She was so irate with Freddie that she didn’t notice the footsteps behind her until Emerson grabbed her hand and pulled her into the spacious coatroom. She squealed, and he clamped a hand hard over her mouth.
“Hush. They’ll hear you!” he hissed. Slowly, he uncupped his hand from her lips.
She stared into his frantic eyes, adrenaline coursing through her veins. “Well, that would be the point, now, wouldn’t it?” she said evenly, ice in her voice. Lulu Kelly, born Lucille O’Malley in the slums of New York, was never going to be a girl who shrank in the face of danger.
“No! Please don’t! The Communists will hear you! Either them or the Bureau of Investigation. The BOI knows things, you know. About the aliens, but they don’t want us to know. And the Communists are working with them. They’re all watching us. All of them! Did you know that the president himself . . .”
Even through her fear, Lulu felt saddened for the delusional man as he ranted about a bizarre array of impossible conspiracies. Sometimes he talked directly to Lulu, foam gathering in the corners of his mouth, sweat beading on his brow as he shifted back and forth, shaking. Other times he seemed to address unseen companions.
She began to edge sideways, moving to the door. At any moment Emerson might switch from his verbal ranting to something more violent. Lulu was completely sure she was alone in a coatroom with the murderer, and if she didn’t play her cards right, she might be his next victim.
It was with profound relief that she heard the door open, and Paul was standing there, casual as a spring breeze. “Mind if I borrow Lulu for a while, old fellow?” he asked, seeming to ignore the pale and utterly unhinged man before him, and calmly stepped in and took her arm. In an instant he had her out in the now empty Assembly Hall.
“Rather a questionable place for an interrogation, don’t you think?” Paul quipped.
“Oh, Paul, be serious. He’s mad as a hatter!” Lulu said, breathless. “He was going on and on in the most insane way, and I was sure at any moment . . .”
He patted her hand reassuringly, though Lulu couldn’t help but feel there was a hint of condescension to the action.
“Paul, listen to me. I’ve found other evidence. There’s a letter, and I know for a fact now that Emerson was in Juliette’s room before she was murdered. We have to tell the police.”
Paul stopped her rapid flow of words with a raised hand. “Not here,” he said earnestly. “I have something important to tell you, too. Let’s go to the stables. They’ll be deserted at this hour. We can be completely alone.”
Without question, Lulu took his arm and went with him. She was shaken from her jarring encounter with Emerson and upset that Freddie hadn’t picked up on her cue and followed her. Why couldn’t he see how ridiculous he was acting? There was nothing between her and any other man, so why hadn’t he run after her and taken her in his arms? She took a deep breath and shook off these nagging thoughts. For now she needed to focus. She’d confide everything to Paul, and together they’d convince the police who the real murderer was.
Paul was right; the building was deserted. Drowsy horses quietly nickered in the shadows of the darkened stables. A row of overhead bulbs cast dim yellowish pools of hazy light on the dusty floor. “In here,” Paul said, and drew her toward the tack room, where the equestrian supplies were kept. He held the door open and stood aside gallantly to let her in. As she entered, Lulu saw the array of leather and metal equipment neatly arranged inside—burnished bridles, iron bits, riding crops, and coach whips. She felt Paul’s hand against the small of her back, the most intimate he’d ever been, guiding her gently inside the deserted room.
“Lulu!” a voice called out just as Paul was closing the door.
Sal shoved his foot into the doorway. He was smiling, a cocky, confident twist of a grin, but his stance made it clear that door would close only over his dead body.
“Doin’ okay, Lu?” Sal asked as Paul reluctantly opened the door. “You looked a little queasy at dinner, and one of the butlers said they saw you two headed down this way.”
“I’m fine, Sal,” Lulu said with forced patience. “Go back to the dining hall.”
“Ain’t gonna happen,” he said flatly. “I need to talk to you. Alone.” He shifted his gaze to Paul, who took a deliberate step back.
“Are you okay with this?” Paul asked her softly.
She wasn’t, really, but it occurred to her that Sal might have more information about Dolores’s death, or maybe even Juliette’s, so she nodded. Paul brushed her hand softly with his as he left, and the lightness of the touch made her shiver. He looked over his shoulder at Lulu, slowing as he strolled away, and she perceived deep regret in his eyes. She watched him as he went.
“You got the hots for writer-boy now?” Sal asked, sounding amused. “Good thing you’re not my girl . . . yet. I’d be sore if you were messing around. Does noble young Freddie know? Or care?”
“None of your beeswax! And anyway, no,” she snapped.
“Just pipe down for one minute and listen to me. I followed you down here to make sure that John wasn’t gettin’ funny with you and to tell you I heard from one of the worker bees here that John Emerson was seen wandering around the estate before dawn, yapping to himself about what he was going to do to all the people who were out to get him. From what the guy said, Emerson was upset about a broad who thinks she’s too good for him. Talked about pulling out her black hair by the roots.”
Lulu’s hand involuntarily rose to her lips. Dolores had black hair. Had Emerson propositioned her and turned murderous after being rebuffed? On the other hand, Anita Loos also had black hair, and the world knew Emerson had reason to resent his wife’s stellar success. Maybe he was talking about her.
Lulu told Sal about the other evidence she’d gathered and how it all pointed in one direction: John Emerson, unbalanced and enraged, had murdered Juliette and Dolores.
“I’m gonna gut the bastard,” Sal growled. He pulled out a knife and held it low between them. Lulu stared at it, spellbound. The blade was wide at the hilt and curved outward slightly before tapering to a point. At first she thought it was dirty, and recoiled, thinking it might be covered with old blood. But a moment later she realized the blade was made with dark metal that didn’t glint at all in the moonlight. That must have been an advantage in his line of work. Let the show-offs have shiny blades. Serious killers have dark weapons.
It wasn’t a big knife, but its purpose was certain and grisly. Even though she was sure Sal meant her no harm, she felt afraid with that deadly weapon so close.
Impulsively, she put her hand on his and pushed the knife down. “You can’t.”
“Give me one good reason why not!” he shouted, jerking his hand away. “When I think what he did to that poor dame! She was a good egg, Lulu. Wouldn’t hurt a fly. She didn’t deserve that ugly ending. . . .” He rubbed his temples with his free hand, covering his eyes at the same time. Was he crying?
“She was . . . She talked so tough, you know, carrying on like she was high class for Hollywood, but she was just a goof. She was a good kid . . . like you.”
“Did you love her?” Lulu asked.
When he moved his hand to look at her, his eyes were dry. “Love? Does that matter? But she shouldn’t have died. Nothing that beautiful should die. When I get my hands on Emerson, I’m gonna carve the flesh off his face and—”
“Sal, don’t be an idiot. You have to leave it to the police.”
“My kind doesn’t leave revenge to the police. They didn’t nail the man who killed my father. I did.” He pounded his chest with the fist that clutched the knife.
“We have enough evidence for them to arrest Emerson and put him on trial. This has to be done the right way. If you kill him, you’ll go to jail, Sal. It’s a sure bet.”
“There’s so much you don’t understand, Lu. I’m untouchable,” he snarled.
“Just give me enough time to make my case to the police. Give them a chance to do their job. No matter what Emerson deserves, you don’t need another death on your conscience.”
“My conscience feels pretty clean, and I’ve killed an awful lot of people.” He brandished the knife in front of her again. “I’ll give you one more day. But if the cops don’t arrest him by tomorrow night, I’m handling it myself.”
Freddie sat at the dinner table for a full five minutes after Lulu left, considering his next move. Visions kept assaulting his brain: Lulu in Sal’s arms, Lulu sitting intimately with Paul Raleigh, her hand brushing against his. Freddie knew that Lulu loved him, but somewhere inside he heard the voice of burning doubt. He wanted to build a life with this extraordinary woman, but what did he have to offer? Creatively, he didn’t hold a candle to the writer Paul, who must understand the passions and motivations of an actor so much better than Freddie ever could. He vividly recalled the glow of interest in Lulu’s eyes when she’d sat pressed close to Paul’s side.
And when Lulu was in mortal peril it had been Sal who saved her, not him. Sal the gangster, with his broad shoulders and arrogant swagger, that curling lip, half smile, half sneer.
Suddenly he balled up his napkin and threw it down on the table. With his eyes burning and his jaw set, he stormed after Lulu and her followers.
“About time,” Veronica said audibly, chewing a mouthful of string beans amandine as she watched him leave.
With the help of some observant servants Freddie discovered what door she’d exited through, and after a moment he heard a rough male voice. The words were for the most part indistinct, but one carried unmistakably through the landscaped grounds: “kill.”
Freddie broke into a run. The path was cobblestone, but it was covered in soft decorative moss, and his footsteps were silent. For a second he stopped at the edge of the clearing near the stables.
Sal. Lulu. And between them, the dark but unmistakable wedge of a knife.
He didn’t hesitate. Back in New York, Freddie’s valet-cum-bodyguard Mugsy had made sure his charge was prepared for any manly confrontation. From an early age, Freddie was schooled in boxing and hand-to-hand combat. Ostensibly, this was so he could thwart any kidnapping attempt. Really, though, Freddie suspected it was because the former fighter Mugsy wanted a sparring partner.
Adrenaline propelled Freddie forward with lightning speed as he dashed to save Lulu. He grabbed Sal’s knife hand at the wrist and twisted it up behind him. Then with a savage jerk he all but dislocated Sal’s shoulder, sending the knife flying. He stomped hard with his foot against the back of Sal’s knee, bringing the gangster down. Then, foolishly, he began to let up, thinking he’d won.
But Sal—whose idea of a fight was usually that only one fighter left it alive—spun on his knee and caught Freddie with a punch to the gut that doubled him over. Rising smoothly to his feet, he swung for Freddie’s jaw. Freddie managed to get his hands up just in time to block it, and tucked into a boxing stance, sidestepping away.
“Stop it!” Lulu shrieked, but Freddie didn’t know if she was talking to him or to Sal, so he darted in with a neat left jab that made Sal’s head rock back.
Sal shook his head, looking surprised, then with a roar charged like a bull and knocked Freddie down to the ground. For a moment it was all dust and confusion as they rolled, first one on top, then the other, punches flying as Lulu shouted. Both of their faces were bloody. Then Sal was on top, straddling Freddie’s chest, his fist raised to smash Freddie’s face.
He stopped, his arm shaking with controlled power. Freddie, pinned helplessly, waited for the blow he knew would knock him unconscious at the very least. It would definitely break his nose and probably knock out a few teeth too.
And then Sal looked over at Lulu, a bloody trail running from the corner of his contorted mouth, down his jawline and neck, and blooming on the starched white collar of his shirt.
“You wouldn’t forgive me if I messed up that pretty face of his, would you?” Sal gave Lulu a little smirk. “I won’t have any chance with you then.” He looked to Freddie and whispered, “This is your lucky day, pretty boy.” And with that, he jumped to his feet, caught up the knife and sheathed it under his jacket, and stalked away, saying over his shoulder, “Tomorrow night, unless you give me a damn good reason not to.”
Freddie dragged himself up, straightening slowly as his bruised midsection protested. He found Lulu regarding him with eyes that were filled with terror, fury, and tears. “What. Were. You. Thinking?” Each word seemed to cost her a tremendous effort.
“I saw the knife. I thought . . .”
“So you jumped in and risked your life to save me?” She moved closer until she was standing right before him. She sounded so angry, but there was something else there too.
“Of course,” he said, stifling a groan. He was pretty sure a rib was cracked.
Suddenly she shoved him hard, two hands on his chest. He staggered and winced. “Then why didn’t you do it before?” she shouted at him.
He was confused. Save her from Sal? Or did she mean save her from the tiger? “Did he accost you before?” he asked.
“Sal wasn’t threatening me, Freddie. More important, he wasn’t threatening you. No man is, not as far as we’re concerned. I don’t love Sal. I don’t love Paul. I love you.” She gave a quick sniff, and he saw the sorrow beneath the anger. “I thought you loved me.”
He felt his eyes get hot. “How could you doubt—” he began.
“How could you?” she countered before he could get any further.
“I was . . . well, I was jealous,” Freddie admitted with supreme effort. “Lulu, I swear I have never been jealous before in my life. But when I saw you with one man, then the other, I couldn’t help thinking maybe there was a better man out there for you. Someone who could understand and excite you more than I can. Or who could keep you safe as I never could. Maybe if I was still rich . . .”
She raised a hand swiftly, and for an instant he was sure she was going to slap him. But instead, she covered his lips with her fingertips.
“You are the man I want,” she said with absolute certainty. “And you always will be.” He felt a smile start to creep up on his mouth, straining the fat lip one of Sal’s punches had given him. “Unless,” Lulu added, stopping the smile in its tracks, “you ever treat me like that again. Start thinking you’re not good enough for me, and maybe I’ll start agreeing with you.”
“I’m sorry I was such a fool,” he said, taking her hand and softly, painfully kissing her palm.
Lulu wiped away a tear and sighed. “Just don’t let it happen again. I’ve had to resort to writers and children to help me with this case, for goodness’ sake! I need a real private eye in my corner.”
Freddie chuckled. “Oh, is that all I’m good for?”
“Not all,” she said teasingly. “Now, let’s get you back to your room and cleaned up. I can get Ginnie to bring in some iodine and bandages for those cuts. Frederick van der Waals, you are a certified mess.” And with that, she leaned forward and kissed him with a passion and abandon that seemed to make time stand still.
When they finally separated, they just stood looking into each other’s eyes, basking in the feelings that overwhelmed them both. Finally, Lulu, not able to help herself, blurted out, “I think I’ve thoroughly cracked the case,” prompting a great belly laugh from the love-struck young detective. “Wait till you hear all the evidence I have. We have to convince the police to make the arrest before tomorrow night. Otherwise, Sal will take matters into his own hands. That’s why he was waving a knife around. Just making a point.”
“I see. Well, you could warn me next time. Avoid all this bothersome medical attention,” Freddie said, grinning. Life suddenly seemed joyous again now that he and Lulu had cleared the air. “Though I trust your judgment, I came up with a couple more suspects myself—for both the murders and the blackmail. You might want to hear about them before you tell the police—or let Sal and his knife loose. I’ll tell you after you tell me about what you’ve got on Emerson. Maybe together we can get to the bottom of both cases.”
She looked at him with earnest, loving eyes. “Just make sure whatever we do, we do it together.”