This Dame for Hire (20 page)

“I can’t.”

“Could ya work on it today?”

“I’ll try.”

“Okay. I’ll give ya my office number and ya can leave it with my secretary cause I’ll probably be out.”

I gave him the number and hung up. Everything was getting real interesting again.

I dialed Birdie at the office.

“Bird,” I said. “Anythin goin on?”

“If ya think me and Pete fightin is somethin goin on, yeah.”

“It’s not.”

“How’re ya feelin, Faye?”

“I’m fine. Reason I’m callin is a guy named Richard Cotten—”

“The boyfriend.”

“Right. He might call today with a name for me.”

“And?”

“I want ya to be sure to take it.”

“Ya know, Faye. That’s insultin. What else would I do with a name somebody gave me?”

“Yer right. I’m sorry.”

“And why can’t he call you at home?”

“Well, I—”

“Yer goin out, ain’tcha?”

I didn’t want a lecture, but what could I do but tell the truth. “Yeah, I am. And don’t say anythin about it, Bird.”

“Lips zipped.”

“Keep tryin to get me once ya get that name, cause I’ll be in and out, okay?”

“Right.”

“And I’ll try you off and on durin the day.”

“Right.”

“Ya mad at me?”

“Lips zipped.”

“Oh, come on, Birdie.”

“Ya don’t wanna hear what I have to say.”

She was right, but I couldn’t leave things like this between us. “Okay, tell me what yer thinkin.”

“I’m thinkin yer a dumb cluck, is what I’m thinkin. Ya were told to rest and what’re ya doin? Yer gonna be out and about doin God knows what. What’re ya gonna be doin out there? What’s so important yer hell bent to go out there?”

“Ya done?”

“Maybe.”

“There’s somebody I need to interview.”

“Ya can’t wait till tomorrow?”

“No.”

“I give up.”

“Don’t be mad, Bird.”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me what you and Pete are fightin about.”

“What’s the dif?”

“I wanna know.”

“Same old thing.”

“He wants to get married?”

“You got it.”

Most girls would’ve jumped at the chance to get married and have the security, but not Birdie Ritter. She liked her independence. Also Pete was not exactly dream husband material.

“Says he wants to make me respectable. I told him I thought I was respectable already.”

“And ya are.”

“Yeah, well he doesn’t think so. Says if we don’t get married soon, he’s not gonna see me anymore.”

“Would that be so bad?”

“It’s not like there’s a lotta fish in the sea right now in case ya hadn’t noticed, Faye.”

“Ya know what, Bird. We need to go to a USO dance together.”

“And what? Meet a lotta soldiers and sailors who’re probably gonna be killed soon?”

“We should do it for them.”

“That’s different. But what’s that gotta do with Pete?”

“Nothin. I just thought it would be a change for ya.”

“Meanwhile, I gotta get Pete outta this rut. He’s drivin me nutty.”

“Tell him you’ll marry him after the war.”

“I’d be lyin.”

“So?”

“I got my own regulations, Faye.”

“Well, I don’t know what ya should do. You’ll figure somethin out.”

“Yeah, I guess. Ya goin out now?”

“Yeah.”

“Take it easy, will ya, Faye?”

“I promise. Now could ya look up somethin for me?”

She said she would and gave me an address. The bulb clicked on over my head while I was getting dressed that I should try to interview Brian Wayne’s wife. I wasn’t sure how I was gonna get her to talk to me, but I had to give it a shot.

TWENTY-TWO

Mrs. Wayne lived on West Ninth Street between Sixth and Fifth. It was a small white building, set back from the street. A nicely trimmed hedge bordered a little plot of grass. The door was painted red. There were three names on the bell roster. Wayne lived on the third floor. I knew I was taking a chance not calling ahead, but I pushed the bell. In about a minute I heard somebody coming down the stairs.

When the door opened, I saw a pretty woman about my height and weight. She wore a blue and white dress with a jabot and puffed sleeves. On her feet were blue and white pumps.

“Yes?” she said.

“Mrs. Wayne?”

“Yes.”

“My name is Faye Quick and—”

“Faye Quick? What kind of name is that? Quick? Did you make that up?”

“No. Why would I do that?”

She stared at me.

“I’d like to talk to you for a little bit.”

“Talk to me? Are you selling something?”

“No.” I was afraid to mention her husband before I got in. “I’m not sellin anythin. I’d like some information.”

“Oh, you must be interested in the apartment next door.”

I thought about pretending that I was, but when she found out I wasn’t she might not trust me. “No. I wonder, could I come in? This is a confidential matter.”

She squeezed her dark brows together so they looked like one.

“Are you one of
his
?”

“His?”

“Brian’s. You’re one of his sluts, aren’t you?” She started to close the door, but I put my hand up against it and held it there.

“I’m not one of anybody’s sluts,” I said.

“Then what the hell do you want?”

I had no choice. “I wanna talk to ya about yer husband.”

“I knew it. I have nothing to say to you. Brian no longer lives here and—”

“Mrs. Wayne, I’m not a girlfriend of his. I’m a private investigator.”

“A what?”

“I’m a detective.”

“You certainly are not.”

I dug around in my purse and found my license, which I handed to her.

“How do I know you didn’t have one of those people on Forty-second Street make this for you?”

I could tell this dame had been hit before. “Ya
don’t
know, but why would I come here wantin to talk to ya? What would I gain?”

“What do you girls ever gain?”

“I’m not one of those girls. Mrs. Wayne, your husband is involved in a murder investigation.” It wasn’t a total lie.
I
was investigating him.

“I thought that was all over. It was months ago, wasn’t it?”

“True. But it’s not over. I’ve been hired to look into it again.”

“Who hired you?”

“I can’t tell ya that.”

She stared again.

“And you don’t have to cooperate with me, but I wish ya would.”

“I don’t see why I should, but come in.” She opened the door wider, and I stepped into the vestibule. The stairs were covered by a red runner.

“I’m on the top floor,” she said.

Mrs. Wayne led the way. When we got to the third floor, she opened the door to a large room with a skylight letting the sun stream in. The furniture was big and floppy and a far cry from most of the stuff I’d seen on this case. Ya just wanted to sink down in one of the chairs and read or take a nap. The floors were wood, no rugs. In one corner there was a box with toys piled neatly inside. And a big black hairy cat was stretched along the back of the sofa.

“What’s the cat’s name?”

“Rathbone. Do you like cats?”

“I do.”

“Have any?”

“No.”

“Then you don’t really like them.”

“I do. I shoulda said I don’t have any right now.” I thought about that white ball of fur, and my heart filled with sadness. “Mine died about a year ago. His name was Cedric.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“He had a good life. But I miss him a lot.”

“Aren’t you going to get another?”

“One of these days.”

“Would you like some tea or coffee, Miss Quick?”

“Coffee if it’s made. And call me Faye.”

“It’s made, Faye. Please call me Maureen.”

Funny thing about cat lovers, we stick together cause more people like dogs. Cats are kinda second-class citizens in some eyes.

I sat on the rose-flowered sofa, putting Rathbone’s purr near my ear. It was a surprisingly small sound for such a big cat, but still comforting to me.

Maureen came back with coffee for us both.

“I hope you don’t mind it black. I can’t stand that powdered stuff.”

“I wouldn’t know cause I always take it black.”

Maureen sat down in a comfy-looking chair across from me.

“So what can I do for you?” she asked.

“As you know, Mr. Wayne was questioned in the Claudette West case.”

She nodded.

“The case still hasn’t been solved.”

“And that’s why you were hired? By the parents, I’d guess?”

I didn’t say anything.

“Sorry.”

“You seem quite angry at your husband.”

“Wouldn’t you be? He’s been involved with one girl after another.”

“Claudette West bein one of em?”

“I don’t see why not.”

That was less than I’d hoped. “How long have ya been married?”

“Ten years.”

“And how long has he been up to his . . . shenanigans?”

“An interesting way to put it. Brian, as far as I know now, has been cheating on me since the second month of our marriage.”

That was quick off the mark. A real track star, Brian. “And when did ya find out?”

“I’m ashamed to tell you.” She lit a cigarette and made a big deal outta blowing out the match.

I wasn’t sure she was gonna tell me, and I didn’t think I had the right words to encourage the confidence. All I could think of was, “I’m sure I’ve heard worse things, Maureen.”

“I’m sure you have, but this is the worst thing I’ve ever done. What I mean is, to stay with a man for five years after you find out he’s making a fool of you.”

Whew. “So ya found out five years ago?”

“Six. I finally kicked him out a year ago.”

“Are ya divorcin him?”

“I’m a Catholic, Faye. I don’t believe in divorce.”

“Under the circumstances wouldn’t ya get some special dispensation or somethin?”

“I could have it annulled, but I don’t believe in that either.”

“Yeah. I can understand that. So when ya found out six years ago, what did ya do?”

“I foolishly kept it to myself for another year. I didn’t want to have to ask him to leave at that time. I had two very small children. But then one of his floozies showed up here, and I had to confront him. He denied everything the way they all do.”

“All?”

“Men.”

I knew a lotta guys cheated, but Wayne seemed like he was a major leaguer. “And ya believed him.”

“No. I didn’t. But he confessed and promised he’d be a good boy from then on.”

“And ya believed that?”

She sighed. “I’m afraid I did. It was more hope than anything else.”

“And these other gals, were they mostly his students?”

“I think so. The ones that came to me were.”

“More of them came to you?”

“It’s hard to believe, isn’t it? But, yes, they did, some begging me to give him a divorce when Brian had told them I was the only reason he wouldn’t marry them. Ridiculous. He no more wanted to marry any of them than pigs can fly.”

“What did ya tell the girls?”

“The truth. That’s what I told them. By the way, Brian had never asked me for a divorce. In fact, he still hasn’t. And he’s not a Catholic. I think being married is convenient for him, gives him an out if his sordid little affairs get out of hand. It was the last one who came here that made me kick him out.”

“What was different about her?”

“She was pregnant . . . and it wasn’t a ploy. I could see that she was. Of course there was no way to prove it was Brian’s baby, but I knew she was telling the truth.”

“How long ago was this?”

“As I said, a year ago.”

I’d forgotten, and I’d gotten my hopes up. “What did ya do?”

“I told her I’d never give him a divorce. That I was sorry he’d gotten her in that condition, but that there was nothing I could do for her. She said if I didn’t help her, she was going to have an abortion.” Maureen’s expression turned into one of disgust. “Imagine threatening me with
that.
”

“Pretty brazen, I guess.”

“You guess? She knew how I’d react to it.”

“And how did ya?”

“First I told her to have her child and then I ordered her out of here.”

“Didn’t any of these girls go to the dean about Brian?”

“It’s amazing, isn’t it? I think they were too ashamed. But it wouldn’t have done them any good anyway. Brian and Dean O’Hara are best friends.”

It was time to tell her about Claudette. “You probably don’t know this cause it isn’t common knowledge, but Claudette West was three months pregnant when she was murdered.”

Her hand flew to her chest as though to keep her heart in place. “No . . . but you don’t know if it was Brian’s, do you?”

“Not for sure. But it’s beginnin to sound more likely with every word ya say.”

“Wait a minute. You don’t think Brian killed her because she was pregnant, do you?”

I shrugged.

“Listen, Miss Quick, Brian’s a terrible man. An adulterer, a liar, a predator. But he’s not a murderer.”

“How can ya be so sure?”

“He’s my husband.”

I kept myself from smiling. “I don’t mean to be cruel, Mrs. Wayne, but ya didn’t know for years that he was cheatin on ya.”

“That’s different.”

“How? How is it different?”

“There are certain things you know about a man when you live with him all those years. And I
know
he’s not a murderer. It’s different because although he hurt me and the children, not to mention those girls he had affairs with, he wouldn’t steal a life.”

“Did Brian ever hit ya, Mrs. Wayne?”

“Absolutely not. I would never have put up with anything like that.”

Her words hung in the air like the hollow things they were.

“Would ya say then that Brian’s not a violent man?”

“I would. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

If I had a nickel for all the times I’d heard that one. “And ya don’t know if he was havin an affair with Claudette or not?”

“I haven’t known anything about Brian for about a year.”

“Claudette West never came to you, did she?”

She stood up. “I think it’s time for you to leave, Miss Quick.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I don’t like your inferences. Now you’re questioning
my
veracity.”