by P. J. Conn
Joe looked up and sat back in his chair. "I'll tell you, CC, I really like having my own business and the work I'm doing, but once I give a client my report, I can't help but wonder what will happen next."
"Is that a fact?" The custodian waited by the door.
"If I find a man is cheating on his wife, well, maybe not cheating, but looking like he wants to, how do I know what the wife will do with that information?"
"Are you talking about that pretty little lady who just left?"
"You saw her? Sweet girl, but her husband has eyes for what looked to me like an expensive call girl."
"Then he's definitely on the wrong path, and someone ought to do something about it. Does she have a daddy who can set her husband straight?" CC asked.
"She didn't mention any family, so I guess not. I'll just have to hope for the best for them."
"You fond of mysteries, sir?"
Joe laughed. "Not the ones I can't solve."
The custodian emptied the office wastebasket into a large can in the hall, returned and replaced it by the desk. "I don't suppose you can keep investigating?"
Joe got up to stretch. "No, that would merely be snooping, and I need to devote my time to new cases that will pay the rent."
CC began to close the office door on his way out. "Makes sense. You have yourself a nice afternoon now."
"Thanks, CC. See you tomorrow." The telephone rang, and to avoid looking desperate, Joe waited three rings before he answered. "Discreet Investigations," he said with a firm confidence. The man calling asked for directions to his office, and Joe jotted down the prospective client's name so he'd be ready when he got there. He went down the hall to rinse his coffee mug, and eager to take on a new case, he dismissed all thought of Faye Marten's wandering husband.
Chapter 6
Hal thought Faye seemed remarkably subdued that night, and it wasn't like her. "Are you not feeling well? You're not usually so quiet."
"What? Oh no, I'm fine, just looking forward to the summer when we can take our vacation trip."
He smiled and nodded. "It should be fun even if we don't see any ghosts."
"We're going where everyone says they are, so unless they're hiding, we're sure to find at least one."
"Let's hope it's a quiet, friendly ghost then." Clearly she was excited by the trip, and he'd make certain she had a good time. He always did. Each time he went to the Golden Bear Lounge, he put himself another step closer to the worst kind of mistake. He had to put a stop to it now. That decided, he squared his shoulders and told himself the coming Thursday would be his last stop at the bar. He just needed to see Pearl one last time to say good-bye.
* * *
Thursday was overcast with a threat of rain that held off all day. After lunch, Hal made notes for what he wished to say to Pearl. It wasn't nearly as easy as preparing remarks for a sales meeting, but he felt he ought to say something profound. Even if not deep, then something meaningful to let her know she'd touched him, even if they'd only had a few brief conversations. He certainly understood himself better for it.
When his enlistment was over at the end of the war, he'd hoped to make up for lost time, marry, have a family and move up the corporate ladder with a good firm. California West offered the most opportunities for advancement, although the work seldom posed a real challenge. He'd met Faye and thought her adorable. Neither of them had families to attend their wedding at the courthouse, but he'd thought they'd create a beautiful one of their own. They still would, he was sure of it. If he needed more than Faye could possibly give, then he'd damn well join civic groups that would keep him occupied without offering any damning temptations.
That settled, he passed the afternoon with his usual mix of work and left right on time. When he reached the Golden Bear, he nodded a hello to Mitch, Lou King, the bail bondsman, and the veterans as he walked back to Pearl's booth. She was dressed in the black suit with her frivolous veiled hat, and so beautiful she took his breath away.
Now he could ask the question he'd been afraid to until now. "Where are you going in such a rush when you leave here?"
She sipped her martini, and licked her bright red lips. "Why do you ask?"
"Because I've always wondered, and I won't see you again." There, he'd said it out loud, and he meant it.
"Are you going away?"
"No, but I've obligations I should see to after work." He feared he sounded cold, and that wasn't his intention at all. "Meeting you has been a wonderful surprise, but it's time for me to concentrate on other things."
"You needn't apologize," she replied, her tone as intimate as a kiss. She raised her martini glass. "Here's to friendship."
Mitch set a beer in front on him, and Hal raised it to add to her toast. "This was much better than friendship."
She responded in a husky sigh, "Hal, you are the sweetest man. I wish you good luck in all you mean to do."
"Thank you. You still haven't told me where you go," he reminded her.
"No, I haven't, but a woman should always keep a bit of mystery." He rose with her, and she reached up to kiss his cheek. "Good-bye."
He had to bite his lip to choke back a moan as she moved out the door on her spiked heels. She had a dancer's grace, and he'd never asked if she loved to dance. It was too late to ask her anything, and he felt overwhelmed with loss. He had just carried his beer to a stool at the bar when the sound of gunfire exploded in the street.
"Nobody move!" Mitch shouted. "If there's trouble outside, we're not inviting it in here."
One of the veterans moved off his stool. "Someone may need help."
"I'll go with you," Hal offered.
Mitch moved out from behind the bar. "Fine, play Boy Scouts, but wait a minute to make certain the next shot doesn't hit one of you."
"That's fair," the veteran offered.
Hal looked at the clock behind the bar and waited exactly one minute. There had been no more gunfire, so he walked to the door, opened it a crack and looked out. There was no one in the street, but Pearl lay on the sidewalk, blood streaming from what was left of her face. "Dear God," he cried. "Call the police. Pearl's been shot." He went to her, but she was so obviously dead, he could do nothing more than kneel at her side and hold her small, gloved hand.
* * *
It had begun to rain by the time the police arrived, and they covered Pearl's body with a blue tarp. Hal felt sick to his stomach and couldn't bear to think of her lying on the cold sidewalk. He hated to leave her alone, and reluctantly went back into the bar as ordered. A detective with the Los Angeles Police Department, Jacob Lynch, insisted upon taking everyone's name and personal information before they were allowed to leave.
Hal used the payphone on the wall by the men's room to call Faye and let her know he'd be late. He tried to come up with an excuse before she answered, but the phone just rang and rang. Thinking he'd dialed the wrong number, he took more care a second time, but again, Faye failed to answer. It wasn't like her not to be home, and it worried him. He took a stool at the bar, but refused Mitch's offer of a drink on the house.
Mitch wiped away a tear. "She was such a beautiful woman, who could have wanted her dead?"
"Maybe they were after her purse, and she fought them," Lou King offered.
"Her purse lay beside her," Hal said. "She never told me where she was going, but...."
"You think someone she knew killed her?" Mitch asked.
"I don't even want to think about it," Hal responded, but he couldn't get the horrible sight of her lying in a pool of her own blood out of his mind. It just kept repeating like a flipbook he'd race through again and again until the pages bruised his thumb. When Det. Lynch came to him, he offered his name, address and the telephone number at home and at work and hoped he'd be done with it. "Am I free to go?"
Lynch looked to be in his late forties, with a slight sprinkling of gray in his dark hair. He wore a well-tailored overcoat over his suit, and his manner was coolly professional. "I need only a few m
ore minutes of your time." He reviewed his notes. "When the first officers arrived, you identified the deceased as Pearl LaFosse. What was your relationship to her?"
Uncertain, Hal shrugged. "We'd just spoken here a few times. I wouldn't call it a relationship."
Lynch jotted a note. "All right, but clearly you're disturbed by her death."
The regulars seated at the bar all looked equally distraught to Hal. "We're all way past disturbed," he stressed. "You might be used to seeing young women shot dead in the street, but we're not."
"Just be patient with me a little longer, Mr. Marten. Did you hear an argument, loud words of any kind before the shots?"
"No. Pearl walked out the door, and a few seconds later we heard two shots and found her dead."
"What can you tell me about her?"
Feeling utterly empty, Hal took a deep breath and released it slowly. "Nothing really. We talked about artists, books, but nothing personal."
Lynch looked at him askance. "You looking to hold book club meetings here?"
"No, of course not, it was just casual conversation. I need to go home. My wife didn't answer the phone, and I don't want her to worry that I've been in an accident."
Lynch handed Hal his card. "If your wife doesn't turn up in an hour or two, give me a call."
"I doubt that she's missing," Hal countered. "She probably had to make a quick trip to the market is all."
Lynch looked at his watch, and it was nearly nine o'clock now. "Kind of late for grocery shopping. Did she know about you and Pearl?"
"What? There is, or was, no 'me and Pearl'. I just came in once in awhile to have a beer on the way home from work."
"Your wife okay with that?" the detective inquired.
Hal noticed Mitch edging closer and lowered his voice. "She was fine with it. I never stay more than a half-hour or so. I wouldn't still be here at closing time."
"That's right," Mitch added. "He's not a man to linger."
"All right then," Lynch responded. "Go on home, but if your wife isn't there with dinner waiting, give me a call."
Hal understood what the detective was implying and completely dismayed, he had to suppress a cold shudder. "You can't think she had anything to do with this."
"It's too early in our investigation to say. Do you own a gun?"
"No, I wouldn't have one in the house." Hal felt as though he were sinking ever deeper into a wretched quagmire of his own making.
"Fine. Just let me know if your wife doesn't turn up tonight."
"I'm sure she will." Hal nodded to Mitch and headed for the door. The coroner had come for Faye's body, but Hal walked carefully around the place where she'd fallen and rushed to catch the next Red Car for home.
* * *
There weren't any lights on in their side of the duplex, and as Hal came through the front door, he switched on every one he passed. Faye had baked the meatloaf and it sat in its Pyrex dish, covered just the way she'd baked it. She'd peeled and sliced the potatoes and left them in a pot filled with water ready to boil. The cans of green beans and gravy were unopened on the counter.
"Faye?" Thinking she might have fallen ill, he hurried to their bedroom, but the bed was neatly made, just as she'd left it that morning. A quick check of the bathroom showed only a tiled room with shiny fixtures and towels neatly hung on the racks.
Mr. Cuddles meowed loudly, and wove his way through Hal's legs forcing him to move carefully to avoid tripping over the big cat. "What's the matter with you? Can't stand having to wait for dinner?"
Ignoring their pet's pitiful meows, Hal searched for a note, but couldn't find one. He went next door to Carmen Espinoza's hoping Faye might have gone to help their neighbor. "Hello, I hate to bother you, but I came home late, and Faye isn't here. I wondered if she might be with you."
Carmen opened the door to invite him in, but he remained on the porch. "I haven't seen Faye since this morning when she was out in your backyard watering the flowers. We exchanged hellos and went on about our own business. Could she be with a friend?"
Faye had never introduced him to any friends, and he wasn't sure she had any. He looked up the street, but it was too dark for her to be out for a walk. "No, I don't think so. I'll just stay home and wait for her. Thank you, Carmen."
"Have her call me when she comes home so I won't worry. She has my number."
"I'll do that." He went around to the garage and found their Packard gone. Faye had never been angry with him, and he sincerely doubted she could have been so upset with him arriving home late tonight that she'd have gone to the movies alone, or anywhere else for that matter.
He went inside and opened a can of cat food for Mr. Cuddles. The ungrateful cat woofed it down, and then turned his back on him and sauntered to his pillow by the window. "You are such great company," Hal called after him. "Anyone ever tell you that?" The cat closed his eyes and ignored him.
Hal's stomach had been clenched in a tight knot since he'd found Pearl dead, and he couldn't bear the thought of food. He put the meatloaf in the refrigerator along with the pot containing the potatoes and set the cans of green beans and gravy in the cupboard. He hadn't noted the time when he'd gotten home, but made a note of it now. He hung up his overcoat and suit jacket, but couldn't just stare at the wall while waiting for his wife to appear. Pacing the living room wasn't satisfying either.
By eleven o'clock, Faye should have been home even if she'd gone to the movies, and he pulled Detective Lynch's card from his pocket. He hesitated to call him, but if something had happened to Faye, he ought not to wait until tomorrow morning to report her missing. He reached for the telephone.
Chapter 7
Jacob Lynch glanced around the neatly kept living room. "This looks like a furniture showroom. Do you actually live here?"
"Yes, of course we do." Hal was suffering through the worst day of his life, and he had only a weak grasp on his temper. "Both my wife and I like to keep things in good order. Is it a crime?"
"Settle down, Mr. Marten. What did you find when you first came home?"
Hal was a long way from settled, and he needed a moment to organize his thoughts. "There were no lights on, which struck me as odd. Faye had begun preparing dinner in the kitchen, but apparently left before finishing."
"Do you mind if I have a look in the kitchen?" the detective asked.
"No, it's this way." Hal had left the lights on, walked in and leaned against the counter beside the sink.
"You said your wife had been preparing dinner?"
Hal explained what he'd found. "I put everything in the refrigerator so it wouldn't be ruined."
Det. Lynch pulled open the refrigerator and checked inside. It was as neat as the rest of the house with the perishables stacked in glass containers on the shelves, and the crisper drawers full of fresh vegetables and fruit. He slammed the door shut. "If you suspected something was wrong, you should have left the food where it sat."
Annoyed, Hal quickly put the meatloaf on the top of the stove with the pot of potatoes. He grabbed the cans from the cupboard and placed them on the counter. "There, that's what I found. It doesn't look like a crime scene to me."
"I'll give you that, but don't tamper with any other evidence in the future."
Hal spread his arms wide. "What evidence? Nothing is out of place."
"Which is suspicious in itself. Do you mind if I see the rest of the house?"
"No, go right ahead. The bedroom and bath are through the other door in the living room." Hal returned the meatloaf and potatoes to the refrigerator and waited rather than give the detective a tour. Faye's books on ghosts were on the coffee table with the map folded neatly beneath them. He didn't think there was anything out of the order in checking books from the library, but he doubted the detective would see it that way.
Det. Lynch continued making notes as he returned to the living room. "I notice someone has been reading up on ghosts. Is that you?"
"No, we went to see The Ghost and Mrs. Muir, and Faye lo
ved the story. We're planning to drive up to the Gold Country this summer, and she hoped to see one."
"Would you say she often dwelled on morbid thoughts?"
"No, not at all. Faye is a remarkably even-tempered and pleasant person. She doesn't regard ghosts as evil."
"Do you own a car, Mr. Marten?"
"Yes, a Packard, but it isn't in the garage."
"You should have told me that sooner." The detective shook his head. "Did you plan to mention it before I left?"
"Yes, of course. From what I can see, my wife was preparing dinner, but was interrupted by something, or someone, and left without leaving me a note. Maybe she expected to return shortly, but hasn't been able to call."
The detective finally spotted Mr. Cuddles curled on his pillow. "Is that a real cat, or a stuffed toy?"
"No, Mr. Cuddles is real, but he doesn't take to strangers, so don't try and pet him."
"I'm not even tempted," the detective replied under his breath. "What about family? Does your wife have family living close that she might have gone to see?"
"No, she was an only child, and her parents were older when she was born. They're both gone now."
Lynch nodded thoughtfully. "Now I know you're concerned, Mr. Marten, but could your wife have gotten a call from a former boyfriend and gone to meet him?"
Hal caught himself, but he almost laughed because Faye was too reserved a young woman to be out partying with an old beau. "No, her high school boyfriend was killed on Iwo Jima. She hadn't been dating anyone when we met."
Lynch went to the sofa. "It's been a long day. Do you mind if I sit?"
"No, make yourself comfortable." Hal took the wing chair beside the sofa, but was almost too anxious to sit quietly and shifted his position nervously.
"How did you and your wife meet?" Lynch asked.
"At UCLA extension classes. I took an accounting class that would help me at work, and Faye was enrolled in some fashion course. We spoke while getting coffee one night during the break, and then began looking for each other and started dating. We were married last summer."