by P. J. Conn
He slid his arms around her narrow waist and hugged her tight. She was the dream girl he’d never thought he’d have, and he loved her desperately. "I promise to be so charming she'll welcome me into the family with open arms."
She leaned against him. "That might take some practice. We should probably begin tonight."
"If you insist," he whispered against her ear, and the dishes were promptly forgotten.
* * *
Early the following morning, Joe parked his Chevrolet sedan across the street from Matteo da Milano's Almont Drive apartment house. Built after the war in the Moderne style with curved balconies and a flat roof, the three story building's pale gray exterior was brightened with red doors and window trim. Matteo's second residence was in a sandstone building reminiscent of the country estates featured in English movies.
Joe had brought along the morning's copy of the Los Angeles Times to read and put up as a shield if necessary. He looked up often, and recognized Matteo from his photo as he left his building with a beautiful companion. Surprised, Joe sat up straight.
He had met Lily Montell, an exotic dancer, or striptease artist in plain language, on his last murder case. She used an elegant 1920's Art Deco costume for her act, and often wore gowns of lily-patterned fabric. He lifted his camera and got a quick photograph of them kissing good-bye before they left in separate taxicabs.
He'd hoped Matteo would be involved with a third woman, but Lily Montell hadn't been what he'd had in mind. He liked her, and didn't want to involve her in a case complicated by too many women. In addition to being a superb musician, Matteo must also possess the skills of a disappearing artist to keep them from bumping into each other.
Joe stopped for breakfast at Herbert's Drive-In on the southeast corner of Beverly Blvd. and Fairfax. The bacon and eggs were good, but he failed to come up with any strategy to satisfy his two current clients other than the hope Matteo might be involved with a fourth woman. He hadn't been in his office long when the phone rang.
"Discreet Investigations."
"Hi, Joe, this is Lily Montell. Were you parked on Almont Avenue this morning?"
He took a deep breath and released it slowly. "Nice to hear from you, Lily. I never discuss my jobs, but I might have been in the neighborhood."
"I don't have to ask why you were there. Are you free to see me before noon?"
"Of course. Come on over."
Lily wore a form-fitting lavender silk dress splashed with a bold lily print. Black stiletto heels boosted her height above her natural five foot four inches. She kept her hair short and styled in the neat waves fashionable in the 1920s. It was perfect for her act, and gave her delicate features a lovely frame, but her expressive dark eyes held a hint of sorrow.
"I've ended the affair with my married beau, and I miss him terribly. We were doomed from the beginning, so I've no one to blame but myself for the predictable sadness now. Matteo da Milano and I met only a few weeks ago, and he's definitely single. He's also an ardent lover."
She paused to study Joe's reaction. "Am I embarrassing you?"
He had done his best not to squirm in his chair. "No, certainly not. I can appreciate a sophisticated young woman's tastes as well as the next private detective. Go on, tell me more."
"I've probably already said too much, but if another woman has hired you to follow Matteo, there has to be competition for his affections. You can say yes or no to that, can't you?"
"First tell me why you believe Matteo's affections aren't sincere."
"You slipped a copy of the LA Philharmonic's schedule into your desk when I came in. That's certainly a tipoff. The group travels to present concerts in other cities. Matteo is also a featured guest with the New York Philharmonic. I'm never sure whether or not he's in town, and it's disconcerting."
"He doesn't give you a copy of his schedule?"
"No, and I haven't asked for one other than the one for the LA Philharmonic's concerts in town. He calls me when he has a free evening. That's a bad sign, isn't it?"
Joe shrugged. "It's difficult to say."
She laughed at his continued effort at discretion. "Fine, I saw you keeping an eye on Matteo's building, and that's all I really need to know. Stay safe, Joe."
"You too, Lily." He walked her to the door and waited a moment to close it. She was too perceptive a young woman to fall for the noncommittal responses he'd given, but he hadn't betrayed his clients' confidence. Being ethical meant a great deal to him.
* * *
Later than morning, Marty Streech peeked in his door. "Are you busy?"
A reporter with the Los Angeles Examiner, they had met while Joe was working on a murder case last summer. Marty appeared slightly disheveled, as though he'd been too caught up in a story to go home, shower, and change clothes.
Joe closed the folder on his desk to hide the crossword puzzle. "Come on in. What's up, Marty?"
He slumped into a chair and assumed his usual careless pose. "I've been covering the death on the movie set at MGM. You must have heard about it."
"I have. A couple of extras got into a tussle, a set collapsed, and one ended up dead."
"That's the one. Thalia Dupré was set to star in the film, some South Seas adventure titled Flamingo Lane. Now she's refused to appear in it unless the film has a new script and title. Apparently she's the superstitious sort."
"I thought all theatre people were."
"That's what I've heard too, but apparently the set wall was so poorly constructed it was bound to fall on someone. Thalia could have been the original target."
"That might be difficult to prove, Marty."
He grinned. "True, but it will make for a good story. The carpenter who built the fallen wall disappeared the day before the accident. The police are looking for him, but I hope to find him first. I just came by to see if you were working on anything worthy of a column."
"Just the usual follow and photograph jobs. No new clues on the Black Dahlia murder?"
"No, the police are flummoxed, which happens too often. I just don't want another pretty young woman found sprawled in a field in two bloodless halves."
"I agree. One such grisly death was too many."
Marty rose and adjusted the cuffs on his wrinkled jacket. "Give me a call when you're working on something meriting reporting."
"Will do." Joe let him go without offering a cup of coffee. Marty was ambitious, and a good source when a mention in the Examiner might help solve a case, but Joe didn't regard him as a friend. He doubted Marty would call him one either.
* * *
That afternoon, Joe followed Matteo da Milano's taxi home from the rehearsal hall to his apartment on Almont Drive. The cellist entered the starkly modern building carrying a black cello case. With the man's fondness for women, Joe doubted he would stay in for the evening, and he planned to follow him wherever he might be bound.
A woman wearing a fur coat and stiletto heels came around the corner and approached Mateo's building. Her face was hidden by a fur hat pulled low over her brow.
"What do we have here?" Joe brought up his camera for a quick photo seconds before she passed through the apartment's glass entry doors. Maybe she was a resident returning from an errand, but a woman that well-dressed would most likely arrive in a taxi, unless she asked to be let off down the block so no one could place her as having been there.
Matteo successfully juggled three women, and this might be the lady number four Joe had hoped to find. Unfortunately, she would be difficult to identify bundled in furs and a face-shading hat.
Joe still held his camera when less than five minutes later the fur-wrapped woman exited the building and hurried down the sidewalk in the direction she had come. He got another couple of photos, mainly of her back, but she'd been nearly sprinting in her stilettos, which was no mean trick.
Something was definitely off. He left his Chevrolet to cross the street. When he found bloody footprints on the sidewalk, he tracked them until they grew faint and disapp
eared at the corner. The woman was nowhere in sight. She had either had a car or taxi waiting, which meant she hadn't planned to stay long.
He jogged back to Matteo's building, yanked open a glass door, and followed the gory footprints up the stairs. They led to apartment eight, Matteo's residence, and the door had been left unlatched.
"Mr. da Milano?" he called. When there was no answer, he gave the door a gentle push, and it swung open to reveal the cellist lying in a pool of blood.
* * *
Detective Lynch yanked Joe's attention to the present. The detective held the small notebook he carried with his pen poised to write. "Did the case you were investigating involve Mr. da Milano?"
"Clients rely on my discretion. I never discuss my cases with a third party."
"Don't become tiresome, Ezell, or I'll take you downtown where you'll have plenty of time to reconsider your answer."
Lynch was too serious an individual to make idle threats, and Joe didn't doubt him. "Since you insist, I was following the cellist, but not for just one client, for two women who doubted his affections. Clearly he was also involved with several more."
"One woman is difficult enough. How did he manage it?" Keen to hear the details, the detective peered closely at Joe.
"Not well, obviously." He gestured toward the cluster of bloody footprints. "Did you notice the shoeprints are all from the left shoe?"
"Of course. The murderer appears to have hopped around Mr. da Milano as she delivered killer blows with her right shoe. A stiletto heel made for a vicious weapon. The first blow to the back of the head must have killed him."
Joe nodded thoughtfully. "He could have opened his door, and turned away as he welcomed his guest inside. He wouldn't have seen death coming."
"Marvelous insight." A dry, sarcastic edge flavored Lynch's observation. "If he'd recognized her intentions, he wouldn't have stood there and allowed her to pummel him with her shoe without fighting back. Bring the photographs of the women he was seeing to me as quickly as you can."
"I don't photograph my clients. I do have one of da Milano with Lily Montell, but she wasn't the woman I photographed today entering and quickly exiting this building."
"The stripper?"
"Yes, she's a lovely young woman when you get to know her."
The detective shook his head. "Undoubtedly, I want the names of your clients, and Lily's photo along with the other woman's."
"I'll have prints made for you, but the woman who appears to be the murderess was so bundled in furs it will take a close friend to identify her."
"It's a start, Ezell."
"That's true," Joe agreed, but he doubted the detective would know what to do with it.
After the detective returned to apartment eight, Joe lingered in the hallway. He kept out of the way as the LAPD crime scene photographer arrived carrying his 4x5 Speed Graphic camera. Two men with Coroner stenciled in white on the back of their navy blue windbreakers left the elevator with a stretcher.
The young woman who had called the police peeked out her door. She'd dressed in tan slacks and a white sweater. "Is it Matteo who's dead?" she whispered.
"Was there someone else who also lived in number eight?" Joe asked.
She took a step into the hallway. "No, but he often entertained company."
"Did he host noisy parties?"
"Oh no, sometimes he played music, but it was the dreamy classical kind, not anything fun for a party and dancing."
Jacob Lynch regarded Joe with a dismissive glance as he joined them. He again had his notebook and pen ready. "I need your name, miss."
"Tanya Olson. I don't actually live here. This is Linda Skye's place, and I'm looking after her apartment while she's working in London for a couple of months. I barely knew Mr. da Milano. He was friendly, but I leave early for modeling assignments, and seldom saw him. I've no idea who could have killed him, if that was your next question."
"It wasn't." He asked for her telephone number. "I'll give you a call if there are any further questions. Please return to your apartment so you won't be in our way."
"Of course. I wouldn't want to impede your investigation." She regarded him with a dazzling smile before turning toward her door.
Miss Olson had clearly been impressed by Jacob Lynch, and Joe bit his tongue rather than laugh. It must have been the detective's bespoke suit that had caught her eye, because Lynch sure hadn't flirted with her. Some women were drawn to the strong, silent type, and it looked as though Tanya Olson might be one. He hurried away before the detective could order him to go.
He dropped off the film at Pete's Cameras. "I need these for the police as soon as possible, and I need copies for myself as well."
"I'll rush them through tonight, and have them for you in the morning. If the police are involved, it must be an important case."
Pete had red hair and freckles, and a friendly, helpful manner. Joe didn't confide in him, however. "You could say that. I'll see you in the morning." He always tipped Pete for fast service, but this time, the need was truly urgent. If he had a photo of the murderess, he hoped Detective Lynch would put it to good use, but that was probably unwarranted optimism.
Chapter 2
That night, Joe and Mary Margaret ate dinner at a café near her cottage that served an incredibly delicious French onion soup. He waited until they had finished their dessert before he mentioned the disastrous turn in his current case.
"I'm afraid it's ended in the worst way possible."
"Oh no, has someone died?"
"Yes, the man with multiple girlfriends. Apparently one young woman took violent exception to his wandering affections and beat him to death with a stiletto heel."
She clasped both hands over her mouth to silence a most inappropriate giggle. "You don't mean it."
"I do. The case was assigned to Detective Lynch, and he was as charming as always."
"Which is not at all?"
"Exactly. He demanded names of my clients who were interested in the man, and copies of any photos I'd taken, so he did take me seriously, for once. Unfortunately, the woman I saw hurriedly leaving the dead man's building was so swathed in furs, she won't be easily identified."
"Today wasn't really cold enough for a fur coat," Mary Margaret observed.
"You're right. It was a balmy day. The furs may have been a disguise. She was in and out of the building in under five minutes."
"That's hardly long enough to begin a murderous argument, let alone end one. Could she have gone there intent on murder?”
"It seems likely."
"Wait a minute," she cautioned. "What if the woman you saw fleeing the scene was married, and always disguised herself for a rendezvous with her lover? She might have happened upon his body, and rather than call the police, bolted to protect her reputation."
Joe sat back and took a sip of coffee while he considered the idea. "She was the only one I saw entering the building after the man came home."
"Someone who lives in his building could have been lying in wait and killed him."
Tanya Olson had come to the door in her robe. Had she slipped it on after discarding her bloodstained clothes? After this many hours, she would have gotten rid of whatever incriminating evidence Lynch might have found had he searched her apartment that afternoon.
"You're right. I met one woman who lives in the building, and there are twelve occupied units, if I still count Matteo, who won't be coming home again. I'm not sure how many are rented by women. I'll have to check."
"Don't discount married couples," she warned. "A jealous husband could be the murderer. Isn't there a rear door to the building he could have used?"
"There must be." Her insightful questions made him feel as inept as Jacob Lynch. "It's been a long day."
"Yes, it has." She stood, and he helped her on with her jacket and placed a quick teasing kiss behind her ear.
She took his hand, and murmured a not so subtle suggestion they talk about something other than murder.
* * *
First thing Thursday morning, Joe picked up the two copies of the photos he'd taken at the Almont apartment, and dropped one set off for Detective Lynch. Fortunately, the man hadn't come in yet, which Joe considered a great start for the day.
Once at the office, he needed to call Paloma Val Verde and Constance Remson to let them know Matteo had died. He could also report the popular cellist had been seeing other women, which would only add to their sorrow. He doubted either would want to fund a private murder investigation, but he was sure he'd seen the murderess, and he couldn't let it go.
He began with Constance Remson, but there was no answer at her number. He was surprised a maid didn't respond to take messages when she was out. He dialed Paloma Val Verde's number next.
"Good morning, Miss Val Verde, it's Joe Ezell. I'm afraid I have awful news about Matteo."
She sniffed loudly. "I heard it on the radio and read all about it in the LA Times this morning. I can't believe someone so full of life is dead."
He was relieved not to be the first to tell her of the tragedy. "Yes, it's a terrible shame. However, I do have a report for you." The instant he said the words, they struck him as totally inappropriate.
"No, please, keep the retainer, but I don't want to know if Matteo saw other women. I'd rather pretend he loved only me. Is that a silly thing to do?"
"Of course, not. You're entitled to cherish your memories of him."
"Thank you, you make me feel better. I'll keep your card in case I ever need a detective again."
He sought a way to add another important point without revealing anything she didn't wish to know. "The detective covering Matteo's death may call you. We spoke at the scene, and he insisted upon having the name of anyone concerned with the case."
She stifled a choked gasp. "You mean I'm a suspect?"
There was no telling what Lynch might dream up, so he couldn't promise she wasn't. "He'll probably simply be gathering information about Matteo's friends and habits. Please don't fret over it."