A place of fog and murde.., p.8
A Place of Fog and Murder, page 8
My heart chilled.
Maybe I couldn’t do anything to stop bad behavior from men like them, but I would help Marley, here and now. She was a gem. A damn fine friend.
“Whaddaya think about me working for —” she started.
“You’re hired,” I blurted out, sucking down my coffee too fast. Oh crap! Could I really afford her? Could I afford not to hire her? “Let me lay all the cards out for you, before you place your bet. This might not be the steadiest gig you’ve ever had.” I explained about everything that came to mind about the reality of investigative work.
Marley took it all in and proudly announced she was my new secretary and researcher.
It took us about twenty seconds to hammer out salary, hours, and requirements. She had the guts to ask for a fair wage. I was happy; she trusted me to be on the level with her. Anything else wasn't cricket. We also covered the topic in inconsistent caseloads again. I insisted. I wasn’t holding out on her, I owed her that much. Overall, she was okay with it.
She tapped out her cigarette. “I’ll call Mr. Franklin and inform him I’ve quit.”
“You telling him about the lost account?”
“Sure. I should. I don’t want to leave on bad terms — not too bad. What would my new employer think?”
“You should have popped Franklin in the mug a long time ago. How about your stuff at the office?”
“What stuff? Nothing in that office belongs to me.”
I had to laugh. “Well, so we’re clear, you can bring personal items to the office. No setting up a boudoir,” I winked at her. “Some comfortable things to give the space your own touch.”
“A woman’s touch?” she asked ridiculously.
“Beat ya’ to it.” I grinned big as a day. “In all seriousness, you don’t ever have to take that from a client of mine. Ever. If they can’t treat employees of Tanner Private Investigations with respect, they aren’t clients of Tanner Private Investigations.”
On conclusion, we shook hands. A strong, mutual promise to one another.
I PACKED NOT MY CAT off to his radiator bed when the phone rang. I snagged it before Marley did. Habit. I needed to let Marley do her job. In agreement, she leaned over and gave me a look that said, “No more of such nonsense, missy.”
“Lulu, darling! How are you?” Long distance static screeched on the line.
“Nora?” I checked my wristwatch. “Aren’t you supposed to be at a bar?” These days, when weren’t the Charles’s at a bar?
“Oh, Nicky and I took some time off to shop. They don’t like us stumbling around so we’ll head over to The Gin Joint after.”
“Find anything good to buy?”
“No,” she said, her voice slipped off into a dismal place. “Winter clothes are so bulky and hideous.”
“Well, promise me you’ll have a Firecracker at the Joint, in my honor.”
“That’s what I’m calling about. Congratulations.”
Nick made himself known, loudly, in the background. “Tell her to keep a gun in her drawers, oopsie, I mean drawer.”
“Tell Nicky I’ve got both.”
Some conversation went on outside my hearing, and I pictured Nora either swatting Nick or telling him to go pour her a Rye.
“Now, Lulu darling, we’re coming home next month, and we’d love to see you.”
“Absolutely. When —”
Nick interrupted. “Here, give me that. No, you go pour me a drink, you’re my wife, aren’t you? I married you for more than just your money. Lou, are you there?” By the sound of it, he hadn’t waited until after shopping for his adult libation of choice. “Are the boys, and now girls, still meeting at the Marc Hopkins?”
“We sure are. I mean, how else can we steal clients from one another and show off who made it into the news?”
He cleared his throat. “Well, let me tell you, when I first went to one of those gatherings, nobody was a somebody yet. Those weren’t merely chances for drinking buddies to hang around together, we were serious about exchanging ideas, information, all that sort of stuff.”
I knew that. Nick knew that I knew that. Why did he always explain to me what I already ... Oh never mind, at least he cared enough to say something. “We still meet Thursday nights, Nick. But, warning, Philip Marlowe is in the habit of coming up from LA these days.”
Nick grumbled something substantial but incoherent. As it was Nora back on the line, I couldn’t tell if he’d grumbled about Marlowe or having to give the phone back to Nora.
I bet she squished up her nose at him, such was her private signal to him. I've seen it before. “It’s been a while since we’ve attended one of the gatherings.”
“Marlowe may show up,” Nick shouted in the background.
“Oh,” Nora replied, her voice trailing off in disappointment. “Well, the bar is big enough to avoid him, I suppose.”
“I think Phil’s charming, if a little full of himself,” I offered. “It’s Miles Archer who gives me the willies. He’s never been the same since Hammett wrote the book, the one where he was murdered.”
“Never make a writer angry, they’ll put you in a book and kill you off dreadfully,” Nora said. “Darling, I called to congratulate you and to tell you we’ll be home soon.”
“Thank you. And?”
“Well ... be careful. You’re smart, Lulu. And Joe Parnaski taught you everything he before ...”
“I know.”
“Well, I’m worried about you, that’s all. You have a new office and your licenses. You really are in business now.”
“So, you did receive my announcement postcard?”
“Just today. I mean ... what I’m trying to say is ...”
Poor dear — always worrying and pretending not to be. “Nora — don’t worry. I’m fine. I even have my first case. A simple missing person case. A wild daughter who’s misplaced herself at the moment. I promise to watch my back and to keep you apprised of the case.”
Nora sighed. “I’d like that. I’m sorry to be such a mother hen.”
“Don’t be. Now give Nick a kiss for me and we can chat later.”
“Tell her, Nora,” Nick said.
“Tell me what?”
There was a long pause. “You realize Nicky is still connected even though he's retired? He still gets news on the grapevine. Well, he learned about something he doesn't like.”
“Give me the phone,” Nick demanded.
“No, Nicky. I'm taking care of this. Where’s my Rye? Lulu? Sorry, where was I? Yes. Nicky got wind of a rumor that you are being, oh, how do I put this?”
“Being what,” I asked, my heart crept up in my throat.
“Observed. Something about an incident on your father's train a couple of months ago.”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh that. The Treasury Department has been doing more than watching. They’ve been sending me on annoying errands —”
“Treasury? No. We’re hearing something from —”
“Give me the phone, woman!”
“Nicky, where's my drink? Heavens. Lulu darling, we’re hearing some folks in the military are interested in you.”
Trolleys and ‘Crawlers rumbled by, clanging bells and making other intense noises.
Every sound, including my own heartbeat, pounded from one side of my skull to the other.
I remembered the note.
You’re being watched.
Had Mason gone ahead and sent in the terrible report to the War Department? And were they now surveilling me? If I saw things I shouldn’t at the Pointe, was it the Militia?
I shook myself out of it. “Anything dangerous? You know, don’t you, I would never do anything to compromise the country?” My mind raced to the collection of papers from Mason. Yes, I read the report he’d held over me. Where was Mason's retraction statement? If I had half a brain, I'd put it where no one would find it.
“Of course, you wouldn’t, Darling. But Nicky and I think you should keep an eye out. Pay attention to what’s behind you as well as in front.”
I shook my head, as if she could see me over the telephone wire. Mason. What was wrong with that man? Or, had the Charles’s learned of the rumor before I’d finalized things with Mason? That was much more likely. But why the military and not Mason's Treasury Department? Who did the rumor originate from? I asked Nora.
“No one had an answer, but the rumor mill says you noticed or learned something you shouldn’t. Not a first for you flatfoots.” She called over to Nick, “Right? You’re always sticking your nose in where it shouldn’t be?”
Sure Nora, as if you didn’t do that too. “Not to worry.” My anxiety was starting to ebb like the tide. “Everything from my last assignment is all done, nothing out of the ordinary was seen,” I lied. “There will be no more assignments from that source. But, I'll keep following Nick’s useful advice when it comes to dangerous circumstances. Good habits are good habits, regardless of the case, right?”
“There’s the sensible Lulu I know. So Nicky and I don’t worry too much, would you give us a call now and then? And we’ll get together once we’re back in town.”
“It’s a date. And Nora ...”
“Yes?”
“Thank you. Please tell Nick ‘thanks’ too.”
The click disconnected our call leaving me cut lose and drifting in a sea of unknowingness. I missed them. Nick was sometimes more pompous than he meant to be, but it came from years of experience.
The one thing I lacked, I needed to develop more local contacts. Truth was, I hadn't gone to the Thursday gathering of detectives in a very long time, certainly not since Nick and Nora left town for the long term. A good P.I. had contacts. I should be hearing this sort of rumor for myself.
Damn Mason. This was his doing and my blood pressure suffered from it. I told him everything, I gave him everything, albeit the morning after, but I didn't hold back on him. I was on the level with him. I guess he’d never understood the fact you can’t squeeze blood from a turnip.
To satisfy myself, I went to the window and scratched Not My Cat on his head while looking down at the street. No one out there. Perhaps the rumor was older than my finale with Mason. Still, I wanted to secure his written statement in case I needed it as my Get-Out-of-Jail-Free card from that board game.
In the front office, Marley was rearranging things and fussing around.
Chapter NINE
Promises tend to be emptier than an old bottle of gin, feel just as great when taken as a whole, and just as good at giving you a hangover.
~Lou Tanner, P.I., Notes for female Pemberton Graduates, 1935
ONE O’CLOCK, AND MR. Lockwood arrived with business-like punctuality. To his surprise, and likely some pleasure, Marley showed him in.
Dressed dapper and swell, Lockwood was the picture of excellent taste. Blue suit, white shirt, grey tie.
From the look of his face, Lockwood still wasn’t sleeping well. Deeper dark patches under his eyes. His skin wasn’t perfect, which I liked — perfection was overrated. In the daylight, I noticed he had texture to his skin which Nature had graced him with, much to the chagrin of fashion mavens everywhere who demanded flawlessness and perfection. Still, those eyes weren’t seeing dreams and his overall body-stance spoke volumes about his exhaustion. Anxiety over missing stepdaughter might cost a man his health, if he liked her, but every move and gesture Lockwood made was telling me a lot more. was it his import business causing him worry too?
Despite all, Marley gave me a look that said, “What a dish.”
“So, you decided not to type my invoice yourself?” He sat down. A nice attempt at humor.
Not My Cat hopped off the sill and wandered out to Marley before she closed the door behind him.
I had the sensation he was looking me up and down, now the light was flooding in the window. A rectangle shadow, from my painted name plate, covered my desk.
Confession. I didn’t mind him checking me over. Hell, I’d done it to him, and turn-about was fair play. And for every second he got a better look at me, I got a better look at a man who shouldn’t be divorced. Where were all the ladies looking for love? Money, looks, manners. Why no new doll clinging to his arm? What was he doing alone?
Keep it professional, Lou. “What did you find in Frannie’s room?”
“A cheque. Written to her.”
I took a long look at it. Unsigned. Written from an account belonging to Charles Allen Burton Proctor III. People with four names tend to be people from families who pay by the word for their offspring. I recognized the name. Maybe my former railroad princess alter-ego knew him or maybe met him once. I couldn’t put my finger on it.
“Blackmail? Is this proof that Frannie was blackmailing this fellow,” he asked, with a tinge of guilt in his voice.
“It’s unsigned.” I held it up and looked at it through the bright light streaming in the window. Chapter 28: On Forgery had some very useful techniques for recognizing forgeries. “No pencil marks on the amount or receiver’s name.”
He came to stand by me and an electric pulse rushed through my body again. “As if copied from another cheque or a letter?”
I nodded. Smart man. “Only means they didn’t copy it by tracing in pencil first. That would be an amateur move. The writing is fluid, so at first glance, I’d say this was written by someone comfortable with putting their writing on paper. Do you have anything by Proctor we can compare it to?”
I looked out at the street as a hack and two ‘Crawlers raced by.
I saw the guy leaning against the light pole. Tall stature. Overcoat. Big-brimmed hat. The indigent from the other night? Was he following Lockwood? I only saw him when Lockwood was here, otherwise he might be following me. Nah.
Maybe I should worry.
You’re being watched
Lockwood shook his head. “Cab Proctor and I don’t move in the same circles.” A strand of hair fell in his face. The circles under his eyes were bothering me. Maybe I was just being a Mother Hen. Then, he looked at me — dead in the eyes. We stood trapped in place for a moment. Voltage was arcing between us. He smelled good.
“How about something of Frannie’s? We can likely establish whether or not she forged this.”
“Nothing with me, Miss Tanner, but I think I can find something.”
I hurried away from my window and any dangerous attraction I had to my client. At my desk I lined up the cheque and pulled a camera out of my drawer. Same drawer my bourbon bottle resided in. He saw it and raised an eyebrow. I did not choose to reply.
I took several camera shots of it, close and further away. Once done, I handed him the cheque. He didn’t take it from me.
“Don’t you want to hold onto it?”
I shook my head. “I have copies now, once my roll of film is processed. You should put it back.” I removed the roll of film, asked him to wait a moment, and stepped out to Marley.
“Think you can check on someone I think is tailing Lockwood? And not get caught doing it?” I whispered.
“Of course. I can drop that,” pointing to the roll of film, “at the drugstore. Where’s the tail?”
“Light pole, down from the big window. Thin guy. Cheap overcoat. Cheaper hat. Can’t make out his face. Smoking right now, I think. Kinda’ tall.”
Marley winked, grabbed her coat, and headed out. Not My Cat took up her seat, enjoying the warmth she’d left behind.
“You be careful,” I whispered — out loud. She gave me a sharp nod before closing the door.
I walked back into my office, to find Lockwood was still holding the cheque.
For a moment, I was sure he was ready to panic. “Must I return it?”
I kept seeing him from different angles and in different lights. He was the kind of man who melted into his environment by choice. It was a good habit for a businessman. Yet, in the light streaming through my window, he looked lost. Not incompetent or weak, simply lost by all the unfamiliar, uncertain landscapes he was roaming.
I found it attractive in an odd way. “It’s unsigned and uncashed. Put it back exactly where you found it. If it turns up at the bank,” I held the cheque out to him again, “then you have proof she’s still around. You’ll also have proof she’s been to your house.”
With reluctance, as if touching a canister of mustard gas, he took it back.
“Mr. Lockwood, you are able to get back in again?”
He blushed a little. “Yes. I think I can. Irenie has a regular schedule. I have an idea when I can go there — safely.”
"Thank you, Mr. Lockwood. It’s important. Of course, I wouldn’t mind a chance to examine her room on my own. From a PI’s point of view. At which point, I can return the cheque for you. You wouldn’t need to be involved unless I need to prove I have permission to be on the property. In case I’m seen.”
“That would be nice. But it might cause too many problems. I need to take you. You, and this cheque.” Ah, so he had a bit of the backbone he had been holding in reserve.
“When Irenie is not at home.”
He chuckled. “Wouldn’t it be ironic? If Irenie came home and found us ...” He broke it off. “She wouldn’t believe you were there on a professional level. As an investigator, that is.”
He smiled. Damn. I realized it was the first time he’d relaxed with me around. I had so many questions, but not now. Beyond anything else, he needed confidence in me, certainly enough to sneak us both into his house. Too many questions now would ruin everything.
“Irenie goes to dinner at a club every night now, unless she’s hosting what she calls a ‘party.’ According to the housekeeper ...”
