I found O’Leary sitting on a divan reading a newspaper. All I could see of her were her legs, but I’d know them any place, any time. Bar none, they are the most gorgeous legs in Hollywood. They are an argument for slacks on all other women. I ogled them fondly until a dowager sitting nearby cleared her throat disapprovingly. Maggie lowered the paper.
“Why, Margaret,” I exclaimed. “I didn’t know it was you behind that paper. I’ve been searching the whole lobby for you.”
“Ever since twelve o’clock?” she said coldly. “You are a stinkin’ liar, Willie. You’ve probably been chasing a blonde.”
I had a fast answer for that one on the tip of my tongue, but I held it. It could only lead to trouble. I sat down on the divan beside her. “What’s in the news?”
She opened the paper up again, cutting off the dowager’s view, so I gave her a kiss on the cheek. She blushed all over her pretty Irish face. “Not here!” she said. “Behave, Willie. I want you to read about the burglary at Lida Randolph’s.”
“I read it,” I told her. “For breakfast. What about it?”
“There might be a job for you!” she said impatiently. “Or have you quit the detective business since you made a couple of hundred dollars?”
“Eleven hundred and eighteen dollars,” I said indignantly. “The only thing I’ve quit is taking any business from movie stars. From here in I’m legitimate.”
“Are you already working on something?”
“I’ve got a client — in East Peoria — but I need help on it. I’ll tell you about it while we’re having lunch.” We got up and left the lobby, with the dowager shaking her head sadly at O’Leary for letting herself get picked up so brazenly.
While we waited for the waiter to bring our shrimp salad, I reread the letter from Doctor Henry Bressette. I’d given it only a glance when it came in the morning’s mail because it didn’t sound like a big fee, and anyhow it was more in O’Leary’s line. The doctor wanted a confidential report on a Felix DeCoudre, a movie producer, and as O’Leary used to be a fan magazine writer, she’d probably know all about him.
It was an oddly worded letter, I noted now, reading it aloud to O’Leary, very guarded and reticent but with an undercurrent that I couldn’t quite grasp. Or maybe I was imagining it all. One sentence seemed significant: “Anything unusual or questionable concerning this man I would like to have immediately, in advance of your complete report. Please contact me at once if you learn anything of a disturbing nature...”
He ended the letter with the explanation that he’d come across my name in a syndicated movie column. He said, too, that he would be happy to pay my regular fee for a job of this kind. That made us both happy.
“If he’s connected with the movies,” I told O’Leary casually, “you’ll do a better job anyway. Why don’t you rack your brain and then whip up a long report on DeCoudre. We’ll charge the good doctor twenty-five dollars or so. You’ll be doing me a favor, Maggie.”
“Stop being subtle, Willie,” she said. “You’re trying to lend me money again. Are you afraid I’m not eating regularly?”
“Somebody has got to worry about that,” I said. “And if you won’t borrow money, you can work for it. I can’t stand skinny girls anyhow.”
She got out a handkerchief and blew her nose. Her long black eyelashes blinked rapidly. “You’ll have my mascara running, baby. It didn’t occur to me you were really worrying. When I... I think of a big oaf who doesn’t know enough to come in out of the rain worrying about me, I get all s-squishy inside!”
The waiter brought our lunch before she broke down and blubbered. I said kindly: “I do that to all women. Killer Carmody I was known as in my younger days. You either got it or you haven’t.”
“Like dandruff,” O’Leary said tartly, her old sweet self again. “DeCoudre used used to be a big producer with Coronet. He got into a mess two or three years ago and dropped out of the picture business. That’s about all I know.”
“What was the mess?”
She shook her head. “Something about a girl who died at a party — I never heard any of the details. It was hushed up... Give me a nickel. I’ll get the details.”
I gave her the nickel. “I’ll put it on the expense account.”
She was gone about ten minutes and she had a thoughtful look on her face when she came back. “This might be harder than I thought. The girl who died was named Elaine Jordan, but I couldn’t find out anything more than that about her. DeCoudre’s contract expired a few months after her death and Coronet dropped him like a bar of soap in a shower. I guess it took all his money to get it taken care of. There were no charges laid, but no other studio would touch him after that. He’s supposed to be all washed up in this town.”
“Supposed to be?” I asked.
“Well, there’s been rumors of his making a comeback with an independently produced picture. Of course there’re always rumors like that, but I think there might be something in it this time. It comes from a pretty good source. And recently he’s opened an office on Vine Street.”
“None of that sounds like it would interest a doctor in East Peoria,” I pointed out. “He wouldn’t have any connection with the Jordan girl or he wouldn’t have waited this long to investigate it. What do you think?”
“I think you ought to forget it and go to work,” O’Leary said flatly. “I got my information from Lida Randolph, and I casually mentioned the matter of the burglary. She wants you to get in touch with her.”
“I wouldn’t get close enough to the lady to touch her with a ten-foot pole. Figuratively speaking, of course. She’s a well-turned bit of femininity.”
“If you care for the middle-aged type,” O’Leary said coldly. “The first movie I was allowed to see as a child, she was in it.”
“She carries her age well. But I’ll forget about her, if you insist.”
“Well, I don’t insist! It’s a job, and a good one. She told me she’d lost two fur coats and a lot of other stuff. She’d pay plenty to get that back.”
“Baby, I’ve already got more money than brains.” I got up. “I just remembered — I’ve got to make a phone call, too.” I knew that she’d browbeat me into taking the job unless I got busy on something else. And Bressette might consider, this information disturbing enough to want to know about it immediately. Maybe I could promote the doctor into retaining me on something big that had nothing to do with movie stars. With that thought in my busy little brain, I put in a long distance call to East Peoria, Illinois.
Chapter Two
Hollywood Headlights
Doctor Bressette sounded like a nice, small town physician; in a quiet, grave voice he thanked me for being so prompt with my services and so thoughtful as to phone him. I told him what O’Leary had known about Felix DeCoudre.
After a moment’s silence, he said: “I see. I was afraid it would be bad, but not this bad. Mr. Carmody, I... I need some additional help. Would you consider handling another matter for me?”
I told him I thought I could.
“It has to do with my daughter, Laurie. She’s in Hollywood now, has been there for seven months. Recently I learned she was employed by a concern with a very doubtful reputation. In her letters she said she was working for this man DeCoudre...”
Laurie, it seemed, had come to Hollywood to — naturally — break into pictures. Apparently, she was an adopted daughter, spoiled and headstrong, with a surefire device of always getting her own way. All she’d had to do was suggest that if she were their own daughter she would be permitted to go to Hollywood. Bressette didn’t say that — in fact, I didn’t think he was aware that she even used the gag. But Laurie came to Hollywood.