The April Robin Murders

Three

“Nothing to it,” Courtney Budlong said blithely. “We’ll just drive down to the office, sign a couple of papers, you make your little down payment, and you own a house.” He patted Bingo on the shoulder. “At least you own one tenth of a house.”

“That only leaves eighteen thousand to go,” Handsome said. His voice sounded a little hollow.

Courtney Budlong laughed encouragingly. “Bright boys like you, you’ll make it in no time. I’ll probably be able to throw a few things your way. And anyway, it’s three whole months before you need to make that next small payment.” This time he patted Handsome on the shoulder.

As they backed down the drive Bingo gazed at the mansion, at its turret on the one side and its crenellated terrace on the other. At last he said, with a kind of awe, “That sure is a lot of house!”

“Boys,” Courtney Budlong said, “our chance meeting was a lucky one!”

He directed the way into Beverly Hills, pointing out a few spots of interest on the way. There, on their right, was Gene Kelly’s home. And there, ahead and to the left, the Civic Center — impressive, wasn’t it! Now, looking down the street and to your right, Romanoff’s. “Wish I could take you boys to dinner tonight.” But there was that stupid civic affair at the Biltmore. Some night this week, though. “And there’s my office, the gray building with the window boxes. Pull right up there, Mr. Kusak.”

Handsome objected that it was a no-parking zone. “Don’t worry about that,” Courtney Budlong said. “This won’t take a minute. You boys wait here in the car, because I’ll be right out.” The last words took him out of the car, across the sidewalk and into the handsome building with the shining chromium letters: BUDLONG AND DOLLINGER.

“He’s in a hurry,” Bingo said, “got that big important dinner party down at the Biltmore.” He wasn’t making explanations for Mr. Budlong, he was desperately making conversation to postpone the impending and inevitable discussion of their investment.

He looked with admiration at the BUDLONG AND DOLLINGER building. “Back in New York,” he said, “even a big important company like this one would just have some offices in a big building some place. Well, maybe a whole floor. But out here, they got the whole place. All the big firms do.” He looked across the street, a red-brick, nearly Georgian structure wore only one name: HENKIN.

He was still looking at it when Courtney Budlong came bustling out, papers in his hand. “Nice little edifice over there,” the real estate man said. “I remember when we sold it to Leo Henkin. He got it at a steal.” He cleared his throat. “You know, Henkin, the artists’ representative. Handles a lot of big names.”

Bingo nodded knowingly. He’d already learned that artists’ representative was another term for agent. He wondered who the big names were, and whether, if they waited here long enough, he’d see any of them coming or going.

“Well, here we are,” Courtney Budlong said heartily. “Told the girl we were in a hurry. Take another day to get the deed, but this’ll do you in the meantime.”

Bingo examined the first paper, Handsome peering over his shoulder. Neatly typed on Budlong and Dollinger stationery, it declared simply that, to whom it might concern, as of this date, Bingo Riggs and Handsome Kusak, of the International Foto, Motion Picture and Television Corporation of America, having made a down payment of $2,000.00 on the property located at 113 Damascus Drive, Los Angeles, California, were empowered to occupy said property pending delivery and signing of the deed. The date, the amount and the names were written in by hand, the firm name having been crowded in with a little difficulty. Below was the owner’s signature, Julien Lattimer, and below that, Courtney Budlong, Agent.

“See,” Courtney Budlong said, “you can move in any time.”

Bingo looked at the paper with a kind of reverence.

“And this,” the real estate man said, “is as good as a deed.” He handed it over. “That’s your deposit receipt. Shows you own a house.”

Bingo looked at it, too, with reverence. It, on a Budlong and Dollinger receipt form, looked like any other receipt in the world, except that it was beautifully printed, and that it represented the ownership of what had been a movie star’s mansion. There were spaces for three signatures at the bottom, one of them already filled in by Julien Lattimer. Courtney Budlong filled in another, handed his pen to Bingo and said, “And you sign here.”

For just a moment Bingo hesitated, the pen cold in his hand. He turned his head and looked at Handsome, met a look that said, more plainly than words, that Bingo was the boss, knew what he was doing, and everything was going to be fine.

The thing was done. The twenty hundred-dollar bills went from Bingo’s wallet to Courtney Budlong’s. The letter and the deposit receipt went into a Budlong and Dollinger envelope and into Bingo’s pocket.

“And the keys, of course,” Courtney Budlong said. He dropped them into Bingo’s hand. “Front door, back door, cellar and garage. Two of each.”

They seemed to feel warm, almost to glow in Bingo’s hand as he looked at them. He’d had keys before, but never to a house he owned. He divided them with Handsome and attached his set to his key chain as though they were talismans.

“Drop in tomorrow and pick up the deed,” their new friend said jovially. “Make it around noon and we’ll run over to the Derby for lunch. No, wait a minute. Make it day after tomorrow. Tomorrow’s a state holiday. Consolidation Day.” He beamed at them. “Boys, I feel you’re going to do big things in Hollywood!”

“We’re certainly off to a good start,” Bingo said, glowing. “Now can we drive you—”

Courtney Budlong shook his head. “Thanks, no. Few things to tend to in the office. I’ll have Yoshiaki drive down and pick me up.”

Handsome headed the convertible toward Fairfax Avenue and the motel. Bingo felt in his pocket, touched the papers as though for luck. He still felt a little stunned.

There had been no criticism, no objection from Handsome. Finally Bingo said, “We can always sell it again, like he said. Plenty of buyers would jump at it. Make a nice little profit, too. In fact, I’d do just that, and put us a little ahead, except that I like the house.” He glanced sidelong at Handsome.

“Me, I like it too,” Handsome said.

Bingo breathed deeply with relief. “Mr. Budlong must be a pretty important man. And remember, he said he’d throw some business our way.”

“Bingo,” Handsome said, “what kind of business?”

“Well—” Bingo said.

“What I mean is,” Handsome said, “he doesn’t know what business we’re in. Only what it says on the card, and that don’t explain very much.”

For that matter, Bingo reflected, he didn’t quite know himself what business they were in. Not yet. He said, encouragingly, “Well, anyway, as I was saying before, Handsome, we’ve come a long way. There we were in New York not owning a thing but the cameras, and them in hock. Bang, we leave New York with this swell car, a lot of luggage and elegant clothes, and twelve hundred bucks and a little over. Not only that, along the way we do better than double it, for very little work. So now—”

“Only,” Handsome said, with just a trace of unhappiness, “we didn’t do that taking pictures.”

Bingo didn’t need to be reminded of that, and what’s more, didn’t want to be. “Handsome,” he said sternly, “we’re not going to run into any murders in Hollywood.”

He leaned back, let the breeze ruffle his hair, and contemplated a happy future. “You know,” he said dreamily, after a few blocks, “that’s the first time I ever met a guy who had a Japanese chauffeur. Mr. Budlong must be doing fine.” They’d be doing fine themselves before long. He looked again at Handsome and caught an expression of worry and a touch of bewilderment.

“Something?” he asked anxiously.

Handsome scowled. “I’m trying to remember. About seeing Mr. Budlong before.” He paused. “I mean, about seeing his picture before.” He paused again. “It’s like this, Bingo. I mean, I’ve seen it and I haven’t seen it.”

“Make up your mind,” Bingo said.

“I’m trying to,” Handsome said earnestly. “One minute I have seen it, and one minute I haven’t seen it. It’s that way.”

Bingo looked at his partner with deep concern. “Try to think where you saw it, Handsome.”

Handsome’s brow almost tied itself into knots. “If I saw it,” he said very slowly. “If I did — and I guess I didn’t. But it would’ve been on page three, section one. Next to it was a story about the big flood in Holland. There was a picture of two people and a dog in a rowboat.”

Bingo felt it safe to assume that Courtney Budlong had not been one of the people in the rowboat. He said nothing, and waited.

“And another thing, Bingo,” Handsome said. He sounded really unhappy now. “About April Robin. I know I ought to remember where I saw pictures of her, only I don’t. Not one single solitary picture.” This time, the pause was a long one. “Bingo, I think maybe I’m losing my memory.”

Bingo drew a long, slow breath. “Handsome,” he said, “what were the people in the rowboat like?”

“Them? There was—” Handsome’s eyes narrowed a little with thought — “a lady and a gentleman. She was all wrapped up in a blanket and he had a hat on. The dog was a little, spotted one. It wasn’t a very good picture either.”

“Go on,” Bingo said gently.

“It was February 7, 1953,” Handsome said. “There was a whole page of pictures on page one, section two. One of Queen Juliana and some refugees, but the rest were mostly water. It was an awful lot of water. I remember it was February 7th because Gus Bembough, he was the day bartender at Morrie Gelhart’s Shamrock Tavern, made a hunch bet on Water Baby in the fifth, and it paid sixty-three, forty. I guess you don’t remember Gus.”

“I don’t,” Bingo said, “but I wish I had his hunch system. And you don’t need to worry about your memory, Handsome, you’re doing fine.”

“If you say so, Bingo,” Handsome said. He sounded a little happier.

“And as far as April Robin is concerned,” Bingo said, “why, she was long before your time. Sure, you’ve heard of her. I’ve heard of her. Everybody remembers her. But you couldn’t possibly have seen her picture, because it was too long ago.”

Handsome sighed with relief. “Sure, Bingo,” he said. “Only it bothered me for a little while.”

“She was one of the greats,” Bingo said reverently. And we’re going to be living in her house, he said to himself.

Once more he leaned back, relaxed, and thought what a good world it was and how glad he was to be in it. Oh yes, there were occasional little difficulties, but nothing that couldn’t be overcome without too much hardship.

It continued to amaze him how rapidly the sale of the April Robin house had been put through. He’d never bought a house before, or even dreamed of buying one, but he’d had a feeling that it was a highly complex and long-drawn-out affair, involving banks, lawyers, practically the Supreme Court. This had gone through as quickly and easily as buying a coffee at a drive-in. But, he reminded himself again, this was Hollywood.

He roused himself as Handsome pulled to a stop in front of the Skylight Motel. “It won’t take us long to pack,” he said. “You can start, and I’ll go tell the old lady — I’ll go tell Mrs. DeLee that we’re leaving—”

Handsome glanced at the dashboard clock and said, “It’s after one o’clock. She’ll charge us for tonight anyway.”

Bingo hesitated for just a moment. Then he said firmly, “No, we own a house, and we’re going to sleep in it.” He thought briefly of the beds in the Skylight Motel, and of the two davenports in the mansion. There weren’t any blankets, either. Oh well, he’d slept on davenports before, and they could pick up a couple of blankets somewhere. A day or so, and all that wonderful furniture would be brought out of storage. Paintings, and linens and silver. Then they’d get the yard fixed up, and get acquainted with the neighbors, the society woman on one side, and the big motion picture producer on the other. No doubt about it, they were really in!

He located Mariposa DeLee in the office and stood for a moment wondering how to break the news to her that the International Foto, Motion Picture and Television Corporation of America was moving out. She’d changed to black velveteen toreador pants, and a filmy white blouse shot through here and there with sparkling silver threads. The decorative rhinestone-centered flowers in the back of her hairdo matched her earrings, and she was wearing a fresh job of make-up, but she didn’t look noticeably younger.

“We hate to leave you,” he said, with his best nonprofessional smile, “but we’ve bought a house.” Bought a house. He loved the sound of the words.

Her carefully outlined eyebrows lifted and she said, “Oh?”

“Immediate occupancy, too,” he told her. “So we’re moving in tonight.”

The eyebrows came down, and her eyes went to the wall clock.

“I know,” Bingo said. “Rooms to be vacated by one in the afternoon. But we don’t mind losing the one night’s rental.” Not so long past, he remembered suddenly, that one night’s rental would have paid for a week in New York with enough left over for a few meals. “We just want to get settled, that’s all.”

She smiled then, eyebrows and all, and said, “Well, naturally!”

“We were very lucky,” he said expansively. “Got a terrific buy.” He paused for dramatic effect. “It’s the old April Robin mansion. You remember April Robin, of course.”

“Who doesn’t remember April Robin!” she said, and then, “Well!” The smile almost glowed like neon. “I’m sorry to lose you two nice, interesting gentlemen. Can I help you pack?”

But by the time they reached Number 7, Handsome was just closing the last suitcase.

Bingo looked at her a little regretfully. She was a nice old girl at that, and nobody could be blamed for wanting to look young, or wanting to own a whole chain of motels. “I hope we can do something for you, sometime.”

“Bingo,” Handsome said, “maybe the lady’d like us to take some pictures of her nice motel to give her, pictures with her in it. She’d take a real good picture in those cute pants.”

Mariposa DeLee beamed with pleasure, made a polite and charming pretense at refusal, and began patting her hair before Handsome had even started unpacking his camera.

Bingo watched approvingly, while pictures were taken by the pool, at the office, in front of the entrance, and back by the pool again. There was no doubt about it, Handsome did come up with some very sound ideas. When they brought over the prints, made purely as a present for her, she’d very likely hit on the idea of having a flock of advertising postcards made up, and probably some large prints — he stopped himself on the verge of going into some mental arithmetic and reminded himself that they were no longer interested in the peanut trade. They owned a movie star’s mansion now, and sooner or later they’d own an office building—

He said good-by to her with real regret and added, “We might even bring the pictures over tomorrow. There won’t be much business doing on a holiday.” She looked a little puzzled. “Consolidation Day,” he added.

She looked puzzled for about half a minute more and then said, “Oh gosh yes, I almost forgot. I’ll be looking for you.”

She said it to both of them, but her eyes said it to Handsome. Bingo sighed, very slightly. It was always that way. Or always had been. Out here in Hollywood, which was full of beautiful, unattached girls, things were going to be different.

The sun was going down as they reached 113 Damascus Drive, and darkness was coming with that unexpected suddenness that still startled Bingo. The April Robin house was beginning to look very big and very somber and very forbidding, without a solitary light showing. Bingo felt just the very faintest of qualms.

But there, to one side of them, walking in his garden, was their next-door neighbor, the famous producer, Rex Strober himself. It had to be Rex Strober, no one who didn’t own a garden could possibly walk in it quite that way. He looked at the great man curiously. Rex Strober was a tall man, thin and stooped, with a deeply gloomy face and half-bald head. He looked, Bingo thought, like a grade school principal who had bought his dark blue suit at a rummage sale.

Just what is the etiquette in a case like this? Bingo wondered suddenly. Exactly who should speak first, and what should be said? Then the great man looked up, Bingo caught his eye, waved and called, “Hello, there.”

Rex Strober stared at him for a full minute, his dour face without expression. At last he said, “Hello,” in a flat and colorless voice, turned, and walked back toward his almost Spanish house.

“There’ll be plenty of time to get acquainted later,” Bingo said grimly, more to himself than to Handsome.

They had begun to unload the car when a voice from the other direction called, “Hello!” to them.

This voice was far from colorless, and its owner far from gloomy. Leaning on the low wall that divided their properties was a woman who appeared to be their other neighbor. The rich society widow, Bingo remembered.

She was a chubby, bright-faced woman whose gunmetal-colored hair appeared to have been carved rather than combed. Her eyes were a twinkling blue, and looked as though they were interested in, and seeing, everything. Even in the rapidly fading light, Bingo could see that her flowered chiffon afternoon dress included practically every color known to chemistry, and that her very small feet wore threadbare and not too clean tennis shoes. No one could possibly have doubted, though, that the pearls at her throat and ears were real.

She called, “Hello,” again, and added, “You two!”

They walked over to the wall. “How do you do, ma’am,” Bingo said politely, wishing he had a hat to tip. “We’re your new neighbors. I’m Bingo Riggs, and this is my partner, Handsome Kusak.”

“And I’m Mrs. Hibbing,” she said sociably. “Mrs. Waldo Hibbing.”

“I remember you,” Handsome said. “From your picture. In the World-Telegram, page three. You were christening a battleship. On April 18th—”

“It was a destroyer, not a battleship,” she said. “And my friends and neighbors call me Myrtie.” She gazed at them with what seemed to be more than neighborly interest. “So you’re the boys who’ve taken the Lattimer place.”

“That’s us,” Bingo said. He’d forgotten that it had ever been, even briefly, the Lattimer place. “Only it’s really the April Robin mansion. You know, the star. April Robin.”

She seemed surprised that he should even ask. “Sure do! I don’t think I missed one of her pictures. But that was so long ago—” She stopped suddenly, the passage of years was evidently something she didn’t like to discuss. “But I’ve only been here the past two years, and to me, it’s the Lattimer place, and—” She broke off again. “It’s so nice that you’re going to live there.”

“We think so,” Bingo said, a little confused.

Mrs. Waldo Hibbing leaned a little further forward. “And I do hope if you find it — you’ll tell me, first!”

Now Bingo was thoroughly confused. “Find what, ma’am?”

“Either one,” she said. “The body, or the money. Either one, it’s going to be so exciting. And if we’re going to be friends, I want to be the first to know!”