Despite Guy’s complaints about needing to put his car into the shop, Babs coaxed him into driving downtown to do research at the Central branch of the Los Angeles Public Library.
She stood in awe in front of its entrance. “This place reminds me of a cross between an Egyptian and Persian temple. Love the pyramid with the sun. I think that’s my favorite part.”
Guy loved to show off. “Designed by Bertram Goodhue, then finished by his associate after his sudden death in ’24, the library combines eclectic styles mixed with Art Deco.”
“Looks like you chose book-smart attire to match your attitude.” Babs weighed in on his single-breasted, middle-of-the-road grey suit with a solid tie, conservative enough to blend in with the concrete. “Are you trying to pull a fast one and sneak into an audition during lunch?”
Guy broke into laughter. “Do you still think I’m going to abandon you at your bleakest hour? I worried you’d accuse me of resembling one of those straight-laced senators from the House Committee on Un-American Activities.”
They entered the rotunda, which soared sixty-four feet above them, with another sunburst at its apex and a celestial-like chandelier resembling Earth and the solar system. The rotunda’s walls boasted complex geometry in hundreds of colors, blended with figurative murals depicting California’s history. Their feet echoed upon the puzzle-patterned marble flooring—a cooling reprieve from the stifling heat outside.
Guy realized he had walked on ahead and left his partner behind. “If you stop to gawk at the art, we’ll never get any work done.”
They found a table in the periodical section. “We need to find more information on von Rache, and maybe we can get the lowdown on Rennie Renfro in a back issue of Variety or The Hollywood Reporter,” Guy said. “What else do you want to dig up?”
Babs felt like they were back in grade school and working on a school assignment. She filled out a stack of request cards to hand to the reference librarian. “Stuff on Sherlock Holmes.”
Guy laughed too loud. He got shushed and received a round of angry eyes. “Babs, I always thought you were a bit off-kilter, but now you qualify for Camarillo.”
“The mental institution in Ventura County? Thanks a lot. You need to be more trusting of my judgment. Look, it’s been gnawing at me the entire time, but when I ignore my intuition, either I get in trouble or lose out on an important lead.”
“Does this have anything to do with Basil?” Guy asked.
Babs bowed her head to hide her oncoming blush. “Well, kind of… Stick with me. I want to search out dog themes in detective stories, and we might as well begin with Arthur Conan Doyle’s stories about Sherlock Holmes.”
“Besides The Hound of the Baskervilles, what others feature dogs?”
“It’s been a while since I read these stories, but that’s why we’re here. Maybe whoever took Leo…and Asta is taking their cues from themes in popular literature or films.”
“Babs, you’ve lost your mind.”
She fanned herself with her notepad, her body temperature rising to a slow boil along with her temper. “Are you with me or not?”
“Never argue with a lady. Especially if she’s your boss.”
A librarian wheeled over a heavy cart and unloaded a stack of their book requests.
“Reference material must stay in this section.” She pointed to the periodicals and city guides marked with red rubber stamps. “If you want to check out the general fiction, you need to get in line by no later than 5:00 p.m. Doors close at 6:00.”
Babs thanked her for her help.
“One more thing,” the librarian said. “I hope you’re aware there are four novels and fifty-eight short stories in the original Sherlock Holmes collection. You’ll have more than enough to keep you busy—for now.”
“Have fun,” Guy said, snickering. “You’re the one set on Holmes. I’m still convinced it’s a ridiculous idea. Let me concentrate on the stuff we can’t take home and work on later. Like the entertainment magazines.”
An hour after she dived into her material, Babs said, “There are more references on dogs than I thought, but I concentrated on the ones most relevant to our case.”
Guy twiddled with the pencil behind his ear. “For instance?”
“In A Study in Scarlet, Holmes tests out pills, one of which is poison and the other a placebo, on the landlady’s terrier.”
Guy shuddered. “A rather brutal experiment, don’t you think?”
“The dog was old and sick. Someone would have to put it down, anyway,” Babs said. “Oops. I forgot about Toby. Sherlock Holmes borrows a dog named Toby, half-spaniel and half-lurcher, known to have an acute sense of smell to track down the killer in The Sign of Four.”
“Babs, isn’t that the story where Holmes meets Doctor Watson?”
“See, you’re more interested in these tales than you’re letting on, but to answer your question, no. That’s in A Study in Scarlet. The Sign of Four is his second novel.”
“I wish you’d stop making me feel illiterate. Especially since I’m the bookworm in our partnership.”
“As someone who’s trying to establish himself as a professional detective, you surprise me, Guy.”
Lunchtime rolled around. Babs spotted a street vendor by the park in front of the library’s main entrance. “How about sodas and hotdogs?”
When Guy whipped out his wallet, Babs refused to allow him to pay. “Who’s to say the boss can’t foot the bill?”
He stepped aside and gestured. “Ladies first,” and implied, “Be my guest.”
After they found a place in the shade, Guy put her on the spot. “I bet you don’t even have a library card.”
“I assumed you already had one.”
“What if I’d left it home by accident?”
“You’re always organized and wouldn’t have done that.”
“Babs, I said, ‘by accident.’ When are you going to get that into your pretty little head?”
“Here we go, squabbling again.”
“Very much like Nick and Nora Charles.”
Midway through the afternoon, Babs pushed one of her stacks of books aside and sighed.
“So far, I’ve encountered—bull pups, a Bull Terrier, a Mastiff…Bloodhounds, foxhounds, and hellhounds. Even came across a dog I never heard of—a draghound.”
“That’s a term for a hound trained to follow a trail, scented on purpose,” said Guy. “To narrow this down, maybe you should focus on those passages with Cocker Spaniels or terriers like Asta.”
At closing time, Babs checked out the Holmes books, along with a copy of The Thin Man, which she could read over the next two weeks before they needed to be returned. As they retraced their steps through the library to head outside, she asked, “Did you find anything useful?”
“Just photos of von Rache posing with others at local society functions, but nothing worth crowing about. Her late husband seemed to be a minor player.”
“What about Rennie Renfro?” she asked.
“He’s a better actor than we’re giving him credit for.”
“How so?”
“He told us he was an amateur trying to break into the business. What a lie! He’s a pretty big deal in this town and knows a lot of people. Frank Weatherwax, who we met at Basil’s party, has a whole family in the business, and some of them have worked for Rennie Renfro Motion Picture Dogs. Renfro also trained Buster and other dogs in the Barkies.”
“I love those short silent films with the dogs dressed and acting like people,” Babs said.
“There’s more: three years ago, Spooks, a Cocker Spaniel-poodle-terrier mix and one of Renfro’s dogs, starred as Daisy in the Blondie and Dagwood film series. Penny Singleton, the actress who plays Blondie, plays Polly Byrnes in After the Thin Man. A connection? Maybe. The first with Spooks’ combination breed involving both spaniel and terrier, and the second with The Thin Man.”
“Or pure coincidence,” she said.
“Babs, I don’t know why he downplayed his credentials, unless he didn’t want us to think he had a tight relationship with the countess. Maybe he was just as wary of her as we were. Did you unearth any more terrier or spaniel references?”
“The bit with Toby as a tracking dog was a good start,” she said, “But I’ll need more time to reread the stories.”
By the time they stepped outside the library, Babs noticed the same food vendor and made a beeline in his direction. “I wouldn’t mind another hotdog. He’s advertising an end-of-the-day special. Fifty percent off.”
Guy ran after her. “Babs, maybe you shouldn’t eat one that has been out in the heat all day.”
As he tried to catch up, a vagrant snuck up from behind to snatch her purse. Babs and the bum played tug-of-war. Guy got hold of his shoulders, threw him into the bushes, and yelled for a nearby policeman.
“So much for your dogged insistence on independence,” he said. “Sometimes having a man around can come in handy.”
“Clobbering him on the head with my purse would’ve been just as effective.”