Hollywood Buzz (26 page)

Chapter Nineteen

Ilka clapped a hand to her cheek when she saw I was on the phone.

“Sorry,” she mouthed, tiptoeing away.

“It’s okay Ilka. I was just hanging up.” She waited while I spoke into the mouthpiece again. “Gunnar, I’ve gotta go.”

“Ilka’s there?” He sounded concerned.

“Yup. She’s just invited me to join her for tea.” I flashed Ilka a warm smile. “Hopefully chamomile. I could use a relaxant.”

I pictured Gunnar on the other end of the line, scowling over my being so glib after having just moments ago confirmed that Brody had been killed with a deadly brew. Well, Gunnar might be worried, but I wasn’t. Yes, Ilka had admitted to the misdeed in her past life, but supply a deadly herb knowing it was intended to kill someone? Ilka was a healer. And she despised fascism. No, while I could understand Gunnar’s reasons for suspecting Ilka, I couldn’t go along. In fact, after hearing what he’d learned about Brody’s secretary, Myra, my suspicions ran in a different direction. But to prove to Gunnar that he was wrong about Ilka meant digging up some convincing evidence. Sooner rather than later.

Speaking into the phone, I queried, “Will you be joining us for dinner?”

“No, I’ll be here late, with luck following our rat to the nest.” He paused. “You know I’m not wild about your being alone with Ilka. Be careful, would you? Keep your eyes and ears open.”

“Don’t worry,” I said firmly. “I’ll wait up for you. We can compare notes. Besides, I’ll be on pins and needles until I get word from Max.”

“Yeah, it’s a long shot, but if someone tampered with the Staggerwing there might be a lead in it to Frankie’s killer. Meantime, call if you need me. Leave a message with the duty sergeant if I’m not here.”

I wrote down the numbers he gave me. “Got it. See you later then.”

In the kitchen, a steaming copper kettle simmered at a low whistle on the stove. I sat at the table watching Ilka pour the hot water into a delicate yellow teapot painted with a scrolly green and pink pattern. She placed the lovely china pot on a trivet before me. Fine Oriental lettering, not apparent at a distance, was also part of the design. Next, she set out matching china cups and saucers, sugar, cream, and tiny lemon wedges. After retrieving a plate of orange marmalade and wafer-like biscuits from the counter, she took the chair opposite me.

Ilka was wearing the simple black dress she’d worn the day we met. The dress’ bodice boasted an asymmetrical sweep of large buttons continuing down the full skirt. The skirt’s side seams were set with deep pockets. A paper that had been partially stuffed inside one of the pockets slipped out, dropping to the floor between us as she sat.

My hand shot out. It was a typed memo like the one that had been stuffed under the bread box the other morning. Ilka had maintained the earlier memo was a “project list” from Della, not the OSS-MO document I’d initially believed it to be. She’d be hard-pressed to insist that what I was holding in my hand now was anything other than OSS agency correspondence. My grasp was loose and she easily slipped the paper from my fingers, but I’d already noted the words OFFICE OF STRATEGIC SERVICES—CAIRO—SECRET before I gave it up.

“Ilka, what are you doing with an OSS intelligence memo?”

She flipped the long platinum swoop off her face. “What? What is it you want to accuse me of?”

The flowery scent of a garden in bloom drifted up from the teapot’s spout. I stared at the Asian lettering. Ilka was innocent of Brody’s murder, I felt sure. But she was up to something. What?

She had folded the paper and stuffed it back into her skirt. I looked directly into her tawny eyes. “Ilka, please let me look at the memo.”

She lifted a manicured eyebrow. A moment of tense silence followed. “It is secret.”

“Does it have anything to do with a sudden windfall of cash? Or with getting someone out of the old country?”

Ilka’s eyes widened and she pressed her lips into a tight line.

Her guilty look surprised me. I’d expected her to answer both questions in the negative.

“Ilka, it’s best you tell me. The investigation into Brody’s death has revealed he died after drinking tea laced with an Asian herb,
ma huang
. You’re an expert with herbs. You’re suspected of somehow being involved. I don’t believe you are, but you’ve got to help steer me to the real culprit.”

“
Ma huang
? How would a European know about Asian herbs?”

I clenched my teeth. “Ilka, this is serious. Show me the paper.”

Reluctantly, Ilka pulled the memo from her pocket. “This will prove I am innocent, but in showing you I am betraying trust of the Mrs. It is secret project to aid the cause. The resistance network in Hungary, it is involved. She has asked for me and Uncle Bela to help. Code name,
Magyar Amerika.
This is all I will say, no more.”

Her hand covering the vital information at the top—the “Date”; the “To and From”—she placed the document on the table, turning it so I could read.

Ilka saw my puzzled expression. “Any questions, you must pose them to the Mrs. But now you know I am not killer. I am helping the U.S. government.”

This proves nothing
other than she got hold of one of those documents stashed in the Dunns’ loft office
.

Really. Had that ratty little voice in my brain been secretly indoctrinated by Gunnar?

“I’ll check with Della when I see her. She’ll be able to tell me about the note I saw the other day, peeking out from the bread box as well. They seem to go together.”

A cryptic smile flickered across Ilka’s lips. “I already tell you fibbing it is in my blood. But killer, I am not.”

Call me crazy, but I believed her.

Unfortunately, it complicated my speculation about who was behind the blackmail plot, Brody’s death, and also Frankie’s murder. If I was right about the mastermind, the assailant at the club the night of the auction had been after me. But had I been mistaken? Did the attack have to do with the secret MO project? Had Lugosi been his intended victim?

“Ilka, why would someone steal your doll at the auction?”

She shrugged. “This I do not know.”

“Think, Ilka. I may believe you, but they suspect your motive for getting in bed with the enemy is helping family in the old country.”

“They?”

Gunnar’s true profession was a sensitive matter. I chose my words carefully. “The investigators. They have the impression that immigrants who have family overseas might be tempted to aid certain enemy operatives stealing movies from our studios in exchange for money—or, for a loved one’s safe passage. Once involved in the operation, they might be asked or forced to do other things.”

Ilka’s eyes blazed with anger. “What do you say? I would aid the Axis in trade for Roza’s passage out from Hungary? Why? I have no reason. Grandmamma moves with the underground. No trading was necessary. Once in Cairo—” Having unwittingly let the cat out of the bag, Ilka’s sudden rage evaporated.

I felt my heart thumping wildly in my chest. “Roza’s here?”

Ilka sighed. “A month ago, it becomes clear Grandmamma must leave Hungary before is too late. Gypsies, Jews, they are being singled out more and more. Grandmamma, she is seventy-three. Her health it is failing.” Ilka pointed to her forehead. “Her mental health, that is.”

Moved by her sorrowful expression, I reached across the table and patted her arm.

Ilka cleared her throat. “As you can imagine, it was difficult journey.”

I nodded. Nearly impossible, considering the Germans now occupied Yugoslavia, the escape route Ilka had used. In fact, every country bordering Hungary was under Axis rule. How had she managed? The Gypsy underground must be powerful indeed.

Ilka’s lips crept into a wan smile. “She made it. Is so wonderful to see her again.”

“Where is she staying?”

Ilka’s smile broadened. “Here. In this house. Actually, she is with Uncle Bela at this moment. But she will be back soon. Lia, she is off tonight. I am making chicken
paprikás
.” She was suddenly serious. Her eyes held a pleading look. “Please, you must go along. No one can know she is here until the proper paperwork it can be arranged. And hiding her, this sometimes is not so easy.”

Ilka explained that although she understood the necessity of staying undercover until her immigration status could be resolved, being forced to lay low indoors went against Roza’s Gypsy nature. But then she had discovered the labyrinth of secret passages that ran throughout the Dunns’ home, and her declining mental power became a menace. I learned that though the fuses outside had indeed been faulty, the lamp in my room had not had a wiring problem at all. Roza had been the culprit behind the strange business of its turning on “by itself.” She’d sneaked in and pulled the chain-switch while I slept. The disappearance of my jade green satin pajamas—and their subsequent reappearance—had been part of Roza’s adventures also.

I’d seen “Cairo” on the memo in Ilka’s pocket before she grabbed it away. The Dunns traveled there on OSS business regularly. “Do Della and D.B. know that Roza is here?”

Ilka hesitated but an instant. “Yes, the Mrs. she know. Grandmamma, she help to inspire the secret project.” Ilka flashed a proud smile.

“When your grandmother traveled to Cairo, did she have with her a couple of escaped prisoners of war? Heisted German film, perhaps? Reconnaissance film?”

Ilka’s tawny eyes widened. “This you must ask the Mrs.”

“But if you’re hiding her, what’s she doing out with Lugosi? And what was she doing at the auction last night?”

“Like I already tell you, at the briefie, there was call for dolls. Grandmamma she bring doll with her from Hungary. We donated…”

The swastika earring in my pocket felt like it was on fire. “Ilka, this is important. Why did she bring the doll with her?”

Ilka stood and walked to the sink, leaning over it to peer outdoors. Dusk had fallen and the outside lights were on, but it must have been difficult to see. She shaded her eyes, straining to catch sight of someone or something, probably Roza and Bela.

Finally, she turned from the window and leaned back against the sink for support. “Morality, it is prewar luxury. Being in underground requires wheeling and dealing. Stealing, lying, cheating, all are part of the game. But those involved they have different motives. Some they are anti-German, some they are profiteers. Others, they are both. So, it would not surprise you, then, that some hard crooks exist in the Gypsy network?” Ilka raised her eyebrows inquiringly.

I shook my head. “No surprise at all.”

Ilka began to pace in front of the sink. “This Zolton Laszlo, he is in with many bad characters. To make money, always to make money.”

“With Roza?” I inquired.

Ilka stopped pacing. “No. No.” She shook her head adamantly. “Laszlo, like Grandmamma, has his own Gypsy tribe. Similarly, he transport goods and people. There the similarities they stop. Grandmamma, she take risk because she want to help save lives. Of dissidents and other Magyar who suffer under Hitler. Zolton, though, he involved only in those smugglings which will put money in his pocket.”

“What are you trying to tell me, Ilka?” I asked, impatience creeping into my tone. “Who is this Zolton Laszlo? Why is he important?”

After a significant pause, she gave me an even glance. “One incident will tell you all that you need to know about Zolton Laszlo.

“In September, 1940, Laszlo accept money from underground contact to transport Austrian refugee from Sopron in the north of Hungary down through back country to southern border. There, they are to meet another transport for exit out through Yugoslavia.”

Ilka’s shoulders slumped a little. She returned to the table, taking the chair opposite me again. “Along the way, Laszlo, he turn refugee over to Germans. Do it to double his money. Can you imagine such treachery?”

I stared at my empty teacup, fingering its delicate handle, picturing Frankie lying in the hospital bed. “Yes, Ilka, I can.”

Ilka went on, “This same villain, when he learn Grandmamma was soon to leave with goods to aid Allies, he gives to her—under threat—the doll. Somehow he has put together she will not be coming back. That she will come to Hollywood to join me. Zolton tell her, ‘Take doll with you or I hunt down precious little Ilka, adjust her looks so that
never
she will be actress. Expect word about what to do next with doll, after you arrive.’”

A chill moved through me and I shuddered visibly. “What are you saying?” I glanced across the table expectantly. “You weren’t surprised that the doll was snatched?”

Ilka shrugged. “When we see notice in paper calling all dolls for auction, we know this it. And Grandmamma, she insist she must go to see who is there to take it.”

“The man with the Einstein hair?”

Ilka nodded. “Or his associate, the woman playing his wife.”

I raised my eyebrows. I was back on track.

I had blamed the secretaries for the swastika earring left in my tea cup. Then Gunnar told me about Myra’s short stint with MGM, and I instinctively knew Cardillac was responsible. She had recognized me that day in Brody’s office.
Cardillac, mistress of disguise
. The prematurely grey hair could have been a wig or a masterful coloring job. I didn’t get a good look at her eyes, but contact lenses could make them any color she chose. And that overbite? I’d been speculating how to fix her receding chin. Now I’d bet she was using a mouth insert. But it was the name that had really tipped me. The double-entendre was a Cardillac weakness. Or forte? Myra
Blade
. The scar on my forearm was testament to Cardillac’s pride in her expertise with a stiletto.

Nazi operatives in Hollywood would need money. The doll likely contained something of value. Jewels, money, drugs. Cardillac had pulled off a similar scheme in Detroit. Cardillac. The archenemy I’d sworn to bring to justice.