“The others are old friends. I hardly know Mitzie.”
“Oh? Then how did she come into the bridge game?”
“I got to talking with her at the hairdresser. She was in the next chair, and she appeared to be a nice kid, and we needed a fourth-as a matter of fact she’s a very good player, and she’s played a lot of duplicate.”
“What hairdresser?”
“Tony Cooper’s on Camden.”
Masuto jotted it down. “You said you were divorced. May I ask when?”
“Two years-well, only a year since I filed. Before that it was a separation. You didn’t ask my age. I’m forty- five.”
“I would have thought younger,” Masuto said. “Your first marriage?”
“My second. My first husband died of a heart attack twelve years ago. I married Arthur Crombie three years ago.”
“The real estate man?”
“Yes, do you know him?”
“I know about him-just the things one hears and reads. I have to be indelicate. How much alimony does he pay you?”
“None. Anything Arthur Crombie touches comes up gold. Six months after we were married, my father died. I was the only heir, and the estate was worth millions. I gave Arthur half of it. It was a stiff price to pay to get him out of my life, but well worth it.”
“You’re not fond of him?”
“He’s a bastard, period. But if you’re thinking that he’d want to kill me, well, no way. He has the money and he knows he’s not in my will. He couldn’t care less whether I’m alive or dead.”
“Where is your will?”
“You mean, where do I keep it? Somewhere in the study. Does it matter?”
“Perhaps. Tell me about the others. Are they all married?”
“All divorced. Does that surprise you?” She had reacted to the expression on Masuto’s face. “You see, we’re all in the same boat-shock, boredom, frustration. Certainly four divorced women in Beverly Hills are not that unusual.”
“Could you give me the names of the husbands-the ex-husbands?”
“Yes-”
He had his notebook ready.
“You think-one of them?” she asked slowly.
“I don’t know what to think-yet.”
“But why all of us? If we had eaten the pastry, it would have been all of us. Why? What sense does it make?”
“I don’t know. Suppose we start with Mrs. Greene.”
“She was married to Alan Greene. He operates a chain of clothing stores. The big one is down on Wilshire.”
Masuto nodded.
“Nancy,” Laura Crombie went on, “was married to Fulton Legett, the film producer. That’s a rotten story. They were married in New York about twenty-two years ago. He was a gofer at ABC television. Nancy worked as a secretary at the same company. Then he quit to try TV production. For years she supported him and took his garbage. He’s one of those angry, aggressive, ambitious little bastards. Then Nancy’s mother died and left her sixty thousand dollars, and she gave it to Fulton and he used it as seed money to produce
“Seed money?”
“Start-up money-to option the property and pay a writer to do a screenplay. The film was a hit, and suddenly Fulton was a millionaire. They moved out here and bought a house on Lexington Road. Then two more big hits, and Fulton was a millionaire and Nancy was forty and not very attractive anymore. At that point, you trade the forty for the two twenties. Fulton dumped her. The wages of virtue.”
Masuto nodded and scribbled in his notebook.
“And then there’s Mitzie. She’s a beauty and a doll. You can’t feel too sorry for her. She was married to Bill Fuller, the director. It lasted six months. She doesn’t talk about it or him, but from what I’ve heard he’s a louse.”
She was hardly reticent in her judgments, Masuto decided, and said thoughtfully, “You don’t like men very much, do you?”
“Don’t misjudge me. We’re not talking about the genus. We’re talking about four men. I don’t like any of them.”
“Do you know where Fuller is working now?”
“I think Mitzie mentioned he’s doing a film at Metro.”
“I see.”
Masuto closed his notebook and stared at Laura Crombie thoughtfully. “Suppose I said that all four of you are in very great danger.”
“I’d believe you.”
“Would the others?”
“I could convince them.”
“Could you be convincing enough to have them all here tonight?”
“If they haven’t made other plans.”
“Even if they have, I want them here. It’s very important.”
“At what time?”
“Say ten o’clock-and if I’m late, please wait for me. And until then, I’d like them to stay indoors and not to let any strangers into their homes. I’d like you to do the same. And again remind them about the food. Will you do that for me?”
“All right. But this is crazy-absolutely crazy.”
“I know,” Masuto said gently. “Much of the world is crazy, but this is where we are.”
3
Omi Saiku
When Masuto walked into police headquarters on Rexford Drive, the city manager was there talking to Wainwright, and Wainwright nodded for Masuto to join them.
“What I want to know,” Wainwright was saying, “is how the hell this stuff gets out. There are no blabbermouths here. Masuto and Beckman are on it, and they don’t talk.”
“Frank Lubie called me. He smelled something in Beckman’s questions. He was sore as hell at even the implication that something could be wrong with his candy. You know, he has a point. If what you tell me gets out, it could ruin him. He’s not only a sizable taxpayer, but his factory’s here in town.”
“Can we put a lid on it?” Wainwright asked Masuto. “What do you think?”
Masuto shrugged. “The vet knows. Mrs. Greene knows. They know down at L.A.P.D. It’s not just a question of the candy. It’s a lot more than that.”
“What’s a lot more?” the city manager asked.
“We have a poor Mexican kid murdered by some lunatic who seems determined to kill four other women. Ana Fortez was a mistake. If any of the others die, I don’t think it will be a mistake.”
“Four women!” Wainwright exclaimed. “What the devil are you talking about?”
Briefly, Masuto summed up his conversation with Laura Crombie.
“I know Mrs. Crombie,” the city manager said. “You’re making an inference, Masuto. It could all be some kind of accident. What’s the point in scaring these women to death?”
