Design for Dying (32 page)

I nodded as Vi poached a slice of my bacon.

“My God.” Kay studied me with practiced concern. “Any idea who it was?”

The scale of the treachery unfolding on the tablecloth dawned on me. “Kay? Are you pumping me for information? And using breakfast to do it?”

“Can't I fix a friend a meal after a trying experience?”

“Not on a Sunday morning,” Vi said, suspicion not dulling her appetite. “You never cook Sunday mornings.”

“Oh, hush,” Kay said, but it was too late. She was hoping to ferret out more material she could use in bargaining with Groff, and knew me well enough to serve her attack on a chipped blue plate with maple syrup at the ready. The betrayal was like a knife in my heart, the blade dripping with fresh butter.

Canning the charade, Kay said, “Can't blame a girl for working every angle she's got.”

“I'm an angle now? I thought we were friends.”

“We
are
friends, sweetheart. That's why I don't exactly tumble to your attitude here. Edith Head gets to use you but your friends don't?”

One woman looking to save her job, the other fighting to forge a career of her own. I could understand how Kay thought of Edith and herself as cut from the same cloth, and I couldn't begin to articulate the many ways she was wrong. Not even to myself.

“Enjoy your breakfast,” I said. I retrieved my party clothes and headed for the door, resisting Kay's importuning to stay. The aroma of bacon was harder to ignore, but I managed.

*   *   *

THE GOUGE IN
the doorjamb where the bullet had been removed was a stubbornly unblinking eye gazing back at me, answering my question about whether the police had visited Mrs. Quigley's. I stared at it like Scrooge's door knocker, praying it would resolve into some otherworldly sign. No such luck. It remained an irregular hole in the wood.

Mrs. Quigley bustled into the lobby as soon as I entered. Normally we'd talk in her parlor, but she seemed determined to pretend the room had been excised from the building now that I'd seen Frederick. “The police were here at the crack of dawn. They ruined my door frame and didn't so much as apologize. You're to telephone them at once. You also received a call from the actress Diana Galway! With an invitation to Sunday brunch! My land, you're going everywhere these days.” She smiled at me. I smiled back. All four of our eyes strayed to the empty parlor. And we ended the conversation there.

Gene, again, wasn't at the police station. The desk officer I spoke to, however, had been issued clear instructions. I could practically hear him ticking off the boxes on a sheet of paper. “You are to remain exactly where you are and wait for Detective Morrow. You are to go nowhere else. You are to stay put. Is all of this clear to you?”

“One more time would help.”

“I am to ignore your smart-aleck comment and ask where you are right now.”

I mouthed apologies to all the saints I could think of. “At the home of Diana Galway. Let me give you the address.”

After confirming with Diana and arranging a cab, I turned to find Miss Sarah behind me. The pitiless look in her eyes said
I own you
. Even more than it usually did.

*   *   *

THE HOUSEMAID LED
me into Castle Minot shortly after eleven. I'd showered and changed into a shirtwaist dress and pumps. No-nonsense attire. I had business to attend to.

As we stepped into the backyard Diana scampered to a table in response to an unspoken call of
Places!
Laurence was already on his mark, seated and paging through the
Times
. A pool sparkled a few feet away.
Another one
, I thought, and realized I'd become blasé at the prospect of owning a swimming pool. Perhaps I'd already been in Los Angeles too long.

Husband and wife smiled hugely at me. I gave as good as I got. I wasn't walking into this matinee cold. I had lines of my own.

“Lillian, I'm so glad you could make it.” Diana's lounging outfit—wide-legged slacks and blouse that tied around her midriff—overcompensated for the previous evening's party togs. Her straw hat was a world away from her gardening one, which I assumed she'd set ablaze upon arriving home. Laurence, meanwhile, had gone full lord of the manor with a smoking jacket and ascot.

“I'm thrilled you invited me.”

“I'm thrilled you're here.”

“We're all thrilled,” Laurence said, Diana laughing as if he'd tossed off a bon mot worthy of Noël Coward. He waved at an iced pitcher of crimson liquid on the table. “Aperitif? It's Campari. All the Italians are drinking it.”

I nodded, and Laurence prepared a glass with ice and a spray of soda. I took a sip and pursed my lips.

“Bitter,” Laurence said, “but you get used to it.”

“Just like Hollywood.”

Diana laughed again, favoring me with a clap as well. “Darling, let's get Lillian fixed up with a plate.”

The creamed finnan haddie wasn't a patch on Kay's breakfast bribe. I wondered how rude it would be to ask the maid if any bacon was lying around, and if it would be too much bother to fry it up. Laurence was right about the Campari, though; it was growing on me. We passed a lively hour in the jacaranda-scented breeze discussing events at Addison's. Diana and Laurence had set aside their differences to present a unified front, punctuating their conversation with loving glances and hand-holding. All of it transparently designed to get me to give up whatever I'd learned that hadn't made its way into the papers.

But I knew better. I didn't say a word about the attempted William Tell scene on my porch or ask Laurence about Natalie's screen test. When Gene arrived, I'd flip over my cards. Until then I'd commiserate, turn their questions around, play dumb. At last, a role suited to my talents.

Laurence wearied of my act. He pushed away from the table and flicked his napkin in surrender. “If you'll excuse me, I'll leave you ladies to it.”

“Where are you off to?” I asked.

“The studio. No rest for the wicked.”

“On a Sunday?”

“Quietest day on the lot. Good chance to get ahead.”

Also, I feared, the perfect time for him to dispose of the footage of Ruby. I couldn't let him leave until Gene had talked to him. “You know, Laurence, there's something I've been meaning to ask you about picture making.”

“He would know,” Diana trilled, beaming at her man.

Laurence seemed far less intrigued. “And what's that?”

A good question. Excellent, in fact. I reached for the Campari as a delaying tactic. And spotted an unannounced guest over Laurence's shoulder.

Tommy Carpa forced his way through a hedge at the yard's boundary. The scratches his passage had left on his face along with the stray leaves in his hair and on his tattered suit should have lent him a comical appearance. But coupled with the wild, up-all-night look in his eyes—and the gun in his hand—they only made him come across as deranged. I set the pitcher down as he ran across the lawn, moving so quickly I began to think I was dreaming.

Then Diana shrieked. At least I knew I was awake.

Laurence wheeled toward the source of his wife's distress as Tommy clouted him across the head with the gun. The move spared him the worst of the blow, which still gashed open his temple. Laurence braced himself against the table, then tore the ascot from his throat and pressed it to the wound. It was, so help me, one of the most dashing things I'd ever witnessed.

Tommy loomed over him, breathing heavily. Not from physical exertion but the effort of holding himself in check. He wanted to kill Laurence, this second. “Tell it, Minot.”

“Tell what, old man?”

“The story of you and Ruby. Although you'll probably louse it up. I seen your pictures. Story ain't your strength.”

The comment wounded Laurence more than the blow to the head. “I don't know what you mean.”

The last ember of logic died in Tommy's eyes as he jabbed Laurence's shoulder with the gun. “I loved her.
Loved
her. And you didn't even know who she was.”

Another poke with the pistol, harder this time. Laurence huffed out a breath in pain. I had to say something before Tommy became unhinged.

“Tommy, calm down. The police are looking for you. They found your car at Addison Rice's house.”

“I'll tell them why I was there. I was shadowing this bum. Have been since I heard about his little movie with Natalie.”

“Movie?” Diana whispered.

“The screen test you had her do. The one she pinned her hopes on. The one that meant everything to her.” Tommy hunkered down next to Laurence, pressing the gun into his ribs. “How was she?”

“She was good.” Laurence cocked his head. “Wonderful, actually.”

“You're goddamned right she was wonderful. You know how I know? Because she was acting
every second
she was with you.” Tears welled in Tommy's eyes but never sounded in his voice. “You didn't need to put my girl in front of a camera. She
lived
her screen test.”

Diana wept silently into her napkin.

“You're right,” Laurence said. “I've got much to atone for. I treated her shabbily. But I swear to you, I didn't kill her.”

“She fooled you. It was on camera that she fooled you, and that would end you. Is that what you and Beckett talked about last night?”

Laurence stiffened. “I never said a word to him.”

“I saw you. Moving like a bat out of hell to get away from him.”

“Exactly.” Laurence shifted in his seat and, for some reason, began making his case to me. “I spotted Beckett at the party. So I went to find Addison.”

“Beckett knew everything.” Tommy's voice had no life in it, like a recording that was winding down. “He knew you'd shot the screen test. Knew you'd killed Ruby.”

“I'm telling you, I didn't.”

“It all leads back to you, showman. Your catting around with her. Your harpy of a wife here hiring Beckett to follow you. Beckett pushed Ruby to the brink. But he's out of the picture now. You're the only one I've got left.”

Left?
Had Tommy just confessed to killing Beckett? Was he about to do the same to Laurence? Laurence clearly had the same thought, because he dropped the ascot and threw himself on Tommy's mercy.

“I'm sorry. For everything I've done. But I didn't kill anyone.”

“You heard him, Tommy,” I said in my most soothing tone. “Maybe you have the wrong man.”

Tommy turned to me. Which allowed Diana to rise from her seat and point at her spouse. “You bastard! You lying bastard!” She slapped at Laurence's head. Tommy spun back to the two of them. I exercised my only option. I tossed my glass onto the tiles surrounding the swimming pool. It shattered, the last of the Campari looking like a splash of blood.

Tommy pivoted toward the sound. Laurence kicked a chair into his legs. Exhaustion had frayed Tommy's nerves and his reflexes. He stumbled into the table, the pistol slipping from his hand and skidding toward the blue water of the pool.

Diana's high-heeled shoe stomped on it. She snatched up the gun and leveled it between Tommy and Laurence, and uncomfortably close to me. I tried to decide if it was better to have the gun in the hands of a vengeful gangster or a betrayed actress. An answer never came to me.

“Baby, listen,” Laurence foolishly started, and it all went downhill from there.

The gun swung toward him. Tommy tensed, ready to lunge for it. Diana backed toward the house so she could keep an eye on everyone. “Don't either of you move!”

“Diana, this is silly. Give me the gun.” Laurence used the fait accompli voice I'd heard him deploy on set. Away from the cameras, it didn't pack the same punch.

“You've cheated on me every day since our wedding, haven't you?”

“Yes. As you knew I would.”

“But with Ruby? My friend?”

“I didn't know she was Ruby. I honestly didn't. She certainly wasn't your friend.”

His words were only strengthening Diana's resolve to pull the trigger. “Give me one reason why I shouldn't shoot you in the heart right now,” she said.

The world-weariness in Laurence's reply was breathtaking. “Because it's too small a target, my dear. You're not that good a shot.”

“I've got a reason,” I said. “Anybody want to hear it?”

No? No takers? Too bad. I was going to say it anyway.

“Shooting someone in front of the police is a bad idea.”

Diana looked at me with contempt, as well she should have. The trick had whiskers on it. Good thing it wasn't a trick.

Gene had dispatched two uniformed officers to the house's side door to prevent Tommy from escaping. That meant Gene could devote all his attention to Diana. Knowing her, it was the smart approach. He stepped out of the house, arms wide. “Miss Galway. Put down the gun.”

Diana hesitated, mainly to extend her big moment. The woman knew how to take direction. She set Tommy's pistol on the table then collapsed in her chair with a sob.

Tommy, to my amazement, allowed the cops to slap handcuffs on him without protest. Eyes now clear, he looked at Gene imploringly. “Talk to Minot. He was about to give it up. He killed my girl.”

“Hardly,” Laurence said. “He confessed to killing Beckett himself.”

Gene nodded at the uniforms, and they manhandled Tommy into the house. Tommy spoke over his shoulder with a chilling calm. “He's the one you want, Morrow. Ask his wife.”

There followed a moment of silence, broken only by the song of birds who'd skipped rehearsal and didn't know their cues. Gene finally spoke. “I'm so glad we arranged to meet here, Miss Frost. I suggest we attend to Mr. Minot's injury. Then someone can explain what in the hell is going on around here.”

“Better call Publicity at Lodestar,” I told Diana as I pushed in my chair. “You apprehended a fugitive and only lost a highball glass. That definitely deserves a spread in
Photoplay
.”