This Dame for Hire (22 page)

“No ya didn’t.”

“Prove it.”

“I can’t.”

“Then let’s move on,” he said.

“Claudette give them to ya?”

“As a matter of fact, she didn’t.”

“Who did?”

“Another girl. Look, what does this have to do with anything? My cuff links.”

“What girl?”

“I’m not about to tell you that.”

“I think you’d better. I happen to know Claudette bought some cuff links for a man.”

“Not for me.”

“Then who gave them to ya?”

“What kind of cad do you think I am? I’ll never tell you her name.”

“Very honorable, Doctor. Don’t make me laugh. Those cuff links could put ya right in the hot seat.” They couldn’t, but he didn’t know that.

He looked like he’d just swallowed a dose of cod liver oil. “Her name is Joan DeHaven.”

What a true blue guy!

“Do you have to talk to her? Ask her about the cuff links?”

“Of course I do.” I wasn’t so sure about that.

“Oh, God.” He slumped in his seat.

“Did ya think about what I told ya last time we spoke?”

“You mean about Claudette being pregnant?”

“Yeah.”

“What about it?”

“How come she didn’t tell ya, do ya think?”

“That’s not something a nice girl would tell her professor.”

“Can it, Brian. We both know you were sleepin with her.”

“I told you—”

“Yeah. You told me. Now I know different. The daddy couldn’t be Cotten cause they never did it, and Leon—”

“Who?”

“Doesn’t matter. Anyway you’re the only one left.”

“All right. I did have an affair with Claudette, but it was over a year ago. I had nothing to do with either her pregnancy or her death.”

I was set back on my heels that he admitted the affair. And if he was telling the truth, then he couldn’t have been the father.

“Any way ya can prove when ya broke it off with Claudette?”

“Of course not. But I’ll tell you this.” He sat up straighter. “Claudette still considered me a friend. And even though she didn’t confide that she was pregnant, she did tell me she was in love. She couldn’t say who it was.”

“She ever mention the name Alec Rockefeller?”

“Yes, she did. But that wasn’t who she was in love with. She said she was seeing Alec to keep her parents happy.”

“Why would she tell you about this secret love?”

“Because she knew I cared about her. And I did.”

“You always step out on the girls you love, Mr. Professor?”

He looked away. “I can’t help it. And I don’t even enjoy it. I swear every time that it won’t happen again, but it always does.”

“Maybe you’re the one should be seein a psychiatrist, not your wife.”

“I don’t believe in that mumbo jumbo.”

“Let’s get back to the point. Yer tellin me that Claudette was seein someone she didn’t want anyone to know about?”

“Yes. And she wasn’t happy about it.”

“Oh?”

“She said it could never work out.”

“Because he was married?”

“She didn’t say that.”

“What
did
she say?”

“She called it ‘a stinking mess.’ That was the way she put it.”

“Did you ask her if the guy was married?”

“I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because . . . well, because I didn’t want to remind her of us.”

“She gave ya no clue as to who he might’ve been?”

“Nothing, except that her parents would have hit the ceiling because this was a worse choice than Richard Cotten.”

TWENTY-FOUR

I lay on my sofa, Harry James in the background playing “I Had the Craziest Dream.” The canary was Helen Forrest. It fit my mood to a T. Everything I’d been hearing seemed like a crazy dream.

I didn’t seem to be moving forward on this case . . . more like I was running in place or going round in circles. Didn’t I start the day right where I was now?

I knew there was a missing man in Claudette’s life, and I couldn’t find out who it was. Was it this Garfield character whose first name I didn’t even know? And all Anne could say was that some man was violently trying to make Claudette do something she didn’t want to do. That wasn’t much help. The war scenes I could forget. I’d left the sweater with Anne in case she wanted to take another stab at it, but I wasn’t counting on it.

Then there was me getting clobbered. I had no more idea who did that than I’d had the night before. It still didn’t make sense to me. I guess I had to face that it was a warning to lay off.

The phone rang and I got up slowly, walked across the room, and picked up. It was Birdie.

“Just let me sit down a sec, okay?”

“Sure. Ya feel that bad, Faye?”

“Nah. A little dizzy is all.”

“Ya think ya should see a sawbones?”

“Nah. I’ll be all right.”

“Ya shouldn’t a been out and about all mornin.”

“Birdie, if I’d a wanted a mother I’d a hired one.”

“I’m bein a friend, not a mother. There’s a difference.”

“So don’t be a friend right now. Be my secretary. What’s cookin there?”

“The boyfriend called with the first name of Garfield.”

“Give.”

“Warner.”

“Warner?”

“Whatcha want from me? That’s the monkey’s name.”

“Don’t tell me . . . he lives on Park Avenue, right?”

“Wrong. Hell’s Kitchen.”

This Claudette had across-the-board taste. Hell’s Kitchen was bad enough, but the next thing I’d hear she had a boyfriend on the Bowery.

“Did Cotten tell ya where he lived?”

“No. I looked him up. I know it’ll come as a shock, but there ain’t a whole lotta Warner Garfields in the phone book.”

“Gimme the address.”

“Nine ninety-one West Forty-third. Are ya goin there now, Faye?”

“Gimme his phone number.”

She did. “Answer me. Ya goin to Forty-third?”

“I’m not sure what I’m gonna do right now.”

“Ya’ll be the death a me, Faye.”

“Now ya really sound like a mother. Or an aunt.”

“It ain’t safe there, Faye.”

“Yer thinkin in the past, Bird. You and Pete still fightin?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, tomorrow night we’re goin to the USO. Whaddaya say?”

“Yer gonna go dancin with a bum head?”

“I dance with my feet, not my head.”

“That’s side-splittin, Faye.”

“Ya wanna or not?”

“Sure. Then I can pick ya up when ya fall down.”

“Right. Now don’t go makin plans with Pete if he wants to make up.”

“I hate girls who do that. Don’t worry.”

“Okay. See ya tomorrow.”

“If yer still with us.”

“I’ll be the one with the rose in my teeth. Bye.”

I cut the connection before she could say anything else.

I looked down at the paper where I wrote Garfield’s name, address, and phone number. Claudette dating somebody from Hell’s Kitchen still surprised me. Not that everybody who lived there was a crook or a rough-and-tumble kinda guy. The place had cleaned up a lot since the Ninth Avenue El came down, and I’d heard a lotta actors lived over there cause it was cheap.

Maybe Garfield was an actor. Warner Garfield. It had an actor’s ring to it. That was probably it. And it fit. An actor wouldn’t be Porter West’s cup a tea. For him an actor probably
would
be worse than Richard Cotten, student.

And maybe the baby Claudette was carrying belonged to Garfield. Let’s say she succumbed to Garfield’s charms, instead of resisting like she did with Richard. The time period he’d given me wouldn’t have left her three months pregnant when she died. But she coulda picked up with Garfield again without Richard knowing or catching on. Maybe three months after her first breakup with him. Maybe keeping both guys on the string while dating Alec Rockefeller, too, even though that one was for show.

I dialed Garfield’s number, but there was no answer. I knew sitting around my apartment would drive me batty while there were still threads to follow. Or even territory I could go over again. A second look can pay off sometimes, Woody had taught me.

Maybe Leon knew something about this Garfield guy. I felt a little woozy standing up, but I steadied myself and checked my pocketbook. My trusty little pad was inside with Leon’s number in it. But there was no answer when I tried it. On about the fifth ring the face of Gladys Wright swam into my think box. Maybe that’s where he was. The lovebirds in their nest.

Gladys answered, and when I ID’d myself, her groan practically took my ear off.

“Is Leon there?”

“Why?”

“I need to talk to him.”

“Well, he’s in the bath.”

“Get him out.”

“No.”

“Ya want me to come over and do it myself?”

“Not particularly.”

“Then get him out of his bath and on the phone.”

“Oh, all right.”

She slammed the phone down, assaulting my ear again, and I could hear her steps moving away, her heels tapping the floor. For a sec it made me think of my mother.

Before the morphine sank its hooks in her, pinning her to her bed, she used to dress every day, and the sound of her heels and the swish of her stockings made me feel safe somehow. I’d never really felt safe, that way, since then.

“Hello?”

“Leon?”

“Yes, Miss Quick.”

“Call me Faye.”

Silence from his end.

“I got a question for ya, Leon.”

“What’s that?”

“Does the name Warner Garfield mean anythin to ya?”

More silence.

“Are ya there?”

“I’m thinking.”

“Either it does or it doesn’t. It’s not like I’m askin ya about Joe Jones.”

“Who?”

“Never mind.” Was Leon playing me? “Warner Garfield. Ya know the name?”

“She mentioned it. Claudette.”

“What did she say that he wanted?”

“She said he was after her for a date.”

“How’d she know him?”

“I don’t know.”

“Ya didn’t ask? She was supposed to be yer girlfriend.”

“But she wasn’t.”

“Ya woulda asked if she’d really been your girl?”

“I guess so.”

“So why didn’t ya tell me about Garfield before?”

“I forgot about it.”

Too busy making whoopee with Gladys. “What else did Claudette say about him?”

“That he was a queer duck and he gave her the heebie-jeebies.”

“And?”

“And that was it.”

“Ya let it go at that?”

“Well, what in the Sam Hill do you want me to say?”

“I guess I was hopin for a little more curiosity, Leon.”

“Look, our whole thing was a phony deal . . . what would you expect me to do?”

“Ya tellin me that ya didn’t give two figs about a girl who found this Garfield guy creepy? Ya didn’t think she might be in danger?”

“It didn’t sound dangerous to me. Claudette was very dramatic, you know.”

“No. I didn’t know. How?”

“She was always in a squeeze about something. If it wasn’t her father, then it was her ex. Or it could be she didn’t have the right dress for some deb ball. She could make anything seem like life and death.”

“And one of those times it was,” I said.

“Yeah, well . . .”

“So anythin else about Garfield?”

“Not that I can remember.”

“She did go out with him, ya know. At least once, maybe more.”

“I had no idea. It didn’t sound like that when she mentioned him. She gave me the impression that he
wanted
a date but there was no way in hell he was going to get one.”

“Did Claudette ever give ya a pair of cuff links?”

“No. She never gave me anything.”

“Okay. Yer sure that’s all ya know about Garfield?”

“I swear.”

“Forgive me, Leon, but you swearin to somethin doesn’t exactly pack a punch for me.”

“Well, that’s too bad. I can’t prove it, but if I knew anything more I’d tell you. I sw—”

“Okay, if ya think of anythin, call me.”

“I will.”

“Do ya swear?”

“I . . . goodbye.”

I was smiling when I hung up but not for long. There was a possibility that Warner Garfield was a danger to her, at least in Claudette’s eyes. How could I know what was what until I got hold of him?

I tried his number again, and he answered. Or some man did. I hung up. I knew I was taking a risk that he wouldn’t be home when I got there, but I didn’t think he was the kinda guy I should give a heads-up to.

I didn’t like carrying a gun, but it didn’t seem like such a bad idea, considering where I was going and who I was planning to drop in on.

Woody had given it to me right before he left.

“Take some lessons, Faye. Havin a gat doesn’t do much good if ya don’t know how to use it,” he’d said.

“I don’t even want to touch it, Woody.”

“Ahh, Faye, ya gonna be a gumshoe or what?”

“Can’t I be one without that thing?”

“No. Most of the time ya won’t need it, but that one time will come along you’ll be glad ya got it.”

Maybe this was the one time.

I had taken some lessons. Marty couldn’t sneak me onto the official police shooting range so he took me out to an empty lot in the Bronx and taught me. I turned out to be pretty good. A natural he said. But I never liked it. Not the feel or the sound. Nothing about it appealed to me. Still, I knew it was dumb not to take the thing with me just in case.

I kept it on a high shelf in my bedroom closet. I hauled a chair over and stepped up, grabbing the frame of the door cause I wasn’t that steady on my pins. I don’t know why I had to hide the heater in the hardest place to reach. It wasn’t like there was anyone else who’d find it. I guess I was hiding it from myself.

I moved some hat boxes and reached for the Van Dyck cigar box I kept it in. I’d found this on the street one night, just sitting there, like it was waiting for me and my bean shooter.

I almost slipped climbing down off the chair, but I got back to terra firma in one piece. When the cigar box was on my bed, I opened it with the same joy I’d have for poking in a hornet’s nest.

One of the things I liked about this particular box was that printed on the inside cover was
QUICK ON THE DRAW
. Made for me, ya might say. Whoever put together the boxes for this brand had some vision.