“LC?” Archer said.
“Some people refer to me by my initials,” explained Callahan. “Ellie is a screenwriter. The first movie I worked on here was one of her scripts. It was a United Artists film. Where are you now?”
“Same independent production company as before. We were hired to do the UA screenplay.” She took a moment to light up a Chesterfield from a silver cigarette case she slid from her handbag. Archer noticed her hand shook a bit as she took a drag on the Chesterfield, propelling out the smoke from both barrels of her nose. She shot him a glance before looking away. “I’m working on a script for Columbia as a comeback vehicle for Bette Davis.” She tapped her smoke into the glass ashtray at their table.
Archer gave her a puzzled look. “Wait, Bette Davis needs a comeback film?”
Callahan said, “You stay in this town long enough, everybody needs a comeback film.”
“And All About Eve was two years ago,” interjected Lamb. “Which is twenty years in Hollywood time, at least for women.”
Archer glanced at Callahan, who appeared to take this comment hard. The rest of her sidecar disappeared down her throat.
“I’m actually working on the project with Danny Mars.”
Callahan looked startled. “The director of the B-movie I’m on is doing Bette Davis’s comeback film?”
“Well, he’s attached, for now. Davis will have final approval on the director, of course.”
“Who are you here with, Ellie?”
“Some guy who failed to show up. I don’t think you have that problem.”
The waitress presented Lamb with her glass of sherry and bitters with a curlicue orange peel apparently for window dressing. Archer didn’t know anyone who really drank sherry unless they had to, but he thought he might just be hanging out with the wrong crowd.
“Archer is an old friend from Bay Town, just up the coast. He put his detective work aside for one night to ring in the new year with me.”
Lamb swiveled around and laid a look on Archer that he had seen plenty of times before, just not in that particular shade of jarring green wrapped with framed portholes.
“You’re a detective? A real one?” This almost came out as one word.
“A private one.”
“Private is what I need.”
Callahan said, “Ellie, why in the world do you need a private eye?”
The frog eyes turned on her with steadfast urgency. “Because I think someone might be trying to kill me.”
Chapter 4
Over the years Archer had learned that when someone said they thought another human being was trying to off them, they were either: hating their life and vying for attention; paranoid and beyond the help of someone like a private detective; or someone, indeed, was trying to kill them. With Eleanor Lamb he didn’t know yet if it was one of the three or whether he would learn a new reason.
“What makes you say that?” Archer asked as he nibbled on a handful of peanuts that Chasen’s put on every table. “Have you received any direct threats? And if so, from whom? And why haven’t you gone to the cops with them?”
“Geez, Archer, why don’t you give the lady the third degree or something?” exclaimed Callahan.
“It’s okay,” said Lamb. “Those are all pertinent questions. To answer them, no, I have received no direct threats. So I don’t know who might be behind it. And I don’t want to go to the cops, because it might cost me my job.”
“Why would your boss get mad about that?” asked Archer.
“If someone is trying to kill me, it might put the people I work with in danger.”
“And who do you work for?”
“Green and Ransome Productions.”
“Is there a Green and a Ransome?”
“Bart Green is a prominent producer who’s worked with everybody in town. The firm provides an array of services to the studios. Talent, writers, whatever is needed.”
“But I thought the studios did all that in-house.”
“Mr. Green was a big-time producer with Warners and then at MGM, so he has major connections. He’s got film projects going with pretty much every studio in town.”
“How did Danny Mars get in the loop to direct Davis?” interjected Callahan.
“He and Mr. Green are longtime friends. The old boys’ network, you know.”
“Yeah? Well, I’m waiting for the old girls’ network to kick in,” quipped Callahan.
“And Mr. Ransome?” asked Archer.
“Miss Cecily Ransome is an up-and-coming writer and director.”
“A woman director?” said Archer, glancing at Callahan.
“Girls do direct films, Archer,” said Callahan in a brusque tone.
Archer tacked back to Lamb. “Why exactly do you think someone is after you?”
Lamb took a nervous sip of her sherry and Archer watched an errant drop of it spoil Chasen’s fine table linen. “The first was a weird phone call I got about a week ago, at home. It was someone breathing heavy — a man, I think. It said that I was in danger.”
Archer hiked his eyebrows and lowered his expectations. “You didn’t recognize the voice?” She shook her head. “What else has happened that was weird?” he continued.
“I’ve gotten two hang-ups in the middle of the night. The phone rings and scares the hell out of me, but when I answer it, all I hear is breathing and then... click.”
Archer sat back, his interest waning. “Come on, that just sounds like some drunk or doped-up kids playing around. Next, they’ll be tee-peeing your house.”
“Really? Well, I woke up one morning to find my front door wide open.”
“Any signs that anyone had been in your house?” asked Archer. “Was anything taken, or moved around, or was anything left behind?”
She shuddered. “There was a bloody knife in the kitchen sink.” She paused. “Does that sound like drunk or doped-up boys?”
Archer leaned forward, engaged once more. “Was it one of your knives?”
She nodded. “A paring knife.”
“Where did the blood come from?”
“I have no idea. How could I?” She blinked her green eyes at Archer. “Wait a minute, are you implying that I put the knife there, covered in, what, my own blood! How dare you?”
Her voice had risen as she spoke and people at several tables looked over.
Archer leaned across the table and said in a muted voice, “I’m not implying anything, Miss Lamb. I just wanted to know if you had any ideas. And we don’t have to share your private business with the rest of the town, do we?”
She glanced around and lowered her gaze, and when she next spoke, her voice was barely a whisper. “Well, I don’t have any ideas. And there was a strange car on my street the past few nights. I think there was a man sitting in it.”
“You recognize him or the car?”
She shook her head. “It was a four-door Ford, dark blue I think. It’s hard to tell at night.”
“Okay, look, I think you should go to the cops. It might be nothing, some stupid guy just messing around with you. But it could also be more than that, especially with the knife and the blood. And the police know how to deal with that sort of thing. They can send a radio patrol car around. But tell me, have you broken up with anyone lately? Got any ex-boyfriends with a beef against you? How about the guy who was supposed to show up tonight?”
She shook her head dismissively. “We haven’t known each other long enough for him to get all creepy.”
Callahan added, “Most guys take a little while to work up to pure nasty. It’s Mother Nature’s built-in escape hatch for women. Darn nice of her.”