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MYRNA gave the man a curious look, her head cocked askance as her smile took on a twisted cast.
“Certainly, we could do that,” she ventured, her blue eyes locked with his, “if the two of you want to lose your jobs.”
“What are you talking about?” A familiar uneasiness grew in the pit of Lawrence’s stomach.
“Think about it for a moment. If we call the police, the first thing they’re going to do is to notify Mr. Ellington, the owner of the car. In fact, they may even consider him a suspect if anyone starts thinking about the possibility of insurance fraud. In any event, he’ll be their first call, and you’ll be sunk.”
“So what are you suggesting here?”
“Darling, it’s only a little after two o’clock,” Myrna pointed out, as if she were explaining a math problem to a slow child. “The parade doesn’t start until four, and as featured guests we’re riding at the end of it. So that buys us a few extra minutes. If we can find the car in the next two hours, no one will ever have to know it was gone.” She grinned, triumphant in her own logic, before adding, “And you won’t lose your job.”
“If we can find the car? We—as in, you and I? Are you insane? Sweetheart, I think you’ve gone so deep into Myrna Loy you’ve come out as Nora Charles.”
Myrna froze, stiffening, her eyes widening in hurt astonishment. “Well,” she pouted, as Lawrence realized he had put his foot in his mouth well up to the ankle, “this is the thanks I get for trying to help salvage your career? Fine! Call the police. Stick your neck right into the noose, for all I care. But I’ll thank you to leave the namesake out of this!”
Whenever Myrna invoked the namesake (always in hushed and reverent tones), Lawrence knew there was no point in further argument.
And after all, what did he have to lose? If the car wasn’t in the parade at four, Lawrence Frightengale and Terror Time would both be toast by the end of the evening. What did it matter if the police were brought in now or in a couple of hours? If he waited, there was at least a chance a miracle could occur.
“So,” Lawrence asked his partner, his eyes downcast, “where do we start looking for a stolen Cadillac?”
He saw the man beneath Myrna’s makeup smile and the twinkle return to his blue eyes. Lawrence felt his breath stutter in his chest and fell a little in love again with the complex man beneath the glamour and glitz of Myrna Boy.
“First, we need this to stay between the three of us. Max, do you think you can keep this under wraps for now?”
“What difference will it make?” the producer moaned. “I can tell my staff the car is out being washed or something, but as soon as it doesn’t show up for the parade, people are going to know something’s up. We hyped the Caddy as one of the event’s attractions in all of our flyers.”
“Cover for us until the parade starts,” Myrna prompted him, setting the wriggling Bootsy back on the ground. “I have no intention of letting either you or Lawrence leave the working rank and file to become men of leisure. We’re going to find the car and bring it back in time for your little procession.”
“I don’t know,” Max shook his head. “When this whole thing blows up in our faces—and it almost certainly will—what if they ask why we didn’t go straight to the cops? It’s not going to look good.”
Lawrence squared his shoulders. “Look, Max, I know this is crazy, but Myrna does have a point. If we call the cops now, you and I are definitely former employees of Channel 11. And if Myrna’s long shot doesn’t pay off and we don’t recover the Caddy, we’re just as fired. But waiting two hours to report the theft isn’t going to hurt anything, while involving the law at this stage guarantees Ellington will kill Terror Time posthaste. Buy us a little time, okay?”
Max sighed in defeat. “Okay. I’ll do what I can.” Bootsy barked agreement.
“I only gave out one autograph today, to a sweet little boy named Justin. That has to be the young man Don was talking to. Is he still around? Can he give a description of the thief?” Myrna pulled out her phone and began typing.
Max shook his head. “Don says he called to him, but nobody answered. Crap! Don’s still trapped inside the potty. I need to get someone down there to let him out.”
“Myrna, darling, have you stopped to consider that your ‘sweet little boy’ is probably our car thief? After all, he was the one watching the Caddy when Don was locked up, and he seems to have vanished now. If he isn’t our guy, don’t you think he would have called for help when he saw somebody making off with the car?”
“Such a timid little thing?” Myrna shook her faux blonde locks and pursed her lips at the thought. “He had a hard time just asking for my autograph, Larry. No, it doesn’t add up. I can’t see him stealing a car.
“I am worried, though,” she continued. “If whoever did take it realized that Justin saw them, they may have tried to hurt him. Max, can you have your people look for him? We need to make sure he’s okay.”
“I’ll get the word out,” the producer assured her, casting a glance at the doubtful Lawrence. “If he’s still there, my guys will find him. Hopefully, he can give us a description of our carjacker.”
They all jumped as Max’s phone rang again. He pushed the talk button cautiously. “Hello? What...? No... we, uh, decided to have it washed.” He gave a distasteful look, as if he didn’t believe his own lie. “It’ll be back in time, don’t worry. Leave the can in the maintenance area for now. Hey, and get a pair of bolt cutters down to the porta- potties. Some yahoo thought it would be funny to chain them closed. Thanks.”
Max looked up at Myrna and Lawrence. “Stevie is back with the gas for the Caddy and wants to know where the car is.” Max put the phone down, his hands still shaking, and let out a sigh. “I think I’ll have a stroke.”
“Oh no you don’t!” Lawrence quipped. “You’re not leaving me to face the music alone.”
“Wait a minute, Max,” said Myrna, a glimmer of a thought manifesting itself in a hopeful smile. “Why did you send Stevie for a can of gas?”
“Typical Ellington stinginess,” he snorted. “When he had the car dropped off, it was running on fumes. I guess he figured if he was supplying his wheels for the parade, Out & About could supply the gas.”
“Don’t you say another cross word about that man!” Myrna exclaimed. “Oh, I could kiss him!”
Max looked puzzled, but the light dawned on Lawrence. “Myrna, what would I do without you? Of course! If the Caddy’s tank was practically empty, and Stevie just got back with the gas can, our thief couldn’t have gotten far in the behemoth. Not without stopping for fuel, at least.”
“There can’t be too many gas stations in the immediate vicinity,” Myrna continued Lawrence’s thought. “If we hurry, we might still be able to pick up his trail!” She reeled in Bootsy’s lead, unwinding him from the nearest table leg.
“Well, whether you find the Caddy or not, be back here at four. I promised you would be in this parade, one way or another.” Max stood up from the table, stepping around the little dog.
“Don’t worry,” Myrna assured him. “We’ll be here—with the car! Leave your phone on, and we’ll check in with you. But in case things don’t pan out, start considering which of the floats you’d like us to hitch a ride on as a fallback plan. Choose a pretty one—nothing that clashes with my dress.”
The older man rolled his eyes but shot her a smile.
“Hey,” Max called after the retreating pair, “if you’re really going after the car, don’t you want to at least scrape off some of that makeup first?”
Lawrence touched his powdered cheek and shook his head. “No time,” he said. “Even if we manage to find the Caddy, we’ll be cutting it tight to get back here. There won’t be time to sit for makeup again. Besides,” Lawrence mused, watching Myrna being pulled toward the parking lot by her tiny dog, “Lawrence Frightengale might just be the right man for this job.”