This Dame for Hire (11 page)

“I need phone numbers and addresses on these, Bird.”

“Sure thing.”

As I hung up my hat and coat I heard her go back to the typewriter.

“Birdie, I need those pronto.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

“What’re ya typin?”

I could tell by the expression on her face that she was doing something personal. I could also see she was thinking about fudging the truth.

“Ah, Faye. I’m writin a letter to Pete.”

“A letter? Why? Ya see him every day.”

“Yeah, but now I’m not.”

“What happened?”

“A friend a mine saw him in a Fifty-second Street jazz joint with another dame.”

“Some friend,” I said.

“I’m glad she told me so I would know just what a two-timin louse he is.”

I coulda told her that without seeing him with another gal.

“Maybe it was his sister, Bird.”

“He don’t have a sister.”

“Cousin?”

“Nah. Stop tryin to make me feel better. He’s a crumb bum, and it’s time I faced it.”

“I’m sorry, Birdie. I really am.” And I was.

“Thanks. I’ll get right on this list.”

“Good.” I went into my office and sat down at my desk. I was flipping through the mail when I heard the phone ring. Then Birdie yelled my name.

“Yeah?”

“Pick up. It’s an Alec Rockefeller.”

TWELVE

There was a moment when I thought I’d heard wrong and almost asked Birdie to repeat. But in my marrow I knew she really had said Alec Rockefeller.

I reached out to the phone like it was a snake. My hand hovered over the receiver, and I noticed a slight tremor in my fingers. Then I asked myself what the hell I was afraid of and that pushed me to pick up the phone.

“Faye Quick,” I said.

Nothing.

“Hello.” I lit up a Camel cause I couldn’t talk on the phone without a cig.

Nothing.

“Hello.”

“Faye Quick?”

“Yeah. Who’s this?”

“Alec Rockefeller.”

I didn’t bother to tell him there was no such person cause I knew he knew this. He sounded muffled, like maybe he had a handkerchief over the mouthpiece.

“What can I do for ya, Mr. Rockefeller?”

“Isn’t it more like what I can do for
you
?”

“Okay. I’ll bite.”

“I didn’t kill Claudette West.”

“Thanks for bein so honest, Mr. Rockefeller. What makes ya think I’m gonna believe that?” I tipped my head back and blew out a plume of smoke.

“Why shouldn’t you believe it?”

“Let me count the ways.”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

“Isn’t that what you want to know?”

I ignored the question. “I’d like to meet ya, Mr. Rockefeller.”

“I bet you would.”

I couldn’t figure how he knew I was looking for him. I hadn’t even begun.

“Mr. Rockefeller, ya want to tell me how ya knew to call me?”

“I have my sources.”

“So do I. Why don’t ya tell me yer real name?”

There was only the sound of static on the line.

“Alec?”

“Why are you calling me Alec if you don’t think that’s my name?”

“What should I call ya, Ishmael?”

“Why not?”

“Yeah, yer right. Ishmael is as good a name for ya as Alec is. Tell me yer real name.”

“Now listen, Miss Quick. I want you to stop looking for me. I’ve told you what you need to know. There’s no point in going any further.”

“Just cause ya tell me ya didn’t kill Claudette proves nothin.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to take my word for it.”

“Why are ya so scared to meet me?”

There was a silence, and then he spoke like he was clenching his teeth.

“I’m not scared, Miss Quick. I just choose not to.”

I heard the click when he hung up like it was a clap of thunder.

I stubbed out my butt and lit another. I’m not a chain smoker, yet certain times called for it. How did this guy even know I was on the case?

Had that wormy-looking girl at the Bailey gallery overheard my conversation with Mrs. Skeffington? And what if she did? Mrs. S. knew there was no Alec Rockefeller, so the girl did, too. And what was I thinking . . . that the girl was in on this scam with whatever his name was?

So who was he? He didn’t threaten me, but there was menace in his voice. If I didn’t back off, I wondered if he’d come for me, punch my ticket? Most cons didn’t get violent, but ya never knew. Somehow I had to find him before he got to me.

I went out to Birdie.

“What exactly did that guy say?”

She looked at me like I was crazy.

“I told ya, Faye.”

“All of it.”

“From when I picked up?”

“Yeah.”

“I said, A Detective Agency, how can I help ya?”

“And he said?”

“Does a Miss Faye Quick work there?”

“Ha!”

“Ha?”

“Go on. What next?”

“I told him, yeah, ya worked here. Then he asked to speak to ya, and I asked him who was callin. Just like ya taught me, Faye. Did I do somethin wrong?”

“No, of course not, Bird. Go on.”

“Well, he said it was Alec Rockefeller callin. I have to say I was a little surprised that a Rockefeller was callin here, but I didn’t let on. I said one sec, and then I covered the mouthpiece and yelled out to ya. That was it. The whole thing. What’s goin on?”

“He didn’t say anythin else?”

“Yeah, he asked me out on a date.”

“That’s a real knee-slapper, Bird.”

“Sorry. But what else
would
he say?”

“Did his voice sound disguised?”

“Disguised from what?”

“I mean did it sound to you like he was maybe talkin through a handkerchief?”

She gave it a second’s thought. “No. It was nice and clear. And I could tell he was young. Funny how voices change as people get older. Gals, too. Ever notice that, Faye?”

“That’s a very interestin observation, but it’s for another day. I guess there was no way to tell where he was callin from, huh?”

“Well, there was a lot a noise in the background.”

That was strange cause I didn’t hear any noise. “What kinda noise?”

“Like a lotta people.”

“So it was from a public phone then?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Ya mean like in a saloon?” I asked.

“Nah. It was more than that.”

“Whaddaya mean
more
?”

“It was noisier. More people and other noises.”

“What kinda other noises?”

“I knew ya were gonna ask me that. I don’t know, Faye. Just other noises.”

“Street noises? Car horns and such?”

“Come to think of it, no. Didn’t sound like he was on a street.”

I said, “When I picked up, there wasn’t any background noise at all. Seems like maybe when he was talkin to you he had the door open of a booth then closed it when he was talkin to me.”

“Sounds right.”

“But not on the street.”

“So what, Faye? There’s lots of phone booths that aren’t on the street.”

“Yeah, but they don’t all have a lotta noise in the background. Ya know what, Birdie? I bet he was in Grand Central Station.”

“Well, then ya shouldn’t have no trouble findin him.”

“Yeah. Yer right. What am I thinkin?”

“So which Rockefeller is he, Faye?”

“No Rockefeller. That’s the point. He passes himself off as one.” I told her what I knew.

“So how’d he know about you?” Birdie asked.

“That’s what’s got me bamboozled. I haven’t asked anybody about him yet. The only people who’ve even mentioned him to me are the Wests and Myrna West’s brother.”

“So maybe it was one a them told somebody about ya.”

“Even so, where’s the connection to this phony Rockefeller?” Then I remembered Porter West’s reaction when I told him the guy he knew as Rockefeller was an impostor.

“Ya may have somethin after all, Bird,” I said as I rushed back into my office.

I dialed West’s number.

“Porter West’s office,” said a very snooty-sounding girl.

“I’d like to speak to him. Tell him Faye Quick is callin.” My cig had died in the ashtray so I lit up again.

“Faye who?”

“Quick, like in fast.”

“May I ask what you’re calling about?”

“No, you may not.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“That’s quite all right. Now put me through.” I woulda liked to give her one in the chops.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to know—”

“Look, girlie, he’ll be damn mad at you if ya don’t put this call through. Tell him my name and see.”

“Just a moment.”

West came on the line before I could count to five.

“What is it, Miss Quick?”

“Are ya over yer shock about Alec Rockefeller yet?”

“I’m still not totally convinced.”

“Yeah? Why is that?”

“I’ve made some inquiries of my own.”

I had my answer before I had my answer.

“What kind of inquiries?”

“I checked with some of Claudette’s friends.”

I tried not to sound steamed. “Mr. West, I thought we agreed that I’d do the detectin.”

“I have a right to speak to my dead daughter’s friends, don’t I?”

“Sure thing. But now you’ve given her friends a heads-up so they might be on their guard when I interview them.”

“You intend to interrogate Claudette’s friends?”

He was getting my dander up. “I intend to interview a lotta people, Claudette’s friends included. So who did ya talk to and what did ya ask?”

“I spoke to Claudette’s closest friend, June Landis. I asked her about Alec.”

“What did she say?”

“Not too much. But she confirmed that he was who he said he was.”

“And how did she do that? I mean, how did she confirm it?”

He cleared his throat. “She said she had no reason to doubt him.”

“And that’s why you’re not sure he’s an impostor?”

“Yes, June would never lie. I’m sure she wouldn’t.”

“I’m sure she wouldn’t either. Did ya tell her you’d hired a private eye?”

“I don’t recall.”

“Would ya try to recall, please.”

“Why is that important?”

Talk about getting hot under the collar, I was burning up. “Mr. West, when I ask ya a question, it’s
because
it’s important. I’m not makin idle chitchat here.”

He was silent for a moment, and I thought maybe he was gonna hang up on me again. Then he said, “I’m sorry, Miss Quick, I simply don’t remember. I know I told someone, but I’m not sure who it was.”

Terrific. “Ya mean you called a lot of Claudette’s friends and asked about Alec?”

“A few. Yes.”

“Can I have their names, please?”

“Why?”

“I’m losin my patience here, Mr. West.”

“I don’t think you should bother these nice young people.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes.”

“Did ya ever think that maybe one of these
nice young people
murdered your daughter, or knows who did?”

“That’s outrageous.”

“I’ll tell ya what’s outrageous, Mr. West. Alec Rockefeller just gave me a jingle and told me to back off. Now how did this impostor know who I was and what I was doin?”

“But I don’t even know where or who he is.”

“I believe ya.
You
don’t know, but somebody does. Maybe one of the nice young people ya called.”

“I see.”

He gave me their names, addresses, and phone numbers. After that we said our goodbyes. I dialed June Landis.

Her mother said she was sleeping, but I didn’t take no for an answer. I told her I was investigating the murder of Claudette West, and that got her attention.

June got on the horn in a few minutes, and I made an appointment with her for later that morning. I’d find out from her who was the best candidate for me to see next. By the end of the day maybe I’d have some reliable info about Alec Rockefeller’s real name and likely stomping grounds.

I left my office and spoke to Birdie.

“Ya don’t have to work on that list anymore.”

“But I have most of them done.”

“Let’s see.”

She handed me the list. The five names West had given me were there along with phone numbers and addresses.

“Ya did a good job, Bird.”

“So why don’tcha want it then?” She brushed back her blonde hair over her right shoulder.

I explained.

“So maybe you’ll end up needin these other ones.”

“If I do, there’ll be time enough for you to work on them. Now it’s more important for you to finish yer letter to Pete.”

“Ah, I don’t think I’m gonna send it.”

“Why not?”

She looked up at me with those big brown peepers. “I think you were probably right. I mean, how do I know the dame he was with wasn’t his sister?”

“I thought ya said he didn’t have a sister.”

“Yeah, that’s right. So maybe it was his cousin like ya said. I mean he’s innocent until proven guilty, right?”

“Right. Are ya at least gonna ask him?”

“Sure. Sure I’ll ask him. Tonight.”

I knew she wouldn’t, but it was her life not mine, so I let it go at that. I gave her an encouraging smile, got my things together, and went off to keep my appointment with June Landis.

THIRTEEN

June Landis was definitely whistle bait. Blonde, tall and slinky, skin like marble, eyes so blue they looked salty, and a mouth that must’ve driven the guys wild. She was wearing a dark blue dress with buttons down the side and a collar that looked like a sailor suit.

The living room we sat in was snazzy but a long way from comfortable. What was it with these people who were in the bucks? Hadn’t they ever heard of soft furniture?

A maid with skin the color of Hershey’s milk chocolate served us coffee and little buns.

“Thank you, Hattie,” June said. When the maid was gone, June allowed as how we could now begin the consultation, as she called it.

I’d already thanked her for seeing me, so I didn’t have to go through that deal again. I put my cigarette out in a crystal ashtray, eyeballing those little buns. I wanted one, but didn’t think a snatch and grab would go over big, so I waited for the Landis dame’s cue.

“I’ve been told that you were a close friend of Claudette’s,” I said.

“Her
best
friend.” She blinked back tears, puffing on her Chesterfield at the same time. A neat trick.