Too Darn Hot (21 page)

THIRTY-TWO

M
arty and I sat in the White Horse Tavern having a stein of beer. We had our order in for a burger. The bar had been around a long time and was a watering hole for longshoremen cause it was close to the docks and warehouses on Hudson. But a few regular people braved the place and ate and drank there on the early side before it became rowdy and the fights broke out.

It had a series of small rooms, and we sat in the back. The beams were painted black; everything else was plain tortured wood. People said it was the second oldest bar in New York. I never did learn which one was the first.

I wished that I could be talking things over with Johnny, but I didn’t want him to think I was some girl who didn’t know what she was doing. I didn’t care what Marty thought.

I’d told him that Dolores had identified the picture of Charlie Ladd, now lying on the table between us, as the guy who shot her.

“You’re sure we can trust the old gal to know what she’s sayin?”

“Marty, she’s sharp as a tiger’s tooth. If she says this is the guy, then he’s the guy.”

The waiter came and plunked down our burgers.

“Can we have some ketchup?” Marty said.

“Get it yourself. It’s on the bar.” He walked away.

“I don’t remember that happenin before,” Marty said.

“Before what?”

“You want ketchup or not?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll get it then.”

I took a drag of my butt and stared at the photo of Charlie Ladd. He was a good-looking guy, no doubt. He almost had what they called a baby face. Innocent. I could understand why Dolores woulda talked to him.

But it was hard to see him as a scammer, a rapist, an extortionist, or a murderer—and he might be all four. Had he really raped Lucille? Had he set up the kidnap caper with Claire, then killed her once he got the money?

Marty was back with the ketchup. “Never heard of a burger without ketchup. You?”

“No.”

“So it seems to me they should bring it or leave a bottle on the table like other joints do.”

“Can we stop talkin about the ketchup and get back to Dolores and Charlie Ladd?”

“Yeah. Sorry. Stuff like that burns me up.” He took a long swallow of his beer.

“The thing is where’s Charlie Ladd now? And is Lucille with him? Or is she dead, too?”

“Why would Lucille be with him after what he did to her? Ya think he kidnapped her?”

“You said yourself I only had Lucille’s word for it. I’m more of a mind she made up that story.”

“Why now?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Well, ya know from that Widmark fella that she was raped.”

“Do I?” I squashed my cig.

“She told . . . ya never checked it out with him, did ya?”

“I got egg on my face with this one. I didn’t check.”

“Don’t work yerself into a lather. We all make
huge
mistakes.”

I looked at him and he was grinning.

“No kiddin, Faye. These things happen. Maybe when we finish, we should pay Widmark a visit.”

“The doorman’ll have to let us in when ya flash yer shield, won’t he?”

“Yeah. He’ll tremble before me.”

The doorman didn’t exactly tremble, but he paid attention and called Widmark on the phone, explained that the police were there, and up we went. Widmark didn’t give us any trouble, either. We sat in his living room.

“So, what do you want?” Widmark’s eyes were red, as if he’d been crying.

“I guess ya know about Claire Turner.”

“Of course.” He looked down at his lap. I figured he
had
been crying.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Widmark. I know ya cared for her.”

“Cared for her? I loved her.” He took a swipe at his eyes. “She was such a lovely girl, I don’t know why anyone would kill her.”

The particulars about what Claire’d been involved in hadn’t been released to the papers.

“Do you know why she was killed?” he asked.

Marty said, “We can’t really talk about that, Mr. Widmark.”

He nodded. “I understand.”

“Did ya know Lucille was missin?” I said.

“What do you mean she’s missing?”

“Vanished.”

“Into thin air,” Marty said.

“Wanna tell me about her?”

“I have no idea where she is. This is outrageous.”

“Calm down. I’m not sayin ya know where she is. I’m talkin about when she used to come visit ya.”

“What makes you think . . .”

“Let’s not get on this merry-go-round, Widmark,” Marty said. “We know ya knew her and that she used to visit. And we know she suddenly stopped. What we don’t know is why.”

“And don’t give me any malarkey about it bein for her sake,” I said.

“It was, in a way.”

“Ya mean she started showin she was pregnant?”

“How do you know about that?”

“Lucille told me,” I said.

“What else did she tell you?”

“Why’d she stop coming here to see ya?”

“I thought it’d be too hard on her. Making that trip in from New Jersey.”

“I want ya to tell me what else ya know.”

“Will it help you find her?”

“It might.”

He ran a hand over his red crew cut. “I don’t know why I’m protecting that bastard.”

“What bastard?” Marty asked.

“Ladd. He raped Lucille.”

“She told ya that?”

“Yes. When she got pregnant, her parents threw her out and even Claire wouldn’t speak to her. I wouldn’t have expected that from Claire.” He drifted to someplace we couldn’t go.

“Mr. Widmark,” I said.

“Sorry. Lucille was beside herself. She didn’t want to have the baby, but she didn’t want to have an abortion. I wanted her to tell Claire, warn her about Ladd, but she wouldn’t. She said Claire wouldn’t believe her. That she’d think Lucille was trying to ruin her happiness.”

“Why didn’t
you
warn Claire?” I said.

“Why do you think?”

“Yeah. I see.”

“I offered to marry Lucille but we both knew that wasn’t the answer. Wouldn’t solve anything.”

“Did she say that she’d told Ladd she was pregnant?”

“She hadn’t and she wasn’t going to. There was no point, she said. So she had the baby and gave him up for adoption.”

“Ya mean to an orphanage?”

“Yes.”

“Would ya know the name of the place?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. It’s near a spot Lucille loves.”

“And where’s that?” Marty said.

“The orphanage is in Asbury Park at the New Jersey shore.”

New Jersey again.

“And Asbury Park’s the place she loves?”

“No. She likes a town on the shore nearby. Point Pleasant.”

“Did she ever say she was gonna move there?”

“Someday, she said. When she was married. But that was in the future.”

Marty said, “Some futures are shorter than others.”

“So she didn’t have a house there?”

“She rented every summer for a week. When she and Claire were little their parents once took them there.”

“Do ya know if Lucille’s baby was ever adopted?”

“She didn’t know. The place isn’t allowed to give out that information.”

“Was Lucille plannin to take the baby back once she got married?”

“Yes. But she knew by then he might not be available.”

“What’s the name of the orphanage?”

“St. Mary’s.”

“Catholic?”

“Yes. She didn’t leave him there for religious reasons.”

I stood up. “Mr. Widmark, you’ve been very helpful.”

“Good. I’m glad. Could you let me know if you find Lucille?”

“Sure.” Marty shook hands with him.

As we got near the door, Widmark called out to me. I turned.

“You don’t need a nickel this time?”

“No, thanks.”

While we waited for the elevator, Marty said, “What was that nickel thing about?”

I hadn’t told him I’d been a mark like any ordinary person. So I told him now.

“Got any idea who did it?”

“I think it was this big guy who was sittin next to me.”

Marty nodded like it had to be a big guy. I changed the subject.

“You think Lucille’s in Point Pleasant?”

“I’d bet my bottom dollar on it,” he said.

“What’s next? Should I tell the whole story to the cops?”

“What story?”

The elevator came and the gal running it was the same one who was there on my first visit.

“Ya have a nice visit with Mr. Widmark?”

“Swell,” I said.

“He’s a sweetheart, isn’t he?”

If there wasn’t a war on, this tomato wouldn’t last a day running this elevator with her Nosy Parker ways. On the other hand, if it wasn’t wartime she wouldn’t have the job at all.

When we left the building, the soggy heat hit us like we’d been dropped into a vat of warm tea.

“About that story for the cops. What’s it gonna be? That Lucille Turner quit her job and left her rented house to go somewhere else?”

“Somethin like that.”

“Where’s the crime?”

“She’s a missin person.”

“Is she? Who’s lookin for her besides you? Anyway, isn’t this about Charlie Ladd, who we now know is alive and well and runnin around shootin old ladies?”

“Don’t forget David Cooper.”

“I’m not, but what’s that gotta do with Lucille? And don’t you forget Claire.”

“I don’t forget her for a second.”

“Listen, Faye. I think Ladd and Claire cooked up the kidnappin to get some money out of his old man but then Charlie Boy decided he’d like it better if he didn’t have to share the dough. It’s him we gotta find, not Lucille.”

“So why’d we question Widmark about Lucille?”

“That had to do with Ladd, in case ya forgot. We wanted to know if Widmark knew about the rape. Now we know.”

“What we know, Marty, is that Lucille was pregnant. It’s still her word on who made her that way.”

“Why would she tell Widmark that Ladd did it, if he didn’t? Nothin to gain there.”

“Yeah. Yer right,” I said.

“The cops on this case are lookin for Claire’s killer now. We don’t know where to look so let em handle it.”

“Marty, I have two clients I gotta satisfy. One wants to know who killed his son, and the other wants me to find Charlie Ladd.”

“So work those cases. But there’s nothing right now ya gotta share with Powell and the rest.”

“Yeah. Yer right again. I’m gonna concentrate on David Cooper. But that brings me right back to Ladd.”

“Give that gal a cigar. Where ya gonna start?”

“With Lucille Turner. Wanna come? I know ya got a couple a days off.”

“Where?”

“First Asbury Park, and then Point Pleasant.”

“Ya wanna go to that orphanage?”

“I do. But I need a car again. Ya think yer friend’ll lend ya his if he knows yer drivin?”

“Who said I was comin?”

“Aren’t ya?”

“See that cab up the street, Faye? Take it and I’ll pick ya up tomorrow.”

When I got back to Grove Street, Johnny was sitting on the stoop. My heart did a sleigh ride.

“I thought I’d catch you eventually,” he said. “And this was the best way to have that happen. Do you mind?”

“Course not.”

I sat on the step next to him. He gave me a peck on the cheek and took my hand in his.

“How are you, Faye? I know it’s not true, but it seems like a month since I saw you.”

It felt that way to me, too. “I’m okay. You?”

“I’m okay, too. Sorry about Claire Turner.”

“Yeah. Thanks. She was only twenty-two years old.”

“Got any idea who killed her?”

“I think it was Charlie Ladd.”

“Yeah. I was thinking that, too.”

It surprised me that he’d thought about my case at all.

“So you’re out of a job now, huh?”

“Well, no.” I told him that I had two clients on the case.

“Two to keep you twice as busy?”

“You mad at me, Johnny?”

He looked down at the stoop and let go of my hand. Uh-oh.

“No, I’m not mad. It’s just that I never get to see you.”

“But ya knew how things were gonna be. Same thing when you have a big case.”

“I guess I didn’t know how it was
really
going to be. How I’d feel about it.” He looked up and into my eyes.

“What’re ya sayin, Johnny?”

“I wish I knew.”

I didn’t like this cat-and-mouse game. “Ya breakin up with me?”

“You don’t mess around, do you?”

“I thought that was one a the things ya liked about me.”

“I did. I mean, I do. I guess when it comes at me, it’s different.”

“You didn’t answer my question about breakin up?”

“I’m just telling you what’s bothering me.”

Whew!

He said, “I got the day off tomorrow and I thought we could see a movie in the afternoon, get cool, and then go out to dinner. How about it?”

What was I gonna do? He had to understand, he just had to. “Sounds nice, Johnny, but . . .”

“But you can’t.”

I nodded.

“The case?”

“Yeah.”

He stood up. “I think I’ll go now.”

My heart did a nosedive. I didn’t know what to say. A first.

“Good night, Faye.” He pecked my cheek again.

When he got to the bottom of the stoop, I called out to him.

“When will I see ya, Johnny?”

“I’ll call you.”

“Okay.”

I watched him till he got to Grove and Bleecker where he turned left. Then he was out of my sight.

Gone.

THIRTY-THREE

M
arty honked the horn at eight-thirty. I was dressed and ready to go but I felt down in the mouth. Sleep wasn’t my pal the night before. I kept waking up thinking of Johnny, feeling confused, sad, angry. I’d lost him, but I had to remind myself that if he wanted a gal who’d stick to tending the home fires, he wasn’t for me. I didn’t want him. Where’d I get the impression he liked me being a PI? What a dope I’d been.

I shook Johnny from my mind. I had to. It was so strange leaving my place not to see Dolores sweeping. I’d stop by when I got back from the shore.

Outside, Marty was sitting at the wheel of a beat-up gray two-door. It was a far cry from Jim’s LaSalle. But it would get us where we wanted to go.

When I got in he said, “Ya look too pooped to pop. What happened to ya?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“You really think yer on to somethin, don’tcha?”

I let him think that was the reason I was so wrung out. “You bet. Any trouble gettin the car?”

“Nope. Good thing it’s got an X sticker so I could fill her up.”

“No limit on that one?”

“Nope. Believe it or not, this baby comes under the emergency vehicle list.”

“Why?”

“Beats me.”

“What’s yer friend do?”

He shrugged, and I knew I oughta drop that subject.

“What is this car, anyway?”

“A 1940 Chevy coupe. Lotsa mileage on her but she runs good. Ya ready?”

“Sure.”

We took off.

It was a long ride and I was ready for lunch by the time we got to Asbury Park. But I knew that had to wait. Marty had directions for St. Mary’s orphanage and headed there. I didn’t hold out a lotta hope they’d cough up much of anything, but I hadda give it a try.

As we approached, the place loomed up, looking like the orphanages of my imagination and maybe ones I’d seen in movies. The building, made of gray brick, had half a dozen towers, and the windows were covered with a tight-knit wire.

“Homey,” Marty said.

I couldn’t laugh cause all I could think about were the kids who were inside.

“Park over there,” I said.

We got out of the car and stood staring at the grim façade for a few seconds.

“Let’s go,” I said.

The gravel path had no flowers along its edges. And the brownish grass grew right up to the building, no shrubs or bushes laid out in a border. The big double doors were dark oak and I suddenly felt I wouldn’t be able to open them. But Marty did it for me.

The moment we stepped inside I smelled disinfectant. It was dark and cold. Straight in front of us was a counter with a nun behind it.

“May I help you?”

I had no history of nuns in my life, but the face that looked out at us from the black-and-white head garb gave me the creeps. Close up I saw that she was kinda pretty and I was mad at myself for feeling afraid. Maybe I should stop going to the pictures.

Marty had taken off his hat and held it with both hands in front of him.

“Good mornin, Sister.”

She nodded.

“My name is Faye Quick and this is Detective Marty Mitchum from the NYPD.”

“Oh, you’re detectives?”

“Yes, Sister.”

“How exciting. Do you have some identification?”

We each handed over our IDs and she pored over em like they were scriptures. Finally she gave them back.

“What’s your name, Sister?” Marty asked.

“Sister Margaret Agnes.”

“Well, Sister, we’d like some help. We’re lookin for a child that mighta been left here by mistake.”

“Oh?”

“Terrible thing,” Marty said.

“That would be terrible if a child were left here by mistake. But I’ve never known it to happen.” She sugar-smiled and cocked her head to one side.

This nun was no sitting duck. It wasn’t gonna be easy. “There’s always a first time,” I said. And smiled back at her.

“Tell me the tale,” she said.

So I told her what I’d cooked up.

“Sometime in the last year a girl had a baby boy out of wedlock. A few days later her sister kidnapped the child and we’re pretty sure she brought him here. Then the mother died.” I tried to work up some tears. “Now the father wants him back. And Detective Mitchum and I have been hired to find the boy.”

“I hope you know I can’t show you any records.”

“Of course. See, the sister knows the father is tryin to get the boy back. We think she may’ve been here in the last week and tried to take the boy.”

“If she did, I can’t tell you that, either. But it’s doubtful because we don’t hand over babies to just anyone.”

“No. I didn’t think ya did. What we really wanna know is if anyone
tried
to get a child back in the past week.”

Marty said, “That wouldn’t be breakin any rules, would it, Sister Margaret Agnes?”

“Are you a Catholic, Detective Mitchum?”

Marty’s face started flushing. “I was raised a Catholic, Sister.”

“But you’re not a practicing Catholic now. Is that it?”

“Yes, Sister.” He looked like a little boy who’d been caught stealing.

“And you, Miss Quick? Are you a Catholic?”

“No, Sister, I’m not.”

“I see.”

I had no idea what that
I see
meant. “So can ya tell us if a girl was askin about a little boy in the last week?”

She closed her eyes and kept them closed. I looked at Marty. He put his hands in the prayer position to let me know what the sister was doing. Finally her eyes opened.

“I don’t see what harm it will do to tell you. Yes. There was a girl here asking for a boy. Now, that’s all I’m going to tell you so don’t try to get more information from me.”

“No, we won’t,” Marty said.

“That’s a real big help, Sister Margaret Agnes. We can’t thank ya enough.”

“Oh, you probably can.” The smile again.

“How?”

She shifted her eyes to look past my shoulder. I turned around. But since I didn’t know what I was looking for I was in the dark.

Marty said, “Yes, sure, Sister. We’d be glad to. Thanks for everything.”

“Thank you, Sister,” I said.

Marty put his hand on my arm as we turned to leave and guided me to the left. On the wall was a locked box. A slot in the center had DONATIONS painted on it in white.

I dug in my purse and came up with the loot. Marty took his from his pant pocket. We slipped our donations into the box and left the orphanage.

We didn’t say a word to each other until we were back in the car.

“Do ya think the girl was Lucille?” Marty said.

“I’d bet anything on it.”

“She mighta gotten the kid, but maybe not. I don’t think it’d be a cinch.”

“Kid or no kid I think she’ll be in Point Pleasant.”

“Me, too.”

Marty started the car.

“Can we look for a place to eat along the way?” I said.

“I’m already lookin.”

The summer was in full swing. We passed lots of people in bathing suits and kids carrying rubber rafts. All of them had tans. I got a load of the beach and water in flashes and wished I’d brought my suit.

Asbury Park hadda be the big city around here cause after it the towns got smaller. When we hit one named Belmar, we spotted a little restaurant across the road from the beach.

Marty slowed down. “Whaddaya think?”

“I think I’m hungry and it looks fine.”

He parked in front. Loy’s Lobster looked like a buncha other joints I’d eaten in, but inside it was decorated with fishnets, lifesavers, and big stuffed fish hanging on the walls. We didn’t look like we belonged cause everyone else was in beach clothes. I’d dressed to be cool and Marty was wearing a short-sleeve shirt. Still, we were pasty next to the other customers.

We took a table near the big plate-glass window; across the street between two houses I could see a strip of beach and patch of water. A waitress brought us menus.

“Anything to drink?”

“Ya got beer?”

“Why wouldn’t we have beer?”

He shrugged. “I’ll take a Rheingold. How about you, Faye?”

“If ya got lemonade, I’ll have that.”

“Rheingold and lemonade comin up,” she said.

We both fired up cigs before we looked at the menus. I saw what I wanted right away. Fried clams. I’d never had them, but I’d read about them in books more than once. They came with fries, which was fine by me.

When the waitress came back with our drinks, she took out her pad and pencil. I gave her my order.

“Burger,” Marty said. “Well done.”

She looked at him and shook her head in disgust. “Loy’s is famous for its seafood, ya know.”

“Burger,” he said again.

“Okay, but ya don’t know what yer missin.”

“I’m missin a pain in my gut.”

“Fried bother ya?” she said.

He nodded.

“It don’t have to be fried.”

“Thanks, but I don’t like fish.”

“Sometimes,” she said, and walked off.

Marty took a swig of his beer. “So how’re we gonna find her?”

“Real estate agents.”

“Faye, she coulda rented a place from anywhere and she coulda rented it under a different name.”

“I know it’s not gonna be easy, but ya got a better idea?”

“Nope.”

“So then that’s what we try first. And as for her rentin from an agent in another town besides Point Pleasant, I don’t think so. Why would she?”

“Why wouldn’t she?”

“If ya wanted to live in Point Pleasant, wouldn’t ya start by goin to a real estate place in that town?”

“Yer right. At least that’s where we should start. But here’s what I don’t get, Faye. Say we find her, what then? I mean, what’s she done besides move?”

“Maybe nothin. But why move at this time? Why ditch yer place, leave yer job, and take a powder at the exact same time yer sister is killed after deliverin a ransom for the kidnappin of the mug that maybe raped ya?”

“She left before Claire was killed.”

“Don’t pick nits with me, Marty. I’m makin a point here. It’s all too much of a coincidence and it doesn’t stack up with me.”

The waitress was back with my clams and Marty’s pathetic-looking burger.

I forked one of the fried clams, dipped it into a tartar sauce, and popped it into my mouth. Delicious. How could I have missed these little darlings? While I ate my lunch, all my problems seemed to vanish.

Back in the car we headed for Point Pleasant. I liked how everything looked. Maybe someday I’d settle down in a beach house. On the other hand, I’d miss the beat of New York. But when I was old, without Johnny, it might be nice to get away from the noise. At a town called Brielle we went over a little bridge across the Manasquan River—so said a sign—and then we were in Point Pleasant.

“So now we start lookin for real estate agencies?”

“Right.”

We saw one almost immediately, but it was no help. By the time we were on our third I had a ghost of an idea cooking, but I didn’t say anything to Marty. I thought I’d wait to see what happened.

Inside the agency, a man too old for the war sat behind a desk. He wasn’t old old, maybe in his fifties. The nameplate on his desk said MR. CLARK ANDREWS. His hair was receding and his chin had already doubled. His brown eyes were wide apart and unmemorable.

“May I help you nice people?”

Now how in Hades did he know if we were nice or not?

“We’re lookin fer a person, not a place, Mr. Andrews. Well, that’s not quite right. We’re lookin fer a place somebody mighta rented in the last few weeks.”

“I don’t follow,” he said.

“We’re from the New York Police Department,” Marty said.

Andrews backed his chair into the wall as if one of us had given him a big push. “What do you mean? Why are you here? If something’s wrong, why aren’t the New Jersey police here?”

Marty and I exchanged a fast glance and I knew we were thinking the same thing. Mr. Andrews had something to hide. I didn’t care what it was cause it was gonna be helpful to us.

“The New Jersey police have turned it over to us.”

“Omigod.”

“Just relax,” Marty said.

“Relax?”

“Have a smoke.” I offered him one of mine, which he took. Marty lit it for him. Mr. Andrews took a huge drag and released it in a trickle like he could put off whatever was coming as long as there was smoke in his lungs.

“We’d like to know if you’ve rented any bungalows to a woman alone, or with a young child?”

“I have to . . . I have to look at my records. Is that all you want to know?”

“That depends,” Marty said.

“On what?”

“Let’s stick to my question,” I said.

Andrews looked like he might faint. He opened a large journal and ran his finger down the page. “Yes. Yes, I thought I remembered this. A woman did rent a bungalow on the beach but not with a child.”

“That’s okay. What’s the address?”

“Well, there’s no real address. There’s a sign outside that says Lion in the Sun. L-i-o-n.”

“Cute.”

“Everyone names their place. I don’t make up the names.”

“Didn’t think ya did.”

“You just keep going on this road and you’ll find it.” His fingers were going so fast on his desk he coulda been beating out the story of his life in Morse code.

“What’s the woman’s name?”

“She was very lovely. Her name was Lana Tierney.”