Design for Dying (16 page)

“That's why I carry this.” Edith held a square of dark glass against the clear lens of her eyeglasses. “To see how the costume will read on camera. Bit of a nuisance, though.”

“You should have spectacles made of those.”

“What a clever idea. I'll be doing my first color picture shortly. Flying aces in the Great War, so no ball gowns. We shall see how expressive a color brown can be.” She sat behind Banton's desk, which somehow didn't dwarf her. “I commend you on getting Mr. Nolan to admit he'd taken the clothes. We were so close the other day. I knew it required a woman's touch.”

“The bourbon didn't hurt, either.”

“Tell me about this private detective. Could he have scared Mr. Nolan off?”

I pictured the photographer's reaction to Beckett the shady shamus. “I think Kenneth is in Ensenada this lovely morning, en route to points farther south.”

Banton's elegant receptionist tapped on the door. “Excuse me, Miss Head? Your next appointment is on the way up.”

“I should probably head home,” I said.

“Could you stay longer? There's another matter I wanted to discuss.”

We moved into Banton's salon. Edith surveyed the room. As she nodded in satisfaction, there was a knock on the door. “Is everyone decent?”

“I'm afraid so,” Edith replied.

To my astonishment Bob Hope came bounding in, the Broadway and radio star preceded by his proboscis. “I really need to work on my timing. How are ya, Edie?”

“Splendid, Bob. And you?”

“I've been better. Played eighteen holes with Crosby at Lakeside and he thrashed me pretty good. He won't let up about it.”

“That doesn't sound like Bing.”

“Oh, he's not saying a word. That's how he needles you, by never bringing it up. Who do we have here?”

Edith told him my name and Hope darted toward me, eyes glittering on either side of his prominent nose, brows summiting his forehead as he assessed my assets. He took my hand in both of his, stroking it as if it were a nervous cat. “Lillian. A pleasure.”

“Likewise, Mr. Hope.”

“Call me Bob, please. And promise me you're going to help with the fitting. I'll warn you right now I'm ticklish.” He came out with a girlish shudder that had me laughing.

“Actually, I'm just—”

“She's just crazy about the picture, Bob,” Edith interjected. “I was telling Lillian all about it.”

Hope continued caressing my cuticles. “Pretty excited about it myself. Can you believe Dorothy Lamour plays my girlfriend?”

“It
is
a comedy,” Edith said.

“I'll do the jokes, if you don't mind. You handle the wardrobe.”

I extracted my hand from Hope's. He was in no hurry to let it go. “Will you be designing Dorothy's costumes, too?”

“Yes. I've worked with her several times.”

“So you did the sarong from
The Jungle Princess
?”

Edith fixed me with a steely gaze. “You're not going to critique its authenticity, are you? I don't need another person to point out an actual sarong would bare the breasts. I am well aware of that fact. But we're making motion pictures here.”

“I asked her to put accuracy first,” Hope said. “Begged her, in fact.” He found a bonnet in the corner and tried it on. He pressed his hands together under his chin and tilted his head like a silent movie sweetheart. I couldn't help laughing again.

“I doubt that hat will go with your tuxedo,” Edith said. “Speaking of which, we made a few minor adjustments to it. Let's make sure it still fits.”

“Don't see why it wouldn't. I've been eating nothing but pineapple buttercream layer cakes since the last time I tried it on.” He doffed his suit jacket, placed it on a hanger with a flourish, then reached for the belt on his trousers.

“Behind the screen if you please, Bob,” Edith said.

“You're taking all the fun out of this.” Hope winked at me then did as asked, humming under his breath. “New song for the picture. Don't know if I'm ever going to get it down.”

Edith cleared her throat and spoke in a loud voice that rang out like a brass bell. “I've been giving some thought to that puzzle piece, Lillian.”

I lowered my own voice when I replied. “Gene said the police haven't turned up anything on it yet.”

She nodded, still playing to the rafters. “I keep wondering why Ruby would be carrying, of all things, a
jigsaw
puzzle piece. And in that particular suit.”

“Me, too. It did seem a touch formal for a quiet night around the games table.”

Bob Hope stepped from behind the screen looking dapper in a classic tuxedo, the ends of his bow tie trailing around his neck. “Did I hear you gals talking about jigsaw puzzles?”

“We came across a piece recently,” Edith said, “but we have no idea where it could have come from.”

Hope preened at his reflection in the mirror. “Dollars to doughnuts I can tell you what it is. Sort of a party invitation.”

“What do you mean?” Edith asked.

“You ladies ever hear of Addison Rice?”

“Isn't he some kind of millionaire businessman?” I asked.

“Go ahead and stick a multi in front of that millionaire. He's flush. Throws huge parties, each with a nutty theme. For his last wingding he sent out puzzle pieces. You had to fit yours into the big picture before you could escape to the patio for a drink.”

“You attended this party?” Edith asked.

“Sure. I let Dolores figure out where the piece went. She's good at those things. A few minutes later we were swilling champagne with the big names. And they had to swill it with me. Serves them right.”

“When was this party, Bob?”

“Last Saturday.”

Edith speared me with a look, our thoughts aligned. Ruby had been found dead the morning before that, an invitation in her possession. One on which she'd written a distant date in December.

“I must confess I'm not familiar with this Addison Rice,” Edith said.

“I am.” Not that I'd been reading the business pages. Addison Rice's parties regularly provided fodder for
Modern Movie
. “He made all his money in radio parts back east.”

“Radio, huh? We've been working together for years and I didn't know it.” Hope deftly knotted his tie and admired his efforts in the mirror. “His wife had to take the cure, spends her time at their place in Arizona. When he's not in the desert he's here entertaining the entertainers.”

“Then these are show business parties?”

“You know us actors when it comes to a free meal. And drinks. But Addison's got an address book thicker than Jack Benny's wallet. He invites local movers and shakers, East Coast society friends looking to rub elbows, a few shadier folk. I wanna tell ya, ol' Addy likes to mix it up.”

“I wonder if Ruby's friend Princess Natalie ever wound up on the guest list,” I said.

“Princess Natalie? Now there's a charmer and no mistake.”

Edith and I both whipped our heads around to stare Bob Hope down. “You
know
Princess Natalie?” Edith demanded.

Hope took a step back, raising his hands over his head like it was a stickup. I heard a seam rip, and Edith closed her eyes. “Let's not get too excited, ladies. I'm telling you right now you're going to have to sweat it out of me. If you're up for it. I met the princess at Addison's place, as a matter of fact. Said she was a big fan of my radio show. I had no idea it was on overseas. I should ask Woodbury Soap for more money.”

Edith abruptly spun around to me. “Lillian, may I speak to you?”

“Was it something I said?” the comedian asked.

“Excuse us, Bob. We won't be a moment.” Edith took my arm, her fingers as gentle as grappling hooks, and led me out of the salon.

“Detective Morrow must be told about this Addison Rice,” she said. “The issue is how seriously he'll take the information at this point. Which is why you should also talk to Mr. Rice.”

“I should? I know ol' Addy likes to mix it up, but he won't find a stranger showing up on his doorstep inquiring about a dead girl very appealing. And why would he talk to me?”

“He won't be able to resist a lovely, inquisitive young woman curious about his fabled parties.”

“Wait, are we still talking about me? I'll have you know I have a reputation as a terrible actress.”

“You'll be marvelous.”

“I've never been to a millionaire's estate before. Something tells me it's not on any streetcar line.”

“You really should learn to drive if you're going to live in Los Angeles, Lillian. I could use a break from the studio. Let me finish with Bob and call Detective Morrow. Then I'll take you.”

We returned to the dressing room, where I retrieved my bag. Bob Hope was lying on the chaise, flipping through
Collier's
. “This is the life, huh, Lillian? You're not leaving, are you?”

“I'm afraid so. Good luck on the picture, Mr. Hope. I'll be sure to see it.”

“You don't even know what it's called. Neither do I. They're changing the title.”

“It doesn't matter. I see them all.”

“Hold on a minute.” He jumped to his feet, placing his hand on my arm again. “We were just getting to know each other. I thought you were going to be my personal wardrobe girl. What's the rush?”

“I have a date with a millionaire,” I said. “Multi.”

 

17

I LEVELED THE
accusation as we crossed the Paramount lot. “You used me as a prop.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Edith chugged along at her usual clip. Calculating how to match her speed delayed my response.

“Not that I object. You wanted me here so you could mention the puzzle piece while Bob Hope was in the room.”

“The notion it could be one of these offbeat invitations so popular right now had occurred to me. And I know Bob gets invited to everything.”

“So you asked him without actually asking him.”

“It would be inappropriate to inquire about his social life. And I didn't want him to suspect I had him try on that tuxedo for no reason.”

“You didn't!”

“A woman must know how to wield what power she has. Remember that.” We reached a crossroads. Edith spotted someone approaching from the right and uttered a faint, vaguely exasperated sigh.

“Edie!” a rich baritone boomed. “I was setting out to find you.” The speaker was a tall man with a receding hairline and thinning pate. Vanity spurred him to compensate sartorially, his impeccably cut gray suit accented by a purple tie and red eyes.

Edith pressed her lips white and teased the corners upward. “I didn't realize you'd be stopping by.”

“Neither did I. But the stream of life washes me up on your doorstep yet again.” He turned to me with a pleasant if foggy smile, not bothering to wait for an introduction. “Charles.”

“Lillian.” I shook his proffered hand and was wreathed in the scent of juniper. Charles, despite the hour, had been at the gin already.

“One of Edie's new sketch girls, Lillian?”

“Actually, we're about to run an errand and can't stop to talk. Just wait in my office.” Edith strained to make the request sound less like an order.

“Say, is Travis around? Always happy to pop in and toast the events of the day.”

“He is not, as you well know. Go say hello to Adele and I'll join you shortly.”

Charles bowed formally and struck off toward the Wardrobe Department with the sad pride of an exiled prince returning to seek a hero's welcome. Edith didn't tarry to watch him go, and again I sprinted after her.

“Charlie's party starts early, judging by the aroma. Who is he, anyway?”

“Charles. My husband.”

A white-hot knot formed in my stomach.

“Now. Regarding my behavior with Bob…”

How was I supposed to know Edith was married? Everyone at Paramount called her
Miss
Head. Okay, maybe Preston Sturges
had
dropped Charles's name. But Edith had never alluded to a spouse. She seemed completely self-sufficient, an island unto herself. I didn't see how my blunder could be solely my fault. Then I realized Edith was still talking.

“I admit I'm pushing rather hard on this front. But that's only because I fear Detective Morrow's efforts may be thwarted. And whatever Ruby did, my costumes played a role. In light of those circumstances, I don't view my actions as excessive.” She glanced at me. “None of which obligates you to participate in what I'm proposing with Mr. Rice, which is rather … unorthodox.”

If Edith wasn't going to comment on my unintentional badmouthing of her husband, I wasn't about to bring it up. I was all for keeping things professional. “Didn't your friend Bill say we made a good team? I
want
to help. Not just you, but Ruby. I keep thinking about what Natalie said, that Ruby called me her one true friend.”

“‘We women are creatures of the heart, aren't we?' Yes, I've been contemplating Natalie's words myself. Here we are.”

Edith owned an eminently sensible gray sedan, which she drove like a bright red racing car. Two turns off the Paramount lot and I was hanging on for dear life. She pulled off Sunset onto a street spiraling into the hills. It was another glorious day, the sun beaming on automatic, the air so fragrant with oranges and promise it was practically moist. The trees overhanging the road were garlanded with tiny red blossoms. I felt like we were the only float in an impromptu parade, and I was too keyed up to enjoy it.

“Stop whimpering every time I make a turn, Lillian, and let's discuss your overture to Mr. Rice.”

We'd formulated a plan by the time we reached a wrought-iron gate flanked by white stone pillars. An intercom was set into one. Edith told the box that Mr. Rice was expecting Miss Frost, and the gate swung open at once.