by George Baxt
“Where?”
She waved her right hand airily. “Someplace.” She was not very steady on her feet and Herb caught her under the arms as she was about to fall forward atop the corpse. Soon another pair of hands took charge of the psychic and Herb thanked Carroll Righter for coming to his rescue.
Righter said with slurred speech, “I’d marry her if I liked women.” He gestured to Sammy and Roy who hurried forward and took charge of Lola. They literally dragged her across the sand and up the stairs to the road, then had a slight misunderstanding as to where they might have parked.
Hazel said to Herb Villon, “I heard what Lola told you.”
“I thought I noticed you crawling around.”
“Don’t be mean. How could the murderer be among us if Lynton was killed miles from here?”
“A cinch by automobile, Hazel. And a ghastly surprise seeing the victim washing up in the middle of the party.”
Hands on hips, challenging Herb, Hazel demanded, “You got any ideas?”
“I’ve always got ideas,” said Herb, “but they’re not necessarily connected with murder.” Clark and Carole had watched as the corpse was lifted into the ambulance. Edmund Weber sat in the front seat next to the driver. His window was rolled down and he waved goodbye to Kay and Miriam.
Miriam said to Kay, “I think you’ve broken his heart.”
“How ridiculous,” scoffed Kay. “Imagine being romanced by a cowoner.”
“Well,” said Miriam, “it would be a novelty.” They watched the ambulance pull away, bell clanging. The butler had retrieved the cashmere blanket from an attendant who had replaced it with a sheet.
“Egbert!” yelped Miriam. “Is that my best cashmere blanket?”
Egbert told her it was, explaining, “It has developed moth holes, Miss Hopkins, totally useless now except for covering a corpse.”
Said Kay, “Sounds weasonable to me.”
“Moth holes can be mended!” exploded Miriam.
“Not even in the best of families,” said Egbert haughtily, having seen service years earlier with Lady Astor in London. He continued on his way back to the house. Kay heard Miriam mutter, “His days are numbered.”
Groucho Marx was haunting Herb Villon. “I suspected Mike Lynton was responsible for spiriting my Lydia away. He was still in love with her. Lydia told me.” He hopped in front of Villon. “Who do you suspect did this dastardly deed? You must suspect someone. Go ahead. Suspect me. I’m available. I haven’t been a suspect in ages.”
“Cut it out, Groucho!”
Groucho said to Hazel, “I’m sure it’s dangerous when he uses that tone of voice. I know one person who’ll be glad to hear Mike is dead. My brother Chico. There’s a suspect for you. But Chico doesn’t knife people to death. He bores them to death. He bores me, but don’t tell him I said so. He’ll pelt me with rocks. I’ll go hunting with Clark if you’ll go hunting with Clark. How can you go hunting if you have a murder to solve? How can you solve a murder if you haven’t any suspects?” He snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it. Look for a disgruntled employee. Is there ever a gruntled employee?”
Miriam’s party was disintegrating rapidly. Guests sought her out and told her it was a marvelous party. W. C. Fields said to Miriam, “Lovely party, my southern sassafras. Clever climax. Who but you, Miriam, would think of a corpse in the water?”
Miriam stifled a rising scream. Kay held her hand tightly. Death wasn’t funny, murder even less so. Mike Lynton’s murder was beginning to sink in. Kay was thinking of calling Herbert Marshall, canceling their date and spending the evening with Miriam. She suggested as much to Miriam, but suddenly Miriam’s eyes sparkled. “That’s so sweet of you, Kay, but the boys are coming back after they get rid of Carroll and Lola.”
The boys? thought Kay. And then she remembered, Of course. Sammy and Roy, those superb examples of young masculinity. “Why Miriam, you sly puss you!”
“We’re going to read some Shakespeare together. Isn’t that sweet?”
“Isn’t what sweet?” asked Carole as she joined them. “I could use some cheering up after the recent unpleasantness. Clark’s phoning the casino to tell them the boss is dead. I doubt if it’s been on the radio yet, Pappy is so thoughtful that way. Look at David O. and Irene. Probably still seething over my remark about Hattie and Butterfly. We’ve seen a screening and the ladies just about walk away with the picture.”
“Not weally!” said Kay.
Carole said, “Hattie should be nominated for an Academy Award. I bet she will and I hope she wins. I’m going to vote a lot of times for her.”
“Shame on you, Carole,” said Miriam.
“Why? You know the studios rig the awards. When they first began in 1928 Janet Gaynor won for three pictures. Can you beat that? And then Louis B. Mayer and Irving Thalberg saw to it that Norma Shearer won for The Divorcee the next year. Did either of you see that stinker?” She saw Herb Villon and Jim Mallory with their heads together. “Herb Villon is such a dear man, the poor guy. First the kidnapping scare gets blown to bits by that FBI fink. Look. He’s joining Herb and Jim, like they need his great mind. Hee hee hee.”
* * *
Herb said to Carl Arden, “I’ve been ignoring you. Sorry. I didn’t expect a murdered man to put in an appearance.”
Arden responded, “Quite a show! You didn’t arrange it just for me, did you?” He said to Jim Mallory, “Your girlfriend must be pleased as punch.”
“What girlfriend?” asked Jim innocently.
“I hope I’m not speaking out of turn. I assumed the young lady you escorted to the party was your girlfriend.”
“Nana Lewis isn’t my girlfriend,” said Jim. “She’s just a young lady I escorted to the party. And it looks as though Oscar Levitt is taking over.” Nana came up to them, out of breath.
“Jim, I hope you don’t mind. Oscar wants to talk about the movie and he’s asked me to dinner. You don’t mind, do you?”
“No. Good luck with the movie.”
“You’re so sweet! Good night, all!” She hurried off to rejoin Oscar Levitt, kicking sand as she passed Carole.
Carole asked the three men, “Who’s chasing her?”
“Oscar Levitt,” said Jim.
The men winced as Carole bombarded the air with a string of Lombard expletives. “The picture doesn’t start shooting for weeks! Lydia could still turn up! Damn it, she’s not dead! She can’t be dead! She’s the liveliest one of my protégées!”
Herb explained Carole’s protégées to Carl Arden who said to Carole, “That’s very generous of you, Miss Lombard.”
“Yeah,” said Carole, still smoldering over Levitt’s hasty decision in announcing Nana’s replacement of Lydia, “beats hell. Pappy! Over here!” Gable trudged through the sand to Carole’s side. “Who’d you talk to at the casino?”
“Mike’s manager. He was shocked. Nobody had heard yet.”
Carole asked, “Does Mike have a stand-in?” Clark chuckled at hearing a replacement for Mike Lynton referred to in typical Hollywood jargon.
Herb spoke up. “You can be sure Mike trained somebody to replace him. Mike was very thorough about his operation. You can also be sure there are several mugs who’ll be looking to move in on the operation. There’s going to be a lot of Sturm and Drang erupting soon.”
“Do you mean a gang war?” Carole’s eyes seemed to be on the verge of popping out of her head. Wearily she said, “Just what we need. Pappy, you in the mood for Romanoff’s? I don’t feel like going back to the ranch yet. Okay?”
“Sure, sweetheart. Mike’ll cheer us both up. Here’s Kay. Should we ask her to join us?”
Kay Francis found an enchanting smile for Carl Arden when they were introduced, but turned down the offer of dinner.
“What about Miriam?” asked Carole with genuine concern. “We can’t leave her alone in that big mansion. Knowing our Miriam, she’ll be seeing ghosts.”
“Oh no she won’t,” said Kay piquantly, “she’s having Sammy an
d Roy for dinner.”
“Raw?” asked Carole, her eyebrows shooting up.
“They’re going to read Shakespeare.”
“Hee hee hee. That’s a new one on me. Boy, Miriam sure works fast and under cover.”
Clark said, “I’ve heard Miriam has done some of her best work under cover.”
“Oh Pappy! You’re such a bitch!”
Kay said, “I don’t want to be the first one to leave this bunch!”
“After dinner, I’ve got to work on the guns,” said Gable. “Carl? If you’ve nothing special on for Saturday morning, why don’t you join us hunting. I’m providing the guns and the ammunition.”
“And I’m providing lunch,” said Carole. “Our trailer truck is outfitted with a kitchen. Very unpretentious and serviceable.”
Herb said to Gable before Carl could come to a decision, “If the invite is still open, Jim and I will join you.”
“That’s swell! The more the merrier!” Clark said. To Carole he added, “How about that, sweetheart? There’ll be venison for Sunday brunch!”
His eagerness at the prospect of slaughtering animals dismayed Carole. Because she so deeply loved him, she had altered her lifestyle to suit his needs. He needed to be a hunter, a he-man. It was macho, of which Carole had once said, “Macho do about nothing.” Now she urged him to hunt. It was one of the few sports that provided him with pleasure. He didn’t have many close pals, not like Jim Cagney and Pat O’Brien and their Hibernians. Ronald Colman ruled the British set, which included David Niven and Patric Knowles. Every Sunday they either played cricket or rode to the hounds while their wives gathered at somebody’s home to bitch about non-British wives.
What friends Carole and Gable had now were Carole’s friends: Fieldsie and her husband, Walter Lang; her press agent Otto Winkler and his wife. Carole was still fond of her ex-husband, William Powell, and invited him often to the house. When his beloved mistress Jean Harlow died in 1937, Powell fell apart mentally and physically. Physically because he was syphilitic, a condition that led to a colostomy that kept him off the screen for almost two years. It was the syphilis with which he had infected Harlow that killed her, not the cock and bull stories put out by the studio. The knowledge that he was responsible for her death would haunt Powell for an eternity. In 1936 Carole and Powell agreed to co-star in My Man Godfrey, a brilliant comedy in which their chemistry resulted in two matchless comedy performances. They almost fell in love again, but each kept a tight rein on their emotions. Powell had Harlow, and Carole, like everyone else in films, adored Harlow, who was known then as “Baby.”
After mulling over Clark’s invitation for a few moments, Carl Arden said he’d be delighted to join the hunting party. Hazel Dickson piped up, “I’ll come along to keep Carole company.” Carole made a mental note to bring cotton for her ears. Herb didn’t exactly whoop with joy at the prospect of Hazel joining them, but she’d overheard him telling Clark he and Jim would join the blood sport caravan. Herb had something else on his mind than the slaughter of animals. Once as a teenager he’d killed a rabbit and as it lay dying, writhing in agony, struggling to rise from the ground, he burst into tears. His brothers never stopped razzing him for being a sissy.
Hazel asked Carole, “What do you wear when you go hunting?”
Carole said, “A look of determination.”
* * *
Mike Romanoff’s restaurant was in the heart of Beverly Hills Village, right behind the chic Beverly Wilshire Hotel. Romanoff’s was a culinary rarity in Hollywood. The food was exceptionally good and what’s more, Romanoff’s also catered and delivered to one’s home. Mike crowed that his menu was derived from several created in the royal palace in St. Petersburg. Groucho said the closest Mike ever got to St. Petersburg was when he saw the movie Rasputin and the Empress. Mike Romanoff was a bogus prince and Hollywood was notorious for taking anyone and anything bogus to its heart. Mike carved his niche quickly, thanks to endorsements from the likes of Clark and Carole and Humphrey Bogart and his wife Mayo Methot, with whom he was constantly embroiled in battle. Mike’s restaurant was Mike’s palace and he lorded over it like an emperor. He was not known for any romantic entanglements and it was rumored he had mob connections. Where else could he have gotten his financial backing?
Romanoff greeted the Gables effusively as they walked in, followed by Herb, Hazel, Jim, and Carl Arden, who feasted on the celebrities he recognized. Though they hadn’t phoned for a reservation, there would be no problem accommodating the Gables and their party. Romanoff always kept several tables available and free of reservations though on each of these tables was a placard that read Reserved. Hazel cursed herself for not going home and changing into an evening dress, though she was aware Carole didn’t share her feeling. If anybody didn’t like what Carole was wearing or found it too sporty for the evening, they were welcome to take a running jump for themselves.
They were hailed by W. C. Fields who, with Carlotta, occupied one of the front booths where the VIPs were always seated. Bogart was with them, nursing a gin martini.
Carole asked Bogart, “Where’s Mayo?”
“At home in the kitchen with a piece of steak on her eye,” said Bogart, flexing his fists.
Carole wasn’t sure whether to believe him or not. It was usually Mayo who got the best of Bogart in battle. She packed a mean punch as Bogart himself freely bragged. Well, decided Carole, if it was Mayo nursing a black eye, Bogart must have snuck up on her and taken her by surprise. She said this to Bogart and he erupted with laughter. Then he admitted, “She’s in the ladies’ room fixing her face. You know her face. That’ll take hours.”
“Now, Bogey, don’t be ungallant. Carlotta? What’s that you’re drinking? It looks delicious.”
Fields spoke for Carlotta. “That’s a pussy café. It’s French.”
“It’s pousse café,” said Carlotta, and it came out purse cafe and Carole immediately lost interest.
The Gables’ table was next to the Fields’ booth and Bogie asked them about Mike Lynton’s murder.
Herb asked, “Is it already being noised abroad?”
“Oh yeah,” said Bogart, “it’s all over town. Didn’t you tune in Louella? It was her big item on tonight’s broadcast. Hey, Hazel, you give her the scoop?”
“If I’m blushing, the answer is yes,” said Hazel while examining her face in the mirror of her compact.
“Knifed in the chest, eh?” said Bogart. “Hey, Herb, shouldn’t you be out sniffing for suspects?”
Herb said, “After dinner. I’ve sent a crew to the casino to interview the employees. They’ll get nothing out of them, but I like to go through the motions.”
Bogie persisted, “You don’t think he was knifed on the premises?”
“If he was, we’d have the suspect in protective custody. Mike’s men would have made hash of him.”
“He? Him?” repeated Carole. “Couldn’t it have been a woman?”
Gable asked her, “Offering yourself as a suspect?”
“Don’t be silly, Pappy. I have an iron-clad alibi. I was with you and the boys until we left for Miriam’s. Poor Mike. I don’t suppose a woman could have made that awful wound.”
“If she was angry enough,” said Herb. “Don’t underestimate the strength of your sex, Carole. An uncontrollable temper can turn any woman into a killing machine.”
“And here she comes now,” said Bogart as Mayo arrived from the powder room, greeted everyone, and was impressed to hear Carl Arden was an FBI man.
“Where’s my drink?” she demanded of Bogart.
“I guess the waiter didn’t think you were coming back. You usually don’t when you take a powder for the powder.” He winked at Gable.
“I saw that wink! What was that all about?”
“Just an innocent flirtation. Here, have my martini. I haven’t touched it.”
“I don’t want your goddamn martini, I want my own.”
Carole said with a sigh, “Here we go again.” She yelled
at Romanoff, who was at the bar conversing with a director, James Whale. “Hey Mike, bring Mayo a martini or send for the riot squad.”
Mayo said, “I don’t find that funny.”
Carole accepted the underlined challenge. “If you activated a sense of humor more often, you’d find it funny.”
Mayo knew better than to lock horns with Carole Lombard. She had a nasty tongue and the sharpest nails in town. Anyway Mike Romanoff was hurrying to them with Mayo’s martini. A waiter followed him. Mayo wisely changed the subject. “The powder room’s abuzz with Mike Lynton’s murder. It seems to have taken everybody by surprise.”
“You weren’t surprised?” asked Herb Villon.
“I’m never surprised when a man has as many enemies as Lynton had. I liked him. I’ll miss him. He had manners, unlike a lot of hoodlums in this town.”
Carole rose to the defense of the so-called hoodlums of Hollywood. “My pappy and my ex have perfect manners. And right here at this table so do Herb and Jim.” The waiter was busy scribbling everyone’s order but drank in every word that came popping out of the Lombard mouth. “I don’t know what I’m carrying on about. Mayo, why are you so cantankerous? You’re a lovely broad and a damned good actress. You’re married to a sweetheart—”
“Ha!” interjected Mayo.
“Anyone who has the good taste to flirt with my husband is a sweetheart! Hee hee hee.” She couldn’t ever imagine Gable locked in the arms of another man, except for his father when Gable was an infant.
“Cut that out!” said Gable.
“Now Pappy,” cautioned Carole, “don’t start suspecting you’re losing your masculinity like the dykes often do.” She noticed Mayo didn’t thank Romanoff for dutifully and swiftly delivering her martini. Thought Carole, Talk about a lack of manners.
Herb had Mayo on a hook and he enjoyed the thought of her wiggling. “Mayo, what do you know about Mike Lynton’s enemies?”
Mayo was unruffled. “It stands to reason he has them. There’s half the population who can’t pay up their gambling debts.”