Too Darn Hot

by Sandra Scoppettone

  She didn’t say anything, which was unusual, and I thought I mighta seen a glistening of her eyes. I didn’t mention it. And then I remembered why I’d gone to see her at the hospital in the first place.

  I opened my bag and took out the picture of Charlie Ladd. “Dolores, have you ever seen this guy?” I handed her the picture.

  “Don’t kid a kidder, Faye.”

  “Whaddaya mean?”

  “This is the guy that shot me.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  Marty and I sat in the White Horse Tavern having a stein of beer. We had our order in for a burger. The bar had been around a long time and was a watering hole for longshoremen cause it was close to the docks and warehouses on Hudson. But a few regular people braved the place and ate and drank there on the early side before it became rowdy and the fights broke out.

  It had a series of small rooms, and we sat in the back. The beams were painted black; everything else was plain tortured wood. People said it was the second oldest bar in New York. I never did learn which one was the first.

  I wished that I could be talking things over with Johnny, but I didn’t want him to think I was some girl who didn’t know what she was doing. I didn’t care what Marty thought.

  I’d told him that Dolores had identified the picture of Charlie Ladd, now lying on the table between us, as the guy who shot her.

  “You’re sure we can trust the old gal to know what she’s sayin?”

  “Marty, she’s sharp as a tiger’s tooth. If she says this is the guy, then he’s the guy.”

  The waiter came and plunked down our burgers.

  “Can we have some ketchup?” Marty said.

  “Get it yourself. It’s on the bar.” He walked away.

  “I don’t remember that happenin before,” Marty said.

  “Before what?”

  “You want ketchup or not?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’ll get it then.”

  I took a drag of my butt and stared at the photo of Charlie Ladd. He was a good-looking guy, no doubt. He almost had what they called a baby face. Innocent. I could understand why Dolores woulda talked to him.

  But it was hard to see him as a scammer, a rapist, an extortionist, or a murderer—and he might be all four. Had he really raped Lucille? Had he set up the kidnap caper with Claire, then killed her once he got the money?

  Marty was back with the ketchup. “Never heard of a burger without ketchup. You?”

  “No.”

  “So it seems to me they should bring it or leave a bottle on the table like other joints do.”

  “Can we stop talkin about the ketchup and get back to Dolores and Charlie Ladd?”

  “Yeah. Sorry. Stuff like that burns me up.” He took a long swallow of his beer.

  “The thing is where’s Charlie Ladd now? And is Lucille with him? Or is she dead, too?”

  “Why would Lucille be with him after what he did to her? Ya think he kidnapped her?”

  “You said yourself I only had Lucille’s word for it. I’m more of a mind she made up that story.”

  “Why now?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Well, ya know from that Widmark fella that she was raped.”

  “Do I?” I squashed my cig.

  “She told . . . ya never checked it out with him, did ya?”

  “I got egg on my face with this one. I didn’t check.”

  “Don’t work yerself into a lather. We all make huge mistakes.”

  I looked at him and he was grinning.

  “No kiddin, Faye. These things happen. Maybe when we finish, we should pay Widmark a visit.”

  “The doorman’ll have to let us in when ya flash yer shield, won’t he?”

  “Yeah. He’ll tremble before me.”

  The doorman didn’t exactly tremble, but he paid attention and called Widmark on the phone, explained that the police were there, and up we went. Widmark didn’t give us any trouble, either. We sat in his living room.

  “So, what do you want?” Widmark’s eyes were red, as if he’d been crying.

  “I guess ya know about Claire Turner.”

  “Of course.” He looked down at his lap. I figured he had been crying.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Widmark. I know ya cared for her.”

  “Cared for her? I loved her.” He took a swipe at his eyes. “She was such a lovely girl, I don’t know why anyone would kill her.”

  The particulars about what Claire’d been involved in hadn’t been released to the papers.

  “Do you know why she was killed?” he asked.

  Marty said, “We can’t really talk about that, Mr. Widmark.”

  He nodded. “I understand.”

  “Did ya know Lucille was missin?” I said.

  “What do you mean she’s missing?”

  “Vanished.”

  “Into thin air,” Marty said.

  “Wanna tell me about her?”

  “I have no idea where she is. This is outrageous.”

  “Calm down. I’m not sayin ya know where she is. I’m talkin about when she used to come visit ya.”

  “What makes you think . . .”

  “Let’s not get on this merry-go-round, Widmark,” Marty said. “We know ya knew her and that she used to visit. And we know she suddenly stopped. What we don’t know is why.”

  “And don’t give me any malarkey about it bein for her sake,” I said.

  “It was, in a way.”

  “Ya mean she started showin she was pregnant?”

  “How do you know about that?”

  “Lucille told me,” I said.

  “What else did she tell you?”

  “Why’d she stop coming here to see ya?”

  “I thought it’d be too hard on her. Making that trip in from New Jersey.”

  “I want ya to tell me what else ya know.”

  “Will it help you find her?”

  “It might.”

  He ran a hand over his red crew cut. “I don’t know why I’m protecting that bastard.”

  “What bastard?” Marty asked.

  “Ladd. He raped Lucille.”

  “She told ya that?”

  “Yes. When she got pregnant, her parents threw her out and even Claire wouldn’t speak to her. I wouldn’t have expected that from Claire.” He drifted to someplace we couldn’t go.

  “Mr. Widmark,” I said.

  “Sorry. Lucille was beside herself. She didn’t want to have the baby, but she didn’t want to have an abortion. I wanted her to tell Claire, warn her about Ladd, but she wouldn’t. She said Claire wouldn’t believe her. That she’d think Lucille was trying to ruin her happiness.”

  “Why didn’t you warn Claire?” I said.

  “Why do you think?”

  “Yeah. I see.”

  “I offered to marry Lucille but we both knew that wasn’t the answer. Wouldn’t solve anything.”

  “Did she say that she’d told Ladd she was pregnant?”

  “She hadn’t and she wasn’t going to. There was no point, she said. So she had the baby and gave him up for adoption.”

  “Ya mean to an orphanage?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would ya know the name of the place?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do. It’s near a spot Lucille loves.”

  “And where’s that?” Marty said.

  “The orphanage is in Asbury Park at the New Jersey shore.”

  New Jersey again.

  “And Asbury Park’s the place she loves?”

  “No. She likes a town on the shore nearby. Point Pleasant.”

  “Did she ever say she was gonna move there?”

  “Someday, she said. When she was married. But that was in the future.”

  Marty said, “Some futures are shorter than others.”

  “So she didn’t have a house there?”

  “She rented every summer for a week. When she and Claire were little their parents once took them there.”

  “Do ya kn
ow if Lucille’s baby was ever adopted?”

  “She didn’t know. The place isn’t allowed to give out that information.”

  “Was Lucille plannin to take the baby back once she got married?”

  “Yes. But she knew by then he might not be available.”

  “What’s the name of the orphanage?”

  “St. Mary’s.”

  “Catholic?”

  “Yes. She didn’t leave him there for religious reasons.”

  I stood up. “Mr. Widmark, you’ve been very helpful.”

  “Good. I’m glad. Could you let me know if you find Lucille?”

  “Sure.” Marty shook hands with him.

  As we got near the door, Widmark called out to me. I turned.

  “You don’t need a nickel this time?”

  “No, thanks.”

  While we waited for the elevator, Marty said, “What was that nickel thing about?”

  I hadn’t told him I’d been a mark like any ordinary person. So I told him now.

  “Got any idea who did it?”

  “I think it was this big guy who was sittin next to me.”

  Marty nodded like it had to be a big guy. I changed the subject.

  “You think Lucille’s in Point Pleasant?”

  “I’d bet my bottom dollar on it,” he said.

  “What’s next? Should I tell the whole story to the cops?”

  “What story?”

  The elevator came and the gal running it was the same one who was there on my first visit.

  “Ya have a nice visit with Mr. Widmark?”

  “Swell,” I said.

  “He’s a sweetheart, isn’t he?”

  If there wasn’t a war on, this tomato wouldn’t last a day running this elevator with her Nosy Parker ways. On the other hand, if it wasn’t wartime she wouldn’t have the job at all.

  When we left the building, the soggy heat hit us like we’d been dropped into a vat of warm tea.

  “About that story for the cops. What’s it gonna be? That Lucille Turner quit her job and left her rented house to go somewhere else?”

  “Somethin like that.”

  “Where’s the crime?”

  “She’s a missin person.”

  “Is she? Who’s lookin for her besides you? Anyway, isn’t this about Charlie Ladd, who we now know is alive and well and runnin around shootin old ladies?”

  “Don’t forget David Cooper.”

  “I’m not, but what’s that gotta do with Lucille? And don’t you forget Claire.”

  “I don’t forget her for a second.”

  “Listen, Faye. I think Ladd and Claire cooked up the kidnappin to get some money out of his old man but then Charlie Boy decided he’d like it better if he didn’t have to share the dough. It’s him we gotta find, not Lucille.”

  “So why’d we question Widmark about Lucille?”

  “That had to do with Ladd, in case ya forgot. We wanted to know if Widmark knew about the rape. Now we know.”

  “What we know, Marty, is that Lucille was pregnant. It’s still her word on who made her that way.”

  “Why would she tell Widmark that Ladd did it, if he didn’t? Nothin to gain there.”

  “Yeah. Yer right,” I said.

  “The cops on this case are lookin for Claire’s killer now. We don’t know where to look so let em handle it.”

  “Marty, I have two clients I gotta satisfy. One wants to know who killed his son, and the other wants me to find Charlie Ladd.”

  “So work those cases. But there’s nothing right now ya gotta share with Powell and the rest.”

  “Yeah. Yer right again. I’m gonna concentrate on David Cooper. But that brings me right back to Ladd.”

  “Give that gal a cigar. Where ya gonna start?”

  “With Lucille Turner. Wanna come? I know ya got a couple a days off.”

  “Where?”

  “First Asbury Park, and then Point Pleasant.”

  “Ya wanna go to that orphanage?”

  “I do. But I need a car again. Ya think yer friend’ll lend ya his if he knows yer drivin?”

  “Who said I was comin?”

  “Aren’t ya?”

  “See that cab up the street, Faye? Take it and I’ll pick ya up tomorrow.”

  When I got back to Grove Street, Johnny was sitting on the stoop. My heart did a sleigh ride.

  “I thought I’d catch you eventually,” he said. “And this was the best way to have that happen. Do you mind?”

  “Course not.”

  I sat on the step next to him. He gave me a peck on the cheek and took my hand in his.

  “How are you, Faye? I know it’s not true, but it seems like a month since I saw you.”

  It felt that way to me, too. “I’m okay. You?”

  “I’m okay, too. Sorry about Claire Turner.”

  “Yeah. Thanks. She was only twenty-two years old.”

  “Got any idea who killed her?”

  “I think it was Charlie Ladd.”

  “Yeah. I was thinking that, too.”

  It surprised me that he’d thought about my case at all.

  “So you’re out of a job now, huh?”

  “Well, no.” I told him that I had two clients on the case.

  “Two to keep you twice as busy?”

  “You mad at me, Johnny?”

  He looked down at the stoop and let go of my hand. Uh-oh.

  “No, I’m not mad. It’s just that I never get to see you.”

  “But ya knew how things were gonna be. Same thing when you have a big case.”

  “I guess I didn’t know how it was really going to be. How I’d feel about it.” He looked up and into my eyes.

  “What’re ya sayin, Johnny?”

  “I wish I knew.”

  I didn’t like this cat-and-mouse game. “Ya breakin up with me?”

  “You don’t mess around, do you?”

  “I thought that was one a the things ya liked about me.”

  “I did. I mean, I do. I guess when it comes at me, it’s different.”

  “You didn’t answer my question about breakin up?”

  “I’m just telling you what’s bothering me.”

  Whew!

  He said, “I got the day off tomorrow and I thought we could see a movie in the afternoon, get cool, and then go out to dinner. How about it?”

  What was I gonna do? He had to understand, he just had to. “Sounds nice, Johnny, but . . .”

  “But you can’t.”

  I nodded.

  “The case?”

  “Yeah.”

  He stood up. “I think I’ll go now.”

  My heart did a nosedive. I didn’t know what to say. A first.

  “Good night, Faye.” He pecked my cheek again.

  When he got to the bottom of the stoop, I called out to him.

  “When will I see ya, Johnny?”

  “I’ll call you.”

  “Okay.”

  I watched him till he got to Grove and Bleecker where he turned left. Then he was out of my sight.

  Gone.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Marty honked the horn at eight-thirty. I was dressed and ready to go but I felt down in the mouth. Sleep wasn’t my pal the night before. I kept waking up thinking of Johnny, feeling confused, sad, angry. I’d lost him, but I had to remind myself that if he wanted a gal who’d stick to tending the home fires, he wasn’t for me. I didn’t want him. Where’d I get the impression he liked me being a PI? What a dope I’d been.

  I shook Johnny from my mind. I had to. It was so strange leaving my place not to see Dolores sweeping. I’d stop by when I got back from the shore.

  Outside, Marty was sitting at the wheel of a beat-up gray two-door. It was a far cry from Jim’s LaSalle. But it would get us where we wanted to go.

  When I got in he said, “Ya look too pooped to pop. What happened to ya?”

  “Couldn’t sleep.”

  “You really think yer on to somethin, don’tcha?�
�

  I let him think that was the reason I was so wrung out. “You bet. Any trouble gettin the car?”

  “Nope. Good thing it’s got an X sticker so I could fill her up.”

  “No limit on that one?”

  “Nope. Believe it or not, this baby comes under the emergency vehicle list.”

  “Why?”

  “Beats me.”

  “What’s yer friend do?”

  He shrugged, and I knew I oughta drop that subject.

  “What is this car, anyway?”

  “A 1940 Chevy coupe. Lotsa mileage on her but she runs good. Ya ready?”

  “Sure.”

  We took off.

  It was a long ride and I was ready for lunch by the time we got to Asbury Park. But I knew that had to wait. Marty had directions for St. Mary’s orphanage and headed there. I didn’t hold out a lotta hope they’d cough up much of anything, but I hadda give it a try.

  As we approached, the place loomed up, looking like the orphanages of my imagination and maybe ones I’d seen in movies. The building, made of gray brick, had half a dozen towers, and the windows were covered with a tight-knit wire.

  “Homey,” Marty said.

  I couldn’t laugh cause all I could think about were the kids who were inside.

  “Park over there,” I said.

  We got out of the car and stood staring at the grim façade for a few seconds.

  “Let’s go,” I said.

  The gravel path had no flowers along its edges. And the brownish grass grew right up to the building, no shrubs or bushes laid out in a border. The big double doors were dark oak and I suddenly felt I wouldn’t be able to open them. But Marty did it for me.

  The moment we stepped inside I smelled disinfectant. It was dark and cold. Straight in front of us was a counter with a nun behind it.

  “May I help you?”

  I had no history of nuns in my life, but the face that looked out at us from the black-and-white head garb gave me the creeps. Close up I saw that she was kinda pretty and I was mad at myself for feeling afraid. Maybe I should stop going to the pictures.

  Marty had taken off his hat and held it with both hands in front of him.

  “Good mornin, Sister.”

  She nodded.

  “My name is Faye Quick and this is Detective Marty Mitchum from the NYPD.”

  “Oh, you’re detectives?”

  “Yes, Sister.”

  “How exciting. Do you have some identification?”

  We each handed over our IDs and she pored over em like they were scriptures. Finally she gave them back.