Frank Weatherwax invited the detectives to meet him at MGM. Being on the lots—the cities unto themselves—seeing productions in process and the hopefuls lined up around the corner for auditions in front of casting director’s offices, Babs often wondered what it would’ve been like if she’d stayed in the business and hadn’t become a private investigator.
Guy joined her and insisted on dressing the part. He chose a V-neck pullover sweater to wear over his white shirt. Instead of a classic necktie, he looked like a hotshot wearing a silk ascot. Underneath, he wore his favorite pair of high-waisted pleated trousers and polished it off with an oversized golfer’s cap and brand-new wingtip shoes.
“Eager beaver for another audition?” Babs asked.
“Heck no. How about a chance to become one of the top bananas behind the camera?” he said as he drove up to the main gate. Security gave him a day pass and a map of the lot and showed the location for guest parking.
Further in, Guy made an observation. “Everything looks so classy and upscale toward the entrance. Then you come upon buildings that look more like factories. Others resemble army barracks.”
“Wouldn’t it be fun if we ran into one of MGM’s contract players, like Norma Shearer or Zasu Pitts? Don’t you just love her name—Zasu Pitts? I wonder what’s her real one.”
“Don’t know why you’re so obsessed over it. You changed yours.”
“Because I didn’t want my ex-husband to find me.”
He double-checked their map. “According to this pamphlet, MGM covers forty-three acres, and there are three miles of paved streets. We need to turn left over here.”
Weatherwax explained this would be a working interview. The detectives were free to fire away with as many questions as time allowed, as long as they didn’t mind him training his animal actors. They asked many of the same questions which Babs had already asked East.
“So much happened before and after the day Asta vanished. My memory draws a blank,” Weatherwax confessed. “Between the day-to-day commotion on set and the number of people present, it’s been tough to pinpoint blame.”
With all the runaround they experienced, she wondered if that excuse was too convenient. So far, nobody had given them much to go on. “You know, I might’ve forgotten to ask either you or Mr. East if anyone took out an insurance policy.”
“On Asta? Looking back, maybe I should’ve,” Frank said, “But I’ve always felt he was just—a dog.”
“He’s your cash canine and earns more than you or anyone on your staff,” Babs argued.
“Compared to insuring Marlene Dietrich for her voice, our doggie’s a minor player. Regardless, East told me you already put him through the wringer. Demoed a few stunts, too. What about his wife? Have you spoken to Gale?”
“Not yet. Why?” Babs replied.
“We’ve had our disagreements about coaching Asta. For different breeds, one size doesn’t fit all. Producers don’t like to waste time and film on animals who aren’t clear about their assignments.”
Frank led them to a kennel behind his office. “If you’re going to launch your dog in a successful film career, it’s vital he must do what he is told and when he is told.”
Babs slipped in a fast one. “Talking about wasting time, is there anyone you can think of who’d want to seek revenge on your producer or MGM Studios by delaying your next film?”
Whether coincidental or on purpose, Frank ignored her question. He unlocked the pen and leashed Lucky, a Labrador retriever, and took everyone to an open field.
“Have the two of you considered that whoever took Asta didn’t care one way or the other if the next installment of the Thin Man series went into production?” Frank asked.
Touché. Best not to assault him with too much at once.
She lightened her approach. “When I met your film director at Basil’s party, he called himself One-Take Woody.”
“He can be full of horse feathers. Even when you think you’ve rehearsed your scene to perfection, any trainer who’s worth his salt knows to go for a dry run or two.”
Babs fished a small bag of dog biscuits from her purse. “Mr. East told me dog treats work wonders in getting your dog to cooperate.”
“Put those away,” he warned her. “One of the major rules of dog training: unless you gave him permission, never let him eat anything from a stranger. In fact, let’s put him to the test. Babs, hand him one of those biscuits.”
The dog approached. “No! Leave it alone!” Frank said.
Lucky sat down, wagged his tail, and awaited his next command. Several more seconds passed. Babs looked at Guy, wondering why he tortured the poor dog.
“All right! You can have it,” Frank said. He fed Lucky the treat, patted him on the head, and looked up at Guy and Babs. “Good boy!”
Frank spotted another trainer heading in their direction, who had a small monkey perched on his shoulders. He waved for him to come over.
“I guess films use all sorts of animals,” Guy remarked.
“Anything from rattlesnakes to skunks. Let me introduce you,” Frank said. “Promise me, don’t touch him. I can’t guarantee he won’t bite or do something we’ll all regret later. Babs, Guy, meet another one of my colleagues, Rennie Renfro.”
Frank asked Rennie, “Do you mind bringing me an old newspaper? There should be one in my office.”
“Sure thing.” Rennie gave him a mock military salute and took off.
“So, as I was saying, when training a dog, it’s important you call specific items by their names,” Frank explained. “They’re smarter than you think.”
Rennie returned and asked the monkey to hand Weatherwax the paper. Captivated by the stunt, Guy got curious but too close. The little devil leapt from Renfro onto Guy and stole his hat. With prize in hand, he scampered across the lawn and through an alleyway in between stages. Guy and Renfro dashed after him, getting a healthy dose of exercise.
When they caught up with the bandit, Renfro wrestled him into a leash and harness.
Renfro handed Guy back his cap. “You’re lucky you weren’t wearing a straw hat. Gummo would’ve eaten it.”
“Gummo?” Guy asked. “What kind of monkey is this?”
“He’s a capuchin and named after the fifth Marx Brother, who you never see on film, because he’s a talent agent.”
Despite being leashed, the mischief maker explored everything within reach.
Wondering about this trainer’s competency, Guy asked, “Are you just breaking into this business?”
“I’m self-taught, but usually work with dogs. A few pro gigs here and there, but I’m a nobody. Now, about you. Is Babs your wife? If so, you caught yourself a real humdinger.”
Guy laughed when Renfro whistled. “Oh no, just my partner.”
“I didn’t know there was such a bird as a lady detective.”
“Don’t let her hear that. She’s my boss.”
“Any chance you’re looking for extra work?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Some dame is looking to pick up a few dogs.”
“Not sure why you’re asking me. Private eyes go after hubbies cheating on their wives, missing persons…those who owe sizeable sums of money or are delinquent on payments…stolen property… Often stuff the cops will overlook or are too busy to handle.”
“Even if she has deep pockets?”
“Well… Tracking down special breeds isn’t all that different from skip tracing. Quit the games. You getting a finder’s fee? Who are you representing?”
“Wealthy broad. No doubt—lots of dough, but a newcomer in town. Don’t know much about her previous history…”
“Her name? I don’t have all day.”
“Whether it’s legit, she goes by Countess Velma von Rache. Crazy name. Means revenge in German. I wonder if that’s a clue to her personality.”
“Are you German?”
“Nope, Texas born. Why?”
“Never mind. I’ve met von Rache. Do you know how to contact her?”
“Funny you should ask. I have her card in my pocket. Don’t forget to mention my name.”
He handed the business card to Guy, who sprinted back alone to catch up with his friends.
“What took you so long?” Babs asked.
“Just talking shop,” Guy said. “Sorry, I guess we got carried away.”
Frank looked at his watch. “Are we back to our agenda?”
Guy nodded and gave him the go-ahead.
Frank rolled up the paper and threw it across the lawn. “Bring me the paper, Lucky!”
Lucky played fetch, trotted back, and handed it to Frank, who gave him another reward. Frank told him to sit and stay, and Lucky obeyed.
“Sometimes we can speak audible commands when the cameras are rolling. There are other times when silent cues are a must,” Frank explained.
“How does a dog memorize everything if it’s a long scene?” Babs asked.
“Can’t speak for others, but we do several rehearsals. Then, when we film the actual scene, the animal actor should be able to go through the entire action with the words, ‘Do what I told you!’ Always worked for me.”
“Do you use a type of sign language?” Guy asked.
“Good point,” Frank said. “The answer is yes, but you must be in the dog’s proper eye line so they can see your command.”
The two detectives returned with Weatherwax to his office.
“Here’s our official contract. I apologize for its delay, but it required more signatures than the Declaration of Independence.” He was about to explain the nuances of studio politics when his phone rang.
“Guess who’s visiting me at the studio? Ah…you don’t say. That’s terrible. Hmmm, we’ll have to look into it. All right then. Talk to you later.”
“What was that about?” Babs asked.
“Someone’s been threatening the Easts. I suspect it’s a fan reacting to the announcements of Asta’s disappearance. Our publicity department shouldn’t have plastered the news all over the trades. If anyone took out their frustrations on our poor little dog, they deserve to go to hell.”