Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #1: Books 1-4 (A Dead Cold Box Set), Blake Banner [classic children's novels txt] 📗

Melpomene Theater on Jones Street. Mainly experimental, high-brow stuff, but she was popular and she was getting lots of work with them. Then she would supplement her income with the occasional gig.”

I asked the question that was begging to get asked. “I know it’s a long time, Mr. Shaw, but can you remember what the last job you gave her was?”

He thought for a moment, knitting together his big eyebrows. “As a matter of fact, I can. Partly because I never saw her again, and partly because it was quite some gig.”

Dehan narrowed her eyes. “Yeah? How so?”

He glanced at his filing cabinet, bit his lip for a second, and muttered, “Let me see…” Then he rattled at his computer for a moment. He clicked his mouse a few times and then smiled.

“Mr. G. Sanders. He was interviewing actresses for a very special gig. It was for a party at a millionaire’s house, and he was going to put on an impromptu show in honor of his host. He was paying two hundred bucks a night for ten days, plus expenses. A few girls auditioned, but she got the job. He paid up front, and that was the last I ever heard from her.” He frowned. “So, is she in trouble? Is there anything I can do to help her? Does she need a lawyer?”

I shook my head. “There is nothing you can do to help her, Mr. Shaw. It seems that shortly after she got that job, she went to New York. We don’t know why. But once there, we have reason to believe she was murdered.”

All the color drained from his face, and he dropped back in his chair. “Oh, no. No, poor Tammy. Oh, no…”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Shaw.” I watched the tears spring into his eyes. “Were you close?”

He spread his hands. “Why do these things happen? We were family. We’re all family. The actors, they come and go, they do stupid things, mostly, but we stay in touch. We’re a family. Poor Tammy. She didn’t deserve that.”

“Do you know of any friends or family she had in the Bronx?”

“No, she was alone. She had her parents, but they died when she was nineteen, left her the house. Why do these things happen?”

I sighed. “We won’t keep you much longer, Mr. Shaw. Have you got an address for Mr. Sanders?”

He seemed to come out of a dream or a reminiscence. “Yeah, sure.” He looked at his computer screen. “He was at a hotel—the Hyatt Regency, on Drumm Street.”

I made a note and stood. Dehan stood too, but as she did, she asked, “What about at the theater company, the Melpomene—did she have any special friends there?”

He thought a moment. “Yes, there was a girl she was close to. Gloria. She was friends with Gloria. She might be able to tell you something.”

We asked him if he had some photographs of her we could use. He gave us a couple. We thanked him and left.

Back in the street, I stopped and stared around me. My stomach was reminding me I had missed lunch. I turned to Dehan.

She stared me straight in the eye and said, “You look like you need a sandwich and a beer, Sensei. You haven’t eaten since seven o’clock this morning. You can’t do that to your body. It’s not right. You know what?” She started to cross the road, and I followed her. “Your body is the temple of your spirit. You have to care for it. I read that somewhere.”

I climbed in the car. “Okay, Carmen, you’re hungry. I drive you too hard. I hear you. Let’s play tourist for an hour or two.”

We took Bush Street down to the Embarcadero and sat outside at Carmen’s Restaurant on Pier 40. We ordered two beers, crispy calamari, and two burgers. When the waitress went away to get them, I rubbed my face and, for a moment, had a hankering for a Camel cigarette.

“So, let’s revisit your analysis back in the house. An actress, living in a nice house in the Bay Area, she has an agent, she is working because she has money in the bank and is running the house on her own. One day she ups and goes to New York, specifically the Bronx. She’s not planning on staying there, she’s planning to come back soon. It’s just a visit. While she’s there, she visits loser Stephen Springfellow. The Sureños show up, beat seven bales of shit out of him, and then shoot them both. They leave him dead where he is on the chair and take her body away with them. But now let’s add to that. Just before she goes to New York, she is given an exceptionally well-paid job by G. Sanders, whose address is a five-star hotel. The job lasts a week and involves putting on a show at a millionaire’s party. Questions: What was she doing for the nine days that were not party days? What was so special about this gig that he was prepared to pay her that well?”

The waitress brought our beers, and Dehan pulled off half of hers and wiped her mouth on the back of her wrist.

“We need to find G. Sanders. But my bet is he won’t be very communicative, even if we find him. The person who is going to give us—me—the lowdown is Gloria, at the Melpomene Theater.”

I nodded. “Reckon you’re right at that, Carmensita.”

Five

We ate our late luncheon, and as the sun slipped toward what should have been a lazy late afternoon, we slipped back into the Mustang and made our way up through the color and bustle of Market Street to Jones Street, by way of Leavenworth.

The Melpomene was a club with a theater in it, rather than an actual theater. It was open, but there was nobody