Authors: Michael Murphy
All That Glitters (26 page)
A voice came over a speaker paging Amelia.
She checked her watch. “If you two don't have plans, why don't we have dinner tonight?”
We did have plans, but Laura's face told me her answer. I nodded. “We'd love to. We're at the Hollywood Hotel.”
“That's wonderful, because in the morning, I'm taking a ship to Hawaii to finalize my flight.”
“Hawaii?” Laura's mouth dropped. “We just talked about taking a vacation when my picture wraps up, didn't we, Jake?”
“We talked about it.” I hated boats.
“I have to admit traveling by ship bores me; that's one reason I prefer flying.” Amelia kissed Laura's cheek and shook my hand with a firm grip.
I had a hunch Laura and I would see more of her when she returned from Hawaii.
When she crossed the terminal to the front desk and picked up a phone, I held Laura's hand, and we went outside. We crossed the street to the parking lot. Inside the Chevrolet, I started the car. “What a nice surprise running into one of your friends. She seemed surprised to see you
with me
.”
Laura checked her look in the rearview mirror and fluffed her curls. “Now, darling, remember, you were in Florida.”
“Writing every day and playing poker Saturday nights with my senior-citizen pals while you welcomed in the new year in a scandalous red dress.”
Laura snickered then covered her mouth with her fingers. “I'm sorry, dear. I'm not used to seeing you like this.”
Jealousy wasn't in my nature, but several times over the past week, Laura had tried to confess something about William Powell. “You wore the dress for William Powell, didn't you? You never got around to telling me about the two of you.”
“There never was a âtwo of us.' To make a long story shortâ”
“I think I prefer the long version.”
Laura shut off the ignition. “We met at a party after one of my plays. Bill was charming, dashing, and married. He talked all night about Carole Lombard, who was off making a picture somewhere.” Laura squeezed my hand with her left one, with the diamond on her third finger. “A month later, Bill returned without Carole. They'd quarreled over a movie she was about to star in with Clark Gable. I never dreamed they'd split up.”
She remembered a great deal about her past with William Powell.
A young couple holding hands ran across the lot. Laughing, they stopped beside a white convertible with
Just Married
written on the side window. He swept her into his arms and set her in the front seat.
“Bill invited me to a New Year's Eve party at Jimmy Walker'sâ”
New York's mayor? “Mayor Jimmy Walker?”
“Mayor Jimmy Walker.”
“My poker nights with the boys pale in comparison.”
Laura let go of my hand. “I'm sure there were women.”
Except for the first six months in Florida, when I spent most nights trying to forget the pain of breaking up with Laura, there weren't other women. “There was Stella. I met her at a little coffee shop on the beach, charming Spanish accent, old Florida money, and a terrific poker player. She kept the boys and me entertained with bawdy jokes.”
“She sounds lovely.”
“She was, except for the whisker growing from a mole on her chin, her blue hair, and a sixth toe on her right foot, which wasn't particularly noticeable except when she wore sandals, which was every day. We were in Florida, remember.”
Laura couldn't hold back laughter.
I waited until she could continue her story about the New Year's Eve party. “Well?”
“Well what?”
“William Powell. Several times this past week, you started to tell me about meeting him in New York. There must be something important you wanted to share.”
“That's it, my one and only date with a married man. Since we're getting married, I thought you should know⦔ She cocked her head. “Youâ¦you think I slept with him? Who do you think I am, Angie Burkheart?” She slid as far away from me as possible.
What a sap. I had no business asking about her life in New York. I was the one who broke things off. I left New York and moved to Florida. I didn't need or want to hear any more about William Powell or her life when I wasn't around.
Laura and I made a terrific team. We'd demonstrated that countless times since we were kids. Whether sharing an apartment, traveling by train together, or solving murders, we went together like bread and jam.
Laura sat a couple of feet away, but I'd pushed her much farther. I slid closer to her and held her hand. “It doesn't excuse my boorish behavior, but I'm sorry, very, very,
very
sorry.”
She snatched her hand back, but slowly her anger faded. Her face relaxed. “I would have expected a writer to craft a more compelling apology, but since you're very, very,
very
sorry⦔
I didn't care if we were in the parking lot of a big-city airport or a car owned by a notorious gangster. We shared a passionate kiss. Then I gazed into her dark, adoring eyes. “When your picture's over, let's take that cruise to Hawaii for our honeymoon.”
“Oh, darling that would be wonderful!” Laura kissed me and spoke in her low, seductive voice. “I'll wear that red dress.”
“The scandalous one?” I held Laura's hand and drove out of the lot. We passed the entrance to the terminal as Amelia Earhart emerged and slipped on dark sunglasses. Laura waved, but Amelia didn't appear to notice us as we drove past.
I glanced in the rearview mirror and pulled to the curb. The famous Amelia Earhart greeted a well-dressed man of Japanese descent. He handed her a small black bag, the kind doctors carried on house calls.
Laura turned the mirror away from me. “You're doing it again, darling, and don't even realize it.”
I peered over my shoulder. Amelia and the man bowed and went their separate ways. Who was this guy? What was in the bag? “Doing what?”
“Jake Donovan”âLaura kissed my cheekâ“you're being a detective again.”
PHOTO: KIMBERLY DENHAM
M
ICHAEL
M
URPHY
is a full-time writer and part-time urban chicken rancher. He lives in Arizona with his wife of more than forty years, and the five children they adopted this past year. He's active in several local writers' groups and conducts novel-writing workshops at bookstores and libraries.
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