by Alice Duncan
By this time, we’d almost come to the living room, so I said quickly, “She was murdered.”
“Dear God!” He stopped in his tracks for a moment and appeared to be honestly shocked.
But then we had to give up the topic because we’d reached the living room and, therefore, the party. Just when I might have been getting somewhere on the case, too. That would teach me to allow my mind to wander from work to Hollywood screen idols.
I had no time to fall into a melancholy, however, because Chloe was on me in an instant with Miss Renee Adoree at her side.
“Mercy!” cried my sister. “You must meet Miss Renee Adoree.” So she introduced us.
Renee Adoree, a simply beautiful woman whose looks had been bestowed upon her by God rather than the paint box, had a rather languid air about her, but she wasn’t as wafty as Mrs. Chalmers had been. In truth, she seemed a very nice person, if a little standoffish. Not too long after that, and after several more impressive performances in the flickers, she was diagnosed with tuberculosis. That would make me sad, especially as she died only a short while after her diagnosis.
That evening in Chloe’s living room, Renee Adoree was stunning, dressed to kill and extremely polite. I soon discovered, however, that while she had a lovely speaking voice—marred, my mother would say, by an unfortunate French accent—she didn’t know beans about the Angelica Gospel Hall or its minions or converts, so I didn’t bother with her much after learning that.
Dinner was, naturally, a great success, with all sorts of delicious courses and wines and so forth and so on. I’d come to understand shortly after my arrival in Los Angeles that everyone who was anyone had his or her own bootlegger. Chloe was right in that she would have been considered a very odd hostess indeed not to have served wine with dinner that night, Mother or no Mother. Not that this bit of information adds to the tale. I only mention it.
After the meal was finished, we gathered once again in the living room, where I scouted out Mr. Gilbert. I didn’t want to appear too obvious, for fear Mother would think I was pursuing the man. Telling her I was only doing so for the sake of my job would, as you must know by this time, not have softened any rebuke she’d fling at me.
“Your sister and brother-in-law sure know how to entertain,” said Mr. Gilbert with a smile and a drink in his hand when I approached him. He’d been chatting with Harvey, who winked at me. Have I mentioned that Harvey was a great fellow? Well, he was.
“Harvey and Chloe are two of the very best people on earth,” I declared to Mr. Gilbert, which earned me a wide grin from Harvey.
“It’s good to see siblings who are so close,” Mr. Gilbert said, and I think he meant it. “So often families aren’t affectionate. For good reason, in some cases.”
I cast a quick glance at my mother, but she was safely ensconced on the other side of the room, holding forth with Mr. Easthope and another woman who was prominent in both literature and the flickers, Elinor Glyn. I’d met Miss Glyn before, and she intimidated me, although I think that was only because my own aspirations seemed so tepid when compared to her accomplishments. Still and all, I was relatively confident that the likes of Elinor Glyn wouldn’t have anything to do with the likes of Sister Emmanuel or Persephone Chalmers, so I saw no reason to fight my feelings of inferiority in order to question her. Besides, Mr. Gilbert was ever so much more my cup of tea, if you know what I mean.
It was obvious that Mr. Gilbert and Harvey had seen my desperate glance Mother’s way because they both laughed.
Harvey said, “Don’t worry, Mercy. I think the storm has settled for a while.”
“Oh, dear,” said I, embarrassed.
“Don’t think anything about it,” recommended Mr. Gilbert. “Remember that old saying, which, I’m sure, is only popular because it’s true: one can choose one friends, but one can’t choose one’s family.”
“Amen,” I muttered. “But I don’t know what I’d do without Chloe.”
“And I can add an amen to that,” echoed Harvey, which made my heart all warm and fuzzy. While I didn’t understand the attraction between Mr. and Mrs. Everett, it was obvious that Chloe and Harvey were made for each other. They also looked good together, unlike the Everetts, who were as mismatched a pair as I’d ever seen.
“Chloe is the best sister a person could have,” I said staunchly and meaning every word.
“That’s good to hear,” said Mr. Gilbert. I got the feeling the conversation was boring him, so I decided to forge onward onto another topic.
“You mentioned earlier that you don’t know much about the Angelica Gospel Hall, is that right?”
“Er . . . yes, it is. I know one or two people who’ve attended services there,” said Mr. Gilbert. I decided then and there to practice turning topics more elegantly.
“Do you think any of them might be able to give me any information about Mrs. Chalmers’ involvement with the Hall?” I asked eagerly.
“Um . . .” Mr. Gilbert seemed taken aback.
“Mercy went so far as to visit the place this morning,” Harvey said.
“Talk about sacrificing oneself for one’s role.” Mr. Gilbert’s eyebrows arched.
I smiled but said, “It wasn’t really too awful. It certainly wasn’t like anything I’m used to.”
“I should hope not,” murmured Harvey.
“Well,” said I, thinking kindly of Sister Emmanuel because she’d been nice to me and had performed well in a crisis, “I believe their hearts are in the right place. They just . . . get a little carried away. For my taste,” I hurried to add, just in case Mr. Gilbert was a secret member of the church or something like that. “In fact, Sister Emmanuel was quite nice to me when a member of her parish fainted.”
“Somebody fainted?” Mr. Gilbert’s posture straightened slightly from its formerly relaxed state, and I sensed a spike in his interest.
“Well, yes. I’m afraid I startled the poor woman by blurting out that Mrs. Chalmers had been murdered, you see.”
“Good God, Miss Allcutt, what kind of work do you do for this Mr. Templeton of yours? Chloe told me you were his secretary, but you seem to be busy ferreting out information in a murder case.”
Oh, pooh. I didn’t want to admit that I aspired to be an assistant investigator, because that sounded stupid. I was, however, on my dignity when I replied to Mr. Gilbert. “I am his secretary, but I also assist him when I can. Mrs. Chalmers was an enthusiastic member of the church, and I figured attending services at the Angelica Gospel Hall would be an interesting thing to do, definitely not dangerous, and I got to meet Sister Emmanuel and a friend of Mrs. Chalmers, so I don’t believe my time was wasted.”
“My goodness. You’re an inspired employee, Miss Allcutt.”
I couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not, so I said, “Thank you.”
“But I honestly don’t know anyone who goes to the place. At least no one’s admitted doing so to me.” I detected a certain sneer in his mien but didn’t blame him for it. Most people had at least read about Mrs. Emmanuel’s work, and a good many of the articles published, at least those that I’d seen, hadn’t been exactly enthusiastic about her work. I think the most charitable of the pieces I’d read called her misguided. Others weren’t so kind, and words like charlatan, bunkum, fraud, cheat, and the like had been sprinkled about in the articles.
I wasn’t sure I agreed with the doubting Thomases. Mind you, I wasn’t about to join the Angelica Gospel Hall myself, and I had found the service rather . . . perhaps gaudy is the word I’m looking for. Still, Sister Emmanuel had been nice, and so had been Mrs. Pinkney.
All that aside, however, it looked as if John Gilbert wasn’t going to be a mine of information for me, so I gave him up as a lost cause and determined to pursue the investigation from other angles.
Chapter Nine
“You did what? God damn it, Mercy, stay out of this investigation! For God’s sake, a woman’s been murdered! Don’t you have any sense at all?”
I’
d seen Ernie angry before, but I don’t think I’d ever seen him this angry.
“Don’t you dare swear at me, Mr. Ernest Templeton!”
Very well, I admit my temper wasn’t any too jolly that Monday morning, either. I’d been all smiles when Ernie’d finally strolled into the office around nine o’clock, and I’d even given him time to toss his coat and hat on the rack and have a good gander at the Times before I’d entered his office to tell him the results my weekend’s investigation.
“I don’t want you anywhere near anything to do with this investigation!”
“Well, that’s just too bad, because since you’re the chief suspect—and don’t tell me you’re not, because I know better—I’m going to do my best to find that woman’s real killer.”
“Let the police do their jobs!”
That command came out as a bellow, and I winced slightly. “So far, their jobs have led them straight to your door, Ernest Templeton, and don’t try to tell me any different. Even Phil says you’re the chief suspect. And since you have a sworn enemy as head of the investigation—”
“O’Reilly’s not a sworn enemy! We don’t like each other, is all.”
“Nevertheless—”
“Besides, Phil doesn’t believe for a minute that I killed that woman.”
“Yes, I know he doesn’t, but he’s not the entire police force. You’ve told me more than once how corrupt they are, and if this O’Reilly person is as horrid as you say, then we need all the help we can get. He’s the one in charge of the case, don’t forget.” I squinted at Ernie, recalling something Phil had said at the scene of the crime. “You were at the Chalmers place to investigate her stolen jewelry, weren’t you? I mean you weren’t . . . doing what that odious man suggested, were you?”
I thought for a moment that Ernie’s eyeballs were going to pop out of his head. “For the love of God, Mercy Allcutt, what kind of man do you think I am!”
“Well,” I said, feeling hot and definitely bothered, “I felt I ought to eliminate the possibility completely.”
“You aren’t going to eliminate anything! And no, I was not having a sordid affair with that idiotic woman!”
“Are you sure that awful Detective O’Reilly knows that?”
“God damn it, Mercy, of course he knows that!”
“But are you sure he’ll tell the rest of the police force that? I mean, if he hates you as much as you say he does—”
“Dammit—”
But I’d had enough of being sworn at. “Stop it right this instant!” I held up my hand and spoke in my mother’s most commanding voice.
Darned if his mouth didn’t flap open and his words dry up. Boy, was I ever surprised.
I took advantage of the situation instantly. “Before you holler another word at me, Ernie Templeton, let me tell you what I found out.”
He plunked his elbows on his desk and lowered his head to his hands. “Aw, Christ,” said he.
Taking this as an invitation to continue, I did so. “During the service, I sat next to a woman whom I later learned was Elizabeth Pinkney. Mrs. Gaylord Pinkney. Mrs. Pinkney told me her husband hated her own involvement with Sister Emmanuel’s church—”
“Sister Emmanuel,” muttered Ernie.
“Don’t worry,” I told him drily. “I’m not turning to the dark side. I only attended services there to see what Mrs. Chalmers found so fascinating about the place.”
“Yeah?” Ernie still cradled his head in his hands. “And did you?”
“Well . . . yes, I think so. The services are very . . . exuberant.”
“Huh.”
“But that’s not the important thing. The important thing is that Mrs. Pinkney was a close friend to Mrs. Chalmers, and she—Mrs. Pinkney, I mean—told me that Mrs. Chalmers had been getting letters threatening her life.”
Ernie’s head lifted, and for the first time since we’d begun speaking that morning, he didn’t look as if he wished he could throttle me. “Yeah?”
My heart soared. “You didn’t know about the threatening letters?”
He hesitated for a second, as if he hated to give me his answer. But he did eventually. “No. I knew the woman had problems, but I didn’t know about the threatening letters. She didn’t tell me about them, although she did say she feared for her life. Are you sure about this?”
“I’m sure Mrs. Pinkney told me Mrs. Chalmers was worried about having received threatening letters.”
Ernie sat up straight. “When you say threatening letters, what do you mean exactly? Did the letters threaten her life?”
“Mrs. Pinkney didn’t go into details. I don’t know if she actually knows any details. But it occurred to me that perhaps someone resented Mrs. Chalmers’ involvement with the Angelica Gospel Hall. Mrs. Pinkney said Mrs. Chalmers donated tons of money there. Perhaps someone wanted her to stop doing that.”
“Hmm. That might indicate a member of her family,” Ernie said thoughtfully.
“Exactly what I thought. Well, we’ve already talked about Mr. Chalmers and . . . Mr. Chalmers.” I wished those two men didn’t have the same last name. It would have made my work much easier. “When I asked her, Mrs. Pinkney said she didn’t know what Mr. Chalmers thought about the place, although her own husband didn’t like her involvement in it, but I also thought of Mr. Simon Chalmers. He sounded disinterested when I interviewed him, but perhaps he was afraid Mrs. Chalmers would spend all of his father’s money before he could inherit it. Or perhaps Mr. Pinkney decided to do Mrs. Chalmers in because he hoped she’d stop attending the church if Mrs. Chalmers was no longer around.”
“You have a hell of an imagination, Mercy Allcutt.”
“Thank you.”
“That wasn’t meant as a compliment.”
“I figured as much.”
Before another fight could break out, I heard the front door to the office open, so I had to depart Ernie to attend to my secretarial duties. I was not best pleased to encounter two policemen and Phil Bigelow in the outer office.
“Good morning, Phil.” I eyed his two outriders with suspicion. The one who wasn’t wearing a uniform I suspected of being Detective O’Reilly. He was the same sneering fellow I’d seen at the Chalmers’ home on the day I discovered Mrs. Chalmers’ body, and I didn’t like the looks of him at all.
“Morning, Mercy. We’re here to see Ernie.”
“I suspected as much.” My voice was about as dry as the Mojave Desert must have been on that warm September day. “And will you introduce me to your friends, please?”
“Uh . . . oh, sure. This is Officer Mahon, and this is Detective O’Reilly.”
Aha! Just as I’d suspected. I gave him a meaningful squint. “Good day, gentlemen. I presume you’re doing your jobs with due diligence.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said the uniformed officer Mahon, who seemed rather nervous.
“We always do,” said O’Reilly.
I eyed him, searching for any sign of degeneration or vileness. He only looked like a slightly overweight man with a sneer. Bother.
“Um . . .” Phil fidgeted, and I considered this a bad sign.
“Yes?”
“Well . . . we’re going to have to take Ernie down to the station, Mercy. It’s just a technical sort of thing.”
I’m sure my eyes went as round as saucers. “Take him to the station! Do you mean to tell me you’re going to arrest him?”
“No.” Phil sounded crabby. “But this is an official investigation, and we have to conduct it according to the rules.”
“Whose rules?” I demanded.
“Those of the L.A.P.D.”
“The same L.A.P.D. that so bungled the William Desmond Taylor investigation that we don’t know who killed the man to this day, and from which Mr. Templeton resigned because the corruption therein so disgusted him?”
O’Reilly and Mahon exchanged a look I couldn’t interpret, although I got the feeling Phil might have told them something about me and my firm belief in my employer’s innoc
ence.
Phil heaved a large sigh. “This isn’t helping, Mercy. Ernie will have to come with us and answer a few questions. We won’t keep him long.”
I said, “Anyhow, I thought you were out of the investigation.”
“I’m not out of it. Only I persuaded the chief that my friendship with Ernie wouldn’t affect my conduct of the case. I’ve got O’Reilly breathing over my shoulder to make sure of it.”
“Right,” said O’Reilly, sounding as if he enjoyed his role.
Looking O’Reilly straight in the eye, I said, “I think it’s totally unfair that someone who dislikes Ernie should be involved in the case at all.”
“Now, listen here, Miss Allcutt—”
But Detective O’Reilly didn’t have the opportunity to defend himself. Ernie appeared in his office door, clad for going out of doors. “Don’t mind her, guys. She’s still convinced she and she alone can find the murderer.”
“I am not! I do, however, believe that I can help the investigation along. I already told you something you didn’t already know, if you’ll remember.” I’m sure my cheeks were blazing with temper. The rest of me definitely was.
“I know, I know.” Wearily, Ernie held his hands out, as if waiting for the handcuffs.
I gasped and turned on Phil with horror. “But you said . . .”
“Don’t make a damned fool of yourself, Ernie,” growled Phil, apparently not appreciating Ernie’s gesture. “We’re not arresting him, Mercy. We just need him to make an official statement at the department.”
“Right,” said Ernie, sounding as though he didn’t believe Phil’s words any more than I did.
“We already gave statements,” I reminded him.
“Further statements,” Phil said, looking and sounding uncomfortable, which he should be, darn it.
“It’s all right, Mercy. None of this is Phil’s fault.” Then Ernie frowned at O’Reilly and, giving every appearance of disenchantment, left with the three men.
Well.
I sat at my desk and stewed for a bit and then decided to take matters into my own hands. The police department didn’t seem to be doing anything but looking at Ernie, while I knew there were other suspects out there. Somewhere. After considering the matter, I decided not to telephone Mr. Chalmers before I hied myself to his house for a chat. Why not do some more sleuthing on my own? There was certainly nothing for me to do on the job in the Figueroa Building.