Trouble in Rooster Paradise (13 page)

Hers was a house built of burnished brick and
just enough plaster facing in spots to qualify it as a Tudor. I
looked up at a roof with three high peaks of different heights—the
two in back covered gabled windows, the shorter one in the
foreground sheltered the front door and foyer.

I passed through a wrought-iron front gate with
a thin metal silhouette of a fleur-de-lis ensconced about chest
level. The front door was of solid wood except for a peephole with
one of those little grated windows that opened from the inside and
reminded me of a speakeasy I’d finagled my way into as a
teenager.

The buzzer was a pearl-colored button that
triggered ornate chimes at a touch.

Inquiring eyes gave me a quick glimpse through
the grated peephole. When the door opened she gave me a
straightforward feminine assessment.

“
Come in, Mr. Nilson, come in,” she
said, smiling. Her voice was that of a woman half her
age.

For some reason I was expecting to meet a
doddering, white-headed septuagenarian. Instead, I faced a stately
woman, at most in her mid-fifties, with silver-streaked brown hair
worn up in one of those French twists. Still fetching, she had the
high cheekbones and classic features of a once-great beauty, and
the glimmer in her eyes signaled me that she was pleased I could
tell. She wore a russet dress and a cream-colored
sweater.

I was led in to her living room. She reached
over to turn off the radio. She’d been listening to
Counterspy
.

“
May I get you something to
drink?”

“
No thanks. I’m just fine,” I said,
planting myself on the sofa she pointed to.

“
Nonsense. I have tea already made.
No point wasting it. I’ll get us both a cup.”

As she quietly strolled back to the kitchen, I
scanned the room. I was expecting décor from the 1910s and 1920s.
While her reading lamp looked ancient enough, and there were a few
mementos and a number of pictures from earlier in the century,
surprisingly most of her furnishings were circa 1940s. Mrs. Arnot
had memories, but she didn’t seem overly anchored in the land of
the bygone.

She served me my tea and then eased into a
Morris chair with a cup of her own.

“
I’ll not take up much of your time,
Mrs. Arnot,” I said.

“
Nonsense. It’s rare when I receive
callers, and rarer still when they happen to be handsome young men.
Take all the time you need.”

“
The police talked with you earlier
today about the quarrel you overheard when you were in Fasciné
Expressions yesterday.”

She laughed. “That’s correct, but it was no
quarrel, young man. I’d call it more of a harsh scolding. Christine
hardly said boo. Her boyfriend didn’t give her much of an
opportunity.”

“
I’d like to know what you saw and
heard, please.”

“
As I told the police, I didn’t see
or hear much at all,” said Mrs. Arnot. She got up to adjust the
wide louvers of her Venetian blinds to beat back the sun’s
departing encroachments. “I had finished talking to one of the
girls and was just leaving when Mr. Engstrom started shouting.
Naturally, I turned to look.”

“
Naturally.”

She sat down again.

“
Did you hear Dirk Engstrom threaten
to kill Christine?”

“
Dear, no. And what I did hear were
mere fragments. Nothing that made sense, you understand. Mr.
Engstrom was wildly waving his arms in the air and Christine wasn’t
saying much at all. She simply looked upset. Had the girl not been
killed, I’m morally certain that her relationship with that
boy
would have soon been over anyway.”

She reflected a moment and continued, “It
looked as though Christine had been talking with Addison Darcy
before her boyfriend arrived. But that’s merely my impression. Now,
Mr. Darcy may have heard something that might interest you. Also,
there was a young man about your age standing next to Mr. Darcy.
I’ve seen him in the store many times. He looks to be what in my
day we called a drugstore cowboy.”

“
Drugstore cowboy?” I asked, as I
slipped a clove in my mouth. Britt was right about Mrs. Arnot being
quaint.

She laughed again—some of her youthful beauty
peering through for a moment.

“
I’ll explain. I worked in Hollywood
well over twenty years ago. Some of the Western movie extras used
to loaf in front of drugstores between pictures trying to impress
the ladies. That young man standing next to Mr. Darcy projected
that same kind of attitude and carriage. A harmless lothario. It’s
merely an impression, you understand.”

“
Miss Anderson tells me you were in
the
Ziegfeld Follies
,” I put in.

“
That’s correct.” She stood up and
crossed the room to retrieve a silver-framed photograph that sat on
an end table with several others. She showed it to me. She laughed
when I gave a low wolf whistle.

It was a full-length picture of a very young,
very beautiful and very shapely Blanche Arnot. She was wearing an
elaborate feathered headdress, a scanty top with a low-cut
neckline, and pleated bloomers with what looked like a bridal train
trailing behind her. Two similarly dressed beauties stood on each
side of her but a few feet behind.

“
Delicious times. This was taken on
stage at the New Amsterdam Theatre. We thought we were
something
,” she said, amusement in her voice. “And I guess,
in a way, we were.”

“
How’d you come to be a Ziegfeld
girl?”

She told me she was born and raised in
Springfield, Massachusetts. She got her notions of life on the
stage from an aunt who was a teacher of elocution and singing. At
sixteen she ran away from home, worked as a shop girl and a
waitress before eventually getting her first break.

She laughed. “I became a cigarette girl in a
Broadway nightclub. I thought I’d
arrived
.”

Someone connected to the
Ziegfeld
Follies
must have thought so too, because he invited her to
audition, and that led to her being in the
Follies
of
1915-1921. After that she moved out to Los Angeles, did some stage
acting, and had some bit parts in silent films before becoming a
drama coach.

“
I realized early on that I wasn’t
going to become a screen star. But like the saying goes, those who
can,
do
. And those who can’t,
teach
. So, I taught,”
she said a bit wistfully. “But I have no complaints, as it led to
my life here. I met and married the older brother of one of my
female students—a doctor from Seattle.”

“
And so those who teach make do,” I
said.

She laughed.

“
Britt Anderson tells me you were
quite close to her aunt.”

“
That’s correct. We were very close.
I loved Alexis. She was such a deliciously sweet person before her
tragic deterioration. My heart ached when she died. She was
extremely talented.”

Mrs. Arnot explained that she’d groomed Alexis.
“I worked with both Alexis and Britt. Britt has talent, but not
like her aunt did.”

She’d encouraged Alexis to become a
professional performer. “I offered to put her in touch with some
people I still knew in Hollywood. Few people really succeed in the
arts, but she could have made it. Of that I have no
doubt.”

“
So, why didn’t she make the
move?”

Mrs. Arnot sighed. “Two reasons. She felt a
strong family obligation as Britt’s guardian—though I told her that
Britt was welcome to live with me. Then, there was also a romantic
attachment that kept her in Seattle.”

“
The one that went sour?”

“
I see Britt’s told you the
story.”

I nodded. I asked about her job with Fasciné
Expressions.

“
I agreed to it originally as a
favor to Britt. She insisted on paying me for my work with the
girls. I objected at first. Henry—my late husband—left me very
comfortable, so I don’t need the money. But I conceded to her
wishes and do accept a pittance. However, the money really is
irrelevant, as I genuinely enjoy helping out.”

“
What exactly are your
duties?”

She laughed softly. “I suppose I’m part drama
coach and part finishing school teacher. The first few weeks after
a new girl is hired, I give her a crash course in poise, speech,
and civilities—that sort of thing. Thereafter I simply monitor
progress and advise when necessary.”

“
I’ve never heard of a retail outfit
going to such lengths.”

“
Granted. It’s one of Britt’s ideas.
She’s blended an artistic flare with her business school training.
She’s a very innovative and determined young woman. She insists on
creating a certain image and atmosphere. And as far as the
salesgirls are concerned, I’d say she’s been deliciously
successful.”

I agreed. From what I could tell, Mrs. Arnot
had done a great job of helping the girls attain enough polish and
bearing to mask their origins—with a dash of Ziegfeld girl in the
bargain.

Blanche Arnot didn’t have anything helpful to
add about Christine. Not at first anyway.

I asked a little more about her days in the
Ziegfeld Follies
. She’d known and worked with the likes of
Fanny Brice, Eddie Cantor, and Will Rogers.

“
Everyone loved Will Rogers. He was
my personal favorite of the starring performers. He’d say the
funniest things. For instance, he wisely advised to never miss a
good opportunity to stop talking—which is what I think I should do
right now. I’m probably beginning to bore you.”

I told her not at all, and assured her that I
was enjoying our visit very much. I decided that part of Mrs.
Arnot’s quaintness was a certain air she projected. There was
something otherworldly about her. I couldn’t put my finger on it
exactly. I figured it was a carry-over from having lived and worked
in a fantasy world populated by show people.

We talked a little more about her past, and
then something brought her back to the present. “It’s too bad about
poor Christine. No one deserves to die that way—let alone one so
young and lovely. However, I have a feeling that, had she lived,
her life would have been a stormy one.”

“
Why so?”

“
Oh, take it from an old chorus
girl, well-versed in the ways of young coquettes and their aging
admirers. I’ve grown older, but I’m not senile—not yet anyway. Nor
am I naïve. I see things. It’s pretty plain that some of the girls
working for Leonard Pearson are after more than just sales
commissions. Christine was one of them. But she didn’t strike me as
a girl with good judgment in the matter.”

“
Could you enlighten this babe in
the woods?”

“
You don’t look like such a babe to
me,” she said with a pert smile. “Still, let me be a little bit
delicate. I’m not talking about sex and lost virtue. That was often
a rite of passage for a chorine—generally a foregone occurrence for
girls in a revue. Florenz Ziegfeld himself was a flagrant
philanderer who often sampled the merchandise. No, Christine was a
big girl, as are the others working at the store. I have no prudish
illusions about their chastity. I’m sure some of those girls carry
on quite a
full
social life with the occasional
client—especially the more affluent ones. In my day a girl flirted,
trifled, and even granted her favors for good times and whatever
gifts they would garner. Some became mistresses. And sometimes a
lucky one would land a wealthy husband. Things aren’t all that
different today, Mr. Nilson.”

“
Props change; people don’t,” I
said.

“
That’s correct. Definitely. But
some fail to grasp it.”

“
You say Christine lacked good
judgment. Could you explain?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “A mere impression.
I hope you realize, young man, I was referring to the significance
attached to the cat-and-mouse games adults play—the expectations
created, the demands made, the unspoken but implied boundaries.
Some girls know how far to carry a dalliance. Others don’t, and
carry it way too far. At the very least a heart is broken or
someone’s pride is wounded. At the very worst ….” She thought
for a moment, head cocked to one side, “well … you certainly
look astute enough to figure it out.”

“
You think Christine was killed as
an act of revenge or spite?”

“
Or perhaps
self-protection.”

She picked up the photo of her as a Ziegfeld
beauty. She pointed to the girl behind her on the right—a lovely
and busty specimen.

“
That was my good friend, Sally
Miller. “Sal,” we called her. Sal started off flirting with a
married businessman who stayed in the city weeks at a time. He’d
come see her regularly. Sal and I went out on the town a time or
two with this man and one of his friends. They even took us to
Jersey City, to watch Jack Dempsey bludgeon that poor
Frenchman …. Oh, what
was
his name?”

“
Carpentier.”

“
You had to have been in rompers at
that time. I take it you’re a boxing aficionado.”