Design for Dying (23 page)

“Why does anybody do anything? Money.”

“What form did this money take?”

The question provoked a chilly smile. “You've seen the rocks, then. Gorgeous, aren't they? Natalie picked up a new sparkler every time she stepped out. Win plucked 'em right off her. He'd loan her one or two whenever she saw Mr. South of the Border. I'd hear Win on the phone, coordinating her ensemble. He always wanted her to look nice.”

“Too bad he couldn't take his own advice. That jacket of his is atrocious.”

She abruptly flipped the emery board into the trash. I'd struck a nerve. Maybe the jacket had been her Christmas gift to him several lifetimes ago, when both believed in peace on earth and goodwill to men.

“I imagine this caper was supposed to run until Natalie got herself hitched. Shame she got herself killed instead. Do you think Beckett did it?”

“Do you think I'd ask?”

“No, Mavis, I don't think you would. Not when good chow mein's in the offing.”

She stood up, opened a closet door, and kicked one of the boxes toward it.

“What's Win's plan now the money's stopped rolling in?”

“Oh, honey.” Her contempt was the least synthetic emotion she'd shown so far, and still there was something off-the-shelf about it. “Money keeps rolling in. Thing about Win, by the time he gets involved, there's already plenty of wrongdoing going on.”

“So he's blackmailing people. Let me guess. Diana Galway's sin is she stooped to being your boss's client. With Laurence Minot, it's photos of him and Natalie.”

Mavis's expression would shame the sphinx. “The photos are only the start. Win's holding something bigger on Minot. Don't ask. I don't know what it is.”

Proof of murder was the obvious thought—provided, of course, that Beckett hadn't killed Ruby himself. It became vitally important for me to leave, to get away from Mavis Kreutzer at once. I'd paid her a compliment by comparing her to a wax figure. Wax figures at least have a core. Mavis was a husk, hollowed out by years of disappointment. She was what Ruby had been on her way to becoming, and I fleetingly entertained the loathsome notion that perhaps Ruby was better off.

“You must be pretty positive Beckett's not coming back to tell me all this.”

“He promised me one of those pieces of Natalie's. A diamond ring I'd picked out. Should've stashed it in a coffee can when I had the chance. I'll never see it again, so to hell with him.” She pushed the box into the closet and shut the door. “You must meet people at Tremayne's who need secretarial services. Pass along my name, would you? I do good work, and I'm always open for business.”

*   *   *

SWEET-TALKING MY WAY
onto the Lodestar lot wasn't difficult with the end of workday exodus underway. But the soundstage hosting
Hearts in Spring
, directed by Laurence Minot and featuring Diana Galway in the role of Susie, still teemed with activity. As I approached I was engulfed by a sea of blondes dressed like dolls. Short gingham skirts over mountains of petticoats, hair in pigtails, circles of rouge on their cheeks. I washed ashore by a wall as they rolled past for a smoke break, tap shoes clicking.

No Raggedy Ann getup for the picture's third female lead. Diana sat in a corner of the set, a robe draped over her lacy peignoir. Waves of chestnut hair framed her face as she pored over the latest
Photoplay
the way Father Costigan used to study the
Daily Racing Form
.

“I thought those magazines were only for us fans.”

She started as if I'd woken her. “My photo spread is inside.”

“Did you smile for the birdie?”

“Four hours in the broiling sun at the Riviera Country Club and they only use two lousy pictures.” She tossed the magazine to the floor. I marveled at the speed with which she'd acquired that essential accessory to Hollywood success, a permanent sense of dissatisfaction. “I won't ask if you've heard. Detective Morrow was here this morning and told us you're in this up to your ears. We know about Ruby pretending to be a princess.”

“Give her some credit. She delivered the performance of a lifetime as Natalie. Got great notices including a marriage proposal.”

Diana tensed. Let her wonder from whom the proposal had come. We were both acting now, and while Diana had the training I had the motivation.

“She overplayed it, I'll bet, knowing Ruby,” Diana said. “Loads of grand gestures.”

“But an authentic Hungarian accent. You said Gene told
us
.”

“Yes, well, apparently, Laurence did know Natalie in a professional capacity. Remember I said she wanted to be an actress.”

“Meaning he lied to the police before.”

“No, he simply forgot he'd been introduced to her at the studio. In a
professional capacity
.”

All the theatrics were making me tired. Maybe that was why I'd washed out as an actress. I lacked the stamina for it.

“I doubt a
professional capacity
is what got your husband punched in the face. Or why you hired a private investigator to follow him.”

Diana's transformation was jarring. First the tears, hot and sudden. Then her face collapsed, revealing the emotions roiling beneath. The raw materials of her trade laid bare. “It wasn't supposed to turn out this way. Laurence had become so distant. And Ruby was too busy to talk to me about him. I was alone. Of course I'd heard of Princess Natalie. Everyone was talking about her, even Laurence. Then he started spending more time away from home. I knew Natalie was his type. An aristocrat. Everything I'm not. I never thought—” Her voice caught, and she began weeping even harder. “Did Ruby hate me? Is that why she'd go to all this trouble? Because she hated me that much?”

There was no calculation to her show of neediness, no technique. It was like watching a world-class jockey lose control of a thoroughbred, and I wanted the spectacle to end before someone got hurt. “This wasn't about you,” I said. “You knew Ruby. She never planned anything.”

“I'd try to get a look at this princess at parties,” Diana said. “But she was always on the other side of the room, or had just left. I got it in my head she was avoiding me.”

“She was. You two couldn't meet face-to-face. You'd have queered Ruby's disguise.”

“I know that now. But at the time it only confirmed my suspicion Laurence was seeing this Natalie behind my back. I had to
know
, don't you understand?”

“I understand. So you hired Winton Beckett.”

Her nod was accompanied by a shuddering sob. Tracks of mascara bracketed her nose, but somehow she was still gorgeous and somehow I still felt sorry for her. The world was a truly unjust place. “He followed Laurence for two weeks and told me I had nothing to worry about.”

I wondered if Beckett had ever formulated a sentence containing even a kernel of truth. “And what did he tell you late last night or this morning, once he knew the truth about Natalie was out?”

“How … how did you know?”

“I used to read tea leaves.”

“Beckett called this morning before Detective Morrow arrived. He told me he had photographs of Laurence and Ruby together. He wanted money to hush them up. I asked why
I
should pay since I'm the wronged party. He said the photos only existed because I suspected my husband of having an affair. Worse, he
was
having an affair, and the woman in question was murdered. He's right. The scandal would ruin me.”

“You told Gene this?”

“No. I didn't. I couldn't.”

“You will. Your career isn't the most important thing on God's green earth.”

“Lillian!”

“Listen to me. If Beckett didn't kill Ruby, he knows who did. You have to tell Gene. Or I will.”

“You're right. I was only … it's been a terrible day, you see.” She flashed a life-will-go-on smile as she palmed the tears from her cheeks. “It's not often you learn your late best friend seduced your husband under a false identity and now you're being blackmailed because of it. I'll call Detective Morrow once we finish filming. I will.” She caught sight of herself in a mirror and yelped. “Good Lord, I look a fright! I need to get to Makeup at once!”

With a flutter of robe, she was gone. Her performance machinery was clanking back into place, but wasn't fully oiled yet. I didn't believe for an instant she'd call Gene.

*   *   *

THE FIRST TWO
phones I encountered were props. I was going for the hat trick when a voice said, “Hey, don't I know you?”

A tall man studied me with puzzlement. His jug ears did seem familiar. “You an actress or something?”

“I tend toward something.”

Behind him the gingham dollies trooped back to the set, arranging themselves in concentric circles. “Cripes, I remember! I was at your screen test.”

My heart fell to my shoes and continued on toward Peking. “You remember that? It was ages ago.”

“Oh, but sister, you were the worst.” He shook his head and started to walk away. “Maybe ever.”

“At least I made an impression,” I hollered after him. It wasn't much consolation. Especially when I was shushed by five people.

A preoccupied Laurence Minot leaned forward in his director's chair. With his call of “Action,” the set filled with music and tapping. Relentless, implacable tapping.

The dancers had surrounded an oversized canopy bed. Diana feigned sleep while a dream sprang to life around her. The girls tapped like their lives depended on it, the machine-gun clatter echoing. The lead dancer's feet were a blur while her face held a frozen grin. I feared she could lose her footing or her sanity at any moment. The music climaxed as two burly men just out of frame mercifully hoisted her before the camera for her close-up.

Laurence issued an unimpressed “Cut.” He spoke a few words to an assistant at his side, then lit a cigarette. My phone call could wait.

“Not now, I'm thinking.” Laurence waved his hand to dismiss me and almost ignited my sleeve.

“I don't work for you.”

He turned quickly toward me, then retreated as much as the canvas chair would allow. “I'm beginning to wonder if you work for anyone, considering how often you're underfoot. Here to commiserate with my lovely wife?”

“I already have. We were talking about Natalie Szabo.”

“A bolt from the blue, that. Diana's old pal pulling a fast one on everybody.”

“Including you.”

He shrugged. “No sense denying it now.”

“Not everybody had met Ruby before. You had.”

“Along with three hundred other people at my wedding. Ruby was Diana's friend, not mine.”

“If I put on a wig and some of Claudette Colbert's togs, would you recognize me?”

“You're a sight taller than Claudette. And I could shoot you from both sides.”

“Touché. When you two became involved, did you know Natalie was practically engaged to Armand Troncosa?”

Laurence flinched, to my immense pleasure. “I was only involved with Natalie professionally. And I never want to hear that greasy rat bastard's name again.”

“Did you two cross swords?”

“We exchanged words.”

“On what subject? Horseflesh? Tweed prices?”

“He objected to my interest in Natalie. Or Ruby. I explained the facts in plainest English, then made the mistake of turning my back on that perfumed pretty boy. He sucker-punched me.”

“That doesn't seem like Armand's style. I'm picturing you taking a wild swing and him hitting back. Accurately.”

“Think what you want. I've got more pressing problems.”

“And one of them is named Beckett.”

He hurtled out of his chair. “How do you know that? You didn't hear it from Diana because I haven't told her.”

“Great. Beckett's blackmailing the pair of you and neither one's told the other or the police. What does he have on you?”

“Some photographs that could be easily misconstrued in light of Ruby's death.”

“Sure. It looks like you're canoodling when you're actually discussing Ibsen. That's the only hold Beckett has on you?”

“It's all the hold he needs.” Laurence gazed in disgust at the neon meringue that was his set. “Fighting to save my job when it's been reduced to this. I directed
Journey's End
on stage, you know. Brothers in arms, mankind at his best. That was something real. But this gossamer nonsense?”

“It looks like a wonderful dream.”

“You'd say that. You're a woman. All you want is a happy ending.”

“What's wrong with a happy ending?”

“Name a single soul in line for one.”

The jug-eared fellow told Laurence the next setup was ready. I left to continue my quest for a phone. I didn't trust either of the Minots to do the right thing.

I trudged across the Lodestar lot as the sun set and starlets fanned out through the city for highballs and merriment. Ahead for me was the meatloaf at the corner diner. If I timed my entrance right, I could claim the thick slice at the heel. It wasn't much of a happy ending. But I'd settle for it.

 

24

ON THE SEVENTH
day, I did not rest. The usual Sunday horde of marcelled Visigoths laid waste to Tremayne's, and I did my level best to help them sack and pillage. I'd told Gene all I'd learned and hoped for an update without expecting or receiving one. That night I ate stew with Mrs. Quigley and Miss Sarah, listened to Jack Benny, and turned in feeling as giddy as I once did on Christmas Eve, certain my dreams would be fulfilled come morning.

But Monday's newspapers brought only coal for my stocking. They contained no mention of Princess Natalie's true identity, the absence giving rise to many a dark surmise: that Barney Groff was again abroad in the land; and that Diana and Laurence were conspiring together, jointly stonewalling Gene about Beckett's blackmail.