Dream Town

Chapter 65

Archer called Anne Bender from a pay phone and made arrangements to meet with her. He filled up the Oldsmobile’s gas tank and drove straight to Anaheim. Bender looked the same as before, only older and sadder, as the reality of her husband’s death no doubt weighed more heavily on the woman with each passing day.

He had asked her on the phone about their bank records, but she said they had been in the safe. When he got to the house he took a moment to check her husband’s Wheeldex again. He had had an idea of what to look for and he found the card. Just to be sure, he phoned the number on the card long-distance. When someone picked up the call, Archer had his answer and set the phone down.

Yep, good people make bad decisions when things get tough. And Cedric Bender had, because I just found out who had hired him. And it wasn’t Mallory Green.

He drove Bender to her local bank and arrived there just before it closed. She signed what she needed to sign and they made copies of the bank statements for her. Out of her earshot Archer asked the branch manager about the foreclosure proceedings on the Benders’ home. The man volunteered that Bender had paid the debt off in full. His widow owned the house free and clear. This had been about a month ago, he told Archer.

“Where did the money come from?”

“Mr. Bender told me that he had gotten some lucrative work and the payments were more than sufficient to pay off the mortgage.” He looked slyly at Archer. “And I have it on good authority that the company that owns the orange grove next to their house wants to expand. His widow will be sitting pretty if she sells.”

“Well, thank God for orange juice. And what would be a good price for the house and land, do you think?”

The man cleared his throat and fiddled with his tie knot. “Mrs. Bender has some decent acreage. If it were me I wouldn’t take a dime less than ten grand.”

“Thanks. By the way, does the company that owns the orange grove bank with you?”

The man paled. “I can’t divulge that information.”

Archer leaned in with a smile. “You just did, pal.”

Back in the car, Bender handed the file over to Archer. “Are you making progress?” she asked.

“I am. And you might have more in your account than you probably think.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Just a hunch. I’ll confirm it or not later. But if you do, maybe you can move away from the oranges. Bet you can get a pretty penny for your house and land.”

“You do? How much?”

“If anybody approaches you, don’t take a dime less than sixty grand.”

“Sixty thousand! We only paid twelve hundred for all of it.”

“Chalk it up to appreciation and living next to an orange grove. Not a penny less, okay?”

“All right.” Bender gazed out the window. “I never thought I would want to leave here, oranges or not. But now that Cedric’s gone...” She said nothing else. She didn’t have to.

He dropped her off and returned to LA. He’d forgotten that he hadn’t eaten today until his stomach started protesting in earnest. He ate at the Idle Hour on Vineland in North Hollywood. The place was in the shape of an enormous keg. So what else could Archer have with his meal other than a pint of their finest steam beer?

He went over the bank statements and found that several large deposits had been made from checks drawn under the account of a company named PID. He looked at the copies of the checks the bank had kept. The signatures were so sloppy he couldn’t make them out. But coupled with the corresponding index card for PID he’d found in Bender’s Wheeldex, he had a pretty good idea of who had signed them. He put the file away and slipped into a phone booth to check his answering service.

Earlier, Margaret Lamb had called back and said she would be in tonight. He checked his watch. It was well into the evening back in Washington now. He got change for a five from a waiter, slung in the quarters, and connected to the East Coast number with the help of the long-distance operator.

“Hello?” said a woman’s voice.

“Mrs. Lamb?”

“Yes.”

“This is Archer. I left the message for you. I’m in Los Angeles.”

“Yes, Mr. Archer. Please tell me what is going on. Is Eleanor in some sort of trouble? I’m very worried. I’ve called her house but there’s been no answer.”

Archer took a couple of minutes to fill in the woman. He didn’t tell her about the dead body, only that Lamb had not been seen since New Year’s Eve.

“So there’s been no word from her? After all this time?”

“No. But the police know about it and they are looking for her.”

I just don’t know how hard.

“This is all very distressing. She’s my only child.”

“I can understand that. Look, can you tell me about your daughter? Anything that might help me locate her. I know she went to Wellesley.”

“Yes, yes, she was a very good student. She graduated from there and came back and worked in Washington. My late husband, Charles, was in the diplomatic corps. Eleanor had lived all over, as we moved for Charles’s assignments. It was quite an adventure. He died of a heart attack five years ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

She said sharply, “I hope this has nothing to do with that no-good husband of hers. I thought he was long out of the picture.”

“Her husband? I didn’t know your daughter was married.”

“Tall and debonair and so cosmopolitan. Ironically enough, it was my husband who introduced them. You see, they were in the same profession, diplomacy. There were a lot of nice young men in the State Department, only he turned out to be not nice at all. A scoundrel, in fact!”

“She got married in D.C.?”

“No, they went to France for that. He insisted for some reason. Luckily, this was all before the war, so we were able to go.”

“What was her husband’s name?”

“Nathaniel Sommers.”

“Can you describe him, please?”

She did so. Archer asked her for more physical details and his age, and she provided them. He added on the intervening years and got a very clear picture of the man. So clear it was like a photograph.

“Why do you call him a scoundrel? What went wrong?”

“He was transferred to South America shortly after they were married. They had no children yet and none on the way — which I guess was a good thing, seeing as how it turned out.”

“What happened?”

“He traveled there alone to set up their household, start his assignment, and get things ready. Then he just vanished. Never called, never wrote. Charles made inquiries through the State Department. South America was not the safest place back then. The armies down there seemed to keep overthrowing governments and shooting people. The State Department could find nothing out and then washed their hands of it, if you can believe that. The official word was to not muddy the waters, to keep international relations smooth. Poppycock, I said, but Mr. Lamb’s loyalties were with his precious department. Eleanor never gave up hope, though, and finally traveled down there about a year later. She was convinced that something had happened to him. But nothing had. He had just walked out on her.”

“What did she do?”

“She came back home and had a nervous breakdown is what she did, Mr. Archer. Then she pulled herself together. She headed west and got work in LA as a writer.”

A thought occurred to him, a critical one. “But are you saying they never divorced?”

“I told her she should, but Eleanor refused. Maybe she thought he was going to come back to her, as if he ever would. He was a thorough scoundrel. I could see that from the first.”

“And she never had him declared dead?”

“Oh, I forgot that part. He left her a letter at his lodgings in Brazil. They kept the letter all that time and gave it to her when she arrived. I guess Nathaniel paid them to do it. He told her of his plans to vanish and start anew. So she had no grounds to declare him dead, because he wasn’t. Makes my blood boil to this day.”

“Did he give a reason for wanting out?”

“If he did, she never shared it with me. I imagine he believed the grass would be greener somewhere else. Maybe he found some young senorita to tango with. As I said, over a decade older than Eleanor. He probably needed young women around him to boost his ego. A scoundrel through and through.”

“When was the last time you heard from your daughter?”

“She sent me a Christmas card and a check.”

“A check?”

“Yes. She sends me a check every month. And the amounts have gone dramatically up over the last eighteen months or so. She explained that she had gotten a huge raise. I suppose writers in Hollywood make a great deal of money. And it is certainly very welcome to me. Mr. Lamb served his country honorably, but he never made much money.”

“Would you mind telling me how much she sends you each month now?”

“I suppose it doesn’t matter. A thousand dollars, just like clockwork.”

“So twelve thousand a year?”

“Yes, as I said, she’s done very well out there.”

“Yes, she has. Better than most, in fact. When was the last time you spoke with her on the phone?”

“Oh, about two weeks ago.”

“She seemed okay?”

“Oh, yes, fine. Now, will you please tell me what’s going on out there?”

“I would if I knew. But I promise as soon as I find out anything I will let you know.”

“Have I told you anything helpful?”

“You can’t even begin to imagine how helpful you’ve been.”

Archer hung up the phone and leaned back against the wall. He took the picture out of his pocket and looked down at it. An older Nathaniel Sommers stared back at him.

So, Eleanor Lamb and Peter Bonham were married. And apparently still are.