Alice Kimberley - The Ghost and the Femme Fatale

Now the mail carrier's got me wondering…

"What Jack?"

When Grandma Hedda's finally six feet under, what sort of inheritance will Little Miss Harmony get?

"You're saying you suspect her of something?"

I suspect everyone of something, baby. The little miss I suspect of having a motive to off her grandmother. Last night's "accident" with the falling speaker almost flattened Hedda Geist-a dame who treats this girl like a servant, which must chafe, even if the girl doesn't let on. And didn't you just notice Harmony talking to one of Bud's employees?

"Yes, but there's no way Bud Napp could be involved with a murder plot. Not Bud."

Maybe not your auntie's boyfriend, but how well do you know the kid working for him?

"I don't know Dixon at all, except to see him behind the counter at Bud's store."

Well, Harmony seems pretty chummy with him.

"Or it's simply an innocent flirtation-like the big, blond guy who drove up on the black motorcycle."

Either way, I'd say the girl had a motive, and her little friend had the opportunity.

"To do what, Jack?"

To rig that speaker to fall smack on the old diva's noggin, that's what! Pay attention, doll!

"I am paying attention, but nobody's saying that speaker was rigged to fall. We'd need evidence for that."

So go get it. Talk to your aunt Sadie's Buddy boy about it, if you trust him that much. Napp will give you the scoop whether something was hinky.

"Hey, look at that!" Seymour interrupted (not that he knew he was interrupting). He was pointing out a poster on the next block. "C'mon, Pen, let's get a move on. I want a look at that poster."

We strode quickly up the block and Seymour rushed toward a poster that someone had just put up. It advertised the screening of an old Gotham Features movie, Mike O'Bannon of the Sea Witch.

"Sweet!" Seymour said. "I'm a big fan of the Fisherman Detective! What about you, Pen?"

My brow wrinkled. "The what detective?"

"It's a series of movies from the forties, starring stunt-man-turned-actor Pierce Armstrong. He plays a private detective who's also a fisherman."

Fisherman detective? Jack snorted. The gumshoes I knew only had one thing in common with fish-they drank like them.

"Rumor has it Pierce Armstrong's going to be one of the surprise special guests this weekend," Seymour said excitedly. "At least, according to Barry Yello's Web site this morning-"

"Armstrong?!" I couldn't believe it. "Pierce Armstrong is still alive? And he's coming here… to Quindicott?"

Quick, baby, ask Dizzy Dean what he remembers about Act Two of the guy's life.

"Yes, of course!" I turned to Seymour. "Wasn't Pierce Armstrong mixed up in the death of Irving Vreen, the owner of Gotham Studios?"

"Brother, is that an understatement!" Seymour declared. "Tell me what you know."

"He stood trial for manslaughter, and they sent him to prison for five years."

Lucky he didn't get a dime, Jack said. Judges and the public liked red meat back in the day…

"I'm sure the district attorney would have stuck him for murder instead of manslaughter," Seymour went on, "but there was a glitch. Vreen died from a stab wound, but Armstrong didn't actually stab him. I don't know a lot of the specifics-"

"It was Hedda," I blurted out. "Armstrong tripped and fell in a restaurant. He knocked Vreen onto a large steak knife, which Hedda was holding."

Seymour looked at me, puzzled. "How do you know that? I mean, it isn't exactly in the mainstream. The only reason I know about Pierce Armstrong going to prison is because of a bio attached to his filmography in Films of the Forties. That's the only thing in print about the man, as far as I know, and it's been out of print for thirty years."

"Oh… er… someone told me last night-at the theater."

"Well, Armstrong did hard time in Ossining -you might know it better as Sing Sing. And by the time he got out, his star turn was over."

Tell your mailman pal to keep wagging his tongue, Jack urged. He's giving us good gravy.

"So what did Armstrong do?" I asked Seymour. "After he got sprung from Sing Sing."

"Well, people on the East Coast wouldn't hire him, since they still remembered the Vreen murder and held it against him. So Armstrong went back to Hollywood, where he still had friends in the stunt profession. They helped him get back his old career as a stuntman in cowboy pictures. If you know what to look for, you'll see him taking punches or bullets in just about every classic Western, from John Ford's The Searchers to The Gene Autrey Show"

"What about Hedda?" I asked.

Seymour shrugged. "She was never charged with anything, as far as I know. In fact, I'm pretty sure she testified against Armstrong at his trial."

I frowned. That didn't seem right at all. "But she was holding the knife."

Seymour shrugged. "If you're implying that Armstrong was railroaded, I won't argue. He's always been one of my favorite B-movie guys, so I'd be the first one to give him the benefit of the doubt. And Hedda paid another way. With Vreen dead, Gotham Features collapsed and her career was over."

"Did you hear that, Jack?" I silently asked.

I heard, baby. If Hedda set up Vreen for murder, then she simultaneously set up her own career for sudden death.

"Then what possible motive could she have had to kill Vreen?" I quietly wondered. "It must have been a tragic accident…"

"Yeah," Seymour went on, "today's Tramp Pack of starlets and pop divas may thrive on bad-girl publicity, but back then, scandal was heavy baggage. Hedda's ex-boyfriend had been sent to prison for the death of her married lover. It was obviously too much for the public to accept because no studio would touch Hedda after that. But I guess she made out okay, anyway."

"How do you mean?"

"I chatted with Brainert's soda pop academic pal last night-you remember, Dr. Pepper? He told me Hedda lived the life of Riley after her movie career was over. She married Lincoln Middleton, a television executive. When he died, she inherited a ton of money, along with his family's horse farm in Newport." Seymour snorted. "Nice life, if you can steal

it… "

THE MAILMAN AND I arrived at the Cooper Family Bakery to find it mobbed. Dr. Lilly hadn't been exaggerating-the line of customers ran down the block. Some were locals, but most appeared to be festival attendees.

"Look, Pen!" Seymour elbowed me. "A friend of ours is almost up to the counter. C'mon!"

Seymour was fine with cutting the line. Me? I wasn't so comfortable with the dirty looks we were getting until I saw who the "friend of ours" was: Bud Napp.

This is your chance, baby. Wait till Buddy boy's all sweetened up with pastries, then grill him!

"Check!" I told Jack. But Seymour beat me to the lanky hardware store owner.

"Hey, Thor, where's your mighty hammer?"

It was Seymour 's favorite joke with Bud, who used a ball peen hammer to maintain control over the Quindicott Business Owners Association meetings. Bud used to have a real judge's gavel, until someone lifted it. Now he carried his "good-as-a gavel" to and from our meetings on his tool belt.

"Hi, Bud!" I said brightly, hoping to make up for Seymour 's jibe.

"Hello, Pen," Bud said, touching the brim of his Napp

Hardware baseball cap. Then he frowned at Seymour. "Cut the crap, Tarnish. I'm not in the mood."

Seymour 's eyes bulged. "My, we're testy today. What's eating you?"

Bud was silent as he eyed the people around us. "Nothing I care to talk about."

Noting Bud's surly mood, I quickly changed the subject by explaining my plight. Bud immediately offered to help me transport the coffee and pastries back to the bookshop in his hardware store van.