Ernie held the door open for me to pass through. He wasn’t always so gentlemanly. “Maybe she expected one of Harvey’s picture-making friends to drop by and discover her.”
“That makes about as much sense as her filing her fingernails in the Figueroa Building lobby and expecting to be discovered there.”
“Just about.”
Ernie didn’t have my personal qualms about the elevator in the building—I’d had an unpleasant experience with that elevator shaft once—so we took the elevator from the third floor to the first. Sure enough, as soon as the car got to the ground floor and Ernie shoved the elevator latch up and the door opened, we saw Lulu standing at the door of the building, peering out at the rain as though she wished it would stop.
“Hey, Lulu,” said Ernie, startling her into turning around. “Get your coat and hat, and let’s lam it out of here. I’m taking you girls to lunch.”
Lulu’s eyes lit up. “Honest, Ernie? Gee, that’s swell. I was wondering how I was gonna get lunch today. Usually I bring my lunch, but I was so busy over the weekend, I didn’t think to get anything for sandwiches and stuff.”
I opened my mouth to tell her she could take supplies from my kitchen if she wanted to make her own lunch to take to work, but Ernie’s elbow caught me in the ribs before I could blurt out my offer. I glared up at him, he frowned down at me, and I understood his unspoken words. Lulu was an independent woman of the world, and she wouldn’t appreciate having my good works shoved at her any more than I’d appreciated my mother dominating my life back in Boston. Nuts. I’d get this right someday.
Fortunately for all of us, my umbrella was big enough for both Lulu and me to huddle under, and Ernie’s Studebaker was parked smack-dab in front of the Figueroa Building. After Lulu and I hurried ourselves into the back seat, I asked him about that. “How the heck did you get a parking place right in front of the building?”
Ernie turned and gave us a wink from behind the wheel. “I bribed the custodian. Buck saves me a place right there by the front door every morning.”
“You bribed him?” I asked, trying not to think of Ernie and Mr. Buck as having underhanded dealings.
Ernie must have known what I was thinking because he said, “Relax, Mercy. He’s doing the deed out of kindness. He appreciates that I’m investigating his son’s case. It’s a little favor. You, of all people, should know about favors.”
He would have to say that, wouldn’t he? “Well, I think that’s very nice of him. And you are doing him a great service.” I sniffed. “God knows, the police department won’t bother investigating the matter.”
“You got that right,” said Lulu with a sniff of her own.
I believe I’ve mentioned her brother’s legal problems already. In that case, it was I, and not Ernie, who’d solved the murder. Believing it would be ungracious to point out this fact at the moment and under the circumstances, I didn’t. Instead, I said, “Where are we going?”
“How about Charlie Wu’s? I’m in the mood for pork and noodles.”
Lulu and I exchanged a glance, and Lulu nodded. “Sounds good,” I said for both of us. Charlie Wu’s joint was a small hole-in-the-wall place on the east side of Hill, off the plaza there in Chinatown. I don’t know if Charlie Wu’s was its real name, because its real name was spelled out in Chinese characters, but that’s what Ernie called it.
Whatever the name of the place, Charlie did serve excellent pork and noodles. Also, by this time in my Los Angeles life, I’d become fairly proficient with chopsticks, so I wouldn’t feel like an idiot slurping up the noodles, which came in a bowl along with the pork and a bunch of vegetables. After one ate most of one’s noodles, pork and vegetables, it was then required that one pick up the bowl and drink the remaining broth and whatever other chunks of food matter remained. This practice had made my Bostonically decorous soul blench at first, but now I could pick up my bowl and slurp soup with the best of ’em. Yet one more reason for my mother to be horrified. Yet one more reason I loved eating at Charlie Wu’s.
Our lunch was delicious, and Ernie and Charlie had a vigorous debate over whether the Hollywood Stars or the Los Angeles Angels was the better minor-league baseball team. I had no opinion on the matter and neither, evidently, did Lulu, because we discussed hats while Ernie and Charlie argued about baseball. All I knew about the two teams under discussion was that Ernie favored the Angels and Charlie liked the Stars. Personally, I liked their name. Well, I liked the Angels’ name, too, because it fitted Los Angeles. But the Stars was a perfect name for a Hollywood team and seemed a tiny bit more clever to me. But what did I know?
Hats were much more to my taste. “I know you like to wear office-y clothes to work, Mercy, but I think you might try more color when you’re just resting at home on the weekend.”
Very well, by that time the discussion had veered away from hats.
“You’re probably right, Lulu. Chloe knows you’re right, and she keeps telling me the same thing. Maybe we can go shopping this coming weekend and I can get something frivolous.”
“I’d love that!”
“What’s this about Mercy becoming frivolous?” Ernie leaned over—Lulu sat between him and me at the counter—and grinned at me. “I’d like to see that.”
“Well, if you’re going to teach me how to drive my new car, you probably will see that,” I said with something of a flirtatious air. “Because I plan on wearing frivolous clothes during the weekends.”
“Ha. I promise I won’t tell your mother,” said Ernie.
With a little eye-rolling of my own, I said, “Thanks a lot.”
Lulu giggled. She’d met my mother.
By the time we got back to the Figueroa Building after lunch, the rainstorm had begun to subside, so we didn’t get too awfully wet dashing from Ernie’s car—the space for which had been saved by Mr. Buck—to the building. Lulu and I both thanked Ernie for lunch, and then Ernie sloped off to do some investigative work. I’m giving him the benefit of the doubt here. I honestly don’t know what he planned to do with his afternoon.
Miss Peggy Wickstrom arrived promptly at three o’clock carrying an envelope full of money for her first and last months’ rent. I was pleased that she seemed to be an honorable girl and gave her a big smile.
“Thank you very much, Miss Wickstrom. You may move in any time now.”
“Thanks. Mind if I sit? My dogs are barking. I had to walk all the way from the bus stop. Glad it stopped raining.”
She wore the same dress she’d worn the preceding Friday, if anyone cares. I only note it because it appeared to me that she was a hardworking girl without a gigantic wardrobe to call her own. Exactly the type of woman whom I hoped to assist in my new endeavor.
“By all means,” I said, gesturing to the chairs in front of my desk.
“It’s really wet out there,” she said, leaning over to do something, probably wipe off her shoes or something.
“It was pouring when we went to lunch today.”
“Yeah. It’s been a hard day. I hope it clears up before I have to go to work this evening.”
“Ah, yes. You have to work at night.” Although I longed to offer her sympathy, several of Ernie’s lectures knocked around in my brain some, and I didn’t.
“My friend will be able to drive me to work, though, so that’s all right.”
“Your gentleman caller?”
She looked at me as if I were a specimen out of an historical museum somewhere, and I chided myself. I ought to have said boyfriend. That’s what everyone said those days.
“Yeah. Johnny. He’ll take me to work.”
“His name is Johnny?” For some reason, I found conversation with Miss Wickstrom something of a strain, which didn’t make any sense to me. Heck, I was able to talk to Lulu and Caroline Terry and just about everyone else I came across with ease. Perhaps there was something restrained in Miss Wickstrom’s manner that made me feel she wouldn’t appreciate probing questions from me. I could understand that. We di
dn’t, after all, know one another.
“Johnny Autumn,” said Miss Wickstrom with something of a wistful air.
“What a charming name!” I cried, darned near enchanted. But really: Johnny Autumn. I decided I’d write the name down in my notebook as soon as Miss Wickstrom left the office and use it in a book one day.
“You think so?” She eyed me again as if I’d said something silly.
I didn’t appreciate her expression. “Well, yes.” I made my tone businesslike. “Thank you for bringing in your rental money, Miss Wickstrom. Do you expect you and your, uh, boyfriend will bring your things this week, or will you wait until the weekend? Just so I’ll know to tell the housekeeper.”
“Housekeeper?” her eyes opened up at that.
“Yes. Mrs. Buck. She will prepare a morning and an evening meal for us. I thought I’d explained this during our interview.” I tried to sound severe, but don’t know how well I succeeded.
“That’s right. You did. Hmm. I expect Johnny will move me during the week sometime. Will that be all right with you?”
“Indeed. Just give me a specific day, so I can warn Mrs. Buck to expect you.”
“Warn her?”
“Just an expression.” I was beginning to get a funny feeling about Miss Wickstrom. Reminding myself that, one, I’d interviewed her, and two, Ernie would never let me live it down if it turned out I’d rented rooms in my house to an undesirable person, I quashed my feelings. “But yes, I will need to know when to tell Mrs. Buck to expect you.”
She chewed on her lip for a second. “How about Wednesday? I work nights, but I can probably move my stuff and still get to work on time. I don’t have much.”
Giving her a gracious smile, I said, “That will be fine. I’m looking forward to our association, Miss Wickstrom.”
“Likewise, I’m sure,” she said. Then she stood, said, “Thanks,” again and walked to the door.
In spite of a teensy—almost an invisible—qualm about Miss Wickstrom, my happiness could hardly be contained for the rest of the afternoon. I’d conquered two of my goals! I’d bought Chloe and Harvey’s home, and I had already rented apartments to three hardworking women who, I aimed to make sure, would be happy there.
Lulu didn’t complain about taking Angels Flight up to Olive that evening after work. The sidewalks were still wet, rain still dripped from time to time, but the car Sinai (the other one was called Olivet) was dry as dry could be.
Mrs. Buck had prepared a delicious roasted chicken with potatoes and gravy, and with green beans and a tomato and cucumber concoction served with it. To top it all off, she’d baked an apple pie with a crust that was so flakey, it needed its filling to keep it on the table. Otherwise, it would have drifted up to the ceiling, it was so light.
“Oh, boy,” Lulu said with a sigh after she’d downed her last bite of pie—served with ice cream, by gum. “I’m really going to like living here. I’ve never eaten so well in my life.”
Her words, as you can imagine, made me extremely happy.
Chapter Seven
By the time the weekend arrived, my house was full, and I was enjoying my new role as landlady to deserving women who had to keep employment in the City of Los Angeles.
Only Lulu and I took Angels Flight every day. Caroline Terry might have joined us, except that she didn’t need to be at the Broadway until an hour after our own workday commenced.
“Anyhow, I like the walk,” said Caroline at breakfast on Saturday.
“It’s a long way to walk,” Lulu commented.
“It’s refreshing, as long as the weather’s nice.”
“I suppose if we lived a hundred years ago, we all have to walk,” I said. Then I felt stupid, since my comment had been totally irrelevant. “Of course, we wouldn’t have jobs, either.”
“Oh, we probably would have,” said Lulu, grinning. “We’d be working for rich folks like you. I’d be the housemaid and Miss Terry would be the lady’s maid. She’s a lot more dignified than I am.”
“Please call me Caroline,” said she with a blush. “And I’m sure you’re wrong about that.”
Oh, boy. She’d spoken those words with a straight face, despite the fact that she sat directly across from Lulu at the breakfast table. Caroline wore a natty green housedress with a delicate collar and cuffs. I wore a blue skirt and white shirtwaist. Lulu wore a bright red Chinese silk robe embroidered all over with yellow and green dragons.
As for Peggy Wickstrom, she wore black, and she spoke only when spoken to, which wasn’t often, since Lulu and I had known each other for a long time and had lots to talk about.
Lulu said, “I’ll call you Caroline if you call me Lulu.”
Another blush stained Caroline’s cheeks. She was a pretty girl, although terribly shy. “Thank you. That’s very kind.”
“And everybody, please call me Mercy,” I said, looking at Peggy Wickstrom as I spoke.
I guess she figured she hadn’t been holding up her end of the conversation, because she finally said something. “Everyone can call me Peggy.”
And that was it from her.
Mrs. Buck had prepared a lovely repast for us, consisting of scrambled eggs, muffins and bacon. She also served us each a half of a grapefruit, upon which she’d sprinkled sugar; then she’d let sit it in the refrigerator overnight so it wouldn’t taste sour. The woman was a genius in the kitchen.
Conversation lagged a bit after Peggy spoke, so I decided to renew it. “Would anyone like to go shopping with Lulu and me today? I aim to get myself some suitable lounging clothes. Lulu and my sister claim my taste is dull, and I want to fix that.”
For some reason, all of our gazes flew to Lulu in her bright red with dragons. She grinned back at us. “Don’t worry. Mercy will never be as colorful as me. But we might brighten her weekends up some with a little work.”
I think I saw Caroline heave a small sigh of relief. The expression on Peggy’s face didn’t change an iota. She said, “No, thanks. I got stuff to do today.”
“I think I’ll go to the library,” said Caroline, thus solidifying her in my mind as a serious, and well-mannered girl. “I want to see if they have any new books by Agatha Christie.” Then she blushed again, probably because she thought her reading taste deplorable. My mother would have agreed with her. I, however, did not.
“Oh, I love Agatha Christie!” I cried, perhaps too exuberantly. “I love most mystery stories, actually.”
“Mercy wants to write ‘em,” said Lulu to the table at large. “That’s why she’s working for a private investigator.”
“Exactly,” I agreed happily.
“My goodness,” said Caroline. “What an . . . interesting ambition.”
“It’s not easy,” I said. “The writing, I mean. And from everything I’ve read about the business, getting published is even harder than writing the books themselves.”
“You’ve got connections,” said Lulu.
“Not in publishing, I don’t. Not that I’d do a thing like that. I mean, if I ever am a published writer, I want it to be because my book is good enough to be published, not because I know someone in the industry.”
Lulu shrugged. “I don’t know why not. That’s the only way to make it in Hollywood. You gotta know somebody.”
Peggy appeared totally uninterested in our conversation, which was all right with me.
“Do you really wish to write a mystery novel, Mercy?” asked Caroline with flattering attention.
“Yup. I sure do. I’ve even started one. I’ve managed to kill off one victim. Now I have to figure out who did the deed and why.”
This comment seemed to waken Peggy from her former stupor. “Gee, really? My boyfriend, Johnny, he knew that guy named Gossett who got plugged the other day.”
Plugged? I guess that was one word for having a bullet shot through one’s heart. And her gentleman friend had actually known Mr. Gossett? I was, of course, all ears. “My goodness, Peggy! Has he been questioned by the police? How well did he
know Mr. Gossett? The man in jail for the murder at this minute is innocent, and I know my employer would like to talk to Mr. Autumn.”
Now Peggy looked as if she wished she’d remained out of the conversation. “Naw. The police don’t even know about Johnny. Besides, Johnny hasn’t seen Gossett for weeks and weeks. He used to do little jobs for him.”
“Really? What kinds of jobs?”
Clearly flustered and also clearly unwilling to share information about her beloved, Peggy said, “Oh, you know. Little things. Errands. Like, when Mr. Gossett wanted to go somewhere but didn’t want to drive, sometimes he’d get Johnny to drive him. Stuff like that. He’d ask him to pick up stuff for him. Like that.”
Pick up stuff for him? “Um, what kind of stuff did he need to have picked up?”
“Oh, I don’t know. He didn’t know Gossett all that well. I only mentioned it because you said you were writing a book about somebody who got killed.”
“I see.” I sensed that to pursue the matter would only annoy Peggy, but I made a mental note to tell Ernie about this interesting state of affairs. He’d probably accuse me of allowing an undesirable tenant into my house, but I considered Peggy’s information worth the tongue-lashing I’d get from him.
“After we go shopping, I’m trying to figure out the rest of the plot for my book. It’s not as easy for me as it seems to be for Agatha Christie. Maybe you all can give me some tips.” I smiled genially at my new family of tenants.
“Don’t look at me,” said Lulu. “All I read are the movie mags.”
“I think it would be fun to plot a murder mystery,” said Caroline softly. “You’ll have to tell me about your book so far, and maybe we can chat about it. I probably won’t be able to help you, but it might be interesting to try.”
“I’d love that. Maybe tomorrow? We’ve both got things to do today, and I’m having my first driving lesson this evening.”
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