I cleared my throat, trying my best to ignore the realness of Jack's hard thigh against my tweed-covered bottom, the faint male smell of undiluted whiskey on his breath when he spoke. I reminded myself that this was all a dream; warned myself not to get carried away. But the truth was, there hadn't been a man in my life for years. Even when I'd been married to Calvin, he hadn't exactly been an attentive, supportive husband. Not that a ghost could be a replacement for a husband, but I had to admit that Jack's spirit was a good companion, and a good friend. And right at this moment, what he was doing to me felt pretty darn good, too.
I knew what some people would say to that. They'd accuse me of wanting to live in a dream world. But then I considered the store I was running-and what I was selling. What were all those books providing to the people who read them?
"Baby? What's wrong? You goin' buggy on me?"
"I was just thinking that I liked being here… with you."
"It's all we've got, sweetheart. Don't overthink it. Dreams are a gift, you know? You should just enjoy them."
I turned around to meet Jack's eyes. "You enjoy them, too, don't you?"
Jack stopped massaging my neck. His hard face smiled. "What do you think?"
I smiled, too. Then I turned around again. "I think you missed a spot."
Jack's hands returned to my shoulders. "So? Back to Barry and your little block party… "
"Right. According to Barry Yello, Hedda had been holding court at a picnic table all evening. Apparently, she never returned to the Finch Inn after the showing of Tight Spot. Just went straight to the party on the Commons. And her granddaughter, Harmony, had been hanging close with her all evening."
"Uh-huh. And what did that tell you?"
I detected contained amusement in Jack's voice, and sure enough when I turned my head, I found the PI smirking. He was obviously entertained by my gumshoeing tale.
"What it told me, Jack, was that if Harmony dropped that earring under the Movie Town stage, and she never went back to her hotel room to drop off its match, then I was likely to find that earring on Harmony herself."
"And did you?"
"No. I did manage to search her handbag though."
Jack's fingers stilled. "You're kidding?"
"Nope. Seymour Tarnish helped. He distracted her and I grabbed her bag, riffled through it, and returned it without her knowing. No earring. And she didn't have any pockets on her skintight dress, but I did find something very interesting inside that purse."
Jack sat up straighter. "Spill."
"A pack of condoms and three bottles of prescription medications from three different doctors."
"Well, well, well." Jack's eyebrows arched. "Keeping party favors and candy in her handbag tells me that she's the type who wants to be ready for anything-if not any man. Just like her grandmother. Guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tart."
"I think the girl's got major problems," I said. "And she's clearly having sex with a boyfriend."
"Or boyfriends, plural-one or more of whom might be willing to help her get rid of her granny, so she can inherit a fortune."
"Or part of one."
"Nice work, baby."
I could see that Jack meant it. The smirk was gone. He seemed genuinely impressed. Without taking his long, strong legs off the coffee table, he leaned forward to reach for his tumbler of whiskey.
"And what about Pierce Armstrong?" he asked.
I frowned. "What about him?"
"Didn't you brace him at the party, too?"
"Unfortunately, he didn't go to the party. I cornered Wendell Pepper, though. He told me Pierce was so exhausted that he asked for a ride back to his house. Pepper took him before returning to the block party."
"I see." Jack took a sip of alcohol then held the glass out for me. "Go on, it won't kill you."
I took the glass, sipped a little. I wasn't a drinker of straight hard liquor, but I was curious what Jack's dream-whiskey would taste like. "Ack!" I coughed. The liquid burned all the way down my throat.
Jack laughed. "It's a cinch, baby. You're even a Square Jane in your sleep."
"But you have to admit," I rasped, finishing my coughing fit. "I'm getting to be a good detective awake."
"Jury's still out on that one, doll. So what about that question I had for Dean Pepper-did you remember to ask it?"
I nodded, handing Jack back his tumbler of firewater. "Hedda's silver evening gown from Wrong Turn. I asked him about it, all right. Lucky for us, Pepper's practically an encyclopedia of trivia about every piece of memorabilia he collects. And do you know what he said about Hedda's old costume?"
"Not unless you tell me."
"He said that he bought it at an auction from a relative of the actress Willow Brody, also known as Wilma Brody. Wilma changed her name when she moved from Queens to Hollywood. It didn't help her career much. She could only ever get bit parts in big pictures, and then she died in 1966."
"Why does that year ring a bell? It's not like I was alive to remember it."
"It's the same year Hedda Geist said some journalist started digging around, trying to piece together the real story about Irving Vreen's death."
"And Willow Brody died that same year? That's awfully coincidental, baby, don't you think?"
"I'll tell you what's even more coincidental."
"What's that?"
"According to Dr. Pepper, Wilma Brody died from a fall while horse back riding in the Hollywood hills."
"Horseback riding?" said Jack. "And didn't Hedda Geist tell you that she rides horses, too?"
I nodded. "She owns a horse farm in Newport. Said she still rides two hours a day."
"But she used to live in Los Angles with her husband, the TV executive. Think she was riding horses in California back in '66?"
"I glanced over my shoulder. "To quote Jack Shepard…'I'd bet the ranch, if I had a ranch.' "
Jack sat fully up, sweeping his legs off the coffee table. "One more question, sweetheart. Did ol' Dean Pepper happen to mention what age Wilma Brody was when her ticket got punched?"
"Actually, yes. He said she was young when she died, only thirty-three."
"Thirty-three in sixty-six. You know what that makes her in forty-eight?"
"Fifteen?"
"Jailbait. That's what that makes her."
Jack stood up from the sofa, began to pace the small living room. "That means District Attorney Nathan Burwell could have been blackmailed because he was committing statutory rape with the girl. The pieces are coming together now. At fifteen, Wilma Brody was a young Gotham Features actress. Dollars to donuts, she was just a poor little nobody like Hedda once was. Young Wilma probably worshipped Hedda Geist, the studio's biggest star. She would have done whatever Hedda asked."
"So you believe Hedda persuaded fifteen-year-old Wilma to seduce New York 's district attorney?"
"Yeah, baby." Jack nodded. "Somewhere down the line Hedda must have discovered that Burwell had a weakness for jailbait, so she set out to trap him using Wilma Brody. I doubt very much a girl like Wilma, working at a low-rent studio at the age of fifteen, would have had much in the way of prospects or wardrobe. Hedda probably gave the girl promises of bigger parts in her movies, gave her pretty dresses to wear on her dates with Burwell, more payoff for doing her bidding-"
"Including that slinky silver gown Wilma wore to the Porter-house the night Vreen was murdered!"
"Exactly."
"What about the car?" I asked. "The gull-gray Lincoln Continental cabriolet? How does that fit in?"
"Easy. When I saw that car parked outside the Hotel Chester the first night I tailed Burwell and his chippy, I saw silhouettes of a man and woman inside. It must have been Hedda and Pierce Armstrong, waiting for Wilma, watching to see if she could get the DA up to her room. Using the studio's car was smart. Since it wasn't registered with either of them, someone would really have to dig to connect Hedda or Pierce with the license plate."