[Celebrity Murder Case 12] - The Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers Murder Case

by George Baxt

  Stifling a yawn, Hazel saw Esther trying to catch her attention. Maybe she wanted Villon or Magrew. Hazel pointed to herself. Esther nodded her head. Hazel had asked her half an hour ago to keep her eyes and her ears open for any tidbits of gossip Hazel might use in her line of work, which she had explained to Esther with a promise of ten bucks for anything of value. My God, thought Hazel, she can’t have come up with something already.

  With caution she picked her way through some of the meditators. As she passed Nina Valgorski, she saw the whistle hanging from the chain around her neck. She remembered at once what Villon had told her about Nina and the whistle. Nina had told him last night the whistle was filled with slivasomething. She couldn’t remember the name of the liqueur. Hazel sat on the piano bench next to Esther.

  “What have you got for me?” asked Hazel.

  ‘I’m sorry. I have nothing so far.”

  “Oh.”

  “But perhaps you can help me.”

  Hazel awaited the worst. The last woman who had said that was desperately in need of an abortionist and Hazel was able to oblige, with a list of six. “What’s wrong, Esther? Are you in trouble?”

  “That man you and Mr. Villon are talking to.”

  “Don Magrew?”

  “Don Magrew?” Esther ran the name through her mind while watching Nina Valgorski get to her feet and stretch her arms and then do some bends to relax her knees.

  Hazel repeated Magrews name.

  “No,” said Esther, “it does not tell me anything.”

  “What did you expect it to tell you?”

  ‘That I knew him a long time ago. His face is familiar but the name is not.”

  “Where did you think you knew him?”

  “Oh, it is so silly. I’m sorry I bothered you.”

  Hazel shrugged, got up, and walked away. Most of the company were on their feet and doing a variety of limbering-up exercises. Meditating in the lotus position. Hazel decided, could also bring on paralysis. Nina looked as though she was enjoying flattery from Don Magrew. Villon was talking to Jim Mallory. Hazel looked back at Esther. There was something bothering the woman. Hazel went to Villon and Mallory.

  “Boys, there’s something interesting going on with Esther Pincus.”

  “I’m listening,” said Villon.

  “It’s about Don Magrew. She asked me who he was. I told her. But the name Magrew wasn’t familiar. I think she thinks she knew him in years past under another identity.”

  “You’re spooking yourself. Hazel.”

  That irritated Hazel. “I am not. If anything, it’s Esther who’s spooking me. I think she knew him in Europe.”

  “It would have to be Europe because she’s never been out of L.A. since settling here with her husband.”

  Hazel said warmly, “Oh, I’m so glad she’s married. I had this kind of sad picture of her going home every night to a bowl of chopped vegetables and sour cream and a glass of buttermilk.”

  “Her husband’s dead,” said Villon.

  “Oh. Then I’ve probably got the menu right.”

  Herb was silent briefly. “CIA boys get around a lot. I know Magrew has had assignments in Europe and Asia. I’m going to have a chat with Esther. You two stay here and you,” he warned Hazel, “don’t drum up an excuse to come over and stick your nose in.”

  “I never do any such thing,” said Hazel defensively. Villon left her in midsentence and walked slowly to Esther Pincus, who was studying Hermes Pan’s notations, but with her mind too preoccupied to absorb much. Herb passed Nina and Magrew, Nina fingering her whistle while presumably flirting with Magrew. Villon decided it was an act on both their parts. They must have met on the tour prior to coming to Los Angeles. Besides, when on assignment, CIA operatives were warned not to fool around with the opposite sex, unless it was for a purpose other than having a wingding. Magrew caught Villons eye and winked. He’s big on winking, thought Villon. Nina smiled at Villon while making an exaggerated show of the whistle. Esther played a few chords and as Herb reached her he said, “That’s very nice.”

  “Oh yes, Khrennikov is very schmaltzy. He hasn’t the pure lines of Shostakovich or the bravado of Prokofiev, but he is serviceable.”

  Villon dived right in. “Hazel Dickson tells me you think you recognized Don Magrew from another time in your life.”

  Esther was nervous. She missed a few notes and nibbed her hands together by way of making her fingers behave. “My hands are cold.”

  From fear? wondered Villon. He said, “It’s not cold in the hall.”

  “I suffer from poor circulation. A family curse. I’ll be fine in a few minutes.”

  Villon realized he had frightened the woman but said nothing about it. “Magrew is with the CIA.”

  “Yes.”

  “They usually assign someone to ride herd on foreign groups.”

  “I know. Especially Russian troupes. I am Russian too, but I am a citizen of the United States.”

  “Miss Pincus, just out of curiosity, could you tell me for sure if you’ve known this man before?”

  Esther looked at Magrew and Nina and then looked into Villon’s face. Such a nice face, she thought, despite the tired eyes and the tiny lines around the mouth. She asked Villon, “Is it so important? I don’t think it’s very important. Until I came to this city, I never knew important people. I think Miss Dickson has made, as you say, a mountain out of a molehill.” Villon could see she was improvising, she was frightened, she probably wished she had not asked about Magrew. Esther continued, ‘This is terribly unsettling. I’m sorry I asked about him. I’m probably mistaken. I’m always thinking I’ve met people before and then it turns out I am wrong.” She turned her attention to Hermes Pans notations and played several chords by way of dismissing Villon. He saw no future in pressing her, commented that the music was lovely, and excused himself. In the center of the hall, Fred was busy rehearsing several members of the corps who represented the czars retinue. Hermes Pan counted to twenty and then signaled Ginger. Ginger raised her hands above her head with what she hoped was a soulful expression on her face and then came plowing into the midst of the dancers, clattering away with a pair of castanets attached to her fingers.

  Mae Frohman was somewhat bewildered. She said to Sol Hurok, “I think Fred has his royal courts confused.”

  “No no no,” said Hurok, “the queen loved the music of Spain and had taken lessons in dancing to the music of both Spain and Portugal. From Portugal she learned the fada.”

  “Ah yes,” said Mae Knowledgeable, “life with fada”

  At the piano, Esther was growing restless. Fred and Hermes were notorious among dancers for dispensing with the piano for long periods during rehearsal; it had something to do with the dancers learning the music in their heads or some such idiosyncrasy. She kept her eyes on Hermes Pan, who might signal her at any moment to start playing. Now she carefully followed his notations, at last understanding where he wanted the piano silent and where he wanted the music to resume. She wanted more coffee but didn’t dare risk leaving the piano. God was on her side; Fred called a break and Esther made it to the coffee urn.

  Villon told Mallory and Hazel that Pincus had clammed up. “I think she’s positive she’s met Magrew before and isn’t quite sure of under what name she knew him, but I’ll give odds she knew him somewhere in Europe.”

  Hazel suggested, “Maybe it’s not his past that has her frightened, maybe it’s her own. She’s a good-looking broad even at her age…”

  “And what age is that?” asked Villon.

  “Strikes me she’s reluctantly pushing fifty. They might have had a toss in the hay in the past. Maybe a very fascinating one-night stand.”

  “Fascinating or not, who can remember a one-night stand of years gone by?” Villon was looking at Hazel. Hazel had what Villon considered to be a very silly smile on her face and regretted asking the question.

  Ginger had arrived minus the castanets and said to Mallory, “Cigarette me, big boy,” a
line she had delivered piquantly in her first feature film. Young Man of Manhattan, which brought her to the attention of critics and public alike. Mallory lit her cigarette and Ginger then asked, “Any comments on the castanets?”

  “I think it’s kind of an exotic touch,” said Hazel.

  “I won’t get away with it and neither will Fred. For crying out loud, great Spanish dancers like Argentinita and Carmen Amaya—I mean castanets to them are like two more fingers, and it’s all I can do to maneuver my ten fingers. I’ve got to talk to Esther Pincus. She’ll be a help. Hey Esther! I’m on my way!” She breezed off toward Esther and Villon marveled at the womans energy.

  Mallory had been focused on Nina Valgorski, who using Fred’s arm for ballast, was standing on point and gracefully extended a leg. Fred smiled and nodded, apparently pleased he’d gotten a much desired movement from Nina. “Herb,” said Mallory.

  “What?”

  “She’s wearing the whistle.”

  “I saw it.”

  “She’s very attached to that whistle,” said Mallory.

  “I know.”

  “What’s with the whistle?” asked Hazel. “Is it really a whistle?”

  Ginger sat next to Esther, an arm around the pianists shoulders as Esther showed her some of Hermes Pans notations on the sheet music. “Here Fred will lift you,” said Esther.

  “While I’m clicking those damn castanets?”

  “Some of the corps will be wearing castanets too and Fred said the orchestra will interpolate some of de Fallas Three-Cornered Hat. Fred will then lower you to the floor and break into a flamenco.”

  “While I break into a rash,” Ginger said forlornly. “Why couldn’t he do a ballet of something classically Russian like Uncle Vanya?”

  “What?”

  “Why, Esther, I didn’t mean to startle you. Vanya, you know, Chekhov.”

  “Yes, yes. At first I thought you said something else. Vanoff.”

  “Oh baby, were not back to Vanoff again!”

  Her voice carried and reached Don Magrew, who was standing nearby with Hurok and Mae Frohman. His eyes moved to Ginger and Esther. Esther’s face was an interesting study. She looked at her wristwatch, wondering how soon Fred would want the music to resume.

  Ginger, studying the score, said, “This section coming up is awfully rinky-dink, you know, like that weird French composer, George Somebody.”

  “Antheil,” said Esther.

  “Right!” said Ginger. “Did you ever meet him?”

  Esther was now calm and collected, as though, while piloting a plane in bad weather, she had suddenly encountered a most welcome break in the clouds. “Yes, I met George Antheil. I met him in Paris. We were introduced by a mutual friend. I remember it as though it was yesterday. It was in a cafe on the Left Bank, a popular hangout for musicians and composers and Russian émigrés. The woman who ran it was quite unique. She was big and very homely but cooked and baked like an angel.”

  “Malke Movitz!” Ginger said, “What a coincidence! Don’t you know she’s here in Beverly Hills? She’s been here for years!” Esther stared at Ginger, digesting everything Ginger told her, listening like a child whose mother was rewarding her with a bedtime story. “Don’t you read the papers? She was Dr. Romanov’s housekeeper!”

  “The doctor who was murdered?”

  “Poisoned. Very nasty.”

  “Poisoned,” echoed Esther.

  “It’s getting very crowded around here,” said Ginger. Members of the corps were helping themselves to coffee and pastries, leading Ginger to comment that ballet dancers had trencherman appetites. Esther, anxious to hear more from Ginger, didn’t notice that her container of coffee had been replaced with a container of fresh brew and urged Ginger back to Malke and Romanov. Ginger didn’t need much urging. In every spare moment, and she didn’t have all that many, she had been running the scenario of Romanov’s murder through her mind, wondering if somewhere in the scenario there was a clue that had been so obscure it was being overlooked. She then asked Esther if she’d heard of Nikolai Vanoff, Romanov’s poisoning bringing to mind the same method used by Nikolai Vanoff to slay his parents.

  “Every Russian has heard of Nikolai Vanoff,” said Esther. “He was a very important man in the Soviet Union. He was practically Stalin s right arm. He was also murdered.” She drank some of her coffee.

  Ginger said, “I think that no-good brother of his, the one who pulled a disappearing act, vanished into thin air, I think he killed Nikolai.” She made a shoving motion with both her hands. “Pushed him out of the window of Nina Valgorski’s apartment.” Esther said to her, “That is a very … She blinked her eyes quickly as though trying to clear away a cobweb… logical … deduction….”

  “Esther? Don’t you feel well?”

  Esther grabbed Gingers hand. “Villon …”

  “Yes?”

  “The detective…”

  “What about him?” My God, thought Ginger, is she putting the finger on Villon? Esther was damp with perspiration. Ginger was frightened. Esthers grip was very tight on her hand. Panicked, Ginger shouted, “Herb! Herb!”

  Mae Frohman, who had been getting coffee for Hurok, heard Ginger, recognized the urgency in her voice, handed the coffee to a male dancer, saying, “Here, take a bath,” and then hurried to Villon, who was chatting with Nina and Mikhail Bochno, the réggisseur général. She grabbed Villon’s arm. “Quick! There’s trouble! Ginger’s yelling for you!”

  Villon followed Mae back to the piano, behind them Nina and Bochno. Fred saw the procession and sensed there was trouble. He hurried after them. Ginger had sent a dancer for a doctor and someone handed her a container of water for Esther. Villon was kneeling at Esthers side. Her eyes opened, and she recognized him.

  “I’ve sent for a doctor,” Ginger told Villon, who now held Esther in his arms. Ginger was dipping a handkerchief into the container of water and trying to moisten Esther’s lips.

  Fred knelt next to Villon and Esther. “What’s wrong with Esther?”

  Ginger said almost hysterically, “We were talking about the Vanoffs.”

  Villon said, “The Vanoffs?” Esther was trying to tell him something. Villon yelled for quiet. The dancers were buzzing among themselves as only dancers can, very cacophonous. Villon moved his head, his ear near Esther’s mouth. Only Ginger and Fred were able to hear what she said. They both stared at Villon. Villon yelled for Mallory, unaware he was standing behind him.

  “I’m here,” said Mallory.

  “Help me carry her to that couch.” The couch was against the wall near the exit. Villon held Esther under her arms and Mallory held her feet, wondering why the chore hadn’t been assigned to a pair of muscular dancers. As they carried her, Villon said to Hazel who was walking alongside them and fearing the worst for Esther, “Call the precinct. Get an ambulance and back up and hurry!”

  Sol Hurok sat on a chair, with Mae holding a vial of smelling salts under his nose, “Take another whiff, Mr. Hurok. It’s not the end of the world. The show will go on.”

  “A pianist,” he bellowed, “we need another pianist.”

  “Mr. Hurok,” said Mae, “I don’t think either Vladimir Horowitz or José Iturbi are in town.”

  Ginger was slapping Esthers wrists and wishing Lela, her mother, was there. She thrived on emergencies. She would know what to do until a doctor came. The rehearsal hall’s official doctor couldn’t be reached but Hazel had gotten through to the precinct. She told Villon help was on the way—an ambulance and additional detectives. She didn’t tell him she had given the news to the Associated Press and that Esther’s collapse would be carried on the TV and radio news programs. Hot on the heels of Romanov’s murder at a gala for the ballet, the collapse of the ballets rehearsal pianist was now even bigger news, especially if it turned out she also was murdered.

  And murder was on everyone’s mind. Villon felt for Esther’s pulse but there was no longer a beat. Her eyes were partially open but Villon could tell from exp
erience they were sightless. He looked at Fred and Ginger and could see they sensed the woman was dead. And now they heard sirens. Ginger stifled a sob. Fred put his arms around her to console her and a very surprised and startled Ginger would never stop telling this in the days and weeks that followed. Fred consoling her! Not yelling “That’s the wrong move!” or “Ginger, no more goddamn feathers on the dress,” but consoling her!

  Villon was standing and with hands upraised exhorted the dancers to move back to clear a path for the ambulance attendants. He was surprised to see the coroner, Edgar Rowe, head ing toward him. “Edgar, how the hell did you know she’d be dead?”

  “I didn’t! I assumed she was dead when the call came in to the precinct.”

  Herb asked Hazel, “Did you say Esther was dead?”

  “Oh, I think I said that she looked like she was dying. Well, that’s how she looked to me!”

  Rowe was examining the body. “She’s dead all right. Good show, Hazel. It saved time and here I am, Edgar on the spot.” He lifted her eyelids, studied them and made weird noises, then used a wooden probe to force her mouth open. He looked up at Villon. “I think its the same stuff that finished Romanov.”

  “Cadmium?”

  “If that’s what it was, that’s what it is.”

  Nina Valgorski seemed hypnotized by Esther Pincus’s body. Esther looked so calm, so serene, so at peace. Nina clutched the whistle dangling from the chain around her neck. She heard a familiar voice asking Nina if he might examine the whistle. Nina looked up into Villon s face. She detached the whistle. She pressed the tip and the top opened. Nina lifted the whistle to her mouth.

  “Stop!” shouted Villon. But he was too late. Nina smiled at Villon.