The Ghost and the Femme Fatale (23 page)

JOHN
: You’re a bitter little lady.

EVELYN
: It’s a bitter little world.

—Hollow Triumph,
1948

“I’M BACK,” I
called, pushing through Buy the Book’s front door.

The shop was still busy. Aunt Sadie was back behind the counter, ringing up sales. Brainert had been waiting for me in one of our overstuffed chairs. He leaped to his feet the second he spotted me.

“Where have you been?” he demanded.

“I went looking for Barry Yello at the Comfy Time Motel. You won’t
believe
what I found.”

Aunt Sadie turned the cash register over to Mina. Then she tucked the Gotham Features hardback under her arm, along with a few other books, and led Brainert and me back to the shop’s storeroom, where we could speak in private.

As soon as the door closed, I told them what I learned about Barry Yello, ending with the grisly scene at the Movie Town Theater, and the scent of Hedda’s rare orange blossom perfume Vouloir.

My aunt couldn’t believe that the FylmGeek .com guru had been murdered. “We heard the sirens,” she said, “but we didn’t know what was going on. He was poisoned, you say?”

“I think the killer laced Barry’s soda, which ended up spilling all over me.”

Sadie glanced at my saturated slacks. “Bag them when you change your clothes. The forensics people will want them.”

“So you saw everything?” Brainert asked.

“Well, I didn’t see the poisoning, if that’s what you mean. But I found Yello’s body. Unfortunately, I disobeyed Eddie Fran-zetti’s command to stay put. I took off before the police could grill me. Any minute, I expect Chief Ciders to come stomping into our store looking for my statement, so talk fast.”

Sadie opened her book on the history of Gotham Features Studio. Just like Fiona, she’d attached Post- its to several pages. She flipped the pages to one of them.

“In the last chapter, we found this passage about Irving Vreen,” Sadie said. She took the glasses that dangled around her neck—today’s chain was faux- pearl—and balanced them on the tip of her nose.

“ ‘Within three years after Vreen’s death, his wife passed away,’ ” she read aloud. “The studio, already close to bank ruptcy, went into receivership and its assets were sold off. With the family fortune gone, Vreen’s daughter, Margaret, twelve at the time, was adopted by a family friend, Sydney Kline, a production chief at Paramount Studios.”

“Irving Vreen’s daughter was named
Marg
aret
. . . as in Maggie?” I said. “And she was adopted by a man named Kline?”

“That’s right,” Brainert replied. “And look here . . .”

He snatched a paperback from Sadie’s pile. It was one of Maggie Kline’s mystery novels.

“I thought we’d sold out of those,” I said.

“This is my personal copy,” Aunt Sadie replied.

Brainert opened the book to the About the Author page. “Look here,” he said, tapping it. “Maggie’s biography says she’s the adopted daughter of Sydney Kline, an executive at Paramount Studios.” His eyes met mine. “Maggie Kline must be Margaret Vreen.”

“Oh my god,” I said. “Any chance it’s just a wild coincidence? Is she even the right age?”

Brainert nodded. “I’ve already done the math—Maggie comes off as a youthful spirit, but she just turned sixty- nine. Wendell confirmed it for me. Her age is exactly right. She would have been twelve in 1951, when her mother died and she had to be adopted out to a family friend.”

“If Maggie Kline is Vreen’s daughter, then she has every reason to want to pick up where Dr. Lilly left off,” I said. “Once she reads Dr. Lilly’s book, she may even want to see Hedda prosecuted for her father’s murder.”

Sadie nodded. “If Hedda knows who Maggie really is, then she must know the woman is a terrible threat, and Maggie’s life may very well be in danger.”

Brainert nodded grimly. “We have to warn Maggie before the festival dinner to night.” He glanced at his watch. “Speaking of which, I have to go home and change. I’m expected to cohost this event so I have to arrive early.”

I remembered my own damp slacks and soggy shoes. “I’ll meet you at Chez Finch. Hopefully Seymour’s there already, and he can keep things under control until we arrive.”

Brainert left and Aunt Sadie went to the front of the store to close up for the day. My cell phone rang and I answered.

“You called?” Seymour said.

“Where are you!” I cried.

“In the lobby of the Finch Inn, waiting for Hedda to come down to the big dinner. She went upstairs thirty- five minutes ago and hasn’t budged since.”

“Where was Hedda before that?”

“Our diva told Fiona she was going on a long walk, but Fiona didn’t know where. I followed the trails around the pond but saw no sign of her. Finally I gave up and came back to the inn. That’s when Hedda returned.”

I pondered the time line and realized Hedda’s “walk” provided more than enough time for her to poison Barry Yello and stroll back to the inn, with no one the wiser.

“Where’s Harmony?” I asked.

“Missing in action, so far. No eye candy for me today.”

“Well, don’t take your eyes off Hedda until I get there!” I commanded. “I’m convinced she’s a murderer, and I don’t think she’s done killing yet.”

“Whoa, hold on. Give me some kind of heads- up. Who do you
think
Hedda is going to kill next?”

“No thinking about this one. I’m sure Hedda’s next victim is Maggie Kline.”

I CHANGED AS
fast as I could, tearing off my saturated clothes and stuffing them into a plastic bag. I washed my legs and feet off in the tub, grabbed an old, black cocktail dress from my closet and zippered it on, then slipped on patent leather slingbacks and grabbed my eve ning clutch.

Just as I was about to race out of the apartment, I turned around, ran back to my bedroom, and reached into my leather shoulder bag. I quickly transferred Jack’s old buffalo nickel to my black purse.

“Okay, Jack,” I whispered. “Come on!”

Good girl. I can’t watch your back if you don’t take me with you!

Minutes later, I was swerving my Saturn into Chez Finch’s crowded parking lot. By now the sun had set and the restaurant was radiant in the deepening twilight. Light streamed through its romantic French doors and arched windows, reflecting off the water and giving the entire scene a golden glow. Laughing couples in 1940s’ costumes were already crowding the entrance, with more jovial guests crossing the parking lot.

I’d just climbed out of my Saturn when I spied Maggie Kline rolling across the lot, behind the wheel of Dean Pepper’s Lexus. She probably thought I was crazy, the way I waved her down.

“Stop, Maggie! Please stop!”

“Whoa, Mrs. McClure, what’s up?” she called through the open window.

“I have to speak with you, it’s urgent,” I said. “It’s about Hedda Geist- Middleton.”

Maggie frowned. She jerked her head toward the empty passenger seat beside her. “Get in.”

I climbed into the car. Maggie was dressed casually in jeans, a pressed white cotton shirt, and scarlet high- top sneakers. She circled around the lot until she found a spot well away from the other cars, near the path that led to the light house. I saw the parade of solar lights marching up the trail into the darkening woods.

Maggie cut the engine, released her seatbelt, and faced me. “Okay, Mrs. McClure, I’m all ears. What’s this about?”

“Hedda is going to try to kill you to night,” I blurted out. Then I slowed down and told Maggie everything I’d discovered so far, ending with a personal revelation.

“I know Maggie Kline is not the name you were born with. I remember you said people in Hollywood change their names all the time. You did, too, didn’t you? Only not for a casting call. You changed your name when your father and then your mother died, and you were adopted. Your real name is Margaret Vreen, isn’t it?”

In the uncertain light, I could see the pained surprise on her face. People often liked to bury their pasts, and I hated to invade her privacy, but this was life or death.

“You’re right,” Maggie said nodding slowly. “My father was Irving Vreen. The past was difficult for me, and I’ve done my best over the years to leave it behind me. It hasn’t been easy. Every day of my life, I’ve lived with what happened—not just to my father, but to my mother, and to me. But listen, Penelope, just because Hedda was involved in my father’s death, it doesn’t mean she wants to kill me, too.”

“No, Maggie, don’t you see? Hedda’s already killed Pierce Armstrong, the last witness to your father’s murder. She killed the woman who wrote about it, too. Dr. Lilly was on the verge of making the Vreen murder big headline news again, maybe even the next big retro Hollywood crime story. With Pierce Armstrong’s interviews I’m sure she could have done it, too. Obviously, Hedda didn’t want that to happen. She murdered your father in cold blood sixty years ago. She let Pierce take the fall for her while she blackmailed a district attorney and exploited his statutory rape of an underage girl. Then she got off scott free!”

I took a breath. Maggie was still staring at me. She looked a little shocked that I knew so much, that I knew the whole story.

“Hedda Geist may have been a blonde beauty in her day,” I added, “but the truth of her life is bitterly ugly, and if the details hit today’s news cycles, it would ruin any standing she’d worked to gain for herself and her children. You’re the only one left, Maggie. Don’t you see that? Once you’re gone, there’s no one left to threaten Hedda Geist anymore.”

Maggie’s eyes glazed over; she seemed to be pro cessing my flood of words. I couldn’t blame her. It was a lot to take in.

“Okay,” she finally said, “but even if everything you say is true, I think I should make an appearance at the dinner. Hedda can’t murder me in plain sight, Penelope. Can she?”

“I suppose you’re right,” I said. “If we act naturally, we may be able to trap Hedda.”

“I’m glad you told me all this,” Maggie said as she reached for a huge tote bag in the backseat. She pulled it up front and set it down between us. Then she glanced up and appeared to see something out the window on my side of the car.

“Is that her now?” Maggie asked. “Is that Hedda over there on that path?”

I turned, giving Maggie my back so I could peer through my passenger-door window. I could see the dimly lit trail to the Charity Point Light house. But I couldn’t make out anyone on it.

Next to me, I heard Maggie open the zipper on the tote bag. Almost immediately, I smelled something familiar—orange blossoms? The cloying, familiar scent was so strong it quickly filled the car’s interior.

I frowned, still squinting into the dark for any sign of Hedda. But my mind was quickly wondering—“What’s Maggie Vreen Kline doing with Vouloir, the signature perfume worn by Hedda Geist Middleton? The same scent I detected near Barry Yello’s corpse?”

Look out, doll!
Jack bellowed in my head.

I whirled around to see Maggie with a heavy metal flashlight in her hand. She’d pulled it out of her tote and was raising it to brain me!

Move, baby! Now!

Freezing cold air blew in my face. The shock of Jack’s icy blast made me rear back away from Maggie at the last possible moment. I slammed against the car’s passenger window, and the heavy swinging flashlight missed my head by inches, connecting hard with my thigh instead.

“Ahhh!”

Pain shot through my leg. Maggie quickly swung again, but this time I was ready. I put my left arm up to deflect the blow from my head, and she clipped my elbow this time. Stinging tears sprang to my eyes. But I was still conscious. And alive.

“Thanks, Jack.”

Don’t thank me yet, baby. Fight!

Maggie raised her arm again, ready to strike.

Grab her wrist, doll. Keep her from swinging. Then clock her yourself!

I lunged for her wrist, gripped it with my left hand, then swung at her jaw with my balled- up right fist, just like Jack advised. It was a clumsy attack. My hand missed Maggie, flailed backward, and bounced off the steering wheel. I yelled in pain—

Swing again, babe! Don’t stop till she does!

I did. I swung again. This time I struck flesh—hard. Maggie grunted and her head snapped back. She slumped forward, her torso hanging over the steering wheel. I shook her, but her movements were like a rag doll’s. The woman was out cold.

My thigh was bruised, my hand was throbbing, and my elbow was stinging something awful. I cradled my wounded joint until the agony faded to a dull but per sistent ache.

In the struggle, Maggie’s tote bag had spilled across the front seat. I saw an airline ticket among the debris. I picked it up and read the itinerary; then I glanced in the backseat and saw a small suitcase on the floor.

“Maggie never intended to go to the dinner to night,” I realized. “She booked a flight out of Providence, departing in two hours.”

Back to Arizona?
Jack asked.

“No. This ticket’s for an international flight to Costa Rica!”

With Maggie’s flashlight, I searched through the stuff that had spilled out of the tote. I spied a small glass vial. It looked medicinal but I couldn’t read the prescription label—it was written in Spanish. And the vial was empty.

Did this contain the poison Maggie had used on Barry? I wondered. I was about to give up the search when I found a second, identical vial—also marked with a prescription label. It, too, was empty.

“Wait a second. If the first one contained the poison to kill Barry, then where did the poison in the second vial go?”

Looks to me like she used it, doll.

“Oh, god.” I closed my eyes. Hedda had been a killer once, but she wasn’t the killer now. “Maggie must be trying to poison Hedda!”

You better warn her.

I jumped out of the car and raced across the lot. I entered the restaurant at a run and pushed past a crowd of people waiting to be seated. As I burst into the dining room, I saw a commotion at the center table.

I heard a woman’s frantic call. “Grandmother’s fainted!” I recognized the voice immediately. It belonged to Harmony Middleton.

“Hedda’s collapsed, please give her room,” Dr. Rubino commanded.