Lost Among the Angels (A Mercy Allcutt Book) (18 page)

      With a chip halfway to his mouth, Ernie eyed me critically. “Why do you insist it’s Godfrey? Why can’t it be somebody else? She didn’t say it was Godfrey.”

      “He’s a very strange man, Ernie, and he gives me the creeps.”

      “He gave you flowers, is what he gave you. Poor guy.”

      The waiter came with our plates, which he called
platos,
and set them in front of us. “Hot
platos,
” said he. Since I could see steam rising from the interesting mounds of foodstuffs contained thereon, I believed him. I also sensed it would be fruitless to pursue the issue of Mr. Godfrey’s oddities.

      Dipping my fork into a mound of brownish stuff smothered in cheese, I nibbled carefully. “Oh, my, this is good.”

      “Refried beans,” Ernie said with authority. “That rolled-up thing is an
enchilada,
and the folded-over thing is a
taco
.”

      “This is a lot of food.”

      “Yeah, and it’s good, too.” As if to prove it, he took a big bite of the item he’d called a taco.

      I stared, amazed. “You eat it with your fingers?” Then I could have kicked myself when Ernie chewed, swallowed, and grinned broadly.

      “Think of it as a sandwich, kiddo. It’s a Mexican sandwich.”

      “Oh. I guess that makes sense.”

      Still and all, I decided to sample my enchilada first, since I was unaccustomed to picking up food at the luncheon table—except for sandwiches, but this so-called taco didn’t look like any kind of sandwich I’d ever met before. I was doing my very best to fit into this new West Coast culture that I’d rushed headlong to meet, but sometimes one has to work up to trying out alien behaviors. Everything was so tasty, however, that pretty soon I was picking up my own taco and eating it with gusto.

      “Oh, my, I wonder if Chloe’s cook has ever fixed Mexican food,” I said at one point before I’d thought better of it. I’d told Ernie that I lived with my sister and her husband, but I hadn’t mentioned that they had a house full of servants.

      “Your sister has a cook?” His eyebrows lifted, and he looked amused as he took another bite of beans and rice.

      Me and my big mouth, as somebody said once. I can’t remember who or where. “Yes.” I didn’t elaborate.

      “Yeah? How many other servants does your sister have?”

      I sighed. “Not that it’s any of your business, but she employs a housekeeper and a cook and a maid.”  I didn’t mention Harvey’s chauffeur since, technically, he worked for Harvey and not Chloe. The staff at the Nash household didn’t seem excessive to me, but that’s probably because I’d grown up in a house with a housekeeper,  a cook, a kitchen maid, two housemaids, two chauffeurs, one for my mother and one for my father, and a butler. I didn’t mention that, either.

      “Ah. I see. Your sister has a big house?”

      “Yes. It’s fairly large.”

      “She have any kids?”

      I wished he’d drop the subject. “Not yet.”

      “Ah.”

      “But that doesn’t have anything to do with poor Miss Williams. Why did you tell her to leave the state?”

      “I didn’t exactly tell her to leave the state, but I wish she would.” Suddenly Ernie’s face lost its perpetual expression of cynical amusement. He looked downright worried.

      Startled by this phenomenon, I said breathlessly, “Good heavens, Ernie, what’s the matter?”

      His brow furrowed as he took another bite of his enchilada, chewed, and pondered. When he swallowed, he took a sip of water and said, “I’m getting a funny feeling about this whole thing. I don’t think it necessarily has anything to do with Godfrey, but Miss Williams was honestly frightened, and I’m afraid she might have reason to be.”

      Forgetting about my luncheon for the nonce, I laid my fork aside and stared at him. “Why?”

      “When I was a cop, I saw stuff like that a lot.”

      “Stuff like what?”

      “Sometimes a man will think a woman cares for him more than she does, and instead of leaving her alone, he’ll begin to hound her footsteps. If she tries to avoid him or get away from him, he’ll begin to make threats. A couple of times in the three years I worked on the force, the end result was a dead woman and a man who thought he’d been justified in killing her.”

      “Merciful heavens.” My gaze left Ernie’s worried face and focused on my plate, although I wasn’t seeing the remains of my luncheon. I was remembering articles I’d read in various newspapers back home. “Yes. I think I’ve heard of that.” A chilling memory made me suck in a breath. “In fact, I do believe I read about a fellow who killed a woman he claimed had thrown him over, but her family said they’d never had any sort of relationship at all, that it was all in his head.”

      Ernie nodded and took another bite of his taco.

      “At the time, I thought they must have been mistaken. How could a gentleman make up something like that?” I really wanted to know.

      A fount of information, Ernie was not, however. He only said, “Beats me. Some folks are nuts, I guess.”

      My thoughts returned to Mr. Godfrey, and I considered him as I picked up my fork and resumed eating. He was a very strange individual. He’d brought me flowers for no earthly reason. Of course, Ned had brought me flowers, too. Flowers he’d picked from a public garden. The notion made me want to giggle. Ned was an absurd sort of fellow.

      Mr. Godfrey, though … well, I thought Mr. Godfrey was very strange. Was he strange enough to stalk a woman and then hurt her because he was under the mistaken impression that she had cheated on him? The notion didn’t sit well with me, since he seemed to be focusing a little too much of his attention on me these days.

      “Say, kiddo, could you go somewhere with me Saturday evening? I’ve got to try to get Mrs. Von Schilling’s property back, and I think you might be able to help.”

      You can believe
that
arrested my attention, snapping it away from Mr. Godfrey as if it were a rubber band. “You want my help?” I was absolutely delighted he’d asked. “Of course, I can! Where are we going?”

      “Place on Sunset Boulevard. Big place. Home of a gent named Horatio Fortescue.”

      “I’ve heard of him.” Horatio Fortescue was reputed to be a millionaire, although I’d never heard mention of how he’d made his money.  Maybe he’d inherited it. Millionaires didn’t grow on every tree; they were rare birds. Why, I’m sure not even my father was a millionaire, although I’d never asked.

      “He’s having a party Saturday night, and Mrs. Von Schilling got me an invite. It would look more natural if you’d come with me. We could pretend to be friends of Mrs. Von Schilling.”

      “Is it a formal party?”

      “Naw. Just cocktails and people.”

      “Cocktails?” I shook my head and endeavored to hide my shock. Didn’t
anyone
in Los Angeles take Prohibition seriously? “What will we do when we get there?”

      “Mingle. Snoop. Case the joint.”

      
Case the joint?
I thought I’d read that phrase in a detective novel or two. I think it means to observe and note layouts and belongings. Or something like that. “What are we looking for?”

      He shrugged. “I don’t think there will be much looking required. Mrs. Von Schilling wants me to talk to Fortescue for her.”

      “Why?”

      “Evidently, he has something of Mrs. Von Schilling’s, and she wants it back.”

      Hmm. Mrs. Von Schilling didn’t strike me as the type to let something out of her grasp if she didn’t want to. “How’d he get it?”

      He eyed me, chewing, for a moment. “She was someplace she wasn’t supposed to be, and a maid in that place took her property and gave it to Fortescue. Mrs. V. wants it back before her husband returns from a business trip to New York City.”

      Aha! So the slinky Mrs. Von Schilling had a living husband, did she? And she was keeping secrets from him, was she?  “How do you propose to get the item back for her, whatever it is?”

“Probably pay for it.” 
“I beg your pardon?”

      “She wants me to make arrangements to pay the man to give her back her property.”

      I thought about that for a second as I chewed. “But isn’t that blackmail?”

      Ernie pointed at me with his fork. “Bingo!”

      “But isn’t that illegal?”

      His wry grin told me that had been a silly statement even before he said, “It’s how millionaires are made, kiddo.”

      I remained incredulous. “But … but why do people let people like that get away with it? Why don’t they tell the police?”

      “Would you want all your dirty laundry aired in front of the world?” He shrugged. “Mrs. Von Schilling doesn’t. The desire to keep secrets from spouses is what keeps blackmailers in business.”

      After mulling it over, I was struck with a cynical thought. I’d never had cynical thoughts before I started working for Ernie. Perhaps I truly was learning and would fit in one of these days. “You mean she doesn’t want her husband to find out whatever it is she’s keeping secret because it’s scandalous and he might divorce her, and then she wouldn’t be rich anymore.”

      After swallowing the last bite of his luncheon, Ernie grinned at me. “You’re learning fast, kiddo. I’ll pick you up at eight. Give me your address.”

      When I did, he whistled. “You really are a rich girl, aren’t you?”

      He didn’t appear pleased to have his assumption proved correct, but I was irked. “My station in life means absolutely nothing, Ernie Templeton. At the moment, I’m your assistant.”

      “Secretary.”

      I glared at him.

      
Ten

Chloe’s dinner party that night was fun, but I do believe my happy mood had more to do with anticipation of my Saturday-night date with Ernie than with the glittering company. I was going to be acting as his assistant! Naturally, I didn’t tell anyone whom we were going to visit, although I did share with Mr. Easthope my excitement about meeting and dealing with a real, live blackmailer.

      His eyebrows arched over his spectacularly gorgeous eyes. I wasn’t sure I’d ever get used to treating him as just another friend, although I hoped we were friends. “Are you sure you’ll be quite safe, Miss Allcutt? Dealings with blackmailers can be … unsettling.” He cleared his throat. “At least, that’s what I’ve always understood.”

      He sounded a little nervous, and it crossed my mind that perhaps he might have some experience in this realm. Had he been pursued by a blackmailer? I suppose anything is possible, but Mr. Easthope seemed like such a fine gentleman, I couldn’t imagine what anyone could find to blackmail him about. According to Chloe, he was above reproach in every way.

      “I’ll be with Mr. Templeton. I’m sure I’ll be safe.” It was the truth. I couldn’t imagine anyone I’d rather be with in the pursuit of danger than Ernie Templeton, P.I. Although his inappropriate amusement sometimes put me off, I did feel extremely secure in his company. Protected.

      “I certainly hope so.” Mr. Easthope was clearly not as convinced as I.

      Nevertheless, I looked forward to Saturday evening with a good deal of pleasurable anticipation.
This
is why I’d moved to Southern California.
This
is what I’d hoped for in doing so. I was going to get real experience. I was going to get to meet a true villain. A man who had made a fortune preying on the misfortunes of others. Why, I’d read a Sherlock Holmes story about this very thing! I wondered if Mr. Fortescue would appear to be as overtly evil as Mr. Charles Augustus Milverton.

      Naturally, Chloe disapproved of my proposed adventure. She was almost as annoying as Mother but didn’t wield as much authority over me, so I didn’t have to pay as much attention. We went out shopping Saturday morning with the express intention of updating my wardrobe and getting my hair bobbed. I balked as she led me toward a barbershop. “A
barber
shop!” cried I. “I’ve heard about women getting their hair bobbed at such places, but I never thought
I’d
enter one.”

      “Sidney has a way with bobbed hair and spit curls, Mercy, and he’s wonderful. He’s cut my hair forever.”

      “Not forever,” I muttered. “Only since you started living in Los Angeles.”

      “It seems like forever. And it’s ever so much cooler to have bobbed hair. Not to mention freer. Why, you won’t know yourself!”

      “Hmm. Maybe I don’t want to be a stranger to myself, did you ever consider that?”

      “Mercy.” Her voice was quite stern.

      “Oh, very well. But if it turns out badly, I’ll never forgive you.”

      “If you don’t like it, just wear hats. For Pete’s sake, Mercy, hair grows back, you know.”

      I did know that, but I’d never had my hair cut in my entire life. I know vanity is a sin, but I thought my hair was rather pretty, for all that it was brown, and even though I’d been looking forward to having it cut, all of a sudden I wasn’t sure I wanted to lose it. However, Chloe was relentless, and I got to carry my hair home in a sack, so I didn’t feel
too
badly about it. And I have to admit that I looked quite nice with short hair. The bob framed my face, and the side curls were quite fetching. I was actually pretty. Fashionable. Smart. Modern.

      And light. After losing all that hair, I felt sort of as if I were about to fly up into the sky, I was so lightheaded.

      “You don’t have to keep shaking your head, Mercy,” Chloe told me at one point, sounding slightly peeved. “You look like you’re showing off.”

      “But it feels so different!”

      “Different or not, you don’t want the whole world to look at you and know you just got your hair cut. They’ll think you’re a hick from the sticks.”

      “Nonsense. Anyhow, why should I care what strangers think of me?”

      “Nobody’s a stranger to Harvey in this town, Mercy Allcutt, and you’d best remember it.”