Beverly Hills Dead (24 page)

Tom shook his head. "Wrong. I told you. I'm a friend of Louise. Of the family, you might say."

"Yeah, I saw something in a magazine, pretty picture: husband and a kid."

"Two kids, now. They're very happy."

"I'm glad to hear it; Lou was always a good sort."

"You bear her no ill will, then?"

"Why would I? She was always decent to me."

"If that's so, why would you try to get her involved in the party?"

"It's not like it's something dirty, you know; it's a political movement with an idealistic agenda."

"I know all about that, but you've already said Louise wasn't political."

"I guess I looked at it as doing her a favor. After the revolution, party membership would stand her in good stead."

"I guess you know that, in Hollywood, party membership has turned out to be something of a problem for a lot of people, people who are mostly out of work these days, some of them facing prison."

"Look, it's not my fault or the party's fault that the political system in this country screwed them."

"Let's not get into the rights and wrongs of what's happened; my only concern is Louise. I don't want any of these bad things to happen to her, especially since she's a complete innocent in all this."

"Nobody's innocent; you're on one side or the other."

"Do you want to hurt her?"

"Of course not."

"Do you want to help her?"

Schmidt shrugged. "Sure, but how do I do that?"

"By giving me some information."

"What do you want to know?"

"First of all, you admit that you signed her up for the party, and without her knowledge or consent?"

"Now you sound like a lawyer."

"Wrong again. The first thing I need from you is a written statement saying that you did this without her knowledge or consent."

"You want me to admit, in writing, that I'm a party member? You've just told me what happens to party members in this town."

"Hal, you've never made any secret of your party membership; why start now?"

"I'm being cautious."

"I don't want this statement so I can give it to the newspapers. I just want some protection for Louise, if it ever comes up."

"What else do you want?"

"I need a little inside knowledge of how the party works."

"You must have a screw loose, pal. I'm not here to be your political tutor."

"You misunderstand; let me explain."

"I'm listening."

"When you signed up Louise, the party office in Milwaukee kept her membership card in their files; she never saw it."

Schmidt shrugged. "Sometimes they do it that way."

"Well, a few weeks ago, somebody here in L.A. sent her employers photostatic copies of two party membership cards: one belonged to a man who has since been exposed as a party member and blacklisted; the other had Louise's name on it. Now, here's the interesting part: the guy who's been blacklisted was a member of the New York chapter or den or whatever you call it, and they kept his card on file. What I'm trying to get at is how two people from Milwaukee and New York--two different branches--have photostats of their membership cards turn up on the same desk at a movie studio in L.A.?"

Schmidt stared at Tom for a long time before he spoke. "That's a very interesting question, Tom. You work for the studio in question, is that it? That's why you drive such a nice car?"

"Yeah. I'm a regular capitalist tool."

Schmidt laughed.

"Look, I'm just a working stiff who's trying to keep a friend--one who used to be
your
friend--from getting hurt."

"Let me look into it. You got a phone number?"

Tom took out a notebook, wrote down his direct office number, tore it out and handed it to Schmidt. Schmidt tore the page in half and gave Tom his own number. "I'm there nights," he said. "Don't call me at the union office."

"Okay. Look, I'm happy you're willing to look into this, but don't roil the waters, okay? Be discreet."

Schmidt tossed off the rest of his drink and stood up. "Don't worry; I want answers just as much as you do. I'll call you, and thanks for the drink."

"Thanks, Hal. Maybe I'll be able to do you a favor one of these days."

"I doubt it," Schmidt said. He turned and walked out of the bar.

44

Vance Calder walked his struggling horse through the last yards of flank-deep snow, towing a pack mule. He pulled up in front of the little cabin, or perhaps shack would have been a better description. He dismounted and tried to open the front door, but snow prevented it from moving.

The handle of something protruded from the snow next to the door, and a few yanks revealed it to be the handle of a snow shovel. He used the tool to clear the area around the door, then got the door open and walked inside. He found a box of matches and lit a kerosene lantern hanging over a small table. The resulting light revealed the place to be more comfortable than he had imagined.

He went outside again and used the snow shovel to clear the doors of an attached shed. He led the animals inside, unsaddled them, rubbed them down, clearing the snow and ice from their hooves, then fed them and watered them from a pump. He closed the shed doors so the place would warm up from their heat, then returned to the cabin and began making himself comfortable. He got a fire going in the iron stove, using wood the previous occupant had chopped, and the one room began to warm up. He pumped some water and made coffee, setting the pot on the stove to boil when it got hot enough.

He opened the three-paned windows, pushed back the heavy wooden shutters, then closed the windows again. Now he had decent light. An hour later, when it was dark, he lit another lantern for light to read by.

He made his bed, and by the time he had heated a can of stew for his dinner, the cabin was toasty warm, its log walls sweating from their thawing. Dinner finished and the dishes washed and put away, Vance settled into the one comfortable chair and opened a book, taking a moment, since it was New Year's Eve, to wish himself a happy new year.

Then he began to weep, and he wept until there were no tears left. He dragged himself to the bed and pulled a blanket over him. He replayed the moments of his time with Susie in his head until he finally slept, then he dreamed of her.

When he woke the following dawn he felt better, and he began to try to draw a curtain on the recent past and think about the future instead.

Rick and Glenna arrived at Eddie and Suzanne Harris's home for the Harrises' annual New Year's Eve party, which had become a regular event for a hundred or so of their closest friends. It was a pleasantly warm L.A. evening, and dinner was from a huge buffet on the back terrace of the house, overlooking the pool, the tennis courts and the extensive gardens.

Rick was getting a drink from the bar when he bumped into Tom Terry, decked out in a new tuxedo. "Happy New Year, Tom," he said. "Are you partying or working?"

"I'm working," Tom said. "I've got a dozen guys here doing security, watching the front door and watching the valets." He pulled Rick away from the crowd at the bar. "Yesterday I had a drink with one Hal Schmidt, who turns out to be not such a bad guy."

"And what was the result of that?"

"Hal thought he might be able to find out something about how those party cards made it to your desk. I'm going to leave him to it until he calls me back or until a week has passed, whichever comes first. He admitted applying for membership in Glenna's name, and I think he'll give us a written statement to that effect, which we can put in the bank until it might become necessary to show to somebody."

"Don't waste any time getting that statement, Tom."

"Let's let it ride for a few days; I'd rather not push him, because I don't think he's the type to push easy."

"What's he doing in L.A.?"

"He's working for the extras' union."

"Doing what?"

"Well, we know about his background as a strike enforcer."

"But we have a new contract with that union."

"Maybe Hal has other talents I haven't discovered yet. Anyway, he could be a valuable guy to know; I intend to cultivate him."

"I guess it can't hurt."

"Well, I'd better get back to work," Tom said. "Happy New Year, Rick." He vanished into the crowd.

On the way back to the terrace Rick met Leo Goldman.

"This is my wife, Amanda," Leo said. "Amanda, this is one of my bosses, Rick Barron."

Amanda Goldman was small, pretty and smart-looking in a gown worthy of a movie star. "How do you do, Mr. Barron?" she said.

"It's Rick, please. We're all family at Centurion, aren't we, Leo?"

"Oh, sure," Leo said.

"How's my husband doing?" Amanda asked.

"He's doing very well," Rick said. "In fact, he impressed me so much with his work on
Bitter Creek
that I'm promoting him to production manager for the studio."

Leo nearly dropped his drink. "What did you say?"

"You heard me, Leo. Come see me Monday morning, and we'll work out your deal." He shook Amanda's hand again. "A pleasure to meet you, Amanda. Happy New Year to you both." He continued his walk to the back terrace, leaving a flabbergasted Leo Goldman in his wake.

Eddie and Suzanne Harris were talking with Glenna, and Eddie pulled him aside. "Some interesting news," he said. "I talked with Susie Stafford's mother this morning, and she's not bringing Susie's body back to Georgia for burial."

"That's surprising."

"Instead, she's instructing the funeral home here to have the body cremated and to turn the ashes over to a family friend."

"Anybody we know?" Rick was thinking Vance.

"The funeral director said it was confidential."

"I don't understand that; you'd think they'd want to bring her home."

"Someday, my friend, in the Great Beyond, all will be revealed to us. But probably not until then."

45

On the Monday morning after New Year's, Vance split logs to replace those he had burned, then cleaned the cabin, packed his mule, saddled his horse and made his way back down the trail. The ranch was spread out before him, and in the clear Wyoming air he thought he could see a hundred miles.

His mind was as clear as the air. He had read his book and Rick's script, explored the countryside on horseback and done what he could to place Susie's death in a different part of his head, one that did not occupy all his thoughts. The trip back to the ranch house took four hours, and he was there in time for lunch. After he had eaten, he called Rick Barron.

"Vance, how are you?"

"I'm very well, Rick. Coming up here was the perfect thing to do, and now I'm ready to come back."

"I'll have the Staggerwing at Jackson Airport in the early afternoon, tomorrow" Rick said.

"I read the script for
Greenwich Village Girl
, too, and I liked it. Who do you have in mind for the girl?"

"Eddie and I think a lot of a girl who's under contract to the studio. Her name is Hattie Carson. I'll show you a test she made when you get back."

"Fine. I'd like very much to see it. Who's producing?"

"I am, but I don't think I'll direct this one. We can talk about that when you get in. Why don't we have lunch in my office the day after tomorrow?"

"I'd like that."

"I don't know if you've heard from Hy Greenbaum, but he and Eddie have reached agreement on your new deal. You might want to speak with him before our lunch, so we can have that out of the way."

"I haven't talked to him, but I'll call him this afternoon."

"Great. The pilot will call the ranch tomorrow as soon as he lands. Oh, and I've dispatched a print of the film to the Coopers."

"I'll let them know, Rick."

"I'll see you on Wednesday, then."

"I look forward to it."

Vance hung up and started to think about work again.

Eddie came into Rick's office and sat down. "All hell has broken loose in the papers and the trades," he said.

"I know; they've been calling me all morning. I just had my secretary refer all the calls to Bart."

"He's issued statements, one for us and one for Vance, and told them that will be all."

"The LAPD will follow up with the press and keep them posted on leads. I think it's best if the studio just stays out of it."

"So do I. By the way, Leo and I have had our talk, and I think he has a thorough understanding of his place here. He knows he still works for you, although I'm sure he still covets your job."

"No," Rick said. "Leo covets
your
job."

"This is a big jump for such a young guy. He'll be our Irving Thalberg," Eddie said, referring to the former production head at MGM, who had died in his thirties.