Dream Town, page 15
“Okay, but just so you know, mac, it’ll cost you more.”
Archer tipped his hat before turning away. “Boy, I didn’t see that coming.”
Chapter 32
ARCHER NEXT DROVE TO LA INTERNATIONAL, which was west of Inglewood and expanding at a rapid clip. What had once been a bean field was now one of the busiest airports in the country, operating twenty-four hours a day with planes regularly rising aloft from a flat basin and into the embrace of the prevailing trade winds.
As he was parking he watched a four-prop Continental plane land on the runway and come to a stop a bit farther down the tarmac. He wondered if the Greens flew their plane out of here or maybe out of Lockheed Air Terminal. Or maybe they had their own strip behind their mansion in Beverly Hills. The rich apparently did everything differently.
After questioning a couple of people he found the man he wanted to talk to, who oversaw parking at the airport.
He was of medium height and wearing a gutter-dented gray Stetson fedora covering curly silver hair. His vein-flecked nose and overly ruddy cheeks spoke of the man’s fondness for the bottle. He stood at the doorway of a little building that was hardly big enough for him to stand inside. He looked Archer over as he asked his question.
“The Bonhams, you say?”
“Yeah, they live in Malibu. They flew to France about a month ago and left their car here.”
“So what do you want to know then?”
“Is it still here?”
“What’s it to you?”
Archer produced his PI license and a fin. The man ignored the license and focused on the $5 bill, which Archer knew was good for at least two quarts of his favorite.
“I’m a curious guy.”
“You say they’ve been gone a month?”
“That’s right,” replied Archer.
“Well, they didn’t drive here then.”
“Why not?”
“Because the airport don’t let folks leave their cars here that long. They don’t have the space and they don’t want the trouble if something happens to somebody’s car. You got thieves in this town, you know.”
“Yeah, I heard that. But I was told they drove here.”
“They might very well have, only I’m saying they didn’t leave their car here that long.” He suddenly grinned, showing all of his teeth, both real and false. “But there are lots of places around here you can leave your car for that long. Feel free to check them out and ask your questions.”
“Come on, was that really worth five bucks?” asked Archer, frowning.
The man made a show of folding the bill and putting it in his pocket. “It was to me.”
“Where can I find out if the Bonhams actually went to France?”
“Information desk in the terminal, they can help you.”
“Thanks. And if I come back with more questions, does the five still hold?”
“We’ll have to see, won’t we?”
Archer grinned and looked around at the shower stall digs the man called home. “I can see why you got the big title and snazzy office.”
“One’s born every minute, sonny.”
“Yeah, they are. Pardon me while I go suck my thumb.”
Archer found out that the Bonhams had indeed flown from LA to Idlewild Airport in New York with stops in between. And from there they had flown on an Air France Super Constellation to Paris, via Canada and Ireland. The transatlantic portion of the trip had taken a total of eighteen hours. They had arrived in Paris on December 2.
And then Archer got the whizbang follow-up that almost made him bite his tongue.
“And then returned here on December thirtieth,” said the pert, efficient woman behind the counter.
“Returned?” said Archer. “Peter and Bernadette Bonham came back on the thirtieth?”
The woman looked at her records. “No. According to this, Peter Bonham came back alone on a Pan American Airways flight from Paris to New York, and then he took a United flight here.” She looked farther down the page. “Oh, that’s a coincidence.”
“What is?” asked Archer, who was still trying to process what she’d already told him.
“You’re here asking questions and Mrs. Bonham is flying in today. Her plane from New York lands in about an hour.”
Archer asked for and received the flight number. He tipped his hat and slipped the woman a Lincoln, which she’d deserved far more than the parking lot man had. After that, he headed to the airport bar to have a drink and wait for the Stratocruiser airliner to touch down in the land of glitter and dung.
Chapter 33
WHILE HE WAS HAVING HIS BOURBON NEAT, Archer called Universal Studios from a pay phone and left a message for Callahan, leaving the pay phone number for her to call back on. She did so about ten minutes later, during a break in shooting, she told him.
“Well, it’s swell to hear that you’re alive, Archer.”
“Keep your toga on. I plan to be around and kicking at least until tomorrow. Look, did you get a chance to talk to that gal, Donna?”
“Yeah, I did. Lamb never showed at the Marses’ party.”
“Okay, I figured that, but it’s good to know for sure.”
“Where are you?”
“Waiting for a lady to arrive by plane after a trip to gay Paree.”
“Well, aren’t you the swanky one?” Her words were joking, but her tone was not.
“It’s all work. How about dinner tonight? I’m buying, so pick some place cheap.”
“Do you treat all the ladies this good, Archer?”
“None of them get it as nice as you, babe.”
“We knock off at eight. You can pick me up then. I’ll book the best burger joint on Skid Row.”
He hung up the phone, finished his drink, and checked his watch. A moment later an announcement came over the loudspeaker that the flight from New York would be landing shortly.
Two minutes later he watched the Boeing double-decker Stratocruiser descend into view out of the thickening clouds, touch down smoothly on the runway, and veer toward the terminal. The ground crew brought out the mobile stairs, and a minute later the passengers began deplaning.
And that was when Archer realized he had no idea what Bernadette Bonham even looked like. Danforth had described her as forty and lovely and French. Well, there were about a dozen of those getting off the plane that he could see, so that was no good.
Archer watched them head toward the terminal building and then come inside. He followed the group to the baggage counter where, about twenty minutes later, a skycap appeared with a mountain of luggage and people started to call out and point to their pieces. They each paid him a tip for the privilege of getting their own property back.
As the passengers started to trickle out, Archer darted over to a courtesy phone and asked the woman who answered to page someone.
A few seconds later, over the PA came, “Mrs. Bernadette Bonham, please call the courtesy desk. Mrs. Bernadette Bonham, please call the courtesy desk for a message. Thank you.”
Archer watched as one woman, a slim, medium-height brunette wrapped in a blue mink stole over a black skirt and jacket with a light green blouse and an Army-green veiled hat, gazed around, surprised, and then hurried over to a courtesy phone, her suitcase in hand.
Archer came up behind her. “Mrs. Bonham?”
She turned quickly around and looked him up and down while he did the same to her.
Her features were pretty much flawless, Archer noted. Sharp, straight nose, large, luminous green eyes, firm chin, square jaw, stellar cheekbones, and a look of intensity that was actually a bit intimidating. But maybe that was just the French in her.
“Yes? And who are you?” A discernible accent underlay these few words.
Archer held out his PI license, and explained who he was and what he had been engaged to do.
Her very fine cheekbones sagged under the weight of all this. “Eleanor Lamb is missing and a dead man was found in her house? You mean, right next door to us?”
“That’s right. Can we go somewhere and talk for a few minutes?”
“I really need to get home,” she said, glancing around.
“Is someone picking you up from here?”
“No, I…I will take a taxi.”
“Long taxi ride to Malibu. Is your husband waiting for you there?”
She looked at him with what Archer thought was a fearful expression. “What? Peter?”
“Yes, I understand he flew back here on December thirtieth.”
“No, I mean, yes, that is correct. It was then that he came back. And then I followed.”
“I just have a few questions. Maybe we can sit in the lounge and have a cup of coffee? I know it was a long flight from the East Coast.”
“Yes. It is very tiring.”
“I hope you stayed over in New York for a bit after flying back from France.”
Her green eyes fluttered so erratically Archer thought she might be on some drug. “One night, yes. At the Waldorf.”
“Nice.”
He carried her leather suitcase with gold-trimmed straps, and she allowed him to lead her to the lounge, where he ordered two black coffees. She placed her stole on a chair and took out a pack of cigarettes that made Archer smile.
She noted this and said, “Yes? You know these?”
“Unfiltered Gaulois Bleu. I had some French buddies smoke them during the war. Tried one. Strongest tobacco I ever put in my mouth.”
She seemed pleased by this acknowledgment. “Yes, it is very strong. That is how we French like it, just like our café. Would you like one?”
He drew out his Luckys and shook his head. “These helped get me through the war. And I recently tried drinking a Chinese liquor that nearly killed me, so I think I’ll stick to what I know. I might live longer.”
He lighted her smoke and did the same for his own.
Their coffees came and were hot and bitter and strong.
“So, you met Eleanor when she moved out to Malibu?”
Surprisingly, Bonham shook her head. “No, our families knew each other when we were much younger. Her father, Charles Lamb, was in the diplomatic corps for this country. My father, Matthieu, was the same for France. He was attached to the French Embassy in Washington. Eleanor and I went to school together there. Then, she went away to university, as did I, only in Paris. But we both came back to Washington afterward, and lived with our families for some time. Then my family moved back to France and I went with them.”
Archer thought about what the banker had told him about Lamb moving out to Malibu to be close to someone from her past. And Danny Mars had said pretty much the same thing. Well, Bernadette Bonham had just moved to the top of the list for that trophy.
“And then all those years later, she moved to Malibu where you and your husband were living. I guess you were excited to see your old friend.”
Bonham puffed on her Gaulois and didn’t answer. She looked out the window at a DC-6 taxiing for takeoff. “France has not changed much after the war. We go now for the last three years. There is still so much that is destroyed. Gone, never to return. It is very sad. So much beauty…poof. I did not like it. It is not the same.”
This statement didn’t sit too well with the Army veteran Archer. “Well, at least you’re not speaking German. There is that.”
She settled her luminous eyes on him in a disarming manner. “This is true what you say.” She took off her hat and set it on the table. Bonham tapped her ash into the ashtray and said in a contemplative tone, as though she were testing its veracity, “Eleanor and I were not what you would call…very good friends, though our fathers got along splendidly. We…we were very different.”
“Having met her and now you, I can see that. But sometimes different is good.”
She glanced up at him. “And sometimes it is not. She was always very intense. There was no, how do you say, relaxing time with her.”
“So her moving next to you wasn’t a good thing, then?”
Bonham shrugged and said in a casual tone, “I did not care one way or another.” She pointed her Gaulois at him like a miniature sword. “But I can tell you this—my husband did not like her.”
“Why not?”
She threw up a hand. “I do not know. They just did not ‘hit it off,’ as you Americans say.”
“You have an example you can share with me?”
Her brows furrowed. Archer could see her translating his request in her head and deciding on an appropriate reply.
“We had a party at our house, this was about a year ago, you see. We invited people from Malibu, LA, you know. A nice, interesting group.”
“And did you invite Lamb?”
“Of course. I mean, she lived right next to us, and I knew her from before, as I said. It would have been rude not to. We even invited the old woman, though she did not come.”
“Mrs. Danforth?”
“Yes. But Eleanor did come. I welcomed her. We spoke of old times in Washington. She seemed, oh, I don’t know, far more casual than usual. She actually seemed to be having a good time. But later I saw her and Peter having, what you would call, words.”
“Did you hear any of what they were saying?”
“No. Only that Peter was very angry and Eleanor was very cool and calm. Just like her father was. He was a very good diplomat, my papa used to say. When they saw me watching they smiled and went their separate ways.”
“Did you ask him later what had happened?”
“Yes. He said it was a difference of opinion over some property line disagreement.”
“Did you believe him?”
She stubbed out her cigarette. “Do I look like an imbecile, Mr. Archer?”
“Quite the contrary. But do you think there was any hanky-panky between them?”
“Are you an imbecile?” she exclaimed. “You have seen me. And I presume you have seen Eleanor. As a man, do you think there is difficulty in choosing between us?”
“I guess not.”
“Précisément,” she said, giving him an incredulous look.
“What happened at the party after that?” asked Archer.
“Eleanor left shortly afterward. She even thanked me for a lovely time. She always managed to land on her feet. And I think that she got the better of Peter in whatever they were discussing.” She added, “I understand that she is a very good writer of films.”
“Who’d you hear that from, Bart Green?” asked Archer.
“Why do you mention him?”
“Because Lamb works for his production company.” Archer left unspoken, And Bart’s wife thinks you’re bed-hopping with her hubby.
“Yes, I think I knew that.”
“So you know the Greens?”
“Yes. Peter introduced me to them some time ago. Bart Green is very successful in making movies, yes?”
“Yes. How did your husband and Bart Green meet?”
“In some business dealings. My husband has many interests.”
“Where’d you meet your husband?”
She looked more animated now. “As I said, my family had moved back to France before the war began. Then, afterward, we were forced to flee to Canada. We knew it was only a matter of time before the disgusting Nazis conquered our homeland. My papa was very outspoken about Hitler. We had to flee or we would have been killed! But after the war was over, we moved back to France and were living in Paris. Shortly afterward, I met Peter there and we were married in Nice. Then we came here. Peter had the house in Malibu already, you see. He bought it when he was no longer married…He was a…?”
“Bachelor?”
“Précisément.”
“Wait a minute. So he was married before?” This didn’t jibe with what Danforth had told him.
“Yes. But he does not speak of that time in his life. His first wife died. I know nothing more. And I do not care to know more.”
“He’s from California, then?”
“I…I’m not sure. But he has business here.”
“You mentioned that. What sort of business? With Bart Green?”
“Oh, a great many things. But you see he is much older than me. He is over fifty now. But still very handsome. And he is very cultured and knows how to treat a Frenchwoman just so, and it is not an easy thing to do, n’est-ce pas?”
“Yeah. I tried and failed at that a few times during the war.”
Her big green eyes managed to widen even more. She looked intrigued and even graced him with an amused smile. “Yes? You did this?”
“Oh, yes. Very poorly, and the ladies let me know it. So a great many businesses. Like what?”
“This and that. I have no head for it, and no interest. It provides a wonderful living for us. That is what interests me,” she said candidly.
He looked over her expensive clothes. “I’m sure.”
“So, thank you for the coffee but I have to—”
He cut in, deciding to go on the offensive now. “Look, I can drive you out to your house and then I could talk to your husband. He might have some idea where Lamb is.”
She looked alarmed by this proposal. “I do not think that is likely. As I said, he did not care for her.”
“But still, he might have seen something. I mean, he would have been there right when it all happened with the dead man and Lamb going missing.” He looked across at her as she sat there in her fine clothes with her intriguing French accent, and he wondered if she had been enjoying trying to play him for a sucker before he landed this counterpunch.
She seemed to think quickly, perhaps a bit too quickly. “I…I don’t believe he was there that night.”
She had made it all too easy to land the knockout blow.
“I don’t believe I mentioned the night it happened.”
She took a few moments to light up a fresh Gaulois and give herself time to think of a response, Archer knew.
“I…I actually will not be going straight home, so I will have no need of your assistance. But thank you.”
“Just trying to be friendly.”
“Yes, you are too kind, Mr. Archer,” she said curtly.
“Just so you know, the county cops will probably be by to talk to you and your husband, now that you’re home.”
