Corpus de Crossword (30 page)

She studied him. “You've done well for yourself, Miss Graham.” She nodded her tiny head toward the movie posters. “You remind me of Sterling Sanders, Rosco; however, I would guess you still have the teeth you were born with.”

“Yes … Please forgive our intrusion, Miss Flynn, but I don't see how we could have solved this case without your—”

“My puzzles explained everything. All you needed to do was expose the guilty party—”

Belle stepped forward. “But only you know who that is.”

The old eyes stared, the old face almost immobile. “Pardon me?”

“Rosco has friends in the police department, Miss Flynn. You won't be in danger if you share your information. The killer will be arrested. He'll be off the streets.”

“There's no statute of limitations on murder cases,” Rosco added. “You'll have nothing to fear.”

Paula Flynn returned her gaze to the window. “But I … I don't understand …”

“We need you to tell us the name of the person who killed the girl in Taneysville,” Rosco said. He tried to fold his arms across his chest, but a sharp pain from his rib cage stopped him midway. He opted to keep his hands at his sides. “Miss Flynn, by withholding this information, you continue to put yourself in danger.”

“Danger? But I … I …” Paula Flynn looked at Belle and frowned in dismay.

“You did witness the crime, didn't you?” Belle asked.

Again, the ancient actress frowned. “No … No, I have no idea who murdered the woman … I only know her identity.”

CHAPTER 39

Rosco had retrieved two folding chairs from the Bayshore Retirement Home's dining area on the assumption that Paula Flynn's explanation was going to take longer than expected. Belle had used his absence to relay her theory as to what had occurred those many years ago in Taneysville, but as Rosco set up the chairs, Paula startled them by stating an emphatic: “You couldn't be more wrong. I've never been to Taneysville in my life.”

“But … but …” Belle stuttered, “the local library has a scrapbook of all your successes … Photos … magazine interviews …” She paused to collect herself, then continued in a gentler tone. “Miss Flynn … Rosco and I know your real name. We know why you left home as abruptly as you did … and why you were never able to return.”

Paula remained motionless for a long moment. Eventually she whispered a nearly inaudible: “I'm not Katie Vanovski. I never have been. And I've never been to Taneysville.”

Belle looked at Rosco, who raised his eyebrows in disbelief. Both were silent, pondering how to deal with what they knew was a total falsehood, invented by an aging and rather traumatized mind.

“I understand,” Belle finally answered. “You've seen something terrible, and you don't want to discuss it … That's okay … It is … but Rosco and I … well, we just want to see you out of danger. Whoever murdered—”

“I'm not—”

Belle reached out her hand and touched the bony arm. “I know … You're Paula Flynn now.”

The old lady's head sagged while a brief and bitter laugh rose from her hollow chest. “Not even close.”

Again Rosco and Belle regarded each other; this time Rosco was the first to speak.

“But you did send Belle the crosswords—?”

“And the name outside your door says—”

“TRADING PLACES … SMOKE AND MIRRORS … LOOK FOR A SWITCH … That's what I was trying to tell you in the puzzles. I stole Katie's identity. I—”

“You did what—?” Belle made no attempt to hide her confusion.

“‘Borrowed' it, I guess you might say … At least at first …” The woman who called herself Paula Flynn seemed to drift into a trance. A thin smile crept across her wizened face. “In Boston, in 1951, some Hollywood producers came through on what they called a ‘talent hunt' … I'd been to plenty of contests like it before. They were usually no more than a bunch of dirty old men ogling the young girls—trying to use the ‘casting couch' routine … Anyway, I was twenty-six years old by then and I'd learned how to gauge who was on the up-and-up and who wasn't … The Bijou Theater, that's where the contest was held … It's where I met Katie …”

“The Boston contest …” Rosco's words were more confirmation than question. He looked at Belle, who returned his gaze in utter silence.

The old actress's voice continued. “It was amazing how much we looked like each other … Of course, Katie was a brunette and I was blond. Naturally blond; not a bottle blond.” The smile grew then abruptly receded.

“But the newspaper articles out in Taneysville indicated Katie was sixteen when she got her big break,” was Belle's perplexed response. “That would have made her ten years younger than you.”

“Katie acted a good deal older than her years. And I always looked young for my age. I could pass for a college girl until I was well into my thirties.” The shoulders hunched. “She'd had an awful time of it at home. She
and
her sister—”

Belle was about to ask another question, but the old lady's words drifted off in a different direction. “It was on a Friday afternoon … a wet day in early spring. The building's heat was either on the fritz or the owners were being cheap. Whatever the case, we were all chilled and damp and pretty wilted. That on top of bad cases of nerves and not having much in our stomachs … There were about fifty of us. All types of girls … Katie and I gravitated to one another because we looked so much alike I guess—same height, build, everything. We could have been twins, except for our hair … And we'd obviously traveled down the same unpleasant roadways.

“Anyway, the talent scouts were on the level that day—that is, unless you consider the studio contract they roped me into, and the six years it took me to get them to ‘release' me … That and the ‘favors' I had to do for certain directors in order to get ‘meatier' parts in their films.

“But back then everything seemed golden. The five winning girls were going to be taken out to Hollywood for a screen test—all expenses paid. In those days you had to be able to sing and dance as well as act; not like today when … well, no matter … Anyway, we all auditioned, and were told to come back on Monday for the final decision—meaning forty-five girls were going to return just to be told to ‘take a hike.' I offered to let Katie bunk in with me. I had a small flat in Boston, and that way she wouldn't have to go home. But she said she was leaving home no matter what—win or lose, come hell or high water—and needed to pack her belongings. She was really desperate for a way out of Taneysville—”

“But she didn't win, did she.” Belle interjected, more as a statement than a question.

“Oh, she did! Of course she did. Katie was a talented kid.”

“Now I'm the one who's confused,” Rosco said.

“On Monday we returned to the Bijou—all of us contestants sitting in the audience, and the talent scouts arranged behind a long table up on the stage. Katie was nowhere to be seen, so I assumed she'd missed her bus or something. I thought she'd fly through the doors at any moment … As the men began calling off the winners there were screams and hollers … I remember my fingers were crossed so tightly they went numb. Or maybe it was the cold … Then a man said, ‘And the fifth girl is … Katie Vanovski.' And my heart sank. I wanted to be one of those five so badly.”

“But Katie still wasn't there.”

“No … There was this heavy silence. I looked around … We all did. All of us in our hats and dress coats holding our breath and clutching our purses. He repeated the name, and by the way he said it, I knew he wasn't prepared to wait, that he'd assume Katie had gotten cold feet—which would be a sure indication she'd never make it in the movies … So I jumped up and said, ‘Here I am … Here I am! Katie!'”

“And these guys believed you?”

“We were a bunch of amateurs; we didn't have pictures or resumés for them to look at; no one filmed the auditions; and there were so many of us of us to keep track of. ‘Well, Katie Cat-Got-Your-Tongue Vanovski, this is your lucky day,' the man said as I walked toward the table. I remember him grinning at the notion that I was too excited to know my own name, but his only question was to ask what had happened to my hair. I told him I'd bleached it over the weekend, and he grinned again and said, ‘I like it better this way, Katie. You're going to go somewhere, kiddo.'”

“When did they take you to California for your screen test?” Rosco asked.

“We were on the train the next morning. It turned out the studio was desperate for women with Boston accents for a Katharine Hepburn film, and all five of us got contracts.” Paula's eyes misted over. “I really only did it to save Katie's spot. I would have admitted the truth if she'd shown up … even out in Hollywood … but she never did. And after a while I managed to fool myself into believing she really had gotten a case of cold feet, and that she wouldn't have lasted two seconds with the wolves and lowlifes that lurk around every studio … In the back of my mind, though, I always guessed there had been a problem.”

“And so Paula Flynn's your real name?” Belle asked at length.

“Oh, no … The studio invented it. If Katie had been at the Bijou that day, she would have been renamed Paula Flynn instead of me … And I would have spent my life—well, doing what I'd been doing before.”

The three were quiet for several long minutes, but Rosco wanted to hear the obvious, so he asked, “And you have reason to believe the body found in Taneysville is Katie Vanovski's?”

The old head nodded. “I have no real proof; just an old woman's intuition. As soon as I read the story in the newspaper—that's when it all hit me. Although, I guess … I guess I'd always suspected Katie had been killed … Because if she was so desperate to leave home, why didn't she show up to hear the results of the contest—?”

“But she didn't know she'd won—”

“And later on, when I was in California … when I was, well, when I was lying and telling folks I was born and raised in Taneysville … Why didn't she challenge me then? Why did she just stay silent? Year after year …?”

Belle frowned. “After you'd become a star you could have told the truth. You could have revealed your own story.”

A weary sigh greeted this remark. “No, I couldn't. My past was … well, let's just say it wasn't all that squeaky-clean. I needed to be someone exactly like Katie. People didn't need to know who I really was … or what I'd been.”

“But there's no proof the remains are actually hers,” Belle offered after another few moments of silence.

“That's simple enough for Abe Jones to determine,” Rosco replied. “If his DNA samples match up with the Bazinnes'—that solves half the mystery. As to who the murderer is … or was—”

“That's what I wanted you both to figure out,” Paula interrupted with some vehemence. “Instead of tracking me down … When the body showed up, everything came back to me: everything Katie said—and everything she was too scared to tell me about what her brother-in-law was doing to her.”

“Jacques Bazinne,” Belle finally said. “Also deceased … The father of three middle-aged offspring who are convinced their famous aunt deserted them.” She looked at Rosco. “How do you tell someone their dad may have been a murderer?”

CHAPTER 40

“So …” Belle said as she and Rosco settled into the front seat of her car, “what next? I feel we have an obligation to share what we've learned with the Bazinne family.”

“Absolutely. I agree.” Rosco drew in a troubled breath. “It's not going to be easy, though.”

Belle was silent, thinking. “Well, we can't do it over the phone, that's for certain … I've met Jeanne … Maybe I should drive out there now and talk to her—”

“It's going to be a tough conversation, my love.”

“I know … but what other choice do we have?”

“… Okay.” After a beat he added, “But I should be with you.”

Belle considered the suggestion for a moment. “I'd love to have the company, Rosco … And I know I'm really going to need it on the return trip … However, I have a feeling it will be better to approach her as one woman to another.”

Rosco also remained quiet as he considered this. Then said, “I hate to make you face this alone, but I think you're probably right … I'll tell you what, though: Why don't you leave me at Hoffmeyer's store first, and then pick me up after your conversation with Jeanne. That way you'll have company on the ride home.”

Belle nodded brief agreement as she started the engine. “No time like the present … I guess.”

Rosco removed his cell phone from his jacket and began punching in a series of numbers. “Before we go running off to Taneysville, I should bring Tree Hoffmeyer up to date. I'm sure he's going to want to formulate some sort of press release.”

As Belle left the Bayshore Retirement Home's parking lot and began driving west, Rosco did just that, concluding with a subdued: “Of course, the odds of ever knowing conclusively who killed Katie Vanovski are next to nil.”

Tree's response was businesslike. “That's probably beside the point at this juncture. The salient fact is that the murder occurred more than fifty years ago, dispelling all speculation about ‘mobsters dumping bodies' and ‘dirty laundry,' et cetera. We're looking at ancient history; the fact that a movie star had some connection to the event will only increase voter recognition. I feel sorry for this Katie Vanovski, I do, but in the long run, I hate to say it, but this is a best-case scenario for my campaign … I really appreciate all the hard work you've been putting in, Rosco, and I'd like to talk longer, but I should schedule a news conference right away—”