by Mary Miley
Another letter came from an Irish clog dancer I’d known in my teenage years. She wrote of three men who staged a protean act where they portrayed a dozen different characters in a play. Barton, Hicks & Hicks, they were called, and they were playing the Keith circuit. A friend who did dramatic poetry recitations wrote that she’d run across a Small Timer in Boston a couple years ago. ‘If I knew his name, I’ve forgotten, but he called himself the Ace of Hearts or maybe it was the Ace of Spades, something about playing cards. He was foreign-born, Turk or Hungarian maybe. I thought his quick-change act was pretty good, but I heard he left it for an acrobatic act.’ My friend in Comedy Cockatoos wrote that he had played alongside Alexander Kids, an act billed as ‘a remarkable exhibition of dancing and costume changing by tiny youngsters’, but I was confident the killer hadn’t been a child. Two more letters regretted they knew no transfigurators, and that was the last of my inquiries.
I telephoned the police station and left a message for Detective Carl Delaney to ring me up. The next thing I knew, he was knocking at the front door.
‘No moss grows on your stone, does it?’ I asked.
‘No, ma’am. The Los Angeles Police Department aims to please all the upstanding citizens of our fair city. And I’d be mightily pleased if you offered me a cup of coffee to go with this fine morning.’
Kit somehow divined his arrival and clattered down the stairs just as I was heading into the kitchen to brew a fresh pot of coffee. I returned in a few minutes with a tray of coffee and sugar cookies and handed Kit a cup with lots of milk and sugar, the way she liked it. When I gave Carl his, I positioned myself with my back to the porch swing where Kit was curled up and said, ‘There are a few things I want to tell you that I can’t say in front of Kit, but I’ll hold those for later.’
‘This reminds me of elevenses in England,’ Carl said, looking directly at Kit so she could read his lips. ‘When I was soldiering during the war, before we got to France, we spent some weeks in England where people had coffee or tea and a cookie – d’you know they call ’em biscuits there? They did that at about eleven o’clock, like we’re doing now. A good custom, don’t you think?’
Kit nodded her agreement.
‘What do you have to report?’ he asked me.
‘I got the last responses to the transfigurator letters Kit and I wrote last week. Several were stamped Return to Sender, so they missed their targets – I can try again with those. Most replied promptly. One told me the Great Fulgora was still performing last year, but he’s pretty old and would hardly fit the descriptions of the killer. Neither would the colored protean on the TOBA circuit – the killer was always described as a white man – or the Alexander Kids act that features tiny tots. My best prospects are the Great Rudolpho, a magician who does a trick that involves quick-change; Vesa Leka, a foreigner who seems to have left Big Time six months ago; Barton, Hicks & Hicks, an acting team of proteans who perform a short play; and an unnamed foreigner who recently swapped his quick-change act for an acrobatic one – without a name, though, so he’s impossible to trace.’
I pulled out my copy of Variety. ‘I bought this last week. The Great Rudolpho is playing in the Midwest now. There is no listing for Vesa Leka, which means he either quit – an idea that surprised my friend since his act was getting a good reception – or he dropped to Small Time. Small Time circuits aren’t listed in Variety or Billboard. Barton, Hicks & Hicks are playing the Keith circuit up in Canada at the moment.’
‘So, the Great Rudolpho could have murdered people when he was working in New York, St. Louis, and here.’
‘Theoretically, but unlikely. No circuit goes from coast to coast. The distances would be too expensive and travel too time-consuming. And he couldn’t have played three different circuits within a few months’ time. Two maybe, but not three. Performers are typically booked for tours that last several months or even years.’
‘If he was working the Midwest, he could have gone through St. Louis, then. Could he have taken a week off and traveled to the east coast to kill the cook?’
Sometimes it amazed me, how little civilian people understood vaudeville. I’d grown up in the trade, so it was all second nature to me, but regular people, I’d learned, had little knowledge of how the system worked. ‘You can’t just take a week off, even if you don’t need the money. You’d be fired. And he’s still working. So I know he didn’t take time off.’
‘So we can scratch the Great Rudolpho. What about this Leka fella?’
‘I’d be happier if his name ended in “–itch” like the others, but he’s a good possibility, if for no other reason than because he disappeared from the circuit around the time of the first murder.’
‘His name might have been shortened from something like Lekavitch.’
‘Possibly,’ I said. ‘Could you please ask Officer Marks if Leka seems like a Serbian name?’
‘Sure. And what about the proteans? What was their name?’
‘Barton, Hicks & Hicks. We would have the same problem here as with Rudolpho, except with three performers, they could have adapted the act to two and released one to go on a coast-to-coast killing spree with none the wiser at Keith headquarters. Believe me, I’ve shaved acts before.’ Like last summer.
‘So it’s Leka or B, H & H.’
‘Or someone else we’ve missed entirely. I’m not finished asking around.’
‘What now?’
‘Now I go to the library and get back issues of Variety, to see whether those two acts were playing in New York, St. Louis, or Los Angeles during the weeks of those murders. My assistant here,’ I gestured to Kit, ‘can help me.’ She nodded eagerly.
At that moment, a neighbor lady walked by holding the leash of a small puppy whose legs were pumping briskly, trying to match its owner’s stride. The woman called a hello and waved as she passed, and that was all it took. Kit sprang up and dashed to the sidewalk. The neighbor paused as Kit plopped down on the ground and pulled the little creature onto her lap to cuddle.
No sense in wasting a heaven-sent opportunity.
‘I’ve lost my job at Pickford-Fairbanks.’
Carl showed no surprise.
‘You knew?’ I asked.
‘Read it in the paper. I was wondering if that would cause you to stop working on the Joe Petrovitch murder, but you didn’t say anything, so I didn’t either. What are you planning to do about it?’
‘Find another job.’
‘Good luck. You’ll do it.’
‘And I have some other news,’ I said, as Kit returned to the porch and her spot on the swing. ‘Related to that. I am going to move into David Carr’s empty house.’ It felt disloyal talking to Carl about David, but the subject couldn’t be avoided any longer. He’d need to know where I was living as we continued with these investigations. I recited my new telephone number. He already knew the address – he’d been there once a couple of months back when we used modern sound technology to trap a murderer. Carl took the news with his usual calm, and I continued, a bit defensively, ‘I can live there for free while I look after the place until David gets out. It’s not wise to leave a house empty.’
‘You are right about that. When are you moving?’
‘Tomorrow.’
‘Need help? I can bring around a police car.’
‘Thanks, but I don’t have much to move.’
‘More than you can carry on a Red Car, I’ll wager.’
‘True enough. I was planning to make several trips, but all right, thank you.’
‘I’m off at six tomorrow night. I’ll come directly here.’
TWENTY-SIX
Moving out reminded me of a vaudeville act splitting up – an all-too-frequent occurrence in my life. The bachelor girls who had been sharing the old farmhouse on Fernwood for the past year were going their separate ways. Sad, sure, but with a future that held promise for everyone. Helen was getting married and heading to Yosemite National Park; Kit was going to Mrs Reynolds’s home in Riversid
e; I was moving to David’s house in Whitley Heights. It was inevitable. But I had an idea that would make the break-up even more disruptive – I wanted Myrna Loy to come with me.
‘Myrna,’ I said when she came home from Warner Bros. that evening. A glance at her told me she was all done-in, but there was no postponing this. ‘Could I talk to you privately, please? In my room?’
‘Sure, I’ve gotta climb those stairs anyway … somehow … although I don’t think I could make my legs obey if my bed wasn’t up there. Geez Louise, work is killing me!’
‘And you pined for the life of a Hollywood film star!’
She grinned and punched my arm playfully. ‘Yeah, that’s me all right, the glamorous movie star. I’m nothing but a professional extra, bouncing beach balls on the sand and pouring wine into Roman legionnaire’s cups. I’m a dancer and know how to slink, so they are playing up my sexy image – can you believe it? Me! A vamp! So, why don’t you come in my room so I can flop on my bed?’ she asked, and I followed, turning the wooden chair in front of her dressing table around and sitting on it astride, like a cowgirl on a horse.
‘I have a proposition for you,’ I began.
‘You and two of the Roman legionnaires.’
‘Oh dear, really? Well, get used to it.’ Hollywood men on the make were not going to ignore a girl as enchanting as Myrna for more than two blinks of the eye.
‘What is it? Don’t ask me to cook dinner. I don’t care if I ever eat again, I’m so tired.’
‘I want you to know I’ve decided to move into David’s house while he’s in prison. He asked me to do that for him. An empty house is an invitation to thieves, and he has no one else to mind it for him.’
‘Gosh, so you’re leaving and Helen’s leaving.’ She sat up, fatigue forgotten. ‘I’ll miss you both very, very much!’
‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. David’s house has three bedrooms and, well, it’s a big house, and I hate to think of living there alone, so I was wondering … if you’d consider moving in with me.’
‘Gosh, I’d—’
‘Before you say anything, let me tell you that there would be no rent. David owns the house free and clear, and he’s set aside money to pay the electric bill and the telephone and any other expenses like taxes’ – that was the understatement of the year, I thought, picturing in my mind’s eye the valise stuffed with cash. ‘I know you’re making decent money now at Warner Bros., but it would go a lot farther if you could avoid paying rent and utilities.’
‘I’ll say! Are you kidding me?’
‘No, I’m bribing you. I want you to move in with me.’
‘There’s no catch?’
‘Well, like here, you have to do your share of the cleaning and cooking, but we’ll work that out. I’ll hire a neighbor kid to mow the grass, so there won’t be any outdoor work. It’s a bit of a hike to the nearest streetcar stop, but I’m going to buy a motorcar. A cheap one, a Ford. Maybe a Runabout. I had a Ford last year when I lived in Oregon, and I know how to drive those babies, so we’ll have a vehicle when we need it. And we aren’t leaving Melva in the lurch. She says there’s such a housing shortage, she can rent our rooms an hour after the ad comes out.’
‘Jessie, gosh, I don’t know what to say.’
‘Yes would be good.’
‘Yes.’ She barked a loud laugh. ‘Free rent in a nice house? I’m the luckiest girl in the world! When do we move?’
‘I’m moving tomorrow. Our favorite detective is coming over in the evening to help. Why don’t you come with us then and have a look at the place? Pick out which bedroom you want. We’ll need to order some furniture before you can move – the extra bedrooms are empty at the moment – but David has money to pay for a bed and chest of drawers and whatever else we want. As soon as those can be delivered, you can move in.’
‘Gosh, Jessie, I feel guilty being so excited at David’s expense. Are you very, very sure he won’t mind?’
‘I’m very, very sure.’ I stood up and gave her a hug. ‘And I’m delighted you’ll come with me. I was glad to move – it’s what David wanted – but I hated to be there all alone. So thank you.’
‘Thank me? Applesauce!’
‘Look, why don’t you have a nice, long soak in the tub, and I’ll bring you up a sandwich? Then you can go straight to bed.’
‘Gosh, that sounds like heaven. You’re the darling-est person in the whole world.’
I was hardly that, but I was relieved not to be moving by myself. I’m not afraid of being alone, but I am afraid of being lonely. I’d never lived in a regular house until the Fernwood farmhouse, and I’d never lived alone anywhere, ever. Thankfully, it was something I didn’t need to worry about now.
Seconds after delivering Myrna the promised sandwich, I heard noises below. Melva was talking to someone on the porch. It sounded like Carl. I went downstairs at once thinking he’d mixed up the moving day.
‘Why, Carl, I thought we said six o’clock tomorrow! I’m not ready to move tonight.’
‘I’m not here for that. This is business. Hop in the car and I’ll explain.’
As soon as we were in the police car and able to speak freely, he said, ‘I got an address for Rose Ann Riley’s house.’
‘How did you do that?’
‘I went to the tax assessor’s office and looked up Ardizzone. There he was, owner of two houses. If he’d put it in another name, it wouldn’t have been as easy. It was almost too easy …’ he said uneasily. ‘Anyway, the house we’re going to was the one he’d purchased just a few years ago – the other he’d held for ten years, so I figured this was the one he bought for his mistress. I thought we’d pay a call, tonight, before someone cleans it out.’ He reached to start the ignition; I stayed his hand with mine.
‘Wait a minute. What are we going to look for? How are we going to handle this?’
‘I figure we’d knock at the door. If there’s no answer, I’ll force the lock, and we can search the place. Maybe we’ll find something that would tell us about Ardizzone and whether or not Rose Ann’s death was murder.’
‘Like what? He won’t have left a signed confession.’
‘The way I see it, Rose Ann was killed a week ago, and her death wasn’t picked up by the newspapers here. So if her house has been emptied out, it means someone with access to it knew she wasn’t coming back. Who else but Ardizzone had access to her house? Who else would touch his mistress’s stuff?’
‘Which means, her death was probably murder.’
‘And Ardizzone probably the murderer. Indirectly anyway.’
It made sense. ‘What if someone answers the door?’
‘We pretend to be friends looking for Rose Ann. See what they say. Find out who they are, what they know, how long they’ve been living there. And what they know about Joe Ardizzone.’
‘Uh, Carl …’
‘What?’
‘No one will talk to us. They’ll know we’re from the police.’
‘How?’
‘To start with, we’ll be driving up in this police car.’
‘Give me some credit, girl! I was going to park around the corner and walk up.’
‘Uh … car or no car, anyone can tell you’re a cop.’
‘I’m not wearing a uniform anymore.’
‘I hate to be the one to tell you this, but you radiate cop from a hundred yards away.’
‘How’s that?’ he asked, dumbfounded.
‘Your military-style haircut, your suit, your sense of authority, the way you stand. It’s not any one thing, but the package says cop in capital letters.’
‘Oh.’ He looked crestfallen. That’s what I like about Carl: he can go from sharp to dull in under a minute. ‘Can I do something about that?’
‘Yeah, sure, but not tonight. Wait here,’ I said, climbing out of the motorcar. ‘I won’t be long.’
Melva was waiting on the porch for me. ‘You just had a telephone call from Barbara Petrovitch. I told her you were busy
, so she said to please return her call. She wanted to invite you to come over for dinner tonight with her sister and a friend. I forget her name.’
‘Geez Louise,’ I groaned, remembering the tedious evening I’d spent ten days ago with Barbara, Bunny, and boring Mrs Shala. ‘I can’t suffer through another night with those three, and I really don’t have time to talk with her. Would you be a lamb and call Barbara back? Tell her I’m busy tonight with the police. Thanks, Mel.’ I gave her a quick hug.
It took no time to find Kit. She was on the patio, her bare legs crossed at the ankle and a book in her lap. I tapped her knee until she looked up.
‘I need to borrow one of your dresses. Just for an hour.’
Her expression telegraphed the unspoken question, ‘Why?’
‘Carl’s waiting for me – no time to explain, but I need to look young, and fast.’
TWENTY-SEVEN
In some parts of Los Angeles, it would have been unwise for a girl to walk alone at dusk, but this was a nice section of Highland Park, where nice people lived in nice houses, so the man walking his poodle along the curb did not think it the least bit odd to pass a young girl going in the opposite direction. He bade her a cheery ‘Evening!’. So did the woman carrying a sack of groceries from her motorcar to her house, when she crossed the girl’s path. ‘Good evening, dearie,’ she said. It wasn’t quite dark, but even in poor light, it was obvious the girl was young, perhaps in her early teen years. She bounced along with an occasional skip, her footsteps echoing in the night air.
At the house numbered 201, she climbed the steps to the porch. Light shone through the eyelet-curtained windows, indicating a family at home. The girl reached for the doorknocker and gave three timid raps, like a child would do, not the sort of firm, confident raps an adult would make. Someone inside peeked through the curtains and saw the girl rocking back and forth from toe to heel as she waited. An overhead bulb clicked on.