Design for Dying (21 page)

“Which horse?” Esteban blinked at me, then his face brightened. “Ah, yes. Not the one in Kentucky he intended to purchase. Armand regards rejection as a temporary condition. He vowed to win her hand.”

“Is there competition for it? Does Natalie have other suitors?”

“Not as such.” Esteban licked his lips nervously. “As you might imagine, Natalie has met many people in the business of making motion pictures. She is entertaining the notion of becoming an actress as a means of supporting herself. Some of those suggesting the idea are more aggressive than others. Armand has heard that Natalie is seeing one of these men. She spoke of going to San Francisco to consider Armand's second proposal. Armand feared she would travel there with that man.”

“Who is he?”

“A motion picture director named Minot. You perhaps know him?”

“Our paths have crossed.” I decided to test a theory. “He looked like he'd crossed more than someone's path recently. I think he exchanged blows with someone. Someone who can defend himself.”

Esteban's gaze wandered across the room, where poker chips rattled. “Armand is a passionate man. He saw Minot outside a club last week with a woman. Not Natalie, but also not Minot's wife, an actress whose name eludes me. Armand made a statement to Minot that could be considered impolite. Minot took offense.”

“And Armand settled his hash.”

A quizzical smile alighted on Esteban's face, making him look like a young boy. “I do not know what you mean, yet I do. Yes. Hash was most definitely settled. Apparently Minot told Natalie about the fight and warned her Armand was a madman. Armand, for his part, went to Natalie and said the contretemps had convinced him to ask for her hand again. His rash behavior, I believe, is why she requested time to reflect. He is quite certain she will accept this time.” Esteban rose. “Would you care for some water? I see a cooler in the back.”

A moment later he handed me a paper cup and stood solicitously by while I drank it. “Armand didn't require a majordomo on his trip?”

“He had me stay behind to make preparations for an engagement party. And his hosts at the Airmont Stables tend to his every need. I had no objections. I'm not particularly fond of airplane travel.”

“Armand traveled by plane?” That shortened the trip considerably, meaning he could have been in Los Angeles when Ruby was killed.

“He wanted to complete his business quickly, the sooner to hear Natalie's answer. I collected him at the airport and drove directly to their rendezvous.”

“He must have put on a fresh suit first. The one he's wearing still has chalk marks from the tailors.”

“Armand changed his wardrobe upon arrival. He also had his barber meet him at the terminal. On such an auspicious evening, Armand insists on looking his best.”

“I notice you don't call him Señor Troncosa.”

He grinned, deep-set eyes almost disappearing under unruly brows. “I would in a more formal setting. But we've known each other too long for that. Armand's father hired mine for his skills as a horseman. Armand and I were thrown together as boys. Alas, I did not inherit my father's gifts—my brother did—so another trade was fated for me. Actually several. Whatever Armand requires. Do you believe he will receive, as you say, a fair shake from the police?”

“Naturally. Why wouldn't he?”

“His … democratic nature. Armand has friends high and low. For a man who has never wanted for anything in life, he conducts himself in every venue with great ease. He never makes himself the center of attention, but does not lack for people who treat him as such.”

“I had a friend like that.” I couldn't help glancing at the photograph in Esteban's hands, of Ruby in full Natalie mufti. “We'd walk into a party and everyone would gravitate to her. I'd feel like the moon orbiting the earth.”

“Seen only by reflected light.” Esteban's laugh was a rich, manly sound, gold coins tumbling in a leather bag. “Still, better to be seen, is it not? To be closer to the fire than to the darkness? And may I say, Miss Frost, you would be seen regardless of circumstance. You provide your own illumination.”

Before I could blush, the interview room door opened. Troncosa emerged, his spirit diminished. Even his once-crisp suit seemed drab, jacket gaping open, shoulders at half-mast. Esteban stepped forward, but Gene intercepted him.

“Mr. Riordan, a word?” Esteban glanced at Troncosa for permission then trailed Gene into the room.

Troncosa took both of my hands, the grip under his faintly scented skin firm. “I thank you, Lillian.”

“For what?”

“Had you not come to the hotel, I would still not know about Natalya. You brought the truth to me earlier than it might have come, and for that I am in your debt.”

“I'm sorry I had to play a role in delivering such terrible news.”

“What is worse is I have lost Natalya twice. My princess did not exist, a mere shadow. And now even that shadow has disappeared.” He slumped against Gene's desk, face ashen, gaze aimed at the floor as if willing it to drop away beneath him.

When Esteban exited the interview room, he went to Troncosa and embraced him. Friends now, not majordomo and employer. Gene continued over to me.

“They're taking this hard,” I said.

“Troncosa seemed blindsided, all right, but there's plenty to look into. Like this trip of his. Says he was in Kentucky to meet with an Arabian prince about a Russian racehorse.”

“Bet you never heard that one before.”

“And he's got a motive. Suppose he learned his true love was making a monkey out of him?” Gene pressed a palm to his face. “You realize what Ruby's playacting does.”

“It puts you back at square one.”

“Is there a square zero? Customarily in a murder investigation, you at least identify the victim correctly. All this legwork thinking Ruby was the target—”

“And it may have been Natalie the whole time.”

“This case will be my career. A new man couldn't tell the players
with
a scorecard. I'll be working it until I keel over, my son left to pick up my notebook and carry on.” The smile on his face added a thousand years to his age. “Who am I kidding? I'll never have time to sire a son. We'll have to talk to everyone again before word of this farce makes the papers. Somebody had to be aware of Ruby's little stunt.”

“I'd say that clears Addison Rice.”

“You're that convinced the old boy hadn't figured it out?”

“I'm certain of it. You have to let him know now. He can't read about this in the papers. He'll be humiliated. All he did was try to help. Giving advice to Ruby, inviting a refugee into his home.”

“I get it. The man's a living saint.”

“I just don't think he deserves to be made a laughingstock in print.”

“You Catholic girls. Always with the sob stories.”

I heard footsteps and saw Esteban making a return trip to the water cooler.

“Round two with Troncosa,” Gene said. “You wait in the lobby. I'll arrange for someone to take you home.”

*   *   *

AT THE FRONT
desk, two women were vociferously protesting their prostitution arrests. Their fashion crimes were more troubling and I devoutly wished Edith could serve as their counsel. One of them took in my canary-yellow dress and chalked me up as a member of the sisterhood. I assumed Gene would break up the poker game and dispatch the winner to drive me as penance. Instead, Esteban appeared.

“Armand heard you needed a ride and instructed me to oblige.” Brooking no argument—as if I were about to pose one—he waved me toward the doors and then to the Pierce-Arrow brougham, its blue finish gleaming under a streetlamp. He opened the rear door for me.

“I couldn't sit in the back. Not after tonight.” Esteban held my arm as I slid into the passenger seat. Off we went, engine purring like a freshly sated puma.

The evening's events lulled us into silence. When Esteban spoke, it was with eyes fixed straight ahead. “What did she call herself, your friend?”

“Ruby.”

“Ruby. She did not seem like a Ruby.” Another awkward pause. “She was attempting to trick Armand, then. She sought his money.”

“I honestly don't know. Maybe at first. But that could have changed.”

“What other reason could she have for this treachery?” His fingers twitched against the wheel. “I should have sensed it. I should have seen through her pretense.”

“Why? No one did.”

Esteban glanced over at me. “Armand had strong feelings for your friend. This was unlike his usual flirtations. He may seem frivolous, but he is a man in love with life.”

“Ruby was the same way,” I said. “Probably why they got along so well.”

*   *   *

OUTSIDE MRS. QUIGLEY'S,
Esteban asked me to wait. He took a black velvet box from his jacket. “Armand also wishes to present you with a token of his appreciation.”

“That's not necessary. The ride was enough.”

“On his behalf, I insist.” He rested the box in the palm of my hand. Not opening it, I decided, would seem rude.

Inside was a thin chain of gold. At the end of it dangled a small pendant of green stone.

“This is an emerald,” I said, more for confirmation than anything else.

“I realize it may seem excessive. But generosity is Armand's nature. This particular stone is a product of the mines owned by the Troncosa family. To him, they are commonplace. He gives them away regularly.”

“It's beautiful. But surely this is too much. I haven't done anything.”

“On the contrary. Without your intervention Armand would have believed he had been rejected by his true love. You did him a great service.”

“I suppose I did.”
Attagirl, mermaid. Take whatever lavish gifts you can lay your mitts on.
I set the pendant in the box, the chain puddling around it.

“Good night, Miss Frost. Meeting you has been a rare pleasure.” Esteban paused, looking into my eyes. For a moment I hoped he might buss my cheek in the continental fashion. Instead he clambered out of the car and held the door for me, not getting behind the wheel again until I was safely inside.

Upstairs I collapsed onto the bed, exhausted. I held the necklace up to the light and watched the stone sparkle. It was a wholly unwarranted gift, and it felt improper to keep it. But I could always return it the next day.

Or perhaps the day after that.

In the meantime, I pondered a question. If I were the recipient of such a prize simply for being the bearer of bad tidings, then Natalie must have amassed a trove of similar gewgaws.

So where were they?

 

22

EDITH'S FRIEND AND
confidant Bill Ihnen flagged me down outside the Paramount Wardrobe building, the brown paper bag he waved anointing the breeze with cinnamon. “Doughnuts scavenged from the commissary. This time of day, they're just thrown out.”

“Then you have prevented a tragedy. I've been at work all day and only ate half a bologna sandwich. Keep wagging those in front of me and I'll follow you clear to Pasadena.”

“No need to go that far. Edo's on one of the soundstages. Shall we take a stroll?”

We kept to the shade, the studio's industrious energy coursing around us. “I'm up to date on your endeavors,” Bill said. “Let me congratulate you on achieving the impossible. You got Edith to venture off the lot. The woman makes grindstones nervous. Paramount's most dedicated employee. Soul of the place since 1924.”

“She's been here that long? She looks so young.”

“Nobody knows how old Edo is. Have to cut her open and count the rings. I hope this Ruby business sorts itself out soon. Edith's struggling to keep her footing in the job with Travis's contract due for renewal. She'd be lost without work. I can't picture her at home with Charlie. Heard you two met.”

“And I said something unforgivably foolish.”

Bill patted my shoulder. “I doubt you said anything Edith doesn't already know. She knows just about everything.”

We made our way into a building the size of an airplane hangar. The warning light by the elephant door was off, the sign beneath identifying the production as
COLLEGE SWING
. Inside, a rakish man with an eye patch held court next to a motion picture camera, his body language indicating an off-color story was in progress. The camera's dozing eye faced thirty square feet of bogus grass and cramped foliage, bushes jostling for space like straphangers in a subway car. A section of ivy-covered wall with a
Romeo and Juliet
–type balcony overlooked the fray.

Through the scrum of electricians and assorted assistants I spotted a petite dervish in a gray shirtwaist. “There's Edith. Standing by—who is
that
?”

Edith supervised a pixie-faced wardrobe girl who whirled around a dark-haired man with legs so long he had to sit on a stool so she could work her magic. Wings sprouted from his back. Cupid's wings, judging from the crossbow partly hidden behind his muscular thigh. One glimpse of his exposed sock garters and the blood in my head had elsewhere to be.

“John Payne, the star of
Love on Toast
. A B picture I worked on, out next month. I'd invite you to the premiere but we're not having one. No fault of John's. He's a fine singer, too.”

Edith saw us and waved. John Payne turned in our direction, grimaced slightly, then threw in a good-sport wave of his own.

“Actors amaze me. I couldn't be so calm and collected sitting in my shorts with all these people around,” Bill said.

“He's not wearing pants? I hadn't noticed.”

*   *   *

“WON'T PRESTON STURGES
be surprised?” A puckish gleam flashed behind Edith's eyeglasses. “Him insisting Princess Natalie was the essence of royalty.”