Fallen Angels (8 page)

Simon Chalmers sighed again. “I’m probably
wrong about that. I don’t know.”

But I wasn’t so certain he was wrong. I
couldn’t wait to tell Ernie what I’d learned.

Chapter Five

“I’m only going to tell you this once, Mercy.
Stay out of the Chalmers business. Don’t pretend to be an
investigator. Don’t even talk to anyone concerned with the case. It
involves a vicious murder, and it might well be dangerous for you
to do any snooping. Do you understand me?”

Ernie was furious. And all I’d done was
propose my well-thought-out theory of what might have happened at
the Chalmers residence the day before. I must say that he looked a
wee bit better today than he had on the day mentioned. Still, that
didn’t mean he could dictate to me what I could and couldn’t do on
my own time.

“I understand you, Mr. Templeton, believe me.
You want me to butt out, as you once so eloquently put it. However,
I’m not willing to do that. Why, if we don’t find the true culprit
in this crime, the L.A.P.D. might pin it on you. I’m not going to
sacrifice my employment because you don’t want me looking into a
murder that might well be blamed on you.”

“Your employment.” Ernie’s sneer was a work
of art. “I don’t know why you want to work anyway. You’re already
richer than God.”

Drat the man! He’d pegged me for a rich man’s
daughter the moment he saw me. I guess they teach things like that
at the police academy. You know: how to differentiate among the
classes we in the United States aren’t supposed to have. Still,
that piece of detection had convinced me that he was good at his
job and that I could do worse than to emulate him. In some ways. In
others, he was the last man on earth I’d want to copy.

“Nonsense. Why, I’ve already interviewed Mr.
Simon Chalmers, Mr. Chalmers’ son, and learned that the late Mrs.
Chalmers was crazy as a coot.”

At Ernie’s ironic expression, I amended my
statement. “Those are Mr. Chalmers’ very words. They’re not
mine.”

“Of course not. You’d never be so unrefined
as to call anyone crazy as a coot.”

Blast the man. “Anyhow, Mrs. Chalmers had
recently joined the Angelica Gospel Hall, and was spending vast
quantities of money there. It’s quite possible that either the
younger or the older Mr. Chalmers did her in to curtail her
extravagance.”

“If either of them did it, they curtailed her
extravagance with a vengeance, I’d say. There are a lot of easier
ways to curtail a woman’s spending habits than by killing her.”

“I agree, but perhaps someone didn’t see it
that way. Remember, it was you who taught me that the first people
to investigate in a case of murder are family members.”

“It’s good to know that you take some of the
things I tell you to heart.”

I ignored that jibe. “Anyhow, you knew about
her activities with that church, didn’t you?” I actually hoped he
hadn’t known, because then I would have proved to him that I could
ferret out information with the best of them.

“Sure. She told me all about it.”

Nuts. “Well, do you think someone from the
church might have had something to do with her death?”

“At this point, I don’t know anything
at all about her death, Mercy Allcutt, and neither do you, except
that she is definitely dead. And this is one case where
you’re
not
going to become
involved. Let the L.A.P.D. and Phil do their jobs for once without
your interference, will you? For God’s sake, Mercy, you’re a
pampered young lady from Boston! You have no business fiddling with
murder.”

“But Phil said some detective named O’Reilly
would lead the case, and you told me yourself that O’Reilly hates
you.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t like him, either.”

“Why not? What did he do?”

Ernie’s grin was wry. “You’re sure our
animosity is all his fault, are you? How very loyal of you.”

I felt myself flush, blast it. “Don’t
be ridiculous. You’ve already told me most L.A. coppers are as
dirty as old laundry. Is O’Reilly a dirty cop? Is that why you
don’t like him? And he doesn’t like you because you’re not dirty?”
Oh, boy, if my mother ever heard me talk like that, she’d have a
fit—or, which is more likely, she’d give
me
one.

“He was one of the policemen on the Taylor
case. They really botched that case. So badly that it’s never been
solved. Some of them were paid off. I’m as sure of that as I am my
own name.”

“I see.” Ernie had told me he’d decided to
leave the L.A.P.D. after William Desmond Taylor’s murder and its
resultant deplorable investigation by the police. They did such a
lousy job that the case isn’t solved to this day. “So you suspect
O’Reilly might be on the take? And maybe you told him so? And
that’s why he hates you?”

“Yeah, yeah. It doesn’t matter.”

“Nonsense! It might matter a whole lot,
Ernest Templeton. If there’s a dirty cop who hates you
investigating this case, it could mean the difference between the
real culprit being caught or you being blamed for a crime you
didn’t commit. You can’t leave it to O’Reilly to solve this crime,
Ernie. We’ll have to investigate it ourselves.”

Ernie let out a huge gust of air, as if
he didn’t want to pursue this matter anymore. “Hell, let O’Reilly
hate me. He’s a good cop. More or less. No worse than most, at any
rate. All I’m saying is that
you
need to butt out of this case. It has nothing to do with
you.”

If I’d forsaken my roots as much as I liked
to pretend I had, I’d have sworn at him. But I couldn’t make myself
form a swear word at that moment in time, even in my head. I was
standing there, feeling totally furious but impotent to express
myself when Ernie continued.

“And if you
do
continue to interfere, I’ll damned well fire
you!”

My mouth dropped open in astonishment. I
snapped it shut and said, “You wouldn’t!”

“I would.”

He appeared to mean it. I was so angry I
could have spat railroad spikes. Since I was unable to do that any
more than I could curse, I said, “Good. Fire me. Then I’ll have all
day, every day, for however long it takes, to investigate Mrs.
Chalmers’ murder!”

I left Ernie’s office while he was still
rolling his eyes and muttering swear words—he didn’t have my
personal qualms against cursing, blast him—slamming the door behind
me. I was sorry about the slam, not because I thought Ernie
deserved a silently closed door, but because my mother and Chloe
had managed to enter the office while I’d been arguing with Ernie
inside his office.

Sweet Lord, have mercy on
Mercy, please
. I know: you’re not supposed to pray as
if you’re asking Father Christmas for things, but I couldn’t help
myself at that moment in time. Stopping in my tracks from what had
been a pretty nifty flounce, I gaped at the two women in
consternation. For once in my life, I didn’t know what to
say.

Mother never had that problem. “Mercedes
Louise Allcutt, your behavior since you moved from your home in
Boston to this city of sin becomes more deplorable every day.”

I swallowed. “Good morning, Mother. Hey,
Chloe.”

My sister and I exchanged a grimace of mutual
sympathy. In truth, Chloe was worse off than I as far as dealing
with our mother went, because she didn’t have a lovely job as a
private investigator’s secretary to which she could escape Mother’s
presence. See? There you have yet one more good reason for women to
seek employment.

“Um, I didn’t know you were in Los Angeles,
Mother.”

“I arrived today. The trip was grueling, but
one must endure if one is to prevail.”

Exactly the point I’d been trying to
make with Ernie. However, I didn’t appreciate my mother talking
about enduring and prevailing after grueling. For heaven’s sake,
all she’d had to do was take a train from Boston to Los
Angeles.
I
had to solve a
ghastly murder. Well, I didn’t actually
have
to, but . . . Oh, you know what I
mean.

“You’re coming to luncheon with us right this
minute, Mercedes Louise,” my mother went on to say. “We have a
number of things to discuss.”

Uh-oh. This didn’t sound good. Mind you, I’d
stood up to my mother before, but it had been a hair-raising
experience, and I didn’t relish having to do it again. I suspected
this luncheon idea was being proposed to me—I mean demanded of
me—because she wanted to bully me into moving to Pasadena to live
in the home she and my father had bought a month or so ago as a
winter residence.

I looked at the clock on the wall. It was
almost twelve-thirty. Just about time for lunch, unfortunately, so
I couldn’t get out of this demand by pleading work to do.
Nevertheless, since I really didn’t want to dine with my maternal
parent, I said, “Let me see if Mr. Templeton needs me for anything,
Mother. We run an extremely busy office here, you know.”

Very well, so I’d just lied to my mother.
You’d have lied to her, too, if she were your mother.

“Nonsense,” Mother said. “This
job
idiocy has got to
stop.”

“No,” I said firmly. “It does not have to
stop. I like my job, and I intend to keep it.”

“In that case,” said a voice from Ernie’s
office door, which now stood open revealing Ernie in his coat and
hat—his coat and hat were the first garments he removed in the
morning after he arrived at the office—“you won’t be messing around
in the current case, will you?”

His smile was positively evil.

“I don’t
mess
around
with any of your cases, Mr. Templeton, thank
you very much.”

He ignored me. Removing the hat he’d so
recently donned, he bowed to my mother. It was an ironical bow, but
I’m pretty sure my mother didn’t know that. “How do you do, Mrs.
Allcutt? How nice to see you again.”

Very well, so Ernie lies, too. He’s had more
practice in the activity than I, so his lie didn’t count.

“And good day to you, too, Chloe. Good to see
you.”

He wasn’t lying that time. Chloe and Ernie
liked each other.

“Hey, Ernie. Good to see you, too.”

Our mother said, “I’m perfectly exhausted,
young man, and I intend to take my daughter to luncheon.” She added
an imperious “Now,” to her command.

“Be my guest,” said Ernie, plopping his
hat on his head once more. “See you back at the office after
luncheon
, Mercy, unless you decide
to use the sense God gave a flea.”

And he left the office with one of his more
insouciant waves.

“Deplorable manners,” Mother muttered. “I
don’t know how you can work for such a man, Mercedes Louise.”

And I didn’t know why Mother persisted
in calling me
Mercedes Louise
every time she spoke to me. It’s not as if I didn’t know who
I was, for heaven’s sake.

“Manners in Los Angeles are less rigid than
they are in Boston, Mother.” Resigning myself to my fate, I fetched
my hat—a cunning cloche that went well with the white shirt, blue
blazer, and gray flannel skirt I wore—and handbag from my
drawer.

“Yes. I noticed that the last time I was
here. Shocking. Absolutely shocking.”

Shocking, my eye. If she wanted shocking, I
could tell her some really shocking stories. Not that I ever would.
I had enough trouble with Mother already, and she only knew a mere
tenth or so of what my job entailed.

“Then I’m surprised you and Father wish to
spend half the year here,” I said, knowing as I did so that I was
provoking the dragon.

“You know very well why we plan on spending
our winters in California. For one thing, the weather in Pasadena
during the winter months is more salubrious than that in Boston.
For another thing, Pasadena, unlike Los Angeles, is a civilized
city.”

So much for me.

In silence we took the elevator down to
the lobby where Lulu wasn’t. She’d gone to lunch, too, I suppose.
It was just as well. I could tell her all about my
luncheon
with my mother when I came
back to the Figueroa Building and garner much sympathy from doing
so. Lulu had met my mother, too.

In silence Chloe drove us to the Ambassador
Hotel, which was fairly new, and where all the so-called stars of
the moving-picture industry dined. I’d just as soon grab a tamale
and a lemonade from a street vendor or a corned-beef sandwich with
Lulu, but today I was with Mother, and Mother didn’t do things like
that. She’d undoubtedly faint if faced with a tamale, and I believe
I’ve already mentioned her feelings about corned beef.

Chloe entered the restaurant first, which was
a good thing since the place was packed and the maître d’, who
smiled warmly at us, knew her and Harvey. Evidently she’d
telephoned ahead for a reservation, because he said, “Please come
this way, ladies. It’s a pleasure to see you again, Mrs. Nash.”

“Thank you, Houston. This is my mother, Mrs.
Allcutt, and my sister, Miss Allcutt.”

Houston, a tall, dignified fellow who looked
rather oldish, with white hair and moustache and a perfectly
splendid black suit, bowed to us both. His bow wasn’t ironical at
all. His living depended on kowtowing to people who considered
themselves important, so he probably didn’t dare be anything but
absolutely respectful until after he got off work. After that, I
suspected he and his cronies laughed a lot at the airs and graces
some people adopted. I did notice that Chloe slipped something into
his hand as she stepped aside to introduce Mother and me, so I have
a feeling he’d had to make room for us, probably by ousting some
other, more deserving, diners. Money talks. Even I know that.