An Adrien English Mystery: The Dark Tide (19 page)

I felt my chest tighten watching him. I'd never really considered the stark prospect of myself in extreme old age, because I hadn't figured I'd live to an age where I needed to worry about nursing homes or assisted living. If you didn't marry, if you didn't have kids…who looked out for you?

“Jake Riordan. We spoke on the phone. This is Adrien English.”

Hale offered a liver-spotted hand, and we shook. “I remember, I remember,” he said testily, waving us to a couple of uncomfortable plastic chairs. “You called to talk about Jay Stevens.” Hale nodded and kept nodding. He gave a harsh laugh. “Jay Stevens. Kee-rist.”

“You remember him pretty well?”

“Oh hell yeah. He and the Moonglows used to play at the Tides.” I could see the glow of old pride. “The Tides. That was a club I used to own in Malibu. Best damn jazz club on the coast. Everybody used to come out there, though there wasn't much out that way in those days.

Seals. We used to get seals up on the beach sometimes. And sharks.” He chortled at the idea of sharks.

“How long did Jay and the Moonglows play at the club?”

“Two years. Near as.”

“How did you happen to hire them?”

“Jay contacted me and said they were looking to move out West. They'd been playing the clubs back East for a couple of years, to pretty good reviews. The piano player, Paulie St. Cyr, had lung trouble. He'd been advised to move west to a drier climate, so they were looking for a steady gig in California.”

“And you hired them based on that?”

“I had them out to audition. They were good. Very good. And they had a new record.

Seemed like they were really going to go places.” His face had a melancholy cast to it. “And there was Jinx.”

Jinx Stevens. The femme fatale with the pert ponytail.

“Jinx was the singer?”

“Sounded a lot like a young Dinah Shore. Yeah, she did a rendition of 'Every Time We Say Goodbye' that didn't leave a dry eye in the house. Yep, Jay Stevens and the Moonglows used to perform every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. On Friday and Saturday we had guest bands.” You could still hear the old satisfaction. “I got some of the biggest names in the business to come out and play for me. Goodman—
that
was a night—Ella, Sinatra… We were out in the middle of nowhere, but they all came.”

Jake took over. “Sir, they found what they believe to be Stevens's body—his skeleton—

buried in the floor of what's left of the hotel where he used to room. According to the preliminary forensics, it looks like a potential homicide. Do you have any thoughts on that?”

Hale started laughing. It was only the threat of disintegrating into another coughing jag that stopped him. “That's exactly like Jay. Turning up when it's too late to do anyone any good.”

“How's that?”

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It was lost in a coughing fit. I feared he might expire right in front of us. Finally he managed a strangled “always was a contrary bastard.”

Jake asked, “What did you think happened to him?”

The watery black eyes studied him. “Thought he did a flit, if you want to know the truth.”

“Would he have left his sister and the band like that?” I asked.

“Footloose and fancy-free, that was Jay.”

“Wasn't there a girlfriend?”

It was interesting watching Jake question this very old, very frail man. He took his time, and he was surprisingly gentle—surprising, if you didn't know him.

Hale's mouth moved, but no words came out. Maybe that was nothing more than an oxygen issue, because his voice sounded normal enough—in its creaky, wheezy way. “Kee-rist, I'd forgot about her.”

“Would you remember her name?” That was Jake.

“Louise…something. She was a college professor or some damn thing.”

“A college professor?”

He laughed wheezily at my surprise. “The ladies all fell for Jay. He was a very hard guy not to like. Even when you wanted to kill him.”

“Did you ever want to kill him?” Jake's voice was bland.

Hale laughed again. “Sure. But I didn't.” He eyed Jake thoughtfully. “Ex-cop?”

Jake nodded curtly.

“I can tell.”

I didn't want him veering off on that track, not least because I wasn't sure if this was painful or not for Jake, and so I asked, “This Louise hired a PI to find him after he disappeared, didn't she?”

His eyes narrowed to squinty lines. “Did she? I don't remember that.”

Jake said, “Had you heard rumors that Stevens was suspected of taking part in a number of uptown burglaries?”

“You've been talking to Nick Argyle,” Hale said shrewdly. “Argyle was convinced Jay was the Westside Cat Burglar. He was always hanging around threatening to put Jay behind bars…”

His expression altered as if something had occurred to him.

“What?” Jake pressed.

Hale reflected. “That might have been partly because of Jinx. I always thought he had a thing for Jinx, Argyle did. Kee-rist, who didn't?” He grinned, a shade of the sharp young blade he'd once been. “Yeah, used to sit there drinking my booze and eating her alive with those beady eyes every time she was on the bandstand. Or maybe it was the thought of locking Jay up and throwing away the key.” Another of those scary, hacking cough-laughs.

“So you don't think there was any truth to the rumor that Jay was a cat burglar?”

“Nah.”

I was pretty sure that was a lie. I was careful not to look at Jake.

“How did Jay take being suspected by LAPD?”

“Thought it was a big joke.”

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Josh Lanyon

“He didn't worry about it?”

“Nah.” Hale said sardonically, “Jay wasn't a worrier.”

“Looking back, can you think of anyone who might have wanted Jay out of the way?”

“Argyle,” Hale returned promptly.

“
Argyle?
The cop?”

“Sure.” He was amused at my surprise. “He was determined to put Jay behind bars. He thought Jay was laughing up his sleeve at him—and he was, of course.”

“Anyone else?”

Hale's black gaze flicked to Jake, and he shook his head. That time I was positive he was lying.

“Was Jay Stevens a very good musician?” I asked.

The rheumy eyes focused on me. “He was; he was.” He smiled faintly at a faraway memory. “One hell of a musician. Had a very fluid style. Fun, energetic. He didn't improvise the way Goodman did, but his playing was…engaging.”

I remembered Nick Argyle had used the same word. “Engaging.”

“Do you think the Moonglows would have made it to the big time if Jay hadn't disappeared?”

“No.”

“No?” He sounded absolutely positive, which made me curious. “You said they were good, that people said they were going places.” I could see Jake wondering where I was headed with this line of questioning. I wasn't sure myself.

“Music was changing. It was all Frank Sinatra, and I don't mean his swing numbers, or bebop. And then those goddamned bobby-soxers wanting to hear Frankie Avalon or rock and roll. You ever hear that song 'Go Bobby Soxer'?”

“No.”

“Yes,” Jake said, and I looked at him in surprise. “Chuck Berry,” he explained.

“I wish those broads
had
gone. 'Wiggle like a whimsical fish.'” Hale shook his head in disgust. “Those goddamned kids ruined music. It was all jungle bunnies and limeys after that.

Even Jinx didn't want to sing the old-fashioned stuff anymore. That's what she called it.
Old-fashioned
.”

“Jinx was leaving the band?”

I couldn't interpret Hale's expression. “Well, she didn't make an announcement or anything. We were going to get married, though. Everyone knew that. And I didn't want any wife of mine on the road. Jay was talking about moving on.”

I wasn't clear whether Jinx had been retiring due to the new direction in music or because she planned on settling down with Hale. I looked at Jake. I could see by his expression, he thought we'd hit gold.

“How did Jinx take her brother's disappearance?” he inquired.

Hale began to cough. The spell went on so long, I started thinking we should call someone.

Finally he calmed down.

“Sorry. What was the question?”

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“How did Jinx take her brother's disappearance?”

“Not good. Not good at all.”

“What did she think happened to him?” A thought occurred to me. “Who
did
report Jay missing?”

“Jinx. I told her she was being silly.” Hale grimaced. “Turned out she was right.”

I said tentatively, “You and Jinx didn't end up getting married?”

“No.”

It would have taken a colder resolve than mine to broach that fortress. I went a different direction. “Did you stay in touch with her? What happened to her?”

He stared at me for a long time. “She died,” he said at last.

“I'm sorry.”

He waved it away. I wanted to ask more about Jinx, but it was obvious he was worn-out.

Jake rose, saying, “This has been very helpful, sir. Would it be all right to contact you with any follow-up questions?”

There was a wicked glint in Hale's eyes. “Sure. Come back. It's nice to get company in this crypt. I don't get much in the way of callers. Even the cops are welcome now.”

Jake seemed thoughtful as we stepped outside the nursing-home's front doors.

I said, “What do you think?”

“I think he's pretty lonely, and maybe we'll have better luck next time.”

“You didn't think we learned anything useful?”

“We learned plenty that was useful. Mostly between the lines, because what he was telling us was largely a pack of lies.”

“He's still in love with Jinx Stevens.”

Jake snorted.

“Hey. Call me a crazy romantic. Hale was smitten. He's still got smite marks all over him.”

Jake was gazing consideringly at the distant freeway. “The traffic's at its worst now. You want to have dinner up here, or should we start back?”

It had been a good day, a great day, but all at once I was done. Dinner and bed. That was what I wanted. The idea of sitting in a car for another half an hour—let alone two hours or more in traffic—was intolerable.

It must have been there on my face to read, because he said immediately, “No? What's up?”

“Nothing. I guess I'm more tired than I realized.” I made a face. “You know when you had me call my doctor to make sure I was okay for traveling?”

The lines of his face sharpened. “So help me, Adrien. If you lied about that, I'm going to strangle you.”

“Of course I didn't lie. But he—my doctor—suggested that if a trip was longer than two hours, it might be a good idea to stay overnight.” He made a smothered sound and stared skyward as though requesting God to stop him from committing a mortal sin. I forged on.

“Would you, er, mind if we found a hotel tonight? I'll pay, obviously.”

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Josh Lanyon

He put both hands on his hips and glared at me. “You think it's just about the money, do you? What about my time? You realize I'll have to cancel my date for tonight?”

“Your…date?” I regret to say that my shock at the idea was only too obvious, and that was pretty stupid too, because why the hell
wouldn't
Jake have a date? Wasn't I the one who had predicted it'd be all wine, women and—well, wine and song with him for the next decade or so?

So why was I stricken at this unsurprising news?

I blinked at him. He stared right back at me, tough and unsmiling, and then a tiny, malicious smile touched his mouth. “Gotcha,” he said.

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Chapter Ten

We booked a double room at the Sea View Hotel, scant yards from the nursing home. The hotel looked older than the nursing home and was not as nicely maintained. Tiles were missing from the roof, and the garden was overgrown. Small things rustled in the vines and spiderwebs glinted between the leaves of cactus. The palm trees were shedding on the walk. Inside, it smelled musty, and the furnishings looked like they dated from the 1920s. This must have been where family stayed when they wanted to visit the old folks. It had an air of funereal efficiency to it like a busy undertaker's.

The shapely receptionist was red-haired and freckled. She wore an eye patch.

Not that there's anything wrong with that.

She couldn't seem to tear her eyes—eye—off Jake. He smiled back at her, a glimmer of the old rakish charm as I handed my credit card over.

“One room, two beds,” I said.

Card ran and room keys in hand, we headed across the glassy floor of the lobby.

“Welcome to de Hotel California,” I muttered to Jake as we stepped into the elevator.

“'This could be heaven or this could be hell'?”

“A lot will depend on the mattress.”

Our room was at the end of a long, dark hallway decorated with sepia photographs of old Santa Barbara. Though supposedly nonsmoking, the room smelled of cigarettes. We opened the windows, and the breeze off the ocean gusted in, rank and salty.

“You want to get room service or go down to dinner?” Jake questioned.

“What do you prefer?”

“Up to you. If you're tired, we can eat up here.”

The funny thing was, though I'd felt way too weary for the drive back to Los Angeles, the knowledge that Jake and I were spending the night together was unsettlingly energizing.

“Downstairs, I think.”

He nodded, switched on the TV, and stretched out on the bed nearest the window, hands behind his head to watch the news while I called Lisa to say I'd be late getting back and we'd have to put off the trip to the horse farm till Wednesday, after the never-ending cardiac rehab.

“It would serve you right if I let you break the news to your sister,” Lisa said darkly.

“Where are you exactly?”