Chipped Pearls Read online

  She had gotten me a magnifying glass with a fine ebony inlaid handle. The glass was thick, edged in a shiny brass. It would have its uses, should another assignment pop up.

  Until then, I could just examine the worry wrinkles forming on my brow.

  I hadn’t even sent any of them a card.

  What is wrong with you?

  I slumped on Barney’s chair. I loved these gifts, but I didn’t want to feel grateful. I hated Christmas and for good reason.

  My most vivid memory of the supposedly festive season was that of a bunch of hateful nuns punishing me and the other orphans on Christmas morning for bouncing on the beds in our deluded expectation we would be showered with gifts. Ever since then, the holiday season triggered the same cynical boredom I felt when I spotted a con artist duping a stooge with an over-used trick. Christmas was a rip-off.

  But now, I would have to make it up to each of them somehow. Buy gifts for the first time ever.

  I went back into my office.

  I lay back and closed my eyes, shoeless on the couch. The only person I really wanted to see was off-limits and belonged to another world.

  I refused to think about him.

  The French brandy on the side table would make forgetting easier. Surely I should toast the sad demise of Sophia Spark and then forget about her? I didn’t want to imagine her life, her lonely past, maybe an even lonelier death in a cold, bombed-out city, coughing up her guts.

  I should at least make a toast to her mother, Tatiana, whose deathbed wish I had failed to fulfil. ‘Cheers, Tatiana, rest in peace. Sorry for wasting your money.’

  At least Tatiana was spared the sad fate of her daughter. Ignorance is bliss, even if you have to die to stay in the dark.

  I got up and picked up the bottle, admiring my newly painted red nails. Wasted on me. I began to twist the stopper, but paused. I twisted it right back.

  One sip would surely lead to another.

  And another.

  Hitting the hooch over the holiday would be a good fix for the looming clouds of dread.

  But a hangover, puffy face, dark rings, and a foul mood would get the New Year and job-hunting off to a bad start.

  I’d take Barney’s cue for life, no wallowing allowed. I would be a better woman. Elvira Slate wasn’t a soak or an emotional screw-up.

  I needed to stand on my own two feet and detective work was still the most viable option for me.

  You can do this. You can make this work!

  First things first. A holiday survival plan. I got a pen from my desk and started jotting down whatever came into my head.

  Every morning, take a bath.

  Dress up and put makeup on, even if not going out.

  But make sure you do go out every day. Even if just to get a paper.

  Keep nail varnish pristine.

  Put pin curls in every night. Don’t be lazy!

  A movie a day for a whole week. Maybe two?

  A light lunch. Coffee and a sandwich.

  Dinner anywhere not dishing up turkey.

  Go to Luigi’s Italian!

  Hit the town. But once only. Joyce’s?

  One drink.

  I could allow myself a night out but no entanglements. Joyce’s was a lesbian joint in West Hollywood, with a mixed clientele that spanned butches to Hollywood studio heiresses, a mixed bag of ages and races. Some men and transvestites frequented the joint, but were generally outnumbered by the gals. According to one rumor, Joyce said girls were less trouble.

  I would stop at one cocktail. Joyce’s cocktails were generally potent and possibly laced. One would be more than enough if I didn’t want to crash the car.

  Out of nowhere, the telephone rang. The business line, on Barney’s desk. On Christmas Eve? Was he right? Were homicidal impulses already kicking in all over the city?

  I ran back into his office, and picked up the heavy receiver.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Elvira Slate?’ A woman’s voice. Crisp, educated, more than a little tense.

  ‘Who’s asking?’

  ‘Someone who needs a PI, fast.’

  ‘You gotta do better than that. Christmas Eve, in case you hadn’t noticed.’ My blasé attitude hid my growing excitement.

  ‘All right. This is Sonia Parker.’

  She said it like it meant something. My silence put her right. I could hear a withering sigh. ‘The defense attorney?’

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘You play hard to get, don’t you? I need someone who can start tonight. Are you available?’

  ‘Depends what for.’

  There was a pause, as if she was thinking about how to handle the evasive Miss Slate. ‘Starts with ‘M’. Why don’t you start guessing and I’ll tell you all about it when you get down here?’

  With that, Sonia Parker gave me a Downtown address and told me to make it snappy.

  I hung up, slipped on my blue snakeskin shoes and threw my gray gabardine jacket over my navy wool dress. The jacket was becoming my favorite garment as it fitted most bills: stylish, comfortable and, most important, unremarkable. June had made this for me, too. Its buttons matched the gray perfectly, oval and concave, like somebody had pressed a thumb into soft clay. June had softened the edges of the collar into curves and given the pockets a depth that would take a pistol rather than a lipstick.

  June refused payment, typically. We’d gone to a department store and chosen the fabric and satin silk for the lining.

  I bet she purchased the red velvet on that day. Sneaky.

  I buttoned up to my neck and tied Barney’s scarf around my neck. It matched the jacket perfectly, and I knew then he’d chosen it specially.

  I opened my gold compact, powdered my nose and rummaged in my purse for my lipstick. Ruby Dream.

  My nails wouldn’t go to waste after all. I fluffed up my hair and put on my gray fedora hat, with its thick black ribbon, tilting it to the front.

  I looked the part. A working girl, one that didn’t stop for Christmas Eve. Better than my loser reality, somebody with nobody to see and nowhere to go.

  I grabbed my cigarettes, lighter, and the battered leather black purse I took everywhere.

  For good luck, I popped Beatty’s magnifying glass into the purse, next to a small flashlight, my leather gloves and a small case of hairpins.

  I was forgetting something.

  My pistol.

  ‘M’ obviously stood for murder, so I had better be prepared.

  I went back to my desk and slid the gun into the purse. I had an underarm holster, but it was bulky and ruined the line of most of my outfits. Holsters were designed for guys with loose-cut jackets who didn’t carry purses.

  I switched off the lights before walking out, looking at the glowing tree. It was pretty.

  I met the fairy’s eyes.

  ‘Fast work,’ I said.

  Just like me, crime doesn’t do Christmas.

  4

  A compact bundle of chinchilla in female form stood before me in the Downtown office. Sonia Parker’s short black hair was curled around her pointy face. But she was no pixie. One tough cookie. I could tell that from her hard eyes now looking me over.

  A long, dark, bluish-gray satin evening gown flowed down from under the fur coat like liquid mercury, forming a shimmery column over her green satin sandals.

  Most definitely a dame with parties to go to.

  ‘Miss Slate?’

  I nodded. ‘‘Elvira is fine.’

  ‘Sonia Parker. Sorry to drag you out on Christmas Eve.’ She didn’t sound that sorry.

  She wore an emerald-cut jade bracelet that jangled as she held out her hand and matching jade and gold earrings. Her iron grip said, Trust me, I’m a lawyer.

  ‘Lucky to catch me. Just finishing up for the holiday.’

  Sonia gave a wry half-smile, as if I had contradicted something she’d been told. ‘Well, crime and good timing don’t go hand in hand, do they? We can talk inside.’ Sonia’s eyes darted around the empty
corridor behind me.

  The cautious type.

  She showed me through the glass door. The gold lettering screamed out WISE, SPECTOR, BERGMAN AND PARKER, ATTORNEYS- AT-LAW.

  The lettering was far bigger and flashier than mine.

  It was dark, but I could see the reception area was plush with a pale thick carpet, low chairs around a coffee table, and a gleaming front desk. The light from the streetlamps and decorations adorning Broadway below bounced off the chrome fittings.

  Sonia closed the door and didn’t turn the lights on until she’d closed the blinds. ‘Windows have eyes,’ she said. ‘Take a seat. Want a coffee?’

  ‘Thanks. Black.’ I looked around. Now the lights were on, I could see the carpet was blue, with a luxurious sheen to the pile. The chairs looked like some kind of walnut, with darker chenille cushions.

  ‘What’s the accent? Can’t make it out.’ She looked at me, quizzically.

  I was used to this. I’d never quite eradicate my London twang. ‘I spent some time in England, before the war.’ My stock response, true enough and sketchy on details.

  She absorbed this and left the lobby area through a door marked Private. I heard her talk to someone else. Low voices.

  Women’s voices? The client?

  She returned. ‘I’d invite you in, but no point in dragging things out if you can’t help. I’ve got a ticker bomb about to explode.’

  ‘Fair enough. Who recommended me?’ I asked.

  ‘Dede Dedeaux. Called from Aspen. Luckily I was at home, hosting a party.’

  ‘Dede? Okay.’ My landlady! Was she in trouble? I deadpanned, waiting for more.

  ‘Dede’s footing the bill. Your contract will be with me. Dede’s name stays out of it, now and later, if things go sour. In the eyes of the world, I’m doing this pro bono. I’m hoping of course, we don’t end up in court. That’s where you come in.’

  ‘Big law firm like this, don’t you have your own investigator?’ I asked.

  It was hardball posturing on my part; Sonia Parker didn’t look like someone you declined, and Dede Dedeaux, as my landlady, definitely wasn’t.

  And you’re desperate!

  ‘Dede says you’ll do what it takes. Besides, it’s always good to have more investigators to call on.’

  I felt a ‘but’ coming. And it did. ‘But you’re the first woman investigator I’ve used. Hope you are up to the job.’

  So she trusted the boys more. But Dede had insisted and here we were.

  ‘So, what do you want me to do?’

  ‘It’s very simple. Your job will be to look into matters—and only those matters—which I specifically request you investigate. You will report back. You won’t question, you won’t hypothesize and most of all, you will not undertake any unauthorized activity. You will work exclusively for me. Your job is to get what I need, when I need it, and you must not compromise the case by any unwise moves. My job is to defend my client.’

  So far, so restrictive. I nodded. ‘Fair enough.’

  ‘My client is a young woman. A shopgirl and sometime vocalist in an all-girl band. Swing Shift Maisies, I expect.’

  I wondered if it was The Charmettes, Alberta’s band. I had only seen them play once or twice, but each time the vocalist had been different. Once, it was a tiny white blonde with a massive voice, another time a glamorous black woman who looked like a star. Was the client either of these?

  Sonia offered me a cigarette from a shiny case. I accepted.

  We lit up. I could see tiny beads of perspiration on her cheeks. She immediately placed her cigarette in an astray on a stand to slide out of the heavy fur coat. ‘Jeez, too warm for December.’

  Actually, the office was a fridge, but I said nothing. I’d spent enough time incarcerated with women to know when they hit fifty, they develop some kind of inner pizza oven.

  A male PI wouldn’t offer sympathy on any women’s issues, so neither would I.

  Then again, surely Sonia Parker wouldn’t be so obvious about her temperature changes with a guy. Was it a test? To see if I’d get sucked into women’s talk?

  Without the coat hiding it, the dress was even more divine. The satin draped elegantly, and the neat gathers and pleats worked wonders to refine her chunky physique. Sonia read my thoughts. ‘Most people wrongly assume haute couture is an indulgent luxury. It’s good value for money. I bought this old thing in Paris in 1934.’

  ‘Very nice.’ I feigned indifference. How much would a frock like that cost nowadays? At least ten murder cases—the rich types, for whom a decent defense would be small fry.

  Sonia went on. ‘My client discovered a body. But there’s a problem. She didn’t call the police. She ran.’

  ‘Why?’

  Sonia exhaled, meeting me straight in the eye. ‘Panicked. Thought the killer could still be around. The deceased was her beau. A new one, been seeing him for a month or so. Then she called her friend, who called Dede Dedeaux. Dede got hold of me, and here you are.’

  ‘The friend being Alberta, by any chance?’

  She nodded. ‘You know her?’

  I nodded back.

  ‘Then I won’t have to introduce you.’

  My mind raced. The client calls Alberta who calls Dede who calls her upmarket lawyer friend to handle the case and instruct me. All on Christmas Eve. Seemed like the client was special.

  ‘The fee is one hundred a day, plus expenses. Is that satisfactory?’

  One hundred bucks a day? I tried to hide my delight. ‘It’s fine.’

  At that moment, the door opened. Alberta entered, with a cup and saucer. She looked drained and frazzled. Underneath her black swing coat, she wore a red formal gown, edged at the hem with a thick band of white faux fur, and dangling gold Christmas tree earrings. Vibrant red poinsettia flowers and fake holly boughs were pinned to the side of her head. I stood up.

  ‘Hi, Alberta. How are you?’ I took the saucer.

  ‘Been better, Miss Slate.’ She normally called me Elvira but was clearly keeping up a pretense for Sonia’s benefit.

  ‘So…were you playing tonight?’

  ‘Uh-huh. At Joyce’s.’ Alberta turned to Sonia. ‘Dolly’s as ready as she’s gonna be.’

  Dolly. I mentally filed the name.

  Sonia nodded. ‘No more hysterics?’

  ‘I’m doing my best. She ain’t so easy.’

  ‘All right. Well, bring her in as soon as she’s rational.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Alberta left the room, glancing at me. If she could have said, ‘Who the hell is this bitch?’, she would have.

  Sonia turned to me. ‘When they arrived, Dolly was out of her mind, so I’ve mainly gleaned the facts from Alberta. Dolly found her lover dead in bed with a cleaver in the chest. She panicked like I said, and ran, using the escape. But the concierge definitely saw her entering earlier. She’ll be prime suspect as soon as the body’s found and the guy’s questioned.’ She paused. ‘To me, a knife in the heart has a personal touch.’

  ‘Unless it’s set up to look personal.’

  Sonia ignored this. I remembered I wasn’t supposed to hypothesize.

  Better get used to the one-way street!

  ‘Can I ask a question?’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘Was he dead for sure?’

  ‘Let’s hope so. Not helping a dying man equates homicide.’

  ‘Do you know who the lover is?’

  ‘Ronald Hunter, big cheese. The Hunters of Pasadena. The family made a pile from munitions. Ronald Hunter inherited the fortune and business.’

  I was still clueless about the city’s great and good. Or maybe the not-so-good, because in my limited experience, men with money and power were rarely boy scouts.

  Sonia studied me carefully. ‘Dede mentioned you were new in town. You’ve got some homework to do about LA’s movers and shakers if you’re going to make it big here.’

  ‘I’m not interested in making it big, just earning enough to pay my way.’

  She
didn’t comment on my aspirations to an insignificant life.

  ‘Hunter had political ambitions: he wanted to stand for Mayor of Beverly Hills. He fought in World War I. So, a hero. Leaves behind a first wife, a beautiful second wife and a bunch of kids. First marriage, all girls. Second marriage, a young son. But for some reason, Hunter was playing away with a lower-class lady. How he and Dolly even met, God only knows. Then again, nothing surprises me in this town.’

  She eyed me. ‘Your first task will be to go to the love nest and observe. I want you to make a note of who shows up. Hunter’s a millionaire tycoon—somebody is sure to come looking. Maybe someone who knows about the apartment. I want to know who.’

  ‘So I surveil, then tail?’ I couldn’t exactly ask for anybody’s name.

  Sonia shot me an irritated look. ‘Obviously. While you’re there, Dolly and I will go to the police station nearest the apartment to report what happened. Then there’ll be fireworks. Don’t stick around for when the police and ambulances arrive.’

  I couldn’t tell her how relieved that made me. Hanging out in the immediate vicinity of LAPD officers on Christmas Eve was definitely not my idea of fun.

  The door opened again. We both turned. Behind Alberta, a skinny blonde girl floated in, in a daze. Dolly Perkins was a lost wraith. She was in her early twenties, if that. Her dress was exactly the same as Alberta’s, bright red with white fur. The only difference was she had a long white fur stole around her shoulders. She clutched at this like a blanket.