Thursday evening, July 10, 1947
I was able to slip back to my desk mostly unnoticed. The chief’s mood had apparently lifted like the fog, so I turned my attention to my counterfeiting case. I reviewed the file again. A Mr. and Mrs. Frank Feltcher and their son and his wife had been the latest victims at their small business on Farwell Avenue. I made a note to contact them on Monday, sent some paperwork down to research, and then, well past my normal quitting time, signed myself out and headed home to my apartment on Prospect Avenue.
I live in the Atwater, a classic, three-story brown brick building built in the Twenties. It has no elevator and no parking, but I found a good spot on the street in the shade of an ancient elm tree I referred to as the Great Grandmother Elm. I left the car windows open an inch or two for ventilation, as the heat and humidity had increased substantially as the day wore on.
The lobby of the Atwater was relatively cool and dark, the few lights burning reflecting dully off the tile floors. Still, I felt a bead of sweat run down the back of my neck as I stopped to check the mail in the boxes located to the right of the stairs. There wasn’t much, the monthly telephone bill and a letter from my cousin Liz, who was on holiday in Paris.
I fanned my face with the bill and opened the letter from Liz, the highlight of my day. She wrote breezily about what she had been doing and seeing, and it buoyed my spirits considerably. When I had finished, I put it back in its envelope to reread later, locked my mailbox, and climbed the two flights of stairs to my apartment on three.
I’d gotten halfway up when I remembered the flyers in my jacket pocket, so I went back down and pinned one up on the bulletin board next to the mailboxes. I started the climb again, only to run into Mrs. Murphy from the second floor, who was descending rather slowly, step by step. She was wearing a short-sleeved blue print summer dress, white gloves, and a white hat set at a rakish angle, a dark blue ribbon around the brim. She was so big she blocked my path, so I had to stop and chat with her.
“Oh hello, Mr. Barrington. You’re home late,” she said, tucking up a strand of dyed brunette hair that had fallen below her hat into her eyes.
“Yes, I had a busy day today. How are you, Mrs. Murphy?”
“Oh fine, fine. I’m off to visit my sister, Edna. She lives over on Oakland, you know.”
“I seem to recall you mentioning that. How is Mr. Murphy?”
“He’s good, same as always. Grumpy. Indigestion, Can’t stand this heat. I did get him to agree to take me to the movies tomorrow night, though. They have conditioned air, and it’s dish night, you know.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, just for buying a ticket you get a plate, glass dish, or a bowl. Of course, the larger pieces like serving trays or pitchers cost two admission tickets, which is why I want Herbert to go with me. I’ve got my eye on a pitcher. Just the thing for iced tea or lemonade, and like I said, it’s been hot this summer.”
“Yes, it has.”
“I’ve almost got a complete set. Green’s my color, but they have pink, blue, and red, too.”
“How interesting. Well, good that Mr. Murphy can go with you, then.”
“No easy task, I tell you, Mr. Barrington. He doesn’t care much for the movies these days, ever since Lois Moran gave up acting.”
“Lois Moran? Wasn’t she a silent film star?”
Mrs. Murphy batted her eyes. “The one and only, so that shows you how long it’s been since Herbert’s been to the pictures. Anyway, Miss McBain is thinking of coming with us tomorrow night. She’s been collecting the pink dishes.”
“How nice for you,” I said, wishing I could squeeze by her and be on my way as I needed to use the bathroom.
“We could make it a foursome,” she said, her cheeks flushing as she giggled. “You could help her get a platter or a pitcher.”
“That’s awfully kind of you, Mrs. Murphy, and I would love to help her complete her set, but I have a party to go to tomorrow night.”
“You do?”
“Yes, a friend of mine is directing a play and another friend is in it. They’re having a cast party tomorrow evening.”
“Oh, how fun. I’m so glad you’re getting out. You spend too much time at home alone, Mr. Barrington.”
“I work a lot, Mrs. Murphy.”
“All work and no play, you know. We can’t have that now!” She giggled again. “I do love the theater, but Herbert doesn’t. That’s why I was so happy when he agreed to go with me to the pictures tomorrow. Possessed is playing at the Oriental. I’ve heard it’s quite good.”
“The new Joan Crawford picture?”
“Yes, she’s so beautiful, isn’t she? And such a talent. Miss McBain is a big fan of hers. Poor Miss McBain, all alone, you know.”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Yes, so you’ve mentioned before.”
“Have I? Well, she’s such a sweet young thing. Her fiancé was killed in the war, you know. So tragic.”
“Yes, you’ve mentioned that, too.”
She laughed again, and her whole body shook. “Oh, I suppose I have. Perhaps she and I can take in your friend’s play one night. I know I’ll never get Herbert to go. What’s it called?”
“Death Comes to Lochwood. It’s at the Davidson Theater.”
“The Davidson? Fancy. It must be quite a show. Are they giving anything away?”
“Not that I’m aware of. It stars Jazz Monroe and Shelby Berkett.”
“Oh, I never miss Miss Monroe in her Christmas show. And Shelby Berkett was in that big show on Broadway a few years ago. I remember reading about it in the papers. I had heard he was back in town.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Oh my, oh my. A Broadway star right here in Milwaukee. What’s the play called again?”
“Death Comes to Lochwood. I put up a flyer downstairs next to the mailboxes.”
“Oh, that does sound interesting. I’m sure it will be a wonderful show. Well, I must be off. My sister will be waiting for me. Ta-ta!”
I flattened myself against the railing and hoped it wouldn’t break as she squeezed by me and continued down the stairs. “Goodbye, Mrs. Murphy,” I said as I exhaled.
At the bottom of the stairs, she called up once more with a wave of her hand. “Ta-ta!”
I gave a half-hearted wave in return, climbing up to my apartment, glad to be home. Once I had used the bathroom, changed my clothes, and locked my service revolver in the nightstand next to my bed, I decided to see if Alan had made it home yet. I picked up the phone in the hall near the door and dialed his number, letting it ring as I studied myself in the mirror. I was about to hang up when I heard it click.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Officer, I was beginning to think you weren’t home.”
“Oh, hi, Heath. I just got in. Rehearsal ran late, and then Hank and I stopped for a bite to eat before he dropped me off.”
“Hank, as in Henry Hawthorne from the show.”
“Yeah. He lets me call him Hank.”
“Big of him. You should have called me. I could have given you a ride home tonight and we could have eaten together. I got stuck late, too.”
“Oh, I didn’t want to bother you. Hank’s place is just a short distance from my place.”
“It wouldn’t have been a bother. I like having dinner with you.”
“Thanks, Heath. It was just a spur-of-the-moment thing, you know?”
“You sure seem to like him a lot. You’ve been spending a lot of time together.”
There was a noticeable pause. “Hank’s a nice fellow. Everyone likes him, not just me. Well, everyone but Mr. Berkett, that is.”
“Why is that?” I was glad to know I had at least one ally in the anti–Henry Hawthorne camp.
“Oh, Hank’s up for a big part in a new Alfred Hitchcock movie out in Hollywood. Apparently, the casting director, somebody by the name of Marshall, saw him in a play in Iowa last summer and was really impressed. He told Hank to come see him in Hollywood this fall to try out for the film.”
“Bully for him.”
“Yeah, but when Mr. Berkett heard about it, he said he and this Marshall go way back.”
“I think I may see where this is going.”
“You probably do. You always have been good at figuring things out. Anyway, Mr. Berkett sent a telegram to this Marshall fellow and told him he’d be interested in the part Hank is up for.”
“That’s pretty low, I must admit.”
“I thought so, too, but Mr. Berkett claims it’s strictly business, and the better actor will prevail. Hank’s really upset about it.”
“Understandable. So Hank’s going to Hollywood right after this show, then?” I said, trying not to sound too hopeful.
“Yes, but he did say if he got the part, I could come visit him out there any time. Can you imagine, Heath? Me in Hollywood?”
“It’s a big city, Alan. I’m not sure you’d like it.” I decided to change the subject. “By the way, Oliver mentioned some things have gone missing from the makeup and dressing rooms. Have you heard anything about it?”
“Oh yeah, sure. I forgot to tell you about that. It doesn’t make much sense to me.”
“Nor to me. Maybe Jasper’s right about Alexander Lippencott.”
“Don’t joke about that, Heath. I know you’re a non-believer, but that theater is a pretty spooky place sometimes. Jasper told me and Hank what happened. He’s convinced Mr. Berkett pulled that lever on purpose, and he says people who die suddenly and tragically like that often haunt the place they died. Jasper believes it, and I think maybe I do, too.”
“Why? Have you seen Mr. Lippencott floating about?”
“You’re funny. But I feel his presence sometimes, I think. And once when I was onstage alone, I felt a cool breeze on my face and couldn’t determine the source. There have been odd noises, too. And Mrs. Holloway says she’s sensed someone watching her when she’s alone in her dressing room.”
“Maybe someone was,” I said.
“I don’t see how, Heath. Mr. Crane checked carefully for peepholes, but he couldn’t find any. And the doorknob doesn’t have a keyhole.”
“What about the transom over the door?”
“That’s almost seven feet off the floor. The last time she felt like someone was watching her, she opened the door and looked out in the hall, but she didn’t see anything. Someone would need a chair or ladder to peek in the transom, and no one would take the chance of being seen in the hall. Too many people come and go.”
“I suppose. So you think the spirit of Mr. Lippencott has been watching Mrs. Holloway? And is behind the missing pill box, putty, and mirror?”
Alan paused. “I know you’re joking with me, and I don’t really think he is, but I can’t say for certain, to be honest.”
“Fascinating. Are you enjoying being in the show, mysterious spirits notwithstanding?”
“Gosh, it’s wonderful. Of course, I don’t have a big part, but that’s almost better. I get to be there, to experience everything, to watch from the sidelines, and I don’t have to remember any lines.”
“That’s the spirit, so to speak. Oliver told me you’re doing a fine job.”
“Really? Did he really say that?”
“He did, and you are.”
“Well, all I do is walk on, stand there, then walk off again with Miss Monroe’s character.”
“Just be sure not to block her. Always stand upstage.”
Alan laughed. “Yeah, I heard about what happened to Nick Schultz, but that’s just a rumor.”
“Nonetheless, don’t take chances. I don’t want you getting pushed into the pit and breaking any bones.”
“I won’t, I promise.”
“Good. Listen to Oliver, and you’ll do just fine.”
“Mr. Crane’s been great, but Hank’s really been a mentor to me.”
I bristled. “I look forward to meeting him.”
“You will at the party tomorrow night.”
“I can’t wait.”
“Did you know he also plays Claire Clarington’s brother? Then later, he comes on as the detective. In the first act, he plays the telegraph boy. Can you imagine juggling three parts?”
“Well to be fair, the telegraph boy only has one line, if I remember correctly from the script.”
“Technically, he has two lines. Mr. Crane told me you were at rehearsal today.”
“I was, but I got there late and only saw the death scene. I had to leave shortly after that, so I didn’t get to see Mr. Hawthorne perform. Oliver seemed to agree with you that he’s attractive.”
“I’ll say he is. He has a Clark Gable mustache, and those big brown eyes, wavy hair, cleft chin, dimples…”
“So you’ve said. He’s older than you, isn’t he?”
“Maybe a little. I think I remember him saying he was thirty-nine.”
“Everyone in the theater is thirty-nine, Alan. He’s probably really in his mid forties.”
“Oh, I don’t think so. He wouldn’t lie to me, I can tell.”
“Regardless, you’re only twenty-eight. That’s a big age difference.”
“He seems younger. And he’s really talented. He even sings. Did you know he rides a motorcycle?”
“How fascinating.”
“Yeah, he’s something. He’s been coaching me on my part, too. How and where to stand, how to turn, all that stuff. There’s more to it than you realize.”
That’s what I’m afraid of, I thought. “Isn’t that Oliver’s job? He’s the director.”
“Oh sure, Oliver directs me in the general blocking, but Hank helps me with the nuances. By the way, the final programs came out today. I’m listed as ‘policeman.’”
“Well, you’re the tall, cute one, as Miss Monroe described you.”
“Gosh, did she really?”
“On my honor, cute one.”
“Gee,” Alan said softly. “But Hank’s the one with the looks.”
“So you’ve said multiple times. I understand he’s a bit of a skirt chaser.”
“Oh, he’s just a big flirt, Heath. He talks about a few girls.”
“Talk is cheap, as you and I both know.”
“You sound jealous.”
I gripped the phone receiver a little too hard. “Do I have a reason to be?”
Another noticeable pause. “He’s just a nice guy. Everyone has been swell, I guess, but I haven’t gotten as much of a chance to get to know them like I have Hank. Jasper’s a character, I’ve talked to him a lot. And Dick and I have had a few conversations. He’s the janitor.”
“Right. I understand Miss Monroe is his aunt.”
“Sort of. They say his folks died in the great Mississippi River Flood of 1927 when he was just a baby. Miss Monroe took him in.”
“I remember Mom and Pop talking about that flood. How horrible.”
“Dick told me he doesn’t remember either it or his parents. Miss Monroe is all he’s ever known.”
“And she is unforgettable. What time should I pick you up for the cast party tomorrow?”
“Oh, I’m getting a ride with Hank right after the final dress rehearsal, so I’ll meet you there.”
I gripped the phone even tighter. “Oh, I see. Really, it’s no bother for me to swing by and get you.”
“Don’t be nuts, Heath. That’s way out of your way. Besides, it might look funny if we show up together, especially since you’re not even in the show. Hank’s happy to take me.”
“I’m sure he is. Not on a motorcycle, I hope.”
“No, he drives a car that belongs to the woman who owns the rooming house where he’s living. She gives him a good deal on it.”
“Okay, if you’re sure. I’ll see you at Oliver’s about seven?”
“We’ll be there.”
“And so will I, your biggest fan.”
One more pause. “You don’t like Henry much, I can tell. You haven’t even met him.”
“Call it my instinct. Maybe I can at least drive you home, huh?”
“Maybe. We’ll see how it goes. I need to get going here, I have a few things to do before bed yet.”
“Oh, well, all right. I’ll see you tomorrow night, then, I guess. Good night, Alan.”
“Night, Heath.”
I hung up the phone and checked my reflection in the mirror once more, wondering what I’d look like with a Clark Gable mustache, and if I could learn to ride a motorcycle.