Fifty-Two

The next day, I woke up to the buzzing of my cell phone. I picked it up. Kate was calling.

“Hey,” I said.

“Where’ve you been?”

I told her about my mom, leaving out the news about my father, then informed her about going into Justine’s private rooms at Club Circe.

“Oh my gawd. What did it look like? How was it decorated?”

“You know what? I noticed nothing at all except the red wig on one of those heads.”

“Charlotte Donovan! What about the bedding? What about the paintings? I’m sure there must be several wonderful paintings in her rooms! How about the books?”

“Nothing, I’m sorry. My mind was struggling to concentrate on what I needed to focus on.” I yawned.

“Are you still in bed? It’s almost noon. I was going to ask if you wanted to meet for lunch. I’m on your side of town. But why don’t I just bring you something to eat?”

“Okay,” I said.

“See you in a few.”

I lay on the chaise for a few moments before trying to lift myself off of it, remembering what I’d learned yesterday, wondering when Den would send the files. I sat up, feeling as if I were moving through water, which was typical when I felt Lyme-ish. I took a deep breath and made my way to the bathroom, then to the kitchen where I prepared coffee.

As the scent filled the room, I sat down at the kitchen island, scanning myself. Was my grogginess because I was just now getting up or was another Lyme episode setting in?

The buzzer sounded, and I pressed it.

“Kate to see you,” the gravelly voice said.

“Okay, send her up.” I unlocked the front door and went back into the kitchen to pour myself a cup of coffee. I heard the elevator and a slight rapping at the door.

“Yoo-hoo!” Kate said.

“I’m in the kitchen!”

“There you are,” she said. Her arms were full of bags of food.

I took a swig of coffee and helped her unload.

“Chinese food,” she said. “I know what you like.”

We set all the food out and heaped our plates with chicken chow mein, egg fu yung, and egg rolls.

I sat down and drank more coffee.

“Wow, you slept all morning. Are you okay?” Kate said, eyeballing me.

“Just tired. I needed to get caught up on my sleep after everything with Mom.”

She nodded while shoveling eggs into her mouth with chop sticks.

I took my chop sticks and slid the food around on my plate, finally lifting chicken chow mein to my mouth. “Listen, I didn’t tell you about my father.”

She dropped her sticks. “What?”

“Yeah, he contacted Mom. Wrote her a letter. He’s still alive.” I ate more chow mein while Kate gaped.

“Wait a minute. He’s alive and he just now contacted her? What a shit.”

“Exactly. I think it’s what set Mom off. What made her drink. She won’t admit it. But I have my strong suspicions.”

“Speaking of strong suspicions, how is the murder case going?”

I filled her in on what we’d found out, though none of it seemed helpful to the actual case. More helpful to the book, perhaps. I’d have to add new information, if verified, which wouldn’t be a problem at this point.

“Bello had an illegitimate kid, heh?”

I nodded. “So it seems. I’d not be surprised if he had a few out there.”

“So if Harlow sent this kid her ring …”

“That’s a big if. I mean, why would she send her stepfather’s child her most beloved possession?”

“You said she was a nice person.”

“Too nice, probably. She should have gotten rid of William Powell, her mother, and Bello. But she was sweet. If crew members were sick, for example, she’d notice and send flowers. One time when a studios executive cut the crew’s coffee breaks, she stood up for them. She told them either the crew gets a coffee break or she’d not work.”

“So, a nice woman like that would definitely send something to a baby she knew about.”

“Her ring?”

“The baby must have been special, or maybe sick. You know how celebs will sometimes do ‘make a wish’ appearances?”

“You’d think she’d be mad if her stepdad cheated on her mother and had a child.” But we were talking about Jean Harlow, who had an inferiority complex and a huge heart.

“You need to find out more about the baby,” Kate said.

“Yeah,” I said, swallowing a bit of egg roll. “I also need to find out more about Sam, aka the Jean Harlow look-alike.”

We ate in silence.

“When is the book due?” Kate asked after a few minutes.

“The editor gave me another few weeks, so it’s due in a month.”

“Not much time to investigate and work into a manuscript.”

When I thought about it, I felt tired, but inspired. My gut instinct told me this thread would give the Harlow story an interesting spin. And it might help to solve the murder of Justine and friend.

I drank more coffee. “Do you want some?”

“Nah, I never drink the stuff after noon. Keeps me awake. I need my beauty sleep.”

I was slowly waking up with the coffee and the food. I wondered why I didn’t have Chinese food for breakfast more often. It seemed the perfect way to start the day.

The buzzer sounded again.

“Who could that be?” I said, more to myself than Kate.

I pressed the button. “Sergeant Brophy left a package for you. Shall I send it up?”

“Yes, please,” I said.

“A package? What kind of ‘package’?” Kate said, using air quotes.

“Not the fun kind, Kate, I assure you.”