Design for Dying (34 page)

“My only fear is running into every other girl in town who has one.” Off Edith's puzzlement I added, “It's from Armand Troncosa. He hands them out like candy at a carnival.”

“Does he? May I?” She already had the stone pinched between her fingers and angled toward the closest lamp.

“What carnivals do you go to?” Adele asked. “I've never gotten free candy.”

A tug on the chain pulled the necklace taut and I stumbled toward Edith. Her eyes blazed with concentration. I fumbled for the clasp. “Did you want me to take it off?”

“That won't be necessary.” She placed the stone gently against my dress. It felt cold through the fabric, changed somehow. “If you wouldn't object to delaying your job hunt, I can think of a more productive way for us to spend some time.”

 

34

IT WAS EASILY
the cleanest diner I'd ever been in, as well as the largest and currently the emptiest. Nary a coffee ring on the countertop, seating clear to the horizon. The decor, though, left something to be desired. Enormous cardboard cutouts of athletes affixed to checked wallpaper, wildly out of place French doors, columns and trellises erupting from the floor.

“I don't understand,” I said to Edith. “Where's the kitchen supposed to be?”

“It's a set, dear.”

“I know, but a nod to reality would help the illusion. If this were an actual diner, your food would be cold by the time it got to you. I see an order window by the—is that a bandstand?”

“It's for the number with Betty Grable and Skinnay Ennis. We're dressing the girls in very contemporary coed fashions. Knit skirts, sweater sets, some darling crocheted caps.”

“You'd need one to keep warm while waiting for your lunch.”

Adjourning to the set of
College Swing
had been Edith's idea. Even Travis Banton's office couldn't accommodate the number of guests we were expecting, so she'd arranged to use a Paramount soundstage—with help from on high in the person of Barney Groff. I was supposed to be pushing several tables together but kept being distracted by the production designer's notion of campus life. Anything that seemed vaguely collegiate had been included, coherence be damned.

“Bill would hate this set. And the Alden College hangout is called ‘The Hangout'? Who wrote this?”

“Preston Sturges contributed a few jokes. The funny ones, I imagine he'd say. Would you mind finishing with the furniture before your critique?”

I completed my assignment as Gene walked in, using the diner's door even though one entire wall was missing. Judging from his expression he was past second and onto third thoughts about Edith's plan. He surveyed our makeshift assembly room and then Edith warily. “You're sure about this?”

“Not even remotely, Detective. I
am
sure you and your men are more than capable of handling whatever might result from this gambit.”

Hansen escorted Tommy Carpa onto the soundstage. Tommy's hands were in shackles, his wrists folded demurely so the metal was almost invisible. Hansen shoved him in the back, but his heart wasn't in it. Tommy dropped into a chair at the table. Hansen turned to Gene. “Ought to book you a room at the booby hatch for going along with this.” Then he looked at Edith and me. “For the record, this is the dumbest idea I ever heard of.”

“Duly noted, Detective. I thank you for your cooperation.”

“You wouldn't have it if it was up to me. This kind of burlesque is strictly for the Follies Theater. I'd have put the kibosh on it myself, but one word from your man and it's on with the baggy pants for us.”

I longed to argue with him, to point out Hansen hadn't kicked when Groff was calling the tune earlier, but Edith wisely chose another path. “Your forbearance is appreciated. Did you know Betty Grable will be performing on that bandstand later this week?” Hansen feigned indifference, but was quick to accept Edith's offer of a tour of the set.

Tommy seemed strangely at peace, a man who'd accepted his fate. I had to resist the impulse to sweep the ever-present forelock of hair out of his eyes myself. He glanced around the set and grunted. “Floor plan of this joint is terrible. Where's the kitchen supposed to be?”

The Mirthless Minots were next. The not-so-happily married couple might as well have shown up separately. Laurence breezed in, spotted the docile Tommy, and bolted to Gene in protest. Diana clutched a long tweed coat tightly around herself. White satin accented with lace peeked out from beneath the hem, the color and fabric familiar. “Isn't that from the lullaby number?” I asked. “I thought you'd wrapped that.”

“We did. But that bastard insists on reshooting it.” She glared at her husband, now settling himself as far from Tommy as he could. “He's determined to make my life a living hell no matter the cost to the studio. Do you know what he said to me in front of the entire company?”

I would never find out, because I had to greet our final guests. Armand Troncosa forced a watery smile. Esteban trailed after him, so concerned about Troncosa he scarcely registered my presence. With them was an unexpected hanger-on. Addison Rice barreled over, taking both my hands and pumping them like he was drilling for oil.

“I hope it's okay I tagged along. I was bidding bon voyage to Armand when you called him. He mentioned he was coming to see you and Miss Head, and … I've never been on a movie lot before, can you imagine that? Who's in this picture again?”

I was hung up on one of Addison's earlier statements. “Armand is leaving?”

“Packed up his kit bag this morning. Heading home. Can't say I blame him. How did he put it? ‘The sunshine of one's native land is the greatest balm for a broken heart.' Sounded better with his accent.”

I excused myself and approached Esteban, watching his employer converse with Gene. Troncosa was speaking emphatically and enumerating points on his fingers. There were going to be more than five of them. The weariness on Esteban's face made it plain he had been up late and then far too early.

“I'm so glad Armand could come,” I told him. “Not too much of an inconvenience, I hope.”

Esteban's eyes never left Troncosa. “Armand doesn't understand the point of this gathering. He attended only at your request.”

“I hear he's returning to Argentina. Tell me it's just a short trip.”

“Alas, no. Home is the place for him now.”

“I'm sorry to hear that. And doubly glad you're here, too, so we can say good-bye.”

Esteban finally looked at me. At that moment Gene backed away from Troncosa with his arms raised in a placating gesture. He glanced at Edith, his eyes suggesting that now would be a good time to get the show on the road.

With a clap of her hands, Edith called the motley crew to order. We arranged ourselves around the table, Edith at its head, Tommy slumped at the center of one side, Hansen next to him, Gene directly behind him. Laurence and Troncosa glowered stylishly at one another.

Edith introduced herself. “I'd like to thank everyone for indulging me today. Miss Galway, may I say what a lovely coat that is. Señor Riordan, please, join us.”

After a lordly wave of Troncosa's hand, Esteban nodded at Edith and sat next to his employer.

Before Edith could continue, Laurence spoke up. “I'll repeat to you, Miss Head, what I told Detective Morris. I would never have come had I known this maniac”—an accusatory finger aimed at Tommy, who replied with a lazy smile—“would be here. He assaulted me in my own home.”

“He'll behave,” Gene said. “And my name is Morrow.”

“Come now, Minot.” Troncosa tossed the words across the table like poisoned darts. “You assaulted me, yet I don't object to your presence.”

The spark of a lighter in the recesses of the soundstage drew my eye. The flame briefly illuminated Barney Groff's face before darkness again consumed him. I wasn't surprised he'd opted to observe our conclave. He'd pulled strings to make it happen at Edith's request and now wanted to see if, as she claimed, she could bring the whole grisly affair to a conclusion.

Aware she was under his watchful eye, she swiftly asserted control over the situation. “Gentlemen, at the risk of stirring up further bad blood, I asked you here to confirm the sequence of events involving Ruby Carroll, also known as Princess Natalie Szabo.”

A sharp bark of laughter from Diana, who then stroked the surface of her coat.

Edith was unruffled. “Señor Troncosa. Princess Natalie requested time to consider your second proposal of marriage and would be taking a trip in your absence, is that correct?”

“To San Francisco,” Troncosa said. “In the company of Mr. Minot.”

“We never traveled together.” Laurence spoke with the bravery that only comes from having a table between you and the man who'd cleaned your clock. Diana shook her head in disgust.

Edith turned to Esteban. “Señor Riordan, is that consistent with your understanding of the facts?”

Esteban's jaw clenched as if trying to keep prisoner any words that might be used against Troncosa. I had no doubt if given the opportunity, Esteban would have chosen to perish quietly under the table rather than say anything. He nodded once.

“With that established…” From the deep pockets of her dress Edith removed a pair of drawstring velvet pouches. She opened each in turn and extracted two identical necklaces, twinned emeralds dangling from fine gold chains. She handed one to me. I mimicked her presentation as we turned toward Troncosa like a pair of mannequins in Tremayne's.

“Señor Troncosa. Would you be so kind as to identify these pieces of jewelry?”

Troncosa leaned forward, his interest reluctantly piqued. He eyed each piece, then Edith herself, sensing a trap. He rose from his seat to inspect the one draped over my fingers, smiling winningly at me first. Then he sat down.

“They would appear,” he said slowly, “to be Troncosa stones. From mines in which my family has an interest.”

Now Edith faced me. “Lillian? You brought them in. Would you do the honors?”

I raised the necklace in my hand aloft. “This one is mine. A gift from Armand. The other belongs to my friend Violet. Also given to her by Armand.”

“A lovely girl, Miss Webb,” Troncosa said.

Hansen's eyes were tiny and hard. “You get these by the gross and hand 'em out to your girlfriends?”

“I occasionally make presents of my family's assets to foster goodwill among friends.”

“Listen to him,” Laurence said. “Like he's with the League of Nations.”

Troncosa drew himself up. “Is generosity frowned upon in this country?”

“Not at all.” Edith pressed on. “Another quality shared by both of these pieces—”

“The stones are phonies,” Diana said. “I can tell from here.”

Edith bristled at having her thunder stolen, but only for a moment. “Miss Galway is correct. Paramount's own jewelry expert confirmed it. Uncommonly good forgeries.”

Her last sentence was drowned out by the uproar from the table. Assorted gasps, shocked laughter, the crash of Troncosa's chair hitting the floor as he seized my hand to examine the necklace more closely. Esteban gaped at his employer in amazement.

“This is slanderous, Miss Head. What you suggest sullies my good name, and I will not permit—”

He couldn't continue, not with Laurence's braying laughter bouncing off the high ceiling. “Unbelievable. Another jumped-up little fraud. I should have known.”

Even Tommy showed signs of animation. “I don't get it. You mean this guy's a hustler like me?”

Troncosa withstood their mockery with the slow-burning wrath of the true aristocrat. “The name Troncosa is known throughout South America. I am most assuredly not, as Mr. Carpa would have it, a hustler. I can only presume various officials have decided the most suitable person to blame for this late unpleasantness is the foreigner, and the rest of you have consented to go along with this travesty of justice to ease your own passages. But I will not submit to this. Esteban, contact my attorney.”

Edith stayed Esteban with her hand. “Señor Troncosa, I have no intention of impugning your integrity. I only state an incontrovertible fact. The stones in these necklaces are fakes.”

Mollified, Troncosa again considered the necklace I held. “This truly is your necklace, Lillian?”

“Yes. The one Esteban gave me.”

Troncosa turned to his majordomo. “Your explanation?”

“I have none, Armand. I simply present the pieces given to me at your direction.”

“Pieces, I should add,” Edith said, “that our expert estimates would cost in the vicinity of four to five hundred dollars each.”

“And you're giving 'em away like Cracker Jack prizes.” Hansen was impressed. “So where are the real stones?”

“I have no idea,” Troncosa said. “I accept both my friends Esteban and Lillian at their word, so the explanation lies elsewhere. The stones have far to travel before they reach me. The substitution could have been made any number of places.”

Laurence hooted at that theory. Addison's expression was rapt. He had a front-row seat for the kind of spectacle that typically cost two bits in the picture house, and he wanted to catch every syllable.

Edith cleared her throat. The gathering fell silent. How this tiny woman was able to hold sway over us all I would never understand. “It might be instructive to compare these counterfeits to the genuine article. Detective Morrow?”

Gene was already quick-stepping to the soundstage door. He held it open and pointed at someone waiting.

Into the building came two uniformed police officers. They moved in ungainly fashion, carrying a metal box between them. The officers deposited it on a table with a heavy
thud.
Addison leaned forward in anticipation. Everyone else, I couldn't help noticing, reared back, as if fearing what might lie within.