Movie Palace Cozy Mystery Boxed Set: Books 1-3

by Margaret Dumas

  “Why didn’t you contact me? I should have been there! I should never have left you alone!” This is how he said hello. We’d been texting since dawn, but he still wanted to rant in person.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” I took his coffee and downed it, not wanting to wait the thirty seconds for a cup of my own. “When was I supposed to call you? And, if you’ll recall, I did tell you that I didn’t need you to take care of me.” The waitress materialized with more coffee, bless her. “I can take care of myself.” With the help of an extraordinary friend, I didn’t add.

  “Nevertheless,” he said, his face like thunder. “I blame myself. I should have seen that woman June for what she was.”

  “None of us did.” I was ravenous. Everything on the menu looked amazing. “Why should you be any different?”

  He opened this mouth, then closed it.

  “I’ll have the special,” I told the waitress. “Extra bacon, please.”

  Hector looked at me like I was deranged. “You’re just going to sit there and eat bacon like nothing happened?” he said.

  “I’d rather talk about everything with you, but not if you’re going to be all…” I made a gesture that was supposed to indicate the fact that he was completely wigging out.

  He took a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll control my…” he repeated the gesture, which involved flapping hands and just looked ridiculous when he did it. “Now, tell me everything that happened.”

  I gave him much the same version I’d given Detective Jackson the night before. The one that omitted Trixie and said the fire just hadn’t caught.

  “Just a small patch around the trap door got damaged,” I said. “But I’m not kidding myself. It’s going to cost a fortune to repair the stage and get rid of both of the traps. And I haven’t even checked to see if the screen got any smoke damage. Meanwhile we’ve got a show scheduled for—” I checked my watch. “—Four hours from now.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re planning to show movies today,” Hector protested.

  “It’s what we do,” I told him. “Are you familiar with the saying ‘the show must go on?’ We’ve got crime scene tape up—again—but only behind the screen on the stage. We’re going to be open for the twelve-fifteen.”

  He stared at me, and a vein on his forehead that I’d never noticed before throbbed. He looked like he’d like to throttle me. Or something.

  “What?” I demanded.

  He closed his eyes and rubbed his face with both hands. “There are over three billion women in the world,” he said. “Over a hundred million just in the United States.” He looked at me. “Probably ninety-nine million or so would be easier than you to—”

  He stopped himself, and the air around our booth suddenly felt charged with electricity. I swallowed. “To what?”

  He looked at me, and he simmered. “To have breakfast with.”

  I nodded. This man was a former crime lord and a surprise at every turn. And he could turn the air around me electric.

  “Right back at you,” I told him.

  By the time I got to the Palace, Marty had told Callie and Albert everything. Or at least everything Detective Jackson had told him.

  They followed me up to the office, peppering me with questions. But since they’d also made extra-strong coffee, I was okay with that.

  “I’m fine, everything’s fine,” I repeated, and then went over it all with them again.

  Callie was completely stunned. “I can’t believe June killed Warren,” she said. “She loved Warren.”

  I put my hand on her arm. There was nothing I could say to explain it.

  “Gee, that’s rough.” Trixie spoke from behind me. I hadn’t noticed her appear. And I didn’t acknowledge her in front of everyone.

  Marty gave us all of fifteen seconds to experience our emotions. Then, “Are we actually going to get the theater ready? Because a million people might show up today if your ass of a husband sends out another tweet.”

  I stood. “You’re right. Not about Ted tweeting, but we’ve still got a lot to do in case more than the usual handful show up. We sold out of everything yesterday, so I’ll go make a Costco run, and Albert, could you give that carpenter a call? I have no idea how we’re going to pay for it, but we really need to get the stage repaired.”

  “Of course,” he said, standing.

  “Nora?” Trixie had moved to the window. She was waving me over. I moved around the desk.

  “Oh!” Callie yelped. “I forgot to ask you. Lisa came by earlier. She gets her new ovens next week, but it’s going to take a while for all the repairs. She wondered if she could bake things across the street and have a popup shop here in the lobby to sell them.”

  “That’s brilliant. I’ll call her later.” I couldn’t wait to tell her that, with June under arrest and McMillan no doubt facing investigation for his part in things, the threat to Lisa’s café seemed to be lifted. Likewise, the threat to the Palace.

  We were safe.

  At least for now.

  “Nora?” Trixie pointed out the window. “Why is there a moving van outside the theater?”

  I went to the window and looked out. I was just saying “Why is there a moving van outside the theater?” myself when there was a loud rapping from the lobby doors below.

  We all went downstairs.

  “Nora Paige?” The mover asked when I opened the door. “Where do you want this?”

  “What is it?”

  Trixie clapped her hands and scampered to my side. “A delivery! What is it? Is it a present?”

  The mover checked his invoice. “Twenty-two boxes of personal goods.” He squinted at me. “Are you expecting it?”

  My things. Everything Ted had sent me.

  “Your clothes from LA,” Callie said from behind me. “Cool. Are they, like, nicer than what you’ve been wearing?” She saw the look on my face. “I mean, not that—”

  “Never mind,” I said. “Where am I going to put it all?” Robbie’s guest cottage wasn’t big enough for twenty-two boxes of anything.

  “Bring it in here!” Trixie said. “I want to see it! I haven’t seen new clothes in ages!”

  “There’s always the basement here,” Albert said doubtfully.

  I shared his doubt. “I need to go through it all. I’m not even sure I want most of it.” It belonged to a different person. To a different life.

  Trixie pouted. “Aw, come on, Nora. We can play dress up. At least you can.”

  I shook my head. “Let’s take it to Robbie’s,” I said. “We can store it all in the garage until I figure it out.”

  “Don’t you already have a Tesla in Robbie’s garage?” Marty glanced over from the position he’d taken at the candy counter, pointedly not joining in.

  I stared at him. I’d completely forgotten about the Tesla. Ted had given it to me, along with a diamond bracelet, when he’d come back into my life three months ago, begging me to forgive him. I hadn’t wanted the car or the bracelet, which was probably still in the glove compartment of the car I had never even considered using.

  “Nora?” Trixie said.

  “Ma’am?” the driver asked.

  I held up a finger. “One minute.” Then I pulled out my phone and sent Otis Hampton a text.

  Otis, how would you feel about buying a Tesla from me? And a diamond bracelet?

  It might not cover the cost of all of the repairs, but it would be a good start.

  I hit Send. The reply came immediately.

  I’ll be in San Francisco in three hours. We have a lot to plan.

  I stared at the text with a sinking feeling.

  What had I just started?

  Blog Post: Born to Dance

  1936

  Okay, sure. There are a jillion movies like this. Movies with a plot about a plucky and talented young thing tryi
ng to break into show business—specifically, trying to get into a Broadway show, and getting the One Big Break she needs just in time for the finale. Eleanor Powell made a career out of them. But you might not realize what everyone in 1936 knew: the plot didn’t matter.

  What matters is the music. What matters is the songs. What matters (a little) is the romance, and when we’re talking about Eleanor Powell, what matters most is the dancing. Because—you may get this from the title—that woman was born to dance.

  And in the case of this movie, that woman is dancing to Cole Porter songs, and the love interest is Jimmy Stewart. So this is one to watch, my friends.

  Eleanor comes to town and for no apparent reason is befriended by the delightful Una Merkle. In the world-building of a 1930s musical, girls who run the desks of hotels and sailors who are in town on shore leave all have talent and are just one number away from starring in the latest hit show. And why not? This is America, after all! Three cheers for the red, white, and blue! (Wait—we don’t get to sing that until the extravaganza of a finale.)

  Anyway, the three sailors are a short guy from Brooklyn, a tall guy from the hay fields of the heartland, and Jimmy Stewart, looking young and wistful and, as described by a lovesick telephone operator, “A tall sort of answer to a maiden’s prayer, on stilts.”

  Everybody gets to dance. The tall hayseed you may recognize. He’s Buddy Ebsen (Yep, from The Beverly Hillbillies) and he has a lanky, awkward, comic style of dancing that (and this is just my opinion, but why else are you reading this?) is a tad overdone in this film. But he gets to gambol, and there’s a fun number with our six leads singing about being nuts about each other that’s just a breezy delight.

  All this leads to Eleanor and Jimmy walking through a moonlit park, Cole Porter helping them out with “Easy to Love.” Which is a love song for the ages, but the whole interlude is a somewhat misbegotten attempt to have Jimmy croon and Eleanor waft gracefully. She was God’s own tap dancer, but wafting was never her thing. Luckily, they’re interrupted by a park cop before things can get too uncomfortable.

  Hollywood was trying hard to figure out what to do with Jimmy Stewart in 1936. He released nine films that year. I think they had him try a little bit of everything to see what would stick. Now, I love my Jimmy Stewart, but I think we can all agree it was for the best that his musical career never really took off.

  Back to Eleanor. The number in the park is one of very few I can think of where she actually danced with a partner. And even in this case, they were sort of in the same place at the same time, but not dancing together. There was none of that Fred and Ginger stuff. And that was typical for her. Eleanor most often danced without a partner.

  And when I say danced, I mean she tore up the freaking stage. The way she could tap! She found rhythms where there were no rhythms. She hit that stage and she owned it. Even if you don’t watch this whole movie, do yourself a favor and look up the finale online somewhere. Your jaw will drop at her strength, at the athleticism and the speed and the unbelievable life she brings to a ridiculously overblown shipboard spectacular.

  You may not notice the sequined and spangled sailors in the chorus. You may not see the gigantic guns on the ship behind her (although it’s fun to wonder if Cher saw this number before filming the “Turn Back Time” video). You may not register that there’s a full marching band on the ship. Because Eleanor’s dancing is bigger than all of that.

  She had this thing where she’d bring her shoulders up and open her mouth as if she just couldn’t contain all the joy that her dancing was giving her. She’s not trying to be pretty or feminine or romantic. She doesn’t appear to be trying at all. She’s just dancing like she was born to.

  I’ve learned a lot watching Eleanor Powell movies. A lot about finding my own rhythm. A lot about staying plucky and trusting that I’ll get my One Big Break in time for the finale. But I think there’s something more to learn. Something about how she danced. It wasn’t as if no one was watching. No self-help adages for her. She knew everyone was watching. They had no choice. She demanded them to watch, she demanded them to marvel, because she was up there on that stage and she was doing something extraordinary.

  I want to be more like Eleanor Powell. She danced unpartnered. And she danced with joy.

  Movies My Friends Should Watch

  Sally Lee

  THE END

  (Book #2)

  MURDER ON THE SILVER SCREEN

  A Madison Night Mystery #3

  Margaret Dumas

  Copyright

  MURDER ON THE SILVER SCREEN

  A Movie Palace Mystery

  Part of the Henery Press Mystery Collection

  First Edition | June 2020

  Henery Press, LLC

  www.henerypress.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including internet usage, without written permission from Henery Press, LLC, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Copyright © 2020 by Margaret Dumas

  Author photograph by Robin Clark

  This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Trade Paperback ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-619-9

  Digital epub ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-620-5

  Kindle ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-621-2

  Hardcover ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-622-9

  Printed in the United States of America

  For the gang I’ve watched the best movies with:

  Dolores, Keith, Richard, and John.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  As I write these acknowledgements, I’m under a stay-in-place order due to the Covid-19 pandemic, and I am filled with gratitude. Not just for all the people who helped me write and produce this book - this book seems pretty trivial at this moment. Right now I’m grateful that so far all my loved ones are safe. I’m grateful that, for the most part, this crisis is bringing out the best in people. I’m grateful for every single person who is doing their best to be a light in the darkness. Thank you.

  Meanwhile, many thanks to the Henery Press team, especially Maria Edwards, Kendel Lynn, Christina Rogers, and Art Molinares. Massive thanks as always to trusted first readers Denise Lee, Erick Vera, and Anne Dickson, and critique group stalwarts Claire M. Johnson and Michael J. Cooper. And a huge shout-out to the fabulous Martha Francescato for the sharpest eyes ever.

  I’m so grateful for the support I’ve gotten from fellow writers (House of Clues gang, Camille Minichino, and Ann Parker, I’m looking at you) and independent booksellers, particularly Dori Jaroslow at Books Inc. and Anne Saller at Book Carnival.

  I don’t know what the world will look like after this pandemic. As a writer, what I do is imagine a hundred different outcomes of a given situation and go with the one that’s most interesting. But this time I’m really hoping for the boring. I hope, by the time you’re reading this, that we’re all going to be able to do something as normal, as trivial, as mundane, and as amazingly fabulous as going out to a movie together.

  “You’re not afraid of ghosts are you? It would be awful if you were.”

  David Niven as Peter Carter

  A Matter of Life and Death (1946)

  Chapter 1

  “The world has lost its mind!”

  Marty Abrams, the Palace theater’s senior (only) projectionist and resident curmudgeon, swept into the lobby riding a wave of irritation. But he also swept in carrying a box of pastries from the café across the street, so I decided to overlook it.

  His co-worker Callie didn’t seem to notice his mood. “Did you get my cream puff?”

  “Tec
hnology is ruining everything!” he proclaimed.

  “Not cream puffs,” she replied. “And I don’t know what you’re talking about. You love technology. It’s literally what you do for a living.”

  He drew himself up to his considerable height and looked down upon her, the forty-something tower of rumpled flannel addressing the petite powerhouse of bohemian grad student. “How dare you?”

  His voice dripped with outrage. She shrugged and took the pink box from him. “Movies wouldn’t exist without technology. Projection is technology. Sound on film is technology. Face it.” She removed a mocha cream puff and handed the rest back to him. “Every day when you come in here and use your phone to play your overture through the theater’s sound system, you’re legit embracing technology.”

  Marty turned a shade of purple that I’d only ever seen once or twice before. As entertaining as his meltdowns could be, I figured I’d better diffuse this one before we lost an entire afternoon’s work to it.

  I stepped between my two employees. “I take it something happened?” I said to Marty.

  He redirected his glare toward me. “Yes, something happened!”

  I waited. I’d spent ten years in the trenches of Hollywood, negotiating and maneuvering on my almost-ex-husband’s behalf. Temper tantrums had lost their power to faze me.

  “I was at the café,” he said. “Minding my own business, just waiting my turn in line, when I saw what this…person ahead of me was doing with his phone.”