'Apology accepted,' Gable said with a smile and a glance at me that made it clear he was losing patience.
'In fact,' Shelly said, as if he had a flash of inspiration, 'I'll be glad to work on your teeth, cleaning, fillings, whatever, for half the celebrity price.'
Mame whispered something to Gunther, who nodded.
'No, thank you,' Gable said, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and putting it to his lips.
'But…' Shelly went on as Gunther moved quickly to his side and touched his arm. Shelly wanted to brush him away but Gunther insisted. Shelly sat hi the wooden chair and Gunther whispered in his ear.
'No,' said Shelly, looking at Gable, who looked as if he was seriously considering a run for the door. 'Clark Gable? False teeth?'
'That's it,' said Gable, rising. 'Peters, I'm going out on the front porch with Mame. We are going to have a cigarette. When we are finished, I'm going home, where I will pack what few belongings I've brought to the States with me, and tomorrow I'll catch the first military air transportation I can find back to England. I'd like to get my hands on this Spelling, but there's a war going on and I think I'd better escape this…'
'Sideshow?' Mame suggested.
'I'll go with that,' Gable said. 'Five minutes.'
He looked at his wristwatch and strode to the door with Mame a step behind him. Gunther stood blinking at the temporary loss of Mame to the call of tobacco and the company of Clark Gable.
'More saft?' Mrs. Plaut said amiably, coming into the room with a pitcher of dark liquid. 'Iced this time.'
I sat next to Jeremy in the spot Gable had been. No one answered Mrs. Plaut, who placed the pitcher on a wooden block on the coffee table.
'Thanks,' I said.
'What happened to the lady and the man who looks like Robert Taylor?'
'Smoking on the front porch,' I said, feeling that the businesslike atmosphere I had hoped for had vanished in smoke rings.
'I don't allow smoking in the house,' Mrs. Plaut said, standing straight, smiling, and wiping her hands on the apron she had put on.
'We are painfully aware of that,' I said.
'Not pipes or cigars,' she said, looking at Shelly, who put his palms on his chest and squealed, 'What did I do?'
'We've all done things about which we are not proud,' Mrs. Plaut said. 'You appear to have done more than the rest of us.'
With that Mrs. Plaut departed.
'I haven't done anything,' Shelly insisted, shoving his glasses back on his nose just as they were about to tumble into his lap.
'Violet Gonsenelli,' I said, closing my eyes and regretting my words.
'Violet Gon… I haven't… she… I, we need a receptionist,' Shelly said, pleading his case to the indifferent Jeremy and Gunther.
'That's it,' I said, raising my voice. 'That's it. People are dying out there. Some maniac may be trying to kill Clark Gable. Hell, he may be trying to kill me too. Let's, for God's sake, try to make some sense around here.'
Gunther sat in the rocker. Shelly considered a rejoinder and changed his mind. Jeremy put his pencil in his pocket, folded his notebook, and said, 'The police are watching Mr. Varney, who appears to be one of the final two remaining witnesses to the events that took place on the night Spelling's father died.'
'Final two?' asked Shelly.
'I'm the other one,' I said.
'Ah, good,' said Shelly, sitting back with a satisfied smile.
'While we may assume that you are capable of defending yourself under reasonable circumstances,' said Jeremy, 'these circumstances are not reasonable and I suggest we take turns watching you from a discreet but alert distance.'
Jeremy looked at each of us for comments. We had none, so he went on: 'We have a series of poorly written poetic clues which present obscure hints to the identity of the next victim of Mr. SpeJJing.'
'Ah ha,' said Shelly.
Jeremy ignored him.
'Also present in these versified notes are allusions to a threat to Clark Gable, who has also been telephoned by the would-be poet,' Jeremy said. 'Couple this with the suggestion that something will take place, perhaps a final murder or two, where the stars meet tomorrow. Conclusion?'
'We're dealing with a nut,' I said.
'Or we are dealing with a killer who is leading you someplace, Toby,' Jeremy went on. 'He is a step or two ahead of you, turning his head, luring you forth with a wave of the finger, a clue, a murder. Where is he leading you to, Toby? Where and why?'
'Jeremy, no offense, but we've got plenty of questions. What we need are answers,' I said.
'The stars,' Gunther said suddenly. 'Under the stars. And what was it Juanita prophesied, the grove. The Academy Awards are being given tomorrow night at the Coconut Grove.'
'Poetically appropriate,' said Jeremy.
'I don't get it,' said Shelly, pouring himself a fourth, fifth, or sixth glass of iced saft.
'Looks like our poet Spelling wants an audience for his next murder,' I said. 'He plans to kill someone at the Academy Awards dinner.'
'It makes sense,' said Jeremy.
'Who?' asked Shelly, ignoring the blue stain on his jacket from a dripping glass of saft. 'Kill who? Why?'
'Lionel Varney,' I said. 'Varney'll be at the Academy Awards dinner.'
'Then I suggest we say good-bye to Clark Gable, allow him to leave as he plans, and hope the police will do their job,' Jeremy said, rising.
'I'll call Phil and tell him,' I said.
'In case we are wrong, Toby,' Gunther said, moving toward us as I stood, 'may I suggest you remain as inconspicuous as possible.'
'I'll go for a ride in the desert or catch a double feature,' I said. 'Or I…'
'I've got it,' Shelly said, putting aside his glass of Mrs. Plaut's five-star saft and looking at us with a sappy smile. 'Dental care for dentures. Special care of dentures for the stars. Discretion guaranteed. Newsletter on the latest denture research and inventions. I'll get a consultant. The West-mores. Well? What do you think?'
Neither Gunther nor Jeremy responded so I was stuck with humoring Shelly. 'It has possibilities. Why don't you work out the details, put them on paper, see if there're any flaws, and then move ahead.'
'No,' Shelly said. 'Inspiration. Came to me all at once. Perfect.'
'Like your ideas for animal dentistry and tinted teeth,' I said.
'Yeah, but even better,' said Shelly. 'Like, like I don't know. Magic. Maybe even God.'
'If God is interested in such inspiration,' said Jeremy seriously, 'then he either has a sense of humor which is truly unfathomable, or free will is no longer a tenable concept.'
'Yes,' said Shelly gleefully. 'You've got it.'
'Shelly,' I warned.
'Okay, okay, I'll discuss it with Mildred and Violet,' he said, actually rubbing his chubby cigar-stained hands together. 'Separately.'
Gunther had hurried to the front porch, looking, I was sure, for Mame Stoltz before Clark Gable stole her heart away.
Jeremy stood silent, head cocked to one side until Shelly was finished and said, 'Would you like me to stay with Gable tonight?'
'No,' I said. 'I'll do it. Maybe I can persuade him to join me at some desert motel or…'
Shelly was just standing there, working out the details, mumbling things like 'It'll work' and 'Low overhead. Maybe even work with Mark Marvel on the fourth floor. Therapy for celebrity denture-wearers. Learn to love your dentures.'
Jeremy was holding out his hand to me. He opened it. There was a key in the massive palm.
