooked it in my grief. I am, as you well know, apolitical, but I’ve never forgiven the man Hellcats of the Navy.”

  Valentino said, “I thought it was Bedtime for Bonzo you objected to.”

  “Not at all. I thought it a pleasantly mindless romp. I voted for his costar when he ran against Jerry Brown for governor. The chimp, it pains me to report, lost in the runoff.”

  “The Elks was your idea,” she said. “How is it one of the most brilliant minds of our time, to quote you, managed to go decades without writing out a monthly check and fail to reflect upon the fact that he was no longer a member?”

  “Nevertheless I did. However, this is the land of wide open spaces. There must be a substitute.”

  “Not within six months either side of our wedding date. If we change it, the chapel I booked won’t be available for another year.”

  “Why does the word Vegas come to mind?”

  She thrust her face within inches of Broadhead’s. “A dog can marry a Rockette in Vegas. My parents were united in St. Cecily’s. Their marriage has lasted twenty-six years, which may not be longer than your subscription to Living With Flatulence, but it’s more than a lifetime to me. They’re flying in from Luxembourg to attend, and if they witness their only daughter dancing with her bridegroom to ‘Danke Schoen’ piped in from the lounge, the international incident that’s bound to follow will result in a war that will look like a garden party next to the one I’ll wage with you. Fix this!”

  Broadhead paled a full shade; something Valentino suspected had not happened since the Yugoslavian military tribunal or whatever it was had sentenced him to prison for espionage. He appeared at a loss for words for the first time in human memory.

  The archivist shifted uncomfortably in his seat, causing something to crackle in the hip pocket of his jeans. He slid out the invitation Jason Stickley had given him and looked at it.

  “I have a suggestion,” he said, “if neither of you objects to bare brick.”

  25

  “IT HAS POTENTIAL,” Fanta said. “Flowers, streamers, Chinese lanterns—”

  “Dynamite, a wrecking ball,” Broadhead added.

  “I’d keep my opinions to myself, old bear. When someone throws you a rope, you don’t chew through it. However did you find this place, Jason?”

  The intern stood nervously twirling the ring of mammoth keys around his finger. Fanta’s presence had a way, Valentino noted, of upsetting the equilibrium of most males past the age of puberty. “Um, one of our people has an uncle in real estate. His firm represents a family that’s owned it since it was built. They say half the old-growth redwoods in California were cut up by blades manufactured here.”

  “Inspiring.” Broadhead, incorrigible by nature, stuffed his pipe.

  Some steampunks were at work decorating the huge factory room for the Halloween party. Chains with orange and black paper links festooned the portrait of Victoria centered on the gigantic flywheel and a pair of young men Valentino hadn’t met stood on stepladders at opposite ends of the room, stringing a flexible steel cable with brass lamps with lenses of red glass suspended from it, scrounged from defunct railroads. A young woman who may or may not have been Whistler’s Daughter—scruffy jeans with appliqué flowers and a man’s shirt whose cuffs extended past her arms made an excellent disguise, with her hair twisted into a ponytail—walked about carrying a bucket and dipping into it with leather work gloves on her hands, sprinkling steel shavings about the floor.

  “You don’t suppose they’ll sell it before spring?” Fanta asked Jason.

  “No way. This whole neighborhood is soaked with diesel oil and lead byproducts clear down to bedrock. Ten oil sheikhs pooling their resources couldn’t afford to clean it up to suit the EPA.”

  “I can’t think of a better blessing for starting our life together. Ask your friend’s uncle to book it for June sixth.”

  Broadhead said, “Are you sure, my dear? It’s the first place we’ve looked at.”

  “The first you’ve looked at. The closest thing to acceptable I found on the Net has a crack house on either side. Instead of those little disposable cameras on the tables, we’d have to set out Saturday Night Specials so our guests can shoot their way out of the neighborhood.”

  “I’m sure that before June we can find a pawnshop that will give us a good price on them.”

  She fished a checkbook and pen from her shoulderbag. “What’s the deposit?”

  “We got it for forty.”

  Valentino touched her arm just as she began writing. “Let me get it. I’ve been racking my brains for a suitable wedding gift. So far all I’ve come up with is his and her boxing gloves. This will be a start.”

  Her smile was dazzling. She put away the checkbook. “Thanks, Val. Isn’t that nice of him, Kyle?”

  “There’s always a friend willing to help walk a man off the plank.” But Broadhead lit his tobacco contentedly. Realization that he’d dodged a relationship bullet had sunk through finally to his educator’s brain.

  “Come to the party,” Jason told the couple. “You can see it in full blowout mode.”

  “That’s very kind of you, but I just sent my iron tuxedo to the dealership for an undercoat.”

  She transferred her smile to the young man. “Thanks. We’re flying to Neufchâteau next week.”

  “We are?” The professor took the pipe from his mouth.

  “It was going to be a surprise, but I don’t want Jason to think we’re blowing him off. Mom and Dad want to meet you. They’re treating us to a holiday as an engagement present.”

  “Must we fly?”

  “I’ll have the flight attendants ply you with Scotch as soon as we board.”

  “I’ll have to talk to the department head. A man with my responsibilities can’t go jet-setting off to Luxembourg on a moment’s notice.”

  “I’ve already spoken to him. He says it’ll be a hardship, but the university can probably manage to survive by using the assistant who’s been teaching your classes all year.”

  “An exaggeration. I’ve logged one hundred minutes this semester alone.” As his future bride wandered off with Jason for the grand tour, Broadhead seized Valentino’s arm and turned him away. “You have to get me out of this. Surely someone in Vancouver or someplace has footage of Byrd at the Pole and you need to bring along a contemporary of the explorer’s to authenticate it.”

  “You’re not that old.”

  “I’m old enough to have taught Fanta’s father how to tie a shoelace, but it isn’t him I’m worried about. Her mother tells grand dukes what to do. I can’t bully her the way I can a room full of post-adolescent undergrads.”

  “Everyone has to meet his mother-in-law sooner or later.”

  “But not on her turf!”

  “I’m sorry, Kyle. I’ve given up lying.”

  “Fine time to pick to adhere to the higher principles.” He looked about him, puffing thick clouds from his pipe. “I wonder if this place is as combustible as it appears.”

  *

  The great Wurlitzer pipe organ was playing when Valentino opened the door to The Oracle, an etude of some kind. The virile bass notes hummed through the channels and made the floor buzz under his feet. He looked a question at a painter on his stepladder applying primer to a cherub prior to gilding. The man answered with a shrug. A man was not king of his castle as long as it was under construction and anyone could wander in and out.

  Lorna Hunter sat at the keyboard in the orchestra pit, her long slender fingers gliding up and down the scale. She had
her hair tied behind her neck and wore a tailored suit that slyly hinted at rather than disguised what lay beneath. Valentino hoped someday to put that image behind him. It wasn’t how one was supposed to picture a friend.

  When she finished with a little flourish, he applauded. Her shoulders tensed and she looked back over one, then smiled. “I hope you don’t mind. I’m out of practice. I’ve decided to go back to work.”

  “Acting?” He hadn’t read Variety lately. He wondered if there was a casting call out for the role of a musician.

  “God, no! The fishbowl situation’s gotten unbearable since I last set foot on a soundstage. I used to give music lessons to support myself while I was waiting for my big break. I don’t need the money, but there isn’t much future in being an idle former celebrity. It’s hard on the liver, among other things. Every day a busload of showbiz hopefuls comes into town. Some of them have talent, but can’t afford the instruction they need to excel. Call me a cut-rate Svengali.”

  “That’s as unflattering as it is untrue. I think it’s a wonderful idea. Are you all right? I stopped by the hospital, but they said you’d checked yourself out against the advice of staff.”

  “I’m tougher than I was last week. There wasn’t a thing wrong with me that a little wardrobe couldn’t cure. I made quite a spectacle of myself, didn’t I?” She colored slightly.

  “That wasn’t your fault.”

  “I meant before. I’m sorry, Val. I had an awful few days, and this town’s dripping in sex. Have I lost a friend?”

  “Never.”

  She rolled the cover down over the keys and stroked the mahogany. “It’s a beautiful instrument. Wonderful tone.”

  “It should be. I had to borrow against my life insurance to pay for the restoration.”

  “You won’t regret it. I couldn’t resist playing. I came to return this.” She got up, retrieving a fold of blue cloth from the top of the organ, and came his way, holding it out. It was his Windbreaker. “That was a gallant thing to do. I didn’t think you could surpass yourself that night, but you did. Not that I appreciated the first time. I thought I was losing my charms.”

  “You’re a beautiful woman. As for your charms, you couldn’t cover them with a polar coat.” He took the jacket.

  A vertical line broke the smooth expanse of her forehead. “Will they get that man?”

  “I’m sure of it. The police are more efficient than you think. It took me a while to learn that lesson, but it’s taken root.”

  “Poor Craig. I’d have helped him out if I thought he was that desperate for money.”

  “It wasn’t money he was after. He wanted to be successful again, and you can’t give a man success. He went about getting it for himself the wrong way. The booze and drugs destroyed his judgment. He wasn’t Craig at the end. Not our Craig.”

  “I wonder if he ever was. Actors, you know?” She smiled sadly.

  He knew, but he couldn’t tell her without giving away the fact he’d suspected her himself. When you scraped away the sex, the town was built of canvas and balsa and you couldn’t trust it. “Would you like a tour?” he asked. “I’m afraid it isn’t much to look at just now.”

  “Another time. I’m expecting my first student at three.” She put a palm to the side of her face. “I’ve got stage fright, can you believe it? First time in years.”

  “You’ll do great. Promise me you’ll keep the date open for The Oracle’s grand reopening. I wouldn’t want anyone else on the keyboard.”

  “When is it?”

  “In about ten years, assuming the unions cooperate.”

  “I think I’m available.” She went up on her toes and kissed his cheek. She smelled of some delicate scent; no alcohol this time. “I hope that that someone in your life appreciates what she has.”

  He escorted her out without acknowledging what she’d said.

  *

  Theodosia Burr Goodman was sitting up in bed, wearing a silver lamé jacket trimmed with feathers over her hospital gown, a twentieth-century update of a Roaring Twenties design. The bandages swathing her head looked like a turban, adding to the effect. She looked more piratical than usual with a gauze patch covering a fractured eye socket. She drew on a plastic straw in a plastic cup and set it down on the table beside the bed. Valentino swore he smelled bourbon.

  “Most people protect their homes with an alarm system or a Rottweiler,” she said. “Leave it to a movie sap like you to hire a couple of mugs from Warner Brothers.”

  “They weren’t working for me. You know that. What did you think you’d find rummaging through my apartment?”

  “Are you wearing a wire?”

  He couldn’t help noticing that her blood-pressure monitor didn’t register anything out of the ordinary while she was asking such a volatile question. She was no longer hooked up to any other machines. Cedars had moved her out of ICU into a private room, establishing a recovery record of some kind. An enormous bouquet with Mark David Turkus’ card attached stood by the window. There were no other flowers and no one had autographed the cast on her left arm or on her right leg in traction. Had the woman no friends?

  “Teddie, I’ve already told the police I won’t file charges.”

  “Don’t do me any favors. My lawyer says I’ve got a good case against you for reckless endangerment.”

  “You were committing burglary!”

  “I was doing my job. If you didn’t wimp out over a little felony now and then, you’d be the best in the business instead of a distant second. To answer your question, I wasn’t sure just what I was after until I found those books on Karloff and Lugosi scattered around and read the underlined sections. I keep a shopping list in my head. I had a pretty good idea you’d snared the Frankenstein test, or were hot on its trail. I’d’ve found something to go on if Dumb and Dumber hadn’t come along and checked me down the stairs. Are those things even up to code?”

  “I can show you the receipt for what it cost me to bring them into compliance. I’m sorry you were hurt, for what that’s worth. No film justifies that.”

  “If you believe that, you’re even more of a loser than I thought. So who has the reels?”

  “The San Diego Police Department.”

  “Idiot! By the time they let go of it there won’t be enough left to start a good fire.”

  He changed the subject. “Can I get you anything?”

  “I’d put in my order, but you’d just lose it.” She closed her one visible eye. It looked much smaller without shadow and mascara, and her face paler than usual without blusher. “Mark sees to it I’ve got everything I need. Sweet of him, considering he offered you my job.”

  “How did you find out about that?”

  “I’ve got people, even in the West Hollywood station of the LAPD. So why didn’t you take him up on it?”

  “I’m not that low.”

  “Loser.”

  He told her he’d be back to visit her later and put his hand on the door handle.

  “Valentino.”

  He turned back. The eye was open, watching him.

  “Don’t go thinking you did a good deed,” she said. “The first time you dropped the ball, Mark would’ve dumped you like toxic waste and hired me back with a raise and a big fat bonus. You know it, and that’s why you turned him down.”

  He felt himself grinning. “Once again, Teddie, you’ve figured me out before I did.”

  “You better hustle while you can. I’ll be back running rings around you as soon as I get my crutches.”

  26

  HE READ OVER the transcript of the statement he’d made before a video camera and signed it. Sergeant Gill took the pages and slid Valentino’s cell phone across the desk, which belonged to a lieutenant with the Armed Robbery division. “You’ll need to charge it.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t include me in that.” John Yellowfern leaned in a corner with his hands in his pockets. “I wanted to crack it open, get all the messages, and run down all the
incoming and outgoing numbers.”

  “Except somebody was using the time machine and you couldn’t go back and kill James Madison before he wrote the Bill of Rights. No probable cause, Detective.”

  “Go ahead and bleed. Just don’t expect me to mop up.”

  Valentino asked if there was any news on Horace Lysander.

  Yellowfern looked at his partner and shook his head, but Gill shrugged. “What’s the diff? Press conference is in twenty minutes. This morning a late-model Mercedes washed up at Long Beach. It’s registered to Lysander.”

  “How long has he been on foot, do you think?”

  “Not long,” Yellowfern said. “He was curled up in the trunk with a slug in his head and both arms broken above the elbows. Didn’t I say there were plenty more where Pollard and Wirtz came from?”

  Valentino shuddered. “Are you questioning Mike Grundage?”

  Gill’s smile was bland. “Just as soon as he steps off the plane from Vegas. Those executive types are never around when it starts raining dead lawyers.”

  “What about Pollard and Wirtz?”

  “Shoes are made to drop.” Yellowfern looked smug, in a sour-lemon way. “Dickey sang and rolled over on Pudge when Lysander’s body showed, in return for murder two. Pudge isn’t taking it well. I say we throw ’em in the same cell and save a buck, but it’ll turn out the same either way.”

  “So that’s the end of it.”

  “It is for us,” Gill said. “We’ll help the locals any way we can, of course, but it’s just paperwork. We’re headed home today.”

  “High time, too. The air here should come with a warning label from the Surgeon General.”

  Valentino started to ask a question, then remembered his resolution. He apologized again for the trouble he’d caused and took himself out.

  He barely had the phone plugged into the dashboard charger when it rang.

  “Mr. Valentino, my name is Philip Pastern. I’m representing Mrs. Elizabeth Grundage in the, er, absence of Horace Lysander.” It was a neutral sort of voice, neither young nor old. This episode seemed to be top-heavy with attorneys.