by P. J. Conn
* * *
Mary Margaret hugged Joe when he came to pick her up. "We've already seen you in the previews, so you shouldn't be mortified about what we'll see tonight."
"Mortified is a good word. I bought a pair of boots this afternoon to wear in my next film. Gene Autry wears real fancy colorful pairs, but all I need is pair that looks like they've been worn on multiple cattle drives."
She looked down at his loafers. "You should have worn them tonight."
"I'd rather not get ahead of myself. January will come soon enough." He took her hand to walk to his car. They parked on the street near the theater and met Hal and Gladys at the box office. He was surprised to see a line, but there were fans of Western movies who would attend any show with horses.
They bought tickets and glanced over the offerings at the refreshment counter. "Would you like some popcorn?" Joe asked.
"No, I'm so excited I'd probably choke. Some Walnettos would be good though," Mary Margaret replied.
Joe also loved the walnut laced caramels and bought some. The four of them found seats toward the rear of the theater. "This is good," Joe announced. "I won't have far to go if I'm run out of here."
Gladys thought he was joking and brushed his sleeve with a light caress. "Playing a cowboy led to an arrest in an important case. Think of it that way."
"I'll try ma'am." Joe would have touched the brim of his Stetson had he been wearing one. He needed to buy a cowboy hat to go with the new boots. He'd like his own Levis too. A shirt couldn't cost much, and it would be nice to wear his own clothes. That way he'd recognize himself among the riders high-tailing it out of town. The lights went down and the previews came on. Mary Margaret squeezed his hand, and he handed her a Walnetto.
Joe had seen only the saloon scene, and he was surprised when the movie opened with a shootout on the main street of the western town built on the back lot at MGM. Caught up in the action, he forgot his own embarrassment until the hero, the new sheriff in town, strode into the saloon. The camera focused first on the three saloon girls who turned to greet the sheriff with teasing glances and fluttering waves. Then the focus shifted to Joe and Max Reyes leaning against the bar.
They faced the camera as though staring into the mirror behind the bar, and bragged about their horses with a lazy sincerity that hushed the audience. The action soon shifted to an insult laced brawl. Tables and chairs went flying in all directions, and he and Max disappeared for the remainder of the film. Their brief appearance wasn't nearly as embarrassing as he'd feared from the previews, which brought some sense of relief, and he relished another Walnetto.
After the show, the two couples went to a popular bar within walking distance. They settled into a comfortable booth, and Joe waited until they had placed their orders to speak. "You needn't feel obliged to comment on my fleeting part in the film, but-"
"You were the best part!" Gladys exclaimed. "You two looked and sounded like real cowboys, while the star only wore the right clothes."
"It was enough to charm the pretty schoolmarm," Hal argued.
"I loved it," Mary Margaret said. "But your part went by much too fast. You should have been seen again later in the film, walking along the street, or riding in the sheriff's posse."
"I agree," Gladys added. "You added an authenticity that was absent for much of the film."
"I wouldn't analyze it too closely," Joe offered, embarrassed by their compliments. "Now let's change the subject."
"Shall we talk about ghosts?" Hal asked.
"We don't dare, it might conjure them up," Joe insisted.
Gladys mentioned a peculiar legal case that had been in the news, and Joe was grateful the conversation had shifted from him. That he'd agreed to appear in a Roy Roger's film in the coming year stuck him as the height of folly. At least he'd be wearing his own clothes, boots, and hat.
* * *
Joe's first call on Monday, came from a woman who spoke in a breathless rush, "Marty Streech says you're the best private detective in Los Angeles. Is it true?"
"I've solved most of my cases," Joe replied, too modest to say anything more. He'd thank the reporter for the compliment the next time he saw him. "First, I'll need your name, and the nature of your problem so we'll know how to proceed."
She signed softly. "This is Thalia Dupré, and someone is trying to kill me."
Joe sat up in his chair. An extra had been killed when a set wall had collapsed on her latest film, but he'd thought Marty had merely been looking for a sensational story when he'd said Thalia might have been the real target. She was a big star, and he couldn't wait to meet her. "Can you come to my office this morning?"
"I'll be there in an hour."
"Fine." Joe gave her the directions and went downstairs to the drug store to study the display of magazines. He flipped through several movie magazines before he found a feature article and photo of Thalia. She was a classic beauty, tall, slender, and blessed with auburn hair and green eyes. Posed against a palm tree, her sarong accented her spectacular figure. He paid fifteen cents for the magazine and took it back to his office to read.
The article focused on the upcoming Flamingo Lane film as both romance and adventure, but it had gone to press before the extra had died. The brief bio of Thalia described her as a Southern California girl who's signed her first movie contract right out of high school. There was a list of her recent movies, and he'd taken Mary Margaret to a couple of them. From what he remembered, the camera loved her. She was convincing in her roles, if not a gifted actress.
Thalia arrived on time. Dressed in a navy blue sweater, a blue and green pleated skirt, and low-heeled shoes, she resembled a university coed rather than a movie star. Without the makeup she wore in her movies, she was a very pretty girl, but with it, a sophisticated, stunning beauty.
"Thank you for seeing me so soon," she began. "Ever since Ryan Newnan died on the Flamingo Lane set, I've had the eerie feeling I'm being followed. Do you know what I mean?"
"Yes, I've experienced the same sensation. I've spun around hoping to catch them, but no one's there."
She smiled, revealing charming dimples. "Yes, that's exactly what I mean. I've heard whispers that rather than Ryan, I might have been the intended victim. The wall was the background for my opening scene, so it could be true. That's why I need your help before we resume shooting."
Joe took notes on a yellow legal pad. "Is anyone worried one death during filming might lead to others?"
"I am!" she exclaimed. "I've asked for a new title, and changes to the script so it will be a new film, even if it's still set in the South Seas so we won't need new costumes or sets. There was no great expense involved, so I got my way."
"Could an actress who auditioned for your part be mad enough to want you dead or so badly injured you'd have to be replaced?"
She shrugged. "The competition is fierce for leading roles, and there are so many pretty girls auditioning for them. I was lucky to be discovered by a noted talent agent who secured good parts for me from the beginning. Now directors come to me, but I know it won't last. Once a woman turns thirty and can no longer play a dewy-eyed ingenue, the roles are few and far between. I save most of my earnings, rather than splurge on expensive clothes or fancy apartments the way some girls do."
"That's very wise." Joe complimented, impressed by her forethought. "I heard the carpenter who built the wall has disappeared."
"Only for a short while. Ruben Aguirre was found in a Tijuana jail, which is no recommendation for his character, but the police can't prove his shoddy work was a deliberate threat to me, or Ryan. A falling 2x4 struck him on the temple, and he was dead before he reached the hospital. If the board had hit his shoulder, he'd still be with us. His death has left us all uneasy."
"Did you know Ryan well?"
"No, there are too many extras in a film to know them all."
Joe readily understood. He and Max had spent two days on the Arizona Sunrise set and had had no chance to mingle with the stars.
"Other than a jealous actress, have you stopped seeing a man who might wish you harm?"
"I'm still with my high school sweetheart, but don't tell anyone. He's a pre-med student at UCLA. By the time he's become a doctor and is ready to practice, I might be offered fewer roles. It should help us make our marriage work. I go to Hollywood parties with whomever publicity wants me to be seen with, and vice versa, but I've not been involved in any tempestuous show business romance." She laughed at the thought. "You can't believe everything they write about us."
"Nevertheless, has someone asked you out, and been insulted by your refusal?"
She plucked at a pleat in her skirt. "Men ask me out all the time. I thank them as sweetly as I can, and insist I'm devoting my full attention to my career. No one has been overly upset about it."
"What about an amorous fan? Have you received passionate letters, or seen the same person at multiple appearances?"
"I don't read the letters coming to MGM. I sign photos and publicity mails them out. There's such a crush of fans whenever I appear to promote a film, I'm busy protecting myself rather than scanning faces in the crowd. I'm sorry to be of such little help."
"You needn't apologize. We have several possibilities worth investigating, an actress jealous of your success, a carpenter who may have been paid for shoddy work, a fan who craves attention, or someone who may have reasons we can't yet discern for wishing you harm."
"I'd no idea there were so many reasons to dislike me, but I'm sure someone is following me."
"Then let's begin there. Does he follow you to the studio in the morning?"
"I don't believe so, although I sometime have the uncomfortable sense he's watching me there."
Joe made a star in his notes. "That's a clue right there that he's associated with the studio. Now that there has been a break in the shooting schedule, is someone still following you?"
"Yesterday, the gardener pointed out footprints in the dirt under the front window of my home. When he's coming that close, I felt justified in calling you."
"Definitely a wise move," he responded. "Did you inform the police?"
"It wouldn't be worth the publicity it would create, and if fans learned my home address, they would start coming by my house."
"I understand. I'll follow you for the next few days, very discreetly, of course, and see if we can catch someone trailing you. I'll take photographs of any suspicious persons, and hope you'll recognize them. Give me your schedule, and I'll arrive at wherever you're going first. That way, if anyone is following you, he won't notice me."
He handed her paper and a pencil so she could jot down her plans for the day. "I'm meeting a friend at a dress shop we like," she began. "We'll have lunch at a nearby café. If you were parked across the street, you could see both places." She made a quick map.
"Later, I'll go home to work on the new script, and my boyfriend is coming over for dinner later. Do you think he might be in any danger?"
"If you're being followed by a jealous fan, he might be, but let's not borrow trouble. I'll park in your neighborhood tonight, and if the Peeping Tom reappears, we'll have him. Once filming begins, we'll need to think of a reason for me to be on the set. With luck, we'll catch him before then. I'll call you tonight, and ask for your plans for tomorrow." He gave her the cost of his retainer, and she opened her purse and pulled out a red wallet fat with cash.
"You ought to be careful about how much money you carry," he warned.
"This is mostly small bills, but you're right. Someone might think I carry hundred dollar bills and rob me. Could they be following me with that in mind?"
"It's possible. Let's see what I discover this week." He stood and walked her to the door. She'd been amiable rather than the snooty starlet he'd expected. Mary Margaret would want her autograph, but he'd wait until he'd caught the culprit bothering her before he made such a request. In fact, he'd wait to tell his darling fiancée that he'd met the beautiful star. It wouldn't just be a white lie, but self-preservation.
Chapter 6
The Doberman Pinscher slammed against the driver's door of Joe's Chevy with the force of a freight train. Joe jumped so high in fright he hit his head on the roof panel, and the slight padding failed to cushion the blow. The dog had a deep, fierce, growl, and his sharp canines glowed under the streetlight.
The day had passed without incident, but the night sure wasn't going well. He'd parked across the street from Thalia's home to watch for anyone lurking nearby. It was getting late, and he had just reached for the key to start his car when the enraged dog had leaped into view.
It took him a minute to notice a man the size of Paul Bunyon standing in front of the Chevy to block a quick exit from the thunderous hound. Joe wasn't even tempted to roll down his window to speak, but he leaned over the passenger seat and pushed open the small windbreaker window.
"Call off your dog!" he yelled. "I'm a detective working for one of your neighbors." He hoped the man lived in the neighborhood rather than being someone who roamed the streets looking for human dog toys.
The man stared at him through the windshield, but after a long wait, jerked on the dog's leash. "Come, Achilles, sit."
Expecting the worse, Joe held his breath until the Doberman ceased barking, and ran to the man's side. He again called through the small window, "I'm being paid to watch for strangers. Do you live around here?"
The man moved to the passenger side of the car and leaned down to look in. "You're the only stranger I've seen today."
"Thanks. I'll be on my way."
"Wait! Just who are you working for?"
"I'm not at liberty to say, but there have been reports of a Peeping Tom."
"There's only one person worth peeping on around here. Are you working for Thalia?"
Joe was deliberately vague. "I promised not to reveal any names."
"I’ll take that as an affirmative. I walk Achilles every night, and I've not seen a man lurking around her house. Wouldn't you be better off watching from the inside of her home rather than out here?"
"If I were seen going in, I'd be recognized the next day. It would hinder the surveillance."
"Yeah, I see. What you need is a big dog to help you catch the creep. Achilles' mate had puppies a month ago, you want to see them?"
Joe imagined of a basket of black and tan pups, all teeth and snarl, and wasn't remotely tempted. "My landlord doesn't allow pets."
"Rather than a pet, he'd be a working watch dog. Your landlord might like to have one himself."
After a quick glance at Thalia's house to make certain he wasn't missing what he'd come to see, he made the effort to leave. "Can't speak for the landlord." He handed his card through the small window. "You might need a detective someday."
The man laughed. "Not with Achilles here, no one messes with me."
"Good night." Joe started his car and eased it away from the curb. He'd gotten away without being bitten, so he'd call it a productive night.
* * *
Tuesday, Thalia planned to stay home and study her script. "The new title is Orchid Lane, and it's much easier to find colorful orchids than trained flamingoes, if any exist."
The tall, gawky birds had beautiful pink plumage, but Joe doubted they'd had much of a part in the Flamingo Lane script. "Keep your doors locked, and don't open your front door unless it's someone you know. Even then, be careful."
"Will do. Talk to you later."
* * *
Paloma Val Verde called a half an hour later. "I'm scared, Joe. Detective Lynch came by my studio yesterday afternoon. I'm proud of my paintings, but he eyed them with a dismissive glance, and warned not all prisons offer art programs. He said I'd receive the best deal from the DA if I were the first to confess to my part in Matteo's death. How could he think such an awful thing?"
Joe was disgusted, but not surprised. "He may say it to every woman who knew Matteo in the hope he'll eventually receive a tearful confession. Please don't worry that he's singled you out."
Lynch had had the wrong person indicted in the past, but Joe offered what reassurance he could. "Not yet. Do you have a solid alibi for the afternoon Matteo was killed?"
"Yes, I was in the gallery where my work is shown, but Lynch said I didn't have to be at the murder scene to be involved." She burst into heartbroken sobs. "This is the worst thing that's ever happened to me."
Joe had her address, and it wasn't far from his office. "Why don't I come by and take you to lunch?"
"Thank you, but I couldn't eat."
"You could have a cup of tea while I eat," he suggested.
She sniffed loudly. "All right, I suppose I could. Give me half an hour to dress."
"See you then." Other than Mary Margaret, Joe had never dated his clients, and this certainly wasn't a date. It was more of a rescue.
Before he could leave, a brisk knock sounded on the door. "Come in," he called.
A buxom woman peeked in the door, and took a quick look at Joe's office before entering. She tossed one of his cards on his desk. "Did my husband hire you to follow me?"
She had the muscular physique of a lady wrestler, and he chose his words with care. "I've no idea who your husband is, madam. Would you care to take a seat while we talk?"
"I don't plan to stay long." She sat, pulled the hem of her gray dress over her knobby knees, and clutched her handbag in her lap. "Russell is a big man. If you'd met him, you'd remember him."
A sudden sinking feeling filled his chest. "Does he raise Doberman Pinschers?"
Her smile resembled a Halloween pumpkin's scary grimace. "Yes, that's Russell. Did he hire you to follow me?"
Joe wondered why Russell would want him to, but it was an uncharitable thought he promptly suppressed. "No, we talked briefly when he was out walking Achilles last night. I pass out business cards to everyone I meet. He didn't ask me for one."