by P. J. Conn
Chapter 10
Joe pulled his notebook from his jacket pocket as he walked back to Mary Margaret's cottage. Maybe he couldn't accurately project his income for the year, but it had grown steadily since he opened Discreet Investigations, and he was also working for California West as well. That was a big plus. As for his family, his parents were born in Oklahoma and had moved to Los Angeles in the 1930s. His father had worked for the Post Office, and his mother had been an elementary school secretary. They were wonderful parents, and he wished they could have met Mary Margaret.
"Joe?" Mary Margaret called from the doorway. "Mother wants to talk to you. Do you feel up to it?"
Luke had left him better prepared to tackle the challenge, and he smiled as he stepped over the threshold. "I'm looking forward to it."
He picked up the telephone and lowered his voice to a warmly convincing depth, "Mrs. McBride, how wonderful to have a chance to speak with you. We should have done this months ago."
"Yes, we should have, Mr. Ezell. I'm sure Mary Margaret must have mentioned my misgivings about your engagement."
Misgivings scarcely described her hostility toward him, but he refused to argue over her choice words when she'd made it plain she didn't consider him good enough for her daughter. "Yes, she has, and I'm glad to have the opportunity to assure you that I'll strive everyday to make her happy."
"When she works in a hospital filled with professional men, I can't understand why she'd be interested in a private detective who calls himself an actor."
She had been horrified by his brief appearance in Arizona Sunrise, so he should have anticipated it. "I think of myself as a detective, Mrs. McBride. My small film role came from a case I was investigating. It did lead to the arrest of a murderer, so it was a worthwhile enterprise."
"Do you routinely solve murders?"
"No murder can be described as routine, but I'm proud my investigations have led to arrests."
"That’s too dangerous an occupation for a married man."
Upon occasion, he had suffered some physical abuse, but he'd survived. "Most of my cases are unrelated to any acts of violence, or crime."
"So you say. Do you have considerable savings set aside to give Mary Margaret the life she deserves?"
She had him there. Thanks to assignments from Hal Marten, he had been able to add to his savings account, but he'd yet to reach four figures. "In addition to my own firm, I'm handling cases for California West Insurance, and I make regular deposits," he assured her.
"So the answer is no. Do you attend church on Sundays?"
Luke had warned him she might bring up religion. "Not lately, I'm afraid, but I grew up attending the Presbyterian Church in Azusa. They had a wonderful youth group and all my friends went there. I mixed the Kool-Aid and passed out graham crackers for vacation Bible school."
"We're Episcopalian," she informed him proudly. "Do you plan to attend church with Mary Margaret?"
"Yes, I will."
Mary Margaret reached to take the telephone from him, and he didn't protest. "Mother, let's make this the first of many conversations. Please save some questions for the next time you speak with Joe. I'll call you later in the week. Love you. Good-bye." She hung up before her mother could edge in a cross word otherwise.
"I'm sorry, but she's my mother after all and naturally concerned with my choice of husband."
"Of course, she is." Joe drew his beloved into a warm hug. "I had answers for all her questions, even if they weren't the ones she wanted."
"I'm the one marrying you, so it's my opinion that matters. I'm making fried chicken for dinner, and it always lifts our spirits."
"Wonderful excuse for fried chicken, although we don't really need one." Every hour he spent with her was a joy, and he forgot all about her mother's doubts with the first bite of a delicious crispy fried wing.
* * *
Wednesday morning, Joe's first call came from a woman who wanted proof her husband cheated on her whenever he went home to visit his mother in Peoria, Illinois.
"I'm so sorry, but my detective's license is valid only here in California, so I'll have to pass on the job. Why don't you call information in Peoria and ask for the numbers of private detectives working there? Good-bye."
The telephone rang again before he'd had time to take a breath. He waited three rings. "Discreet Investigations."
"Mr. Ezell, this is Florence Hayes, the manager at Matteo da Milano's La Peer apartment building."
"Good morning, Mrs. Hayes. How are you today?" Hoping for good news, he sat up in his chair.
"I'm fine, thank you. You wanted to know when Veronica da Milano arrived in Los Angeles. She flew in last night, and came straight to Matteo's apartment. She still had her key, so I didn't ask for a copy of his will to see if she had that right."
"I'm sure it's fine, and thank you so much, Mrs. Hayes. I appreciate your remembering me. I'll come by to speak with her this morning. Talk to you then." He leaped from his chair, and would have danced around his desk if he'd had any music. The purchase of a radio could be justified to follow local news, and for music to dance to when the occasion warranted it. He'd buy one soon.
Reining in his enthusiasm, he sat down to make some notes. If Veronica had a key for the La Peer apartment, did she also have one for the Almont place? Could she have flown into Los Angeles, and killed Matteo when he came home? She could have had a taxi waiting at the corner, gone straight to the airport, and flown home to New York before anyone knew she'd paid a quick visit to Los Angeles.
Time-wise, it could have worked, but why would she have killed her ex-husband with a stiletto heel when it seemed like such an impromptu weapon? And why would a woman from New York come to town in the furs that would give away her identity? That didn't make any sense either, but murderers didn't always make logical plans. He'd have to wait until he'd spoken with Veronica to judge how her mind might work.
* * *
Veronica da Milano was tall and thin, with long golden-brown hair, and her bangs brushed her eyelashes. Her big hazel eyes were red from crying, and her nose a bright pink, but she was still pretty. Her black sweater and slacks fit her mood.
Joe introduced himself, gave her his card, and the reason for his visit. "May I come in to speak with you? I promise not to take more than a few minutes of your time."
She moved aside to welcome him in. "If it will help catch the rat who killed my husband, you may stay all day. I'm sorting the few things he kept here, but when this is so difficult, it will take weeks to pack his belongings at the Almont Avenue apartment. Even then, I'll not know what to do with them."
Unlike Matteo's stark, modern home, traditional décor had been chosen here. The walls were painted in a pale apple green, and the furnishings were in a matching green and joyful yellow. The charming apartment could easily have been a sunny hotel suite rather than a place anyone called home.
"I need some coffee. Would you like a cup?" she asked.
"Yes, thank you, I could use one." He followed her into the kitchen, which was again green and yellow. "This is a real cheerful place," he mused aloud.
"It is, isn't it? It's fully furnished for guests, and I suppose I'll have Mrs. Hayes ask the next renters if they'd like to keep any of the furnishings. I don't need more furniture, and I'm certainly not attached to the coffeepot, or pots and pans."
"I understand. I met Mr. Perkins, the manager on Almont, and I hope he will be more helpful for you than he was for me. Did Matteo give you a key?"
"No, I only have a key for here. I've spoken with Mr. Perkins a time or two, and he was polite enough. Maybe you caught him on a bad day."
"That's probably it."
They sat at the dining table to drink their coffee. He took his black, but she added sugar and cream, took a sip, and added more cream. "How long do you plan to stay in Los Angeles?" he asked.
"I'm too overwhelmed to make any plans beyond today. Matteo left everything he owned to me, but his cello is too precious a
keepsake to ever sell. His attorney told me the will is straightforward, and there are no other heirs to contest it. Nothing is ever as simple as it sounds though. Matteo's agent will handle the record contracts he negotiated. I certainly couldn't do it. When we were married, Matteo taught me how to use our money wisely, so there's no danger I'll run through it all in a year. That's a comfort."
"Yes, indeed. Have you taken off time from work?"
She shook her head. "I met Matteo at Julliard. I'd planned to become a concert pianist, but there were so many more talented students there, I gave up the dream. I'm qualified to teach music, but I've never applied to any schools. I suppose I should, just to keep myself busy so I won't keep missing Matteo so badly." She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket to dry her eyes.
With her heartbreak so raw, he couldn't believe she'd had anything to do with her ex-husband's murder. She'd loved him too much to wish him dead. "I'm so sorry for your loss."
"Thank you. What was it you wished to ask?"
He took his notebook from his pocket, and turned to a fresh page. "You two remained close. Did Matteo ever mention anyone had threatened him, or caused him any sense of danger, or alarm?"
"No, he always sounded happy when we spoke. We talked about his upcoming concerts, travel, when he'd next be in New York, that type of thing. If he'd been worried about an over-zealous fan, or anyone else, he'd not have mentioned it to me."
He showed her the photo of the fur-wrapped suspect. "This woman may be an important witness, do you recognize her?"
She picked up the photo by the corner and studied it closely. "I used to have a similar fur coat and hat, but I don't anymore. I've no idea who this might be."
The doorbell rang, and she appeared to be too tired to answer. "Let me get that," Joe offered. Expecting Florence Hayes, he swung open the door and found Sean Dermot holding a giant bouquet of yellow roses.
"Mr. Ezell?" Surprised, Sean frowned, then forced a smile. "Continuing your investigations?"
"Yes, I am."
"Is that Sean?" Veronica called. "Show him in, please."
Joe was annoyed their conversation had been interrupted, but perhaps it would work to his advantage. "Would you like coffee? Veronica just made a pot."
Sean leaned down to kiss her cheek before placing the tissue wrapped roses in her hands. "Thanks, I would." He sat by her side.
"These are gorgeous, Sean, and will be so pretty here."
"That's what I thought. Do you have a vase for them?"
"There should be a couple under the sink."
"I'll look," Joe called. He found two vases perfect for long-stemmed roses and filled one with water. He carried it into the dining table. "Here you are."
She stood to arrange the roses in the vase, and set it at the other end of the table. "I love yellow roses. Thank you again, Sean." She gave his shoulder an affectionate squeeze before returning to her chair.
Joe brought Sean's coffee, and he drank it black as he had in the detective's office. "We were discussing possible threats to Matteo's life. Did he mention any such worries to you?"
"No, we talked about music, the talents of guest conductors, upcoming engagements, and not much else." Sean turned to Veronica. "I don't have to ask how you're doing when you look so miserable. What can I do to help?"
Joe could have excused himself and left then, but he was too intrigued to go. He sat back, and watched how effortlessly his companions conversed. Despite Veronica's current despair, a smoldering grudge over the divorce could have prompted her to kill her ex-husband. If she no longer owned a fur coat and hat, had she thrown them away rather than take the bloody garments to a cleaners in New York? Lost in thought, it took him a moment to notice Veronica and Sean were staring at him. He stood to go.
"Thank you for your time, Veronica. I'll take my cup into the kitchen on my way out." Once out of their view, he made a quick note on how well they appeared to be acquainted. They could have known each other for years, but with Matteo's death, everything between them might change.
* * *
Rather than go straight back to the office, he knocked on Mrs. Hayes' door. She answered carrying her knitting and welcomed him in.
"I can't wait to hear how your investigation is going."
Joe followed her into the living room and waited for her to turn down the radio and be seated before he took the chair opposite her. "I'm tracing multiple leads, and hope to have answers shortly. Sean Dermont came to see Veronica as I was leaving. Does he visit often when Veronica stays here?"
"The name is familiar. Slim, dark-haired fellow with glasses?"
"That sounds like him."
"I've seen Veronica leaving with him a time or two on her visits here, but he could have come and gone other times while I'm at the market, or running errands. There are apartment managers who keep close track of the residents, but I'm not one of them. People pay their rent on time, and they are justified in expecting privacy."
Sean had known to bring yellow roses to go with the décor, so Joe bet he'd been there more than twice in the last couple of years. "Thank you, Mrs. Hayes. I'll let you get back to your radio program. I'll see myself out."
"Let me know when there's an arrest so I won't have to wait to read about it in the Los Angeles Times."
"Will do." He closed her front door quietly, and glanced out at the walk. Sean could have walked across the grass to enter the front door and reach the elevator without being seen from Mrs. Hayes's window. While Sean hadn't admitted it, Joe wondered if Sean and Matteo could have compared notes on Veronica.
* * *
When Joe returned to his office, he called Henry Hilburn, the retired LAPD detective. "Veronica da Milano is in town, and I wondered if Detective Lynch ever checked on her whereabouts the day of Matteo's murder."
"Talked to my friend who knows about the case only yesterday. Let me get my notes."
"Go right ahead." Joe waited not all that patiently until Henry returned to the phone.
"Lynch surprises me sometime, and apparently he is smart enough to check on ex-wives when a man is murdered. Veronica can prove she was in New York City. She kept her usual appointment at a beauty salon, and went to lunch with two friends on the day Matteo died. Lynch even followed through and spoke with the owner of the beauty salon, and the friends she'd given for an alibi. If you were thinking she might have been in on the murder, you'll have to think again. Unless, she orchestrated it from there."
"She's a weepy mess, so I don't think so. Thank you for staying on top of the case."
"Sure, keeps me out of mischief."
* * *
Joe appreciated a little mischief now and then. The phone rang a few seconds after he'd told Henry goodbye. "Discreet Investigations."
A man asked, "May I please speak to the owner?"
"This is he. How may I help you?" Joe leaned back in his chair, and hoped for a case that would be both complicated and good for his savings account.
"My name is Nathan Skidmore, and I won't discuss the issue over the telephone. If you're free now, I'll come to your office."
The man knew the address and arrived twenty minutes later. He was an imposing fellow, tall and broad, with thinning gray hair. His well-tailored suit was clearly expensive, and Joe provided an appropriately serious welcome.
The man spoke before Joe could ask any questions. "I'm an engineer, with my own company. My father founded the firm and invested wisely, so the family should have no financial worries even if I dropped dead tomorrow."
Alarmed, Joe leaned forward. "Do you feel your life is in jeopardy?"
Mr. Skidmore waved the question aside. "No, but I'm worried about my daughter Jocelyn's boyfriend. He's a fine engineer and a credit to the company, but I doubt his affections for her are genuine."
"What makes you suspect they aren't?"
"Well, he overdoes everything. He sends her flowers nearly every week, and takes her to concerts and nice restaurants, but unless they're on some fancy date, they
don't see each other. You'd think they'd go to the movies occasionally, but they don't."
"How old is Jocelyn?"
"She's twenty-three, and graduated from UCLA with a degree in art history. I don't expect her to ever have to work, but she ought to be doing something with her time other than primping for dates with Stephen. His last name is Hartfield, and he's thirty-one. He's too old for her, but she won't listen to anything I say about him."
Mary Margaret's mother insisted Joe was too old for her, but he had to give Nathan Skidmore a reasonable response. "Yes, he might be ready to marry and have a family, while Jocelyn could want to travel and see the world before she'd be ready to settle down."
"That's exactly what I told her."
"Whose side is your wife taking?"
"Jocelyn's mother passed away several years ago, and I've remarried. Jocelyn has never cared much for Kate, her stepmother, so my wife has stayed out of it."
Joe readily understood why his daughter might be anxious to leave home. "Does Jocelyn have close friends?"
"Sure, but they've scattered since they left UCLA. Her best friend from college married last summer. Jocelyn was a bridesmaid, and was all caught up in the wedding planning, but now her friend has no time for her."
"That's a shame." He could imagine Jocelyn as a lonely young woman who was enormously flattered by an older man's lavish attentions. "What is it you want me to do?"
Nathan leaned forward. "I'd like you to follow Stephen Hartfield and see what he does with his time when he's not with my daughter. I doubt he's just washing and ironing his shirts. He's a tall, good-looking man, fair-haired and blue-eyed." He produced a 3x5 card from his pocket. "I have the license plate number for his Chevy, and his home address. Will you need anything more?"
"No, that's fine. Please remember your daughter is of age, and doesn't need your approval to date whomever she chooses. Let's say I find Mr. Hartfield is seeing multiple young women. I'll provide photos. What do you plan to do?"
"You needn't worry, I won't tell Jocelyn and crush her spirit. I'll deal with Stephen, give him a reference, and suggest he seek a job out of state." He pulled out his wallet. "Now what do you need to get started?"