Murder Me Twice Page 12

  Lorraine straightened up proudly. "I know what needs to be done, sir."

  "Thank you. I knew I could depend on you." He'd see she received a substantial raise as soon as he returned to work. "The salesmen are sure to talk about me, but I'd appreciate it if you discouraged it when they speak with you."

  "Of course, I will, sir."

  She returned to her desk, and he quickly listed the names of his sales force, wrote a note to emphasize each one's strengths, and added an itemized copy of last month's figures. That would be enough to satisfy Sharp, or really, all the vice president would care to know. Hal thought about calling Gladys Swartz, but he'd not seek her advice two days in a row and risk coming across as a complete idiot.

  He straightened up his office, which he always kept neat, so it didn't take long. When he was ready to go, he announced he'd be out of the office for a few days, and broke the news that George Sharp would be in charge while he was away. He noted the men's strained expressions, but no matter how concerned, none of them felt worse than he did.

  "I hope to be back soon. I know you'll continue to do your best for California West while I'm away."

  He left without giving anyone a chance to ask questions, strode out of the building and kept walking rather than go straight to the Red Car. Heartsick, he wandered a long while before taking the train for home. He hadn't been there five minutes before Carmen knocked on his door.

  "I hate to bother you," she began. "But the police were here this morning and dug up all the pretty flowers you and Faye planted. They jabbed them back in the ground, but the yard's a mess, and I wanted you to know why."

  "Thank you, Carmen. Let me get your plate, I should have returned it earlier. The waffles were the best I've ever eaten."

  She waited on the porch, and pressed the plate to her ample bosom when Hal handed it to her. "I'm so frightened for Faye, but I know you didn't have anything to do with her disappearance."

  "Unfortunately, the police think otherwise, but I'll speak to them before they start ripping up your yard too."

  Carmen laughed, and then caught herself. "I'm sorry, none of this is funny. I stood by the fence and watched them. How could anyone think you'd bury Faye in your own backyard?"

  "I'm completely unable to understand their reasoning." He bid her a good afternoon and fed Mr. Cuddles on the back porch. He closed the door to keep the cat out of his way, and again settled for soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. He began making a shopping list and put off a call to Detective Lynch until morning.

  He stayed up late reading a war novel he'd been saving, rather than continue Lust for Life. It reminded him too much of Pearl. He set the book aside and Mr. Cuddles jumped in his lap, turned around to make himself comfortable, and stayed. "You are spoiled rotten," he scolded, but he didn't shoo the cat away. Faye had said she'd had Mr. Cuddles for four years, and he wondered if even that were true. She'd taken Cuddles to the vet for his rabies shot a couple of months ago, but he didn't know which vet that might have been, and he didn't feel ambitious enough to search for the receipt among their household expenses.

  When he finally did go to bed, the cat curled up at the foot and was asleep before Hal could close his eyes. He usually fell asleep in a matter of minutes, but his mind refused to let go, and he couldn't relax. No matter how often he shifted position, he remained too tense to sleep. He lay in a tangle of sheets and blankets hurt and confused and remembered Pearl lying dead in the street and grew even more thoroughly depressed. It was past two a.m. when he got up to make some notes. He was convinced Faye hadn't left him, and the possibility she was being held as a hostage meant they'd been searching for the past of the wrong woman. Whoever had killed Pearl, had come from her life. They ought to be able to discover his identity and whereabouts from an investigation of Pearl's friends rather than Faye's. He organized his thoughts as best he could, and completely worn out, returned to bed and fell into a troubled asleep.

  He called Detective Lynch at nine o'clock Friday morning, and was told he was out of the precinct working a new case. Hal left a message for him to call, but he'd not waste his time sitting at home waiting to hear from him. He waited half an hour to make certain Joe Ezell would be in his office and called him.

  "Do you have any time free this morning? I need to talk with you."

  Joe glanced at his empty appointment book. "I can shuffle things around. Come on over." He made fresh coffee, and laid a couple of empty file folders on his desk to make it appear he'd been working on something other than the crossword puzzle. He left the door open so Hal could walk right in.

  When Hal was seated across from him, Joe offered what little hope he could. "We've got to get a break soon. Someone will remember they saw something, or..."

  "Give it up," Hal cautioned, "We're on our own. Lynch dug up my flowerbeds yesterday looking for Faye's body. If she drove over to the Golden Bear Lounge last Thursday night, she might have seen who shot Pearl and been taken hostage by the killer. When I suggested it, Detective Lynch wouldn't take the possibility seriously."

  "Why? It's a damn good theory. Maybe we ought to be searching into Pearl's background rather than Faye's."

  "My thoughts exactly," Hal agreed. He told Joe about Pearl's trailer. "Apparently she spent little time there, but it was the only key in her purse when she died."

  "You want some coffee?" Joe asked. "It's fresh."

  Hal took a cup and sat back as he sipped it. "I don't believe any family has been found to claim Pearl's body."

  Joe reached for the telephone on his desk. "Let's call the coroner and ask." He had the number handy, mainly for show, and this was the first time he'd used it. "I'll tell them I'm from the Golden Bear Lounge and see what they'll tell me."

  "People who'd seen her there might want to plan a funeral. I should have thought of it myself, but I've been too worried about Faye."

  "That's understandable." Joe called the coroner's office with the Golden Bear story, and learned Pearl's body had not been claimed.

  "Her name wasn't in the paper, so how would anyone in her family know she's dead?" Hal asked. "Maybe they didn't get together often, or weren't close."

  "I'll start looking through the Los Angeles phone books. It would give us an address that might lead to a good contact."

  "I didn't see a phone in her trailer."

  Joe frowned. "Really? That doesn't mean someone in her family won't be in a book. Did Pearl ever seem frightened when she left the Golden Bear?"

  "No, she just smiled and said it was time to go. She warned me not to follow her, so I assumed she was meeting a man."

  "A jealous man?" Joe asked.

  Hal shrugged. "I got the feeling it would simply be inconvenient, a bother she didn't need for me to follow her."

  Joe leaned back in his chair to consider the matter. "I hope you won't think I'm out of line, but when I saw Pearl, I took her for a classy lady who might be an expensive call girl. Did she ever give you that impression?"

  Hal set his empty coffee cup on Joe's desk. "No, not at all. The bartender thought she was a widow who came in to have a drink and remember her husband. She was always so stylishly dressed, I thought she might work in the fashion industry, but I didn't get a straight answer from her."

  "There are plenty of designers who manufacture their lines here in Los Angeles. I wish we had a photo of her, but maybe if I ask around using her name, someone will know her."

  "Good, I'll go with you."

  "Let me handle it, Mr. Marten. Two men asking questions will be seen as intimidating. I'll give you a call this evening, or earlier if I discover anything."

  "I didn't look for labels in her suits, and hats, when I visited her trailer. Maybe I should go out there again and have the manager let me in."

  "Excellent idea. She must have bought her clothes somewhere. We'll track her through her clothes." Joe stood and Hal left to get his car.

  * * *

  Jed Riley, the manager at Starlight Park remembered Hal, but couldn't
grant his request. "I'm sorry, but the police came back yesterday and packed up all her things, and I'll bet her plant isn't talking."

  Hal had put the philodendron on the coffee table at home and touched it each time he walked by. "No, it isn't. I wish I'd checked the labels in her clothing the first time I was here, but she'd just been killed, and I wasn't thinking clearly. Are you sure she never entertained any friends here?"

  "All I can swear to is that I never saw her with anyone. That's strange isn't it? Such a beautiful woman should have had a lot of friends, male ones especially."

  "I'm sure she did. We just can't find them." He left and returned the books Faye had checked out to the library. He laid them on the counter, and Sandra Sloan greeted him warmly.

  "Are you Faye's husband?" she inquired.

  "I am," Hal replied, keeping her alive in his mind.

  "Is she still missing?" the librarian asked. "We could put up a flyer and ask our patrons to look for her if she is."

  "Thank you, but I'd hate to put up flyers the way people do for a lost dog."

  Sandra checked in the ghost books and set them aside on a rolling cart to reshelf later. "I wouldn't look at it that way. The more people who are searching for Faye, the sooner she ought to be found."

  "True. I'll think about having some flyers made." He stepped away, and then turned back. "I just lost a friend and wonder if she had any books checked out that need to be returned. Her name was Pearl LaFosse."

  "I don't recognize the name, but we keep all the requests for a card, so let me check our files." She looked under the Ls first and then the Fs. "I'm sorry, but I can't find her. Any library books she had would be stamped with the branch library's name."

  "Thank you." It had been a long shot anyway, but maybe she'd bought all the books she wished to read. He went home and checked her copy of Lust for Life and found a bookstore name on the price sticker. "Yes!" he shouted. Mr. Cuddles' eyes shot open, and Hal apologized for disturbing his nap. "This is the first clue we've found, so don't give me your damn evil eye, buster."

  The bookstore was located near the theater they'd visited on Sunday afternoons, and he nearly ran he was so excited to reach it. The clerk was a tiny gentleman seated on a tall stood reading a thick book. Hal waited for him to mark his place before he introduced himself.

  "A good friend gave me a copy of Lust for Life, and I thought I might buy a book for her. I'm hoping you'll know what she bought recently so it won't be a duplicate. Her name is Pearl LaFosse."

  The little man's eyes lit with delight. "Ah, yes, Miss LaFosse stops in here often. I believe her last purchase was an Agatha Christie mystery, The Body in the Library."

  "Yes, she mentioned it. Perhaps you can suggest something similar she might enjoy."

  The clerk slid his glasses up his nose and considered the question thoughtfully. "We have a large selection of books in the mystery section. Let me show you where it is." He jumped down from his stool to lead the way. No more than five feet tall, he hurried along with a breezy step. "Miss LaFosse has just begun reading mysteries, so anything that looks good to you would be appropriate."

  "Thank you." Hal scanned the titles and chose Murder on the Orient Express. It appealed to him, and it didn't matter what Pearl might have thought because he'd be the one reading it. He carried the book to the counter. "It might be fun for her to receive the book in the mail. Do you have her address?"

  The clerk frowned slightly. "She doesn't have an account with us, so I'm sorry, no. If you two are friends who share books, don't you know where she lives?"

  "Yes, of course I do. I just didn't think to bring it with me." He paid for the book and carried it home. As he laid it on the coffee table, it struck him that Pearl's copy of The Body in the Library hadn't been in her trailer, so where could it be?

  Chapter 11

  When Hal arrived home, he found Detective Lynch standing on his front porch. "I saw your car in the garage and thought you had to be here," Lynch called to him.

  Unwilling to reveal he was seeking answers of his own, Hal showed him the bookstore bag. "I needed something new to read." He unlocked the front door, and the detective stepped over the threshold without waiting to be invited in. "I can't believe you dug up the flowers when you wouldn't have found anything but dirt."

  Lynch gazed about the living room. "No, we didn't, but your landlord said he didn't mind. You'd be surprised how stupid some people can be when it comes to hiding a body."

  "You spoke to my landlord?" Hal was disgusted Eric Duffy had been bothered over nothing. He was a nice man, a gentleman, and he shouldn't have been dragged into Jacob Lynch's absurd investigations. "As far as we know, Faye is alive, and possibly a killer's hostage. What are you doing to find her? Has the newspaper story generated any valuable leads?"

  "We've gotten quite a few tips from the crazies who'll confess to any crime, but nothing remotely useful as yet. Are you sure you haven't heard from your wife? Have you answered your phone only to have someone hang up without speaking?"

  "I haven't been answering my phone." Hal laid the new mystery book on the coffee table. He compressed the bag into a tight ball Mr. Cuddles might like to play with, if the cat ever got off his cushion other than for meals.

  The detective focused on Hal's hands. "You look tense, Mr. Marten. Are you sure there isn't something you'd like to tell me?"

  Other than, Go to hell, Hal couldn't think of one. "Not a thing."

  "You left this number when you called this morning. Are you taking time off from work?"

  "I am," Hal responded. He stared at Lynch rather than admit he'd been put on leave. "I'm hoping we find my wife safe and soon."

  Lynch turned toward the door. "Just go on thinking that, Mr. Marten, and I'll keep working on the case in my own way."

  Hal locked the door behind him and thought good riddance. Lynch was never going to find Faye digging in her own garden. Sickened by the lack of progress, he went outside to replant the wilted pansies and snapdragons before they died. It would give him something to do for an hour or so.

  He was watering the flowerbeds with the hose, when Eric Duffy called to him. Hal turned off the faucet and opened the gate. "Good afternoon," he greeted him, fearing the worst.

  Eric Duffy was in his seventies, and he and his wife had once lived in the duplex where Hal and Faye now resided. He walked across the grass to get a better look at the flowers, and then came back to the small patio where Hal stood.

  "You've been a good tenant," Eric began, "but when the police start excavating the flowerbeds, I have to worry."

  "Me too. I assure you there's absolutely no reason to believe I had anything to do with Faye's disappearance. We'll continue to be good tenants."

  Duffy kept his white hair cut short, and he preferred a sports shirt and slacks to a suit and tie when he made calls on his tenants. His mood remained thoroughly business-like today. "Your lease runs through August. Let's wait to see how things stand then before we discuss renewing it."

  August was months away, but Hal didn't like his landlord's tone of voice. This was just another blow, and he shrugged it off rather than appear as angry as he truly felt. "That's fair." They shook hands and Eric left. Hal remained silently fuming and thought maybe he ought to buy a punching bag to hang in the garage.

  * * *

  As a child, Joe Ezell had been to the fabric wholesalers' shops on Los Angeles Street with his mother. There were dozens of such venders, all claiming to have the best possible prices. There were also many wholesalers selling the latest fashions. He'd gotten only a quick glimpse of Pearl LaFosse as she'd left the Golden Bear, but her elegant suit would have come from a shop with designers' high-priced fashions rather than bargain housedresses.

  He entered several such places, but received only confused stares when he gave the clerks Pearl's name and described her as a beautiful, sophisticated young woman. He was about to give up when a clerk at the fifth shop responded with a thoughtful nod. "Has she shopped here?" Jo
e asked.

  "Lots of women come with their friends, but there is a pretty brunette who shops alone. She likes suits, but anything would flatter her figure." The young man winked and broke into a wide grin.

  Joe hadn't mentioned Pearl had been murdered to avoid lengthy conversations that would surely lead nowhere he needed to go. "That might be Pearl. Do you have her address or telephone number?"

  "No, we're a cash only business and don't collect numbers. If the woman I'm thinking of might be your Pearl, I've seen her go across the street to Helen's. She sells the type of hats the woman wears."

  Joe chided himself silently for not going on a hunt for hats in the first place when far fewer places sold them. "Thank you for your time. I'll try there."

  The clerk rested his arms on the counter. "I should have asked why you're looking for her before I answered your questions. I hope you don't wish her any harm."

  "No, of course not. It's about an inheritance." That was a good story, and Joe had used it before. People became positively loquacious when they thought some of that inheritance might be coming their way. "Thanks."

  Helen was an Asian woman with flowing black hair, carefully penciled eyebrows, and ruby red lips. She sat upon a stool behind the counter ruffling a red ribbon on a small red hat. "How may I help you?" she asked.

  Joe looked around the shop. Helen had sorted her wears by color and style, and they ran the gamut from tiny veiled cocktail hats to wide brimmed straws with trailing ribbons. "Beautiful hats," he began, then felt foolish for stating the obvious. He described Pearl and a bright light of recognition brightened Helen's gaze.

  "She never gave me her name, so she could be Pearl, but a lady like the one you describe comes in every month or so." She held up the hat she was decorating. "She bought one similar to this one not too long ago. She insists a hat have a flirtatious soul. I believe my creations have exquisite style, but she calls it soul. Did you wish to buy her a present? You must already know what she likes, or I can make suggestions."