by J. D. Griffo
“He’s not the only one!”
Alberta turned around and for the second time that morning was flabbergasted. Helen and Joyce were standing in the doorway to Sloan’s office. Alberta understood why Joyce was holding a tray of cupcakes, but she had no idea why Helen was holding a balloon in the shape of a goldfish.
“Caro signore,” Alberta said. “What are you two doing here?”
“Wishing you and your fella a happy anniversary,” Joyce declared.
“With a goldfish?” Alberta questioned.
“Your first date was at the Waterfest,” Helen said. “I wanted to bring a water pistol with me to commemorate the occasion, but Joyce convinced me that you probably weren’t wearing waterproof mascara.”
“Thank you, Joyce, you always have my back,” Alberta said. “And thank you, Helen, the thought and the goldfish are greatly appreciated.”
“Ladies, this is incredibly thoughtful of you both,” Sloan added. He grabbed a cupcake from Joyce’s tray and took a bite. “Yum. Luckily, I’m a big proponent of a healthy breakfast.”
“I see Sloan got you a lovely bouquet of flowers, Berta,” Helen said. “What did you get him?”
Caught off guard, Alberta didn’t have a chance to invent a gift, and Helen could tell by her agonized expression that she had completely forgotten there was a memory to memorialize.
“You forgot your own anniversary?” Helen barked.
“I’ve been so focused on solving this case, it slipped my mind,” Alberta said.
“How hard could it be to remember?” Helen asked. “You’ve literally only had two men in your entire life.”
“That’s all right, Helen,” Sloan said. “I’m not dating Alberta for her mind.”
“Then this relationship might have some legs after all,” Helen said.
“Basta!” Alberta cried. “How did you two know we were here anyway?”
Joyce laid the tray of cupcakes on Sloan’s desk as Helen tied the balloon’s string around the arm of one of the guest chairs in the office. They both sat down at the same time and acted as if they were going to give a presentation, which was exactly what they were going to do.
“Jinx called us last night and asked us to do some research into Missy’s past,” Joyce explained. “She thinks there’s much more to her than just her childhood fame.”
“She asked me to do the same thing,” Alberta said. “That’s why I’m here.”
“We knew she asked you and we figured if you had some research to do, you would hightail it to Sloan’s office first thing in the morning,” Joyce said.
“Am I that predictable?” Alberta asked.
“When it comes to using Sloan, yes,” Helen replied.
“Ah, Madon!” Alberta cried. “One of these days, Helen.”
“What?” Helen replied. “Bang zoom, right to the moon?”
“Before the two of you start to brawl, I’ve already given Alberta permission to use me as she sees fit,” Sloan announced. “Now why don’t you and Joyce tell us what you’ve found out?”
Joyce explained that through one of her contacts she’d uncovered that although Missy married several times, she never had any children. Two of her husbands died, and while her third marriage ended in divorce, her ex was killed in a boating accident before he could change his will. Luck stuck as closely to Missy as death, because all three men chose Missy as their sole beneficiary and left her their entire estates.
She amassed about three million dollars in inheritance, not a huge sum of money, but a much better amount than what most child actors were able to accumulate and an excellent amount for someone who hadn’t worked in over four decades. She invested wisely in the stock market and made some smart real estate investments that all turned a hefty profit. Financially speaking, she’d had nothing to worry about.
She was also in good health. At least that’s what Luke had told Helen. During a break in the meeting held on what was supposed to be the first day of rehearsal, Luke mentioned that according to the autopsy report, Missy hadn’t been taking any medication and had no other physical ailments. Luke also mentioned that the autopsy report wasn’t yet ready to be released to the public, so the information needed to be kept confidential and Helen couldn’t tell anyone about it, including her sister or granddaughter. Helen swore she would never do that and immediately told the one person Luke hadn’t forbidden her to tell: her sister-in-law, Joyce.
“You see, Helen,” Joyce remarked. “I do come in handy.”
“Sometimes,” Helen added.
“That proves that Missy was healthy and wealthy, if not entirely wise,” Alberta said.
“Why do you say that, Berta?” Sloan asked.
“She should never have come to Tranquility,” Alberta said. “Had she stayed home and out of the public’s eye, she might still be alive.”
“She couldn’t resist,” Helen said. “We actresses understand the lure of the spotlight.”
“Helen!” Alberta cried. “I’m sure you would’ve been eccezionale in the play, but you can’t put yourself in the same category as Missy. She was a movie star.”
“Actually, Helen and Missy had more in common than you might think,” Sloan said. “You too, Alberta.”
“I did notice that we bear a physical resemblance, and Missy used to wear her hair the same way I did,” Alberta said. “But what could Helen and I have in common with that celebrity?”
“You’re all Italian,” Sloan announced.
“That’s pazzo,” Alberta said.
“It sure is. Daisy was a WASP,” Helen added. “Her parents were originally from England.”
“Daisy might have had British blood running through her veins,” Sloan replied. “But Missy Michaels, or should I say Melissa Margherita Miccalizzo, was one hundred percent Sicilian.”
“You can’t get any more Italian than that,” Joyce said.
“Dio mio!” Alberta exclaimed. “That’s her real name?”
“It’s so beautiful,” Helen said. “Why in the world did they change it?”
“Back then they always changed actors’ names to make them sound less ethnic and more majestic. The name needed to look good on a marquee,” Sloan explained. “Rock Hudson was born Roy Harold Scherer and Lauren Bacall was originally Betty Joan Perske.”
“Bogie and Betty has a nice ring to it,” Alberta remarked.
“But Bogie and Perske sounds like an accounting firm,” Helen added.
“Also too, despite her black hair, Missy doesn’t look very Italian,” Joyce added.
“The studio probably changed the little girl’s appearance as well,” Sloan said. “They were always transforming movie stars, like making Judy Garland lose weight, lifting Rita Hayworth’s hairline, and revamping Marilyn Monroe’s entire body.”
“I wonder if Missy looks like the rest of her family,” Alberta said.
“Hard to know,” Sloan replied. “None of the photos I found online ever showed her back in Maine or with her relatives. They’re exclusively photo shoots except for some rare candid shots, but in those Missy is only seen with Teddy or the other recurring characters from the films.”
“Once Missy went to Hollywood, it’s like her real family ceased to exist,” Joyce said.
“What a sin,” Alberta muttered. “To be torn from your family at such a young age.”
“And then to have life torn from you at such an old age,” Sloan said.
“Not for nothing, but this is the worst anniversary party I ever attended,” Helen quipped.
“Sorry, Helen,” Sloan said. “I’ll make it up to you another time, but tonight I’m taking my girl out for dinner at that fancy new French restaurant in Lake Hopatcong.”
“Ooh la la, that place is fancy,” Joyce cooed. “Berta, you have to wear that new black dress you bought at The Clothes Horse, and I have a pink chiffon scarf and brooch to finish the outfit.”
“That sounds perfect, Joyce, thank you,” Alberta said. “I’ll come over later and pick them up,
but first I have an errand to run. And I need Helen’s help.”
* * *
St. Winifred’s of the Holy Well didn’t draw much of a crowd on a Tuesday afternoon, so when Alberta and Helen entered the church there were only two other people sitting in the pews. They dipped their fingertips into the holy water font, made the sign of the cross, and walked to the left, where the statue of the Blessed Mother was. They each lit a candle and silently said a prayer for Missy’s soul. Their earlier conversation made Alberta realize that even if a family member knew that Missy died thanks to their long separation and fractured relationship, they might not care enough to offer up an invocation. It reminded Alberta of something her mother would often say, una stella senza luce—a star without light. And she imagined that without her family by her side, that’s exactly what Missy was.
When they were finished, they gazed into the blue eyes of the statue and, as they always did, thanked the Blessed Mother for listening. It was a moment of grace and humility that the women felt was necessary. When they turned around, the last thing they expected to see were the glaring black eyes of Father Sal.
“Follow me, ladies.”
Baffled but intrigued, Alberta and Helen followed Sal out of the church and down the walkway leading toward the rectory and the priests’ offices. Unsure of why Sal wanted them to follow him, the ladies interlocked their arms to reassure themselves that he wasn’t leading them down a path of some kind of spiritual destruction. With Sal, you just never knew.
Once they were in his office, they watched Sal climb on a small ladder to pull out a photo album from the top shelf of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that were chock-full of everything from first-edition hardcovers to pulp paperbacks to decades-old church newsletters. When he placed the item on his desk, they realized it was much more than a photo album: it was a Missy Michaels scrapbook.
“Sal, you weren’t kidding,” Helen said. “You really are a superfan.”
“Thou shalt not lie, Helen,” Sal replied. “I have similar handmade tomes on Doris Day and Lena Home, as well as some others. Early in my career, when I was working far from home, these women became something of a substitute family to me.”
Neither Helen nor Alberta commented on that revelation, but they were thankful that their friend felt comfortable enough to disclose a private truth to them. They also really wanted to dive into the scrapbook to see what private truths it would reveal about Missy.
The information Sloan had gathered came from reputable news sites. In contrast, the clippings Sal preserved in his book were culled from gossip rags and exposed a different side to Missy’s life. Together, they began to create a more realistic picture of the former superstar.
Page after page was filled with articles and photos from supermarket newspapers and old movie star magazines, and few of them were flattering. They learned that Missy’s stardom destroyed her family because they were never allowed to be with Missy while she was making movies in Hollywood. The pain and anxiety the separation caused took its toll on her parents, who divorced by the time Missy’s second movie premiered. Her siblings—two sisters and a brother—were always jealous of her and never understood why she was the one the producer handpicked to be a star.
“Personally, I don’t like to remember Missy this way, but life wouldn’t be life if we only focused on the ripe fruit and ignored the rotting apples falling from certain family trees,” Sal said. “I thought a tidbit or two in here could help with the investigation.”
“You may be right, Sal,” Alberta said. “Thank you for sharing these memories with us.”
“I wonder if Missy even cared about seeing her family,” Helen said. “She was probably surrounded by so many people in Hollywood and always working, she might not have had the time to miss them.”
“It appears that they missed her money.”
Alberta was pointing at an article that claimed Missy’s family sued her for a portion of her salary. The claim was dismissed in court and corroborated the information Sloan discovered, that Missy was emancipated when she was only fourteen years old. She took control of her finances, and all the money she made from that point on was hers and hers alone. And from what the rest of the articles claimed, she never gave her family another penny.
“Do you notice that they refer to her family as the Michaels?” Alberta asked.
“That’s their last name,” Father Sal replied.
“Wrong,” Helen said. “She’s as Italian as the three of us.”
“Holy Federico Fellini!” Sal shouted. “Are you serious?”
“Does Melissa Margherita Miccalizzo sound Irish?” Helen said.
Sal clutched his heart and closed his eyes, seemingly lost in a recurring daydream. “I always knew she and I could be related.”
The last page of the scrapbook was a full-page article with the headline WHATEVER HAPPENED TO MISSY MICHAELS? It was mainly a recap of Missy’s career and they gleaned nothing new from its content. But the accompanying photo was the clue they were looking for. Sal was right, his scrapbook might help them find out who’d killed Missy.
“Santa Madre di Dio!” Alberta exclaimed. “Look at this photo.”
Immediately, Helen and Sal focused on the picture on the page. It showed Missy with her parents and three siblings on a country road in front of a dilapidated house. The street sign behind them showed they stood on the corner of Smith Street and 7th Avenue.
“That’s the house in the photo!” Helen exclaimed. “The one that was stuffed inside the arsenic bottle.”
“You’re right!” Sal squealed. “The background is the same, except in this photo the people are different.”
“This confirms it,” Alberta said. “The murderer didn’t kill Missy Michaels.”
“Then who’d the killer kill?” Helen asked.
“Melissa Margherita Miccalizzo.”
CHAPTER 16
Una voce dal passato.
Melissa Margherita Miccalizzo might be dead, but Missy Michaels was still alive and kicking.
Based on the bustling activity taking place on stage and in the theatre at St. Winifred’s Academy, it was obvious that despite the rumors of her grisly demise, the old girl wasn’t yet ready to make her final exit from this world. The entire cast was milling about, chattering, discussing characters they wouldn’t get to play, and reciting lines they wouldn’t get to say. The large, blown-up photo of Missy still stood on the tripod at the back of the theatre, and to the left of the entrance were stacks of programs with the same before-and-after photos of Missy plastered on the cover announcing her as the unequivocal star of Arsenic and Old Lace. But how could there be an Arsenic and Old Lace if the lead actress and box office draw was—what was the delicate way to put it?—otherwise engaged?
Ever since Nola bolted from her lunch with Jinx, Bruno, and Kip, she had been acting odder than usual. At home she was sequestered in her bedroom, so Jinx hadn’t seen her, and when Jinx texted her at work during the day, she received an automated response stating that “The person you are trying to contact cannot be reached at this time.” Nola was always busy, but she was always responsive. No one had heard from her until she e-mailed a missive to the cast and creative team of the show at 5:45 a.m., asking them all to meet her at the theatre later that night for an emergency meeting.
As they entered the lobby of the theatre, Jinx turned to Alberta and paused.
“What’s wrong, lovey?” Alberta asked.
“Nola’s making me nervous,” Jinx admitted. “I haven’t even been able to fill her in on Missy being Italian and being from Deer Isle, Maine, which, incidentally, does not sound like a town that would have any kind of Italian population.”
“We’re everywhere, lovey, don’t ever forget that,” Alberta replied. “But your not being able to share any of the information we found with Nola might be a good thing.”
“You don’t think Nola had anything to do with the murder, do you?” Jinx asked.
“Not Nola,” Alberta said,
“but possibly someone she knows. Better to keep what we found out private for the moment. These are clues that might help in the investigation.”
“That makes sense, Gram. I got so caught up in the excitement of what you found out, I wanted to share it.”
“It might not be the Italian way to do things,” Alberta stated, “but sometimes it’s best to keep quiet.”
Tell that to Helen.
“Nola’s lucky I took a sabbatical from volunteering at the animal shelter!” Helen said, joining Alberta and Jinx in the lobby. “I’m not always free on Thursday nights.”
“Don’t make it sound as if you had anything else to do,” Alberta replied. “Now that the show’s been canceled, you have all your nights free.”
“Aunt Helen, do you have any idea why Nola called this meeting?” Jinx asked.
“I suspect it has to do with everyone returning their scripts,” Helen said. “She mentioned that at the first rehearsal meeting. Do you think I should return the script we swiped from Missy’s hotel room?”
“Let’s keep it for a while longer,” Alberta said. “No one’s missed it and it still might hold a clue.”
“Jinxie, has Nola said anything about Missy’s script?” Helen asked.
“I haven’t been able to get a hold of her since our lunch on Monday, but I know this has been so hard on her,” Jinx said. “She’s really been quite upset.”
She still was.
“Don’t yell at me!”
The women turned toward the box office, and although the blinds were down on the ticket window, they could see that a light was on inside the small room. From the sounds emerging within the space, they could also hear that a fight was brewing.
“Don’t call me that!”
Despite the venom lacing each spoken word, it could be nothing more than a lover’s quarrel. The women looked at one another but remained silent so they could hear more of the argument between Nola and Johnny. Yes, it was eavesdropping, but yes, it was also entertaining.
“How many times do I have to ask you that?” Johnny yelled.
“I slipped, I’m sorry!” Nola yelled back. “What difference does it make anyway?”