[Rat Pack 02] - Luck Be a Lady, Don't Die Page 13

  She looked down at her salad as if she was surprised she’d finished it.

  “No, no,” she said, “that was fine. Thank you. Can I pay—”

  “No,” I said, “all part of the service.”

  Thirty-Eight

  AN HOUR LATER WE WERE STILL in the Terrace Room. Her plate had been cleared away and we’d gotten her a cup of tea. I was still getting refills on my java.

  “Can I ask why you have different last names?”

  “Mary said she wanted something less ethnic. I think she just didn’t want the same last name as me.”

  “I don’t know,” Lily said. “I just don’t know who’d want to hurt her.”

  “There must be something she said,” I prodded, “some hint that she knew why someone wanted to kill her.”

  “My sister was very secretive,” she said.

  “But she told you about Frank Sinatra.”

  “She was bragging. She liked to brag.”

  “Why!?”

  “Because she knew my life was boring.”

  “And she liked to rub it in?”

  “What she didn’t understand was that I never craved excitement like she did,” Lily explained. “I like my life the way it is.”

  “What do you do?”

  “I’m a bookkeeper.”

  “I see.” I knew firsthand that was not an exciting life.

  “No,” she said, “you don’t. You live . . . here, with all the lights and the glamour. You’re like her. You can’t understand how I’d be happy with what I have.”

  “I think I can, Lily,” I said, “but that’s not important. What’s important is that you think back over recent conversations with your sister. There’s got to be something she said that would give us a clue about who’s tryin’ to kill her, and why?”

  “You keep saying that, but—”

  “There you are.”

  Danny Bardini stood looking down at us. He was speaking to me, but smiling at Lily. She glanced up at him and immediately touched her hair. That’s how it was with Danny and women—especially good-looking ones.

  “Hey, Danny,” I said. “This is Lily D’Angeli; she’s Mary Clarke’s sister.”

  “Ah,” he said, “nice to meet you, Miss D’Angeli.”

  “Lily, this is Danny Bardini,” I said. “In addition to being a good friend of mine, he’s a private detective who’s helping me look for your sister.”

  “Oh, well, thank you, Mr. Bardini,” she said. I was sure the lilt in her voice was uncontrollable. I’d seen him do that to women before. “Can you join us?”

  “Of course,” he said, pulling out a chair. “I was looking for my friend, here, but I didn’t expect to find him in such lovely company.” She blushed.

  “What’s up, Danny?” I asked.

  “Well, I wish I could tell you I had somethin’ on the girl,” he said, then quickly added, “Sorry, on your sister, Miss D’Angeli.”

  “Please, call me Lily.”

  “What do you have something on, then?” I asked.

  “Dave Lewis,” Danny said. “Looks like he got on the wrong side of some people.”

  “You’re saying maybe his getting killed had nothing to do with Mary?”

  “That’s what I’m sayin’.”

  “Killed?” Lily asked.

  Danny looked at me.

  “When I told you we found where your sister was hiding I didn’t tell you the whole story, Lily,” I said. “The man who was hiding her got killed.”

  “Oh, God ...” She picked up a napkin and began shredding it.

  “Now it looks like it might not have had anything to do with your sister.”

  “You mean ... it was just a coincidence?”

  “Could be,” Danny said.

  I told Danny that we had a man watching the Western Union office where Lily had sent Mary money.

  “She probably won’t go near it,” he said. “Too scared.”

  “How would she get money, then?”

  Danny and I exchanged a glance. There were a lot of ways a blond babe could make money in Las Vegas.

  “Maybe she’d panhandle,” Danny said, picking the lesser evil. “You know, beg on the street?”

  “Oh no,” she said, “Mary would never do that.”

  I knew Danny and I were wondering the same thing—did Lily really know what her sister might do if she was desperate enough?

  “Listen, I forgot to give this back,” Danny said. He pulled the photo from his pocket and was about to hand it over when he looked at it. He froze, then looked at Lily.

  “Yes, I know,” she said.

  “We already went through this,” I told him, taking the photo.

  “Eddie, you haven’t told me why you’re so interested in helping my sister?” Lily asked. “I mean, initially, how did you become involved?”

  “I thought I might have told you that on the phone,” I said. “I was, uh, asked to see if she was okay when she was, uh, unreachable.”

  “ ‘Unreachable?’ Oh, you mean, when he couldn’t get her on the phone?”

  “Yes.” I told her how I went to the hotel, got into her room and what I found there. Then we told her about Dave Lewis, and how we figured they must have hooked up.

  “Poor Mary,” she said, when I was done. “Not only is someone trying to kill her, but she ends up being helped by a man somebody wants to kill.”

  “Where’s big Jerry?” Danny asked.

  “Playing horses.”

  “Jerry?”

  “Another friend of mine is helping out.”

  “My,” she said. “Mary has all these men trying to find her and help her.”

  “And you,” Danny said. “Don’t forget she has you.”

  “I’m afraid I won’t be very much help,” she said. “I’ll probably just be in the way, but I had to fly out here.”

  Danny put his hand on hers, stopping her from further tearing an already destroyed napkin.

  “I’m sure you’ll be very helpful,” he said.

  “I can’t see how.”

  “Well,” he said, “if we get in touch with her maybe she’ll come in because you’re here.”

  “How will we get in touch with her?”

  “There’s only one person in town she’ll call, if she gets desperate enough.”

  “That singer?” she asked, with distaste.

  Danny looked at me. I knew what he was thinking. Maybe not liking Sinatra was the only flaw she had.

  “I want to ask him about it,” I said, looking at my watch, “but I’m due to go and talk to the police.”

  “The police?”

  “About Dave Lewis,” I said. “Jerry and I have to go and talk to Detective Hargrove. Danny, would you see Lily back to her room?” I looked at her. “Or would you like to gamble a bit? I can arrange—”

  “Oh, no,” she said, quickly, “I’m not a gambler.”

  “How about a show?” I asked before I could stop myself.

  “No, thank you. I think I’d just like to go to my room and get some rest. I’d also like to be there in case something ... happens?”

  “We’ll make sure you know everything that happens,” Danny said, “Won’t we, Eddie?”

  “We sure will, partner.”

  I signed the check and we left together.

  “I’ve got to go get Jerry,” I said. “Lily, I’ll call you as soon as I get back. Danny?”

  “I’ll keep Lily company.”

  Not in her room, I thought as they walked to the elevators. Unless I missed my guess. I thought Lily was just a little too prudish for Danny to be able to work all his magic on her.

  Thirty-Nine

  DETECTIVE HARGROVE did not have an office of his own so he took us into an interview room. I could see Jerry was very uncomfortable.

  Hargrove sat across from us while his partner, Gorman, stood leaning against a wall with his arms folded across his chest.

  “Your buddy Dave Lewis is dead,” Hargrove said.

  �
�I’m sorry to hear it.”

  “But this isn’t the first time you’re hearing it, is it?”

  “No,” I admitted, “I knew it before we came in here.”

  “How?”

  I shrugged. “Word gets around.”

  “No,” Hargrove said, “I want to know exactly who told you.”

  “Jack Entratter,” I said, without hesitation. No harm there. It was Jack who arranged for us to come to Hargrove instead of the other way around.

  “And you didn’t know before he told you?”

  “No.”

  “What about you?”

  Jerry inclined his head towards me and said, “He told me.” Hargrove stared at Jerry, who glared right back.

  “You didn’t walk in here with a gun, did you, big guy?” Hargrove asked.

  “I got a permit.”

  “See if he’s got his gun on him,” Hargrove told his partner. Gorman left his position against the wall and approached Jerry, who stood and raised his arms. Gorman patted him down.

  “He’s clean.”

  “Why didn’t you just say so?” Hargrove asked.

  “And ruin your fun?”

  “Wise guy.”

  Jerry didn’t respond. In fact, he might have taken the remark as a compliment.

  Hargrove looked at me.

  “Do you know if Dave Lewis had a woman living with him?”

  “I didn’t know him that well.”

  “You don’t know if he liked women?”

  “Oh, he liked women,” I said. “I just don’t know if he lived with one.

  “Well, we found some women’s things in his apartment,” Hargrove said.

  “Clothes? Makeup? Those kinds of things?”

  “Yeah, those kinds of things. We think maybe that’s where the missing woman, Mary Clarke, was.”

  “So you don’t think she’s dead?”

  “On the run maybe,” he said. “Not dead, although she seems to be leaving dead men in her wake.”

  “In her wake?” I asked. “You should be a writer, not a cop.”

  He stared at me.

  “Maybe she left a dead man behind in her hotel room,” I said, “but you can’t prove she was ever in Dave’s place.”

  “That’s true.”

  I was waiting for Hargrove to ask me the question he hadn’t asked yet, the one where I’d either have to lie or give up Frank Sinatra’s name. But he didn’t ask, and I wondered if that was Jack Entratter’s doing?

  “Eddie, you got anything on this missing girl?” Hargrove asked.

  “Like what?”

  “Like I know you and your friend Bardini are looking for her,” he said. “You got any leads?”

  I thought about denying I was looking for her, but that would’ve been foolish.

  “No, we’ve got nothing,” I said. “If she was with Dave Lewis I wish I’d known about it.”

  “Your high roller hasn’t heard from her?”

  “Not a peep.”

  “Bet he’s glad.”

  “Why?”

  “All these bodies, that’s a lot of scandal,” Hargrove said. “He wouldn’t want to have to deal with all that, would he?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” I said. “I’m just supposed to see what I can do to help find the girl.”

  “Well, you keep doing that, Eddie,” he said. “You and big Jerry, here. See, we’re just a bunch of dumb cops and we need all the help we can get.”

  “Hey,” I said, standing up, “that’s why we came down here. To help.”

  Jerry stood up with me.

  “If there’s anything else we can do for you, let us know,” I said. “Are we free to go?”

  “Sure, why not?” Hargrove asked. “Get out of here.”

  We headed for the door.

  “One more thing,” Hargrove called out.

  We stopped and turned.

  “Where were you when Dave Lewis was getting himself killed?”

  “Am I supposed to know when that was without you telling me?” I asked.

  Hargrove stared at me, then waved a hand dismissively and said, “Get the hell out of here.”

  * * *

  Outside the building I asked Jerry, “Where the hell is your gun?”

  “In your car.”

  “In my car?” I asked. “My car that’s parked in front of a police station?”

  “Relax,” he said. “They ain’t gonna search your car. They only frisked me to piss me off.”

  When we got to the car he sat behind the wheel and I got into the shotgun seat—no pun intended.

  “Where is it?” I asked.

  “Glove compartment.”

  He started to reach and I said, “Not here, for Chrissake.”

  He gave me a pitying look, as if he felt sorry for me because I was so nervous. I didn’t tell him that he’d looked pretty uncomfortable in there, himself.

  Forty

  GEORGE JACOBS AND I had talked once or twice, but never about Mary Clarke. I asked Jerry how much of Frank’s business he thought George knew.

  “Most of it,” he said, “maybe all. He’s on the inside, so he hears everything. Why?”

  “I think I want to talk to him about this whole missing girl thing.”

  “George ain’t got nothin’ ta do with it,” Jerry said. “I can guarantee that.”

  “How?”

  “He’s loyal to Mr. S.”

  “That may be,” I said, “but it also may be he’s heard something he doesn’t even know he heard.”

  Jerry shook his head and said, “I don’t think you’ll get nothin’ outta him.”

  “Well, we’ve got a little over forty-eight hours before the premier,” I said. “I think Frank wants this off his mind by then, and the only way that’s going to happen is if we find the girl.”

  “I still don’t think you’re gonna get nothin’ from him,” Jerry said, “but I guess it don’t hurt ta ask.”

  Jerry called Frank’s suite from the lobby. Frank wasn’t there, but George was. Jerry told him we were coming up.

  George Jacobs was a handsome black man whose age was hard to gauge. There was some salt in his black hair, so my best guess would have put him about the same age as Frank.

  “Mr. Sinatra won’t be back for a while,” he told us as we entered. “He’s rehearsing.”

  “That’s okay, George,” I said. “I wanted to talk to you.”

  “To me, sir?”

  “That’s right. Why don’t you sit down?”

  “Sit down?” George asked, looking puzzled. I wondered when the last time was that someone invited him to sit down. “But. . . can I get you something, sir? A drink?”

  “Jerry can get us all something,” I said. “How about it, Jerry?”

  “Sure,” Jerry said, moving towards the bar. “Whataya have?”

  “Oh ... I couldn’t do that, sir,” George said, still standing.

  “Come on, George,” I said. “You mean to tell me you don’t have a little sip when Frank’s not around?”

  “I don’t drink Mr. S.’s stock, sir,” George said, stiffly.

  “Hey, George,” I said, “come on, I was just kidding. Seriously, have a seat. I’ve got some questions I want to ask you, and I think you know that Frank—Mr. Sinatra—would want you to answer them.”

  “That would depend on what they are, sir,” he said, but finally sat down on the edge of an armchair.

  I heard Jerry open a beer and waved one off. He stood behind the bar and drank his.

  “George, you’re Frank’s Man Friday, aren’t you?” I asked.

  “I prefer the term ‘valet,’ sir.”

  “As his valet then, how much do you know about what goes on in your boss’s life?”

  “I assume everything, sir.”

  “Does anybody really know everything?”

  “I do, sir,” he said, proudly.

  “Good, then you know all about Mary Clarke?”

  “It wouldn’t be right for me to answer that, sir.
”

  I knew this wouldn’t go well if I couldn’t loosen him up a bit.

  “George,” I said, “Frank has asked me for my help. You know that, right?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then that means he wants you to help me.”

  “That would depend, sir.”

  I looked over at Jerry.

  “You want me to beat it outta him?” he asked.

  George looked concerned—not scared, but definitely concerned.

  “No, Jerry,” I said. “Nobody’s getting beat up.”

  Jerry shrugged, as if he could care less, and drank some more beer.

  “George, I’m just gonna have to ask you straight out: do you know anything about the disappearance of Mary Clarke?”

  “No, sir, I do not.”

  I was pleasantly surprised by his answer. No more beating round the bush.

  “Do you know if she’s spoken to Frank since the night she disappeared?”

  “Not to my knowledge, sir.”

  “But you said you knew everything.”

  “If she and Mr. S. have spoken since that night, I believe I would know it, sir.”

  “Even if Mr. Sinatra was being extra careful with this girl?” I asked.

  George frowned. “And why would that be, sir?”

  Did I want to say Giancana’s name to George? Actually, I didn’t want to say it to anyone.

  “Juliet Prowse, for one.”

  He still hadn’t admitted he knew anything about Frank and Mary Clarke.

  “Miss Prowse will be coming to the premier, sir,” he said, instead. “She will be on Mr. S.’s arm. That is all I know.”

  That was all he was saying.

  “Okay, George,” I said. “You’re loyal to Mr. Sinatra. I understand that.”

  “Thank you, sir.” He looked over at Jerry, as if he thought I might still unleash the big man on him.

  “Jerry, let’s go.”

  “He ain’t admitted nothin’,” Jerry said.

  “That’s okay,” I said. “We’re done here.”

  Jerry shrugged, left the remainder of his beer on the bar for George to clear away, and followed me out into the hallway.

  “I told you he didn’t know nothin’.”

  “He’s just not saying, Jerry,” I said. “It’s not the same thing.”

  We walked to the elevator. Once inside and on the way down I asked, “Would you have beaten it out of him if I told you to?”