Alice Kimberley - The Ghost and the Femme Fatale

"You wouldn't mind if I took a quick look at Sandy 's log book, would you?"

Benny smiled. "Not if you got another hot tip for me from that jockey friend of yours at Aqueduct. You do and she's all yours."

Jack nodded. "I'll ring you inside of a week. And that's a promise."

"Good enough for me." Benny waved his hand. "Come on over to my desk."

Benny rifled through a stack of clipboards and paperwork and found Sandy 's log. "What do you wanna know?" he asked, opening the log book.

Jack pulled out a slender notebook from inside his jacket pocket, riffled backward through some pages.

"First date I'm after is April sixteenth."

Benny's thick finger moved down a page in the log. "Here we are. Shooting wrapped at sunset and the car was signed out by an actor."

Jack frowned. "You let actors borrow these vehicles?"

Benny shrugged. "Part of the perks if you're a principal player. Irving doesn't pay much, you know, so he lets them borrow the studio's cars, as long as they keep them clean and bring them back with the gas tank full."

"Who's the actor that signed it out?"

Benny glanced at the large, bold block letters. "Pierce Armstrong." He frowned. "That's bad luck. I mean, you can't very well talk to him about being a witness to anything when he's already in the hoosegow for a capital crime."

"Check another date for me, would you?" Jack asked.

"Sure."

"May sixth."

Benny nodded. "There was filming early that day, on location in Manhattan. Looks like a principal checked the car out again."

"Who?"

Benny adjusted his glasses, squinted at the small, fluid script. "Pierce Armstrong."

Jack frowned. "But it couldn't have been. Armstrong was taken into custody the night of Vreen's stabbing, which was May fifth."

"That's odd," Benny admitted.

"Then you didn't witness the sign-out yourself?" Jack asked.

"Not when they're on location. You'd have to talk to Sandy or the director, young guy named Delahunt." Benny checked his watch. "Delahunt's somewhere out on Long Island shooting workarounds. Now that Pierce Armstrong's in jail, he's trying to finish the film without him."

"What about Sandy?" Jack asked. "He out on Long Island,

too?"

"Yeah, but not for the same reason. His wife just had a baby girl. He'll be off work for a few days at least."

Jack nodded. "Okay, when will Delahunt be back here then?"

"Tomorrow morning. But I doubt he'll remember what happened that day with the car." Benny shook his head.

"Everyone's pretty frazzled right now with Irving dead and Pierce arrested, and when you're trying to wrap a picture one day just melts into all the others. That's why we keep logs and lists." Benny pointed to the clipboards stacked on his desk.

"I understand," said Jack. "But I'd like to talk to the man anyway. Oh, and one more thing, Benny… "

"Sure, Jack."

"Is Hedda Geist on that picture, too?"

"Of course. She's under contract. Every film she's been in has been a hit for us. No way we'd make a movie without her in a leading role."

"So she's out there on Long Island, too?" Jack asked.

Benny nodded.

"Guess I'll come back tomorrow." Jack smiled. "That is, unless you've got another case for me tonight? How's the security around here since I solved your little problem a year

ago?"

"Tell you what, Jack, you did me a real favor finding that Larry Lightfingers on my staff. Put the fear of God into everybody. We haven't had one more disappearing prop since. The only thing's gone missing in months is a piece of wardrobe, and I'm pretty sure it just got misplaced."

"What was it?" Jack asked.

Benny shrugged. "Just one of Hedda's costumes. The silver gown she wore in Wrong Turn. We had two made exactly alike, 'cause one Hedda wore for the poster and the other we had to rip at the shoulder for the opening sequence. The ripped one we still got. The other one's lost." He waved his hand. "Believe me, Jack, it's no big deal. Nothing we'd need to hire you for. That thing looked expensive on screen, but it was actually pretty cheap goods."

Jack's eyebrow arched, he glanced down at me. "Sounds a little like Hedda herself."

We exited the building and headed back toward Jack's Packard.

"Okay," I said, as we walked by a line of row houses. "What was the DA's mistress doing wearing Hedda's gown? Who gave it to her? And what was Pierce Armstrong doing in a car outside the girl's hotel? Was he sleeping with her, too? Do you suspect this Delahunt character of anything? Or Lester Sanford? And can you trust Benny?"

"Keep your voice down, baby," Jack whispered. "We're being followed."

My eyes widened as I realized Jack already had my back. He'd positioned himself directly behind me, shielding me from any blow or bullet that might come our way.

"What are you going to do?" I whispered.

"Well, I'm not waiting for him to decide," Jack replied. "You see that sharp turn off the sidewalk up ahead?"

"The alley?"

"Turn down it, baby."

"What? Why?"

"Question me again, and the next time I bring you back to my time, your gumshoe work will be limited to typing and filing."

I got the message and kept moving forward. The sidewalk was deserted, the street quiet. The only sound was the click of my heels along the broken concrete. Jack's footsteps were silent as the grave, and apparently so were the steps of the man tail-lng us.

A single car rumbled down the road. It cruised by us quickly. I waited for it to pass and then I turned into the alley.

"Wait up, sweetheart!" Jack called loudly enough for our tail to hear. "What about that kiss you promised me?"

We were between streetlights, so the shadows were pretty thick and the darkness overwhelmed me as I moved farther down the narrow passage. Suddenly, Jack's hot breath grazed my ear. "That's good, baby." His hand pressed my backside. "Keep walking." Then the warmth of his body vanished.

I gnawed my lower lip as I continued walking forward. What I wanted to do was turn around and ask him what he planned on doing. But I knew a good detective wouldn't question his partner in a situation like this. A good shamus would assume his partner had a plan-and trust it.

And that's exactly what I did: I trusted Jack and kept walking. My heels clicked loudly along the alley's cobble-stones, echoing up the walls of brick on either side of us. It smelled rank back here between the buildings, like spoiled food. I bumped a metal garbage can. Farther down the alley, a cat meowed loudly. I heard scurrying. Mice? Rats? I shuddered in the dark but kept going until I heard- Smack! Thwack! Smack!

Fists were hitting flesh behind me. There was a loud grunt, a body fell, and I worried whether Jack was okay. But when I turned around, it was Jack's dark silhouette that was still standing.

I backtracked quickly to get to Jack's side. The man who'd been following us was now crumpled against the alley wall. "Do you know him?" I asked.

Jack shook his head. He crouched low and patted the man down, coming up with two handguns. "Here," he said, shoving one at me and then another. The first was a snub-nosed revolver. The second had a long, narrow barrel. I think it was a German Lugar.

"Whoa, Jack," I said, holding up my palms. "I don't know how to shoot these-"

"Good because I just want you to hold them, okay?"

"Oh, okay." I juggled the weapons, finally getting a firm hold of each gun butt.

Jack noticed my awkward maneuverings. "Fingers off the triggers, okay?"

I vigorously nodded.

Jack turned back to the man. He was groaning now, coming to, and Jack started his interrogation. "Who are you?"

The man shook his head. "Buzz off."

Jack searched the man's pockets, pulled out a wallet, and flipped it open. "Well, well, well… this little license says you're a private dick, just like me… Egbert P. King."