Independent of the detectives, Basil started his own search. He made a few calls and went over to MGM, not realizing he was in for a surprise. When he inquired about “Leo,” an animal handler surprised him by bringing Leo, but the wrong Leo—the MGM lion mascot! Fearing for his life, he jumped backward. The lion extended his claws in defense and made a lasting impression on his trousers.
At least his leg remained unharmed. Yet, despite this embarrassment, he ignored Leo’s slashes and shuffled over to the studio’s publicity department.
“Hello, my name is—” He didn’t have to finish his introduction.
The secretary looked up from her typewriter. “Gosh, Sherlock Holmes! How can I help you?”
He tried to take the misnomer in stride, although he felt it had branded him for life. After all, he was assuming a detective’s role. Basil forced a smile. “I’d like to speak with the top person in charge.”
“Concerning what, sir?”
He hated repeating his story. She saw him in full view and noticed his ripped pants.
“I hope that was from a stunt, and you didn’t have the chance to change out of your costume.”
“Afraid not.” He tucked in his shirttail and tried to make light of it.
“The boss is out, but I’d be more than glad to give him a message.”
Just as she handed Basil paper and a pen, her boss walked in. Basil received instant recognition. MGM’s head of publicity, Howard Strickling, welcomed him into his office.
“You’ve offered a reward for your canine star from the Thin Man series,” said Basil.
“It’s all over the papers,” said Strickling. “This isn’t a battle between studios, I hope.”
“By no means.” Basil’s hands shook as he lit his cigarette. “Someone has also taken my Cocker Spaniel. This has gone on too long to be a simple matter of a dog running loose with a neighbor taking him in and failing to report it. I think it was deliberate, but I wanted to keep this away from the police, fearing negative publicity. They’re more concerned with bigger crimes. Not recovering a celebrity’s dog. They’re more likely to come up with the excuse the cocker got run over by a car just to get rid of me.”
Strickling looked at his watch and dived into a heap of paperwork. “Please get to the point. I’m busy with a big event tonight and need to cut this short.”
“Next time you publish an announcement about Asta, I’d like you to include something about my dog’s disappearance, as well. There could be a connection between the two. Once this is out in the open, perhaps someone will come forward. I feel like I’m running out of options.” Basil knew it was a tall order to ask, but Strickling wasn’t buying it.
“If I’m caught promoting anything to do with an actor affiliated with a rival studio, I can lose my job, but this is what I can do. Tonight, we’re holding a private but sizeable fundraiser at the Coconut Grove. By invitation only. We’re comping celebrities because they’re the draw. Anyone who desires to mingle with the stars can pay the steep price. Proceeds from ticket sales will go to the Allied war cause.” He pulled out two invitations and waved them in front of Basil’s face. “They’re worth a pretty penny. Why don’t you and your wife attend and ask around on your own?”
Basil looked at the invitations. “Sounds reasonable, I guess.”
“I apologize; it’s such short notice. Can I get a confirmation for two? Security will check at the door, and you can’t enter solo. Only in pairs.”
“Of course,” Basil replied, unsure whether his wife was available but knowing she’d be furious for not having time to buy a new dress or visit her hairdresser.
When he returned home to convey the news, his wife was less than thrilled.
“You look like some wild beast mauled you.”
“One did, but let’s not discuss it.”
“Maybe I should fetch some antiseptic and bandages.”
“That’s unnecessary,” he assured her. “I’m fine.”
“You’re in a rush. I can sense it. What’s so urgent?” she asked.
“We have invitations to a formal affair this evening and must attend.”
“Darling, my charity benefit is this evening.”
Basil scratched his head. “For what?”
“The Red Cross—for the British war effort—your heritage unless you’ve become so Americanized you forgot where you came from. Roosevelt has reinstated the Selective Service in case we need to draft our boys to go overseas. By the way, things are going, it shouldn’t be long.”
“You’ll have to cancel.”
“Impossible. I’m the head of the planning committee. Everyone’s depending on me. Honey, this doesn’t have to do with our dog, I hope.”
Basil sighed. “In fact, it does.”
“I told you to have the local authorities take over.”
“I know, but I don’t trust they’ll care enough to get anything done.”
“Who’s sponsoring this affair?”
“MGM, and I can’t go alone.” He reexamined his invitation and noted the caveat. “They’ll only admit couples.”
“Then call up William Powell. Since he’s one of their favorite stars, he’ll be attending. Maybe he knows someone you can bring in my place.”
After Basil took a quick shower and changed, he gave Powell a call, who was well aware of the event and had already agreed to accompany Myrna Loy.
“Is it true I can’t show up solo? Ouida is one of the co-chairs of an event she can’t get out of.”
“Beats me why, but I don’t make the rules,” Powell replied. “Why don’t you invite Countess Velma? I got stuck in the same predicament for your party.”
“Don’t be absurd.” Basil gnashed his teeth as he heard Powell cracking up in the background. “That’s not even taking into account that I think she’s an oddball. Besides, I can’t ask anyone I don’t know to fill in at the last minute.”
“What about that detective lady? She’s not liable to raise any eyebrows.”
“How do you expect I explain to Ouida if she finds out?”
“The girl’s a nobody. Your wife is more apt to find out if you brought someone with celebrity status like Joan Crawford or Bette Davis. Who’d even suspect you brought a PI in disguise?”
“You might be right. Thanks, I’ll see if she’s around.”
Basil hung up and called her office. Guy answered and transferred him to her line.
“No time to explain. Babs, are you available this evening? I need to attend a special event and can’t get in without a partner.”
“What’s wrong with your wife?”
“I forgot she had plans.”
“Basil, aren’t I in the doghouse, as far as she’s concerned?”
“You are, but she’ll never know. Do I have a yes or a no? Because you won’t have much time to prepare.”
“If this is formal, I have nothing to wear.”
“Suppose I borrow one of Ouida’s gowns. Aren’t you the same size?”
“Basil, aren’t you forgetting our recent laundry mix-up? What if she notices it missing?”
“She has more closets stuffed with her outfits than she can keep track of. Tell me, what’s your favorite color?”
“Lavender, but she won’t—”
“On the contrary. She has a Chanel I wish she’d get rid of because of that designer’s sympathies toward Nazi Germany.”
“How do you propose I try this on?”
“I’ll call for a messenger and send it to your office.”
“Better yet, drop it off at my residential hotel. The La Dolce Vita.”
“Ah, the sweet life. I knew it had a contradictory name.”
“Thanks to your wife and your pick from the phone book.”
“Babs, are we going to waste time arguing?”
“You’re right. I’ll taxi home. Can’t very well do my hair and makeup from here. About accessories… The complete outfit will be important, and I’ll look naked without a fur stole or coat to match…and jewelry. A tiara might look nice. She must have one or two lying around…”
Guy entered, and she hung up the phone.
“Appearing naked?” he asked.
She refused to look him in the eye and concentrated on packing up.
“Oh, nothing. Just an expression.”
“Babs…it’s never nothing.”
“You mean it’s always something?”
Guy planted his hands on his hips. “Do I have to remind you we’re partners? When we first started our agency, we agreed to always let the other know what we’re up to, especially if we’re working undercover.”
“Someone I met at the post office. He asked me out.” She lied. “Do I need your permission to go out on a date?”
“Go! Get out of here! Make up your face. Make sure you wear a pretty dress and tell the lucky bastard I give him my blessing.”
Babs met Basil in front of the famous Coconut Grove restaurant at the Ambassador Hotel. When he helped her from her taxi, he claimed she looked like a goddess, ready for the red carpet dressed in Ouida’s silk chiffon Chanel ensemble with a matching silk evening purse.
“Sorry I didn’t include a tiara,” he said. “This gown looks more Greco-Roman. Couldn’t find anything comparable to a laurel wreath, but the imitation pearls look classy enough. If it’s any consolation, I think the look suits you better than on my wife.”
Babs made a full turn, modeling Ouida’s dress. “I hope no one will realize this is from her collection back in ’37.”
“The gown is three years old? How do you know?”
“A fanaticism for fashion magazines, and in ’39 her Parisian couture house closed except for the boutique at 31 rue Cambon selling her famous Chanel No5 perfume.”
Basil inspected it closer. “Seems longer on you.”
“Let’s hope it’ll cover the one thing we both forgot about—shoes. Mine are scuffed.”
“What would be the odds you’d have the same shoe size? Well, there’s no point standing outside all evening. Shall we go in?”
Basil presented his invitation. Inside the party room, he noticed Babs seemed overwhelmed. “I’m taking for granted by your expression you’ve never been here before.”
“I feel you’ve transported me to an exotic Arabian palace. These palm trees look real. Should I be concerned a real coconut might drop on my head?”
He laughed. “Made of papier mâché. They’re rumored to have come from The Sheik, the Valentino film. The monkeys in them are also fake, but this Moorish architectural design is impressive. My favorites are the ceilings, painted midnight blue and filled with stars.”
They entered the packed ballroom. The house band was playing, and partygoers danced wherever there was room, even if it meant in-between tables. Being taller and able to see over people’s heads, Basil held her hand and pulled her through the crowd.
She asked if he was looking for anyone in particular.
“Nick and Nora Charles, some of our favorite detectives.” Basil’s remark conveyed a slight tone of sarcasm as he cast an eye over the crowd. “Powell gave me a visual landmark where to meet him, as long as I can find it.”
“So far, I’ve had no chance to question Myrna at length. This could be my opportunity. Do you mind?”
“You will do nothing of the sort. Tonight, you are to act as my impromptu date and nothing more.”
Strickling’s invitation gave them the chance to snoop around. Maybe part of him was weary. Such a fruitless endeavor. Perhaps what they both needed were a few drinks, and here was the perfect opportunity.
Less-than-sober dancers shoved and sashayed into Babs. “Too bad he couldn’t have picked a less-packed location like the lobby. I’m worried about this dress. Chiffon is so fragile.”
He dragged her through the last stretch to find William Powell, leaning against a pillar smoking a cigarette. Basil labored to catch his breath. “Getting past those revelers felt like training for the Olympics.”
“Come, I’ll show you to our table,” Powell said. “You know how impatient Myrna can get under stress.”
“I thought scenes like these were her natural environment,” said Basil.
“As Nora Charles, perhaps, her lifestyle revolves around one big party, but in real life, Myrna is more private. She’s quite talented at flipping a switch and putting on the Ritz when necessary.”
Servers were already offering them glasses of champagne before they sat down.
“Myrna, you recognize Babs Norman, correct?” Basil asked. “You met at my party.”
“Of course, sweetheart. Don’t you look divine.”
Basil gave Babs a look, suggesting she downplay the compliment. No one needed to know the gown’s origin, or who its actual owner was.
“Not to put you on the spot, Basil, but I’m a bit confused. Where is your wife?” Myrna asked.
Powell jumped in. “You saw those tickets. He couldn’t be a third wheel and needed a companion to get past the front door.”
“Don’t know who made up that stupid rule,” Basil explained. “My wife is co-chairing a fundraiser for the Red Cross tonight and can’t get out of it.”
“What a noble cause,” Myrna said. “I volunteer my free time for animal charities.”
Babs glared at Myrna but remained silent.
“Well, I think it’s wonderful she’s patriotic,” Powell said.
Basil addressed Powell. “Don’t know about you, but I served in the last war. Tried to enlist in this one. Didn’t get too far.”
Myrna overheard and asked, “What happened?”
“I received a brief note, and in so many words, they said, ‘Dear Sir, you are too old.’ So that settled it. As an alternative, people have approached me to serve as president of the British War Relief in their West Coast division. I’ll probably accept, but getting back to my invitation, Strickling presented it at the last minute, and Ouida was busy,” said Basil.
“How did you convince him to give you an invitation if you’re not under contract with MGM?” Loy asked. “I’ve heard that he and his henchman, the general manager Eddie Mannix, can be as ruthless as mobsters when they want to control the publicity about Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer or their bevy of stars.”
“They didn’t get the nickname of ‘the Fixers’ for nothing,” said Powell. “If there’s a drug addiction or a murder, they’ll do their best to bury the evidence.”
“Well, I hope they aren’t burying a bone regarding Asta,” Basil said.
“Is that why you saw him?” Powell asked. “Talking about dogged persistence—”
“I hate to say this, but I haven’t given up on him or my dog until I’ve seen a dead—Perish the thought! I pray to God that will never be the case,” said Basil. “Who on earth would dare kill a dog?”
Loy flung back her hair and almost slurred her words. “Someone crueler than the worst film villain you could imagine.”
“Or someone out for bucks,” Babs mumbled.
Basil took a pause. “No one has ever contacted me about wanting a ransom.”
“Come to think of it, I don’t think anyone has approached the Easts or the Weatherwax family,” said Powell.
“I can vouch for the Easts,” Babs said. “My partner and I spent substantial time with both of them. They received a series of strange calls from people asking to purchase their dogs. Basil, have you?”
He leaned over and whispered. “Didn’t I tell you not to bring up any business this evening?”
“You brought up the topic,” Babs replied.
“Don’t discuss the dog hunt. Isn’t it apparent they just want to have a good time?” Basil offered her his hand. “On that note, shall we dance?”
He helped her out of her seat. Loy and Powell followed. The crowd had thinned enough for everyone to wiggle their way to the dance floor.
After a few songs, Myrna looked like she was acting her hilarious role right out of a Thin Man film. Myrna complained she was starving, so in between dances, she rushed over to the buffet, grabbed a plateful of snacks, and tried to jitterbug and eat at the same time.
“Would you put that plate down?” Powell said, getting frustrated but even funnier and sounding just like Nick Charles. “The band’s about to play a slow number. That hard porcelain won’t be too comfortable in my gut, and I’d rather see something other than shrimp cocktail find its way into my pants.”
The next song involved a slow, sultry clarinet solo. Babs fell into Basil’s arms, and her head couldn’t even reach his shoulder. This had been a long day for him, and he could imagine it had been a frustrating one for her. Between the champagne and exhaustion, he thought they might fall asleep standing up, until something pulled him out of his dreamy thoughts, and someone ripped Babs from his arms, tearing her delicate gown.
“What are you doing with my husband, and why are you wearing my dress?” Ouida shouted, so full of fury, she threw her drink in Babs’ face.
Shocked, Basil jumped into action and offered Babs his handkerchief. “How did you get in? They gave me the third degree about this event is for couples-only.”
“Showed the security guard my driver’s license to prove I was your wife, and you were already inside—and a bribe,” Ouida said. “When I forked over more cash than he earned in a month, he became very cooperative.”
“I begged you to come, but you declined,” Basil tried to explain. “House rules dictated I had to bring someone, but I guess you bent them. With this crowd, I’m surprised you found it so easy to find us. I had a helluva time finding my friends.”
“My custom-made Chanel! How about having a searchlight pinpoint its location? The designer gave me quite a fuss when I insisted on having mine done in lavender when it wasn’t a hue in her season’s color palette.”
Ouida turned her rage on Babs. “I guess business has been profitable if you can afford to replace it.”
He intervened. “Did your charity event cancel?”
“I got everything under control and excused myself early. Told them I had an urgent matter with my husband, who now seems to have been sneaking around with other women.”
“You know that’s not true,” he said in protest.
Powell stepped in to ease the situation. “He’s here on behalf of his dog—and our dog—our film dog.”
“Don’t think I believe it for a second.” Ouida gave Babs a slap on the face for good measure before she exited.