Murder Me Twice Page 9

  He'd just finished eating breakfast when Detective Lynch knocked on the door. He moved back to invite him in. "Have you found her?"

  "No, but we've found your Packard abandoned in South Central. You can pick it up later from the impound lot."

  Hal's knees grew weak, and he sank down on the sofa. "Do you think someone kidnapped Faye for our car?"

  Lynch's impassive expression veiled his thoughts. "The keys were in it, so it seems likely, unless your wife usually runs with a crowd in South Central."

  "Of course she doesn't." They were a long way from the colored section of town, and there was nothing wild about Faye, unless she'd shot Pearl, which he couldn't accept. "She must have gone out on an errand, and run into the wrong people."

  "Apparently. Although there's no sign of a struggle, so if your wife came to any harm, it wasn't in your car."

  "If she'd been hurt, you would have found her in a hospital, wouldn't you?" Hal asked.

  "Yes, we would have."

  "Or she could be lying dead under a pile of debris in some alley," Hal offered.

  "It won't help to let your imagination run wild, Mr. Marten."

  "Tell me something that will help," Hal countered crossly.

  "I think it's time to release her case to the press. Do you want to offer a reward for information?"

  "I couldn't offer enough to make it worthwhile." Hal sat back and looked toward the window and found Mr. Cuddles completely disinterested in their conversation. For some appalling reason, he wanted to hug the damn beast, but he fought off the embarrassing impulse.

  "Fine, we'll simply appeal to the public to look for her. Do you have a photo we could use?"

  Hal got up to go into the bedroom and returned with a high school photo. "She doesn't look any older, so this will do. Please return it."

  "Will do." The detective opened his notebook. "Can you describe her, age, height?"

  "She's twenty-six, five foot five, curly brown hair, hazel eyes, and has a slender figure. As you can see, she's very pretty, and I want to bring her home."

  "Of course. Stay here if you can, so if she calls, you'll know where she is."

  "I'll need to pick up my car first."

  "Fine, do that, and then stay here."

  As soon as the detective left, Hal called Joe Ezell and asked him for a ride to the impound lot. "I want you to look at the car. You might see something the police missed."

  "I'll be there in five minutes."

  * * *

  The impound lot was located in a scruffy neighborhood neither of them had ever visited. The lot spread over a whole city block and was surrounded by a high chain link fence topped with barbed wire. Grass peeked through multiple cracks in the worn asphalt paving. There were rows and rows of vehicles, some forlorn wrecks. Hal checked in with uniformed guards at the gate and signed for the Packard.

  An eerie silence hung in the air, and frightened Faye hadn't been found with the car, Hal drove away as fast as the speed limit allowed with Joe following in his Chevrolet sedan. When they arrived home, he parked the car in the driveway rather than the garage so they could examine it more easily.

  "Open the trunk," Joe asked.

  "The police would have checked it, wouldn't they?"

  "Of course, you needn't worry we'll find Faye's body inside."

  Hal popped open the trunk. "The spare tire is gone." So disgusted he could barely think, he stood and looked away rather than scream the obscenities filling his throat.

  "Guys who'd steal a car, apparently with your wife in it, wouldn't be likely to leave anything valuable behind," Joe said. He ran his hands over the trunk liner and searched the trunk thoroughly, but it held nothing more than the jack and tire iron.

  "Let's imagine how this happened," the detective offered.

  "I'd rather not," Hal countered.

  "Fine, I'll just go over the interior." Joe began with the back seat searching for anything that might have dropped to the floor or fallen between the seats. "Do you always keep the car this clean?"

  "Yes, I don't want Faye to be ashamed to drive it."

  Joe opened the passenger door and checked the map pocket, but all he found was a neatly folded map of Los Angeles. The glove compartment held only a package of tissues and a pencil. There wasn't anything of interest to be found on the driver's side either. The floor mats were clean as though the men who'd hijacked the car had wiped their feet before climbing in.

  He slammed the driver's door and brushed off his hands. "Clean as a whistle. Did your wife ever leave the keys in the car while she shopped?"

  "I don't think so, but I always drove when we were together. What are you suggesting?"

  "Let's say kids found the car with the keys in the ignition and took it for a joy ride. Who would your wife have called for a ride home?"

  "She would have called me to tell me someone had stolen the car," Hal offered.

  "Not if she knew you'd already left your office."

  "She would have been surprised and angry, and would have marched right back into wherever she'd stopped to call the police and report it."

  "They don't appear to have any record of a call from her, do they?"

  "The detective might not have checked. I'll call him."

  "You do that, and I'll head on over to the library."

  Hal parked the car in the garage and pulled down the door. He'd hoped they'd find Faye with the car, and that she had apparently been left behind somewhere doubled his worry. He went inside to call Detective Lynch, who replied in a bored monotone that of course they had checked for any calls to the police that might have come from Faye. It had simply been too routine a procedure to mention.

  Hal hung up and went into the kitchen to fix lunch. Mr. Cuddles followed. He took the cheddar cheese from the refrigerator and cut the cat a small slice. "Do you like cheese?" he asked.

  Mr. Cuddles swallowed it and meowed loudly for more. "All right, I guess you do." He gave the cat another small bite of cheddar and took a dish of cat tuna out to the back porch where the cat would stay until Hal opened the door.

  Hal wasn't hungry, but thought he ought to maintain whatever routine he could until Faye was found. He made himself a grilled cheese sandwich just the way he liked it and sat at the kitchen table to finish working the crossword puzzle. It would be a very long afternoon, and a sad one when he thought of Pearl. She'd been such a fascinating woman, and he couldn't believe anyone could have wanted her dead.

  * * *

  Joe Ezell hadn't been to the local library since he'd graduated from high school and nothing much had changed, except for the librarian. Miss Sandra Sloan was an attractive blond, rather than one of the sweet gray-haired ladies he recalled from his youth. He introduced himself and showed her Faye's photo.

  "She's been checking out books about ghosts. Do you remember her?"

  "Of course, I remember Faye," the librarian responded. "We like it quiet here so students can study, but she takes the request so seriously she whispers when we talk, as though we were exchanging state secrets."

  Joe feared this was going to be another conversation where he'd learn only what the speaker cared about, and little about Faye, but he did his best to inspire something more. "She didn't come home Thursday night, and her family is trying to find her. Did she ever mention a place she'd like to go, or somewhere she hoped to visit?"

  The librarian pushed her pencil behind her ear. "She wanted to go up to the Gold Rush country in the summer with her husband, that's the only place she mentioned. Has she just disappeared without leaving a note?"

  "Yes, I'm afraid so. Did you two ever exchange telephone numbers?"

  "No, we talked about books, and our conversations didn't go any further. I wish I could be of more help."

  "Thank you for your time. You have my card, and if Faye should happen to come by in the next couple of days, please give me a call."

  "I will. Are you sure there isn't something you'd like to check out today?"

  Her
voice had dropped to a sultry purr, leaving Joe enormously flattered. "I have a sweetheart, but if I didn't, I'd come here often to pick up something to read." He left with a bounce in his step, but even after stopping at several pawnshops, he still had nothing worthwhile to report to Hal Marten.

  * * *

  That night Joe took Mary Margaret to her favorite place in China Town, the Lotus Garden. She knew all the dishes to order, and he was happy as long as they had some ribs and crisply fried spring rolls. He tried not to slurp his wonton soup. "I swear this tastes better every time we're here."

  "Do you think so?" she asked. "I've always thought it was delicious. I don't expect any details, but how is the case going with the suspicious woman?"

  Joe sighed and put down his spoon. "Badly, I'm afraid. She's disappeared."

  Mary Margaret leaned forward. "You don't mean it."

  "I do mean it. I've been looking for her, but haven't turned up a single useful clue."

  "Could the Black Dahlia killer have struck again?"

  "I doubt it. She wasn't a party girl like Elizabeth Short, so they wouldn't have crossed paths. Where would you go if you decided to leave town without telling anyone?"

  Their waiter brought the remainder of the dishes they'd ordered, and Mary Margaret waited until he'd left them to reply. "You seem like too nice a guy to give me any reason to leave Los Angeles, so I won't make up something to send you in the wrong direction should I decide to go."

  "Thank you, I appreciate the compliment. I think you're awfully nice too."

  She smiled. "I'd go up to San Francisco because it's a great place to visit. A friend from nursing school lives there, and I could stay with her until I found a job and a place to live."

  Joe put a couple of spare ribs on his plate, along with a spring roll. "You'd rely on a friend, that's what most people would do, but the missing woman doesn't appear to have had any."

  "No friends at all?"

  "Her husband has never met any."

  Mary Margaret added a spoonful of fried rice to her plate. "That doesn't mean she doesn't have any."

  "Why wouldn't her husband have met them? He's a nice looking man with a good job. She should have wanted to show him off."

  "She might have wanted to, but maybe she's afraid her friends might not be up to his standard."

  "That's a thought. Maybe she had skanky friends from high school that she'd rather he didn't meet."

  "Exactly," Mary Margaret agreed, "or maybe she just wanted to keep him all to herself rather than invite any competition while they were dating."

  Joe regarded her with renewed admiration. "That's probably closer to the truth. With any luck, she'll turn up soon."

  "Or be found dead," Mary Margaret observed.

  "That's not how I want this case to end, sweetheart. Have some beef and broccoli, and let's talk about something else." Anything else he thought to himself. There had already been one murder in this unfortunate case, and he dreaded having to deal with another.

  Chapter 9

  Sunday morning, Carmen Espinoza brought Hal a plate of waffles. "If you've already eaten, these can be saved and warmed in the oven tomorrow. Do you have syrup?"

  Hal took the warm plate. "Yes, we do. Thank you, I love waffles and haven't had any in long while."

  "Oh good, I'd hoped you'd enjoy them. The recipe makes more than I can eat, so I usually freeze some for another day. Faye's photo is in the morning paper asking for information about her. I hope you get some good news from it."

  "So do I, Mrs. Espinoza."

  "Please, call me Carmen. I'll leave you to enjoy your breakfast. Please let me know if there's anything I can do, anything at all."

  "I will. Thank you again." Hal carried the plate into the kitchen and took the syrup from the cabinet beside the stove. Melted butter would be good, so he took out their smallest pan to melt some. Mr. Cuddles had already eaten his fill of tuna and begun his morning nap, so Hal left him where he was rather than exile him to the back porch while he ate. The waffles were light and golden brown, perfection really, and he wished Faye were there to enjoy them with him. He also knew Carmen had brought them over as an excuse to mention Faye's photo in the paper. He ate the waffles anyway.

  He'd found the photo in the Metro section of the paper when he'd brought it in. The grainy picture wasn't nearly as pretty as she was, but if anyone had seen her, they'd recognize her from it. Not everyone got up as early as he did on Sundays, so it might be late afternoon before anyone called the police with information.

  He ate very slowly, savoring every sweet crumb. When he and Faye had married, she'd been living in a boarding house and hadn't owned any kitchen things. He'd had a couple of pots and pans, a cookie sheet and some utensils. They'd bought what they'd believed every kitchen should have, but neither had thought of a waffle iron. He wondered what else he'd not missed. He washed Carmen's plate and set it aside to return later.

  He wanted to go out and walk until he became so tired he'd be afraid he'd not make it back home, but Lynch had told him to stay put and wait for Faye, or news of her. He read the paper, did the crossword, and went out to the yard to water the flowers. He was close enough to hear the phone and sat down in one of their new redwood chairs and stared up at the sky. If Faye were able to come home, he thought she already would have, and he planned to return to work tomorrow rather than lose his mind waiting for her there at home.

  * * *

  Midmorning Monday, Detective Lynch and a uniformed officer arrived at the offices of California West. Mrs. Adams stood at Hal's office door to announce them. He immediately left his desk and ushered them in and closed the door behind them.

  "Is there any news?" he asked. He gestured toward the chairs facing his desk, but neither man cared to sit.

  "We caught one of the kids who stole your car. He's fourteen, no master criminal by any extent. He swears he and his friends found your car with the keys in it, and thought a joyride wouldn't get them into too much trouble. He says they never saw your wife."

  Hal leaned against his desk. "Where did they find the car? Won't that give you a lead as to where she might have been?"

  "Yes, it does." Lynch glanced toward the officer, who continued studying the floor. "It was parked around the corner from the Golden Bear Lounge."

  "Dear God," Hal murmured. He hadn't wanted to believe Faye was even capable of murder, but this didn't sound good.

  "It looks as though Faye shot Pearl LaFosse, and ran for her car, only to find it had been stolen," Lynch continued. "She was close to the Red Car line, so why didn't she just go on home and finish cooking dinner as though nothing had happened?"

  Hal drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. If Faye had shot Pearl then her thinking couldn't have been all that clear. "She could have, but she didn't. How could she have explained the missing car?"

  "She could have claimed it had been stolen from your garage," Lynch replied. "It happens. We need you to come to the station with us. We've some other ideas that will take too long to discuss here."

  "All right, fine," Hal agreed. He told Mrs. Adams to cancel whatever appointments he'd had for the rest of the day, and he walked out with his two escorts. Every salesman's eye was on them but he ignored their stares rather than acknowledge their natural curiosity. As they waited for the elevator, he shook his head. "This has been the worst sort of nightmare. Is there any chance the boy you caught is lying?"

  "Rather than start rumors circulating here, let's wait to discuss it at the station," Lynch cautioned.

  The detective rode in the front seat of the car with the officer, and Hal had the back seat to himself. Last Monday had been like so many other routine days, but now a week later his well-ordered life had dissolved into utter chaos. He watched the passing scenery and envied the people walking along without his heavy burden of dread. Once at the Hollywood station, Detective Lynch led him into an interrogation room that smelled of stale smoke and sweat.

  "Don't you have an office," Ha
l asked.

  "This will do for now. Take a seat and make yourself comfortable."

  Hal chose the wooden straight-backed chair closest to the door and sat down at the table. "Have you found Pearl's next of kin?" he asked.

  "Your wife is missing, and you're concerned about Pearl?"

  "I can worry about multiple things at the same time, Detective. As for Faye, she couldn't have simply disappeared. She has to be somewhere."

  "Yes, of course, she does," Lynch agreed. He took the chair opposite Hal's and opened a file with photos of Pearl lying dead on the sidewalk.

  Sickened, Hal turned away. "I'd rather not look at those."

  "They're just a reminder of why we're here."

  "We're here because my wife is missing, aren't we?" Hal asked. The small narrow room made him uneasy, and he wanted to get this over with and leave as quickly as he possibly could.

  "That's one of the reasons." Lynch shuffled through the photos, returned them to the file, and set it aside. "Let's look at your wife from a new angle. If she shot Miss LaFosse, found her car was gone, and took the Red Car home, she might have been so horrified by what she'd done, she could have confessed the minute you walked through the door."

  "Don't make up things," Hal cautioned. "She wasn't there Thursday night, and hasn't come home since."

  "You told me she hadn't answered the phone when you called from the Golden Bear. You were anxious to get home and left around nine. You didn't call me until after eleven to say your wife was missing. What happened between nine and eleven?"

  "Nothing happened, I fed the cat, cleaned up the preparations Faye had made for dinner, which you already told me I shouldn't have, and I waited to call you until it got too late for her to be out alone."

  Lynch nodded thoughtfully. "A man might react very badly if he learned his wife had shot his girlfriend."