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[continuing chapter eight]
Ronald Cambridge lived just off Alvarado a few blocks south-west of Sunset. The neighborhood had once been quite popular with movie people, Desiree said. “I still live out here myself,” she added. “My place overlooks the lake in Westlake Park. You should come and see it some time.”
“With the proper chaperon, I just might.”
“What’s got into you tonight, Casey?” She parked the car in front of a small, Spanish colonial-style house and shut off the engine. “You’re coming over all maiden aunt-ish, if you don’t mind my saying. Next to you, Bertie Wooster is Tarzan of the Apes.”
Perhaps, Casey thought, he was behaving too cautiously. It had been his insistence that they reconnoiter Monarch’s offices. And after that reconnaissance, it was he who’d insisted to Desiree that they wait until tomorrow night to try breaking into Neal’s office. You’re not being too cautious, he told himself. You’re playing it smart. There’s a difference. “I’m new at depravity,” Casey he told her. “I’d only just gotten used to abject poverty, and you movie people are all a bit much for me.”
“Not everybody out here behaves that way, you know,” she said. For once she wasn’t smiling. “In spite of what the papers say, it’s not all orgies and cocaine binges. We don’t even drink that much here, really. Did you know that Hollywood has virtually no speakeasies?”
“Because everyone drinks in private homes,” Casey said, getting out of the car.
“You’re letting facts get in the way of a good story,” she said, with a mock pout. “I was being serious, and you’re making fun of me.”
“Sorry,” he said. He stood by the side of the car for a moment.
“What is it?”
“Nothing. It’s just that this is the first time since I met you that I feel even close to keeping up with you. I’m just savoring the moment, because I don’t think I’m going to get too many of them.”
“Oh, shut up, Casey,” she said. “Go ring his bell.”
The young man who answered the door didn’t have sandy hair, nor was he affecting a cigarette holder. “Can I help you?” he asked.
“We’re looking for Ronald Cambridge,” Casey said. “We’re from the studio.”
“Can’t the man have any time to himself?” the young man asked. He turned away and called into the interior of the house.
A moment later a young-old man appeared. He matched Desiree’s description of Cambridge, but from the look in his eyes Casey would never have called him “youngish”. Ronald Cambridge had the stare that Casey was accustomed to seeing in the eyes of veterans. It was a stare that looked out into some unfathomable middle distance, never focusing on any one subject.
The man who’d answered the door stood aside to let Cambridge come to the front. He stayed just behind Cambridge as the latter stepped up to the screen door, which Cambridge left closed.
“Hello, Desiree,” Cambridge said. “Since when are you from the studio? What is it that can’t wait until tomorrow? And why didn’t you phone?”
“We didn’t think this was the sort of thing that should be discussed over the telephone,” Desiree said. “We want to talk to you about Lily Cross.”
Casey was watching Cambridge’s face, and when Desiree said the dead woman’s name Cambridge’s eyes widened for a moment in a way that suggested deep pain. Then the man’s expression changed; his cheeks flushed and his eyes narrowed. At the same time he clasped his hands together in front of him. “This isn’t really a good time,” Cambridge said.
“There’s no such thing as a good time to talk about murder,” Casey said. “I think you can guess why it’s important we talk to you as quickly as possible.”
“I can’t guess why,” the other young man said. “What’s going on here, Ronald?”
Cambridge glared at Casey, then turned to face his—friend? “I’m going to have to talk to these two, I suppose,” he said. “Anthony, would you mind leaving us alone for a few minutes?”
The other young man glared hatred at Cambridge for a fraction of a second, then stuck out his lower lip. “I suppose I’ll just go for a walk around the block,” he said. He elbowed his way brusquely past Cambridge and Desiree and stomped down the steps and onto the walk.
“I wonder what’s bothering him?” Desiree asked sweetly.
“If you’re going to ruin my evening,” Cambridge said, “I’d just as soon you weren’t flippant about it.” To her credit, Desiree blushed. “Come in,” he said, “and let’s get this over with.”
Casey, having decided that Cambridge was as queer as Desiree had suggested, had expected to feel repelled. He was surprised at how much he felt at home in Cambridge’s house. The room into which Cambridge took them was almost the exact antithesis of what he was used to—spare, angular furniture; strange paintings and sculpture that didn’t resemble anything—but something about the way it all came together was supremely inviting. Of course, it would be, Casey told himself. That was Cambridge’s job. Still, there was something pleasingly masculine about the place. What had you expected? a part of him asked. Pink ruffles?
“I can’t say I’m surprised at this,” Cambridge said as he sat down. “Though I admit I’d expected to see Neal or one of his minions, Desiree, and not you.”
“We have a personal interest in this,” Desiree said. “Neal doesn’t know we’re here, and I don’t care if he finds out.”
“If you’re not here officially,” Cambridge said, “then why should I talk to you?”
“Because we think Neal is trying to sweep this under the rug,” Desiree said. “Don’t you think Lily deserves better?”
“I don’t really care,” Cambridge said.
“Don’t believe you for a second, old chap,” Casey said. “I have to confess I haven’t the slightest idea of what you saw in Lily Cross, but I don’t doubt that you saw something. If you talk to us, maybe you’ll tell us something that we can use to find out who killed her.”
“At least you’re not accusing me of doing it,” Cambridge said.
“Not yet,” Desiree replied. To Cambridge’s affronted snort she said, “Let’s face it, Ron, it’s got to look a bit odd. If the police ever find out that you were seeing Lily, they’re going to take one look at you and the way you live, and they’re going to become very curious indeed.”
“The way I live? You’d better be careful, Desiree darling. Your life isn’t exactly blemish-free.”
“True. But I’m not the one who was sporting with Lily Cross—and whose boyfriend doesn’t seem to know that.”
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