Friday evening, July 11, 1947
After another long day at the precinct, I was glad to finally be home. In some ways, I wished I hadn’t agreed to go to Oliver’s party, especially since Alan would be there with Henry Hawthorne. But I had to go to size up my competition. That being said, I figured I’d better look my best.
I ate a light dinner, showered and shaved again, put my best hair tonic in, and then got dressed. I decided to wear my navy double-breasted jacket with the peaked lapels, a wide, short tie with red and cream zigzags, and my loose-cut pleated gray trousers. Garnet cufflinks and tie pin, a cream pocket square, freshly shined black cap toe shoes, and a black leather belt completed my ensemble. I studied myself in the full-length mirror on the back of my bedroom door and was satisfied overall. It would have to do, anyway.
It was already six fifty and the party started at seven. I could have been there in less than five minutes if I’d taken my car, but I felt the walk would give me time to think. At five after seven, I grabbed my gray fedora, left a note for the milkman for the morning, and closed and locked the door of my apartment behind me. Mrs. Ferguson’s cat was prowling the hall, so I stopped to scratch him behind the ears before heading out into the humid evening air. I put my hat on, gave a nod to some children playing kick the can in the small space next to my building, and walked south on Prospect Avenue.
When I reached Juneau Avenue, I headed west, away from the lake, and picked up my pace the five remaining blocks until I arrived at the Blackstone apartment building on the corner of Juneau and Van Buren. It was seven forty-five, so I was fashionably late as I pressed the buzzer for Oliver’s apartment. I heard crackling and static, and an unintelligible voice, then the sound of the door being opened, so I pushed on through to the lobby, pausing in front of a mirror on the wall to adjust my tie and make sure I was presentable.
Satisfied, I rode the elevator to the seventh floor and turned right to 706, which was a two bedroom in the corner. Oliver himself opened the door, dressed in a natty blue blazer, blue and white tie, gray slacks, and black penny loafers. His white hair was combed neatly back and his cornflower blue eyes sparkled. He looked much more relaxed than the last time I had seen him, and still damned attractive. Oh, what could have been if he had been born like me, I thought.
“Hello, Heath. Glad you could make it. Come on in, we got started early.” He smiled broadly, a cigarette dangling between his lips, as he motioned me inside. Many of the guests, most of whom I didn’t recognize, were already sprawled on the sofa and chairs or standing about drinking, smoking, and chattering.
The open French doors at the far end of the living room allowed for a slight breeze, which came in off a small balcony. In spite of that, the apartment was full of cigar and cigarette smoke, and the air around me felt quite warm and stuffy. The noise level was considerable. I glanced at the kitchen doorway tucked up in the corner of the apartment and saw it was also wall-to-wall people. No room to breathe.
“I think you know some of the cast, the others you’ll meet tonight. My brother Wally’s here, too, playing the piano,” Oliver said, gesturing out toward the crowd. “I’ll introduce you later.”
“Sounds good, and thanks for having me, Oliver. Who are all the rest of these people, though? I didn’t think the cast was this large.”
“Oh, you know how it goes. You invite one, they invite two, each of them invites three. Any chance for free booze, right? I also had to invite some of the neighbors to keep them from complaining about the noise. Let me take your hat. I’m putting them on the bed in the guest room.”
He took my hat and disappeared briefly into one of the doorways to my left. When he returned, he pointed across the living room to where a skinny woman in a pink feathered hat stood laughing at something. “The bathroom’s through the door on the other side, where Hilda is standing, next to the main bedroom. Oh, and your friend Alan’s here already with Henry. They’re in the kitchen fixing drinks.”
“Great. I could use one of those.”
“Go on in, if you can fit. Quite a crowd already. There’s some food Brenda made over there, too. Help yourself.” He took a drag on his cigarette and blew the smoke over my head.
He pointed at a large oak sideboard with a white cloth, filled with various plates of cookies, cakes, and finger sandwiches. A metal fan buzzed back and forth on the left side, keeping flies at bay and moving the smoke around some, but not much.
“Right, thanks,” I said.
“Some nice-looking single ladies here, too,” Oliver said with a wink, “including the fabulous Fontaine sisters, Lyric and Meadow.”
I forced a smile and winked back. “Sounds like it will be a fun night. I’ll talk to you later, Oliver.” All I could do was plunge in, so I started bobbing and weaving through the people to get to the kitchen. Being tall, however, has its advantages. Alan caught sight of me as I was rounding a short little chap in a tweed blazer and met me halfway, a big smile on that handsome face and a beer in his left hand.
“Hey, Heath! You made it!”
I smiled back and shook his hand, though I wanted to embrace him. “Yes, sorry I’m late. I walked over. Looks like most everyone is here, and then some.” Alan had taken off his suit coat and was just in slacks and a white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up. A green necktie hung loosely about his neck. He looked quite comfortable.
Alan glanced about. “There’s a few missing yet, but they’ll be here. Mr. Crane said he has a big surprise for us.”
I arched my brow. “Oh?”
“Yes, but he won’t tell us what it is, he wants to wait until everybody’s present.”
“I see. The master of suspense.”
“Yeah, it’s his theatrical background, I guess,” Alan said. “Anything new down at the station?”
“The infamous gangster Benny Ballentine was shot today at his girlfriend’s house.”
Alan whistled. “Wowzer, who shot him?”
“Word is it was the girlfriend. He’s not dead, surprisingly.”
“Well, that’s something, all right.”
“I’ll say. Is the famous Shelby Berkett here?” I didn’t feel like talking shop.
“Oh, sure. He was one of the first to arrive, right after me and Hank. He grabbed a drink and then said he wanted to make a phone call. He made a beeline for the master bedroom, closed the door, and I haven’t seen him since.”
“How sociable. And where is this Henry, or Hank, as you call him?”
“Right here,” a man said, sidling up to Alan and placing his left hand firmly on Alan’s shoulder. He was about five feet ten, and clean-shaven except for that Clark Gable mustache above a cleft chin. He had large, dark brown eyes and long lashes that curled up, almost touching his brows. His wavy, sandy brown hair was un-parted, his shoulders big and broad, his waist and hips narrow. He wasn’t wearing a tie, and his short-sleeved white shirt, which showed off his bulging biceps, was unbuttoned just far enough to reveal dark brown curly hair spread out across a broad chest. I must admit I took my time taking him all in.
Alan beamed. “Oh, hi, Hank. I’d like you to meet a friend of mine, Heath Barrington. Heath, this is Henry Hawthorne.”
“How do you do, Mr. Hawthorne? Alan’s told me so much about you,” I said, extending my hand.
Henry looked at my hand doubtfully, but then grabbed it in a firm and forceful grip that hurt my fingers. “I do quite well, if I say so myself. Funny, Alan hasn’t mentioned you at all.”
I raised my eyebrows and looked at Alan. “You haven’t?” I said, retrieving my hand from Henry’s.
Alan seemed embarrassed. “Well, I’m sure I mentioned you at some point, Heath. You must have just forgotten, Hank.”
Henry shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. Your name never came up, and Alan and I have spent quite a bit of time together in our dressing room. We share one down in the basement at the theater.”
“Yes, I heard.”
“So, who are you, exactly? You’re not in the play,” Henry said in an unfriendly tone.
“I’m a friend of Alan’s, and I’m a police detective. I did some research on your part for Mr. Crane.”
“Oh, right, Oliver mentioned that, Mr. Barrington.”
“You can call him Heath. We’re all friends, right?” Alan said. I noticed he was sweating, but so was I. It was stifling.
“All friends, right,” Henry said.
“So, Mr. Hawthorne, you’re just in town for the summer?” I said.
“That’s right, though I may stick around a little longer, you never know. I just have to get out to California in time to audition for a new Hitchcock movie.”
“I heard about that. I understand Mr. Berkett is interested in that same part.”
Henry flinched and looked pained. “That’s right, he is. He’s an ass.”
“Gee, Hank, you shouldn’t say that,” Alan said. “Not here, anyway.”
Henry rubbed Alan’s shoulder casually but firmly. “You’re too kind, Alan. Adorable, just adorable. You’re like a big puppy, with those big puppy dog eyes. But Shelby Berkett is an ass.” He looked at me again, a scowl on his face. “Yes, we’re up for the same part in that movie. A part he heard about from me, and so help me I’ll kill myself if he gets it.”
“That seems a bit drastic, Mr. Hawthorne, but clearly you must do what you think best,” I said, staring him in the eye.
He took his hand off Alan’s shoulder and stared back at me. “I beg your pardon?”
“Heath’s just kidding, Hank. He’s got a funny sense of humor.”
“I’ll say,” Henry said, still staring at me. “I guess I should have said if he gets the role, I’ll kill him.”
“That, Mr. Hawthorne, is against the law. I’d have to arrest you.”
“You’d have to catch me first,” he said, “and you don’t look that fast.” Then he glanced at Alan. “I’m going out on the balcony for some fresh air. Come with me?” He put his hand back on Alan’s shoulder, and it annoyed me greatly. He seemed a little too familiar.
Alan shook his head, but didn’t seem bothered in the least by Henry’s hand, which annoyed me even more. “Ah, no, I’m going to stay here and talk to Heath, if you don’t mind. He just got here.”
“Suit yourself, kid, I’ll see you in a bit. Nice to meet you, Mr. Barrington.”
“Likewise, I’m sure.”
“I’m sure.” He turned to Alan. “Remember the house party afterward, and don’t forget who’s taking you home, pup.” He let his hand drop off Alan’s shoulder and trail slowly down his back before he turned and waded into the crowd toward the French doors.
“What house party?” I said.
“Hank invited me to a private house party over on the west side. Very private. You have to have a password to get in.”
I raised my eyebrows. “You’re aware of what goes on at those, aren’t you, Alan? The police raid them with alarming frequency, as you should know.”
“I didn’t say I was going. I just told him I’d think about it.”
“Well, think twice, or even three times. If you get caught there, it would be the end of you on the force. Besides, I thought I was going to take you home.”
Alan looked at me. “We never decided that for sure. Besides, you said you walked over.”
“Oh, right.” I wished I had brought my car.
“Hank doesn’t live far from me. It just makes sense for him to drop me off.”
“Sure it does. Mr. Hawthorne seems awfully casually dressed for a party.”
“Oh, that’s just Hank. Rehearsal ran late again, and he didn’t want to run home to change.”
“Of course he didn’t, though Oliver said you two were among the first to arrive. I should think he would have had plenty of time.”
“Yeah, that’s true, but Hank likes to be comfortable.”
“Comfortable is not the word I would have chosen. So who’s not here yet?”
Alan looked around the room. “Mainly Jazz Monroe and Dick Cooper. I guess he’s her escort tonight, or at least her driver. She owns the car but doesn’t drive, so she relies on Dick to chauffeur her around.”
“And she’s waiting to make a grand entrance?”
Alan grinned. “Naturally. How about a drink?”
“I thought you’d never ask. I could use one. Or two.”
“Bar’s in the kitchen. It’s a bit crowded in there, so I’ll bring it out to you. Vodka martini with a pickle, right?”
“Of course, but I can come with you.”
“Not to worry. I’ve become adept at dealing with this crowd. Back in a flash, more or less!” He laughed, and I admired the view of his backside as he walked away, weaving through the people with a slight bounce in his step. Soon, all I could see was his head and shoulders, and then I lost sight of him.
I turned my attention to the corner by the balcony where Oliver’s brother, who looked a lot like him, was playing the keys, and a vibrant blonde with a pert little mouth like a strawberry was doing her best to sing over the noise. I moved alongside her and joined in on a few bars. She didn’t seem to mind. As the song ended and Wally started some ragtime, she smiled at me, her chin low, her green eyes deep and narrow over a slightly upturned nose.
“Nice voice,” she said huskily.
I grinned. “Thanks and likewise. I’m an old glee club chap from way back. And my mother made me sing in the church choir.”
“You don’t look like the churchgoing type.”
“I’m an infidel, but don’t tell my mother,” I said with a wink.
She laughed. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
She eyed me up and down slowly, and I did the same to her. If I had to guess, I’d say she was in her mid twenties. Her ample breasts bulged from her low-cut emerald green strapless dress. It hugged her waist and hips and flowed down in a straight line to just below the knee. I had to wonder how she ever managed to use the bathroom or even sit down in that thing. Her full, straw-colored hair, parted at the side, hung loosely about her bare pink shoulders, which looked as soft as a baby’s bottom. If I went for that sort of thing, she’d be the sort of thing I’d go for.
“So, you are?”
“Barrington. Heath Barrington. I did some technical advising for Mr. Crane, and I’m a friend of Alan Keyes.”
She bit her lower lip. “Oh. I see. You’re the policeman fellow they’ve been talking about.”
I sighed. “Wherever I go it seems someone’s been talking about me.” Except Alan to Henry, I thought.
“Hazard of the trade, I suppose. And of being handsome.”
I blushed. “Uh, thanks, Miss?”
“Mrs., actually. Mrs. Peter Holloway. But you can call me Eve.”
I nodded with sudden recognition. “You’re Charlotte Clarington, Claire’s younger and prettier sister!”
She laughed. “Don’t let Jazz hear you say that. But yes, I play her sister, in this reincarnation, anyway. Being an actress is a bit like being reborn many times.”
“I didn’t recognize you out of character. I saw you at rehearsal on Thursday.”
“The magic of makeup. Charlotte is a bit more naïve than I am, if you know what I mean. I like to show off my assets.” She ran her finger around the top of her glass and looked up at me, her pink nail polish sparkling in the light.
“Yes, so I noticed. Those heels you’re wearing are really something, but how do you walk in them?”
Eve glanced down past her breasts at her feet and then back up at me.
“Practice, Mr. Barrington.”
I smiled. “Your husband is the chap that plays the butler, right? Peter Holloway?”
“That’s right. You sound surprised.”
“Well, he’s so much older than you.”
“Nearly eighty, the dotty old man,” she said, her eyes laughing.
I opened my mouth to speak, but then closed it again.
“He’s over there, by the kitchen door now. The one in the blue plaid sport coat,” she said, nodding.
I looked where she directed and was surprised to see a handsome man, roughly in his mid thirties. His hair was parted on the right, his jaw solid below a Roman nose tinged a soft shade of red. He had high cheekbones and nicely set eyes and was a far cry from the elderly, shaky butler I had seen in the play. He was chatting up the handsome Dave Bergstrom, a fellow I’ve known a long time, but I couldn’t hear what they were saying.
“That’s the butler?”
“The magic of makeup, Mr. Barrington, as I said earlier.”
“I guess so. You can’t believe your eyes.”
“Things and people aren’t always what they seem.”
“Apparently not.”
She laughed. “Makeup is a girl’s best friend, and sometimes a fellow’s. You’d be amazed at what a wig and some putty will do. So, your friend seems nice. Alan, I mean. I haven’t gotten to talk to him much during rehearsals, though,” Eve said.
“He’s thrilled to be in the play. He’s even talking about doing more this fall.”
Eve smiled broadly. “He’s got the bug. It happens, and there’s no cure, I’m afraid.” She played with her hair, twisting it about with her long fingers and chewing on a strand. It was quite distracting, even for me. “He’s easy on the eyes, too. Just like you. Men who are tall and easy on the eyes can go a long way in show business. Take Henry, for example.”
“I suppose he’s attractive enough, if you go for that type. I understand you and Mr. Hawthorne are old friends,” I said.
“Yes. We both did the Canteen and USO circuit during the war, and we’ve been in a few shows together. He’s a talented man. He sings, dances, acts, and as you said, he’s quite attractive.”
“I believe what I said was he’s attractive enough, not quite attractive. He and Alan seem to be rather chummy.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it, Mr. Barrington,” she said, a twinkle in her green eyes. “Henry will be moving on soon. He always does.”
“Why would I worry about it? We’re just friends.”
She shrugged ever so slightly. “Henry’s going to make it big, and I’ll be able to say, ‘I knew him when.’ You know, you and Alan would make a good duo. Too bad vaudeville’s dead, but the theater’s still kicking. Two handsome men like you could go places.”
“I’ll take that under advisement, Mrs. Holloway.”
“Eve, please. My maiden name was Gabranski, so I took my husband’s name professionally when we married. But my friends call me Eve.”
“Eve, then. And please call me Heath. But I think Alan and I are both better suited for police work.”
“Suit yourselves. But don’t begrudge him a little fun.”
“Not for me to say. He’s just a pal, a coworker, like I said.”
She looked amused. “Just friends. Of course, Mr. Barrington. But remember, this is the theater crowd you’re in.”
“And what does that mean?”
She raised her bare pink shoulders and dropped them again. I thought her dress would plunge with them, but she didn’t seem concerned and it magically stayed in place.
“Only that in the theater we see things differently. People aren’t all one way or the other. It’s not all black or white. Everyone’s welcome, and it’s all make-believe. That’s why so many men, so many men who have men friends, come to this world, the theater world. It’s a friendlier, safer place. The theater’s a refuge of sorts, and for all sorts. That’s why I like it.”
“I’m sure it is, Eve, but I don’t know what you mean.”
“Of course you don’t. But don’t forget it, either. You know, just in case you get tired of your world, Heath.”
“Again, I’ll take that under advisement.”
“Good. It was the comment about my shoes that did it, by the way. Most men don’t look me up and down when I’m dressed like this and wonder how I walk in my heels.”
I felt my face turning red. “I’m just a curious fellow.”
“Quite curious, indeed,” she said.
At that point, Alan returned with a fresh beer and my martini, which he handed to me. “Here you go, Heath. Sorry it took a while. I got cornered by the costume lady, who has had a few too many cocktails. She wanted me to go in the bedroom with her and double-check my sizes.”
Eve laughed. “Oh, that would be Beth. She does have roving hands when she drinks too much.”
“I noticed,” Alan said, blushing a bit. “Even when she doesn’t drink. I thought she was awfully attentive when I had my first costume fitting.”
“Don’t worry, darling. She doesn’t bite, she just likes to nibble,” Eve said.
“On my ear, apparently. Anyway, savor your drink a while, Heath. They’re running dangerously low on vodka, but I think Hank’s going to make a run for more. May I get you another, Mrs. Holloway?”
She shook her head. “Not right now, and I’m Eve, not Mrs. Holloway. I think we can be on a first-name basis at this point, don’t you?”
He looked extremely pleased. “Gee, sure. That would be swell.”
Behind Alan, Shelby Berkett flung open the master bedroom door, framing himself dramatically against the doorjamb, a cigarette dangling from his right hand. In his other hand, he held the remains of a mysterious-looking green drink. He also had a fairly good-size bruise below his left eye.
“My goodness, it’s gotten crowded in here since I first locked myself in,” Berkett said to no one in particular. Then he saw the three of us and a peculiar expression came over his face. “Hello, Eve. Nice to see you,” he said. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”
Eve’s expression also changed as she nodded in his direction. “Peter and I are here together.”
Shelby put his left hand to his ear. “What? I honestly can’t hear a thing over all this noise. I’ve been trying to place a call to Hollywood on the bedroom extension, but the volume in here is ridiculous. Can’t you people keep it down?”
The piano player, as if on cue, started in on a loud jazz number as Shelby rolled his eyes dramatically. “Oh. My. God!” He straightened himself up and moved within earshot of us. “On top of that, Oliver has a party line. I must have waited fifteen minutes listening to two women gossip about the mailman. Did you know he keeps a bottle tucked in the potted plant in the lobby?”
“You’re not supposed to listen in on other people’s conversations, Mr. Berkett. It’s against the law,” I said.
“Well, how else was I supposed to know when the line was free? I finally got the Hollywood call placed, but as I said before, the noise level out here is ridiculous.”
“It is a party, Shelby,” Eve said. “And I hope you reversed the charges.”
“My dear girl, one does not reverse charges when calling a man like Hamilton Marshall Brach. Besides, Oliver can afford it.”
“And you can’t,” Eve said.
“Ouch. You do know how to hurt a man. In more ways than one.” He turned to me and Alan. “Mr. Brach is casting a movie set in Australia, of all places, for which I would be perfect in the lead.”
“The role Henry’s up for. The role you heard about from him,” Eve said.
He looked at her again. “Oh, Marshall was originally interested in that Hawthorne chap, but honestly, he’s just not right for the role.”
“So, they don’t want someone handsome and talented? In that case, you’re a shoo-in.”
“Ha ha, you’re so, so amusing, Eve,” Shelby said.
“Some people think so. Isn’t it up to Mr. Brach to decide who’s right for the part?”
“Oh, of course, of course,” Shelby said, waving his cigarette around. “Let the better actor prevail, though Marshall and I go way back, and I am the better actor, if I do say so myself.”
“And you do say so frequently. I really should go check on Peter, if you’ll excuse me.”
“Oh, Eve, don’t go running off each time I appear. You’ll give me a complex.”
“What’s one more?”
“Ouch again. If you keep talking like that, I’ll think you don’t like me.”
“I think I’ve made it clear how I feel about you, Shelby.”
“Apparently, to know me isn’t to love me. But don’t go running off just yet, please. This is a party, after all.”
“How did you get that bruise, Mr. Berkett?” Alan said.
He looked at Alan and then glanced at Eve. “Ugh, beastly little accident. I was in my dressing room. I thought I had closed the door but it must not have latched. I heard a noise in the hall and when I got up, I slipped on some water I’d spilled on the floor. I ran right into the edge of the door.” Shelby gingerly touched his cold glass to his face. “I could have been severely injured, but this is bad enough.”
“Will you be all right for tomorrow night?” I said.
“Oh, yes. The show must go on, you know. Besides, our makeup girl can cover this bruise up so no one will ever notice. Of course, it’s my own fault. Water is dangerous in general. I try to avoid it, unless it’s in the form of ice.” He swirled the remaining cubes in his glass and then finished it. Shelby looked at the three of us one by one, and then settled on Alan. “You there, fix me another drink. A green dragon.”
“The bar’s in the kitchen, Mr. Berkett. Help yourself,” I said.
Alan put his free hand on my shoulder. “It’s all right, Heath. I don’t mind. Mr. Berkett’s been on Broadway.”
I resisted the urge to groan. “So I’ve heard.”
“And you are?” Shelby said, giving me an appraising look.
“Heath Barrington. Detective Heath Barrington of the Milwaukee Police. I’m a friend of Mr. Crane’s.”
“Well, please don’t arrest me for eavesdropping on the phone. The show would be ruined without its star.”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Berkett. I’m letting you off with just a warning,” I said with a smile. “Besides, I thought Jazz Monroe was the star of the show.”
He sighed heavily, his gray-blue eyes cast toward the ceiling. “Oh, please. Put me in a wig and a dress, and I could play Claire Clarington better than that old bag. As initially written, Claire Clarington is supposed to be in her mid thirties and attractive. Jazz Monroe is pushing sixty, she’s fat as a cow, and she sags more than a hammock.”
“I think you’re exaggerating. And besides, as Eve has pointed out, makeup does wondrous things. She looks to be in her thirties when she’s onstage,” I said.
Shelby took a drag on his cigarette, the green eyes of the lion’s head ring he was wearing sparkling in the light. “You, sir, are far too kind. There was a time once, but not anymore. And she’s just plain vicious. I tried to be friendly to her when I got to town. I tried to make amends, even brought her flowers, but she’d have none of it. And then there’s Peter…”
“What about him?” Eve said, irritation growing in her voice with every sentence.
“Oh, my dear. He can’t even remember his two or three lines, and he almost dropped the tea tray today. My God, if he drops it when we’re in front of the audience…”
“He won’t drop it, Shelby. He’s promised not to drink during the show.”
“Promises, promises. Ever the protective Eve.”
“That’s enough.” Eve’s voice was quiet but firm as she stared at him.
He held up his hand, the ashes from his cigarette dropping unnoticed to the floor. “All right, fine. I’ll behave and not talk about Peter. But then we must talk about Henry.” I admit my ears perked up.
“Don’t start on Henry, either, Shelby. You’re just jealous. He’s a talented man,” Eve said.
Shelby raised his brows and stared back at her. “He’s just a pretty boy with a mustache and dimples. Typical sullen, silent type.”
“He’s a friend of mine and a superb actor,” Eve said, her teeth clenched.
“If you say so. But I don’t recall him ever doing a show on Broadway, much less four,” he replied.
“Maybe not, but I wouldn’t bet against him winning that movie part away from you.”
Shelby ignored her and turned to me once more. “I remember you now. You were at the theater yesterday. I must say you dress rather nattily for a policeman.”
“Thanks. I manage.”
“Heath’s one of the best dressed men I know,” Alan said.
“Then clearly you don’t know me, my boy,” Shelby said, taking another drag on his cigarette and blowing the smoke almost directly at Alan.
I looked at him. He was in his mid to late forties, with large, deer-shaped eyes on either side of a long, narrow nose. The nasty bruise was just below his left eye. Up close, I could see he was indeed sporting a toupee, and he had a cleft chin beneath pouty dark lips. He was wearing a gray sport coat with a garish yellow and red polka dot tie and a silk lavender pocket square. His uncuffed trousers were dark green.
“Fashion is in the eye of the beholder, I suppose, Mr. Berkett,” I said. “That kind of outfit you’re wearing doesn’t really fit in here in Milwaukee.”
“People in the Midwest seem to think fashion is coordinating your overalls with your flannels, Mr. Barrington. At least the theater people understand how I dress.”
“Yes, I suppose they’re used to some pretty wild costumes,” I said, and Eve laughed.
“If you’re trying to be amusing, my good fellow, you’re failing miserably.”
“I thought it was funny, Shelby.”
Shelby looked at Eve. “I didn’t.” Then he glanced back at me. “So, you’re a friend of Oliver’s.”
“Yes, we go back a few years. Oliver is a good friend and a good director.”
“I don’t know about the former, but the latter could certainly be argued successfully, Mr. Barrington.” He looked at Alan. “Now then, young man, about that drink? It’s not going to make itself, and you definitely don’t want me cranky.”
“Right, Mr. Berkett. What’s in a green dragon, anyway?”
Shelby rolled his eyes again and took another long drag on his cigarette, which was almost down to nothing. “Oh, good grief. You small-town hicks need to get out more. One and a half ounces of dry gin, a half ounce of Kummel, a half ounce of green crème de menthe, lemon juice, green mint, and four dashes of peach bitters. Shake, strain, and garnish with a lemon peel, please. And use the good gin in the cabinet next to the stove, not that schlock Oliver has sitting out on the counter.”
“Where would I find kummen? I’m not even sure what that is,” Alan said.
“It’s Kummel, and it’s a sweet, colorless liqueur. I knew Oliver wouldn’t have any, so I brought my own bottle along with peach bitters. They’re on the counter, next to the bread box.” He dropped his cigarette butt into his empty glass. “And take this with you.”
“Yes sir. Kummel, peach bitters, lemon juice, gin, green mint, right. Back in a few.” Alan turned and made his way through the crowd toward the kitchen, muttering the ingredients and directions to himself as he did so.
“Wouldn’t it be easier, Mr. Berkett, if you just got it yourself?” I said.
Shelby smiled at me. “The little people love doing things like that for the stars. It makes them feel important.”
“And you are such a giver, Shelby,” Eve said.
He turned to her as he lit another cigarette. “Eve, darling, here we’ve been chatting away, and I haven’t even commented on your dress. Don’t you look lovely tonight? I am so glad you didn’t run off when I came out. And did you just get here? You weren’t here earlier.”
“We got here about forty-five minutes ago, Shelby. You’ve been on the phone in the bedroom a long time.”
He threw his head back as if suddenly stricken and I was afraid his toupee would fly off, but it was glued down securely. “Ugh, those two women on the party line, don’t remind me. And you know those long-distance operators are so difficult. Marshall Brach is hard to get hold of on a Friday night.”
Alan returned and handed Shelby his green dragon. “Here you go, Mr. Berkett. Sorry some of it spilled on my way back. Mr. Roberts bumped my elbow. I’m afraid he got some of it on his jacket.”
Shelby took the drink from Alan. “Best thing that will happen to that jacket. Tweed. How revolting. I thought Geoffrey had better taste than that.” He took a sip of the green dragon and looked at Alan, who was standing by for approval. “Not bad, my boy, not bad. But I don’t think you got the proportions just right, and you didn’t use the good gin. I told you it was by the stove.”
“I couldn’t get near the stove, Mr. Berkett. The kitchen is packed, I’m sorry.”
Shelby sighed and put the back of his hand to his forehead dramatically. “I’ll just have to suffer through.”
“Yes sir, I am sorry.”
“I’ll forgive you, perhaps,” he said.
“That’s big of you, Shelby,” Eve said, her voice tightening. “But I think you’re the one who should be asking forgiveness. Alan’s not your servant. And you’ve been rude, pushy, condescending, and obnoxious to just about everyone in this room ever since you got to town.”
He glanced around and rolled his eyes. “I hardly think so. I don’t even know most of these people.”
“The people in the cast, then, and everyone at the theater. I’ve witnessed it firsthand, and you need to stop it.”
He looked at her appreciatively. “You’re a strong woman, Eve Holloway. There aren’t many women or men who stand up to me the way you do. I’m not used to being told no.”
“Jazz certainly tells you no, among other things. She’s not intimidated by you,” Eve said.
“She’d stand up to Hitler and beat him at arm wrestling given the chance, but you’re different. You’re forceful yet still feminine, independent but still soft. You know, you could make a name for yourself with me in New York someday, if you ever change your mind. Jazz, on the other hand, is a bulldozer. She’s a big name in Milwaukee, but she’d never make it anywhere else.”
“Some say that’s due to you, Shelby. Because of what happened back in 1926,” Eve said.
He looked cross. “Jazz and Jasper do like to talk, don’t they? Well, there are two sides to every story, you know. It’s true I happened to be near that switch, but I never touched it. My conscience is clear. If I was guilty, do you think I would have come back here?”
“They say criminals often return to the scene of the crime,” Eve said.
“I am not a criminal. And whatever became of Jazz after I left is her own fault. She likes being a big fish in a small pond. In New York, she’d be nothing more than a guppy in the ocean, and she knows it. You, on the other hand, have star potential, except Peter is holding you back.”
“Peter is my husband, for better or worse.”
Shelby laughed. “Certainly the latter with that one. He’s more like a big leech in a small pond. He’d be nothing without you. He lives by your success, but unfortunately he’s also dying from it,” Shelby said.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Isn’t it obvious? He needs you to be successful so you can pay the bills and find him work. But when you’re successful, it kills a part of him. He’s slowly dying, bit by bit. You’d be doing both of you a favor by letting him go. Where is the cretin, anyway?” Shelby asked, looking about as he sipped more of his green dragon between puffs on his cigarette.
“Peter is over there, by the balcony, and don’t call him a cretin, a leech, or a drunk.”
“Certainly not, not to his face, anyway. You certainly cry an awful lot over that drunken whatever you want to call him.”
“How about we call him my husband? And how about it’s none of your business?”
“Where are you staying while you’re in town, Mr. Berkett?” I said.
Shelby glanced at me as he finished his cocktail. “The Wisconsin Hotel on Third Street. It’s convenient to the theater, and they have been most accommodating.”
“And cheap,” Eve said.
He waved her off with his free hand. “Affordable. I need another cocktail.”
“I think you’ve had enough. You’re a mean drunk, Shelby. In fact, you’re just mean,” she said, her voice softer now.
“Oh, Eve, I suppose I have been rather harsh. I must buy you something pretty to make up for what I’ve done,” Shelby replied.
She looked at him sharply, her green eyes squinting. “Jasper told us you’re nearly broke, living out of a suitcase, leaving a trail of bills and creditors behind you. If I did want something from you, which I don’t, you couldn’t afford it.”
Shelby’s face turned an interesting shade of red. “Jasper has a big mouth. And how dare you? I am a star. I was a star on Broadway. I may owe a bill or two, but that will all be corrected when I star in the new Hitchcock movie. Jasper will still be nothing but a prop man, Jazz will still be a fat fish in a small pond, and you’ll still be nothing little Eve stuck here in Milwaukee with an alcoholic loser of a husband.” He laughed harshly. “You at least had a way out, but you threw it in my face, didn’t you, when you found out I’m temporarily without funds. And now you’re stuck here for all eternity with him and the rest of these hicks.”
“The fact that you’re broke has nothing to do with how I feel about you. I was friendly to you when you started rehearsals because no one liked you, and I felt sorry for you. But it’s clear now that you’ve brought it all on yourself, and how dare you say those things about Peter and me?”
Shelby looked aghast as he dropped what was left of his cigarette into his now-empty glass again and handed it once more to Alan, who in turn set it on a nearby table. “Oh, my dear, you’re absolutely right. I’ve gone too far. Too, too far. Forgive me. I was just lashing out at you after…well, you know. I mistook your kindness for something else, and I’m sorry about that, but to have you curse me, avoid me, treat me like yesterday’s news when we used to be friendly…”
Eve raised her chin and looked him in the eye. Her eyes were moist. “You are yesterday’s news, Shelby. And Henry will get that movie role.”
“Now who’s being cruel?” Shelby said. “I understand, Eve. More than you think I do.”
“Well, that makes one of us, then,” Alan said.
Peter, dressed in a blue plaid sport coat, appeared at Eve’s side. “Hey there, buttercup, what’s old Shelby done now that’s gotten my little wife so upset looking?”
“Oh, apparently I was an absolute beast, Peter.”
“No argument from me,” Peter said.
Peter slurred his words a bit and I wondered just how many cocktails and pills he had consumed at this point. Up close, his nose was even more red and veined.
“Oh, go take another pill,” Shelby said.
Before Peter could reply, Oliver raised his voice and tapped a metal swizzle stick against his highball glass.
“Attention, everyone! Our star, Jazz Monroe, has entered the party!”
The room fell relatively quiet as the piano player stopped and people turned in Oliver’s direction. Claire stood in the doorway, only it was Jazz Monroe, larger than life in an off-the-shoulder teal satin cocktail dress, white pearls, and black pumps. Her hair was too black and clearly from a bottle, but she wore it up and she wore it well. Atop her head sat a small, white satin hat with a black veil that came down just over her dark eyes. Behind her was Dick Cooper, her ward and escort for the evening, in a suit a size or two too big for him.
A few people applauded, and Miss Monroe looked appreciative as she smiled and nodded.
“Someone get Jazz a cocktail. What will it be, Jazz?” Oliver said.
She looked at him, still smiling. “A champagne cocktail with a sugar cube.”
“Right, right. Tony, get Miss Monroe a champagne cocktail.”
“Yes sir.” A mustached man in a dark suit to match hurried through the crowd toward the kitchen, which had noticeably emptied of most of its people.
“I could use a beer, Mr. Crane,” Dick said from within Jazz’s shadow.
“What? Oh, hello, Dick. I didn’t see you there. Fine, beer’s in the kitchen.”
“What should I do with my hat and keys?”
“Hats go in the guest room over there, and you can put your keys on the dresser.” Oliver motioned to a door on the left side.
“Okay.” Dick took off his hat and went to the bedroom as Jazz surveyed the gathering and continued to smile.
“Now that everyone is here, I think it’s time for my surprise,” Oliver said to the group.
“Hold it, Mr. Crane. If you’re going to make some big announcement, I want my drink first!” Jazz said, and everybody laughed appropriately.
“Oh, sure, sure, Jazz. Tony! Hurry up with that drink.”
Dick had deposited his hat in the guest room and was now headed for the kitchen, presumably to get his beer. As Oliver caught sight of him, he called out.
“Dick! Go find out what’s keeping Tony!”
“Will do, Mr. Crane.”
After a few minutes, Tony returned with Jazz’s champagne cocktail and handed it to her. Dick was nowhere in sight, but presumably in the kitchen.
“Jazz has her cocktail, Oliver, so what’s the big announcement?” Shelby said. “I could use another drink myself, you know.”
“Sorry, Shelby. It will have to wait just a few more minutes,” Oliver said. “Gather round, folks, over to the cabinet here, the one with the tablecloth over it. Someone get those glasses off there, for God’s sake!”
We moved closer to the other side of the room and stared at the rectangular shape beneath the floral tablecloth as various people picked up their drinks from the top of it. Henry had reappeared and taken a place on the other side of Alan.
“Can someone give me a drum roll, please?” Oliver said.
Wally pounded out a “da, da, da, daaaaaa” on the piano. Oliver pulled the tablecloth off a beautiful walnut cabinet with two doors in the front and what appeared to be a speaker panel below.
The room was silent as everyone gazed at it curiously. Finally, from the back of the room, a voice called out, “Did you get a new radio, Mr. Crane?”
Oliver laughed. “No, not a radio. It’s a television!” He swung open the doors dramatically to reveal a ten-inch dark green glass rectangle.
Collective gasps were heard throughout the group.
“How much did that set you back, Mr. Crane?”
“I saw one on display at the Boston Store for three hundred fifty-two dollars,” a woman said.
Several people whistled and some gasped. “That’s about seven weeks’ worth of wages!”
“Yeah, but you can buy it on time,” someone else said. “Of course, once you get it paid off, it will be history.” The crowd chuckled.
“Laugh all you want, but television is here to stay. Mark my words, ladies and gentlemen, you have seen the future,” Oliver said. “I’m going to turn it on now, but the screen is small, so come up just a few at a time!”
I caught Alan’s eye. “Let’s go see about some more drinks.”
“Don’t you want to see the television?”
“It’s a passing fancy. We can see it later.”
“Okay, sure.”
“Won’t you excuse us?” I said to everyone nearby and no one in particular.
“Need a drink, Hank?” Alan said.
Henry stared around Alan at me. “No, I’m fine. I did a run for vodka and sampled some when I got back a few minutes ago. You’ve been monopolizing Alan, Mr. Barrington.”
“Have I?”
“It’s okay, Hank. Heath and I are close friends.”
“I gathered that. And you need him to help you make two drinks, Mr. Barrington?”
I bristled. “If he wants to stay here with you, that’s his prerogative, Mr. Hawthorne. Alan?”
Alan looked from me to Henry and then back to me as if trying to decide. Finally, he said, “Let’s, uh, get some drinks. We’ll be back in a bit, Hank.”
“Sure, I’ll be waiting.”
“Don’t do us any favors,” I said. Alan and I easily navigated the crowd, which had dispersed somewhat as many of them had gone up to get a closer look at the television or to ask Oliver questions about it.
The kitchen was beginning to fill up again with those more interested in booze than television, such as Dick Cooper, who we found nursing a beer. He was indeed a slight fellow, and his brown suit bagged on him like a sail without wind. On his right wrist was a watch the size of a child’s. He stood maybe five feet two and couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred pounds. He was clean-shaven, with round, light brown eyes, a long, thin nose, and a little mouth surrounded by full lips. His limp, black hair was parted down the middle. He looked up at us as we entered.
“Hey, Dick! You missed Mr. Crane’s big announcement,” Alan said.
“I heard from in here. He got a television,” Dick said. “I imagine everyone will have one eventually.” His voice was almost a monotone, unaffected, a bit nasal.
“Not at those prices,” Alan said.
“It will never last, so don’t throw out your radio,” I said.
“Eh, it’s a changing world, Mr…”
“Barrington.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Dick, this is my friend, Heath Barrington. Heath, Dick Cooper.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Cooper.”
“Sure. Alan’s mentioned you a few times.”
“Oh? I’m glad he’s mentioned me to someone, at least. You’re the janitor at the theater.”
He shrugged his small, bony shoulders from within the oversized coat. “That’s right.” He took a drink of beer and looked up at the ceiling for a moment. “I only do it because Jazz wants me to.”
“Oh?”
“She likes me within arm’s reach in case she needs something or wants to go someplace ’cause she doesn’t drive. Anyway, it’s a job, I guess. Photography is what I really enjoy. I’ve studied Arnold Newman, you know. He was commissioned by Life last year, takes wonderful pictures. I even have a darkroom set up in the spare bathroom, but Jazz doesn’t like it. She hasn’t brought it up lately because she’s too distracted by Mr. Berkett being back in town.”
“Yes,” I said. “They don’t seem to care for each other much.”
“With good reason. Jasper told me what happened back then. Jazz has, too,” Dick said.
“But there are at least two sides to that story, according to Mr. Berkett,” I said.
“Maybe,” Dick said. “I kind of thought so when Jasper first told me about him. I figured Jasper was just bitter. But then I got to know Berkett, and I realized it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if he pulled that lever intentionally.”
“That seems to be the consensus,” Alan said.
“Jazz and Jasper hate him, and Mr. and Mrs. Holloway don’t like him much, either.”
“Why is that?”
“Mr. Holloway’s jealous. Mr. Berkett and Mrs. Holloway hit it off when he first got to Milwaukee, and Mr. Holloway didn’t like it one bit.”
“I imagine not,” I said. “Did something happen between Mr. Berkett and Mrs. Holloway?”
“I saw him make some improper advances toward Mrs. Holloway the other night, and she decked him. Served him right. I was surprised at how strong she is. Almost knocked him flat.”
“She’s a strong woman in many ways. What kind of improper advances?”
“He touched her where he shouldn’t have, tried to kiss her. He got a nice bruise on his face. Of course, he’s telling everyone he walked into a door.”
At that moment, Shelby’s voice rang out from the doorway. “Dick! Do you know how to make a proper green dragon?”
We all turned to look at him as he entered, shaking another empty glass at us. “No, I don’t,” Dick said, glaring at him.
“Then you’re no good to me, either.”
The eyes of the lion’s head on his ring sparkled in the light. The lion’s mane appeared to be made of sterling silver. The eyes were real emeralds, I was sure.
“Your ring is really something, Mr. Berkett. Jazz has one like it, only it’s a lioness. She rarely wears it, but I’ve seen it,” Dick said, staring at the ring as if entranced.
“Yes, I know. She gave me this ring once upon a time.”
“Dicky! What are you doing in here, and why are you talking to him?” Jazz stood in the doorway of the kitchen, arms up, holding on to the door frame.
“I was just talking to Alan and Mr. Barrington, here, and I was also asking Mr. Berkett about his lion ring,” Dick said.
Jazz’s complexion darkened ever so slightly. She glared at Berkett. “I ought to cut your fat little finger off to get my ring back.”
“I’m sure you would, given the chance. Don’t worry, I’m going to fix myself a green dragon, since no one else seems capable, and then I’ll mingle amongst my fans and give them a thrill.” He went to the counter and started to work on his concoction, looking for all the world like a mad scientist as we watched him pour dark, mysterious liquids from various bottles into a shaker.
Jazz, not one to be ignored, cleared her throat loudly, and the three of us turned back to her, still standing in the doorway.
“Do you notice anything wrong with me, Dicky?”
“No,” Dick finally said.
“I’m not holding a cocktail. Be a good boy and get me one. And don’t forget the sugar cube.”
“I never forget the sugar cube. You wouldn’t let me,” he said as he got a bottle of champagne and Jazz came in. Up close, she smelled of sweat, and her breath was foul.
“You’re Heath Barrington, the detective. I met you at the theater yesterday.”
“That’s right, just after the poison scene.”
“Ugh, the one that idiot keeps screwing up.” She glared in Shelby’s direction.
“I heard that, Jazz. Of course, the entire city probably heard it.”
“You were meant to hear it. Get your green dragon and get out.”
“I’ve got it and I’m going. One green dragon coming through,” he said as he pushed past us, “and one big-mouthed, fat-assed dragon staying here.” He disappeared into the depths of the living room before Jazz could reply.
“Big-mouthed, fat-assed dragon. How dare he. I’m sorry you had to suffer in here with him for company.”
“Don’t be. I find him rather entertaining,” I said.
“I suppose fools generally are. He finally, finally got his death scene right today at the last rehearsal. We’ll see how he does tomorrow night.”
“I hope all goes well. Do you mind my asking about your name, Miss Monroe? It’s unusual,” I said.
She smiled, showing the lipstick on her teeth. “It’s not so unusual, really. It’s short for Jasmine. Jazz just sounds more theatrical, don’t you think, Detective?”
“Yes, it’s quite catchy. Most memorable.”
“Thank you. Are you coming to opening night?”
“Yes, I’m looking forward to it.”
“How lovely. Dicky, what’s taking you so long? That idiot concocted his green dragon faster than you can make a simple champagne cocktail.”
“Sorry,” Dick said as he returned with a glass. “I had to open a fresh bottle, and I had trouble with the cork.”
“You’re such a boy. Never send a boy to do a man’s job, isn’t that what they say?” she said, taking the glass from him. “Oh look, here’s our Eve.”
As Eve Holloway entered the kitchen, Dick’s face brightened considerably.
“Hello, Jazz,” she said dryly.
“Dear Eve. You missed your mark in rehearsal today.”
“Did I?”
“You know you did. You’re supposed to stand just behind me when I’m facing the fireplace. You came up and intentionally stood next to me, blocking me from the audience.”
“There wasn’t an audience. It was a rehearsal.”
“Potential audience, then.” She smiled thinly over the top of her glass, her dark eyes cold.
“You’re so wide I don’t think it’s possible to block a view of you.”
“Careful, Eve.”
“Why? Am I going to end up like Nick Shultz?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just that he broke his arm falling into the orchestra pit when he accidently blocked you,” Eve said.
“He didn’t fall, I pushed him, is that what you’re getting at?”
“Your words, not mine.”
“Just don’t get in my way.”
“Hello, Mrs. Holloway,” Dick said.
“Oh, hello, Dick,” she said, glancing down at him. “I didn’t see you there.”
“Can I get you a drink?”
“I could use one. A sidecar, please, and make it a double.”
“Sure, you bet,” Dick said, going to the counter on the other side of the kitchen.
“Try to remember who’s the star of this show, Eve,” Jazz said.
“Like you’d ever let anyone forget,” Eve said as Dick returned with her sidecar.
“Here’s your drink, I hope it’s to your liking.”
She took it from him without a glance. “Thanks, I’m sure it’s fine. Now if you’ll excuse me…” She turned to leave.
“There’s not much of an excuse for you, darling. You’re a passable actress, attractive, and you have a nice caboose, but you have terrible taste in men,” Jazz said.
“At least I have a man, Jazz. I believe you’ve never married.”
“I don’t need a man. I’ve gotten by just fine by myself, and I’ve made quite a career for myself. I’m married to the theater.”
“With the theater as a husband, I guess you can get as fat as you want.”
“Shut up!”
“Did I touch a nerve, Jazz?”
“No more than Shelby Berkett touched yours.”
Eve glared at her. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about. Excuse me,” Eve said. She brushed past us abruptly and went back into the living room.
“Eve Holloway. Pretty little thing, but deadly,” Jazz said.
I cocked my head. “What do you mean?”
“Ask Shelby,” she said with a smirk.
“She seemed quite nice when we were talking before,” I said.
“She is nice, Mr. Barrington. And an up-and-coming actress,” Dick said.
“Another champagne cocktail, Dicky!” Jazz’s voice boomed through the kitchen, and we all winced. She was starting to slur her words as well.
“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” Dick said.
“No, I most certainly do not, and I don’t recall asking your opinion.”
“Your funeral,” he said as he fixed another drink and handed it to her. “They’re out of sugar cubes.”
When she threw her head back, her satin hat shifted and her veil turned sideways. “Goddammit. Leave it to Oliver to run out of everything.” She took a large swallow anyway and then continued on her tirade, ignoring her now-cockeyed hat and veil. “Eve Holloway. She and Shelby were quite intimate when he got to town, you know.”
“Oh? I heard she was just being friendly,” I said.
“That’s one word for it,” Jazz said, smirking as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
“That’s the only word for it,” Dick said. “Berkett mistook her kindness for interest.”
“Oh don’t be naive, Dicky,” she snapped. She let out a hiccup and a burp, wiped her mouth again, and then continued. “You follow her around the theater like a puppy. It’s embarrassing.”
“So, you believe Mrs. Holloway and Mr. Berkett were intimate?” I said.
“I know so. We were all angry at Shelby coming back here and we wanted nothing to do with him. Eve didn’t know him before, so she was friendly to him. And he, lying snake that he is, made out like he could get her a role in a big show on Broadway, maybe even in the movie out in Hollywood, and so she warmed up to him rather nicely. But then he put the moves on her, and she decked him but good. I’d say they both got what they deserved.”
“Does Peter know about this?” I said.
Jazz shrugged. “I have no idea. And I really couldn’t care less. Or, as Shelby says, ‘I could care less.’ God that drives me crazy. When he says that I try to tell him he’s actually saying he could care less, but he just gives me one of those droll stares. I hate that man.”
“I get the impression Eve and Peter’s marriage isn’t exactly happy,” I said, trying to steer her back on subject.
She took another drink. “Hardly. Oh they may have been in love once. But now she’s more like a mother to him, taking care of him, watching over him, nursing him, keeping him supplied in pills,” Jazz said, finally straightening her hat and veil. She glanced down at Dick, who appeared to be watching her carefully. “Go get yourself another beer and stop bothering me.”
“I’m not the one you’re bothered by,” Dick said. He got himself another bottle of beer and disappeared into the crowd in the other room.
When he had gone, I turned to Jazz. “Aren’t you a bit harsh with Dick, Miss Monroe?”
“That, Mr. Barrington, is none of your concern. If I ride Dick hard, it’s only for his own good.”
“I see.”
“Good. And here comes Eve’s worse half. Speak of the devil and he shall appear.” She laughed a booming laugh that hurt my ears.
Peter was behind Alan, holding an empty glass, his red eyes matching his nose.
“How do you do, Mr. Holloway?” I said.
“Do I know you?”
“Not really. I’m Heath Barrington, and this is Alan Keyes. He’s in the play.”
Peter studied Alan. “Is he?”
“I play the policeman at the end, sir. Don’t you remember me?”
His eyes looked glazed. “If you say so. I need a drink.” He pushed past us and poured himself a large bourbon over ice. He returned with a full glass in hand. “Now then, what were you saying about my wife, Jazz?”
“I was saying you’re lucky to have her, Peter,” Jazz said. I wondered how much he had overheard.
He arched his brows, making his bloodshot eyes appear larger. “That’s funny coming from you. She’s the one that’s lucky. She’s pretty and she’s lucky. She’s lucky she’s pretty. She’s pretty lucky!” He laughed almost hysterically at this, spilling much of his drink on himself and the floor, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“Good Lord, Peter, you drink too much,” Jazz said.
“I don’t drink enough. I can still see you, and hear you, unfortunately. Besides, you do a good job of drinking, yourself. How many of those champagne cocktails have you put away tonight?”
Jazz ignored the question, possibly because she didn’t know the answer. She turned to Alan and me. “Won’t you excuse me, gentlemen? I must powder my nose.” She didn’t wait for an answer but left us standing there as she too disappeared into the living room, weaving just a touch as she held her champagne cocktail above her like liberty’s torch.
“There goes the great Jazz Monroe. Big voice, bigger bottom!” Peter laughed again, almost giggling, and spilled still more of his drink. “And the more she drinks, the louder she gets.”
“Are you all ready for opening night tomorrow?” I said when he had somewhat composed himself.
He stared up at me, his eyes the color of raw meat. “Oh, I remember you now. You were talking to Berkett and Eve earlier.”
“That’s right.”
“What was the question again?”
“I was wondering if you’re ready for tomorrow night.”
“How ready do I need to be? I answer the door, I carry a tea tray, I pick up the telephone when it rings. I only have a handful of lines. I should have been playing Hawthorne’s role.”
“Did you try out for it, Mr. Holloway?” Alan said.
Peter glared at him. “I don’t try out for roles, my boy. I’m offered roles. And I would have been offered the role of the inspector if Shelby hadn’t slithered back into town and spoiled everything. Instead, I got the role of the butler.”
“It’s still a role,” I said.
“Just barely. At least they didn’t make me play the idiot policeman who only comes on at the end and doesn’t have any lines. He’s simply dreadful, so wooden.”
“I play the policeman, Mr. Holloway,” Alan said, looking hurt.
“And you play your part well,” I said defensively.
Peter nodded at Alan. “Oh, that’s right. You said that before, didn’t you? You do look familiar. Well, no offense. Ah, there’s Jasper.”
Alan and I followed Peter’s gaze to a tall, thin man, about forty-five years old, who had wandered into the kitchen, looking lost. He had light brown eyes beneath a broad, high forehead, and a slender nose. His lips were thin and pale. I could tell he had once been attractive, and he still was in some ways, but the years had not been kind to him. His hair was sparse and gray, combed over the top of his head from right to left.
“Hello, Jasper,” Peter said.
The man moved closer, clutching a bottle of beer tightly as he looked at each of us in turn. He had a bandage on his left hand. “Hello, Mr. Holloway, hello, Alan.” He moved slowly, his limp impairing his speed.
“How do you do?” I said, extending my hand. “I’m Heath Barrington, a friend of Mr. Crane and of Mr. Keyes here.”
Jasper shook my hand firmly. “Jasper Crockett. Any friend of Alan’s is a friend of mine, Mr. Barrington. I saw you at the theater yesterday.”
“Yes, that’s right. I was watching the rehearsal, but I had to leave.”
Jasper bobbed his head up and down. “Alan’s a nice fellow. Always has a kind word and a smile, and he’s real helpful backstage.”
Alan looked embarrassed. “Well, I have a lot of time before I go on, so I try to help out.”
Jasper’s head bobbed again. “I’m just saying. You’re nicer than most.”
“Looking for something, Jasper?” Peter said.
“No, not really. Just avoiding Berkett. He’s on a rant in the living room, and I don’t want to be around him any more than I have to.”
“That seems to be a common feeling amongst those who know him,” Peter said.
Jasper glanced around to see who else might be listening. “It’s no secret I never liked him. He’s an evil man, and I will never forgive him for what he did to Alex, to me, and to Jazz. I’m still irked at Oliver for hiring him. I wish he’d never come back, stirring up trouble and all. I hoped I’d never see him again.”
Peter laughed harshly. “Same here. I’d like to know who really sent that telegram.”
“I hear tell it was signed by Alex,” Jasper said.
“You don’t really believe that, do you?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. I’m not sure really. Alex was a good man, a friend. I sense his spirit in the theater sometimes. I think he may have wanted to lure Berkett back here to face justice once and for all.”
“What justice would that be, Mr. Crockett?” I said.
“Justice for what happened those many years ago, for what he did to all of us. Alex was a real talent. Nice looking, too. He could have gone places. As for me, well, I don’t think I ever would have made it big, but I feel guilty sometimes, you know? Because I survived that fall and he didn’t.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Peter said, surprisingly soft. “I heard what happened. We all have.”
“I guess everyone knows. So, Alex is dead, I’ve got a bad leg, Jazz never left Milwaukee, and Berkett is up for a movie role,” Jasper said, anger rising up in his voice.
“There’s a good chance he won’t get that movie role, Jasper. Just wait and see,” Peter said.
“Someone needs to make sure he doesn’t. One way or the other.”
“Maybe someone will,” Peter said. “Maybe someone will. But right now, I’m hearing the sound of ice in a glass, which tells me it’s time for another drink.”
Peter wandered off somewhat unsteadily in search of more alcohol, leaving Jasper alone with us.
“What did you do to your hand, Mr. Crockett?” I said.
He glanced down at the bandage. “Oh, I burned it on the stove. Good thing it’s my left, or I’d be lost. Anyway, I should get going. Pompom’s home alone. He doesn’t like it when I leave him for too long, though I always leave the radio on for him. He likes opera, and so do I.”
“Well, that’s convenient, then, isn’t it? Pompom’s your dog? The one who was with you at the theater yesterday?”
Jasper grinned, baring gray teeth within his thin lips. The second tooth on the upper left was missing. “Yeah, he’s a good boy, all right. The best. He goes with me everywhere, for the most part. But I couldn’t bring him tonight, of course.”
“Of course.”
“He doesn’t like being left home alone much, so I’d better get going. Besides, WBSM’s Opera Hour ended at seven. After that, it’s all classical. Pompom’s not big on classical. Nice meeting you, Mr. Barrington.”
“Likewise, Mr. Crockett.”
He nodded and raised his bottle in salute, and then limped and shuffled along like a tall, thin tortoise.
“Well, Alan, I think I could use another drink. How about you?”
“Definitely, Heath. Some party. I suppose Hank must be wondering where we are. Maybe we should head back out to the living room after we get our drinks.”
“I suppose,” I said, though I really didn’t want to see any more of Hank. The crowd in the kitchen had thinned some, and we helped ourselves, Alan fishing out another bottle of beer from the melting ice in the sink while I made a vodka martini, though they were out of pickles.
Drinks in hand, we returned to the living room, where the skinny lady in the pink hat and carrot orange hair was trying to rhumba with the man with the dark mustache, but they kept bumping into people. On the far wall, a man in a blue pinstriped suit and yellow tie was leaning precariously and looking quite pale. He had unbuttoned his collar and opened his suit jacket, slowly sinking down the wall until he was sitting on the floor. From there he finally tipped over and lay in a fetal position on his right side as people stepped over him.
“He doesn’t look too good,” I said.
“That’s Tony,” Alan said. “He’ll be in bad shape tomorrow, and Mr. Crane will not be happy.”
“What does he do?”
“Lights.”
“Ah,” I said.
Alan surveyed the room. “I think just about everyone here has had a bit too much to drink.”
“Me included, I believe. I’m a trifle woozy, and the floor is swaying beneath my feet a tad.”
Nearby Eve and Peter were talking to Oliver. Eve had apparently overheard us.
“I think you’ve had more than enough to drink tonight, too, Peter.”
He glared at her. “You always think I’ve had enough to drink, and you hid my pillbox to punish me, didn’t you?”
Eve sighed, exasperated. “I told you I didn’t take your pill box. You probably just misplaced it.”
“Then it was you!” Peter said, pointing a shaky finger at Oliver.
Oliver shook his head. “Sorry, old boy, but I had nothing to do with it.”
“Maybe old Alexander Lippencott stole my pillbox. The friendly ghost? The spirit took my pills? The spirited spirit spirited away my pillbox?” He burst out laughing as Eve and Oliver exchanged concerned looks.
“Peter, we open tomorrow,” she said softly.
Peter rolled his head around and stared glassy-eyed at her. “Oh, Good Lord, don’t you think I know that? But what do you care? My part is meaningless. I have next to no lines.”
“The role of the butler is important, Peter. All the roles are, or they wouldn’t be in the play,” Oliver said.
Peter shook his head slowly and deliberately. “No. That’s not true. You know it as well as I do. Even my unfaithful wife here knows it, don’t you, love?”
Eve and Oliver both looked surprised and startled. Oliver laughed nervously. “You’re joking, Peter.”
“I’m not.” He hiccupped.
“What do you mean?” Eve said.
Peter grimaced, his eyes even more bloodshot. “Just what it sounds like. You and the great Shelby Berkett.”
“Peter!” she cried.
“Are you denying it? You act like you hate each other, but that’s all it is, isn’t it? Acting. You’ve been sleeping with him since the day he got into town, haven’t you?”
“That’s not true!”
“Isn’t it? You spent an awful lot of time with him when he first got to Milwaukee.”
“I was simply being kind, something you’ve apparently forgotten how to do. I can’t talk to you anymore,” Eve said.
“You did more than talk with him, didn’t you? I’ve heard the rumors,” Peter said, shaking his finger at her.
She looked back at him, avoiding his finger. “I did not do more than talk with him, much to his chagrin. Don’t believe everything you hear, and don’t shake your finger at me.”
“Peter, that’s uncalled for,” Oliver said.
Now it was Peter’s turn to laugh. “Oh, I think it’s definitely called for.”
“Nothing happened between us, Peter, though he wanted it. He pushed me, but I pushed back. I always push back.”
“Oh, I know you do, darling. I know you do. Everyone always says you’re the strong one, that you hold me up because I’m weak. Well, I can stand on my own without you,” he said, ironically weaving back and forth unsteadily.
“What are you saying, Peter?” Eve looked shocked.
“I’m saying I could have been the detective. I should have been the detective. Now I’m nothing. Shelby took that away from me, too. Where is that son of a bitch? He needs to be taught a lesson.” He looked about the room rather wildly.
“Peter, I think we should talk about this in private,” she said, touching his arm.
He brought his gaze back to her and stared down at her face. “What’s the matter? Afraid I’m going to hurt your boyfriend? Embarrass you?”
“Peter, please.”
He shook off her hand. “All right, let’s go. No offense, Oliver, but this party is an utter bore. And apparently my wife is an utter—”
“Peter!” Eve cried out again, her face now angry. “I was nothing but friendly to him, and, yes, he was easy to talk to, and I needed that. But I soon realized he wanted more, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer. It’s all been horrible.”
“Eve, Eve, Eve. What’s the matter? Couldn’t you handle that pompous snake? The great and glorious Eve. Sorely tempted, she bit the forbidden fruit, but it bit back.” He chuckled heavily and hiccupped again, almost falling over as he stumbled.
“I didn’t bite. I hit him right in the face as hard as I could. Don’t you understand what I’m saying?”
He wagged his finger at her again. “Am I supposed to feel sorry for you now? You thought he was a big, rich Broadway star who could take you places, didn’t you? Little did you know the joke was on you and, sadly, on me,” Peter said, swaying back and forth even more.
Eve put her hand on his arm again to steady him, and this time he didn’t shake it off. “We have a lot to talk about, Peter. I don’t think you realize everything that’s happened.”
He laughed again. “Oh, you are good. Yes, go ahead and talk your way out of this.” His voice was getting louder, but hers was softer, yet firm.
“I’m not trying to talk my way out of anything. I just think we should go home. Now.”
Peter stared at her again. Finally, he spoke, somewhat more quietly. “I must say I agree. There’s no point in staying anymore. Here or anywhere else. Tally ho, then. I’ll bring the car around, you say goodbye for both of us. I can’t stand these people, and right now I’m not too fond of you, either.”
“Right now, I’d say the feeling is mutual. Are you all right to drive?”
“Never better, my dear. Never better.” He staggered out of the apartment, leaving the door ajar.
“I’ll get his hat and my purse,” Eve said to no one in particular, still visibly shaken as she made her way to the guest room.
When she returned, she seemed relieved no one else had overheard their exchange. The piano player was playing some lively music, and the woman in the pink hat and orange hair had given up trying to rhumba and was now attempting to sing, except she kept forgetting the words and starting over.
Peter reappeared, standing in the apartment door, holding on to the frame for support. “Where’s Dick? I want to see Dick.” He spoke loudly, running his words together.
“I’m here, Mr. Holloway. Something wrong?” Dick asked from behind me.
Peter peered around me and down at Dick. “You’ve parked me in, son. Give me your keys so I can get my car out.”
“Oh gosh, I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t realize.”
Peter held his hand out in front of him. “Give me your keys.”
“They’re in the bedroom, on the dresser,” Dick said.
“Then go get them.”
“Yes sir, Mr. Holloway.” Dick vanished into the crowd, only to reappear moments later with a key ring, which he held out to Peter. Peter stared at the ring of keys briefly and then snatched them up. “Back in a flash.”
“Yes sir.”
“Don’t wait up,” Peter said with a snide laugh as he weaved and bobbed out the door once more, and I wondered to myself just what Jazz would say if she knew or found out Dick had handed over her car keys to Peter Holloway. True to his word, though, he was back quickly and handed Dick his key ring. “There, no harm done, you see? Now, where is the lovely and talented Eve Holloway?”
“I’m right here, Peter. I got your hat for you. And I’ll drive so you can sleep it off.”
“How wonderful. Isn’t she wonderful, Mr…”
“Barrington. Heath Barrington,” I said. “We met earlier.”
“Did we? Well, I’m sure I was pleased to meet you, Mr. Barrington. Do you know my wife? Most men seem to. Eve Holloway. Lovely girl. Handy with a knife, too. But now we must be going. Toodle-oo.” He took Eve’s arm and guided her out the door without another word.
I turned to Alan. “Wowzer.”
“You said it. Wowzer indeed.”
Henry reappeared, annoyed. “There you two are.”
“We were in the kitchen,” Alan said. “When we came back, you were gone.”
“I was occupied. I think we should go. I’ll drive you home, Alan,” Henry said, ignoring me.
“I, uh, just got a beer. Let me finish it, okay?” Alan said, looking from Henry to me.
Henry shrugged. “Bottoms up.”
Suddenly the skinny woman in the pink hat, who had started from the beginning of the song for about the fourth time, stopped singing and let out a screech, as if someone had slit her throat.
“Who the hell pricked me?” she said, glancing about sharply, her eyes landing upon Jazz, who was standing just to the side and back of her, hatpin in hand.
“Good Lord, someone had to stop you. How can you forget the lyrics to ‘Sentimental Journey’? You call that singing, Hilda? I’ve heard cats mating that sounded better. And who did your hair? Bugs Bunny?” Jazz faced the crowd, which was now staring at her, as was her intent, I was sure. “Let me show you how it’s done. Take it from the top, Wally.” Then Jazz started belting out the song, and I could swear the light fixture in the ceiling started to sway from the vibration.
Shelby, who happened to be standing nearby, covered his ears and closed his eyes in full view of Jazz, who then started to sing even louder. Finally he opened his eyes, uncovered his ears, and put his hand over her mouth while shouting, “Shut up!”
She bit him, and he screamed. Wally stopped playing as Hilda laughed.
“You bit me, you bitch!”
“That’s what you get for sticking your hand on my mouth.”
“Stop screeching like that, and I won’t.”
“It’s called singing, you talentless hack. Maybe I’ll bite your finger off and get my ring back.”
“If you do, I hope you choke on it. You wouldn’t last two minutes in a real show on Broadway. You overact, oversing, overdo everything.”
“That’s the pot calling the kettle black, Shelby Berkett. In twenty years in New York, you’ve been in exactly four shows on Broadway, the last two of which were flops, and you’re dead broke.”
The crowd had fallen silent as all eyes fell upon the two of them. They moved toward Shelby and Jazz, but just close enough to give them room if they started slugging. Hilda looked thrilled.
Shelby puffed out his chest in indignation. “Neither of the last two were flops, the timing just wasn’t right. And I’ve made a good career for myself in New York. Granted, mostly off Broadway, but I’m just now beginning to get started, whereas you’re finished.”
“How dare you, Shelby Berkett? You of all people to speak to me this way? To come back here, shoving it in my face after all this time. You know I could have been a big star, far bigger than you.”
“You were always bigger than me, Jazz, but you’ve gotten even bigger. You really need to watch what you eat. By the way, you have some of Brenda’s cake on your chin, I believe.”
Jazz swiped at her chin, glaring at him.
“No, darling, the fourth chin down.”
Her voice turned to a low growl. “Why, you worthless, talentless little man. You come back here after all this time, worm your way into a part in my play, and try to take over. Do you hear me?”
“The entire apartment can hear you, Jazz. The entire building even. Possibly the planet,” Shelby replied, wincing and putting his fingers in his ears again for effect.
“I don’t care. Milwaukee is my city now. You left it and you left me. You stabbed me in the back twenty years ago and bad-mouthed me to that New York producer, Otto Granger, to make yourself look good.” Jazz was louder than ever and heavily intoxicated.
Shelby removed his fingers from his ears. “Oh, let’s dig that up again, shall we? How, Jazz, did I stab you in the back to Otto Granger? Tell me—tell all of us. We want to hear it.”
“You know, Shelby. You know.” This time her voice was softer and lower, but that wasn’t saying much for Jazz. She still held the hatpin.
He shook his head violently. “No, I don’t know. If I did, maybe I could understand your maniacal rantings. All I know is Otto Granger chose me to headline his show, and you never got over it.”
“After you eliminated most of your competition.”
“How dare you.”
“No, how dare you. I never believed for a second that was an accident. And you come back here after all this time, and face me and Jasper and Alex after what you did to us.”
“I didn’t do anything to him, to Alex, or to you, despite what you believe, and I’m tired of having to defend myself.”
“Otto Granger never would have chosen you over Alex, and you know it. Alex was better looking and a better actor, singer, and dancer.”
“That’s not true.”
“So, you got him and Jasper both out of the way, and when it was down to just you and me, you stabbed me in the back.”
“Otto Granger chose me over you because you were expecting with Dick.” He spat the words out, but I could see in his eyes he instantly regretted it.
For once, Jazz was speechless. She scanned the crowd, her eyes falling on Dick, who was standing just to the left of her.
“Well, the truth is finally out, once and for all. You were expecting, Jazz, and I had every right to let Otto Granger know that. You were going to be an unwed mother, and that isn’t exactly Broadway material. You can’t blame me for that.”
She looked at Dick for a long time, and then slowly back to Shelby. I couldn’t tell if she was going to cry, stab him with the hatpin, or slug him. Finally she took a step toward Shelby and stared him down.
“Fine, Shelby. After twenty plus years, yes, my little secret is out. Yes, I was an unwed mother, and I do blame you because you are the father. Only you left me high and dry to run off to New York, and you never came back. All those letters I sent, all those excuses, those promises over the years, they obviously meant nothing.”
Shelby looked slightly uncomfortable as he stepped away from her. “Oh, there you go again, claiming I’m the father. I didn’t believe it back then, and I don’t believe it now. You and Alex were close, too.”
“Don’t insult me even more, Berkett. Just look at Dick, Can’t you see yourself twenty years ago? Oh, he looks a bit like me, too, but he definitely has your nose. Thankfully, he didn’t inherit your personality.”
“He doesn’t look a thing like me. Frankly he doesn’t even look like you, thank God. And if you think for one minute I’m going to take responsibility…”
I glanced across the room to where Dick was standing. He looked angry now, his brow furrowed deeply. When he realized people were staring at him, he fled, leaving the door to the apartment open.
“Now see what you’ve done?” Jazz said, but she made no attempt to go after him. Tears were forming in her eyes, and she swiped at them unsuccessfully before they splashed down her face, taking a good portion of her mascara with it. “Good God, Shelby, you’re an ass. I loathe you with every fiber of my being.”
“Honestly, Jazz, I could care less.”
Jazz’s face turned purple. “It’s couldn’t care less, you ignorant blowhard! Stuart, take me home.” She grabbed his arm and hurled him toward the door as she shoved her hatpin back into her hat.
“My hat’s in the bedroom,” Stuart said.
“Oliver will bring it to the theater tomorrow, along with Dick’s. Let’s go!” She pulled him along through the crowd, which parted accordingly, and out the still open door, leaving Shelby standing by the piano, licking his hand where she had bit him.
“What a bitch,” he said.