Vintage Love (290 page)

“Only that I met him a few times socially. So did you.”

He groaned and held his head in his hands. “The weekend at the Steels and then the cruise!” Richard’s face was dark with apprehension. “If Lew Meyers gets wind of that he’ll fire you from the studio as quick as a wink!”

“That’s silly,” she protested. “A great many people must have known Taylor.”

“We were on a private party with him, on the yacht of that bootlegger.”

“I’m sure it will be all right,” she said.

“Don’t talk to anyone,” he warned her.

“I won’t.”

He was on his feet, his hat held nervously in his hand. “Maybe we can bluff things through. But there’s no telling what revelations this may lead to.”

“He was with Paramount, wasn’t he?”

“Yes. Adolph Zukor sent someone out to get rid of the bootleg booze. The place was loaded with it.”

She said, “If everyone in Hollywood who had bootleg booze was murdered there wouldn’t be anyone left alive in the entire city.”

Richard gave her an angry look. “This is no laughing matter!”

Nita got to her feet. She said, “Actually, you knew Taylor better than I did.”

Richard’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you say that?”

“I remember when you saw him at Steel’s place, after you brought word of Eric’s death. He greeted you like an old friend.”

“You’re wrong! I’d never met him before that day!” her agent protested.

Nita sensed he was lying and she also knew he was most unlikely to admit it. She said, “It wasn’t that long ago!”

“I don’t know how you got this silly idea into your head,” he decalred, his voice high-pitched with anger. “But I swear you’re wrong. Don’t tell anyone that story,” he warned her. “I promise you I’ll deny it if you do. We should be sticking together at a time like this instead of trying to hurt each other.”

“I had no intention of hurting you!”

“Saying a thing like that? You must be joking!”

“I’m sorry. I must have made a mistake.”

“It seems to me you’ve made a series of mistakes lately,” he raged. “One of them being taking that old has-been to live with you!”

“I like Irma and she’s company for me,” Nita said.

“She hates me and you must be aware of that,” Richard raged.

Nita tried to placate him. “She’s a little strange in some ways. She’s used to being on her own.”

“Ever since she’s been living with you I’ve seen a great change in your attitude towards me,” he ranted on.

“I have a dreadful headache,” she said, putting her hands to her temples. “I can’t remain in this stuffy dressing room arguing with you any longer!”

He backed down a little saying, “I simply wanted to warn you that Taylor’s name is on everybody’s lips.”

“Well, you’ve done that,” she said. “Now I’m going home.”

She left him outside the lot. He told her he was going to stop by the Beverly Wiltshire to see a client and find out any other information he could about the murder. Nita was relieved to be free of him and drove to Malibu as quickly as she could. When she arrived, Madame Irma was waiting for her with a selection of newspapers.

“The
Los Angeles Times
has the most pictures,” the old woman told her. “And a diagram of where Taylor was found. He was on his back on the floor as if he were in a trance, with his arms held straight out. A chair had fallen over his legs.”

“It could have been robbery,” Nita said, scanning the tabloid which was next on the heap.

“No!” Madame Irma said. “It couldn’t have been. He was still wearing that big diamond. And no money was taken either.”

Nita was reading another paper. “It says here that the Studio and Mary Miles Minter’s mother, Mrs. Charlotte Shelby, were notified before the police. And they didn’t let the police know but rushed to the Westlake house and tried to collect any letters or papers which might connect them with Taylor. The police arrived later and caught them in the midst of ransacking the place.”

“The Arbuckle scandal is barely settled,” Madame Irma sighed, “and now this!”

“He’s still waiting for another trial, though it won’t do him any good,” Nita said. “I tried to get him a temporary job with the studio but Lew Meyers wouldn’t hear of it.”

“I should think not,” the older woman said. “How do you happen to know such a man?”

“He’s a friend of Billy Bowers. You’ll remember Marty worked with Billy in the old days. When I first came out here Billy was very kind to me. Billy, along with Buster Keaton, have been friendly with Arbuckle.”

“It’s a strange place, this Hollywood,” Madame Irma reflected.

“I haven’t heard from Billy in a long while,” Nita said. “I must phone him. He always has good adivce.”

“You could use some now and you won’t get it from Richard Wright,” Madame Irma warned her.

Nita went to the phone in the sunken living room and called Billy Bowers. It was Murphy who answered.

She said, “This is Nita Nolan. May I speak with Billy?”

There was a moment’s hesitation at the other end of the line and then Murphy said in a surprised tone, “Didn’t you hear the news, Miss?”

“What news?”

“Billy collapsed on the set last week. He’s been in the hospital ever since.”

“What’s wrong?”

Murphy said bitterly, “The old trouble. He’s been boozing like mad since he lost his chance with Metro.”

“Oh, no,” she said in dismay.

“It was that and some other things,” Murphy said. “I think he missed you when you left.”

“I couldn’t stay on there, Murphy,” she pointed out.

“I understand,” he said. “But you know how he is.”

“Is he in bad shape?”

“Bad enough to be kept in the hospital. But I think he’ll come around all right.”

“Let me know if there’s any change,” she told him.

“I will. Try and get around to see him if you can.”

“Depend on it,” she promised.

“I’ll tell him you called,” Murphy said.

She had barely put the phone down when it rang. This time it was Jack Steel, clearly distraught. He said, “You’ve heard what’s happened?”

“I know,” she said grimly. “I don’t think there’s anyone in Hollywood who doesn’t.”

“The police have just been here asking questions,” Jack warned her. “An Inspector Moore. They’re questioning everyone, so they’ll likely get around to you.”

She said, “They know about the party on the yacht?”

“Yes,” Jack said. “If any of us are tied to this thing in the press we’ll be finished. You know what Lew Meyers is like.”

“I know.”

“I’m in debt up to my neck,” Jack went on. “I don’t know what I’d do if he cancelled my contract. There’s a morals clause in it.”

Nita said, “We haven’t reached that point yet.”

“With the police calling, the newspapers may not be far behind,” Jack warned her. “Good luck!”

She thanked him and hung up. Then she tried to reach Richard Wright in his bungalow, feeling certain that if the police questioned her they would also question him, since he had also been a member of the party. Besides, contrary to what he had sworn, she was sure he knew Taylor fairly well.

She kept ringing his number with no success. Still holding the phone she asked Irma, “Can you see any lights down at the cottage?”

The old woman went to the windows which overlooked the guest house and peered out. “No lights at all. He can’t be home.”

Over a light dinner Nita told the character actress how Richard had behaved earlier in the afternoon when he’d visited her in her dressing room, that he’d protested she was wrong when she’d suggested he’d known Taylor before she introduced them.

Madame Irma scowled. “That young man is trouble! Believe me!”

“I’m beginning to,” she worried. “Eric didn’t realize how unstable Richard is or he wouldn’t have suggested I use him as my agent. Now it’s difficult to get rid of him.”

They were finishing their coffee when a car drove up and the doorbell rang. The housekeeper answered it and showed in a man in a shabby gray suit, a crushed felt hat in his hand, and a grim expression on his lined, thin face.

He introduced himself to Nita, showing his detective’s badge. He said in a raspy voice, “I’m Moore. I’ve been assigned to the Taylor case.”

She said, “Do sit down, Inspector Moore.”

He shook his head, his sharp eyes on her. “I’d just as soon stand.”

“What do you want?”

He said, “I’ve been told you knew Taylor.”

“Very slightly.”

The lined face looked bored. “I have sworn statements to the effect that you were a member of a small party at the Steel house and that you went on a week’s cruise on the yacht of a well-known bootlegger.”

Feeling weak, Nita sat down and said, “None of that has anything to do with Taylor’s murder.”

“How do you know?”

Her cheeks flushed. “I don’t!”

“I’d say it was up to the police to find out,” Inspector Moore said dryly.

“Without question,” she agreed.

“Did you and Taylor ever have an argument?” he wanted to know.

She shook her head. “No.”

“Did you ever visit his house?”

“No.”

He gave her a look that suggested he didn’t believe her. “A photo of yours was found there, a five by seven glossy print.”

“That’s a publicity still,” she protested. “There are hundreds of them around. He could have picked one up anywhere.”

“You didn’t give it to him? Write anything on it?”

“No! Never!” she exclaimed.

The Inspector stared at her. “Well, at least you’re right in that. There wasn’t anything written on your photo. But there were some sweet things on those of the other women. Now, tell me all that was said between you and Taylor the week you were a member of the party.”

She repeated all she could remember including the story of his coming to her cabin and trying to force himself on her. “After that he kept away from me,” she said.

“You showed good taste,” Inspector Moore declared as he made some notes in a small book. “From what we’ve discovered, about half the female population of Hollywood have had affairs with him and it looks as if some jealous woman killed him.”

“Why do you say that?” Nita asked.

“There’s the testimony of a neighbor,” he told her. “She heard a loud noise late at night. She thought it might have been a tire blowing, but it was probably the shot. As she looked out into the darkness she saw a figure running down the walk from Taylor’s house. It looked like a woman dressed in man’s clothing, with a muffler around her chin and a cap pulled down over her eyes. The figure was thin and walked with quick little steps like a woman.”

Madame Irma spoke up for the first time, saying, “You’ll need a lot more evidence than that to convict anyone.”

“That’s right,” Inspector Moore said sourly. Then he asked Nita, “Do you happen to own a .38 gun?”

“No! Never!”

Ne nodded. “That’ll be all for now. I may have to come back if the department wants any more information.”

“I understand,” she said.

“Does Richard Wright live here?” the Inspector asked.

“No.”

“We have this address listed for him.”

“He owns the guest house on this land,” Nita explained.

The detective raised an eyebrow. “You involved with him in some way?”

“He’s my agent,” she said faintly.

His hard eyes were studying her. “Your agent,” he repeated in his rasping voice. “Interesting! I’d like to speak with him.”

“He’s not home,” Madame Irma told the detective, her tone angry. “And I don’t understand why you should interrogate this poor child as if she were a criminal!”

“I have a job to do, madam,” Inspector Moore said. And he asked Nita, “Is it the house down near the beach?”

“Yes. But I’m sure he’s not there.”

“I’ll check anyway,” the Inspector said. “Good night, and thank you.”

The two women faced each other after he left. Nita asked Irma, “What do you make of it?”

“I’d call him a terribly rude man!”

“He is investigating a murder. But he can’t think I had anything to do with it.”

Madame Irma reminded her, “He wants to question Richard also.”

“That really doesn’t mean much,” Nita said. “He’ll be questioning everyone who was at the party or on the yacht. Though I doubt if he’ll catch up with Tommy Gallegher.”

“Who’s Gallegher?” the older woman wanted to know.

Nita told her and they sat discussing the entire unfortunate mess. They were still talking when another car arrived and the doorbell rang a second time. Nita answered it herself, thinking it might be Richard back from the Beverly Wiltshire at last.

But it wasn’t Richard. It was Phillip Watters. He stood waiting to be invited in, his face shadowed with concern. He said, “Can I talk to you, Nita?”

“If you like,” she said. She brought him in and introduced him to Madame Irma and then asked, “What is it?”

He sighed and then asked, “May I speak freely?”

“Madame Irma is my trusted friend,” she told him.

He nodded. “All right. You know what happened to Taylor.”

“I’ve been hearing nothing else,” she said. “I just had a police inspector here questioning me.”

“About the Steel party?” he said.

“Yes.”

He paced nervously before them. “I guessed they would be here. What about Wright? Did they question him?”

“They’re going to,” Nita said. “He wasn’t in when they came. He lives in the guest cottage.”

Phillip came up to her. “Nita, you’ve got to rid yourself of that man.”

“Why?”

“He’s going to be on all the front pages in connection with the Taylor case if he isn’t careful!”

“Goon!”

“I have confidential information,” he told her. “A friend of mine has been treating Mabel Normand for cocaine addiction and she’s not responding. Her friends are desperate. Mack Sennett is trying to sell a feature she’s made and no one dares take it knowing the scandal over her head. She has a two thousand dollar a month habit!”

“So drugs are behind all this, too,” Nita said.

“Drugs and perversion,” Phillip went on. “Taylor was also on cocaine and so were some of the others. They’d been going to a place where effeminate men and masculine women in kimonos used marijauna, opium and heroin.”