The Mammoth Book Of Roaring Twenties Whodunnits Part 46

"Spotted what? What did you see?" Cal asked.

"Sorry, Mr Arbuckle. Sometimes I can be a real dope."

Fatty had hoped for enough time to take care of his "situation". But when she had started to run for the house he had to stop her, grabbing for her arm. She was younger and quicker and all he had managed to do was rip her sleeve. The thing that had upset her the most about this incident was the damage to her dress. When he promised to not only replace it but throw in another with matching shoes and evening bag, she agreed to give him half an hour to take care of things.

"I think I know where Lily is," he slowly told the crowd.

"Well, for G.o.d's sake tell me," Judith demanded. "I've spent days putting this party together and now, maybe, some of the evening can be salvaged."

"If one of the men will go with me," Fatty suggested, "we can escort Lily . . ."

"Anything. Do whatever you want. As long as she's not been kidnapped."

"No, I can a.s.sure you she hasn't," Fatty told her.

"Fine, then." Judith McKeon pivoted around on the heels of her practical shoes, annoyed, and marched out of the room. "Just like that old cow," she muttered to herself. "Selfish, ungrateful . . ."

"Mr Means?" Fatty said. "If you would be so kind as to come with me."

"And just what are the rest of us supposed to do?" Bing asked.

"Eat, drink and be merry. Isn't that why we're here?" Fatty asked.

"I suppose it is," the crooner answered. Then, turning to Cal, he said, "Play something light. How about a Charleston?"

"Sure thing, Mr Crosby."

As the music started up again, Means and Arbuckle headed through the ornate doors. When they had crossed the patio and stepped into the plush gra.s.s, Means asked his companion, "Why me?"

"Because we are two of a kind, I suppose."

"How can you say that? Before tonight, we've never met."

"Not face to face, you're right about that. However, I am very well acquainted with your reputation, Mr Means. We both have scandalous backgrounds. And it's that fear of being disgraced again that puts us on our best behavior."

Means stopped dead. "So, if each of us in on his best behavior, then it stands to reason we are the most honorable of all the men or women here."

"Exactly. Now, follow me. I want to show you something."

The men continued walking in the direction of the jagged sh.o.r.eline. The only light guiding their way came from the full moon.

"There." Arbuckle pointed. "See her?"

Means studied the area he was being shown. After a moment he was able to differentiate between rock, sand, water and a human form. He gasped. "Is that? No . . ." He leaned as far as he dared. "It can't be."

"I spotted her while talking to that girl with the band. Of course she went all hysterical. She even started to run back into the party. Well, I wasn't even sure it was Lily down there . . ."

"And you couldn't afford another scandal, now, could you, Mr Goodrich?"

"Come on," Fatty said, removing a cigarette from a silver case. "We both know I can't use my real name if I want to work in the movies. The Hays office saw to that."

"Cleaning up Hollywood. There's a good one for you," Means said. "The town's crawling with hookers and drugs, bootleg hootch-"

"Men like William Randolph Hearst who flaunts his mistress, men who think nothing of the lives they ruin. No, nothing matters to them except money," Fatty said with contempt. "You certainly are aware of the kind of diseased vermin making huge profits in the film industry, Mr Means. So you can certainly understand why I tried delaying Irma's exit."

Means nodded. "Well, I guess we should get down there and see if that is in fact our hostess before worrying about what decisions need to be made."

"How do we do that without causing a riot?" Arbuckle asked. "You're the investigator. The ex-FBI man. What do we do?"

"We're not alone in our need for propriety, Arbuckle. Why, just from the misfortune that has befallen the two of us, every single person in that house knows how easily their careers can tumble down around them and their families. We have to go back in there and stoke that fear."

It was as if they had all forgotten about Lily completely. When the two men entered the grand ballroom, not one guest turned to ask them what had become of her. The music was loud, the gla.s.ses were full and the majority of voices were competing for attention. Gaston Means walked the length of the room alone without attracting one glance.

When he had come to what looked to be the library, he was met by a butler.

"May I help you, sir?"

"Please get Miss McKeon for me."

"Certainly, sir." The elderly man bowed and slowly, as if each step caused pain, walked out of the room.

She must have been just down the hall, because Judith McKeon returned within a moment.

"Well? Where is she?"

"I a.s.sume Lily . . . Mrs Armstrong-Smith has a gardener on the premises? A caretaker?" Means asked.

"Yes, William. He lives in the cottage up the road."

"Call him. I need his help."

"May I ask . . ."

"You may not. Call him and tell him to meet me by that dead evergreen near the cliffwalk. Tell him to bring a lantern and a rake."

"Fine."

"Oh, and Miss McKeon," he said, looking up at the tall woman, "I'll need you to stay close by."

She glared down at him as if he were an imbecile. "I live here, Mr Means. Where else would I go?"

"That's her, all right," William said as he watched Means drape Lily's body with a tablecloth. "I kept telling Mrs Armstrong-Smith that she should put a fence up along here. But she'd just laugh. Told me it would detract from the 'wildness' of this place. Can you believe that?" he asked, eyeing Arbuckle as he approached. "Wildness? After all the money she poured into this property? After the landscapers and architects, builders, fancy artists? There ain't nothin' wild left out here except maybe that water down there."

"Thank you, William," Means said when Arbuckle was standing next to him. "Please, don't say anything to alarm the staff. We'll have Miss McKeon send for the doctor who will in turn, no doubt, send for the police."

"Whatever you say, Mr Means. But I want it on the record that I warned her many times. She was very headstrong; she didn't listen to many people."

Means nodded, watching Fatty bend over to lift the cloth from Lily's face. "I'll make sure the authorities are made aware of your concerns."

"That's all I'm asking, Mr Means." William removed his cap from his jacket pocket and pulled it down over his thinning hair. "That's all I'm asking." Satisfied that he was blameless, William quickly walked back to his cottage.

Fatty stood up. "She fell, then? But I don't understand why . . ."

Means waited until William was out of sight. "That's what I thought at first. And that's exactly what I want William to believe. At least for the time being. But if you'll look closely at her neck, you can see the bruises."

Fatty slowly lowered his hefty frame again. Means held the lantern closer to the body. "Well, I'll be. You can see the imprints of hands, right there, plain as day."

"The person who did this had to be very strong."

Fatty wheezed as he stood up. "How do you know that?"

"Well, not only did they strangle Lily but they dragged her body all the way out here. How do you suppose they did that? Without being seen?"

"What makes you so sure she didn't come out here on her own? Maybe she just wanted some fresh air."

"Not likely. She'd be getting ready for her party. You know how much she looked forward to these productions of hers. Besides, did you happen to notice she only has on one shoe? And her stockings are worn away only on the heels."

"So? Maybe she didn't have new stockings for the party. And her other shoe probably came off when she was thrown into the water."

"No, if I'm not mistaken, that's it over there."

The two men walked toward the object Means pointed out.

Holding the lantern close to the ground, it was easy to see a black velvet pump half buried in the soft earth.

"Whoever killed Lily had to be strong enough to drag her out here."

"I don't like the way you're looking at me, Means." Fatty was angry. "I thought we were in this together."

"Relax, I didn't mean that to sound like an accusation. I'm just thinking out loud."

"So what do we do now? We have to go back in there."

Means looked toward the mansion. "And we have to convince everyone to trust us enough so they don't leave until we can figure out who killed Lily."

"Why does everyone have to stay for us to do that?" Fatty asked.

Means brushed off his jacket. "Because, Arbuckle, what we both fear the most will happen quicker than you ever imagined. If you thought you had troubles before, wait until you see what they do to you now. Both of us have been put through the grinder, had our reputations ruined. But somehow, we managed to make lives for ourselves again."

"Yeah, things are a h.e.l.luva lot better than they were a few years ago."

"And I have the new book," Means said. "But this, getting our names connected to a murder? This would bury us alive! There'd be no coming back . . . ever."

Fatty didn't understand what Means had planned; all he knew was he was scared. "Okay," he said, "just tell me what to do." He reached in his pocket and pulled out a large handkerchief to blot the sweat.

"What time is it?" Means asked.

"I don't know." Fatty shrugged.

"But you have a pocket watch. There," Means pointed to the chain hanging from Arbuckle's gray flannel vest.

Arbuckle looked down, embarra.s.sed. "That's just for show. I had to hock the watch years ago."

Means didn't care about his companion's sad financial state. "Well, I imagine we've only been out here for twenty minutes half an hour at the most. From the sound of things inside, I don't think we've even been missed."

When Irma saw Arbuckle enter the brightly lit room, she immediately thought of Lon Chaney. The way he'd contorted his face his whole body when he played the Hunchback of Notre Dame had given her the w.i.l.l.i.e.s for days. His eyes bugging out that way. Poor Fatty, she thought. He looked so ill-at-ease that she felt deeply sorry for him. The lights made his skin look waxy. She stopped singing without realizing she had done so. And when she stopped, the band stopped. And when the musicians broke off so abruptly, everyone in the room froze.

It was Zelda Fitzgerald who came to life first. "So," she giggled, apparently drunk, "where is our little Lily? Our precious little flower? Our lovely, lost Lily?" Her laughter embarra.s.sed practically everyone in the room.

Gaston Means walked onto the dance floor. "Gather around," he said. "I have an announcement."

"Oh, a game! We're going to play a game!" Zelda clapped her hands together.

"Hush," someone shouted.

"You wouldn't talk to me like that if Scott were here." She took another gulp of her drink and then retreated into a pout.

"But he's not, so kindly hush up," the same person told her.

Satisfied he had their attention, Means began. "First off, is Miss McKeon here?"

"I certainly am," she said as she walked over to stand beside him.

"Good. What I am about to tell you is very upsetting but I want you all to remain calm and quiet until I've finished."

Judith straightened her back and folded her arms across her chest. "Just tell us, Mr Means, we're not children."

"Our hostess is . . ."

"Dead! I knew it!" Irma said.

The crowd ignored the singer and continued staring at Means as if she hadn't spoken.

"She's right, I'm afraid. Lily must have fallen. We found her body down in the water."

"How terrible," Judith said.

Disbelief ricocheted around the room, hitting each guest in their gut, then their heart. Shock, then commotion. "Dreadful!" "Unbelievable." "How very awful." "Poor Lily."

Fatty looked at Means, confused.

Means motioned for him to remain quiet. Then turning to Judith, he asked, "Do you have a guest list?"

"In my office. I'll go get it."

Several people asked the butler for their coats. Means hurried over to the servant and told him to stay where he was. "Listen. Please. No one can leave here yet."

"The party's over, as they say, old chum," Bing said, slapping the man on the back.