“So as I was sayin, is this gonna get me in a jam?”
“If I found ya, the cops will. So ya better gimme Gloria’s address so I can put her wise to the situation.”
“Me and Gloria didn’t have nothin to do with nobody croakin or disappearin.”
“I think ya should know the stiff was found in Ladd’s hotel room.”
Her face lost the little bit of luster she’d hung on to.
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“Yesterday I was tied up.”
“I didn’t say he was killed yesterday.”
“Well, it don’t matter when the corpse croaked cause like I said, me and Gloria had nothin to do with it.”
“Have ya talked to her since ya spent yer evenin with the boys? Compared notes?”
“Who do ya think we are, June Allyson and Deanna Durbin? We don’t gab on the horn and I ain’t seen her since that night.” She took a swig of her gin.
“So how d’ya know she didn’t have anything to do with the murder?”
“You kiddin me? Glo’s a decent girl, no matter what ya think.”
“Whaddaya mean, what I think?”
“I’m not just off the farm, ya know. I can tell when a person’s lookin down on me.”
“That’s what ya think I’m doin?”
“Ain’tcha?”
“No.” I wondered if I was. “You think I’m some sorta saint?”
“Betcha yer a virgin.”
“Now yer getting outta line, Ida.”
She smirked and took a deep drag on her cig.
“I have no opinion about what ya did or didn’t do with Charlie Ladd. And I don’t care. All I wanna do is find him.”
“And what about the stiff?”
“That’s why I wanna talk to Gloria.”
“See, that’s what I mean. Yer gonna get her up a creek without a paddle fer nothin.”
“If she didn’t do anything, she’ll have a paddle.”
“Why don’tcha let me give her the scoop?”
“Cause I need to talk to her, that’s why?”
“Okay. I’ll give ya her address. But when you leave, I’m callin her.”
“I can’t stop ya from doin what ya think ya have to do. But yer makin me awful suspicious.”
“About what?”
“What you girls might know. Lemme ask ya this. We need ya, are ya willin to ID a body?”
“Hell, no.”
I didn’t think we’d need her cause Cummings was gonna do that. “Then gimme Gloria’s address and ya won’t have to.”
“Ya think I’d sell out a friend for somethin like that?”
I stared at her.
“What the hell. Like ya said, the cops’ll be comin here anyways. She lives on East Twenty-eighth Street.”
“Building number?”
She gave it to me. Also the phone in case Gloria wasn’t in. “You girls don’t work, right?”
“You bet yer bottom dollar we work. Just not the hours you work.”
“Night shift.”
“You got it.”
I thanked her for the coffee and the info. For a second it did feel cooler outside than in Ida’s place. Then the humidity hit me like a wet towel.
I was hungry and Gloria could wait. After Ida called her she probably wouldn’t be home anyway. I decided to grab a snack at Blondell’s. It was on West Fourth Street, not far from where I was.
Ida Collier was something else. I didn’t think she had anything to do with Ladd disappearing or the body in the hotel room. But I couldn’t rule out Gloria till I met her.
I got to Blondell’s pretty quick. The gold star in the plate-glass window always gave me a turn when I saw it. Most of the tables and booths were taken. I found one in the back of the room, which was fine by me. I could read my book in peace.
Skip, the owner, came over when he saw me. He looked like he had two black eyes and had been in a fight. But I knew different. I knew the bruising around his eyes was from grief. His brother, Fred, had been killed in action not so long ago.
“How are ya, Faye? Long time no see.”
It was true. I had a hard time going to the joint cause everything had changed since Fred’s death.
“I’m okay, Skip. How about you?”
“Gettin along.” He parked his big body in the chair across from me.
Since Fred’s death, Skip’d let his black hair, which he’d always worn in a military cut, grow out. I didn’t know what it meant, if anything.
“Ya got any interestin cases, Faye?”
And that was another thing. He’d never called me Faye before Fred died. It was always monikers like Snappy Susan, Delicious Donna, Gorgeous Gladys. Different all the time. But no more. Although Skip was running the eatery, he was just making the moves. It was like he was a blown-out Easter egg, undecorated. Skip died when Fred did.
“Interestin cases? Ah, nothin to speak of. Skip, yer not lookin so good.”
“Just don’t tell me to pull myself together, okay?”
“I’d never say that.” And I never would.
“Alla time customers come in and say things like You should be over it by now, Skip. Why? Why should I be over it by now? Who says? Or Life goes on, Skip. They think I don’t know that?” He fingered the scar that ran down his left cheek.
“People mean well,” I said like some dumb Pollyanna.
He gave me a look with those deep dark eyes.
I said, “Yeah, I know. I’m full of it.”
He laughed, something I hadn’t seen him do for months.
“You’re the best, Faye. Guess I better get my behind into the kitchen.” He got up and said, “Keep your powder dry, kid. And try the meat loaf.”
So that’s what I ordered. Meat loaf, mashed, and beans.
NINE
Skip always let me use the phone so I dialed the office from Blondell’s.
“Marty called ya,” Birdie said.
“He say what he wanted?”
“All he said was to meet him at Smitty’s ya got back in time.”
“And what time is that?”
“Three.”
I checked my ticker. Plenty of time. “Anybody else call?”
“No. We got no clients now ya had me tell em all to go away.”
“You didn’t put it like that, did ya, Bird?”
“Whaddaya take me for, a dumb bunny? I said what ya told me. Yer outta town.”
“Good. I probably won’t be back today, Birdie.”
“What if somebody needs ya?”
“I’ll call ya later, there or at home.”
“Sure thing. I’ll be home. Pete’s comin over for dinner. I’m makin his favorite. Pork chops and sauerkraut with potatoes.”
“Sounds good.” It also sounded hot.
“I’ll make it for ya sometime.”
“Swell.” I wasn’t sure why but I’d never been to Birdie’s apartment. I guess she’d never invited me.
“For a person who warned another person about the weather it seems that first person is stayin outside a lot today.”
“No choice. So long, Bird. Hope ya have a good dinner with Pete.”
“Thanks.”
Gloria Lane was next.
Gloria turned out to be a dud. I was surprised she hadn’t ducked out on me, but she said she wanted to get “this stupid thing” over with. She didn’t give me much more than Ida had. So I made it short and sweet.
I was gonna meet Marty at Smitty’s. Normally I woulda walked it, but the sidewalk was scorching and the air had that shimmer that made everyone longer and gave em blurry edges like looking through a screwy lens. At Twenty-eighth and Lex I went into the subway to get the train to Forty-second. Not much of an improvement. It was airless and roasting. The train came in and I got a seat. Right across from a soldier with one arm.
It felt like a kick in the stomach. This kinda reminder of the war broke my heart. Maybe we’d learn a lesson this time and, when this war was over, ther
e’d never be another.
The soldier looked like a kid. Ruddy cheeks and blond hair, right outta high school. I didn’t wanna stare so I opened my book, but I couldn’t concentrate. I kept stewing about the soldier and what was gonna happen to him now. Did he have a girl waiting for him back home? Did she know yet? Had she seen him? How would she handle it when she did see him?
I took the last letter I got from Woody out of my pocketbook. There was a paragraph that got me where I live.
It’s scary as hell here, Faye. Everybody starts out tough and gung ho, ready for action, and then the truth hits you in the kisser. It’s hell on earth. Bullets whizzing past your ears. Kids being blown up right in front of you. And then the ones who lose a body part and are shipped to a hospital. You know their lives are over, in a way. I got to admit I don’t think I’d do too well without a leg or hands. Will you love me anyway if I make it back?
I folded it up and put it away. I couldn’t help myself from looking up at the soldier. He was staring at me. And then he smiled, like he was the happiest guy in the world. I smiled back, but I was still chewing over Woody’s words.
At Forty-second I got off and hauled myself down the sweltering streets. Smitty’s was on Forty-sixth and usually it felt like a hop, skip, and a jump to get there. Today it was like slogging through melted marshmallows.
Marty was waiting for me up front cause a dame alone in a saloon like this was a sitting duck for trouble. He steered me to a booth in the back. No ladies allowed at the bar even with an escort. I almost laughed thinking of Marty as an escort.
Not that he looked like a bum; it was escort was too highfalutin a word for him. Marty who was your salt-of-the-earth type.
He wore his hat inside or out. His brown hair was straight and a swatch of it hung over his forehead. An ever-present unlit cigar was clenched between his pearly whites and he always looked hung over even when he wasn’t.
“You wanna drink, Faye?”
“Kinda early for me.” I never drank before five. “I wouldn’t say no to an RC, though.”
“Lemme get ya one.”
He put his own beer on the table and went to the bar. There wasn’t any waiter service at Smitty’s.
He was back with my soda. “No RC. Coke.”
“That’s solid. So what’s up, Marty?”
“Everybody tryin to ID the John Doe, I thought I’d take another angle.”
Sometimes Marty did this for me without me asking. I was glad for any help he could give me. I had no problem telling Marty my clients’ names cause he was a cop.
“What angle is that?”
“The Turner angle.”
“And?” I lit one up.
“Seems Lucille Turner is on the outs with the old folks at home,” he said.
“Yeah, I know that.”
“But do ya know why?”
“No. Claire clammed up on that one.”
He looked like a little boy at Christmas. “Lucille had a baby.”
“A baby? And?”
“And she ain’t married.”
“Who’s the papa?”
“Nobody knows.”
“You said Lucille had a baby.”
“Yeah. She gave it up for adoption.”
“How’d ya find this out, Marty?”
“I got my ways.”
Marty never tipped me to his sources any more than Birdie did. He almost always got me good stuff, though, so who cared where it came from.
“So yer sayin that the parents don’t talk to her cause she had a baby without bein married?”
“Right.”
“Claire, too?”
“If she doesn’t sling the lingo with her I guess that’s why.”
Somebody must know who the father was. “When she have this baby?”
“A few months ago. You think it means anything, Faye?”
“I don’t know. Might.” I took a swig of my Coke. “Hard to see the connection.”
“Yeah.”
“Hey, Mitchum,” the bartender yelled. “Phone for you.”
“Be right back.”
As he scooted outta the booth I was already batting around what he’d told me and everything else in the vicinity.
Why had Lucille Turner visited Widmark and then stopped? The elevator jockey was mum about Lucille being pregnant so maybe she didn’t show and when she started to, she quit her visits. Maybe Widmark was the father. It wasn’t good for her. That’s what Widmark said about the end of their get-togethers. Maybe that was exactly what he meant. It was cause she was on the nest.
What if I was right? Did any of this have to do with the missing Ladd and the corpse in his hotel room? I couldn’t make any hookup, but I felt there was one. If only cause Claire and Lucille were sisters. I needed to have a chinfest with Lucille soon as I could.
Marty was back. “Guess what? Yer Cummings guy came in early to ID the corpse.”
“And?”
“Private David Cooper.”
“Can’t say I’m shocked. I had a feelin that’s who it was.”
“Yeah. Me, too. Ya think Ladd knocked him off then did a Houdini?”
“Coulda. But why?”
“Some beef that got outta hand?”
“There were no marks on Cooper except the thumbprints on his neck. He was choked to death. Doesn’t seem like a fight.”
“Nah. Should be more telltale signs.”
“I guess the cops’ll find out more about Cooper’s life,” I said.
“Poor sucker. Ya wanna refill?”
“No, thanks. I need to see the Ladds. St. Moritz, ya said?”
“Right.”
“Think Lupino will let me use the phone?”
“Sure. C’mon.”
When I’d called, Mr. Ladd assumed I was a detective with the police, which is what I wanted him to think without saying so. He’d given me the room number and I was off to meet them.
It seemed a bit cooler so I set off on foot. I liked walking. It kept me strong and I got to eyeball John Q. Public, which kept me on my toes cause I’d practice my observing skills. I’d take in hair color, outfit, height, eyes if they weren’t wearing dark cheaters, and anything else that might be an identifying mark on a person. Then I’d run it past myself and see how many I could remember. Not the best system scoring yourself, but who else was gonna test me?
When I reached the St. Moritz, I was drenched. This wouldn’t help me impress the Ladds and I had time so I went into Rumplemeyer’s and snatched a table for two. There were as many fans going as there were customers. I coulda been dreaming but I thought I felt a sprig of cool air pass over my legs.
Rumplemeyer’s was known for its ice cream, but they had other desserts. I knew what I wanted the sec I saw it on the menu a waitress had handed me. I could feel myself drying off while I waited for my waitress to come back.
“What can I get you, dear?”
“A cup of joe and a Nesselrode puddin.”
“A cup of joe?”
What a phony baloney. “Coffee.”
“Oh, I see.” She looked like a lizard, a piece of pink tongue poking out for a moment. I guess it was a smile. And then she was off with my order.
I’d never been in this joint but, taking in the room, I noticed a lotta swells at the tables, some with kids, some not. The kids were eating ice cream, which is what I woulda had if I hadn’t spotted the pudding.
I’d never had this, but the delicious description sold me. And it was burned into my brain forever. It consists of cream-enriched custard mixed with chestnut purée, candied fruits, currants, raisins, and maraschino liqueur.
I wouldn’t forget that in a hurry.
“Here you are, dear.” She put a huge bowl in front of me. “And your joe.” She looked pleased that she’d learned a new word.
“Thank you.”
When she was gone I dipped my spoon into the pudding and slowly brought it toward my mouth, almost scared to try it. Almost. I guess I’d have to say it was one of the
most delectable things I’d ever eaten and I was glad I was alone cause I wouldn’t have wanted to give anyone a taste.
I took my time, but not as long as I would’ve liked cause upstairs the Ladds were waiting for me.
They had a suite and we met in what looked like a living room, but a pretty small one. I shared a couch with Mrs. Ladd, and her husband sat in a club chair.
“I was just about to call room service for drinks, Miss Quick. Would you like one?”
I felt I should even though it was still early for me. “A manhattan would be swell.” I wondered how that would mix with my Nesselrode.
After he’d made the call I knew I’d better straighten out my identification. “Mr. and Mrs. Ladd, I think you mighta gotten the wrong idea about who I am.”
“You told us who you were over the phone,” he said.
“I said I was a detective, and I am, but I’m not with the police department. I’m a private investigator.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning somebody hired me to find your son.”
“Who?” she said.
Always the trickiest part. “I can’t tell ya that. It’d be unethical.”
They looked at me like I was accusing them of something.
He was tall and skinny with receding black hair that gave him a widow’s peak. His eyes were blue, like a cloudless sky, and his mouth looked like a scar. The clothes he wore were good ones. You can always tell by the tailoring. His shoes were black wingtips.
She was beautiful, like a movie star, a blonde—and it looked real, not something concocted in a beauty salon. Her lipstick was the color of ripe strawberries. She wore a daytime suit, a short gray jacket and skirt with black pumps.
“Claire hired you, didn’t she?” he asked.
“Mr. Ladd, I told ya . . .”
“Call me William.”
“I told ya it would be unethical to say who hired me.”
She said, “What’s the difference, William. Anyway, it has to be Claire.”
“Yes, you’re right, Jennifer.” He turned back to me. “Tell me, what kind of a name is Quick?”
“Kind of name?”
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