A Pacific Breeze Hotel (3 page)

Instead of answering the question, he asked one of his own. “Are you hungry?”

“Famished.”

“What kind of food do you like?”

“Anything but soup.”

O’Rourke laughed and it was such a pleasant sound, she found herself joining in. For a moment, she caught a glimpse of the lighthearted man who lived behind the stern-faced detective. She wanted to see more of him.

“I know a great place down on Olive,” he said. “The Ring-Tailed Lemur. Have you heard of it?”

Felicia smiled. “No, and I think I would’ve remembered the name.”

“It’s a cop hang-out,” he admitted. “But they fry a good burger. You know that cops love their burgers.”

“I’ve heard rumors.”

O’Rourke raised an eyebrow. “Are redheads saucy by nature or is that quality restricted to you?”

“I wouldn’t know. I’m a blonde trapped in a redhead’s body.”

He grinned. “You’re certainly a unique young lady.”

“And I have all my own teeth, too.”

He laughed again.

ÇÇÇ

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Pacific Breeze Hotel

Over well-done burgers and French fries, O’Rourke found himself telling Felicia about his life. He was surprised to find himself conversing in more than monosyllables. Felicia was a good listener, which encouraged him to keep talking. Usually a woman couldn’t get enough of her own voice, but this one was different.

“This has been a nice treat.” Felicia dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. “I can’t afford to eat out at restaurants very often.”

“I’d think you’d be out every night, being in the movie business and all.” O’Rourke could’ve kicked himself for sounding like a country bumpkin. There was something about Felicia that made him feel as nervous and tongue-tied as a high school kid. At the same time, he felt he could talk to her about anything and she would understand his feelings.

“The movie business isn’t as glamorous as it sounds,” Felicia assured him. “I don’t have time to go out at night because there are early-morning calls, auditions, acting classes, learning lines. Besides, only the big name stars attend movie premieres to drum up publicity for their latest film.”

O’Rourke flipped a French fry into his mouth. Nobody made fries as crispy and delicious as the cooks at the Lemur. “So how long have you been in Hollywood?”

“A few months, give or take.”

“It’s probably none of my business, but do you have a special fellow?”

O’Rourke held his breath as he waited for her answer.

Felicia shook her head. “Not anymore. The man I was seeing didn’t approve of my ambition to be an actress so I thought it best to end the relationship. We’re still good friends though.”

O’Rourke exhaled a relieved breath.

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Josie A. Okuly

Felicia took a sip of her cherry Coke. “What about you? Do you have a special girl?”

Before he could stop himself, O’Rourke told her about Lenore’s unfaithfulness and his experiences during the war. The words flowed from his lips as if a dam had burst and the rushing water could no longer be contained.

Felicia rested her hand on his shoulder. “It must have been a nightmare.”

Worse than any nightmare, he agreed silently.

Her green eyes, large and compassionate, searched his face.

“Would you like to go for a drive?” he found himself asking.

“On one condition. Will you please tell me why you’ve been following me? We’ve avoided the subject, but I’d really like an answer.”

Felicia’s gaze held his and O’Rourke told her the truth.

“I guess I just wanted an excuse to see you again.” He ran a hand through his closely cropped hair. “I told my partner it was because the shooter might have seen you and thought you could identify him. But that’s not true. I wanted to…” O’Rourke shook his head. He couldn’t continue.

A smile played on Felicia’s lips. “About that drive?” she prompted.

He flipped a few bills on the table, stood up, and helped her to her feet.

ÇÇÇ

They drove through Griffith Park after Felicia mentioned it was her favorite place in the city. O’Rourke drove slowly, trying to make their time together last as long as possible. On their way back to the restaurant, O’Rourke stopped at a newspaper stand to pick up the afternoon edition of the
Times
. The newspaper’s front page speculated on

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Pacific Breeze Hotel

plans for C.B. DeWarner’s elaborate funeral, which apparently might very well eclipse a head of state or visiting dignitary. O’Rourke wouldn’t have been surprised to hear that a national day of mourning had been declared to honor the producer. Anything was possible in Hollywood.

O’Rourke pulled back into the Lemur’s parking lot, where Felicia had left her car. “I’ll follow you home.” He cleared his throat. “Make sure you get home safely.”

“Whatever you say.” Felicia’s voice was listless, her face pale, as she stared down at the newspaper on her lap.

“It’s a nine day’s wonder,” O’Rourke assured her. “But it’ll blow over.”

“I wish I could believe that.”

“Trust me.” He tried to sound reassuring but his voice fell short.

O’Rourke followed her home. Felicia parked her car next to the curb in front of the Pacific Breeze. He watched her wave at him and then walk away with her straight back and fiery colored hair. She disappeared inside the lobby.

The old hotel stared back at him with its cracked and chipped facade, a monument to 1920’s excess, now crumbling to decay. Perhaps he could find Felicia a better place to live in one of the newer apartment buildings downtown. He saw the curtains in a dozen apartments flutter as a half-hearted breeze blew down the street. Yes, he would definitely look for an apartment with air conditioning.

As O’Rourke put the car in gear and turned the wheel to pull out into traffic, a heartrending scream sliced through the still afternoon.

O’Rourke slammed on the brakes. Before the car rolled to a stop, he grabbed the keys and stepped onto the pavement. He raced up the sidewalk and entered the lobby of Felicia’s building. He flew up the stairs, not bothering with the ancient elevator.

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Josie A. Okuly

Felicia stood frozen in the doorway to her apartment. Her porcelain skin was now the color of chalk as she stared down at something just out of view. O’Rourke peered over her shoulder and saw a large knife protruding from her coffee table. The knife pierced a sheet of paper. On the page was written a single word in dark block letters:
TRAMP.

ÇÇÇ

“Who is doing this to me?” Felicia curled a lock of hair around her finger as she struggled to focus her thoughts and regain her composure.

O’Rourke handed her a cup of hot coffee. “It looks like someone thinks you’re a witness to DeWarner’s murder.”

Felicia sat down at the kitchen table. She poured sugar into the coffee cup. “But I didn’t see anything. There was nothing to see, only that jungle behind his office. I couldn’t see anything because of all the plants.”

“But someone thinks you did.” He paused. “Or you have an enemy you’re not aware of.”

“But who?” Felicia slammed her fist down on the table. Coffee sloshed and spilled on the floor. She covered her face with her hands as her fragile composure crumbled to dust.

“I’ll check out the bedroom for signs of forced entry.” O’Rourke’s voice seemed to come from far away.

This apartment was no longer her home. She wanted to leave the Pacific Breeze and never return, but she had nowhere else to go. Unless she went home to Arizona.

O’Rourke came back into the room. “He came in through the fire escape. Pried open the window in your bedroom.”

Felicia’s lip trembled and nausea welled up in her stomach. “I can’t stay here.”

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Pacific Breeze Hotel

“I’ll stay with you until you can find somewhere else to live.”

“But...”

“I’ll sleep on the sofa,” he said quickly. “I’m housetrained and I don’t eat much.”

She gave him a half-hearted smile. “Stop trying to make me feel better.”

O’Rourke put his hands on her shoulders and drew her into an embrace. The scent of his aftershave was an electric jolt to her senses.

Felicia looked up into his rugged face and then closed her eyes as he moved toward her. His lips touched hers and electricity rushed through her body like the sizzle of a lightning strike.

Eventually, O’Rourke released her and took a step back. “I’ll nail the bedroom window shut so he doesn’t try that trick again.”

Felicia nodded, smoothing her hair shyly. “How can I thank you for your help?”

“You can’t.” He smiled and she loved the curve of his cheek, the finely honed planes of his face. She wouldn’t mind looking at that face every day of her life. What was she saying? Surely she couldn’t be in love with him―not after one day!

Half an hour later, Felicia had convinced herself that what she felt for O’Rourke was gratitude and nothing more. So many things had happened to knock her emotions off-kilter. Perhaps she could be forgiven the delusion she loved a man she had just met.

O’Rourke returned to the living room, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped his hands. “I need to get back to the station. Don’t open the door for anyone until I get back. It might be late.”

What would he say if she told him she missed him already?

O’Rourke was descending the stairs when Felicia caught up with him.

She called his name and he stopped and turned to face her.

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Josie A. Okuly

Felicia handed him her extra apartment key. “In case I’m asleep, you won’t need to knock.”

O’Rourke’s hand brushed against hers as he took the key. For a moment, to Felicia, the dingy staircase seemed a bright and beautiful place. The stair railing gleamed with a fresh coat of polish. The crystal wall sconces sparkled with a bright and warming glow.

Their gazes met and held. O’Rourke leaned forward. Felicia closed her eyes.

“Be sure to lock your door.” O’Rourke tweaked her nose and Felicia opened her eyes to find him staring down at her.

“I will,” she said softly. But he had already disappeared down the stairwell. Suddenly, the stairwell wasn’t beautiful at all. It was the same dull and depressing place it had always been.

Had she wanted O’Rourke to kiss her as he had done in the apartment? She had never thrown herself at a man before. What was wrong with her? She ran back up the stairs, her mind a jumble of confusing thoughts.

The fingerprint crew arrived and, for a while, the living room was full of men in suits. After they left, Felicia looked around her small apartment. The once-familiar space was no longer warm or welcoming.

Her apartment had been violated. She had been violated. The knife protruding from the coffee table was gone now and the window in her bedroom was nailed shut. So why didn’t she feel safe? And why hadn’t she told O’Rourke about being followed since DeWarner’s murder? When he returned that night she knew she had to tell him, even if he thought she was crazy.

ÇÇÇ

Nolan studied the knife. “Wicked looking blade.”

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Pacific Breeze Hotel

“Uh-huh.” O’Rourke tried to get his mind back on the case. All he could think about was how beautiful Felicia looked in the stairway with her dark green eyes.

“Elaborate looking handle.” Nolan rotated the knife to study it closer.

“Might be Oriental. I’ve seen handles similar to this in Chinatown, but nothing as ornate as this one. Judging by the handle, this knife probably cost a pretty penny.”

Nolan sat the knife on the table. “You think he’s sending some kind of message?”

“Maybe.” O’Rourke’s expression clouded.

“The note makes it seem personal.”

O’Rourke tortured himself with the same thought. Why would anyone label Felicia a tramp? If it was the shooter, why had he chosen that word? And if it was someone she knew, again, why that particular word?

He had only known her a short time but he knew it didn’t fit.

Still, he was plagued by an annoying, sharp-edged doubt, which attacked him from all sides and wouldn’t go away. What did he really know about her?

“You look mad enough to spit bullets,” observed Nolan. “I know how your mind works, so I suggest you run a criminal check on the girl. She’ll come out smelling like roses and then you’ll know it’s some crazy perpetrator who thinks she’s a witness, or maybe a kook who hates redheads.”

ÇÇÇ

The sound of the telephone startled Felicia. She grabbed for the receiver, hoping it would be Detective O’Rourke at the other end of the line.

“Is this Miss Felicia Avery?” Not O’Rourke, but a stranger.

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Josie A. Okuly

“Yes, it is.”

“Can you confirm you’re the Felicia Avery who was with C.B.

DeWarner yesterday when he was murdered?”

“Who is this?”

“Jackson Pile with the
Los Angeles Times
.”

She hung up on him.

Within minutes, Felicia fielded calls from the
Daily Mirror
and the gossip rag,
The Tattler
. When she slammed down the phone on a famous gossip-mongering journalist, she knew her career was over. To be connected with a major Hollywood scandal was the kiss of death for an aspiring actress. No more auditions, no more parts―not even small ones.

Felicia plopped down on the sofa and wept until she had no more tears to shed.

The telephone woke her from a nightmare. In the dream, people pointed at her and laughed. The word
Tramp
was branded on her chest by a hot iron and she could smell her own charred flesh.

“Hello.” Felicia sat up straight as she struggled to free herself from the dream.

“Hi, there, gorgeous.” The male voice was familiar, but she couldn’t place it.

“Who is this?”

“How quickly we forget! It’s Vance.”

Vance Morgan had asked her to marry him before she left Arizona.

She hadn’t accepted his proposal because she didn’t want to string him along, knowing she was ambitious for an acting career. Her heart had told her she didn’t love him enough to give up her dream. Despite the broken engagement, they were still friends and kept in contact through letters and phone calls. Every now and then, Vance sent her a bouquet of roses to brighten up her dingy apartment. He worked as a salesman for