Maybe that’s what my life is, Edwina thought as she maneuvered through the snow-covered streets. Move at my own pace, do my own thing.
She thought back to the conversation she’d had with her mother that morning. It highlighted just how different they were, in so many ways. Her mother’s life had been all about being part of society, moving at the speed of others, and by their opinions.
It must not be easy for her, having a daughter who didn’t care a fig for what other people thought, and who walked away from the plush, safe, boring life Amelia Eaton Winterwood was offering her daughter. Edwina felt a sudden pang of sympathy as she realized this. Her mother was bright and well-educated, and as restricted by convention as she was by the high-end corsets that were custom-made for her.
Parking the car by the loading dock, Edwina winced as she checked her wristwatch. She was late, and she didn’t like it. The last thing she wanted to do as an undercover detective was to draw attention to herself, and according to the schedule that had been posted last night, filming was due to start any minute.
Pounding up the stairs, she was taking off her wool hat as she walked in, straight for the bright lights she could see ahead. Today’s filming was in the castle’s dining room, complete with a long table and fake stone walls make from paper and wood.
The set was lined with cast and crew. Some were reading newspapers or talking quietly with each other, and many were just sitting on crates or stretched out on folding chairs. Gloria Linwood was leaning on the long table in the middle of the room, Serena fussing with the black velvet bows on Miss Linwood’s satin dress. As she straightened up Edwina’s eyebrows raised in surprise. The neckline of Linwood’s Victorian-style dress was plunging, her corset compressing her ample assets to display an amazing amount of cleavage. Tanner was standing next to her, pointing to various parts of the set, and seemingly discussing camera angles that would be most flattering for Linwood. Edwina could see Wickett hard at work, his attention totally on the script on his lap as he used a red pencil to make changes. Max was perched on a wooden box out of the glare of the lights, his elbows on his knees, fiddling with an open pocketknife.
“What’s the holdup?” Edwina asked.
Wickett looked up from the script he was reviewing, pencil poised in midair as he squinted behind his thick glasses.
“We’re waiting for His Majesty.” He screwed up his mouth in distaste. “Again. He loves to make an entrance, you know.”
“Gridhorn?” Edwina asked, looking around.
“Who else?” He slapped the script closed with a disgusted grimace. “He’s got to prove he’s in charge, and one way he does that is making us all wait for him, all the time. It’s about time someone took him down a peg or two.”
“Is he always this late?”
“He’s just trying to make a point,” Wickett said. “When he leaves us all waiting for him like this, then he shows what a big man he is, and how we all depend on him. It’s sickening.”
“Where is he?”
Wickett hefted himself out of his chair and pushed up his shirtsleeves. “I’ve asked around and no one’s seen him this morning. Ten to one he fell asleep in that office after getting into that bottle of scotch he keeps in the desk.” He strode off toward the office door, Edwina and a couple of crew members on his heels. “After all the guff that’s guy’s put us through, it’s about time someone gave him a piece of their mind,” Wickett said, his face full of resolution. “And I’m just the guy to do it.”
Reaching the door, Wickett pounded on it with a clenched fist. “Albert! You in there?” He paused, breathing heavily, Edwina peeking around him. “You’ve got everyone waiting out here for you, you lush!”
From behind the closed door, there was only silence.
Wickett grabbed the tarnished doorknob and tried to twist it, with no luck.
“Locked. Figures his paranoia would kick in sooner or later.” Wickett turned around, to address the people drifting over to see what was happening. “Does anyone have a key to the office?”
“I think Mr. Baxter has one,” Linwood said, her eyes wide as she watched the scene unfold. Just as Wickett was opening his mouth to bellow for the editor, Clyde Baxter jogged up.
“What’s going on?”
Linwood gripped his arm, her eyes pleading. “The director’s missing in action, and we think he’s locked in the office. Do you have the key?”
Clyde looked concerned and shook his head. “No, I gave it to Albert before I left. He said he’d lock up the office and the building when he was done editing.”
Max had been lurking around the edge of the accumulating crowd. He walked over to the door, knelt down and put his eye to the keyhole. “Key’s not in the lock.” He pushed up his shirtsleeves, revealing a crude outline of a tattooed mermaid on his left forearm, then glanced over at Edwina, who had knelt down beside him.
“Got a hat pin?”
Edwina scoffed. “Do I look like the sort of woman who’d have a hatpin on her?” she asked. She dug in her coat pocket, finally retrieving the large metal staple Max had removed from a crate, right before she sat on it.
“Will this work?” she asked.
Max grabbed the piece of metal and held it close to his face as he expertly bent the wire into a different shape, and jabbed it into the keyhole. He moved it around a bit, his tongue sticking out between his teeth as he concentrated on hitting just the right spot. After a few long seconds he was rewarded by something metal clicking into place. Taking a deep breath, he twisted the doorknob and pushed the door in.
The weather-stripping at the bottom of the door dragged across the floor. Dust-laden light streamed into the dark room.
A lone figure, silent and still, was lying on the low-slung sofa, its back toward them. As soon as Edwina stepped into the small office her eyes confirmed her suspicions.
The person lying on the sofa, face turned away, was wearing Albert Gridhorn’s unmistakable checked jacket.
And wasn’t breathing.
Chapter 16
“It’s a disaster! A total disaster!” Gloria Linwood, star of stage and screen howled, gripping the lapels of the nearest police officer. Her heavy eye makeup was smeared in a dark stain down her cheeks, her face covered with emotion and tears.
The baby-faced cop was doing his best to soothe her, all while studiously avoiding looking at her magnificent, heaving bosom.
“He can’t be dead!” she cried. “What are we going to do now? The movie will fold!”
“I’m… I’m sorry, ma’am. We have to wait for the detectives to do their work, and then we’ll know more.”
Another officer, a thick man with a scar on his chin and a brown fedora, emerged from the office doorway. The door was propped open with a block of wood, and two other policemen were working inside the room.
Edwina stifled a gasp and ducked behind Max. She knew that face.
She’d seen Officer Cavendish before, at a previous murder, and she certainly didn’t want him to identify her. The last thing she needed now was for her real identity to get out. It would be the end of her case, and maybe the end of her short-lived career as a private investigator.
“I think it would be best of we cleared these people out of the immediate area, Officer Brown,” Cavendish said, a note of authority in his tone. “Why don’t you have them wait in the cafeteria, and we can question them individually.”
“Sounds like a good plan to me,” Brown said gratefully, as he peeled Miss Linwood’s hands off his chest. “All right, everyone,” he said loudly, “please go into the cafeteria and we will be interviewing you as quickly as possible. Into the cafeteria, please,” he ordered, waving his arms back and forth as if he were shooing a herd of sheep before him. There was some grumbling and some dirty looks, but the crew slowly complied.
Edwina was just walking by Cavendish when a long arm shot out and caught her by the collar. “Not so fast, young lady,” he hissed quietly. “I think I’d like to question you first.”<
br />
Trying not to roll her eyes, Edwina shook off his grip and turned around. “Why, hello, Officer Cavendish. How lovely to see you again, sir.”
“Miss Winterwood, what on earth are you doing here? Does your father know you’re mixed up with these people?” He looked her up and down, finally fixating on her blonde wig. “And what on earth did you do to your hair?”
“It’s a disguise,” she said. “I’m on a case.”
“A case of what?”
Edwina sighed. After her last adventure, finding a stolen diamond, she knew some of the police had heard that Edwina Winterwood, heiress to the Winterwood fortune, had decided to play at being an investigator. Apparently, the gossip hadn’t gotten as far as Officer Cavendish. Her mind scrambled over what she’d learned about Miss Linwood’s blackmail situation, and what she should tell the police.
“I’m helping a friend find out who’s been harassing her,” she said, looking him straight in the eye. It wasn’t a lie, really. Miss Linwood could be her friend, someday maybe, and she was being harassed. “Do you know the cause of death yet?”
Cavendish stared at her for a moment, perhaps weighing her answer, then finally frowned. “Not yet. That’s up to the medical examiner down at the morgue. From what I can see, there isn’t a mark on the man, but the way he’s positioned and how things are scattered around the room, my bet’s that he had some sort of fatal seizure. Or maybe a heart attack. Who knows?” He winced a bit and pinched the bridge of his nose, his eye shut in pain. “You wouldn’t happen to know if there’s some sort of first aid box here, would you? I’ve got a splitting headache. I’d kill for a couple of aspirin.”
“I have some in my bag,” she offered. “I’ll go get you some.”
“Thanks, I’d appreciate that,” Cavendish said. “I’ve seen a lot of dead bodies before, but today this one got to me. A big, famous movie director like that. What a loss.” He shook his head. “Did you ever see the picture he made last year? Revenge of the Crab Woman?”
Edwina blinked at him. “Can’t say that I have.”
“Oh, you missed out, sister,” Cavendish said, his eyes lighting up in fond remembrance. “That last battle scene on the tropical island! It was amazing. What a fight!”
Edwina tried to keep her face neutral, even as her imagination conjured up thoughts of what a crab woman would look like. “Sounds spectacular,” she said, trying not to sound sarcastic.
As she walked away to get the policeman’s aspirin she couldn’t help but smile. Officer Cavendish’s secret of being a B-grade movie aficionado tickled her sense of whimsy, and the thought of the large man sitting in the darkened theater, popcorn box in his lap while he watching a crab woman battling it out with an enemy in front of waving palm trees, was a mental image she wouldn’t forget.
Chapter 17
“You know, I think you’ve got the wrong job,” Max said, anxiously chewing on the toothpick sticking out of his mouth. “You need to quit working for Linwood and start racing cars for a living.”
Edwina turned off the ignition and did her best not to smile. Racing and fixing cars was one of her passions, but it wouldn’t do to have Max know that. “Racing cars? Me?” she asked, looking over at her wide-eyed passenger and trying not to burst out laughing. She’d done everything she could to be sure her love of speed and competing with other drivers at the track wasn’t revealed. Apparently, she was going to have to rein in some of her behavior.
“The way you drive?” Max scoffed. “Oh, yeah. You’re a natural. Haven’t you ever heard of going as fast as the other drivers? You know, moving at the same pace?”
Edwina rolled her eyes and pulled her door handle. “Oh, quit being such a big baby. Those other drivers are practically asleep at the wheel. You’re hungry, aren’t you? We were lucky to be questioned and out of that joint before anyone else.”
Max sighed. “Hungry? Yeah, sure, but I’d like to get to the diner in one piece. How about I drive us back to the set afterward?”
“Not a chance,” Edwina laughed, enjoyed the sour look on her companion’s face. “We’d be late for sure.”
The place was packed and it took a couple of minutes before a waitress led them back to a small table near the window. By the time they were seated and had ordered their food, Max had already smoked one cigarette and was pulling another out of his case.
Edwina coughed theatrically and waved away the lingering smoke. “Max, do you mind? It’s going to affect the taste of the food.”
“Are you kidding?” He looked at her as if she were crazy, but she was unmoved. Huffing in annoyance, Max slid the cigarette back into the case. “Fine, but you owe me. I don’t get much time to smoke at work, you know.” He put the case in his jacket pocket. “The doctors say it’s good for asthma and bronchial problems.”
“Then why does it make me feel like choking when I’m around it too much?”
Max shrugged, a twinkle in his eye. “Must be you. Maybe you come from weak stock.”
The thought made Edwina laugh. Her father was one of the most formidable businessmen in all of Chicago, even dealing with members of the mafia in business affairs, and her mother, for all of her feminine charms, was a pillar of strength when she was opposed.
“Yeah, that must be it,” she said, leaning back a bit as the waitress placed a hot plate of spaghetti and meatballs in front of her. Covered in grated parmesan cheese, the heady aroma from the pasta and the nearby basket of buttered garlic bread made Edwina’s mouth water.
They ate in silence for a couple of minutes, happily downing the delectable pasta, until Edwina wiped her mouth with a napkin and looked across the table at Max. He had a large white napkin tucked into his collar, his attention completely on his huge lunch.
“You know, you’re pretty good with that paperclip,” Edwina commented, stabbing her fork into a meatball. “So, you want to tell me how you learned to open a door that way?”
Max looked up at her and stopped chewing. Finally, he swallowed, hard.
“Lots of people know how to do that. It’s not a big deal.”
“Oh, really?” she replied. “You think lots of people know how to get into locked rooms with office supplies?”
When Max just looked her, silent, his eyes wide, Edwina knew she was on the right track.
“That sort of talent is actually pretty rare, Max. It means either you were with some people who know how to pick locks to make a living and they taught you how to do it, or you’ve been doing it yourself.”
“So what if I have?” His voice had a tinge of anger to it. “You needed to get in that door. I got you in. What’s your beef?”
“Max, tell me about the tattoo.”
Max instinctively grabbed at the buttoned sleeve of his shirt, tugging it downward. As soon as he realized what he’d done, guilt flashed across his face.
“Nothing special. It’s just a tattoo.”
Edwina set her fork down, her eyes locked on Max. “I’ve seen that sort of tattoo before, Max. It looks like it’s been done by someone who wasn’t a professional.” She took a deep breath. “Like someone… who might’ve been in prison.” She waited, and when she didn’t get any response, she added, “Who was sitting in a cell and got very bored. Maybe his buddy helped him, or maybe he did it himself.”
Max’s brows pulled together, a hint of worry in his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She could see the fear, even though he was doing his best to appear unconcerned.
“It’s okay, Max. We all have our secrets, you know.”
“Yeah, let’s talk about that,” Max said, his voice strong as he leaned forward across the table. “If you’re a broke assistant flunky than I’m the Queen of Sheba. I’ve seen that wristwatch you’re wearing, and it’s no hand-me-down. Also, why did you hide behind me when that cop started talking?” His eyebrows wiggled, his expression confident, as though he was sure of his words. “What’s your story, lady?”
“I don’t know w
hat you’re talking about,” she said, not realizing she was using the exact words he’d thrown at her, but she could feel a flush of color creeping up her face.
“Okay, let’s just put all our cards on the table, shall we?” Max’s voice had an edge of exasperation. “Who are you really? You ain’t no uneducated assistant that’s going to be happy to just to fetch and tote for some spoiled movie star that thinks she’s better than everyone else. When we went out to the speakeasy, that’s some highbrow friends you had there.”
Edwina couldn’t deny that, and as she tried to think of an answer, Max shook his head.
“Right. You don’t know what I’m talking about, and I don’t know why you’re asking me about tattoos.”
They stared at each other for a minute, their cooling pasta forgotten. Finally, Max gave out a long sigh.
“Look, lady. I don’t know what your deal is, but I can smell something’s off about you. My question is, are you going to get me into more trouble than I can handle? You seem like the sort of dame who’d do that, you know.”
“And you’re such a straight shooter, Max? What were you doing the other night, when I saw you hanging around inside Serena’s room?” she said, her eyes narrowing. “There’s no reason I know that you’d be there when no one else was, and you certainly didn’t want to be seen.”
Max’s mouth opened, as if he were going to say something, then snapped shut. “That’s none of your business, missy.” His eyes narrowed, and he pointed his fork at her accusingly. “You’re one to talk. You’ve got secrets, and you’re not telling anybody what they are.”
“Well, so we’re at an impasse,” Edwina said, locking eyes with him. “Maybe we both have secrets.”
“Maybe we do,” Max said, sitting up a bit straighter, “but that tells me one thing.”
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