Lost Among the Angels (A Mercy Allcutt Book) (14 page)

      Pretty soon, even I, who was nowhere near the front door, heard loud voices indicating some kind of quarrel was going forth within the shop. Straining my ears, I could distinguish Mr. Li’s voice and Mr. Bumpas’s, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. I heard several swear words, and a long string of Chinese syllables that might also have been swear words but didn’t sound as bad as the same words would have in English, probably because I didn’t understand them. Chinese is quite a musical language when you’re just listening and don’t have a notion what the words mean.

      Once I heard an entire sentence: “Give her back,” spoken very angrily by Matty Bumpas.

      Mr. Li said something that sounded like
dough
. My novelistic instincts vibrated as I recognized a slang word for
money
. Ha! I
hadn’t
been wasting my time when I’d read all those detective novels, in spite of what my mother claimed!

      Matty Bumpas shouted a long string of swear words that proved he was more inventive than I’d heretofore given him credit for being. Mr. Li responded with an equally long string of Chinese words.  I heard a loud noise, as if one of the men had slammed his hand on the counter, then Ernie slid away from the wall and hustled me behind a potted plant. Our backs were to the door of Han Li’s shop when Matty Bumpas stormed out.

      Chuckling, Ernie said, “I guess that takes care of that. We can go back to work now, kiddo.”

      “I thought that’s what we’d been doing since lunchtime.” By then I was totally confused and my tone of voice was rather sharp.

      “Aw, this was nothing. You oughta see me when I’m really working.”

      If this was nothing, why was it I was about to fall into a heap from being run off my feet? Before I moved here, I’d been led to believe that people in Los Angeles weren’t big walkers, which once again showed how much I knew about anything. I’d never walked so much in my life. I regret to say I borrowed from Mr. Templeton himself when I said, “Huh.”

      He chuckled merrily. By that time, it was approximately 2:30 p.m., and I’d been on my feet since shortly after noon. I was tired and thirsty and feeling abused and mistreated. I hadn’t realized how much physical endurance the private investigative business took. If I hadn’t wanted to cling to my job, even though I’d begun to wonder about the real merits of regular employment, I’d have struck him with my handbag for laughing at me.

      I guess he sensed my mood because he said in a conciliatory tone, “Say, kiddo, I didn’t mean to wear you out. Let me make it up to you. How’s about an ice cream soda?”

      Oh, my, that sounded good! Since I didn’t want to admit how exhausted I was, I said, “Well, if you’re sure we don’t need to get back to the office right away.”

      “Hell, what for?” His expression altered slightly, and he looked glum. “There’s not that much work to do.”

      The offer of an ice cream soda had perked me up a little, and I was sorry that Mr. Templeton didn’t consider his business a thriving one. This was especially true since he was my employer, and if he didn’t have enough work, I wouldn’t have any work at all. “What about Mr. Godfrey’s missing fiancée?”

      “I think I found her.”

      “Really! Why, that’s wonderful, Mr. … er … Ernie! Where is she?”

      “According to a source I consulted, she’s in Pasadena.”

      “Pasadena,” I repeated, the word conjuring up images of roses and big mansions and lots of money. I’d heard a lot about Pasadena, even before I moved to Los Angeles. It’s where the rich people lived—not new-money rich people like those in the motion-picture industry, particularly, but rich people from back East who wanted a warm place to spend their winters. Pasadena hosted a Tournament of Roses Parade every year, on January first, of all unlikely times of year to find roses blooming. “I’d love to go to Pasadena someday,” I murmured.

      As we talked, Ernie had been guiding me through Chinatown. We crossed Hill and went through the arch on its other side, which looked pretty much like the one we’d just left, except that this side had Hop Luey’s in a red pagoda. My mother would have called the architecture tacky, but I thought it was swell. It looked really Chinese. Evidently Ernie knew Chinatown inside and out because his footsteps didn’t waver as he marched along.

      “Hell, you can go there with me tomorrow, if you want to.”

      “To Pasadena?” My attention swerved from my dry mouth and sore feet and landed in a bed of roses. “Really?”

      “Sure. In fact, I wish you would. The lady might be more comfortable if you came along. You know, another woman’s presence, and all that.”

      “I’d be helping you with another case?” The word
assistant
did a pirouette in my head. He was actually using me as his assistant! After only two days at work!

      “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

      “I would,” I said firmly.

      He chuckled again. “I figured you would. Here we are.”

      Opening the door to another hole-in-the-wall place, I saw that it was in reality an ice cream parlor. It looked just like an ice cream parlor in Boston might have, except it was occupied solely by people of Chinese descent. That didn’t bother me any. Ernie guided me to a little white wrought-iron table for two and held a chair for me. He was being quite the gentleman all of a sudden. I sank wearily into the chair and murmured, “Thank you.”

      “You’re welcome.”

      A young woman with bobbed hair, a short skirt and lots of makeup came up with a pad to take our orders. I don’t know why I should have been surprised to see a Chinese flapper, but I was. She flirted shamelessly with Ernie, too, who lapped it up, the dog.

      Still and all, it had been an interesting, if exhausting, day, and I was well on my way to becoming a P.I.’s assistant!

      
Eight
 

“You’re doing what?” Chloe looked at me through bleary blue eyes and blinked several times. She wasn’t usually up at this early hour, but she and Harvey were hosting a dinner party that night, and I guess she wanted to make sure the arrangements were up to her standards. I was looking forward to the party, because Mr. Easthope would be there along with a few motion-picture actors and actresses. I’d never met anyone who worked as an actor in the pictures, although I’d met plenty of behind-the-scenes folks, starting with Harvey.

      I adjusted my hat. “Mr. Templeton is taking me to Pasadena to meet a woman a client hired him to find.”

      “Hmm. I like Pasadena.”

      “I’m glad we’re going there. I’ve always wanted to see it.”

      “Pretty place. One of Francis’s best friends lives there.”

      “Francis Easthope?”

      “Yeah.” She yawned hugely and frowned at me. “I’m glad tomorrow’s Saturday. I’m going to take you to the barbershop and get your hair bobbed if I have to tie you up and have Harvey carry you there.”

      “Tomorrow’s Friday, Chloe.”

      “Oh. Well, day after tomorrow, then.”

      I laughed. “You won’t have to do anything so drastic as tie me up. I’ll be happy to get rid of all this. It’s too darned hot here to have long hair.”

      “We’re going to get you some clothes, too,” Chloe said, eyeing my knee-length green skirt and plain white shirtwaist and man-style green tie with what looked like mighty close to loathing.

      “I don’t know why you’re picking on my clothes. I think a working woman should dress soberly.”

      “There’s sober and then there’s sober,” Chloe said wryly. “You’d look right at home in a Salvation Army band.”

      That was slightly daunting, mainly because I couldn’t feature Ernie Templeton anywhere near a woman in a Salvation Army uniform. It occurred to me that he might actually prefer a rather more casually attired secretary. Perhaps I’d work up the courage to ask him as we drove to Pasadena. I presumed we’d drive, since even he wouldn’t try to walk twenty-odd miles. I hoped.

      I scowled at my reflection in the hall mirror. “I think I look suitably attired for a professional working woman.” My voice echoed my doubts.

      “Professional working woman, my foot,” said Chloe. “I need coffee.” And she wandered off toward the kitchen where poor Mrs. Biddle was undoubtedly well under way with her daily chores. When I’d asked to borrow cleaning supplies earlier in the week, I got the impression Mrs. Biddle didn’t care for interruptions to her working schedule.

      But that was nothing to me. Giving my hat a brisk pat, putting on the green jacket that matched my skirt—and that had a fashionably lowered waist, turned cuffs, and a jaunty belt, curse it—and picking up my handbag, I hurried out of the house and strode briskly to Angel’s Flight. There I handed the engineer my nickel and sat myself in one of the little seats. I just loved that little railroad.

      For a fleeting second, I thought I saw a familiar face, but when I whipped my head around, it was gone. I’d probably been mistaken. There was no reason I could think of why Mr. Godfrey would be standing on the Angel’s Flight platform. Then again, there was no reason I could think of why he shouldn’t be there. I reminded myself that just because my first impression of him hadn’t been favorable, he still had every right to go any old place he wanted to go in the Los Angeles area. And out of it, for that matter.

      I felt particularly perky that day because Ernie was taking me to Pasadena to help him on a case. And he’d already asked me to help him with another case, that of whatever Mrs. Von Schilling’s lost property turned out to be. He hadn’t told me yet. It bothered me a little that Chloe thought I looked dowdy. Peering at my tidy but fashionable green skirt and my black-gloved hands folded over my black handbag, I thought I looked quite nice.

      When I entered the Figueroa Building and saw Lulu LaBelle filing her fingernails, my self-judgment suffered a slight check. Lulu, who was also a professional working woman, had that morning decided to appear at her job in a frilly dress with short cap sleeves, a V-neck, a dropped waistline and a very short skirt, in a vivid fuchsia color that clashed violently with her blood-red fingernails. The combination was truly eye-popping, especially when you added in her white hair. I blinked, thinking it was fairly early in the morning to encounter that particular color combination.

      Nevertheless, I greeted her with my usual enthusiasm. “Good morning, Lulu!”

      “Morning.” She yawned. I guess she was no more of a morning person than Chloe, but Chloe didn’t have to keep a job. My sympathies were stirred, and I hoped Lulu would find stardom—or at least a nice husband who would support her so she didn’t have to arise so early in the morning. “Ned was looking for you.”

      “He was?”

      “Yeah.” She grinned like an imp. “I think he’s sweet on you, honey. Watch out. Ned’s a strange one.”

      “He’s sweet on me?” For some reason, my innards went “Ew.”

      “Yeah. Until you showed up here to work for Ernie, I wouldn’t see Ned for days at a time. Now he’s out of his closet all the time.” Lulu patted her mouth to stifle another yawn. “Gawd, I hate mornings.”

      “Really? I thought this one was kind of pretty.” In truth, I thought it was spectacular, although I have to admit that the view from the top of Angel’s Flight might have something to do with my opinion. I had no idea where Lulu lived, but if it was in an apartment akin to those Ernie and I visited yesterday, I could understand her point of view.

      “Ned fixed the elevator,” Lulu informed me.

      “Really?” Now this was good news. Even though I wasn’t thrilled with the prospect of Ned favoring me, I was pleased not to have to walk up three flights of stairs since my calf muscles still hurt from all the walking Ernie and I had done the day before.

      “Yeah. We don’t have an operator, so you’ll have to open and shut it yourself. It’s not hard to do. Want me to show you how to do it?”

      “Thank you, Lulu. That would be very kind of you.”

      She squinted at me as she slid out of her chair. “You talk classy, you know that?”

      “Do I?” The information did not come as good news. I was trying to blend in.

      “Yeah. I like it. You’d be great in a play or something.”

      I would? Somehow I doubted it, but I appreciated Lulu’s endorsement. At least I think I did.

      Following her to the elevator, I marveled at her exaggerated strut. Whether she’d ever achieve stardom or not, I couldn’t say, but she’d certainly adopted most of the outer trappings of a motion-picture actress. Because I was curious, I said, “What steps have you taken to achieve your goals, Lulu?”

      She glanced at me over her shoulder. “Huh?”

      “Well, I mean, have you auditioned for roles?”

      “Oh, sure. Lots of times. There’s lots of competition, though. A girl’s gotta put herself forward, if you know what I mean.”

      “Um … actually, I don’t know what you mean. I’ve never thought about it.”

      She waited for me to catch up with her, which took a couple of steps. Then she lowered her voice and spoke in a confidential tone. “Well, for one thing, lots of girls are willing to do
anything
to get parts. You know.”

      Again, she had me over a barrel. “Um …”

      “Geez, kid, are you
that
innocent?”

      I hated to believe it of myself, but I guess I was. “Um …”

      She rolled her eyes. “I guess you are. Well …” She stopped walking, took my arm, and leaned close. “You know, some girls will actually even go all the way with a producer or a director in order to get into a picture.”

      All the way? Suddenly, I understood, and gasped in horror. “You don’t mean it!”

      She nodded. “I do mean it. It’s a crime, the way some girls fling themselves around. Like that girl they say Fatty Arbuckle murdered. She was one of the ones who’d do anything—and I do mean
anything
—to get a part.”

      “That’s … that’s pathetic.”

      “It’s worse than pathetic. It’s stupid. It never works. A girl might get cast in one movie, but then the director might not want her anymore. He’s prolly moved on to another girl who’s desperate to get cast.”