All That Glitters (23 page)

Louella Parsons appeared considerably more interested. Beside her, Norman Carville appeared to listen with rapt attention.

At a table next to the dance floor, Roland Harper lit a Chesterfield, looking confident, poised, and debonair. I suspected his confidence came from spending most of his life keeping a secret. Had he shared everything about Eric's murder with the cops?

I stopped beside the actor's table. “You saw a different side to Eric.”

Roland tapped the cigarette against the ashtray. “Like Christine, I, too, ignored Eric's abrasive exterior, but I saw something she didn't or wouldn't. He was mean, cruel, and enjoyed making people suffer. He was a top-notch villain in a city of villains.”

From the corner of my eye, I spotted Angie nodding. Laura and I had uncovered her relationship with Todd, but I knew nothing about her feelings for Eric.

Roland took a long puff and blew smoke toward the empty dance floor. “I tolerated Eric because he was a Carville.” He tipped his hand to Norman. “Sorry, Mr. Carville.”

“In fact, you despised him,” I said.

“Okay, sure.”

“Enough to kill him?”

Roland crushed out the half-smoked cigarette. He folded his hands on the table and retained his calm bearing. “I didn't kill Eric Carville, Mr. Donovan.”

“Do you know who did?”

“To tell you the truth, since I heard someone shot the bastard, I haven't really given it a lot of thought.”

I believed him.

From the corner of my eye, I noticed Gus drumming his fingers next to a coffee cup, like the evening was a complete waste of his time. He rose and stood beside the French doors, arms folded. Annabelle appeared even more bored than Gus as she doodled on a notepad.

Gambino had an empty glass in front of him and a second was half full. He seemed to be enjoying the evening, while Leo displayed the same scowl he'd worn trashing our hotel suite.

I stopped beside his table and set my foot on a chair beside Gambino. “Word is Eric was into you for some big-time money over a gambling debt.”

Gambino sipped his drink. “Come on, Jake. You're wasting everyone's time. I barely knew the guy. I'm a businessman. All I know is, the debt was paid. He was all square, a customer in good standing.”

“Nice of him to pay up before he got knocked off, don't you think? He spend a lot of time at your joint?”

“Joint? Come on, my place ain't no joint. Like I said, he was a decent customer. Doesn't mean he was a decent guy, but why would I want to kill a customer?” Gambino downed the rest of the drink.

I jerked my thumb toward Leo. “This your accountant?”

Gambino chuckled. “Leo has a degree in accounting. He's responsible for a great many of my business interests, but mostly he handles security for the organization.”

“He ever freelance?”

“Freelance?” Gambino laughed. “You mean, like doing income taxes as a favor for a neighbor or dame?”

I shook my head. “More like freelance security.”

Gambino's eyes narrowed. “I know what you're getting at. None of my boys freelance. That's why they're employees.” The very idea seemed preposterous to him. “Ask him yourself.”

I removed my shoe from the chair. “How ‘bout it, Leo? You ever do any independent ‘
security'
work Mr. Gambino doesn't know about?”

Leo jumped up and glared like he wanted to rip off my head and spit down my neck. He surely had his .45 under his jacket.

Tension crackled through the ballroom. Everyone seemed to have their hands on the edge of their tables, ready to duck for cover in case lead flew.

Annabelle stuck her hand in her purse. Gus circled the tables and moved close enough to help, if I needed it.

My gumshoe days taught me never to show fear. I didn't flinch and held my ground.

When Gambino tugged on Leo's arm, the hit man sat back down in his chair. “Mr. Donovan's trying to pull a fast one, Mr. Gambino. I work for you. You pay me well.”

I nodded toward Laura. I had things under control, even if I'd taken a gamble tightening the screws on a Chicago gangster. “Where were you the night of the murder?”

Leo ran a finger on the side of his starched, white shirt collar. “Playing poker at Mr. Gambino's club.”

“Gambling's illegal.”

Leo chuckled. “Penny ante only. Purely recreational.”

“Recreational? What about that, Mr. Gambino?” I asked. “Was Leo playing poker at your club the night Eric Carville was murdered?”

Gambino's eyes never left Leo's. “I was out of town, but the boys will back up his story.”

“I'm sure they will, but that doesn't mean they'll be telling the truth.”

Leo leaped to his feet again. He lunged and grabbed my lapels.

A woman shrieked and chair legs squeaked as people backed away from the confrontation.

I smacked Leo's arms away and reached for my gun but kept it in my jacket as Gambino pulled his security man off me.

“Jake, why don't you back off and let Leo cool down?”

When Gus moved between the two gangsters and me, I took a breath to calm myself and regain my air of certainty. I still had to expose the person responsible for the hit. “Don't go anywhere. I'll be back.”

I straightened my jacket and patted Gus on the shoulder. I passed the table with Sonny and his mother, Angie, who held a wrinkled handkerchief. I stopped beside Christine's chair. “Just a couple more questions.”

Christine blew out a breath. “Goody for me.”

I pointed to Gambino's table. “You and Eric ever visit Mr. Gambino's speakeasy?”

“Once or twice.”

“I presume you've met Mr. Gambino.”

Christine shrugged. “It's not like we're friends. Like I said, I've only been to his club a couple—”

“What about that weasel seated next to him?”

“No.” She glanced at Leo, who looked like he could barely contain his rage. “I think I'd remember a man like him.”

The hair on the back of my neck tingled as it often did when I was close to something important. “Someone slipped away the night of the party and went upstairs to Eric's room—”

“It wasn't me!” Christine smacked the table with her hand, nearly toppling Powell's drink.

Hoping to catch her off guard, I turned and faced Angie Burkheart. “Do you know who slept with Eric the night he was murdered?”

A trembling hand flew to her mouth.

Sonny held out both hands. “We left just before you and Miss Wilson, Jake.”

Angie whispered. “It was me.”

I cocked my head. “What did you say?”

She cleared her throat and stared at me without blinking. “It was me, Mr. Donovan. I went to Eric's room that night.”

“No!” Sonny shouted as chatter swept over the guests.

If Christine hadn't been the woman in Eric's bed that night, Angie had been the most likely alternative. A quick glance at Todd's calm expression told me he knew about the relationship between his lover and his brother.

Christine eyed Angie with a look of hard steel.

Pat hurriedly scribbled in his notepad. At the other end of the room, Louella did the same. I hoped she'd learned enough to write a new column before her nine o'clock deadline. I might be off the hook with her, but I wanted to finish this once and for all.

Tears shimmered in Angie's eyes. “I slipped away…at Eric's invitation. It's hard to say no to a Carville.”

Norman leaned forward on his cane and struggled to his feet.

Sonny's eyes watered as he held his mother's hand.

In Hollywood, a single woman confessing to a relationship with a single man was hardly news. Angie seemed embarrassed that her son had learned of her affair, sure, but from her wrinkled forehead, I suspected she might be hiding more.

Gus and Annabelle approached the Burkheart table, but I held up one hand. I needed a few more answers. “What happened that night?”

She dabbed her eyes. “Does my son have to listen to this?”

I shrugged. “It's up to him. He's not a kid anymore. He hasn't been for a long time.”

Sonny banged his fist on the table. “Of course I want to hear.” Everyone else in the room wanted to hear as well, but not because the information might help solve a murder. They wanted to hear because even Hollywood types, especially Hollywood types, loved a juicy story.

Angie twisted her handkerchief. “My son and I left the party and returned home. He went to bed right away. I went to my room and freshened up. After Sonny fell asleep, I drove back here, parking in the back, where I had on more than one occasion. I entered through the kitchen as the staff was cleaning up.”

I glanced at the butler, who sat rubbing his forehead with his fingers. “Did you see James?”

She shook her head no. “A few kitchen workers, but no one noticed me, so I quietly climbed the stairs and hurried to Eric's room. He wore a red silk smoking jacket I always liked. He offered me a drink. I accepted. You can guess the rest.”

Poor Sonny. A kid his age shouldn't hear details of his mother's love life, but I had to ask tough questions. “This wasn't the first time you'd gone to his room.”

A single tear slid down her cheek. “The first time was…six months ago.”

Christine swallowed her drink and muttered to Powell, “I gave Eric that smoking jacket.” She signaled to the bartender for another. The whole room and soon all of Hollywood would learn Eric had been sleeping with both women at the same time.

“Afterward, Eric poured me a drink.” Angie let out a ragged sigh. “I needed one.”

“Why?”

The room was as quiet as a fish aquarium. “I was going to end our relationship, and I knew he'd never, ever let me go. I only slept with Eric because he wrote a part for my son into
Midnight Wedding
.”

Sonny sucked in a gasp and let go of his mother's hand.

“Go on,” I said.

Her voice was calm and methodical. “By the time I finished my drink, Eric had fallen asleep, as usual…as I'd counted on. I dressed, and pulled a typewritten note I brought with me from my purse. I rolled the paper in his typewriter. I walked to the nightstand, grabbed the pistol he always kept there…and I shot him.”

What? Had I heard right?

“No!” Sonny cried as the room erupted in chaos.

I shouted, “Why?,” but Angie didn't appear to hear me.

Annabelle and Gus rushed the table and took Angie into custody.

Pat Lonigan dashed from the room with his notepad, in search of a phone, no doubt. Louella did the same.

Laura and Mildred stared, as immobile as statues. Then they hugged each other.

I could barely breathe. For the first time all night I didn't feel in control. Leo's grin spread across his face as he rose from his chair and smoothed his lapels. Angie didn't seem the type to plan a murder, make it appear like a suicide, and pull the trigger.

Had I been wrong about Leo all this time? Were the bankbook deposits payments for some other job?

Sonny sobbed into a napkin as Annabelle and Gus cuffed his mother. As Annabelle led her away, Angie glanced at me over her shoulder and shouted, “I killed Eric Carville, you hear me everyone? I'm glad I did.”

After Annabelle and Gus led Angie Burkheart away, the room that had seemed to be holding its collective breath erupted with applause. Laura threw her arms around me and kissed me. “Darling, you were wonderful, brilliant.”

I didn't feel wonderful. I felt…

“Where's a phone?” Mildred grabbed my arm. “Where's a phone? I need to call New York right away!”

I pointed to stairs off the foyer. “You'll find one in a room at the end of the long corridor.”

Mildred dashed off then skidded to a stop. “Blackie Doyle couldn't have done any better.”

When Mildred disappeared into the foyer, Laura cocked her head. “Aren't there any phones closer?”

I pointed toward a phone on a corner table. “Sure, but I had to get rid of her. Must be a phone up there somewhere.”

Sonny sat staring at his mother's balled-up handkerchief.

I set a hand on his shoulder. “I'm sorry.”

“Are you? You got what you wanted.” He blinked away tears like he couldn't get away from me fast enough. “Where do I go? What do I do?”

“You'll stay here, son.” Norman hobbled toward us on his cane and wrapped one arm around Sonny. “James, take the boy to one of the spare rooms.”

Sonny followed the butler to the foyer.

Norman shook my hand. “I want to thank you, Jake. Maybe someday I'll be able to put the past week behind me, thanks to you. For now, having the killer brought to justice doesn't feel as satisfying as it should.”

With his cane, Norman shuffled out of the room.

William Powell, with Christine's arm in his, pumped my hand. “When filming starts on
The Thin Man
, I'll remember how you did it in real life.”

I shook his hand. “You'll be a terrific Nick Charles.”

I rejoined Laura.

Louella Parsons returned to the room and squeezed my hands. “For a moment you had me fooled. How did you know Angie Burkheart murdered Eric Carville?”

She'd be the last person with whom I'd share my suspicions that Angie hadn't killed Eric, in spite of her confession. “Well, it's technical.”

“I'd love you to come on my radio show. You can plug your books.”

“Not a chance.”

Louella laughed. “After tomorrow's column hits the streets, I doubt if you'll find a Jake Donovan book left in the city.” She wrinkled her brow. “What was all that drama with Gambino and De Palma if you knew all along Angie Burkheart was the killer?”

I answered with a grin and let her reach her own conclusion.

“It was a diversion, wasn't it, making one suspect believe you're focused on someone else so they'll let their guard down.” A satisfied smile swept across her face. “I
love
my job.”

She hurried out the door. For the next few minutes, a dozen well-wishers stopped by and congratulated me. After a break in the praise, I let out a sigh and reached for Laura's hand. “I need some air.”

“Oh, no.” Laura covered her mouth with both hands. “You're not convinced Angie pulled the trigger, are you? Darling, please tell me I'm wrong. Please!”

I slipped Laura's arm in mine and accompanied her outside. I sat at a table by the pool and stared out at the lights dotting the Hollywood Hills.

Laura remained standing. “Why can't you accept what happened? Angie confessed. You heard her. Everyone heard her.”

“Something's not right.”

Her eyes pleaded with me. “Jake, why would someone take the fall for a murder they didn't commit?”

Why indeed.

“Darling, the police have made an arrest. The Carvilles are happy. Mildred is thrilled. We have our lives back. Why can't you embrace that?”

I pulled her to my lap and nuzzled her neck. “You're right, sweetheart. I want to enjoy everything you just said, so humor me for one more hour while I—”

“There you are.” Todd Carville burst from the house. His eyes danced as happily as a newly found dog. If he'd had a tail, it would have been wagging.

Laura scrambled to her feet. She patted her hair like a teenager caught necking.

“Don't mind me. You're engaged.” Todd Carville acted positively giddy as he shook my hand. “Impressive, Mr. Donovan. I don't know if you realize it or not, but you saved my father's life. You may have even saved Carville Studios. How can I ever thank you?”

I shrugged. “Take care of Sonny.”

“Of course.”

Laura and I went inside, where more people slapped me on the back and offered me drinks. We managed to reach the foyer, where I grabbed my hat.

Outside, Gambino and Leo De Palma stood beside the Chevrolet, smoking cigarettes. Gambino tipped his hat to Laura. “You put on quite a performance, Jake.” He elbowed Leo. “Didn't he?”

“Very entertaining. Right up to the end.” Leo crushed his half-smoked cigarette under his heel and headed down the drive toward the black sedan.

As Leo walked away, Gambino ran a hand over his chin. “You made up that stuff about Leo freelancing, right? That was all part of the act.”

I reached into my jacket and handed him Leo's bankbook. He flicked a lighter and studied the deposits while Laura and I climbed into the Chevrolet.

I glanced in the rearview mirror. Rage engulfed Gambino's face. The lighter's flame flickered more than ever. As I inserted the key, he snapped the lighter closed and disappeared into the darkness.

Laura grabbed my hand and kept me from starting the car. “You want to tell me why you can't accept Angie Burkheart's confession?”

Suddenly, like a fast-playing movie, I pictured images of the past hour—all the worried suspects, Angie's confession, Sonny's tears, and the unearned praise I received. Another nagging thought tried to break through the images. “I feel like I'm forgetting something.”

“About the case?”

“No.”

A rapping sounded at the driver's window.

“What?”

Mildred knocked a second time. “You were going to drive off and leave me?”

I'd seen Mildred sore plenty of times, but this time her face was twisted into Halloween scary. I got out and opened the rear door for her. “Sorry, I got a bit distracted.”

She climbed into the backseat, folded her arms, and muttered something I was grateful I couldn't make out.

I slid behind the wheel and started the car. Laura covered her smile with one hand, then laughter burst through her fingers.

We drove away from the Carville Estate. I tried to replay Angie Burkheart's confession in my mind, but Mildred placed her hand on the front seat. Apparently, she'd forgiven me. “The board in New York is thrilled with what happened tonight. They want me to bring back what you've written on the latest Blackie Doyle novel. Come to think of it, I don't recall you mentioning your writing. How many chapters have you finished?”

Really? I met her gaze in the rearview mirror. “I've been kind of busy.”

Laura patted Mildred's hand. “You'll love his first chapter.”

“You've only written one chapter, right, Jake?” Mildred glared at Laura as if my lack of production was her fault. She sat back and crossed her arms, and for several peaceful moments, I enjoyed the quiet.

I parked across from the police station.

Mildred climbed out and stared at all the cop cars. “A police station? I thought we were going out to celebrate.”

“We will in a few minutes. If you'll wait in the car—”

Mildred was across the street before I'd finished the sentence.

Inside, I steered her toward a half-filled lobby and summoned my resolve. “Mildred, you're waiting here.”

“W-what?” she sputtered.

“You're a fabulous editor, publishing's best.” I meant every word. “I owe you my career, but this is about a murder investigation, so take a seat. We won't be long, then we'll celebrate.”

She held my gaze a moment. Then she dropped into a chair beside a bearded man in a leather vest picking his teeth. She snatched a tattered
LIFE
magazine from the floor and muttered, “Wonderful. I'll read this
again
.”

Laura slipped her arm in mine. As we headed for the front desk, she pressed against me, her voice sultry. “I can't believe you talked to her that way. I've never been so…so excited!”

I gave our names to a yawning desk sergeant and asked for Annabelle. Minutes later, Annabelle strode down the corridor, her face a mix of surprise and dread. She'd changed out of her gown and into a blue suit with a white scarf. “I can't say I'm pleased to see you.”

She led us down a corridor into a noisy room filled with the aroma of coffee and cigarettes. A half-dozen plainclothes detectives were listening to Gus, still in his tux, describe the arrest. Apparently, he and Annabelle were the station's stars for solving a Hollywood murder.

Gus looked about as happy to see me as he would his ex-wife. “What are you doing here, Donovan?”

“I want to talk to Angie.”

He thrust out his chest. “That's not going to happen.”

Laura smiled at the other detectives and used her most seductive voice. “Now, Mr. Connolly, don't you think you owe Jake, just a little?”

“All right, back to work.” Annabelle held the door as the other detectives left the room, grumbling. She closed the door and glared at all three of us.

Gus held up both hands. “Now, Annabelle.”

She thumped his chest. “Don't ‘now, Annabelle' me. I'm your boss, God damn it! I make the decisions around here, not you. “

Gus backed up. “I know that.”

She thumped him again. “One more thing. I'm not going to retire, take time off, or go on vacation. Are we clear?”

Gus collided with the wall. “Crystal, Sergeant.”

Annabelle's bark turned into a laugh. She patted Gus's face. “Sometimes you make me so mad.”

Wiping away her grin, Annabelle turned to me. “I'll bring Angie in here, Donovan. You'll have five minutes, then I don't want to set eyes on your mug until her trial.” She pushed open the door and disappeared down the corridor.

I smiled at Gus, who let out a low whistle. “Ain't she something?”

Laura laughed. “It'll take one tough man to keep up with her.”

Annabelle returned and led Angie into the room. In the same orange dress she'd worn to the party, Angie glanced at Laura and me and looked helplessly at Annabelle.

Gus gestured toward an empty chair in the corner.

When Angie sat, I set my foot on a chair across from her. “How are you holding up?”

“Why are you here?”

“I'm hoping you can explain why you did what you did.”

“Shoot Eric?”

I nodded.

She didn't look me in the eye. “I thought I made that clear. Eric went back on a promise to help Sonny's career. I knew then he was only using me. Sonny's small part in
Midnight Wedding
will probably end up on the cutting-room floor.”

Gus held up his cup. “Would you like some coffee, Miss Burkheart?”

Angie shook her head. “I want to get this over with.”

To Annabelle and Gus, her explanation might have made sense, but I didn't trust Angie. She'd spent the past ten years focused on her son's career. I figured she slept with Eric, maybe others, to land movie roles for Sonny, demonstrating how far she'd go to ensure her son's success. “Sonny's career is really important to you.”

“I was willing to do anything, and I did.” Angie bit her lip. Her confident appearance seemed to waver.

“If you were willing to do anything for your son's career…”

Her cheeks flushed. “Didn't I prove it?”

“How did killing Eric Carville benefit Sonny?”

Her mouth hung open a moment. This was the first question to which she hadn't rattled off the answer. “I…I wasn't thinking clearly.”

I didn't want to scare her into silence, but I had to break through her lies. “You thought clearly enough to enter Eric's room with a plan to make his death seem like suicide.”

She didn't reply.

“How did you get away?”

She spoke with well-rehearsed precision. “I placed the gun in Eric's hand, left the note in the typewriter, and hurried into the corridor. I hid in Norman's office and peeked out as James rushed past. When he stood in the doorway of Eric's room, I rushed down the stairs and slipped into the empty kitchen. Outside, I took a deep breath. My hands were shaking so bad I had to wait several minutes before I was able to drive off.”

“Did you place the suicide note in Eric's typewriter before or after you shot him?” I suspected she hadn't placed the note in the typewriter at all.

She blinked rapidly, as if trying to remember. “After, no wait, before…I'm not sure.”

“Yet you recall everything else so clearly.” Almost like she'd rehearsed her story.

“You about through, Jake?” Annabelle asked.

“One more thing.” I handed Angie a pen and held my hand out to Gus. “May I borrow your notepad?”

He tossed it to me.

I flipped to a blank page and handed the notepad to Angie. “Would you write these words, ‘Life is no longer worth living. I apologize for any hurt.'?”

I stood beside her and watched her write.
Life is no longer worth living. I apologize for any hurt.

She handed the pen and notepad to me. “That all?”

“That's all.” I thanked her and wished her the best.

Gus led Angie from the room.

Annabelle shook her head. “At the Carville Estate, Angie said she left the suicide note in the typewriter after Eric fell asleep, before she shot him.”

“James was downstairs in the kitchen. When he heard the shot, he bounded up the stairs and entered Eric's room. How long did that take?”

Annabelle shrugged. “Thirty seconds, tops.”