TWENTY-SIX
I
took a peek and saw she was in a private room. No neighbors. But I stayed on my hands and knees until I got inside. Then I stood and went to her bedside. She was as white as a marshmallow and her eyes didn’t have their usual sparkle. Tubes and wires were hooked up to her body, keeping her arms at her sides. And there was no wig. She had wispy white hair like a newborn chicken.
“I look meshuga, huh? Something out of a Saturday serial at the pictures.”
“You look fine to me, Dolores. I’m in seventh heaven you’re okay.”
“It ain’t under my belt yet, bubele. Faye, why were you crawling in here?”
“They wouldn’t let me in cause I’m not family.”
“Stupid. They shoulda asked. Yer family to me.”
“Thanks. Can ya tell me what happened?”
“Why couldn’t I tell ya? I don’t have amnesia.”
“I don’t wanna tire ya out.”
“I’ll tell ya when I get tired.”
“Promise?”
“Yeah. Sure. Ya want the whole megillah?”
“As much as ya can remember.”
“What’s this with memory? Sharp as a tack.”
I smiled. “I know ya are, Dolores.”
“Okay. So I was sweepin and this young man, with a punim like a movie star, came in and was lookin around the lobby. He smiled at me and asked which was yer apartment.”
“Like the last time?”
“But this time I was ready for him. At least I thought I was. He said he’s an old friend of yers. I tell him he should call ya at yer office. He said he did, which was how he got the address, but no one told him which apartment.”
“Did he say who he talked to?”
“I think we can agree he never called nobody. Would ya give me a little water, Faye?”
I poured a glass from her bedside pitcher. “Ya want me to hold it for ya?”
“You think I’m an octopus, I’m hiding other arms in the bed?”
She seemed to be her feisty self, which I thought was a good sign. I got one hand under the back of her head and lifted gently while I held the glass to her lips. She drank a small amount, then closed her eyes and moved back, pressing against my hand. When her head was on the pillow, she opened her eyes.
“Where was I?”
“He said he got the address from my office.”
“I told him I couldn’t help him. That he’d better call ya at home.”
“What’d he say?”
“That he was already at home, your home. Why should he have to call when he was already there? I shrugged and went back to sweepin. Next thing I knew he was holding a gun to my back. He said we were going into my apartment and that’s what we did.”
“You let him into your place?”
“Faye, it’s not like I asked him in to chat, have a glass a tea. I had a gun in my back. You’d have a better idea?”
“Sorry.”
“So I opened my door and led him inside. He asked I’m alone. I told him yes. Then he asked me again which is yer apartment and when you’ll be home. I told him I don’t know either thing.”
“You shoulda told him, Dolores.”
“You think I’m a shnook? I could identify this putz. I knew he was gonna kill me, so I was making a little stall. He tells me to go into my bedroom. I asked him what he wanted with me.”
I shook my head at the thought of the chances she took.
“Enough with the shaking.”
“You were so brave.”
“Brave shmave. I knew I was a goner, I might as well save your tushy. He told me he wanted to make sure nobody’s in the bedroom. I swear there isn’t. But he’s not taking my word on this.
“He said he ain’t gonna ask me again. I knew what that meant. He pushes the gun in my back and we go into the bedroom. My bed was made, thank God. He tells me turn around. I do. He looks under the bed and in the bathroom, but the gun is on me the whole time.
“Then outta nowhere he says, ‘Yer a kike, aren’t ya?’ My blood boils. I make believe I don’t know what that means.”
“Did he . . .”
“What’s going on in here?” The Warden.
“We’re having a clambake, what else?” Dolores said.
“And you. I thought I told you, you couldn’t see Mrs. Sidney.”
What could I say?
“This girl is my daughter.”
“You have two sons according to one of them. No daughters.”
“My son was here?”
“Yes. I can’t remember his name now.”
“Larry?”
I said, “No, Dolores. It was Morris.”
“Morris. Yes. That was his name,” the nurse said.
“Morris,” Dolores said.
“At any rate, this young woman is not your daughter.”
“She is. I adopted her.” Dolores’s face was turning red.
“Mrs. Sidney, please don’t upset yourself.”
The nurse came around the bed and bumped me out of the way. She took Dolores’s pulse.
“Pulse isn’t good,” she said. “Please try to calm down.”
“I was calm till ya came in here.”
“If your . . .
daughter
hadn’t come sneaking in here, this would never have happened. I think she should go.”
“She ain’t goin. I’m tellin a story and I gotta finish.”
“Go ahead then.”
“Out,” Dolores said.
“Mrs. Sidney, I . . .”
“Out.”
“I’m calling your doctor,” the nurse said.
“I guess I gave her what-for.” Dolores smiled weakly.
“You did. Think ya can go on with what happened?”
“Why not? Where was I? Oh, yeah. The schlemiel asked me was I a kike. And I said, ya mean am I of the Jewish faith? And I guess he didn’t like my question cause that was when he shot me. That’s it.”
“You poor thing.”
“One thing I’m not, Faye, is a poor thing.”
“You said he was good lookin. Can ya describe him in any more detail? What was he wearin?”
“A white, short-sleeve shirt and those blue pants. No tie. No jacket. No hat. I knew he was no gentleman in that getup.”
“Blue pants? Ya mean plain blue trousers?”
“Nah. The ones ya see on cowboys in the movies.”
“Dungarees?”
“I don’t know what ya call them.”
I knew that’s what she meant. They were made of denim and sometimes sailors wore them, too.
“Ya know what, kid? I’m tired now.”
“Oh, Dolores, why didn’t ya tell me sooner?”
“Sooner I wasn’t tired.”
“Have the police been here?”
“Excuse me, miss. I demand to know what you think you’re doing?” It was a man in a three-piece suit he musta gotten before the war. They didn’t make vests anymore. They said it was cause of the war, which I didn’t quite get. Did that extra bit of material make so much difference?
“Did you hear me, young lady?” he said.
“I did. And what I’m doin is leavin.”
“Exactly.”
“This is Dr. Hatfield,” the nurse said. She looked up at him like he was Adonis. He reminded me of a giraffe.
I kissed Dolores, who was already asleep, on the cheek. Then I made my way past the two who stood like guards at the end of her bed.
“And don’t come back,” the doctor said.
I didn’t say anything to that cause it was so stupid. When she was better, it was up to Dolores who came to visit. I was glad I didn’t have to crawl to get out of there.
Even though it was still hot and humid, I was happy to be on the street and in the neighborhood I loved.
I walked down Seventh Avenue to Grove and turned right at my street. There was a knot of neighbors on my stoop. Byington, Jory, and Kilbride.
“There she is,” Bruce Jory said.
I felt like it was a lynch mob waiting for me. When I got right in front of them, they all started to talk at once.
“Wait, wait. One at a time.”
“Have you seen Dolores?”
“Is she okay?”
“Who did it?”
“Quiet,” I yelled. “I did see her and she’s awake and full of . . . she’s snappy as ever.”
“When will she be home?”
“Not for a while, I’d guess.”
“Did the police catch whoever did this?”
“Not yet.”
“Will you find out, Faye?”
“I’m gonna do my best.” And I would, cause now I knew for sure the shooting was linked to my case. I didn’t know when I’d get over that one. “I gotta go in now.”
“Will you keep us informed?”
“I will. I promise.”
That seemed to calm them down some.
“Faye?” Jerome Byington said.
“Yeah?”
“Do you have any idea why someone would shoot Dolores? We heard robbery wasn’t involved. Would it be, by any stretch of the imagination, mistaken identity?”
“I don’t get ya?”
“Jerome thinks the bad man might’ve been after
you,
Faye,” Ethel Kilbride said.
I stalled. “You mean ya think the shooter might’ve mistaken Dolores for me?”
“I told him that was absurd,” Ethel said.
“I don’t think anyone would get us confused.” I wasn’t lying. But I wasn’t about to tell them the particulars.
“That’s what I said. You and Dolores?” said Bruce Jory.
“We’ll find out. Don’t worry. At least Dolores is on the mend.”
“You mean,” Ethel said, “we don’t have to be afraid?”
Ah. So that’s what this was really about. Not that they didn’t love Dolores, cause I knew they did. But they were scared. They thought there was a killer in the neighborhood. “I don’t know. But I’d lock yer doors when yer inside. I’m sure gonna lock mine.”
They all agreed and I headlined how much I needed to go inside to make an important phone call. I ran up the steps and into my apartment.
Zach was sleeping on his pillow on the large windowsill. I hadn’t even noticed him when I was outside. He hadn’t noticed me, either. Didn’t notice me now. I turned on the fan, for all the good it did, and went right to the phone.
“Did ya hear anything, Birdie?”
“Not a peep.”
“I guess it’s too early. Who knows how far she had to go.”
“Don’t pretend I’m supposed to know what yer talkin about, Faye.”
“Claire had to take a train somewhere to deliver the money to get Charlie back.”
“See how simple that was?”
“Yeah. Yer right.”
“How long’s she been gone?”
“About two hours.”
“Give it some time.”
“Yer right again. Okay, I’m home. She’ll probably call me before you.”
“You stayin put, Faye?”
“Far as I know.”
After I hung up, I sat there thinking about Dolores’s recollections. A man in dungarees. Whoever he was, he hadda be connected to my case. Was he planning to kill me? Why? Would he come back? I lit a smoke, blew out the match.
Maybe when they got the money, the button man would lay off. I didn’t know anything anyway. Was Charlie alive? If they gave Charlie back, my job would be done. If Mr. Ladd wanted his money or the kidnappers caught, that was up to him, the police, and the FBI.
Would Claire and Charlie get married? Tune in tomorrow when . . .
The phone rang and I jumped. I grabbed the receiver.
“Claire?”
“I gather you haven’t heard from her,” Ladd said.
“No. But it’s only been a couple a hours since she got to Grand Central. We don’t know when she left or how far she had to go.”
“That’s very true. Were you planning to call me?”
“No. Claire’s gonna call ya, but we had no arrangement.”
“I suppose we didn’t. I wish I could wait in the cocktail lounge. I don’t like sitting here in my room.”
“I can call the lounge, Mr. Ladd. They’ll page ya.”
“That’s right. Of course. I think I’ll go downstairs now.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll ring ya the minute Claire calls me.”
He thanked me and we hung up. If Charlie didn’t come back, my job wouldn’t be over. I wouldn’t begin to know where to start. On the other hand, if the worst happened, the cops would most likely be in on it.
The afternoon was creeping toward five and the idea of a drink seemed aces. I went to my cabinet, but before I had a chance to mix a drink the phone rang again.
It was Johnny. He asked me about Dolores and the case and all I wanted to do was get him off the phone in case Claire was trying to get through.
When I said I was waiting for her call, he said, “I better hang up then.”
“I’m afraid so.”
“I guess we shouldn’t make any plans for tonight.”
“Can we wait and see?”
“Sure, why not?”
“You’re all wool and a yard wide, Johnny.”
“Call me when you know what’s what.”
I said I would and we hung up.
By ten o’clock that night nobody’d heard from Claire.
TWENTY-SEVEN
I
found Marty at Smitty’s bar. I couldn’t figure when he had time for his extracurricular stuff.
Marty picked up the phone. “Yeah?”
“It’s me. Faye.”
“How ya doin?”
“Not good. I got a situation.”
I told him what had happened. “Whaddaya think?”
“I think either they knocked her off or she’s in on it.”
“Yeah. That’s what I was thinkin. I was hopin you’d come up with somethin else.”
“There’s nothin else.”
“I don’t like the choices.”
“Not good.”
“Mr. Ladd’s blowin his stack. Can’t say I blame him.”
“Did ya tell him yer ideas?”
“No. Not yet. We just exchanged words about our fears for both of the kids. It’s hard to believe Claire would help kidnap Charlie. She’s one damn good actress if she did.”
“It happens, Faye.”
“I better go. I just wanted to check it out with you.”
“How come ya didn’t call yer boyfriend?”
“I don’t like to involve him in my cases.”
“Yeah. I can see that.”
I knew he couldn’t see it at all. It wasn’t like Johnny was a civilian.
“Thanks, Marty.”
“Keep me posted.”
“I have a feelin ya won’t need me to keep ya posted. If Claire doesn’t turn up by mornin, this is gonna turn into a major case.”
“I think yer right.”
When we hung up, I lit a Camel and sat there staring into my living room again. The empty space waiting for the piano seemed bigger than ever. Had I blown this case? Did I get Claire Turner killed? She woulda done anything to get her soldier back. She knew it was risky but she didn’t care. Or was that the sucker story? The one I’d bought.
I was some lousy PI if this was a scam. Nah. She was just a kid. A kid in love.
I tried to put myself in her shoes and think what I woulda done if it’d been Johnny. I wanted to believe I woulda done the same as Claire, but I wasn’t sure. Was it that I didn’t care for him enough? Or was I too smart to go out on a limb like that? And if I was too smart to put my neck in a noose, how could I let Claire do it?
Did my need to solve this case, get Charlie Ladd back, overshadow my smarts? And what if Claire was alive and well and she was in on this swindle all along? Shouldn’t I have sniffed that out? Back to that again.
If she was involved in this scam, why did she come to me in the first place? To make it look legit? She knew I’d hafta get the Ladds involved, and that they’d more than likely go to the police. We only had Claire’s word that kidnappers had called her. Maybe there weren’t any kidnappers. And what did all this have to do with David Cooper, the dead guy in Charlie’s hotel room?
Somebody
knocked him off.
The kidnappers. Hold everything. What was I thinking? The kidnappers iced Cooper and took Charlie. Cooper musta been in Charlie’s room when they came to snatch Charlie. They couldn’t leave a witness.
If Claire was dead, it wasn’t my fault. I’d warned her. But thinking about Claire being dead didn’t sit too well with me. I felt sick, and stubbed out my butt.
I hadda call Ladd and lay out the two possible scenarios. I dialed his hotel. And when I got him it was no surprise he was even drunker than he’d been earlier.
“Dishe call?”
“No. I wanna talk to ya about some possibilities.”
“Wha kind?”
“What I think mighta happened.” Considering his condition this didn’t seem like such a hot idea.
“Wha?”
“Maybe we should talk tomorrow.”
“I’m callpolice.”
“Mr. Ladd, I think we should wait till mornin. If Claire’s not back by then, we’ll call em.”
“Howdya know she’s back?”
“I said we’ll wait till mornin and . . .”
“Sicka waining. Lookmyself.”
If this wasn’t the caterpillar’s kimono, I didn’t know what was. “Go to bed, Mr. Ladd. We can work on this tomorrow. I’m gonna say g’night now.”
I didn’t know if this was the right thing to do, but I hung up and called Marty again. I gave him the lay of the land and asked if he could put a man on the hotel to make sure Ladd stayed put. And if that didn’t work, then put a tail on Ladd to make sure he didn’t hurt himself. Marty said he’d get right on it.
Now what? Wait for Claire’s call, which could still come. I knew I wouldn’t really sleep so I decided to stay on the sofa, closer to the phone. In the bedroom I took off my dress and got a summer nightgown from my chest of drawers. I slipped it over my head. Then I went to the bathroom and brushed my teeth.
I wished I coulda had the phone in my makeshift bed. I was afraid I wouldn’t hear it if I did fall asleep. Worried that the radio might put me to sleep, I turned on the light behind the sofa and picked up
The New Yorker.
I didn’t think I could concentrate on a story or an article so I turned to the reviews by Constant Reader, who was really Dorothy Parker.
The next thing I knew I was waking up with the magazine on my face. And when I pulled it off I saw the light outside. If the phone had rung, I hadn’t heard it. I looked at the time. Five minutes past six. A rotten time to be awake. I almost went back to sleep, but knew I shouldn’t. Besides, Zach was howling from where he’d planted himself on my stomach. Even if I’d left the magazine on my face and raised one eyelid, he’d have known I was awake and started yawping for his breakfast.
I shook him off and got up. I felt like jeeps and tanks had ridden over me all night. While I put Zach’s breakfast into his dish, I started to face the fact that Claire was another missing person. If she’d vamoosed, I hoped she was in on the scheme. If not, she was dead. It’d be pretty awful for me if Claire had been in on it all along. But better to have her alive.
It was too early to call anyone. I put down Zach’s food then spooned coffee into my pot, added the water, turned on the gas, and lit it. At least I could call Claire. If she was there and asleep, she couldn’t get mad that I’d awakened her.
I dialed her number and let it ring twelve times. This had been a last-ditch effort so I wasn’t surprised that she didn’t answer. I’d have to call Lucille before this broke in the papers. Who cared that it was early? Even though the sisters were on the outs, I was sure Lucille would wanna know.
I got my pocketbook and scrounged around for the address book with her number in it. Before making the call I poured myself a cup a joe. This was nothing to tell a gal without a morning jolt. Best coffee in the Village.
I let Lucille’s phone ring fifteen times. Maybe she was in the shower. Maybe she had a boyfriend and she was at his place. Maybe she’d gone in to work early. Nah. The work idea was dumb. Maybe she didn’t wanna answer her phone so early in the morning. Ya couldn’t blame a girl if she didn’t wanna answer her own phone.
I lit a cig and dialed her again.
This time I gave it thirty rings. If she was there and didn’t realize this was pretty important, something was wrong with the broad. I went through all the possibilities again. None of them washed except the possible boyfriend story. I’d have to wait until nine and call her at the bookstore.
So what could I do right then? I could have another cup of coffee and the éclair I had in the fridge. I didn’t mind eating it cold. I took down one of the plates Jeanne Darnell’d given me when I’d moved in. I put the éclair on it and carried it to the telephone table. I decided that when I finished the éclair and coffee, I’d call Ladd. I ate as slowly as I could.
“Do you know it’s seven in the morning?” A loud groan. “Oh, wait. Charles. Is he back?” Another groan.
It wasn’t hard to tell he had a doozy of a hangover.
“No. He’s not back. And neither is Claire, far as I know. She doesn’t answer at her apartment.”
“What do you think happened to her?”
The moment of truth was upon me. “I can only think of two things. One, she’s in on it and . . .”
“In on what?”
“In on the scheme. The kidnappin.”
“How is that possible?” He groaned again. “Can you hold on a minute.”
He put down the phone, and after a minute or two he came back. The ice in his glass made a tinkling sound.
“All right. Now you’re saying that that girl is a kidnapper? I knew she was trash.”
“I’m sayin it’s possible she’s involved and this whole thing—her hirin me, gettin you to put up the dough—was part of the plan.”
“What about Charles?”
“He could be part of it, Mr. Ladd.”
“How dare you.”
Good thing we had the phone lines between us cause I woulda slapped him. “We have to look at every angle now.”
Silence. Broken only by the clink of ice against glass.
“Mr. Ladd? Are ya there?”
“I’m here. You said you could think of two things. What’s the second one?”
“Claire’s dead.”
“Which means what about Charles?”
“He’s probably dead, too.” I didn’t feel like softening these words for him.
“But not necessarily?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“I think it’s time for me to go back to the police and FBI.”
“Will ya be tellin them about this last foray?”
“I’ll have to.”
“I guess. Ya gonna do that now?”
“As soon as I’m dressed. I think it’s best I go to the precinct rather than do this on the phone.”
“Yer probably right.”
“Are you going to continue to look into this?”
“I haven’t been fired,” I said.
I tried Lucille again and there was still no answer. My plate had bits of icing and custard stuck to it. I put it in the sink. Then I poured another cup of coffee and took it with me into the bathroom where I ran the water in my tub.
I dressed for the office in a blue skirt and a lighter blue short-sleeve jacket with big dark blue buttons. It was ten after nine when I picked up the phone and dialed Mostel’s Bookstore. It rang a few times before a man answered and identified the store.
I asked for Lucille.
“Ve don’t know Lucille, vere she is.”
I told him who I was and reminded him I’d been in the store a few days before. He remembered me.
“Lucille’s not here since. Ve don’t know vat happened. She vas always here ven she vas supposed.”
“Mr. Mostel, are ya sayin that she hasn’t come in to work since Friday?”
“Vell, ve’re not open on Saturday or Sunday, but she didn’t come in Monday. Ve called her yesterday all day, but no.”
“And today she’s not there?”
“Not here today.”
“What time is she supposed to come in?”
“Nine A.M.”
“It’s only quarter after nine now.” It didn’t sound like she was running late but I had to make sure.
“Lucille is never late.”
“Mr. Mostel, if she does come in, will ya have her call me?”
“Certainly.”
I gave him my number and we hung up. Lucille’s disappearance, if it really was that, didn’t hafta be connected to my case. Maybe she just quit her job. But she didn’t seem like a girl who’d walk out without a word. Maybe she’d been hit by a car and landed in the hospital. Anything coulda happened. But it was a coincidence that two sisters were missing at the same time, and I hated coincidences.
Still, for all I knew, Lucille could be lying sick or dead at home. I’d hafta get Marty to ask the local police in Newark to look in at Lucille’s apartment.
But first I wanted to check on Dolores. She was stable. Marty’s precinct sergeant told me he was out on a case. There was nothing more I could do from home.
I grabbed my pocketbook and started out. But when I was about to lock the door, my phone started ringing so I rushed back in. It was Birdie.
“Well, you’ve been some blabbermouth,” she said.
“Good morning to you, too.”
“Listen, Faye, I got a message for ya from Marty so don’t be so fresh.”
“Why didn’t he call me himself?”
“That was my point. Yer line’s been busy, busy, busy for hours.”
Birdie exaggerated a lot. “What’s the message?”
“He said to tell ya they found the body of a girl on West Seventy-second Street behind Schwartz’s Candy Shop. He said he thought you’d wanna know.”
“Yeah, thanks.” I could feel myself sinking.
“Ya goin there?”
“Yeah.” The éclair was heavy in my stomach.
“See ya later.”
There was only one reason Marty’d call me about a dead girl.
He hadda think it was Claire.