Design for Dying (13 page)

And there was Mr. Valentine, talking to one of the store's other bigwigs. Wearing a magenta tie so garish you almost didn't notice the dark pouches beneath his eyes.

Not faltering, I flashed my best smile. Mr. Valentine did not respond in kind. The hollow
thunk
of the time clock punctured my mood as well as my card.

The situation did not improve at the lingerie counter when I tripped over a box. I landed on my hands and knees, nose pressed to cardboard, the words
YOLANDA INTIMATES
swimming before my eyes. At least I'd found the panties Mr. Valentine wanted sorted and put away.

Smoothing my skirt, I stood up. And locked eyes with a man whose smirk indicated he'd seen my pratfall and was waiting for my next number. His cheap suit didn't look any better indoors.

“Hello, Ginger,” Beckett said. “You looking for a Fred?”

“You're that reporter who tricked my friend into giving you her only photograph of Ruby. I'm not talking to you.”

“Reporter? I'm no reporter.”

“When I spoke to you, you told me you were a reporter.”

“Actually, you assumed it and I was happy to play along.” He nosed around Yolanda's intimates. “The way you let people believe you're on the Paramount payroll.”

He had me there. “Who are you then?”

“Winton Beckett. Call me Win, kitten, because that's what I do. I'm a private investigator.”

“And what do you want to talk to me about, Mr. Beckett?”

“Your friend Ruby Carroll, what else? She fascinates me. You fascinate me.”

“I have that effect on people. But you'll have to leave. Tremayne's isn't open yet. How did you even get in here?”

“One of your house dicks owes me a favor. What say we both leave? I'll buy you a steak and we can talk.”

“It's not even eight in the morning. And I've told the police everything I know.”

“Then I'll buy you a cup of joe and you can answer one question for me.”

“Let's hear it.”

“What do you know about Natalie Szabo?”

My Catholic poker face gave me away, because Beckett stepped toward the counter. “Yeah, you know her name. You're the inquisitive sort. Natalie flew the coop. I need to find her.”

I wasn't about to share that his missing princess had phoned that very morning. I pivoted away from him and started sorting the undies. Beckett lolled at the edge of my vision like a fly that couldn't figure out how to leave a room. But I'd show him. I'd ignore him like he'd never been ignored before. I'd—

“Tell me something.”

“Anything, kitten.”

“If you're not a reporter, why trick Vi into giving you her photo of Ruby? And how'd it end up in the paper?”

“I'm sorry about fooling the blonde. She seems like a sweet kid. But I needed the snapshot for my files. And publicity never hurts in my racket. I'm the one who's gonna get to the bottom of this Ruby business. Now you tell me something. Have you heard from Natalie?”

“Everything I know I told the police. Bother them.”

“You mean Gene Morrow, right?” Beckett braced an elbow on the counter and pushed back the brim of his hat. “You might as well tell your aunt Fanny. Gene's not gonna make any headway on this thing. Too stolid. A constipated thinker. And Paramount's got him bottled up. You want something done about your friend, you need an independent operator like yours truly.”

I dropped some empty boxes into the trash. “I trust Gene. But you? You I could do without.”

“You trust those broad shoulders, maybe. Think he might develop a yen for you. Believe me, kitten, it's not in the cards. I used to be on the force. I know Gene's history. It's sordid, is what it is.”

“
Used
to be on the force?”

He shrugged. “Little difference of opinion with Chief Davis. What's wrong with a guy has a little style?” He shot his cuffs. His shirt was somehow uglier than his jacket.

“Isn't there a sale at the five-and-dime you should be at? Hang around a minute longer and I'll call the store detective.”

“Will a real one do?” Gene strolled around a display of housecoats as if he'd been dozing behind it. I was surprised, forgetting that I'd told him in my message I'd be at the store. “How are you, Win? Buying something to wear around the house?”

“If it ain't Bulldog Morrow. I was just telling Miss Frost here all about you.” Beckett straightened up to talk to him. “Sharing memories of bygone days.”

“Is this man bothering you, Miss Frost?” Gene didn't look at me, lavishing all his concentration on Beckett.

“Considering the store's not open yet, I'd say yes.”

“Why you hanging around here, Win?”

“Unmentionables for a lady friend.”

“He was asking about Ruby,” I said. “He was outside her place the other day, pretending to be a reporter.”

“I explained that, kitten.” Beckett shrugged at Gene, helpless before his own charisma. “Dames. Am I right, Gene? You know a thing or two about women.”

“Learn anything you'd like to share with the authorities?”

“You want me to do your job for you? I don't get paid by the city anymore.”

“Who
is
paying you? Why the interest in Ruby Carroll?”

“Can't tell you that.”

“A trip downtown might change your tune.”

“You're going to arrest me for what? Running an errand?” Beckett turned to me, brandishing teeth fit to chew through wiring. “Some intimates, if you please. Pick whatever colors you'd wear, sweetheart.”

“We're not open yet,” I said through a clenched jaw.

Gene laid a heavy hand on Beckett's shoulder. Beckett brushed it off. “Run me in if you want,” he said. “I got a lawyer who can make your life miserable.”

“You don't need a lawyer for that.” Gene turned to me. “I stopped by because of your message. Whatever you called about will have to wait, Lillian.”

“First-name basis, huh?” Beckett spat. “Bet the widow doesn't care for that.”

I spoke swiftly and softly into Gene's ear. “Natalie Szabo telephoned me this morning. Beckett's searching for her.”

“I'll see what I can pry out of him.” Gene gave Beckett a shove. “Let's get going. I want to meet this lawyer of yours.”

“He'll enjoy meeting you, too.” Beckett grinned at me. “Three pairs of your finest scanties, doll. Wrap 'em up pretty. I'll pick 'em up later.”

I watched them march toward the escalator still firing barbs at each other, and wondered exactly when I'd started thinking of Detective Morrow as Gene.

*   *   *

“MISS FROST, A
word?” Thus ended my hope Mr. Valentine hadn't witnessed the performance.

He gestured broadly, at either the lingerie counter or the entire Southern California watershed. “What's this?”

“I was putting away the undies. Sorry, undergarments.”

“And leaving boxes everywhere?”

“I was interrupted.”

“Yes, I couldn't help but notice. Not exactly the kind of display Tremayne's is known for.” He moved an empty box toward the trash, then frowned and lifted another out of the bin. “This package isn't empty.”

Rats. A pair of beige bloomers was balled in the corner of the carton.

“I would have realized when I checked.”

“
If
you checked.” He paused. I steeled myself for the final blow.

“Miss Frost. I know you've had a trying experience. But I'm disappointed in your performance of late. Not returning to duty as you promised, bringing unsavory types into the store.”

I wanted to object, but I knew arguing wouldn't aid my cause. Tugging the forelock was the order of the day. “You're right, sir. I can't apologize enough.”

“I see you're contrite. But will that show in your actions?” He mused a moment. “Tomorrow is your day off.”

“Yes. If you want me to come in, I will.”

“I have another suggestion. Take the rest of today and tomorrow to settle your assorted melodramas. Clear your head. Then come back ready to work.”

“I will, sir. Thank you, sir. That's very kind.”

“Understand your first misstep after that will have you looking for another job.”

Okay, maybe not so kind. I bowed, scraped, grabbed my purse, and skedaddled. A Frost seldom has to be told anything twice.

 

14

“AT LEAST I
can say I spent some of my free time working,” I told Vi as we left the theater.

“That was work?” My phone call had brought a morose Vi downtown in time for a matinee of the Technicolor extravaganza
Vogues of 1938
. The cloud over her blond head hadn't quite lifted, but a little light had filtered through.

“I knew I'd like it when the girls rolled out the titles on huge bolts of fabric. Tremayne's has a tie-up deal with the studio. We're going to sell hats from the movie.”

“Even that green number with the veil?”

“Swing by when the shipment comes in and try it on.”

We paused before a shoe store window. A pair of emerald dancing slippers with ribbon laces beckoned to me. To resist their siren song I turned to Vi and saw her gazing forlornly into the street. “The picture didn't take? What's wrong?”

“Rough morning. Ruby's family showed up. Her mother and uncle. Mrs. Lindros asked me to tend to them.”

Ruby's family
. Which could also be Natalie's family. “You poor thing. How did it go?”

“It wasn't easy. But they were sweet. Ruby's real name was Roza, did you know that? Roza Karolyi. I think I'm saying it right.”

“I knew Ruby wasn't her right name, and she grew up speaking another language. Karolyi. So her people are what?”

“Hungarian. I don't think I ever met one before. There aren't many in Seattle. My father calls them hunkies.” She looked abashed as she said it. Meanwhile I labored to tamp down my excitement. Everything Vi said was consistent with Natalie's furtive phone call.
Our family.

“Ruby's mother spoke some English,” Vi said. “Her uncle … I don't know. He didn't say much. They gathered Ruby's things from her room. Her mother said the girls could go through the clothes and take what they wanted.”

I couldn't help picturing the frenzy in Mrs. Lindros's house had the contents of Ruby's suitcase been included in that offer.

“Did they say how long they would be here, or if they have other relatives in the area?”

“They're going straight home. And they weren't exactly chatty. Her mother talked a little about Ruby. ‘Roza, such a pretty girl. So beautiful on the screen.'” Vi's accent was more Italian than Central European, but I got the general idea. “The worst part was when she reached into her carpetbag and pulled out a photo. ‘Roza send to me. Her first Hollywood picture.' It was practically a publicity still. Ruby looked fantastic in it. I can't imagine how she could have afforded a picture like that.”

“She had her ways,” I said, thinking of a certain Paramount photographer. “What was Ruby wearing in the photo?”

“The most beautiful suit, with lots of pretty business on the lapel. I never saw it before.”

Something told me I had.

“In the letter Ruby sent with the picture, she said she'd signed a contract and would be starting a movie soon. With Clark Gable! Her uncle was standing against the wall while we were talking. I figured he couldn't understand a word. But when he heard ‘Clark Gable,' his face lit up. He came over and tapped the picture. ‘Roza, Clark Gable,' he said. Couldn't have been more proud.”

“How awful.”

“I don't know how I kept from bawling until they were gone.” Vi clutched my hand. “Do you know how often I've come close to writing my family I'm about to duet with Dick Powell? I need to get out of this business before I end up like Ruby.”

“Don't get gloomy now. It's a waste of a twenty-five-cent movie ticket. I'll march you back in to see the picture again.”

“I'm fine. It was nice to get out of the house after that.”

“Happy to help. How's Tommy?”

“I wouldn't know. I've steered clear of him, like I promised.”

“Good for you. Where to now? My day's free.”

“I should go home. I have to work at the club tonight.”

“I thought you had the day off. I was going to offer you your choice. Late lunch or early dinner, on me.”

“I really should go. Thanks again for the movie.” Eyeing a streetcar, Vi ran off, leaving me with my green temptation in the shoe store window.

*   *   *

“SHIRKING YOUR OWN
job and inciting others to do likewise. I don't know you anymore.” Kay chuckled. We sat behind two schooners of beer in a tavern around the corner from
Modern Movie
headquarters. She'd snagged her purse before I finished asking if she could leave work early.

Kay dug into a dish of peanuts. “Ruby kith and kin to a princess. Is it possible you bunked with a crowned head of Europe and didn't know it?”

“She always acted like blue blood ran through her veins. At the very least we know both Ruby and Natalie are Hungarian.”

“I can see it. A family reunited in America under the palm trees. Natalie invites her—what, cousin?—to some soirees.”

“What's Ruby to do, say no?”

“Not our Ruby. She's going, by hook or by crook. In this case crook.” Kay chased a fistful of peanuts with a ladylike sip of beer. “Hollywood's a democratic town. You can brazen your way anywhere provided you know the lingo.”

“And have the right clothes.”

“Which Ruby certainly had. Not to mention the nerve. Sending that photograph to her mother?”

“I'm glad she did it. At least her mother has a keepsake.”