"This way," Gable said, moving past a high-mantled fireplace to a door he pushed open.
We stepped into Gable's gun room; one wall, maybe thirty feet long, was lined with rifles.
"Expecting an attack on Encino?" I asked.
"Not if I can help it," he said soberly, putting the rifle he had been holding into a rack.
There were lounge chairs and built-in couches in the room but no signs of unwelcome guests.
We marched through a powder room, a maid's room, and an office with yellow walls before making our way upstairs. Two bedrooms, no guest room.
"My suite," he said, pointing through an open door.
The carpet was clean and white.
The first room was brown and beige; the centerpiece was a double bed with a brown-leather headboard. The second room was a kind of study with a small bar and built-in bookcases.
"Desks against the wall," he said, pointing. "Antique, pine, a gift from Selznick, prop from Gone With the Wind."
The beige-marble bathroom was pretty fancy but it had no tub, just a shower in one corner.
We left the suite and when we stepped into the corridor, he pointed to a door and said with a sigh "Ma's suite."
He opened the door for me but didn't follow me inside Carole Lombard's bedroom. The room looked as if it had just been cleaned. It had the same carpeting as that in Gable's suite, but that's where the similarity ended. Her bed was a four-poster with a billowy cover. There were white throw rugs on the floor, and near the window stood a full-sized harp. The bathroom and mirrored dressing room were white marble with white fur on the floor and a crystal chandelier on the ceiling.
"House looks clean," I said, coming back into the corridor. Gable nodded and started down the stairs.
He led me back to the gun room, where he picked up the rifle he had recently fired, found some oil and rags and a cleaning box, and sat.
"Used to be rilled with life," he said. "Stray cats, dogs. People. You're sitting in Fred MacMurray's favorite chair. Man knew how to laugh. I wonder if he still does."
I kept my mouth shut.
"What now?" he said.
"We could listen to the radio," I suggested, nodding at a tabletop Philco.
He got up, turned it on, and we listened to "Big Sister" and "The Goldbergs." Solomon Goldberg was planning to join the army and Molly was taking the news with pathos and patriotism.
Gable didn't seem to listen. He was lost in getting the rifle as shiny as his spit-polished shoes.
"You married, Peters?" Gable asked finally as he closed his cleaning box.
"Not now," I said.
He nodded knowingly.
"Your fault? Hers? Nobody's?"
"Mine," I said. "Anne wanted me to grow up. I didn't want to."
"What happened to her?"
"Married again. Lost her husband. I keep trying to convince her that I can act my age, but she won't buy it."
"Should she?"
"No," I said.
"Had one happy year here, Peters," Gable said, looking around the gun room. "And then…"
The phone rang.
It was in the corner on an area table near the door. Gable walked over and picked it up on the third ring.
"Yes… who is this?… no, we haven't figured… how did you get this number?"
I was out of my chair and standing in front of Gable, whose eyes met mine.
"Him?" I mouthed.
Gable confirmed with a nod as he listened. I held out my hand for the phone. Gable handed it to me.
"… your idea that she fly, your idea that she go across the country selling stamps and bonds. You killed your own wife as surely as you killed… are you listening, hero?"
"I'm listening," I said.
"Peters. I want Gable back."
Gable stood, hands at his sides, serious eyes searching my face.
"Why?"
"Because I want him to suffer the way he made my father suffer before he died."
"I hate to repeat myself here but why do you want him to suffer? What do you think he did?"
"Killed my father," the man said. "Took away his only chance at recognition. He'll pay, Peters. And so will you and everyone who was there when…"
"When?…"
"What you want to know doesn't mean crap to me, Peters. Since you're out in Encino, I guess you haven't figured out my directions to the next victim."
"I'm working on it," I said.
"I'm going to hang up now, and go kill K.G. You aren't too bright, Peters."
"No," I admitted. "But I don't give up. I never give up. So, hang up, don't hang up, call again, or keep your mouth shut. Sometime I'll tap you on the shoulder and make a hole in your face when you turn around."
"Good-bye, Peters," he said and broke the connection.
I handed the phone to Gable, who hung it up.
"You know what I think," said Gable, folding his arms. "I think he's a fan of my dead wife, that he blames me for her death and…"
"He said you killed his father," I interrupted.
"His father? Who the hell is his father?"
I shrugged and the phone rang again. This time I picked it up.
"Yes," I said.
"Toby," said Gunther. "There are seven people with the initials K.G. who worked on Gone With the Wind in some capacity. Miss Stoltz has been very helpful in tracking them down quickly. Two of the people are now in the armed services, stationed in the South Pacific. Three are definitely out of the state of California. One is working in a play now in Cleveland. Another is in New York City. The fifth is a Negro woman named Kate Greenway who seems to be impossible to find, though word has it that she has returned to her family in Mississippi. This leaves Karen Gilmore, an extra, and Karl Albert Gouda, also an extra."
"You know where these people are, Gilmore and Gouda?"
"I have addresses and phone numbers for both," Gunther said.
I pulled out my notebook and took the information.
"On the other question, I am afraid I have found little. Lionel Varney was on the payroll. No home address. Access to security files for Selznick International was made possible by Miss Stoltz. But there appears to be no record of the mishap in 1938. It seems there was a fire…"
"And security records were destroyed. Good work, Gun-ther," I said.
"Miss Stoltz is a remarkable woman," Gunther said.
"You can go home now, Gunther. Thanks."
"I made a complimentary remark concerning Miss Stoltz," Gunther said.
"I heard."
"I would like to take the liberty of inviting Miss Stoltz to dinner," he said.
"Invite away," I said as Gable grew clearly impatient.
"I have a sense, however, that she harbors certain feelings, expectations related to you," he said.
"Steal her from me, Gunther. With my blessing."
"You don't think it would be disloyal to Gwen if I simply…"
"No," I said. "I've got to try to prevent a murder, Gunther."
"I'm sorry," he said sincerely.
I said good-bye and hung up.
"Two possibles," I said to Gable, placing another call as I laid my open notebook in front of me on the table.
"I'll take one of them," Gable said, holding out his hand. "You can't be in two places at once."
I held up a finger as Alice PaJlis answered on the second ring.
'Toby," I said. "Is Jeremy there?"
"It's creation tune," Alice said seriously.
Creation time took place in the afternoon. Jeremy sat quietly for about two hours waiting to be kicked in the imagination by a muse. She showed up about once a week to torture him.
"Okay," I said. "When creation time is over, will you ask him to come to this address."
I gave her Gable's address hi Encino.
"And what does he do when he gets there?" Alice asked.