EIGHT
“Which man from the studio?” Desiree asked. She’d pulled up beside the staff entrance to the Broadway department store, but placed a hand on Carole’s arm to prevent the young woman from getting out of the roadster.
“Mr. Neal,” Carole said. “I can’t believe he didn’t tell you.”
“I’m having some trouble believing that myself,” said Casey. He wondered what Desiree would do now, if his suspicions about the studio’s intentions were proved correct.
“You hadn’t come in yet when we told your landlady,” Desiree said. “Mr. Neal’s off looking into possible clues, and he took his notes with him. When did you give him the diary?”
“Early yesterday morning. He came to see Mrs. Carpenter before the sun came up, even before the police.” Carole smiled knowingly. “When I told him about the diary he told me that I’d done him a favor and that he’d remember that. Wouldn’t it be a lollapalooza if it was Lily’s being killed that gets me an in at a studio?”
“Wouldn’t it just,” Casey murmured. He was beginning to wonder if there was anyone in all of Hollywood who wasn’t this calculatingly voracious. The people he’d met so far made Mick Mannock and the bloody Red Baron look like tea-grannies in comparison.
“On the level, though, do you think he’ll come through? How’d you get your break, Miss Farrell?”
“Oh, nothing so dramatic as murder,” Desiree said. “I just did a little vaudeville—nothing strenuous, you understand, just from the age of six. And if Mother hadn’t dragged me out here I’m sure I’d never have made it at all.”
Carole whistled. “Six,” she breathed. “Gosh. I’d never be able to catch up to you.”
“Better you don’t even try,” Desiree said. “But maybe we can get together again and swap war stories. And you can tell me some more about Lily.”
“I’d love that,” Carole said, bouncing up and down in the seat. “That would be unreal.”
That it would, Casey thought.
“In the meantime,” Desiree said, “I think it would be better if you didn’t tell anyone about what we talked about. If you are going to get an in at Monarch from this, you don’t want people asking too many questions about how you got it.”
Carole nodded her agreement.
“What about Cambridge?” Casey asked. “The one who recommended her to Straebo?”
“Who?” Carole asked.
“Youngish sort of fellow,” Desiree said. “Medium height and build. Wavy sandy hair.”
“There were a couple of guys with sandy hair,” Carole said.
“This one affects a long cigarette holder,” Desiree said. “And he isn’t exactly the athletic type.”
“Oh, that one,” Carole said, stepping out of the car. “Sure. I used to see him out front with her a lot. Our mother hen won’t let us have fellows in the house or even on the porch, you know. I remember him ‘cause he was always waving his arms around. You know—big, romantic stuff. Acted like a poet, sort of. A bit of an Ethel, really—I wouldn’t have figured him for Lily’s type. Funny thing, though; I don’t remember seeing Ethel around much lately.”
“For the last several weeks, say,” Casey said.
“That’s it,” Carole said, adding a cheery good-bye as she walked away. Casey stared at her receding shape until the young woman had disappeared into the Broadway building. “There,” he said, “goes modern Woman. And probably western civilization.”
“Oh, don’t be a wet blanket,” Desiree said. “Our friend Carole could be very useful to us.”
“She’s certainly opened my eyes,” Casey said. “Do you suppose that anybody besides Neal knows about the diary?”
“It’s a sure thing the cops don’t know about it. And Fitts doesn’t know either, even if anyone from the studio’s talked to him about the case. McMahon might, but even that’s not a guarantee.”
“What do you think Neal intends to do with the diary?”
She looked at him, her eyes narrowed slightly. “Probably the same you think he’s going to do. If we’re lucky, we might get a look at it before he burns it.” Desiree put the car into gear. “I’m hungry. How about dinner at Musso’s?”
“We’ve only just started working, “ Casey said. “There are plenty of things we ought to do, questions we ought to ask. Besides, Musso’s is a bit out of my league. I haven’t been paid for a full week yet, remember?”
“We can talk strategy while we eat,” Desiree said. “As for dinner, if I say I’ll make it my treat, you’ll cast a kitten, won’t you?”
Casey was about to agree that he would, indeed, have kittens when he stopped to ask himself why he should. After all, Desiree was probably earning more in a week than he would in a year. And they were working together, however reluctantly; it wasn’t as if he was some sort of gigolo.
“All right,” he said after a moment, “I accept your offer. Provided you let me return the favor one day.”
“You’ve got a deal, mister.” Desiree drove north to Hollywood Boulevard and turned left. Casey admired the colorful Oriental ostentation of Grauman’s new theater, and then held on for his life as Desiree lurched suddenly across two lanes of traffic to a parking spot just a few doors away from the restaurant. “You take parking where you can get it,” she said as she pulled on the brake and shut off the engine.
The interior of Musso & Frank’s Grill was a calming sea of dark wood and leather. Only the haze of cigarette smoke and the steady murmur of voices confirmed that anyone was actually here; the occupants were invisible within carefully constructed booths. Still, Casey was sure he recognized several of the faces he caught in brief glimpses as he and Desiree were led to their own booth.
“So,” Desiree said once they’d been seated. “What do we do next?”
“We’ve got several options already,” Casey said. “One: we talk to Straebo about the girl. Now I understand why he reacted the way he did when I made that joke last night.
“Two: we talk to the art director, the one who recommended Lily to Straebo. Was he seeing her? Maybe he got jealous when Straebo took her away.
“Three: we try to find out if there’s a connection between Lily and Richard Armstrong.”
“Lily and Dickie? Doesn’t seem likely,” Desiree said. “I don’t think he ever paid any attention to her.”
“He did on Saturday night,” Casey said. “In fact, now that I think of it, that was the last time I saw her alive. She and Armstrong were arguing about something at the party.”
“You’re forgetting another option,” Desiree said.
“Hadn’t forgotten,” Casey said. “You interrupted me. Four: we try to get hold of the diary.”
“I like that one,” Desiree said. “It sounds exciting.”
“I figured you would,” Casey said. “Because it’s the most dangerous course of action.” He brushed the tablecloth, though it was spotlessly clean. “How do we do that?”
“Neal has to have the diary in his office,” Desiree said. “He’s unlikely to trust anyone else with it. All we have to do is get ourselves onto the studio lot shortly before everyone leaves for the day, hide in my dressing room until the coast is clear, and then break into Neal’s office. If we get the timing right, we could probably make photostatic copies of most of the pages. That way we’ll have the diary and nobody will know.”
“Admirably devious,” he said. “When do we do this? I think tonight’s not right.”
“Tonight would be as good as any night.”
“It’s after six now,” Casey said. “Wouldn’t we attract attention if we showed up this late in the day?”
“You’re right,” she said. Gripping her lower lip in her teeth, Desiree drew circles on the starched white linen with her knife.
“I’ve got it,” she said. “We’ll go to the studio as soon as we’ve eaten. We need to get Ron Cambridge’s address, and that’s a legitimate reason for being there. Once we’re in, we can go for the diary if it looks safe, or just do the scouting part tonight while we get Ron’s address. Then we can go back tomorrow after we finish shooting for the day. If I have to I’ll fake a headache so that we can get away from Glendale before dark.”
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