Murder among the Stars

by Adam Shankman

  “It’s a big night,” Patricia said disinterestedly. “Lots will happen, I suppose.”

  “Patricia, is something wrong?” Lulu asked.

  The girl seemed to force herself to look cheerful and set her file down on the bench between them. “It’s a rotten old world,” she said lightly. “Of course there’s something wrong. Terrible things happen all the time to good, innocent people. Luckily, not to me, though!” She smiled, tears pooling in her eyes, and spread her arms, encompassing the dogs, the gardens, the Ranch, the riches. “I’m very lucky. I have the perfect life. I’m Marion Davies’s niece and William Randolph Hearst’s very special friend. Who could ask for anything more? Now, will you please excuse me?”

  She got up, hugged Lulu, and ran away, leaving the dogs and her manicure set behind. Lulu called after her, but Patricia didn’t turn. Well, Lulu thought, even very privileged children can have problems. She felt sad for the lonely girl, but helpless at the same time. She would check in on Patricia tomorrow morning before everyone left the Ranch, but for now she had work to do.

  She slid the blackmail documents back into their envelopes and managed to focus on the other task at hand, running through each of the sonnets one time before searching out Freddie. He should be making his case for Emerson’s arrest soon. He’d talk to Waters and Hearst first, then summon the police. They were probably on their way already. Emerson would be in custody within a few hours. Then she could truly rest easy. She might even enjoy the night’s performance.

  She was almost looking forward to it. It would be delightful to see what kind of acts her friends had dreamed up. She didn’t have particularly high hopes for her own show—reciting poetry was fairly low-key in her world, though Veronica assured her it would have an old-fashioned charm. Still, she began to feel a little gnaw of competition stirring in her. Other girls had certainly done much more than she to ingratiate themselves with Marion and Mr. Hearst while she was off investigating. Oh well, she didn’t really care. She might not win, but she would shine. Lulu was going to make sure she came off well. In the movie business, every moment in front of people was an audition for something.

  She ran through the sonnets once again, losing herself in the emotion of the words, rehearsing her gestures and stance, modulating her voice to add music to the poetry. When she was satisfied, she remembered Veronica’s testy comments about her eyebrows and fingernails. She’d have to go back to her room to deal with the brows, but she might as well use Patricia’s manicure set before she went back.

  As the dogs played happily around her and the sun warmed her skin, she began to relax and file her nails smooth. One was a little too long, and she fished for the manicure scissors to trim it before filing.

  As she opened the tiny pair of scissors and prepared to cut, she froze. A little scrap of something that had been wedged where the blades joined fell into her lap. She stared.

  That slight curve in the cut-out words of the blackmail letters.

  The curve of the manicure scissors.

  No, it wasn’t possible. Most of the women at the Ranch probably had a pair of curving manicure scissors exactly like Patricia’s. That said, almost none of the women had unfettered access to Hearst’s private office. The door might be unlocked half of the time, as Hearst himself admitted, but guests weren’t allowed in that wing of the house unless specifically invited, and only the most trusted servants ever entered it.

  Holding her breath, Lulu picked up the scrap that had fallen when she’d opened the scissors. It was a shred of newspaper.

  She closed her eyes. It couldn’t be Patricia. Why, she was just a kid. A precocious kid, to be sure, but what could her motivation possibly be? What secret could she know? Why would she want money when she had everything her heart could desire? Lulu’s mind raced to find a reason.

  Lulu took out the photos of the letters. They had been enlarged, which made it impossible to tell if the scissors fit. The angle of the curve looked the same, but she’d have to see the originals to tell if the size was a match.

  With the dogs at her heels, she ran inside to find Mr. Hearst. But he was meeting behind closed doors with Freddie and Mr. Waters in the library, and the butler standing sentry outside the door wouldn’t let her in. She waited, pacing one moment, then tapping her foot impatiently for minutes on end. The wait gave her time to second-guess herself. What would Mr. Hearst say if she charged up and accused Marion’s niece of blackmail? He wouldn’t believe Lulu for a second, especially on such flimsy evidence. He already thought she was a troublemaker, seeing crimes where there were none, pointing fingers at the innocent. She had to get something more conclusive.

  Turning on her heel, she made her way to Hearst’s private wing. She told the attending housemaid that Marion had summoned her to her boudoir, and she was granted admittance to the area. But as soon as the maid’s back was turned, Lulu dashed back down the hall, then slowed as she approached Mr. Hearst’s private office. She turned the knob slowly, expecting it to be locked. But it wasn’t, and she let herself in. Freddie had told her that Hearst kept the original letters in his desk drawer.

  The office was a mess, with tip-tilting piles of newspapers—Hearst’s own, and his competitors’—piled on almost every available surface. There was a shiny new typewriter on the main desk and another one on a smaller desk, apparently for Hearst’s secretary. A picture of Marion looking chic and ethereal was propped on one side of the desk; one of Marion with her arms around Patricia was on the other.

  Lulu sat in Hearst’s chair, sinking deeply into the well-worn leather, and carefully, breathlessly, opened the drawers. In the top left hand, she found what she was looking for. She delicately removed the letters, and then after gently unfolding them, held them up next to the curve of the scissors. It certainly looked like a match, but she needed to be sure. She took the topmost newspaper from the nearest pile and cut out a word at random. Then she placed it over the blackmail letter.

  The curve of the cut was exactly the same. It wasn’t absolute proof, but it made Patricia a much more likely suspect.

  Lulu sighed. She did not want to have this kind of responsibility. Solving a murder was a moral obligation to her, with no shred of guilty feelings involved. However, implicating a child in a crime was something else entirely. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe this was just some sort of joke that Patricia was playing, and she should stay out of it.

  Or maybe someone was forcing her to do it? For the life of her, Lulu couldn’t see through her suspicions to any reasonable explanation.

  She held up the word she’d just cut out, reading it for the first time. Guilty, it read ominously enough. She’d randomly snipped it from an article about a mob trial in Chicago.

  When the police came into the office, Lulu was still sitting transfixed, the scissors in one hand, the paper in the other.

  “Miss Kelly, you’re under arrest for blackmail and extortion.”

  Twenty-Three

  What are you doing? Let me go!” Lulu cried as the officer caught her under the arm and roughly pulled her to her feet.

  “Caught red-handed,” the officer said. “How convenient.”

  “You’re making a mistake—it wasn’t me!”

  “Is that so? Everyone I’ve ever arrested was innocent—until proven guilty.”

  Lulu closed her eyes, searching for the wisdom to know what to do. Where was Freddie? She tried to explain to the officer. “It couldn’t have been me. The first blackmail letter was delivered before I even arrived at the Ranch.”

  “Now, isn’t that strange,” the officer snarled. “Only the guilty party would be privy to that kind of inside information.”

  “You have to listen to me,” she said evenly. “I think I know who the blackmailer might be. That’s why I came here, to confirm my suspicions.”

  “Darling, do tell!” came a cool, louche voice from the doorway. Marion lounged against the frame, glassy eyed, her tone dark. “Is it really you, you crafty little thing? What gumption to b
lackmail my old man!” She didn’t seem to be very upset by the idea.

  “Of course I didn’t do it, Marion,” Lulu said quietly. “But I think I know who did.”

  “Really? And who might that be?” Marion asked acidly, arching her elegant eyebrows.

  Lulu opened her mouth . . . and closed it again.

  “You heard the lady. Spit it out,” the officer said harshly.

  How could she tell Marion that her beloved niece was a blackmailer? Marion would never believe her, not without more convincing evidence. What she had now made Patricia a suspect, nothing more.

  “I . . . I’d rather not say,” Lulu muttered at last.

  “I figured. Now, let’s go down to the station and you can work on your story a little more. I’m sure it will be a good one—once you get your facts straight.” The officer started to pull her toward the door.

  “Marion, please!” Lulu begged, truly afraid now. “You know I didn’t do this. Please get Mr. Hearst! Get Freddie! I can explain everything!”

  “Oh, you poor dear girl,” Marion said, sliding unsteadily to the side to let them pass. “You were my favorite, too. Why did you have to do it? The contract for Anita’s new movie alone would have been far more than the blackmail amount, and you’re one of the top contenders.”

  Lulu struggled against the officer’s grip. This couldn’t be happening again!

  But she was hustled through the Ranch, where she seemed to pass every single guest. They looked at her in amazement, curiosity, and in the case of a few of the actresses, gloating satisfaction. They couldn’t know what she was in custody for (though no doubt the gossip machine would spread versions both true and false within minutes), but those unpleasant competitive few were heartlessly glad to see a rival removed from the game. The humiliation was brutal.

  “Take your hands off her this instant!” Toshia said, suddenly jumping in front of them. “How dare you!”

  “And that goes double for me!” Boots said, running to Toshia’s side.

  The officer stopped, uncertain. He could barely handle one headstrong actress. A wall of them was another story, especially when Eleanor joined them. She was wearing a sleeveless sundress, and her strong swimmer’s muscles made her look particularly imposing.

  Eleanor crossed her arms and said, “Nothin’ doin’, mister. You let her go. Whatever you think she did, she didn’t do it!”

  They stalled him, but it was Honey who ran in search of Freddie. Thankfully, he was close by in the upper garden talking to Waters. Seeing Honey waving her arms maniacally, he excused himself, and together they arrived at the standoff moments later.

  “Lulu!” Freddie called, and she had never been so happy to hear his voice in her life. “What’s happening?”

  “They think I’m the blackmailer!”

  Freddie stopped . . . and laughed. He laughed until he was doubled over, panting for breath.

  “Only you, Lulu,” he gasped out at last. “Only you.”

  “When you’ve finished amusing yourself at my expense, could you ask this upstanding officer of the law to let me go so I can tell you who the blackmailer actually is?”

  After a lengthy negotiation—to the interested delight of the spectators—the officer begrudgingly agreed to bring Lulu to Mr. Hearst before she was formally arrested and charged.

  To her surprise and deep embarrassment, the meeting took place in Mr. Hearst’s bedroom. He shuffled around in his slippers, a robe wrapped around his generous midsection, looking like a benevolent uncle. Lulu sat in an armchair with the officer standing on one side of her, Freddie on the other.

  “Now, Miss Kelly,” Hearst said, regarding her sharply with his keen little eyes. “Just who do you believe is blackmailing me?”

  After taking a deep breath, Lulu looked up and said plainly, “I believe Patricia is the blackmailer.” Then she carefully presented her scant evidence and explained her hunch.

  She was certain Hearst would rage and roar, that spittle would fly from his mouth as he shouted that such a thing was impossible, that his darling Marion’s sweet little niece could never, ever . . .

  But to her amazement he simply blinked and pressed his thin lips together. “Thirty thousand dollars,” he said. “Of course. It just never occurred to me that . . . This is terrible. But the letter specified another amount. How much was it, Freddie?”

  “It was $30,468.”

  “Yes. If what you say is true, Lulu, the thirty thousand dollars makes sense. But what about the four hundred and sixty-eight? I don’t know. I don’t know. I feel like it couldn’t be true. And yet . . . Oh, the poor child. I have to find her. Don’t tell Marion yet. If I’m wrong . . .” He called for his valet and set the servants to finding out where Patricia was. Someone had seen her in riding clothes, so Hearst began marching for the stables, leaving the others to scramble after his long steps. As he walked he said, “If it’s true, she’ll never admit it, even if she’s cornered. She’s a tough little one. But, Lulu, if you’ll play along, we might be able to get her to confess. She’ll be strong for herself, but I don’t think she’d let someone she likes take the fall. Just follow my lead.”

  They found Patricia on a sprightly pinto, just about to ride off with Paul Raleigh. Funny, Lulu thought, she distinctly remembered Paul telling her he didn’t know how to ride when she’d asked him afterward why he hadn’t been on Hearst’s group trail excursion.

  “My, this is a nice sendoff,” Patricia said.

  Hearst addressed Paul Raleigh. “I beg your pardon, Paul, but I’m going to have to steal Patricia away for a while. Family business.”

  “No!” Paul exclaimed loudly enough to make his horse shy and lay back his ears. “I mean, what a shame,” he amended more softly. “We had such a lovely route planned.”

  “Aw, shucks,” Patricia said. “Paul was going to show me this lovely wildflower field he found just miles from anywhere. And I was going to pitch him story ideas until he got positively sick of me. What’s up, WR?”

  “We’ll speak of it inside. It is, as I said, family business.”

  “But they’re not family,” Patricia said, eyeballing Lulu, Freddie, and the plainclothes officer. She looked suspicious, but Lulu couldn’t tell if she had a glimmer of the real situation yet.

  “True, but it seems they are intimately connected to this affair. Come. I’ll explain inside.”

  Patricia swung her leg over her pinto and hopped down. She shot Lulu a questioning look, but Lulu only shrugged. Now Patricia looked positively worried, and that added to Lulu’s belief that she’d read the facts right.

  They gathered in Hearst’s messy office. Hearst disappeared for a moment, then came back in with Marion on his arm. Then he shut the door solidly behind him, turning the lock.

  “Now, then,” he said, clearing his throat. “As all of you know, someone has been blackmailing me under my very roof. While taking advantage of my hospitality, they have crept into my personal domain and left threatening correspondence. Well, I’m happy to say that thanks to some excellent detective work, and a bit of luck, we’ve identified the criminal.”

  After a brief flutter, Patricia gathered herself together and looked as cool as the other side of the pillow. Lulu had to admire her. She didn’t think most ten-year-olds would be so self-possessed.

  “Officer Milligan, our investigation is complete. If you would be so good as to take Miss Lulu Kelly into custody and escort her to the station, and thence, I’m sure, to prison for a very long time.” Hearst seemed to gain inches and pounds as he feigned rage, towering over Lulu. He frowned darkly at her, and even though she knew it was an act for Patricia’s benefit, she trembled. “You’ll rot in prison for the rest of your life! You’ve made yourself my enemy, young lady. And my enemies always get crushed. Take her away!”

  The officer jerked her toward the door and Lulu couldn’t help but cry out. She pulled against his tight grip. “I didn’t do it, I swear! You’re making a mistake!”

  She glanced sidelon
g at Patricia, but the girl didn’t move, didn’t speak. Is she really going to let me take the blame? Lulu wondered. The officer dragged her across the room as she continued to struggle.

  “Freddie, help me!”

  “Your career is over, Miss Kelly,” Hearst growled. “Your life as you know it is over. No one can help you now. No one.” Lulu had to steel herself to keep from looking at Patricia again. Was the girl made of stone? Was she really going to let Lulu take the fall?

  The officer had hauled Lulu out the door when Patricia finally jumped to her feet and cried, “Stop! It wasn’t Lulu!”

  “Nonsense,” Hearst said. “We have all the evidence. We actually caught her using the same manicure scissors used in the blackmail letter—sitting at my desk, no less, cutting out words for another malicious threat.” He addressed the officer. “Get her out of my sight!”

  Patricia clenched her fingers together. “It wasn’t her!” she said again, but this time her voice trembled.

  Hearst rounded on her sharply and asked, “Who was it, then?”

  “It was . . . I don’t know. But it wasn’t Lulu. I know that for a fact.”

  “Come, now, a girl’s entire life and future are at stake. If you know something, you have to tell us.”

  Still, Patricia hesitated. Lulu hated seeing her so torn up.

  Marion jumped in with, “Didn’t your parents raise you to be an honest girl, Patricia?”

  With those words, something seemed to snap in Patricia. She rounded on Marion and shouted, “My parents? You have the nerve to talk about my parents? And honesty? Don’t make me laugh. As if the two of you ever told the truth when you could conveniently buy a lie. You’re both despicable, and I hate you!”

  Marion and Hearst looked at each other, and Lulu read volumes of unfathomable emotion in that glance. She felt her pulse quicken, as if she almost knew what was coming next.