[Celebrity Murder Case 08] - The Mae West Murder Case

by George Baxt

  “I’m sure you will. My money’s on your nose. Now, as to your main target, Selma Jefferson Burr—”

  “Selma?!” they exclaimed together. Mae explained the origin of his first name.

  “Don’t that beat all,” said Desdemona, placing the peeled kumquat on a plate and serving it to Mae with a fruit knife. Mae ignored the knife and took a merciless bite out of the delicate fruit.

  While chewing, Mae continued with her current favorite subject. She named the other two men and then advised them Timony was hiring three doormen for round-the-clock protection.

  “That’s the best idea yet,” said Goneril. “Most nights when I’m walking home alone I walk real fast because I’m afraid some thug will jump out from behind all the damned hedges on this street and attack and rape me.”

  “Well, it hasn’t happened yet,” said Mae.

  “Dammit no,” said Goneril, and shrieked with laughter. “Girls,” said Mae as the laughter finally subsided, “you are my treasures. What would I do without you? Desdemona, anybody phone?”

  “Miss Darwin the witch. She said to tell you you’ve got a big table for tomorrow night.”

  “I hope it’s big enough. I’ll work on the seating arrangements and the place cards tonight. I want to do it right, according to Herle, like the Countess de Frasso taught me. Christ…” She struck her forehead lightly with the palm of her hand. “I almost forgot my sister gets in tomorrow. Desdemona, have you got the guest room prepared?”

  “Oh, yes ma’am, lots of bath salts in the bathroom, plenty of scented soap, lots of heavy drapes in the bedroom to keep the sun out in the morning so she can sleep late, and I hope you don’t mind but I hung some of them dirty etchin’s of yours.”

  “If you’re talkin’ about them Tintoretto prints, they ain’t dirty, they’re artistic.”

  “It’s a good thing our mammy won’t see them or she’d be washin’ all our mouths out with laundry soap.”

  Goneril snorted. “Come off it, Desdemona. Mammy wouldn’t mind one bit, what with all them uncles she used to bring home to spend the night with her.” They were shrieking with laughter again.

  “Uncles, eh?” said Mae, laughing with them and feeling delightfully buoyant despite the danger lurking outside, albeit unseen, no less threatening.

  “Okay, girls, settle down. Now you ain’t met Beverly, so let me give you a couple of tips on how to deal with her. First of all, she looks just like me. She walks like me, she talks like me, and she spends money like me because I’m very generous with her allowance. She drinks dry sherry so, Goneril, order a case and make sure it’s good stuff. She dresses like me because she’s wearin’ my cast-off things. Now, you know me well enough to know I ain’t got no cheap side, it’s just that it gives Bev a good feelin’ to be wearin’ what I used to wear. There’s one serious problem that could crop up and you’ll have to deal with it any way you see fit. If it gets real troublesome, then tell me about it and I’ll deal with it personally.” She cleared her throat. “Every so often Beverly gets the delusion that she’s Mae West. She used to do it in public a lot until I found out about it and threatened to step on her neck, that is, if I could find it. When she thinks she’s me, she gets very loud and bossy.”

  “Why, Miss West you ain’t never bossy,” said Desdemona.

  “I know I ain’t but I’m just warnin’ you about Beverly. Hey, wait a minute. You tellin’ me I’m loud?” she shouted, and the women were off on another laughing binge. Mae stared at them, smiling, hands on hips, and then said, “Okay, girls, settle down. Now, Beverly opens at the Tailspin Club Friday night.”

  “Oh, yes?” said Goneril. “What she doin’, singin’?”

  “What do you expect her to be doin’ when she looks like me, walks like me, talks like me, and there, from what I’ve heard from a few gents we once had in common, the resemblance ends. She’s impersonatin’ me.”

  “Ain’t we got enough of those?” asked Goneril.

  “As far as the real thing’s concerned, the answer is yes. But according to this murderer, he’s probably worried he’s runnin’ out of material. So along comes Beverly to maybe stoke his furnace. Well, we’ll cope. I gotta make a phone call. Goneril, ain’t you got that chicken in the oven yet?”

  “Right away, Miss West. Right away!”

  Mae left the kitchen, sauntered across the living room where Timony and Seymour were seated at a card table engrossed in a game of casino. She entered her sumptuous bedroom, undressed slowly while humming an assortment of show tunes. She slipped into a diaphanous negligee and then sat on her white swan bed, which was shaped like a Venetian gondola, but definitely wide enough to accommodate a companion. She reached for her white telephone and then cursed under her breath. Villon’s number was in her handbag, and she’d left that and her picture hat in the kitchen. On cue, there was a tap at her door. Mae yelled “Entah!” and Desdemona entered carrying picture hat and handbag. She placed the hat on a table and gave the handbag to Mae. “Honey, this is mental telepathy.” Mae found Villon’s number and dialed.

  Herb Villon was alone in his office, studying his accumulation of notes about the imposter murders. The phone rang and he said, “Villon.”

  “Hello there, tall, dark, and swarthy,” purred Mae.

  Villon smiled. She had her Mae West act perfected to a T. He could picture her sitting with one hand on her hip. He wondered if she slept with one hand on her hip. “How you holding up, Mae?”

  “Whaddya mean, how’m I holdin’ up? You make it sound like I could use some props under me.”

  Villon hastily reassured her, “That’s not how I meant it.”

  “I know, I know. I was only pullin’ your leg.” She was wondering what it would be like to pull his leg; he was wondering what it would be like to have her pulling his leg. He was feeling strangely warm. “Now listen, Herb, before we settle down into idle chatter, let me tell you about how I’ve been surroundin’ myself with security.” She told him the names of the three she’d hired as bodyguards and he jotted them down on his pad. “Two of the boys followed us home in their cars and I got them sittin’ in the foyer downstairs while I wait for one of my girls to line up the furniture for the apartment they’ll occupy on the floor under mine. As a matter of fact, they’re probably wonderin’ if I’ve abandoned them. Hold the line a minute.” She sauntered to the door, opened it, and sent Seymour to fetch Salvatore Puccini and Selma Jefferson Burr. “And, Seymour, put a note on the outside door for Dudley Van Helsing to ring the top floor when he gets here. I hope that ain’t too heavy a load for you.” Without waiting for any response, she shut the door and returned to the bed and the phone.

  “You still there, Herb?”

  “Riveted to my chair.”

  She told him about wanting to hire some ex-policemen as doormen. “You got any layin’ around in your vicinity?”

  “I’ll put Jim Mallory on it right away. There’s bound to be some retirees bored with retirement and anxious to get away from their wives and back to the outside world.”

  “I’m sure it’ll rejuvenate them if you tell them they’ll be workin’ for Mae West. Now about tomorrow night. You ain’t forgot we’re goin’ to the party at the Tailspin Club.”

  “Of course not.”

  “Who you bringin’?”

  “A friend of mine. Her name’s Hazel Dickson.”

  “Hazel Dickson. That rings a bell.” She snapped her fingers. “She’s a writer.”

  “If you want to call it that.”

  “She’s tried to get me for an interview. Well, she’s okay with me as long as she doesn’t try spendin’ the night buggin’ me. We’ll also have my sister Beverly with us. She gets in tomorrow on the Twentieth Century Limited. The train may be limited, but Beverly ain’t. Agnes the witch’ll be there of course, but I think she’ll be spendin’ the evenin’ floatin’ around. Of course there’ll be Milton Connery, and I’ll try to behave like a lady when he’s around. I can’t stand the bastard. It’s not a very p
olite term but back in Brooklyn we’d call him a greaseball.”

  “We use the term here too.” She couldn’t see it, but he was smiling. “But only in private. There are so many actors out here to whom the nasty word applies.”

  “What about Jim Mallory? Who’s he bringin’?”

  “No one, as far as I know.”

  “Well then, that’s just fine. He can be Beverly’s date. She’s a little old for him, but she’s good for a couple of laughs. Just warn him not to confuse us, we’re that alike thanks to the years she’s been practicin’.” She shook her head from side to side while thinking of Beverly and the coming weeks together. “Now listen, Herb, Jim Timony thinks I should ask you to check up on my bodyguards just in case one or all of them has a record. It won’t make no difference to me either way because I’m no Indian giver. Once I hire them, they stay hired, unless they get a better offer and then I let them go unless we’re in the middle of somethin’.” She smiled. “If you get my drift. Now, Herb, do you mind if I get serious for a minute or two?”

  “Not at all. What’s on your mind?”

  “The witch. Agnes. We discussed her earlier today, but I been doin’ some heavy thinkin’ since then. I told you she and Milton Connery were once an item, but you know, I think she’s still mixed up with him. I don’t mean romantically anymore, I mean I suspect she knows what’s goin’ on behind the scenes there. Am I soundin’ disloyal? We’re good friends, but still, as my mother used to say when she thought my father was strayin’ off the path, you can’t turn a blind eye to any hanky panky, especially if you suspect there’s more panky than hanky. You still there?”

  “Sure. Would I leave you in midsentence?”

  ”Maybe you would, dependin’ on the sentence. Anyway, she lives real swell. You know what I mean. She’s got this nice bungalow on DeLongpre, not the greatest neighborhood in the world, but come to think of it, neither is mine. The place is beautifully furnished and she’s got some real genyoowine antiques. You know, old stuff with worm holes in them. It’s not to my taste, but then, I’m very particular about what I find tasteful. She spends a lot of money on clothes and shoes, and I know because I’ve poked around in her closets. Now, I don’t know how much money you’re supposed to earn from witchin’ around, but it seems to me she spends more time hangin’ around with me than she does hangin’ around with a steady job. Not even a part-time job.”

  ”I thought she got hired for private parties. I assume she’s been hired tomorrow night to be a guest witch.”

  “Yeah, that makes sense. I know she gets paid to tell fortunes and reads those spooky cards—”

  “Tarot cards.”

  “That’s it. She tried readin’ me once but I don’t have to be told my future and I sure don’t need to be reminded of my past. Especially in this hot climate, mmmmmm.” She liked the way he laughed. It was smooth like the motor in a Rolls-Royce. His laugh had class. Quiet, sincere, dependable. “And another thing. She’s never tried to put the bite on me like too many deadbeats I can tell you about. Now, she was still bein’ romanced by Connery when he was managin’ Neon Light. Even so, she insists she knows very little about Neon. Not his real name, not about his background, nothin’.”

  “Well, apparently you got more out of him than anyone else. Possibly Milton Connery knows things he’s not about to reveal to anyone.”

  “You could pull him in and rubber hose him.”

  “Mae West, for shame. Are you insinuating the police use rubber hoses to beat suspects?”

  “I ain’t insinuatin’, honey, I’m tellin’ you. I been around cops all my life. I know what goes on in them soundproof basement rooms. I been in a couple of them.”

  “Beaten with a rubber hose?”

  “Mr. Detective, I’ve done soundproof rooms for better reasons, mmmmmmmm. Anyway, before I tear myself away from the phone, you got any leads, any fresh clues?”

  “Jim’s tracked down Neon’s file. It’s in cold storage in the basement.”

  “That don’t sound too good. Can’t you dig it out?”

  “It’s being dug out. If I have to go down there and do the digging myself.”

  “He ain’t been dead all that long. Shouldn’t somebody still be workin’ on his case?”

  “There should.” He bristled quietly. “I’m going to talk to the detective who was assigned to it. I haven’t seen him around today.”

  Mae was angry at the thought of Neon’s case being shunted aside like an old shoe. “Now you give him a piece of your mind, but not too good a piece. I mean, I’m positive Neon connects to the three vampire victims.”

  “He does, besides the fact they had their profession in common, they all worked the Tailspin Club, and they all knew Milton Connery.”

  “Let me tell you something, Herb, he’s perfect casting for a vampire.”

  “Ah, Mae, if only it was all that easy.”

  “Meanin’ what?”

  “Meaning pinning this on Connery because you think he looks like a vampire.”

  “I ain’t pinnin’ this on anybody. That job is up to you, and I know you and me got one important thing in common.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Like them Canadian cops on horseback, we always get our man.”

  * * *

  Five minutes later Mae, having changed into a less revealing housecoat, entered the living room to find Desdemona plying Selma and Salvatore with cheese and crackers. “Well, I’m glad to see you’re gettin’ along so well. Is Goneril in the kitchen?”

  “No, I’m right here,” said Goneril, entering with a tray that held a plate of chopped chicken livers, some sliced bologna, and a basket of sliced rye bread and pumpernickel.

  Mae surveyed the tray and asked wryly, “No caviar?”

  “We’s fresh out. I just phoned the delicatessen to order some.”

  Desdemona was saying to Selma Jefferson Burr, “Now, honey, you help yourself to that chopped liver. It’s made with fresh chicken fat and chopped onions.” She said to Salvatore Puccini, “You looks a little pale honey, you better dig in.” Mae noticed Timony and Seymour had abandoned the card table, leaving the deck of cards neatly stacked. Mae asked Desdemona where they’d gone to.

  “Oh, they’s gone to buy some gats,” she said airily, as though the purchase of handguns was a common occurrence in the household.

  “Goneril, what about the furniture for the boys?”

  “Well, let me tell you—”

  “I’m listenin’ and it better have a happy endin’.”

  “Well, first they tells me it will take at least three days for delivery—”

  “What’s their number? Let me talk to them.” Mae was always spoiling for a fight.

  “Now just a minute, Miss Mae, I been with you long enough to know we don’t give up that easy. Then they says they need a deposit and a month’s rent in advance. So I says, you’ll get those when you deliver them today and I don’t mean eight o’clock or nine o’clock or two minutes past midnight. You are talking to a lady what works for the one and the only and the celebrated movie star, Miss Mae West.” She paused. “Of course they didn’t believe me.”

  Mae had her hands on the hips again, which meant she’d see that furniture delivered within an hour or else. “Give me that number.”

  “Now be patient, Miss Mae. I says, I didn’t expect you to so I says, Hold the phone, Miss West will speak to you her self.”

  Mae said to the ceiling, “I don’t believe this.”

  Goneril had her impersonation down pat, and Mae was astonished and then laughing. “So when I finishes, they says they wants autographed pictures, and I says, ‘Sure, boys, I’d sign ‘em in blood but I’m a little anemic this week, mmmmm.’” Mae said, “Goneril, you and Desdemona will never cease to amaze me. When are they deliverin’ the stuff?”

  “The place is on Fairfax. That’s ten minutes from here. Dependin’ on how fast they can load the truck, they should be here in an hour or so.”

  The door
chimed. Desdemona hurried to it and gasped at Dudley Van Helsing’s bright red hair and freckled face.

  “Come on in, Dudley. Meet Desdemona and Goneril. Put your stuff there until you move downstairs. Help yourself to some nosh.”

  “Miss West,” Dudley said gravely, “I don’t think it’s a wise idea to leave the downstairs door unattended.”

  “You’re right, Dudley, and I’m hirin’ three doormen for eight-hour shifts. But you have to understand, before a murderer was on the loose, everybody in these parts left their doors unlocked. I can’t have ours locked because I don’t have keys for the other tenants. So we’ll have to look to the good Lord for protection until Herb Villon—that’s the detective in charge of the case—finds me some retired flatfeet to take over at the door. Meantime, boys, the furniture for your apartment should be arrivin’ within the hour and while we’re waitin’, I’ll tell you about what you’ll be doin’ tomorrow. Selma, don’t bolt your food like that, it’s bad for your digestion.”

  Delilah wagged a finger back and forth at Selma. He grinned the fabulous grin, and Delilah’s heartbeat accelerated.

  “I want you boys to get a real good night’s sleep because I’ve got an early call at Paramount Pitchers tomorrow mornin’. I’m shootin’ a new movie and today’s been my first day off, there won’t be any more I don’t think. So you’ll be with me at the studio all day.”

  Their faces brightened at the promise of what a day at a Hollywood studio might offer. Puccini asked shyly, “Er, Miss West, do you suppose I could meet Carole Lombard?”

  “If she’s on the lot, it’s possible. She’s a good Joe and very democratic. Now I’m warnin’ you, makin’ movies is very boring. But while keepin’ an eye on me you can also keep in trainin’. You know, like sparrin’ around and shadow boxin’. Then tomorrow night, tomorrow you know bein’ Hallowe’en, we’re goin’ to a party at the Tailspin Club. Herb Villon will be there with this girlfriend and his fellow detective Jim Mallory. Then you’ve got my sister Beverly to contend with. She’s arrivin’ in town tomorrow and I’m warnin’ you, she’s a maneater and you three are just the kind of smorgasbord she goes for. What’s the matter, Dudley? What’s eatin’ you?”