Design for Dying by Renee Patrick Page B

pass on to the detectives.”
    â€œThe good-looking one, I hope.”
    â€œI hadn’t noticed either one, to be honest.”
    â€œReally?” Kay fanned herself. “Because one of them sent me. Quite a specimen, that Detective Hansen.”
    â€œHansen?” I sprayed Kay with her own coffee cake. “Have you gone goofy? Morrow’s the handsome one. As well as smarter and better mannered.”
    â€œSo you did notice him, to be honest. No shame in admitting it. And maybe he noticed you, seeing as he let you tag along to Paramount. I’d better turn up something on Armando and Natalie so you have a reason to talk to Detective Morrow again.”
    â€œEnough with the matchmaking.”
    â€œSomebody’s got to look out for you. You’re too busy looking out for everyone else. Stop eyeing the cake. You’ve had enough for one night.”
    â€œFine. I’ll be back first thing in the morning.”
    *   *   *
    DINNER WAS AN apple, penance for my double dose of Kay’s handiwork. Then I made my way to my own personal matchbox. There wasn’t much to my flat but what there was was all mine, from the drab white walls to the blue coverlet on the bed. A breeze nuzzled the lace curtains as I changed into my nightgown and robe. I sank into the only decent piece of furniture, an overstuffed armchair where I could read or, more frequently, nap.
    Through drooping eyelids I glimpsed my lucky navy suit, sagging over the settee where I’d left it. It had served me in good stead for too many months to deserve such treatment. Visions of Edith Head’s reproving face spurred me to my feet.
    As I draped the jacket on a hanger, something shifted in one of the pockets. I knew what was in my hand before I opened it. I recognized the object’s shape, its warmth against my skin. I smelled lavender on the air.
    My mother’s brooch.
    For an instant I felt light-headed, fearing I’d slipped into a fugue state at Paramount and stolen my property back.
    Then my mind flashed on Edith asking for the jacket, carefully laying it on the couch in Banton’s salon. She must have taken that opportunity to drop the brooch into my pocket.
    Now I had an assignment for tomorrow. I had to thank Edith, as if words would be sufficient to acknowledge what she’d done.
    But first to let my uncle Danny know I’d at long last made the pilgrimage to Paramount’s new home. I fixed myself a cup of tea and dashed off a letter, the brooch gleaming on my pink chenille robe.

 
    November 7, 1937
    Los Angeles Register
    LORNA WHITCOMB’S EYES ON HOLLYWOOD
    Â â€¦ Constance Bennett told pals she’d figured out what her husband Marquis Henri de la Falaise was planning to gift her for her birthday. Turns out it wasn’t the sparkling stones she’d predicted, but two of the cutest French poodles in town. Hope the lovely Constance doesn’t try wearing them to the premiere of her next film!… The blond beauty beaming at the beach on page one of this very paper turns out to be an aspiring actress struck down too soon. Hollywood hopeful Ruby Carroll had scored several small dancing parts and even worked at Paramount for that genius of glamour Travis Banton and his stern wardrobe mistress Edith Head. But poor Ruby lost her step amid the traps and snares of moviedom. No doubt several of our silver screen sirens are contemplating her fresh face this morning and whispering “There but for the whim of Dame Fortune go I” … Some wags are wondering if those fire engines Fox amassed for the filming of In Old Chicago could be used next summer to cool off sure-to-be overheated Los Angeles residents. What say you, Mr. Zanuck?

 
    7
    TIME TO TEST Edith Head’s advice. I let my tan sweater hang over the matching knit skirt, cinching it with a narrow belt. In my own biased opinion, I looked pretty good. But my ego demanded unsolicited compliments.