Murder Me Twice Page 11

  "No, I thought he was deliberately trying to insult me, maybe provoke me into doing or saying something he could use against me."

  "That's a good way to regard his observations. We can consider the police our friends when we need help, but don't let them fool you into believing they truly care about your welfare. They want to solve the crimes that cross their desks, that's their only concern."

  "I understand. I just wish I knew where to find Faye."

  She put down her fork and watched him eat. "You have a gentleman's manners."

  "I hope so." He held her gaze, and wanted to know more about her. "Tell me about your most difficult case."

  "Everything's confidential, as you must know."

  "You don't have to use names," he stressed. "Just tell me about the time two men argued over who owned a race horse, something like that."

  "Would you be concerned if I told another client about your predicament?"

  "Probably not, but I understand. I just don't want to keep going over the same ground while Faye remains lost, or even worse, is being held hostage. I'd go through the streets calling her name if it would help to find her."

  "Let's think a minute. Apparently Faye was an exemplary housekeeper. Even if her cooking wasn't very good, did she run the rest of your household without trouble? Or did she constantly forget to buy milk and eggs, or spend too much money?"

  "No, she made lists and bought what we needed, and she never went over our budget. Why do you ask?"

  "You know her to be a capable woman, so she should be doing all right wherever she is," she advised.

  "That isn't reassuring. My whole world went to hell last Thursday night, and there seems to be nothing I can do to make everything right if we can't find Faye."

  "Let's concentrate on protecting you for the time being. I always take half my dinner home in a box and eat it the next night. Would you like a box too?"

  He got the message that the evening was over. Following her example, he'd take the remainder of his ravioli home. He signaled their waiter, paid for their dinner and walked Gladys back to her building where she left her car during the day. He supposed she'd send him a bill for the time they'd been together, but he'd be glad to pay whatever she charged simply for being a sympathetic ear. He rode the Red Car home, and Mr. Cuddles met him at the door.

  "I didn't forget you," Hal assured him, but in truth, he hadn't thought once about getting home early to feed the cat. At least he still had one reason to come home, but sadly, a chubby feline wasn't nearly enough.

  Chapter 10

  Joe Ezell called Hal Tuesday evening, and failed to credit his sweetheart, Mary Margaret, for what he was about to say. "I've been thinking that despite the fact you didn't know any of Faye's friends, she might have had some that she preferred you didn't meet. Where did she work before you met?"

  "She did secretarial work with a temp agency, so she wasn't anywhere for long."

  "Do you remember the name of the agency?"

  Hal tried to recall and couldn't. "I'm not sure she ever mentioned the name. She'd just say she'd worked here or there that day, often doing filing."

  "What about where she lived? Could she have friends from there?"

  "She rented a room from a women who was very strict about her roomers' behavior. The girls had to be home before midnight or she'd lock them out. Faye complained nobody stayed long enough to get to know. I believed it disappointed her."

  "Well, then, what about high school? Do you have her yearbooks? Kids write notes to each other in them, and you might find a name we could pursue."

  Hal settled down on the couch. "That's a great idea, but Faye never mentioned having any yearbooks, and I don't recall seeing any when we moved here after we married."

  "How about an address book? Did she keep track of numbers she called often?"

  Mr. Cuddles leaped into Hal's lap, and he gave the beast a tentative scratch behind the ears. "She had a small one she kept in her purse, so it's not here."

  "I don't want you to think I'm giving up on your case, Mr. Marten. I'll keep looking until we find her. What high school did Faye attend? I might be able to get some information there."

  "She grew up in Monrovia. We never talked about high school, but I think the city has only one."

  "Sounds right. They probably won't talk to me unless I tell them I'm a relative. Would that bother you?"

  "Not at all if you can learn something about Faye we can use to find her."

  "Thank you. I'll tell them I'm her uncle Joe, her mother's brother. I don't suppose there's any resemblance between us."

  Hal closed his eyes and compared them in his mind. They both had brown hair, but Faye's eyes were hazel and Joe's brown. Their features weren't similar either. "Hair color is about it, I'm afraid, but I'm sure you'll be convincing."

  "I will. I'll go over tomorrow morning and take the article from the paper to show she's missing. What was her maiden name?"

  "Bell, like Alexander Graham Bell. Her full name is Faye Renee Bell." Hal refused to put it in the past tense.

  "You said she liked to sew. Maybe the Home Economics teacher taught sewing and will remember her."

  "If she's there. Faye graduated in 1939, so the same teachers might not still teach there."

  "High school teachers tend to stay put, so I bet she will be. Maybe they'll give me a list of her teachers for her senior year, and I'll try them all."

  "Call me at work whether you learn anything or not."

  "Will do."

  Hal hung up the phone and gave Mr. Cuddles' ears another lackadaisical scratch. The cat's warmth on his thighs was pleasant enough, but it sure wouldn't be when it got warmer. Maybe people only cuddled their cats when the temperatures were chilly. "What are we going to do, buddy?"

  Mr. Cuddles looked up at him and quickly glanced away. Cleary he possessed no helpful insights either.

  * * *

  Joe Ezell drove the twenty miles northeast to Monrovia late Wednesday morning to miss the early traffic flowing into downtown Los Angeles. The city was close to the foothills of the San Gabriel Mountains and had been founded by a man named William Monroe who'd bought the land from "Lucky" Baldwin's Rancho Santa Anita. It was a charming city, and he found the high school on Colorado Blvd. easily enough.

  The high school had Spanish architecture as so many of southern California institutions did, with graceful arches and a red tile roof. He parked across the street and walked into the office with the confident stride of a man who expects his questions to be answered. He had the article from the LA Times in a manila folder. The secretary left her desk to meet him at the counter.

  "Good morning," Joe began. He'd rehearsed his spiel on the way to be both concise and sincere, but he wouldn't use the uncle bit unless he had to. He spoke softly to lure in the secretary's attention, spoke his piece and showed her the article. "Maybe you saw this in the paper. Faye attended high school here, and the family is trying to locate her high school friends in hopes of finding clues as to where she might be. Her name would have been Faye Renee Bell then."

  The school secretary was a gray-haired woman with a substantial figure. She pursed her lips as she read the article and then shook her head. "I've been here twenty years, and I don't remember having a student with her name, and her face isn't familiar."

  "Really? Would you please make a quick check of your records to be sure? She would have graduated in 1939."

  The secretary sighed with the effort, but she pulled open a drawer in one of the gray metal file cabinets lined along the wall. "No, the class of 1939 didn't have a Faye Bell."

  "Maybe we have the year wrong, will you look at 1938 and 1940, please."

  "Well, since I've gone to the trouble of looking up one year, I suppose I can look at a couple others." She shuffled though several files and then turned to the clerk seated at a desk on the opposite side of the room.

  "Hortense, do you remember a Faye Bell? I can't find her."

  "Faye Bell? No I don'
t. Did she go by another name?"

  "Her middle name is Renee," Joe reminded them. "Maybe she went by Renee."

  The secretary closed the file cabinet and returned to the counter. "We haven't had any students with the last name Bell, so the first name doesn't matter. Are you sure you have the right school?"

  "This is the only high school in Monrovia, isn't it?"

  "Yes. The Catholic school, Immaculate Conception, only goes up to 8th grade. I think maybe you're in the wrong city."

  "Could be. Thank you for your time." Joe left and stopped at a gas station to use the pay telephone on the way out of town. "Mr. Marten, I'm here in Monrovia, and the high school has no record of a Faye Bell ever attending. Are you sure she went to school here?"

  Hal rocked back in his chair. "Yes, she once told me she hadn't been very popular at Monrovia High, but she'd learned a lot. How can they have no record of her?"

  Joe had the uncomfortable feeling Hal Marten hadn't known his wife nearly as well as he'd thought. "The ladies in the high school office looked as though they knew the school inside out, but something isn't right here. I could check with the high schools in neighboring towns if you like."

  "No, she said she went to Monrovia High, so don't waste your time looking elsewhere."

  "Maybe her name wasn't Bell then. Could she have been married before she met you?"

  "No, her high school boyfriend was killed in the war. They'd planned to marry when he came home."

  "Do you know his name? Maybe the school will have a record of him."

  "No, she never referred to him by name. It was always just 'my boyfriend'. She didn't talk about him often though, and I never asked her about him when there was no point in being jealous of a dead man."

  "None whatsoever," Joe agreed. "I'll talk to you later."

  "Wait a minute. Faye was born in Los Angeles, so there ought to be a record of it at the county clerk's office, shouldn't there?"

  "We already know she was born, so I don't think it would help our cause, but I'll search for a record if you want to pay for it. Do you know her parents' names?"

  Hal drew in a deep breath. "I never heard their given names. She always called them her mom and dad. I'm sorry. I don't want to waste your time, so skip the county clerk's office."

  Joe preferred to worry over the details of a case on the golf course, but to admit it would sound unprofessional. "All right, I'll go back to my office and think about what we can do next."

  "Thank you. I'll try and remember more than I have."

  * * *

  Hal shrugged off a cold chill as he hung up the telephone. He'd always talked about the present and future with Faye, what they were doing today or plans for something like a trip to the Gold Rush country. They'd never entertained each other in the evenings with tales of their youth. Now he wished they had.

  Gladys Swartz called him later. "I forgot to ask if you're a veteran. It would help your cause."

  "Yes, I was a captain in the Army, although I didn't win any medals. I was stationed in Washington D.C. with the Quartermaster Corps."

  "All that matters is that you served with pride."

  "Could I stop by your office later? I learned something disturbing, and I don't know what to do about it."

  "Does it concern Faye?"

  "Yes, and I'd rather not discuss it over the office phone."

  "I'll be free at six, come by then."

  Hal noted the time in his daily calendar. He'd heard nothing from Detective Lynch since they'd found his Packard on Saturday, and he considered that good. During his lunch break, he'd walked rather than stop to eat, and he returned to his office feeling somewhat calmer. He wondered if he ought to make a chart of his mood, like they did for sales. However, he'd still be skirting the bottom of the graph, and it didn't seem worthwhile.

  * * *

  Gladys was dressed in an attractive gray suit, and Hal realized he hadn't mentioned Faye's horrible taste in fabrics. At least the pajamas she'd made for him were a solid blue. He took the same seat he'd occupied yesterday and refrained from mentioning it. It seemed unfair to criticize Faye's tastes when she wasn't there to defend herself.

  Her desktop again clear, the attorney sat back in her chair and smiled. "Tell me what you learned, Mr. Marten. No matter how minor, it might be useful in your defense should you need one."

  "Which I hope I won't," he responded. He told her about Joe Ezell's lack of success at Monrovia High and watched her eyes widen.

  She sat forward. "You hadn't known each other long, and when it feels so good to meet someone new, no one looks too deeply. That's why long engagements are recommended. You accepted what Faye told you and went on doing things together. Now when you need the details of her past to find her, all your detective receives are blank stares."

  "Yes, but I'm afraid it's more puzzling than useful."

  "That's where you're wrong. If Faye wasn't who she pretended to be, or deliberately concealed something important from you, she could have left town with someone from her past she'd never mentioned."

  "There's such a sweet innocence to Faye, that's difficult to believe," he countered.

  "You don't have to believe it, and don't tell Detective Lynch what you've found either. We have to stay ahead of the police. I should have it inscribed on a plaque and hang it on the wall."

  Hal nodded. "Stay ahead of the police is a fine motto, but I still don't know what to do."

  Gladys stood, and he stood with her. "You're going to go home and heat up the leftover ravioli for dinner, unless you ate it for breakfast."

  He smiled at that thought. "No, I saved it for tonight. Thanks for seeing me on such short notice."

  "Think nothing of it, Mr. Marten. Just keep me informed, and I'll do my best to protect you should the need arise."

  She walked him to her office door, and he left for home wondering if Mr. Cuddles would care to share the ravioli.

  * * *

  Joe Ezell had again been invited to dinner at Mary Margaret's. He brought flowers and offered to help in the kitchen. "I can chop an onion with the best of them," he swore.

  "Sure you can, but everything's already prepared and in the oven." She put the colorful bouquet in a vase and placed it on the dining table. "Come on in the living room and tell me about your day."

  Joe took his favorite spot on the sofa, and she curled up beside him. "It was an exceedingly odd day." Without giving away any confidential details, he described his lack of success at Monrovia High School. "Most people don't lie about where they went to high school, so this is really odd."

  Mary Margaret agreed. "Women often shave a few years off their age. Could she be older than she wanted her husband to believe?"

  "Maybe, but she'd never expect him to go to her school and check which year she graduated. This whole case has been strange from the beginning. It's like playing on a wobbly pool table, and the ball never rolls the way you expect."

  "Maybe by the time you're a famous detective and wish to publish a book about your cases, you'll have all the answers."

  "Let's hope. Something sure smells good. What are you cooking?"

  "Chicken and dumplings. I hope you'll like it."

  Joe regarded her with a teasing smile. "If it has anything to do with you, I'll love it."

  She giggled and stood to lure him into the dining room for another of her marvelous dinners and with a sultry glance, promised so much more.

  * * *

  Thursday morning, Hal's boss, George Sharp, called him into his office. As a vice-president of the firm, his office was twice as large as Hal's and splendidly furnished. They occasionally met to discuss sales figures, but Hal doubted that was George's concern today.

  George Sharp raised his hand to ask for a moment while he finished a telephone call, and Hal waited at the door to be invited in. George was a portly man who wore expensive clothes, but there was only so much an expertly tailored suit could camouflage, and he was at the outer limits. His gray hair formed a thick
fringe around a bald pate giving him a monk-like appearance.

  Hal entered when George ended the call. "Good morning," he said with all the enthusiasm he could gather, which wasn't much. He took a chair, but couldn't get comfortable.

  "You look awful," Sharp responded. "How long has your wife been missing?"

  "It's been a week," Hal replied, but he'd suffered a year's worth of worry.

  "It's a shame, but I want you to take a leave of absence until she's found. Don't argue with me about this, Hal. You'll remain on the payroll, so don't worry about money, but your situation is too distracting for you to continue to come in as you have this last week."

  Stunned, Hal leaned forward. "Coming to work is all that's kept me sane, so I'd rather stay."

  "The issue isn't open for discussion."

  Hal was well acquainted with George's tendency to power through a decision rather than invite comments from subordinates. It was a trait Hal considered an enormous flaw. "Who'll handle my sales crew? Many of them are new, and they need encouragement as well as supervision of their accounts."

  "I'll stop by your office twice a day to oversee things. Besides, Mrs. Adams is experienced and can probably run things herself."

  Hal thought Lorraine definitely could, but that wasn't the issue. "I need to work, Mr. Sharp. Really I do."

  "Then spend your time looking for your wife. Stay until lunch and leave a brief description of your sales force with Mrs. Adams, and I'll take it from there."

  Hal rose slowly. He would have argued all day had there been any hope George Sharp would change his mind, but it would have been easier to convince a massive boulder to dance. He didn't waste his breath on such a fruitless effort.

  "Fine. I'll have it for you." He returned to his office and drew his secretary inside. "Sit with me a minute, Mrs. Adams."

  "Yes, sir. What do you need?"

  Hal sank into the chair behind his desk and shook his head. "Not a damn thing. Excuse me, but George Sharp insists I stay out of the office until Faye is found."

  "What if she isn't?" Lorraine asked, and then slapped her hand over her mouth. "Oh no, I shouldn't have said that."

  "It's what a lot of people are thinking so you needn't apologize." He told her he'd write a sentence or two about each of his salesmen for her to type. "Mr. Sharp claims he'll come by a couple of times a day to answer questions, or do whatever is needed, but he'll probably forget in a day or two. He didn't tell me not to call you, so I'll talk to you every day. I know you can handle our business as usual while I'm away, but you have my home telephone number should any real trouble arise."