by P. J. Conn
"Does she belong to any clubs or organizations that meet at night?"
"No, she stays close to home. I don't believe she had a happy childhood, and she enjoys having her own house. She spends a lot of time sewing new clothes."
"That's why she was taking a fashion course, I assume?"
"Yes, from what she said, it was a history of fashion, not instruction on design."
"Your wife has your car," the detective responded. "I'll check and make certain she wasn't in an accident. Give me the license plate number."
Hal supplied it. "I'd not even thought of an accident." He rubbed his forehead. "This has been such an awful night, and I'm not thinking clearly. I should have called the hospitals before calling you."
"I'll have a man check," Lynch promised. "We'll give you a call if we find her, or if she comes home, telephone me right away."
Hal stood with him. "I will, but I don't know what I'll do with myself while I wait."
Lynch nodded toward the coffee table. "You could read up on ghosts."
Hal showed the detective out without responding to his sarcastic taunt. He went into the kitchen to put the coffee pot on the stove, and watched the clock as he wondered where Faye could possibly have gone. That she might have been badly injured in a traffic accident was too awful to contemplate, but he began to hope she'd be found in a hospital and soon.
He reached for a coffee cup from the cupboard, and was repulsed clear through by the dried blood crusted on his shirt cuff. The cup slipped from his hand and shattered as it hit the floor. It was all he could do to keep himself from breaking into as many jagged pieces. He took out the broom and dustpan to clean up, but he couldn't bear to remove the shirt bearing the last traces of Pearl LaFosse he'd ever have.
He was still wide awake when the detective called him at 2:00 a.m. Faye hadn't been found in any of the local hospitals, and no unidentified young women had been admitted. There had been half a dozen traffic accidents, but all the participants had been accounted for, and a Packard hadn't been involved in any.
"What do we do now?" Hal asked.
"It's been my experience that people usually turn up in a day or two," Lynch responded.
"Other people maybe, but Faye is too responsible a person to go off on her own without leaving me a note or talking to me on the phone. Something has to be very wrong."
"That may be true, but without any idea of where she might be, we don't know where to look. I'll call you tomorrow. Are you planning to go into work?"
Hal hadn't thought of the office once. "No, I'll call in sick. You can reach me at this number."
"I'll do that, and remember what I said. Most people turn up on their own. You might check her clothes and see if anything is missing. That will give you something to do with your time."
Insulted anew, Hal had already hung up the phone when he remembered the Black Dahlia. Elizabeth Short had been missing for a week before her body had been found in two ghastly bloodless pieces. From what he'd read of the case, Elizabeth liked to go out to party and dance and had obviously met up with the wrong partner. Faye wouldn't have gone out dancing. She wouldn't have even known where to go, and murderers wouldn't be out wandering respectable neighborhoods ringing doorbells and hoping a beautiful young housewife came to the door.
He managed to safely fill a second cup with coffee and while waiting for it cool sufficiently to drink, he remembered when someone went missing, the police always listed what they'd been wearing. He prayed Faye would appear at any minute, but in case she didn't, he ought to check her side of the closet. The problem was, he'd lost count of how many dresses she'd made in similar styles and couldn't name what was missing. Her purse was gone, as were the pair of black pumps she wore nearly every day. Her tweed coat wasn't in the hall closet, so he continued to think she'd been called away and would soon return.
He couldn't sleep and made a cheese sandwich to silence his stomach's plaintive rumblings, but it tasted like cardboard. Unbothered by his mistress's absence now that he'd been fed, Mr. Cuddles raised his head occasionally to yawn as he watched Hal pace the living room.
"I suppose she told you where she was going," Hal called to him, but as always the cat kept his secrets.
Finally growing exhausted, Hal stretched out on the sofa and fell asleep as soon as he'd closed his eyes. He awoke with a start early the next morning and checked the time. He had a horrible headache and had overslept, but his secretary wouldn't be at the office for another hour so he hadn't been missed yet. Mr. Cuddles, however, was perched on the arm of the sofa regarding him with an evil eye as he waited for his breakfast.
"Give me a minute to wake up and swallow some aspirin," he called to the cat, but Mr. Cuddles meowed pitifully, clearly not in a waiting mood. "All right, come on." There was half a can of cat tuna in the refrigerator left from last night, and he served him a goodly clump.
He seldom had headaches, and washed down three aspirin to make certain he'd taken enough. He showered, shaved, dressed in casual slacks and a shirt he wore for the weekends. He hung the blood-stained shirt in the closet. When Faye got home, she would have more to explain than he did, and he'd worry about the stained shirt later.
He brought in the newspaper, made coffee, toast and scrambled a couple of eggs. He was a much better cook than Faye, and he should have insisted he do the cooking until she learned how. Why had he kept quiet and suffered through so many tasteless meals? There had to be a tactful way to urge her to take a cooking course. He'd simply worried too much about hurting her feelings to speak up as he should have.
He called the office to tell Lorraine Adams he wasn't feeling well and wouldn't be in. She suggested he drink lots of hot water laced with lemon and honey. He thanked her and said he hoped to be at work on Monday, but he doubted he should return to his desk if Faye were still missing. He washed his dishes and put them away. Satisfied the kitchen was as spotless as Faye always kept it, he poured a second cup of coffee and opened the paper.
Pearl's murder was in the Metro section with a grim photo of her body lying beneath the tarp. There was only a brief report of a shooting death outside a popular bar and a request for tips to be sent to the police. Waiting notification of kin, Pearl's name wasn't given. When the telephone rang, Hal was so badly startled he nearly spilled his coffee in his lap.
"I'm assuming you've not heard from your wife, and I've no news of her either," Det. Lynch began, "but I thought you might like to come with us to see where Miss LaFosse lived. I know you're without your car, so we'll pick you up."
"Staying here isn't helping anyone any, so of course I'll come." He longed to learn whatever he could about Pearl and pulled on a jacket so he'd be ready to go. "You'll have to amuse yourself today, Mr. Cuddles." The cat appeared to be unchallenged by the thought.
Hal left Faye a note to tell her he'd been too worried to go into work and to stay put until he came home. He left it on the kitchen counter where she'd be sure to see it if she arrived home before he did. Grateful for any excuse to leave, he waited on the front porch for Det. Lynch who soon arrived in a black Ford sedan driven by a uniformed officer.
Hal joined him in the back seat. "Have you been to her place?" the detective asked.
Exasperated by the detective's ridiculous question, Hal chose his words with care. "No, of course not. We'd just talked a few times at the Golden Bear. There was nothing more."
"She had no identification in her purse, just a twenty dollar bill, a red lipstick, and a key with a tag from the Starlight trailer park."
"What?" Hal couldn't believe Pearl would have lived there. Trailer parks had sprung up all over Los Angeles in the years after the war when housing was in such short supply, but he couldn't imagine a woman as elegant as Pearl being content in the close confines of a trailer.
"She didn't seem like that kind of a girl?" the detective asked.
"I don't know what to think. I've driven past the Starlight Park, but never given it a second glance."
Th
ey drove through the gate, and stopped by the manager's gleaming Gulfstream trailer. "Let me do the talking, Mr. Marten. You're here because I thought you might recognize something important, not because I'm desperate for your company."
Hal didn't care why he was there. The park had been open only a few years and most of the trailers were new. Some had a rounded teardrop shape and looked as though they could be hitched up and rolled out with little notice while others were long and wide and clearly built to stay put. There were tiny lawns in front of the nearest trailers, and a flower garden or two surrounded by rocks painted white. The entrance way was a long clean street with side streets branching off to the left and right. It was a pretty place, but still, it just didn't fit his idea of Pearl.
The detective returned to the car. "The manager sat down and cried when I told him Pearl was dead. Apparently they'd been close. She'd listed no next of kin when she'd moved in, and he had no idea who should be notified. Maybe we'll find an address book or letters in her trailer." He gave their driver the directions to a Gulfstream on the first road to the left. There was no lawn, nor flower border. In fact, compared to the other trailers parked nearby, Pearl's looked vacant.
Lynch left the sedan, climbed the three steps and unlocked the door with the key from Pearl's purse. "Let me take a look inside first, before you come in."
Hal got out of the sedan and leaned back against it. The sun was out, but it was not yet warm. A woman hanging her laundry on a clothesline two trailers away looked his way, and he nodded a silent greeting. She ignored him, picked up her basket and returned to her trailer.
The detective leaned out the door and gestured for Hal to come on in. "It doesn't look as though she lived here," he said. "There are some clothes in the closet, several pairs of high heels, hats in boxes, but there's nothing in the refrigerator, and only a toothbrush and toothpaste in the bathroom."
The small living room at the front of the trailer had upholstered benches and a table with rounded corners between them. A philodendron in a turquoise ceramic pot sat in the middle of the table. The plant looked freshly watered, and Hal touched the soil and found it damp.
"What are you doing?" Lynch asked.
"Pearl must have watered it yesterday. Do you mind if I take it home? Otherwise, it will just wither and die now that she's gone." Had it only been a day? His sorrow felt far too deep for such a short time.
"Yeah, sure. Take it. Look at the closet and tell me if these are Pearl's things."
She'd been wearing her black suit yesterday, and he recognized the gray, blue and red suits on the hangers. There was a purple dress he'd not seen, but it looked like something she'd wear. Her hats were in boxes on the shelf, and her beautiful high-heeled shoes were carefully aligned in a row on the floor. "Yes, these are hers."
"Check the drawers," Lynch asked.
The trailer was as expertly designed as a ship captain's cabin and not a single space had gone unused. Hal opened a drawer, found nothing and opened the others in what would have been Pearl's dresser with the same result. "There's nothing here."
"This looks to me like a dressing room rather than a home," the detective confided. "Wait here while I speak with her neighbors."
Hal was too nervous to sit, and continued exploring the trailer. The bathroom had a shower, but the aqua towel didn't look as though it had ever been used. The bedroom had a bed with a beige spread and blanket. The crisply pressed white sheets were neatly tucked in so the bed hadn't been slept in Wednesday night. There were more drawers along the walls, also as empty as those near the closet.
He quieted his mind, but felt nothing of Pearl's presence. She'd said there were people she'd like to haunt, and he wished he'd pressed her for reasons. If she were out haunting anyone, she hadn't swung by the trailer on her way, or he felt sure he would have sensed her spirit. She'd possessed an innate sparkle he couldn't believe had died with her.
If the trailer key was the only one she carried, where had she spent the rest of her time? He wondered if she lived with someone who'd always be home waiting for her. His first guess would be a wealthy man who could afford her pretty clothes. Perhaps she had lived with a roommate, or her mother, or an invalid aunt. Only the philodendron seemed real. He went outside and sat down on the top step.
The police officer leaned against the front of the sedan. "You knew the victim?" he asked.
Hal shrugged. "Barely. I'd no idea she lived here." He watched a young man approach them, stood and stepped down to the concrete walkway in front of the trailer.
"I'm Jed Riley, the manager here." He wore gray slacks, a multicolored knitted vest over a white shirt and brown loafers. His eyes were red, and he carried a handkerchief. "I can't believe Pearl is dead. Why would anyone have shot such a kind and pretty woman?"
Hal waited for the officer to respond, and when the man didn't, he offered his own opinion. "I really don't care why, all I want to know is who did it, so he can be caught and sent to prison for the rest of his life."
The manager blew his nose on his handkerchief. "Yes, of course, I want that too."
The detective had disappeared down the row of trailers, and Hal felt free to do some investigation of his own. "Did Pearl spend much time here?"
"No, I seldom saw her. Once she told me her trailer was a retreat, I believe that's the word she used. She always paid her rent on time, in cash."
Clearly the man had had a crush on Pearl and would miss her terribly. "What about mail? Did she receive any here?"
"No, I told the detective the mailman leaves the mail for me to sort and put into the mailboxes inside the gate. She might have gotten an occasional flyer, something everyone received, but nothing personal."
Hal knew her mail had to have gone somewhere. "It must be a big responsibility running a park as large as this," he offered.
"Oh it is, but I enjoy dealing with people, and there's always one problem or another to keep me busy. Nothing major, you understand, just little things here and there."
Lynch rounded the corner and approached them with a quick step. He looked surprised to see the manager. "You have my card, if anyone comes to ask about Pearl, or tries to enter her trailer, call me immediately."
The young man's eyes grew wide. "Do you think the murderer might come here?"
"He could, so don't crowd him. Just call me."
"Oh, I will first thing," Jed promised with an emphatic head bob.
Hal went back into the trailer to fetch the philodendron. He was relieved Jed didn't insist he'd take care of it himself. He set it on the floor of the car beside him as they drove away. "Did you learn anything?"
Lynch shrugged. "I couldn't find anyone who knew Pearl. A few said they'd seen a woman come in or go out of the trailer, but none had ever spoken with her. Usually there's a busybody nearby who makes it their business to know everything about everyone, but I couldn't find one."
"What about the post office?" Hal asked. "Would they know where her mail was delivered if it didn't come here?"
Lynch pursed his lips. "What were you doing, interrogating the manager?"
"I wouldn't call it an interrogation. I just wondered is all."
"Next time wonder to yourself."
"Yes, sir." Hal looked out the window, searching the streets for Faye as they drove to his neighborhood. "Will you wait while I check to see if my wife is home?"
"I will," Lynch responded.
Hal set the plant on the front porch as he fished his keys from his pocket. He opened the door and was met with a disappointing silence. He went on in and found his note where he'd left it. Mr. Cuddles was ready for lunch, but he owed the detective a response first. He went to the door and shook his head. Lynch waved and drove off.
"All right Cuddles, lunchtime." He gave the cat the remainder of the can of cat food. Faye kept a dozen cans in the cupboard so she'd not run out, and apparently the cat didn't mind a steady diet of tuna.
There were cans of soup, and he heated some chicken noodle. It was ho
t, and he supposed would taste good to someone who wasn't completely numb. He added crackers and cheese and thought it a meal. He finished the crossword in the paper and got up looking for something else to do. He went out into the yard and the snapdragons and pansies they'd planted looked good and didn't need water.
Carmen Espinoza came out into her backyard and waved. "Faye didn't call me. Did she get home very late?"
Hal walked over to the low chain link fence that separated their yards. "She hasn't come home, and I've no idea where she could be. Even if you didn't speak with her yesterday, had she recently mentioned somewhere she was meaning to go, or someone she needed to see?"
"Why no, other than the gold rush trip you're planning, and she'd not have gone that far on her own. I hope she's not lying unidentified in a hospital nearby."
"So do I, but the police checked, and she isn't a patient anywhere."
"She's just up and disappeared?" Carmen asked, clearly puzzled.
"No, she wouldn't have simply left without taking her beloved Mr. Cuddles. She means to come home, or at least she did when she left."
"Oh dear. What should we do?"
Carmen was a sweet woman, but he had nothing to offer. "Other than wait, which is nearly impossible, I don't know."
She reached out to touch his sleeve. "I'll pray for you."
He thanked her and turned away, but she called him back. "Did Faye keep a diary?" she asked. "There might be something helpful in it if she did."
"I don't think so, but I'll look." He went back inside and while he feared he was invading his wife's privacy, he went through her side of the dresser. She kept her lingerie neatly folded, and thinking it would be a good place to hide a diary, he slid his hands under her things all the way to the back of the drawer. He found only a detective's business card, and the office was close enough for him to walk.
He went to the telephone and called the number on the card. "Hello, my name's Hal Marten, and I believe my wife may have contacted you recently."
Joe Ezell straightened up in his chair with a startled jerk. No one he had been paid to investigate had ever turned around and come looking for him, and he didn't know how to respond. "I don't discuss my clients, Mr. Marten."