Billy got out his notebook and started writing. “Any connection between him and Mrs. Palmer?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “What about the other suspects?”

  “Steven Blont was the director of the picture. While he was desperate to have Star Dance Dust be a hit, rumors also had it that he had fallen hard for Mrs. Palmer.”

  “Feelings which weren’t returned?”

  “Not that I’ve heard.”

  “Love scorned. An excellent motive for murder.” There was an hardness to his voice that meant we were edging a little too close to personal territory again. I hurried on.

  “Finally there were rumors that David Palmer’s love interest in the movie, Sheila Rey was giving him the eye, which made her husband, Mortimer’s blood boil.”

  I shifted my wrist slightly upward so I could glance at my watch without making a show of it. Palmer had been in my apartment for a long time, and he was bound to be getting antsy. I didn’t dare let him be alone too long, but escaping the notice of the long arm of the law was never easy, even when the cop wasn’t my ex-boyfriend.

  “You might also want to check out the Flemming Animal Park on Sunset.”

  Billy’s pencil stopped scribbling. “Why an animal park?”

  “Well, I understand the missus was rather fond of apes, and there are plenty there to interview.”

  Of course with that Billy was onto me, and blew his top. “I don’t know why I waste my time with reporters anyway. You give me a pain.”

  “Why, Detective. I am only trying to help.”

  “Yourself, that is. Get out and go peddle your papers. I’ll be the one solving this murder.”

  I got to my feet, the picture of righteous indignation. “Well, I never.”

  “Save it, sister.”

  He gestured to a flatfoot who started shoving me toward the door. I made a token show of resisting. “See if I buy any more tickets to the policeman’s ball.”

  “Out!”

  It only took a couple of minutes to shake the flatfoot, hail a cab, and head for home.

  I only hoped Palmer was still around for me to interrogate.

  Since the hour was getting late I decided to stop at a little Chinese place which was still open and get some takeout. It had been a long day and the sandwich I had scarfed down just before the premiere had worn off long ago. I bought enough for two, in case Palmer was too polite to raid my kitchen while waiting for me.

  When I opened the front door I saw that he had stayed out of my kitchen, but he’d found the liquor cabinet all right.

  I put the food on the card table that passed for formal furniture in my place, then walked over and pulled the bottle of scotch out of his unresisting hand. I raised it up to the light. There wasn’t much left, and I was pretty sure the bottle had been full the last time I looked. I plopped it down on the table next to the food, then pulled up a footstool next to Palmer and sat.

  Palmer wasn’t comatose, or unconscious, thank God, but he was on the road to being good and sloshed. At least he was still awake enough to talk, and that was all I needed.

  “You a heavy drinker, Lamb Chop?”

  “My wife is dead.” He looked down, only then realizing that the bottle had been taken from him. “She’s dead.”

  “Yes, I’m sorry to say she is, but you aren’t”

  “I’m supposed to be.”

  That came out so quietly, I nearly missed it. My pulse began to quicken. “What do you mean?”

  He wasn’t listening to me, he was lost in his own world. “Supposed to be me, not her,” came the mutter just before his chin dropped to his chest.

  “No you don’t.” I reached out and hauled him to his feet.

  “Wha—” Startled, he looked around, blinking hard.

  “You owe me a story, mister, and you’re darn well going to tell it.” I hauled him over to the card table and shoved him into a seat. “Some food will wake you up, and then you’re going to talk.”

  His fork hit the plate with a clatter.

  “Thank you,” he said. “I needed this.”

  “You’re going to need more than a plate full of food before you’re done.”

  “I know.” He paused for the longest time. “She’s really dead? I didn’t imagine it?”

  “I’m sorry, but yes.”

  He leaned back and rubbed his eyes. “Damn.”

  “I wish I could give you more time to deal with your loss. Mrs. Palmer was nice to me when I interviewed her, but I’ve perched myself on a limb here, keeping quiet about you to the cops. Once they get wind that you’re alive you’re going to be suspect number one in their book, so you’d better talk fast, because I’m the best chance you have at getting out of this mess.”

  He had looked up from his plate while I was talking, and now he was looking at me with a smile on his face.

  “What?”

  “I knew you would help me, Miss J.P. McNab.”

  “Oh, you did, huh?”

  “Yes. I have been reading your articles for quite some time now. While the subject matter quite often was less than substantial, they were always thorough and fair. So, that’s why I allowed you to see me back at the theater. I thought you wouldn’t give up on me until you learned all the facts, and I was right.”

  “Speaking of facts...”

  “Yes. I suppose it’s time to tell you the whole story.” He settled back in his chair, making himself comfortable. “I was supposed to die in that explosion, but Marjorie nearly lost her life as well.”

  That caught my interest. “She was in the dressing room with you? Did you smell the gas? Is that how you got away in time?”

  “I know common knowledge blamed the explosion on natural causes, but the truth was far more sinister. My dressing room blew up thanks to a grenade.”

  “A grenade?” This story was getting better already. “And Marjorie was in the room with you?”

  “Yes. I had just overheard something disturbing, and I wanted to talk it over with her, then that thing came crashing through the window.”

  “The grenade?”

  Palmer nodded. “I grabbed ahold of Marjorie and got us out of the room just in time. As soon as we cleared the door it exploded.”

  “Boy howdy,” I whistled. “Close call.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Why pretend you were dead?”

  “Because of what I overheard.”

  “Which was?”

  “A few hours before I had been taking a shortcut through the studio backlot. I had been walking through the wild west area when I heard two voices coming from the next street over. I hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, then I recognized one of the voices.”

  I inched forward in my chair. “Who was it?”

  Palmer’s fingers spasmed around his coffee cup. “Gloria Gilmore.”

  “The gossip queen?”

  Palmer nodded. “I’m sure it was her.”

  That was a twist. Gilmore had built a career on spilling the lowdown on the Hollywood elite in her weekly newspaper column. She had heavy competition from rival papers, so getting a scoop back then was even a more cutthroat operation than it was now.

  “Her sneaking around a backlot shouldn’t have been a surprise. She was probably sniffing for information.”

  “That’s what I first assumed. Then the subject matter became much more serious than the usual gossiping drivel.”

  “How so?”

  “She was warning the person she was talking to that she meant business. That she would destroy him by printing something about him in her column. She gave him one option. He would supply her with information, or dirt as she liked to call it on the studio’s biggest stars, or she would spill all.”

  Two things flashed through my mind. First that Gilmore had been threatening a fella back then, and second that I may have just uncovered another reason why Palmer disappeared for a quarter of a century. “I’m guessing you had something buried that could be dug up?”

  He looked at me. “You’re good.”

  That made me laugh. “You’re right.” Then the smile left my face. “I’m not going to ask for details.” There already so much juice to this story, I might as well leave Palmer a little bit of his dignity.

  “Thank you.”

  “So, what happened next?”

  “Well, I was so startled I reared back a little and my foot hit a rusty can that had been in the street.”

  I winced. “I bet that made a clatter.”

  “A loud one. The voices immediately quit talking and I knew they had heard. I ran away, but they must have recognized me.”

  “Proof of that came with the grenade through your window.”

  “Exactly.”

  “But why play dead?”

  “Obviously I was a target, and Marjorie nearly died. As long as I lived the killer would try again. I couldn’t risk her life.”

  Man, this guy had it bad for his wife. She had been a lucky girl. “You knew Gilmore was involved,” I said. “Why didn’t you go to the cops?”

  “I couldn’t, officially. I had no proof, and Gilmore was a powerful woman in this town back then. I did ask my brother-in-law, who worked in the coroner’s office at that time, for some help.”

  “The coroner’s office?” That made sense. “He doctored his report, didn’t he? Made it say that he found traces of a body at the crime scene? Traces that weren’t really there.”

  “Yes. When I explained the situation to him, he understood my need to keep quiet.”

  The bulb lit up, and I cursed myself for not figuring it out sooner. “You don’t know the identity of the other fella who had been with Gilmore.”

  Palmer shook his head. “I never heard the other person’s voice. I knew it was a man, but Gilmore didn’t mention names.”

  “So, as long as this fella was free to walk around you were at risk?”

  “Exactly.”

  I whistled. “No wonder you played dead for so long.”

  “It was the only way to keep us safe.”

  “And it worked.”

  Palmer looked down at the tabletop. “Until today.”

  “Marjorie must have tumbled onto the guy’s identity while she was at the premiere.”

  “Apparently so.”

  “So, the top suspects are Kilroy, Blont and Rey. Just like I told Billy.”

  “Who’s Billy?”

  “Oh, never mind. What about the three fellas I mentioned. Could they have been blackmailed by Gilmore?”

  “Oh, easily. Joseph Kilroy was known for entertaining script girls or interns in his dressing room, and my director, Steven Blont always had a wild eye. Then finally, if infidelity was involved I would have to look toward my leading lady, Sheila Rey.”

  “Need I remind you that Gilmore was threatening a man.”

  “Yes, but Sheila’s husband, Mortimer Rey, was extremely jealous.”

  “He was a big wig at the movie studio, wasn’t he?”

  “Indeed he was. He reportedly had a bit of a wandering eye himself until he met Sheila, then he couldn’t bear it if anyone looked at her in the same way.”

  “Then threat against his Sheila might be worth killing for?”

  “Possibly.”

  I got up and started to pace. “Too bad we just can’t ask Gilmore who the man was, but she’s dead, isn’t she?”

  Palmer nodded. “She died in an automobile accident back in 1929.”

  Still pacing, I started counting. “So, our best suspects are Kilroy, Blont and Rey.”

  “There could be others.”

  “Yes, but those three were connected with your last picture, and I saw them all at the premiere today. One of them could be our killer.”

  “Perhaps, but how could we ever prove it?”

  I thought hard for a minute, then snapped my fingers. “I have an idea.” I went to the phone and started dialing.

  “Who are you calling? It’s ten o’clock at night?”

  “You’ll see...Hello, Mr. Kilroy, this is J. P. McNab of Gazette. I’ve just gotten a lead on the biggest scoop of the century and I need your help to pin it down. What is it? Well, I’ve been looking into a connection between Gloria Gilmore and David Palmer’s death— yes, I am aware that Gilmore has never been connected to the case before, that’s why it’s a scoop. Why am I calling you? Well, I’ve learned that Miss Gilmore had a connection to blackmail and that’s where you come in— really, Mr. Kilroy, such language. If you want to discuss this further meet me at the Castle Theater at ten o’clock tomorrow morning, otherwise I’ll see you in print.” Kilroy was still talking when I hung up.

  Palmer was looking at me like I was mad. “How do you know he’s the killer?”

  “I don’t.” I picked up the phone and started dialing again. “I’m going to say the same thing to Blont and Rey. Maybe I can startle one of them enough to prove his guilt.”

  “He might just do that by carving a knife across your throat.”

  I shot Palmer a smile. “That’s what I’m counting on.”

  A movie theater was a creepy place when it was empty. Every footstep echoed off the walls, adding to the desolate mood. I tried to whistle as I walked across the stage, but that only made things worse. It didn’t help that this was one of those theaters with a theme, built when picture houses had to be grand palaces in order to compete. Although technically this one was a castle, not a palace. It was decked out with decor that would fit nicely inside a medieval castle, and a curtain which looked like a giant tapestry.

  I made a show of looking like I was alone, and a little scared, but so far it didn’t seem like I had an audience. I had arrived just short of the ten a.m. appointment I’d made with Gilmore’s potential blackmail victims. I’d figured the guilty one would be eager to shut me up, like they must have shut Marjorie up earlier, but here it was past my deadline and I was still all alone. I was beginning to think it was a bust, when a clatter came from the left side of the stage.

  I stiffened and forced my breathing to slow. This was for a Pulitzer, damn it. Then I caught a look at the man who joined me in front of the limelight.

  “Billy! What are you doing here?”

  “Blont called the station to report a blackmail threat, and I’m here to follow it up.”

  “Did he?” I thought quickly. “That’s good.”

  “Good?” Billy choked on the word. He was working his jaw back and forth so hard I was afraid he was going to wear the enamel right off his teeth. “He’s accusing you of blackmail, J.P., and you say that’s good?”

  “Oh, I’m not the blackmailer, Gloria Gilmore was, and the fact that Blont called you means he’s not the killer.”

  “The killer?” Billy grabbed ahold of my arm. “Are you setting a trap for Marjorie Palmer’s killer?”

  “Yes I am, and while it’s nice that you have eliminated one of my suspects, Billy, two more are due here any minute—”

  “What?”

  “—and they are not going to come forward if they see you.” I started pulling him toward the curtain. “So you are going to hide here with David until this is all over.”

  “David? David who?”

  “David Palmer, that’s who.”

  “Palmer? Isn’t he dead?”

  “He was, but now he’s not.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t have time to explain.” I pulled back the curtain, and there stood David, hat in hand, looking totally lost. Before he could move, I shoved Billy into his arms. My cop stumbled, but Palmer was able to catch him before he fell.

  “Now you two stay there and remain quiet.”

  Another sound, this time it came from the front of the theater, beyond the rows of seats.

  Joseph Kilroy needed a cane these days to walk. He was at least twenty-five pounds heavier than he was back in 1927 during the filming of Star Dance Dust which meant he must have gained one pound a year. It’s amazing where my mind wandered when I was standing in front of a fella who could be a killer.

  “Mr. Kilroy,” I said when he got close enough to hear me speak. “Thanks for coming.”

  “I’m only here for one reason, young lady.” He stopped just short of the stage and started to wave his cane at me. “I wanted to tell you that I am appalled that a journalist would stoop so low as to commit blackmail, and I’m not going to let you get away with it. I was blackmailed once before in my life, and that situation was appalling enough. I am not going to submit to it again.”

  “Again?” My mind started to spin as I started thinking out loud. “Back in 1927 wasn’t there some rumor about you and a visiting countess caught in a cheap hotel?”

  “It wasn’t cheap,” Kilroy exploded, using his cane like a shield. Waving it between us to defend himself against me, or at least my accusations. “I always treated Vanessa to the finest accommodations. We were at the Continental.”

  I tuned out the rest of his words as I stared at the cane, moving back and forth, but never up and down. Then it hit me.

  “You can’t raise your arm over your head.”

  The cane went still. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  I took a step closer. “Can you pull your arm backward, say to throw a baseball?”

  Now the arm and the cane dropped down. “Really, young lady. What does the status of my pitching arm have to do with blackmail?”

  “It has everything to do with it. In fact it’s the most important thing of all. Now tell me, please, can you pitch a baseball?”

  Kilroy was looking at me like I had gone looney, but that was okay if he would just answer the damn question. He paused forever, and my heart started racing.

  Finally his breath went out of him with a whoosh. “No. Both of my shoulders were broken during the war. I have been unable to raise them above my head or move them backward since.”

  “Then you couldn’t have tossed that grenade into David Palmer’s dressing room.”

  “Grenade?” Kilroy’s forehead turned into one, big wrinkle. “I thought the explosion was caused by a gas leak?”

  “Nope. It was murder, and since you didn’t want to kill David Palmer, you probably didn’t off his wife.”

  Kilroy reared back. “Of course I didn’t kill Marjorie. She was a lovely person, staying true to David’s memory even after all these years.”