Alice Kimberley - The Ghost and the Femme Fatale

Virginia purpled. "I used to live here," she cried with a toss of her head. "I know where the front door is."

Maggie's eyes locked with hers. "Then use it."

With a huff, Virginia Pepper whirled on her flats and strode to the exit. All of a sudden she stumbled, awkwardly careening right into the closed door, her Botoxed forehead hitting the wood with a sharp thump. With a string of curses that would have made the Fisherman Detective blush, she opened it, stormed out, and slammed the door behind her.

Oops, said Jack. Guess there was a wrinkle in the carpet that wasn't there before.

"Jack! What did you do?"

I let her go, like you asked, doll. Right into the front door.

"Well, that was pleasant," Maggie said, her eyes dancing with amusement.

"Now you see why I'm a bachelor," Seymour said.

Maggie glanced at her wristwatch and faced Brainert. "Could you give me a lift to the Movie Town? It's a nice walk, but I'm running late."

"Of course," Brainert replied. "Are you rushing to catch a film?"

"No," she said, with a raised eyebrow. "I want to be there for Hedda Geist's appearance. It's scheduled right after Pierce Armstrong's. If she arrives on time, the two of them will finally meet after all these years. Now that would be something worth seeing, don't you agree?"

We all did agree. And as Maggie ran around, looking for her keys and handbag, I moved toward the house's vestibule. With the front door closed, I noticed an alcove off the entryway that I hadn't seen on our way in. It was the sort of recessed niche where a homeowner would typically display an antique grand-father clock. But there was no clock here.

A thin, rectangular glass case the height of a coffin occupied the space. Inside it hung a full-length evening gown, clearly a preserved piece of wardrobe. I moved closer, my eyes widening, as I realized the dress was made of shimmering silver satin. It had a plunging neckline and a tiny bow at the bodice.

"Jack, I can't believe it," I whispered. "It's the silver gown from Wrong Turn, the one that wasn't ripped at the shoulder!"

The one that turned up on Wilma Brody the night Irving Vreen was stabbed to death. Yeah, baby, I can see that. I just have one question.

"You don't have to tell me, Jack. I have the same question."

Good. Then maybe you can ask Wendell Pepper where the hell he found Hedda Geist's missing gown.

AN EXPLOSION OF laughter followed by a burst of applause greeted our ears the moment we entered the lobby of the Movie Town Theater. The noise came from inside the auditorium, where Pierce Armstrong was speaking to a boisterous crowd of loyal fans.

Brainert's grin stretched from one ear to the other. "Sounds like a packed house," he crowed.

"Sounds like Pierce Armstrong is on stage right now," Seymour cried, racing ahead of us.

Maggie Kline laughed. "That guy is really into the Fisherman Detective thing."

" Seymour is a particularly odd individual," Brainert muttered.

Maggie smiled. "In Hollywood, he'd fit right in."

"Mr. Parker! Mr. Parker, sir…" A tall young man was waving Brainert over to the concession stand. He wore a white cap and white shirt with MOVIE TOWN THEATER emblazoned across the pocket in bold red letters.

Brainert frowned. "Excuse me. Our head of concessions is calling me. I'm afraid I have some important managerial business to attend to."

"Thank goodness you're here, Professor Parker," the young man called, "we're almost out of Raisinets again!"

Brainert glanced unhappily at me. "I'll join you shortly."

As he headed to the stand, Maggie and I followed Seymour into the crowded auditorium. On the way I glanced at the gold-framed bulletin board, where the day's schedule of events was posted.

Hedda Geist had appeared on stage earlier in the day for a Q &A with Barry Yello. She was due to speak again in less than fifteen minutes, providing a short personal introduction to Tight Spot, another of her Gotham Features films.

Another ripple of laughter from the auditorium told me that Pierce Armstrong was still going strong. He would most likely be on stage when Hedda arrived, so it appeared the two former lovers were indeed about to meet face-to-face for the first time in sixty years.

"Hurry," Seymour called. "I can't wait to see this."

Me either, I thought.

We entered the theater during a lengthy question from a middle-aged man, who'd stood up from the second row to deliver it. On stage, the elderly Pierce Armstrong sat behind a table spread with a white cloth. His features were hidden behind oversized copper-framed glasses and his hair was white and rather long, ending in ringlets that rested on the shoulders of his red patterned shirt. The shirts collar was buttoned up and encircled by a bolo-style Western tie.

The fan's rambling question finally ended-something about location shooting. Pierce leaned forward toward the microphone, adjusted his large copper glasses, and raised a pale hand.

"We almost never went out on the ocean," he began in a strong voice. "The first time we did was for O'Bannon Against the Bund, where we worked off the coast of Fire Island. On the first take of my fight with Ramon Lassiter, I fell off the boat and actually had to be rescued! Can you believe it? After that…"

Gales of laughter drowned out the rest of his story.

"Hey, I was a cowboy, not a sailor!" Armstrong cried with agrin.

We finally found seats in the rear of the theater, but not together. Seymour sat in one row. Maggie and I behind him, right on the center aisle.

I noticed Dr. Wendell Pepper sitting beside the old man on stage. The sixty-something dean was looking relaxed and attractive, his thick salt-and-pepper hair was casually finger-combed to the side, his white dress shirt was open at the collar, and his casual, chestnut brown sports jacket hung loosely off his broad-shouldered form.

"All of the Fisherman Detective screenplays centered around crime on the docks, and we mostly used locations near our studio's offices in Long Island City, Queens," Pierce Armstrong continued. "We filmed at night, not to set any kind of mood. It was because those docks were damn busy in the daytime. We were only allowed access to one pier, so that's why you keep seeing the same scenery over and over again in every movie. We needed an animal wrangler, too. Not because we used any animals. He was there to keep the stray dogs at bay!"

The audience burst out laughing again.

"Of course, we had a mock-up of the Sea Witch. We used that on the sound stage at Astoria Studios, which Paramount rented out to us. The crew would rock the prop boat and toss buckets of water into the scene. Those guys really got a kick out of dousing me!"

The question-and-answer session continued for another twenty minutes. Throughout most of his presentation, Armstrong was lively and animated. Near the end, however, he seemed to tire. Finally Dean Pepper rose and called a halt to the fun. Some folks rose out of their seats to rush the stage.

"No autographs, please," Dr. Pepper warned. "Mr. Armstrong will be signing tomorrow. Check the schedule of events on the bulletin board for the exact time."

After some groans of disappointment, then big applause, Pepper stepped behind Pierce Armstrong and took hold of the man's chair. That's when I realized the former action star and stunt man was partially confined to a wheelchair.

Beside me, Maggie sighed. "No sign of Hedda. I guess the big meeting isn't going to happen. Not yet, anyway. I'm sure they'll meet sometime this weekend. Excuse me, I've really got to use the ladies'. Do you need to?"