Murder Me Twice

by P. J. Conn

  "Of course. Will you get some plates? I refuse to eat out of the little cartons."

  He smiled as he opened the cupboard. Clearly she believed she could just come in and take over, and he wasn't in the least bit offended. "I'll bring forks too. I never could get the hang of eating with chop sticks."

  "It's like everything else, it takes practice."

  The sly teasing note in her voice reminded him of Pearl. He brought the plates, napkins and forks to the table. "I've been working on the list of differences between Faye and Pearl, and Pearl would have made your comment in a low breathy voice. Even if her words weren't overtly suggestive, she'd make them so. Faye would have simply said she was no good with chop sticks either."

  "That's a helpful observation. Frankly, I'm amazed by Pearl. She existed for only a few minutes a week at the Golden Bear Lounge, and yet she seems to have impressed you deeply. Was it only that she was so different from your wife?"

  He watched her empty a noodle dish onto their plates. She added fried shrimp and green beans. He waited for her to sit down and then joined her. "I'd never met anyone like her. She looked like a model from a magazine come to life."

  "Maybe that's what she was, a creation of her own imagination with a little help from Vogue."

  "Maybe." He bit into a fried shrimp. "These are really good."

  "They are. What did your boss say when you called him?"

  He told her. "I'm not sure I want to go back to work for California West. This might be the best time to look for another job elsewhere."

  "Are you talking about a different company, or new location?"

  "Maybe both."

  She gave a noodle a lazy swirl around her fork the way she had in the Italian restaurant. "I'd advise against making any changes in the near future. You've been through a terrible ordeal, and you should take time to get your bearings before you launch into something new. You also don't want to look as though you're getting out of town just ahead of the posse."

  The green beans were crisp and flavored with garlic. He used his napkin rather than lick his fingers. "It will be impossible for the police to find any evidence that links me to Faye's death, but you think I should still give them time to forget me before I move?"

  "Faye's case may remain open, like the Black Dahlia's."

  That was the worst news imaginable. "Does that mean I'll remain under suspicion forever if Lynch can't find who shot Faye?"

  She nodded. "If you keep your job and remain in your home, you'll look like the responsible citizen you are. That's the image you must project."

  "My boss may fire me."

  "I'll tie him in a knot if he tries."

  He laughed and nearly choked on a green bean. "I should have made tea. Would you like some?"

  "Yes, thank you. I'm not fooling, Hal. We'll sue California West if they even hint you ought to look elsewhere for work. How long have you been with them?"

  "It'll be two years in the fall," he called from the kitchen.

  "And you've received good performance reviews?"

  He put the kettle on the stove and came back to the table. "Excellent in fact. Will that help my cause?"

  "Yes, most certainly. You've not been accused of any crime, and you won't be, so there's no legitimate reason not to allow you to continue in your job. If your boss gives you any trouble, I'll come to see him."

  She had a fierce gleam in her eye, and he believed her. "Charlie Sharp is as round as a bowling ball, but I'd still love to see you tie him in knots."

  "Don't laugh, it may be only metaphorically speaking, but I'll do it."

  "Thank you." He got up when the kettle whistled and returned with two cups of tea. "Do you take sugar?"

  "No, this is fine. Have the last shrimp. You were slim to begin with, and now you're too thin."

  He shrugged. "It's not my main concern."

  "I suppose not. Have you thought about what you want to do with Faye's belongings?"

  "No. I suppose I should."

  She reached into the last bag for the fortune cookies and handed him one. "I know it's difficult. I'll always miss my husband, but it's his memory I cherish, not his old clothes. I packed them all up and gave them to a charity thrift shop. Is there someone who can help you with Faye's things?"

  He snapped open the fortune cookie. "My neighbor will, but I'll wait until after the memorial on Saturday afternoon. I've no idea what I'm going to say, just toast her memory I suppose." He pulled the small paper strip from the cookie. "New horizons await. That's timely, isn't it?"

  She rolled her fortune through her fingers. "Mysterious man may bring sorrow or joy. That's rather creepy."

  "Let's hope for the joy." He caught her gaze and held it. He was too bruised emotionally to flirt, but damn, he sure wanted to. "I'll get the dishes."

  "Fine. We need to keep working though. I can't help but feel Faye isn't through surprising us."

  Fearing she was right, he stopped in the doorway. "I'm beginning to wonder if she even lived in the boarding house where I used to pick her up for our dates. She'd meet me out front, so I never went to the door or met anyone else who lived there."

  "Feel like going for a drive?" she asked.

  "Right now?"

  "Why not? The owner should be home, and the dishes can wait. My car's in front so I'll drive."

  He grabbed his jacket. She had a gray Chevrolet sedan, and he slipped into the front seat beside her. They left his street, and she pulled into the traffic on the thoroughfare so smoothly he ceased worrying about riding with a woman driver. He gave the directions as he recalled them.

  "Faye told me she'd had Mr. Cuddles for four years. Do boarding houses allow their residents to have pets?" he asked.

  "Some may. Did you leave him on the back porch?"

  "I did, and I should have let him out. He sleeps in the laundry basket, so he won't be uncomfortable, but I didn't mean to forget him."

  "Do you plan to keep him?"

  "I don't know. If I stay where I am, and the landlord may not renew my lease, he'll have a home. If I move, I might not might be able to take him with me."

  "I love cats, and haven't had one in several years. I could take Cuddles home with me tonight, but I think you need the company."

  "Oh yeah, he's great company. He's either sound asleep or demanding to be fed. Do you really want him, or are you simply providing more of your sympathetic service?"

  She laughed. "I'm not nearly as sympathetic as you believe." She turned on the radio and the lively Andrews Sisters' song, "Rum and Coca-Cola", was far too silly for their errand, and she quickly turned it off.

  "I don't mind the music," he told her, but she left it off.

  The passing streetlights lent her hair a golden sheen, and he thought again of how totally inappropriate his growing attraction to her was. She had impressed him at first with her focus on the law. Now that he'd gotten to know her, well, at least begun to know her, he found her far more warm and appealing.

  Pearl had initially caught his attention with her stylish suits and frivolous hats. But she'd kept it with her beauty and seductive conversation. His insides began to twist with shame at how easily she'd fooled him.

  "It's right ahead, the shingled two-story with the bright porch light," he directed. "Faye may have referred to her landlady by name, but I've forgotten it if she did. There's a room to rent sign in the window."

  Gladys pulled into a parking place at the curb. "Good, it will give me an excuse to ring the bell. I'll say Faye recommended the place and see what the landlady can tell me about her. Please wait here."

  He nodded reluctantly. "Her name would have been Faye Bell then, or that was the name she was using when we met. Wave if you need me."

  "I will." She left the car, straightened her suit skirt and walked up to the front door. She rang the bell and a teenage boy came to answer. "Hello, I wonder if I might speak to the landlady about a room."

  He yelled over his shoulder, "Grandma, someone's here for you."
>
  A buxom woman came to the door with a dishtowel in her hands. "I'm Florence Reese, and I own the place. If you've come about a room, I do have a vacancy, but it's on the small side."

  "May I please see it anyway?" Gladys asked.

  "Well, I suppose." Florence handed the dishtowel to her grandson. "Dry the dishes before I come back downstairs."

  "Aw, do I have to?"

  Mrs. Reese's expression turned grim. "Do you enjoy eating? Go on with you." She led the way up the stairs. "He was such a sweet little boy, but now he tries my patience severely."

  "I'm sure he'll grow up to be a fine young man."

  "Quite an optimist, aren't you?" Mrs. Reese asked.

  Gladys wouldn't describe herself as such, but she was playing a part. "Most of the time, yes." She was shown to a room in the rear of the house. It was barely large enough for the twin-sized bed and dresser. The closet was tiny, and a single chair was wedged in the corner by the window. The hideous wallpaper with gigantic pink roses made the room appear even smaller. Faye would probably have loved it.

  "A friend of mine used to live here, a year or so ago. Perhaps you remember her, Faye Bell?"

  Florence pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I hate to say the name doesn't ring a bell, but it doesn't. Let me check my log. I keep track of everyone who moves in and where they're going when they leave so I can forward their mail. What do you think of the room?"

  "I'm afraid you're right, and it really is too small for what I need. Thank you so much for showing it to me."

  "It's no trouble, and you gave me a chance to stick my grandson with the dishes." They went downstairs to the living room, and she took a dog-eared log from her desk. She ran a finger down the column of names. "Most girls who move in stay long enough to be remembered. I don't see her name though."

  Florence turned to a dark-haired girl curled up on the sofa reading a magazine. "Hazel, do you remember a girl named Faye Bell living here?"

  The girl's eyes widened. "No, but isn't she the one who went missing and then turned up dead as someone else?"

  Mrs. Reese regarded Gladys with a skeptical eye. "I'd forgotten the name, but now I recognize the story. What are you doing, walking up and down the street searching for where the dead girl lived?"

  "No, not at all," Gladys assured her. "I'd been told she'd lived here, and I wanted to verify it, that's all."

  "You with the police?"

  "No, I'm an attorney with an interest in the case. I'm sorry to have bothered you." Gladys regretted not bringing a photo, but smiled as she swept herself toward the door. "Thank you both. Oh, by the way, Mrs. Reese, do you allow your residents to have cats?"

  "No pets allowed," Florence insisted firmly. "Stink up the whole place and leave the furniture covered in filthy fur."

  Gladys found Hal leaning against her car. "No one named Faye Bell ever lived here, and the landlady doesn't allow pets. I should have thought to ask you for a photo of Faye to bring with me."

  "I need to get back the one I loaned to Lynch that ran in the LA Times, but he's keeping it for the time being."

  "We'll get it back," she promised. They got into her car, and she rested her hands on the steering wheel. "If Faye had you pick her up here, she must have lived close."

  "For all we know, she could have ridden a motorcycle here from Santa Monica."

  She laughed at the thought. "I doubt it, but she did love you, Hal, or she wouldn't have been so terrified of losing you that she'd hire a detective to follow you."

  He looked toward the rooming house. All the lights upstairs were lit and the house nearly glowed. "You didn't like the room?"

  "Don't change the subject. The woman you married, whether her name was Faye Bell or Snow White, truly loved you."

  His life was such a twisted mess, he wouldn't even go there. "It's getting late."

  She waited a long moment, and then started the car and drove him home where only a pudgy Persian cat waited.

  * * *

  Hal went to the Golden Bear Lounge Thursday night. No one appeared to be particularly surprised to see him, but the bar no longer held its former appeal. He sat down beside Lou King and Mitch brought him a beer.

  "How are you doing?" the bartender asked. He rested an arm on the bar, getting comfortable for a chat.

  Hal took a drink of his beer, and shook his head. "Things could be better."

  Lou raised his scotch in a silent toast. "I understand completely."

  Hal glanced over at the last booth. He'd not thought to add up the minutes he'd spent with Pearl, but they were probably less than an hour. He focused on the foam on his beer. "Have the police come in here again asking about me, Mitch?"

  "No, that one time was all," the bartender responded. Someone signaled him from a booth, and he walked away to serve them.

  Lou lowered his voice, "Was Crystal any help to you?"

  "Not really, but we had a nice dinner together anyway."

  "That's a plus at least. Are the police still crowding you?"

  Hal shrugged. "It's only Detective Lynch, not the whole department, but he's got no other suspects. Whenever a woman is murdered, isn't her husband at the top of the list?"

  "Rightly so," Lou agreed. "But that's just sloppy police work in this case."

  "I wish I'd never come in here."

  Lou touched his sleeve. "You're forgetting Pearl came in here first. Someone from her life, strange as it must have been, shot her. Don't blame yourself for stopping at her favorite bar. She would have died whether you were here that night or not."

  "I hadn't looked at that way, but it doesn't help," Hal murmured. "I wanted a few minutes to myself, not to become involved in some grisly noir drama." Damned New Horizons, he thought, and finished his beer without tasting a drop. "I'm having a memorial at my home Saturday afternoon, although I've no idea what to say."

  Lou studied their reflections in the mirror behind the bar. Dark and light, they could have been posed for a painting. "Something will occur to you."

  Hal nodded, but he doubted it.

  * * *

  Gladys was the first to arrive on Saturday afternoon. She carried a beautiful hydrangea with puffy white blooms. "I was tempted to wear a cocktail hat with my suit, but decided it would be in very poor taste."

  "It might have gotten you shot, so it's a good thing you didn't." Hal took the potted plant into the dining room where he'd set out the cookies Carmen had baked. "Thank you for this, I didn't expect anyone to bring anything."

  "You're welcome," she replied. "I thought if you stayed here, you could plant it in the yard. Where's Mr. Cuddles?"

  "On the back porch where he won't bother anyone who doesn't like cats. As for staying here, I'd rather not. Faye loved it, and it doesn't feel right to remain here without her."

  "I understand, but please stay put for now."

  Joe Ezell arrived next and introduced Mary Margaret as his girlfriend. "I hope you don't mind my coming today," she offered. "I'm so sorry you lost your wife."

  "Thank you," Hal responded. He still had no plan for the memorial and hoped everyone didn't come believing he needed abundant sympathy. He introduced Gladys, and got them something to drink. It was the first time he'd had liquor in the house, and it suddenly struck him that Faye would have preferred he serve a fruit punch.

  "I'm lost here," he whispered to Gladys. "Faye didn't drink, but Pearl liked martinis."

  She squeezed his arm. "Don't worry, neither of them is here to complain. These sugar cookies are wonderful. Did you bake them?"

  Hal introduced Carmen as the baker when she arrived. Fiona came with several women who'd met Faye in the fabric shop. Sandra Sloan, the librarian, carried the book of poetry she'd promised. Lorraine Adams arrived with four men from his office. He shook their hands and hoped they weren't counting on furthering their careers by being there.

  As Lou King came through the door, he whispered in Hal's ear, "I thought someone ought to be here for Pearl."

  Hal missed both wom
en, and now that his living room was becoming crowded, he had to begin. He brought chairs from the dining room to provide extra seating. "Thank you all for coming here this afternoon to remember Faye. She was a darling young woman who deserved to live a long and happy life. Miss Sloan has a poem she'd like to read."

  Sandra opened the book to her place and read a poignant selection about the beauty of love lingering long after loss. "I'll remember Faye for her curiosity and desire to learn."

  Fiona raised her hand. "What I recall about Faye is her love of creating something new from fabric and thread. She took a real joy in it."

  Before anyone else could offer a thought or memory, there came a loud pounding on the door. Hal hurried to answer and found Detective Lynch standing on the porch. "Can't this wait? We're having a memorial for Faye."

  "They can finish without you. Hal Marten, you're under arrest for conspiracy in the murder of your wife, Faye Marten."

  Hal looked over his shoulder. Gladys and Lou were already on their way toward him. "I'll meet you at the station," she called.

  Hal left as Carmen offered to lead a prayer, and he hoped she would include him as well as Faye.

  Chapter 15

  "Anyone can see that dear man didn't have anything to do with his wife's death," Carmen proclaimed. "He gave me a spare key in case of an emergency, and this surely is one. I'll lock up after everyone leaves. Please take some cookies with you."

  "Please remember to feed Mr. Cuddles," Gladys called on her way out. Lou caught up with her on the walk.

  "Tell him not to worry, I'll go his bail. I saw Pearl maybe half a dozen times, and she looked nothing like Faye's photo in the Times."

  Gladys paused on the sidewalk. "I can't help but wonder why Detective Lynch is so eager to charge Hal with murder. Do you suppose he's the one who shot Pearl?"

  Lou laughed in spite of his best effort not to. "That could very well be the reason. I didn't like him on sight. Give me a call if you need me in court."

  * * *

  Hal remained silent as he rode in the back seat of the squad car to the Hollywood station. Gladys had warned him not to say anything rather than have something to regret, but a conspiracy charge was so unexpected he could barely keep still. There were reporters and photographers waiting outside the station, and he turned away from the blaze of flashbulbs and ignored their shouted questions. He could easily imagine tomorrow's headline in the Times: "Husband Arrested In Murder". His career with California West would be over, and his landlord would probably call the sheriff to evict him forthwith.