Valentino Will Die

by Donis Casey

  ~ We Return to a Farmhouse in China, Where Last we Saw Bianca Dangereuse… ~

  …pressing herself against the bricks, listening for a clue to Butch Revelle’s whereabouts. The muffled sound of voices draws her to one of the wings of the farmhouse. A dim light comes through a high window—too high for Bianca to peek through. Her brief reconnoiter turns up a wooden bucket, just the thing to serve as a step stool.

  Butch is tied to a chair in the middle of the small bare room. She stifles a gasp. He has been badly beaten. The Clutching Claw is standing with his back to her. He is speaking to Butch, though Bianca cannot hear him well enough to understand what he is saying. Not that it matters.

  She steps off the bucket and picks it up by the handle, giving it a couple of swings to test its weight. It is a sturdy bucket. Solid oak. It will make quite a dent in the Clutching Claw’s skull. She steps to the door, tensed to make her move, and smashes the tyrant over the head.

  He slides soundlessly to the ground. Butch gasps and emits a low moan, but Bianca puts a finger to her lips. Do not alert the guards. She withdraws her knife from the sheath on her belt and quickly cuts Butch’s bonds.

  His injuries are so severe he cannot stand. Bianca positions herself under his arm and lifts him from the chair. She guides him toward the door. He is bravely doing his best, but he is dragging one leg behind him, useless. Her heart falls. She cannot make a stealthy escape with Butch in this condition. She is going to have to eliminate the guards. Somehow.

  She gently returns her wounded cousin to his chair and draws her Luger.

  * * *

  “All right, cut! Well done,” director Nils Fox said. “Let’s break for lunch and meet back here at one.”

  One of the Chinese perimeter guards spoke up. “Do we need to rehearse the fight scene where Wu and I try to stop her escape?” He nodded toward his fellow bit actor.

  “I think that’s a good idea,” Bianca said, relishing the idea of tossing the two very large stuntmen about. The stunt people were always a lot of fun to work (play) with.

  “Let’s finish shooting the rescue scene first, then the four of you can go over the fight choreography before we resume shooting after lunch.”

  The Clutching Claw had been put on hold due to Rudy’s death, but time was a-wasting and so was money. Bianca was eager to pursue her investigation, but she couldn’t help but feel relieved to get back to work. Weeks of fear and worry and grief had exhausted her and made it difficult for her to think clearly. Perhaps a few days of movie action and adventure would clear her mind.

  After lunch and before shooting resumed, the actors returned to the makeup chair for a touch-up. It was wonderful to lie back, close your eyes, and leave the job to a professional. When Bianca had first started in motion pictures, a mere five years earlier, she had done her own makeup, obliterating her features with white greasepaint, lining her eyes with kohl and darkening her lids and lips with purple eyeshadow and lipstick. She had even whitened her hands with chalk to match the ghostly hue of her face. Fortunately, the quality of film had improved so much in the past couple of years that she could now sport a more natural look on the screen.

  The woman doing her makeup on this movie was a middle-aged native Californio woman with the unlikely name of Thelma Sanchez McAndrew, who considered herself as much therapist as aesthetician.

  Thelma wrapped a towel around Bianca’s neck and critically eyed her reflection in the mirror. “You look terrible, darling.”

  “Thanks ever so much, Thelma.”

  “Well, it’s no wonder. It was a dreadful thing about Mr. Valentino.” She began dabbing lightener under Bianca’s eyes. “Is it true that he was murdered?”

  Bianca’s eyes snapped open. “Where did you hear that?”

  “I read it in the Hollywood Globe, dear. They said that he was really shot to death by a jealous husband and the whole perforated ulcer story was just a ruse.”

  Bianca felt her shoulders relax. “I guarantee that isn’t true. I spent quite a lot of time with him in the hospital before he died and there were no bullets involved.”

  Thelma squeezed a measure of foundation into her palm and smoothed it over Bianca’s already smooth cheeks. “I’m so glad to hear that. Mr. Valentino never struck me as someone who would be mixed up with a married woman, in spite of all the gossip. I figured that if anyone knew the truth, it would be you. I’m sorry. I know you two were friendly. He was always such a sweetheart.”

  “Thank you. He was.”

  “Still, darling, you should try to get more sleep. These dark circles under your eyes look tragic.”

  “I promise I’ll do better, Thelma.” Bianca removed the towel from her neck and stood. “Even though you are a magician. I do look much better.” She was distracted by the reflection of the assistant director waving at her in the mirror, trying to catch her attention.

  “Miss LaBelle,” said the AD, “James Quirk is on the telephone for you.”

  * * *

  “Jimmy, what did you find out?”

  “You gave me an impossible task, Bianca. There must be fifty Jennys who work in the business, and there’s no guarantee that Rudy’s Jenny is one of them. Maybe she was a waitress who was nice to him once. It was like trying to find a needle in a haystack.”

  The tone of his voice as he complained was too triumphant to fool Bianca. “But you found her!”

  “Hang on. Maybe or maybe not. I cross-referenced all the names you gave me to search for with the studios where Rudy worked and came up with one girl that seems to fit all your criteria. She started working as a personal assistant for George Fitzmaurice when he was directing The Son of the Sheik at United Artists, but she quit a few weeks ago. Her name is Jenny Donahue.”

  “Donahue! Any relation to Miles Donahue, the oil millionaire?”

  “I don’t know and neither did her replacement at the studio. Donahue isn’t the most common Irish name, but it isn’t the rarest, either. The new secretary didn’t know where Jenny went after she quit. Fitzmaurice wasn’t in when I called, so I didn’t talk to him. He might know.”

  “Jimmy, you are a pearl among men. I didn’t think it could be done, but you did it.”

  Quirk chuckled. “I was afraid that if I didn’t, you’d wake me up at four in the morning again and harass me, like you did today.”

  “I’m sorry, but I had to be on set at five and I wanted to get the ball rolling.”

  “You owe me an exclusive interview now, you know.”

  “Jimmy, I do owe you. Oops, Nils is giving me a dirty look. I have to go. I’m going to go see Fitzmaurice as soon as I can. I’ll let you know if I find Jenny.” She hung up the phone, elated. Jenny Donahue was Rudy’s Jenny, she was sure of it. She had seen Miles Donahue at the funeral. She had seen him talking to Tony Cornero. It could not all be a coincidence.

  She stalked back to the set, impatient and hungry to get on with her investigation and grill the director George Fitzmaurice. Perhaps pounding on two enormous Chinese stuntmen would be good therapy.

  ~ Later that Afternoon, Bianca takes a meeting With George Fitzmaurice ~

  Bianca knew director, producer, and all-around artist George Fitzmaurice fairly well. He had directed her in a light comedy a couple of years earlier and they still had an occasional luncheon together. Fitzmaurice was born in Paris, and though he had been in the States for decades, he still enjoyed conversing with Bianca in French over a glass of wine. Fitz, as she knew him, had also directed Rudy in The Son of the Sheik, the movie Rudy was promoting in New York when he died.

  He was in the midst of directing a drama with Vilma Banky and Ronald Colman and had invited her to meet him at the office United Artists had provided for him on the lot. It was a creaky little room but close to the studio where he was shooting. He invited Bianca to have a seat on the one chair in the office that didn’t sag, lean, or have lumps. Fitz
opted to lean against his desk and offered her a cup of coffee.

  She waved the offer away. “Fitz, I’m trying to find someone, and I’m hoping you can help me.”

  “Certainly, Bianca. I’ll do anything I can for you. Of course I’d like for you to do something for me, too.”

  Bianca stiffened, wary. Her fame gave her power and a certain amount of protection, but she was still a young woman in Hollywood who had fended off plenty of filthy propositions from producers, directors, other actors, and members of the general public who thought they were in love with her.

  Fitzmaurice continued, unaware of her discomfort. “I’ve acquired the rights to Wickfield’s latest bestseller The Death of Lucretia, and Universal is going to produce it. You’d be perfect as the woman who brings down the last king of Rome with her suicide.”

  Bianca let out a breath that she didn’t know she was holding. “Send me the script and I’ll have a look at it. Of course you’ll have to get UA’s permission for me to do a picture for Universal, but I don’t think that’ll be a problem. Do you have the financing in place?”

  “Almost. I hope to start shooting early next year.”

  “I’m committed to this Grand Obsession tour early next year. Now that Rudy is gone, they’ll never let me shorten it. Still interested?”

  “Hell, yes. We will push back the shoot if we can get Bianca LaBelle. I’ll arrange for a courier to hand-deliver a copy of the treatment to your house as soon as it is done.”

  “On second thought, send it to my agent. He’ll forward it to me if he thinks it’s a fit. Now, Fitz, I hear that your previous secretary was a woman named Jenny.”

  Fitzmaurice blinked. “Yes, Jenny Donahue.”

  “Was she friends with Rudy, do you know?”

  “I don’t know. I know they met. He came to my office several times while she worked here, but I can’t tell you if there was more to it than that. What’s this about?”

  Bianca felt her heart rate pick up. “Do you know if she’s any relation to Miles Donahue, the oil millionaire?”

  “His daughter. But don’t mention it to her. She hates the guy.”

  “Why? I thought Donahue was big into charity and good works.”

  “I don’t know. She never told me. I thought it was odd that they don’t get along, though. She is a lovely girl, and her father seemed like a nice enough fellow the one time I met him.”

  Oh, my God, what a tangle. Rudy’s mysterious Jenny was the daughter of Miles Donahue, whom Bianca had seen talking to the mobster Tony Cornero at Rudy’s funeral. The same Tony Cornero to whom Rudy had paid thousands of dollars for an unknown reason. Tony Cornero, who owned a gambling ship called the Monaco—the same ship that Oliver told her about. Did all these unlikely links create a chain that could lead Bianca to Rudy’s killer? She staved off a stab of uncertainty and soldiered on. “Do you know where she is now? I want to find her and talk to her, if I can.”

  “I don’t know, I’m sorry. She didn’t leave a forwarding address. I got the feeling that she didn’t want to be found. I tried to talk her out of leaving. She was the best secretary I ever had. Very efficient.”

  ~ It’s easy to be bold in the daylight ~

  The guard at the gate to Bianca’s estate knew Oliver by now and waved him through with only a cursory sneer. Oliver parked his Ford in the drive and pounded on the door, then lit a cigarette to pass the time while whoever was inside could make the long trek across the foyer.

  He had only taken a single drag when the giant entryway swung open and Fee appeared. The majordomo was clad in a silk dressing gown and a terrycloth head wrap. Fee was never without some sort of head covering. Oliver supposed there was hair under there, but he had never seen it. Fee gestured for Oliver to step into the foyer, where they eyed one another for a silent moment.

  Oliver took the initiative and said, “I know she wasn’t expecting me, but I’ve some news.”

  “You should have called,” Fee said. “She isn’t here. She’s gone to dinner at the Fairbankses’ house. She goes there every Tuesday evening. You’d have saved yourself a trip if you’d called first.”

  Oliver didn’t bother to defend his action. Fee knew perfectly well that Oliver never called first, not from his flat, at least. Maybe his phone was tapped and maybe it wasn’t, but he never took the chance. “When will she be back?”

  “She usually returns very late. I can relay a message.”

  “I’d rather tell her in person.”

  Fee did not appear to be affronted. “As you wish. If it’s important for you to talk to her tonight, you can wait for her in the sunroom. It might be a long wait.”

  Oliver thought about it. Jack Dempsey had followed Fee into the entryway and was currently sniffing around his feet and giving him the stink eye. Oliver tried not to laugh. He admired the ratty little canine. The mutt might have been the size of a chipmunk, but he thought he was a lion. Oliver would have tried to pet him, but he was afraid he’d lose a finger.

  He looked up at Fee, who was waiting patiently for an answer. He wondered if Fee slept on the floor across the door to Bianca’s bedroom, like a harem guard. “On second thought,” Oliver said, “you can relay a message for me. Tell her that Dix has arranged for me to go out to the Monaco on Thursday night. I’ll come by on Friday to tell her what I find out. She will be receiving on Friday morning, will she not?”

  “She will be on set Friday morning. Come back after eight o’clock on Friday night.”

  Oliver raised an eyebrow. “The great LaBelle won’t be at a party on Friday night?”

  Fee scooped the pup off the floor and tucked him under an arm. “Not since Mr. Valentino died.”

  That set Oliver back a little. “Oh, well, tell her that if she needs to get hold of me before then, she can send me a telegram like she’s been doing, or try me at Bay Cities Italian Deli in Santa Monica. Hey, Fee, I hope she hasn’t come up with any more harebrained schemes. You tell her that she ought to stick with her movie pals and leave the mobsters to me, like we planned.”

  Fee didn’t reply. Oliver took another drag of his Lucky Strike. Fee hadn’t asked his opinion about Bianca’s investigation, but he needed to express one to somebody and Fee was handy.

  “What a broad!” Oliver said on a smoky exhalation. “She thinks she can do anything, and as far as I’ve been able to see, nobody has proved her wrong. Yet. It’s unnatural for such a young woman to be so…”

  “So what?” Fee’s tone indicated no small amount of umbrage at Oliver’s comment.

  “I don’t know. Independent. Self-sufficient. Most babes are looking for a little romance or companionship, or they think they can fix you, or they want somebody to take care of them…”

  Fee made a disparaging noise. “You’re a prick, Oliver. Like most guys.”

  Oliver gave Fee a narrow look. It dawned on him that he was actually growing used to the appearance of this colossal person of unspecified sex. “Hey, what’s your story, Fee?”

  The question was unexpected, but Fee was not surprised. The dog wiggled and made a noise of protest. Fee put him on the floor. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  “Oh, come on. We’re friends, aren’t we? I’m not going to tell anybody anything.”

  “No, you’re not, because you’ll never know anything to tell.”

  Oliver was amused. “How long have you worked for Bianca?”

  Fee hesitated before deciding that the question was harmless enough. “About four years. I was working for Miss Bolding when I first met her, but Bianca asked me to set up her household after she got famous, and I just stayed on.”

  “How is Alma these days? Last I heard she got tossed off the set of her latest flick for always showing up half in the bag.”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but she’s doing much better. Bianca arranged for her to have a nice rest at a spa
near Calistoga.”

  “So the child becomes the parent, eh?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Listen, Fee, I like Bianca a lot, and I worry about her. She’s headstrong as hell, and too young to have much sense, I think. As talented and…” He hesitated, searching for the right word. “…competent as she seems to be, I’m afraid she’s going to get herself into a situation that she can’t get out of and really get hurt.”

  Fee’s skeptical expression softened the tiniest bit. “That’s what I’m here for, Oliver, to take care of her.” Fee leaned forward and slipped a cigarette out of the ivory box on the telephone table, taking a moment to light it and draw in a leisurely lungful of smoke before continuing. “Besides, Bianca isn’t as heedless as she seems. The girl is a thinker.” A column of smoke drifted toward the ceiling. “More than once, I’ve caught her wandering around the house in her pajamas or curled up on the living room couch in the middle of the night…”

  Oliver could believe that. “Plotting.”

  “…brooding. Bianca’s already been hurt, Oliver. She’s already lost more than you know or are ever likely to.”

  “Well, now you’ve really made me curious.”

  “I’m just explaining a thing or two. It’s true she’s young. She likes excitement too much. But don’t underestimate Bianca. There’s more to her than meets the eye.” Fee crushed the cigarette butt in a crystal ashtray before opening the front door and, with a sweeping gesture, ushering Oliver out.

  ~ While Oliver talks to Fee, Bianca has dinner with Movie Royalty ~

  Mary Pickford and Douglas Fairbanks were the reason Bianca had built her house in the wealthy San Ysidro Canyon enclave above Beverly Hills. Bianca’s Orange Garden estate was a wonder to behold, but just up the hill, Doug and Mary’s Pickfair mansion put her house to shame. Bianca grew up with nine siblings in a two-bedroom farmhouse and had not yet learned the art of profligacy. Mary was doing her best to teach her. It was Mary who had educated Bianca about art in all its forms, and she didn’t have to travel far to provide exquisite examples to her student. Pickfair was practically a museum, filled with stunning pieces of Chinese ceramics and objets, Remington paintings and sculptures, eighteenth-century French furniture. The house itself, a twenty-five room, four-story mock-Tudor mansion, was a knockout, with parquet floors, mahogany paneling, gold leaf trim on the walls, and frescoed ceilings. The Fairbankses had their own screening room and a bowling alley in the basement. Their impressive in-ground swimming pool, a relatively new development for private homes, had inspired Bianca to build her own.