local businessman and hopefully removing suspicions police might have about America’s sweetheart, Amelia Earhart.
The movie star waiting beside me was no stranger to investigations. Years ago when Mickey and I opened our detective agency, Laura was struggling to catch a break on Broadway. She helped out around the office and made sure clients paid for our services.
As business picked up, her duties expanded to helping out with a few investigations, mostly involving cheating spouses or people who didn’t show up in court. Her acting ability and good looks came in handy more times than I could count and, at her insistence, I showed her how to handle a gun. She’d proved her courage and skill with a handgun more than once, but a murder investigation was different and often dangerous. Murderers possessed two traits that kept me up at nights: they’d demonstrated they were capable of taking a life and they used that capability to keep from being caught.
Laura’s career as an investigator ended when she landed her first Broadway lead. By that time, I’d started my first novel.
A few years ago, when I was in Florida, Laura helped Mickey out on a case that ultimately took his life. When I returned to New York, I got involved and took a bullet in the leg, but Laura somehow escaped unscathed. Still, I wouldn’t endanger her life for Amelia Earhart, George Putnam, or my career, if I didn’t have to.
I considered suggesting she stay at the hotel with Amelia until morning while I pounded the pavement, but she’d never go for it.
As we waited, I couldn’t shake the possibility Amelia might’ve been the target all along and Kalua had interrupted the plans and got shot for his trouble. But that didn’t explain why he showed up at the hangar at night. With Amelia’s transpacific flight scheduled in three days, how had her chief promoter ended up dead alongside her plane?
Laura’s instincts often turned out more accurate than mine. We moved out of earshot of the young cop guarding the hangar entrance, and she outlined two possible motives. One, someone wanted to derail Amelia Earhart’s career by making her a suspect in the murder of one of her promoters. Two, a rival aviator was trying to stop Amelia’s flight, like Fanny Chandler or someone else whose name we’d yet to learn.
I shared the possibility that Amelia was the intended target, then suggested Laura wait back at the hotel with Amelia.
Laura’s eyes widened. “We need to get the police to offer her protection. Why don’t you take this up with Tanaka?”
“You think he’d listen to my suggestion?”
I was impatient to get started, but inside the hangar, Amelia and her husband appeared to be dictating to William, who was frantically scribbling on a notepad.
I glanced toward the black Cadillac. The bored-looking cop was smoking a cigarette, a half-dozen butts at his feet. “Does the Caddy seem out of place to you?”
“I bet it’s Kalua’s. Want a peek inside?”
I doubted if I’d get anywhere near the car.
Laura winked. “Honeylamb, are my seams straight?” She turned her back to me and lifted the hem of her skirt.
The officer’s cigarette almost dropped from his mouth. My wife had fabulous legs, I’d come to know and appreciate over the years. One of those trashy movie magazines even ran a story about them.
“Perfect, dollface.”
Laura checked inside her purse then stepped toward the cop. “Officer, I was wondering if you could spare an extra cigarette. My date doesn’t smoke.”
The cop practically snapped to attention. He slipped a pack of Camels from his pocket and offered her one. She hated cigarettes and only smoked when a role called for it.
She remained where she was and held the cigarette between her fingers.
The cop pulled a lighter from his trousers and lit her cigarette.
I calmly walked to the passenger side of the car. The cop wouldn’t notice me if I were wearing a clown suit.
Laura feigned interest in his career
The movie star waiting beside me was no stranger to investigations. Years ago when Mickey and I opened our detective agency, Laura was struggling to catch a break on Broadway. She helped out around the office and made sure clients paid for our services.
As business picked up, her duties expanded to helping out with a few investigations, mostly involving cheating spouses or people who didn’t show up in court. Her acting ability and good looks came in handy more times than I could count and, at her insistence, I showed her how to handle a gun. She’d proved her courage and skill with a handgun more than once, but a murder investigation was different and often dangerous. Murderers possessed two traits that kept me up at nights: they’d demonstrated they were capable of taking a life and they used that capability to keep from being caught.
Laura’s career as an investigator ended when she landed her first Broadway lead. By that time, I’d started my first novel.
A few years ago, when I was in Florida, Laura helped Mickey out on a case that ultimately took his life. When I returned to New York, I got involved and took a bullet in the leg, but Laura somehow escaped unscathed. Still, I wouldn’t endanger her life for Amelia Earhart, George Putnam, or my career, if I didn’t have to.
I considered suggesting she stay at the hotel with Amelia until morning while I pounded the pavement, but she’d never go for it.
As we waited, I couldn’t shake the possibility Amelia might’ve been the target all along and Kalua had interrupted the plans and got shot for his trouble. But that didn’t explain why he showed up at the hangar at night. With Amelia’s transpacific flight scheduled in three days, how had her chief promoter ended up dead alongside her plane?
Laura’s instincts often turned out more accurate than mine. We moved out of earshot of the young cop guarding the hangar entrance, and she outlined two possible motives. One, someone wanted to derail Amelia Earhart’s career by making her a suspect in the murder of one of her promoters. Two, a rival aviator was trying to stop Amelia’s flight, like Fanny Chandler or someone else whose name we’d yet to learn.
I shared the possibility that Amelia was the intended target, then suggested Laura wait back at the hotel with Amelia.
Laura’s eyes widened. “We need to get the police to offer her protection. Why don’t you take this up with Tanaka?”
“You think he’d listen to my suggestion?”
I was impatient to get started, but inside the hangar, Amelia and her husband appeared to be dictating to William, who was frantically scribbling on a notepad.
I glanced toward the black Cadillac. The bored-looking cop was smoking a cigarette, a half-dozen butts at his feet. “Does the Caddy seem out of place to you?”
“I bet it’s Kalua’s. Want a peek inside?”
I doubted if I’d get anywhere near the car.
Laura winked. “Honeylamb, are my seams straight?” She turned her back to me and lifted the hem of her skirt.
The officer’s cigarette almost dropped from his mouth. My wife had fabulous legs, I’d come to know and appreciate over the years. One of those trashy movie magazines even ran a story about them.
“Perfect, dollface.”
Laura checked inside her purse then stepped toward the cop. “Officer, I was wondering if you could spare an extra cigarette. My date doesn’t smoke.”
The cop practically snapped to attention. He slipped a pack of Camels from his pocket and offered her one. She hated cigarettes and only smoked when a role called for it.
She remained where she was and held the cigarette between her fingers.
The cop pulled a lighter from his trousers and lit her cigarette.
I calmly walked to the passenger side of the car. The cop wouldn’t notice me if I were wearing a clown suit.
Laura feigned interest in his career
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