to scratch Black Jasmine’s head. His brown eyes rested on Brown with a sharp, calculating watchfulness.
“Keith’s apartment is only around the corner on Redondo,” Fishbein said. “He must have gone into Charlie’s house to leave the car keys and empty champagne bottles. From the looks of it, Ch...er...someone attacked him in the living room with a broken bottle, probably cut his throat there. Keith stumbled or crawled down the hallway to the bedroom, the attacker cutting him all the way. The body was on the bed. Most of it, anyway.”
Norah shut her eyes and put her hand over her mouth again, trying not to think about the scene.
“Charlie’s cleaning woman called us,” Brown went on after a moment, his eyes on Mindelbaum’s. “We told her to wait for us in the foyer and not go farther into the house for fear of mixing up her prints and having the police think she knew something about it but not to stir outside, either.”
“Oh, my God,” whispered Christine again, and passed a theatrical hand over her forehead. “Frank! How dreadful!” She was, Norah could see, sincerely shocked, but Christine was never one to let even genuine horror interfere with a chance to show how sensitive she was. “I will never, never get over this! Oh, my God.”
“What a lucky thing Charlie was called out of town,” murmured Mr. Mindelbaum.
“Has anyone telegraphed him?” Christine turned immense brown eyes on the studio head. “He’ll be destroyed by the news! He was so fond of Keith; they were so happy together!”
“It was lucky Charlie was called out of town,” Brown replied heavily, continuing to glare at Mindelbaum. “Because in two weeks The Midnight Cavalier comes out, and we don’t want another Arbuckle scandal on our hands.”
“Not to mention the fact that he himself might have been killed by the unknown assailant,” added Norah.
Fishbein nodded eagerly. “That’s good. We’ll put that in the press release, SCREEN IDOL’S NARROW ESCAPE ...”
“I guess we’ll never know how narrow,” Mindelbaum remarked cynically.
“No,” said Brown, “we won’t. Now, he didn’t happen to say anything to you, Alec, about plans for the evening other than coming to my place? Just so we can find anyone he was intending to meet and let them know what happened to him.”
The cameraman smiled a little and shook his head. “As far as I know, we were the only ones he talked to at Enyart’s, but all the regulars were there and saw him. Doc LaRousse, the two Neds, Hans Schweibler, Alice and the Rothstein boys, Dale Wilmer, a couple of stunters, I think, from Universal, and Jack himself. Doc and Hans talked to Keith; God knows who they ran into in the back room.”
“Damn,” Fishbein muttered, and shot Brown an anguished glance.
Brown shook his head regretfully. “Well, when they read in the paper about his mother—father—they’ll know it was an emergency. How was he acting?”
“Drunk,” Norah replied, a little surprised at the question.
“Not that it has any bearing...”
“At the party he was so gay, so devil-may-care, laughing and telling jokes,” Christine provided, languishing once again and drawing on her cigarette as if only nicotine stood between her and collapse from grief.
“Hadn’t drunk himself melancholy yet,” Mindelbaum said.
“You can’t drink yourself melancholy on champagne,” said Norah. “You fall asleep first.”
“Well, God knows what was in that champagne, darling.” Christine raised her head and picked aside a stray thread of Pekingese fur that had adhered itself to her crimson, pouting lips.
“It was Enyart’s champagne,” Mindelbaum said, “so it probably actually was champagne. Oleson ran it in last night. I think he talked to Wilmer, but Wilmer was so coked, he probably doesn’t remember anything about it. Like Chris says, Charlie seemed pretty chipper, but considering how much he’d had to drink, if he hadn’t been chipper, he should sue his
“Keith’s apartment is only around the corner on Redondo,” Fishbein said. “He must have gone into Charlie’s house to leave the car keys and empty champagne bottles. From the looks of it, Ch...er...someone attacked him in the living room with a broken bottle, probably cut his throat there. Keith stumbled or crawled down the hallway to the bedroom, the attacker cutting him all the way. The body was on the bed. Most of it, anyway.”
Norah shut her eyes and put her hand over her mouth again, trying not to think about the scene.
“Charlie’s cleaning woman called us,” Brown went on after a moment, his eyes on Mindelbaum’s. “We told her to wait for us in the foyer and not go farther into the house for fear of mixing up her prints and having the police think she knew something about it but not to stir outside, either.”
“Oh, my God,” whispered Christine again, and passed a theatrical hand over her forehead. “Frank! How dreadful!” She was, Norah could see, sincerely shocked, but Christine was never one to let even genuine horror interfere with a chance to show how sensitive she was. “I will never, never get over this! Oh, my God.”
“What a lucky thing Charlie was called out of town,” murmured Mr. Mindelbaum.
“Has anyone telegraphed him?” Christine turned immense brown eyes on the studio head. “He’ll be destroyed by the news! He was so fond of Keith; they were so happy together!”
“It was lucky Charlie was called out of town,” Brown replied heavily, continuing to glare at Mindelbaum. “Because in two weeks The Midnight Cavalier comes out, and we don’t want another Arbuckle scandal on our hands.”
“Not to mention the fact that he himself might have been killed by the unknown assailant,” added Norah.
Fishbein nodded eagerly. “That’s good. We’ll put that in the press release, SCREEN IDOL’S NARROW ESCAPE ...”
“I guess we’ll never know how narrow,” Mindelbaum remarked cynically.
“No,” said Brown, “we won’t. Now, he didn’t happen to say anything to you, Alec, about plans for the evening other than coming to my place? Just so we can find anyone he was intending to meet and let them know what happened to him.”
The cameraman smiled a little and shook his head. “As far as I know, we were the only ones he talked to at Enyart’s, but all the regulars were there and saw him. Doc LaRousse, the two Neds, Hans Schweibler, Alice and the Rothstein boys, Dale Wilmer, a couple of stunters, I think, from Universal, and Jack himself. Doc and Hans talked to Keith; God knows who they ran into in the back room.”
“Damn,” Fishbein muttered, and shot Brown an anguished glance.
Brown shook his head regretfully. “Well, when they read in the paper about his mother—father—they’ll know it was an emergency. How was he acting?”
“Drunk,” Norah replied, a little surprised at the question.
“Not that it has any bearing...”
“At the party he was so gay, so devil-may-care, laughing and telling jokes,” Christine provided, languishing once again and drawing on her cigarette as if only nicotine stood between her and collapse from grief.
“Hadn’t drunk himself melancholy yet,” Mindelbaum said.
“You can’t drink yourself melancholy on champagne,” said Norah. “You fall asleep first.”
“Well, God knows what was in that champagne, darling.” Christine raised her head and picked aside a stray thread of Pekingese fur that had adhered itself to her crimson, pouting lips.
“It was Enyart’s champagne,” Mindelbaum said, “so it probably actually was champagne. Oleson ran it in last night. I think he talked to Wilmer, but Wilmer was so coked, he probably doesn’t remember anything about it. Like Chris says, Charlie seemed pretty chipper, but considering how much he’d had to drink, if he hadn’t been chipper, he should sue his
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