Page 63 of His Girl Hollywood
“I don’t know but if you ask me, there’s something fishy about the whole thing.”
“Something fishy! That’s it.” Arlene turned the paper horizontally. Eleanor had drawn the image vertically. But if you turned it on its side, it looked like a roughly drawn fish. And the letters weren’t a code. They were an unfinished message.DadandCwith an unfinisheda. It seemed like a stretch, but she knew she was right. She leapt out of her seat and ran into the kitchen to use the phone on the wall. Eleanor was only a few steps behind.
“What’sit? What did I say? And who are you calling?”
“The police, obviously.” Eleanor extended one carefully manicured finger and held down the receiver, disconnecting the line. Arlene glared at her. “What’d you do that for?”
“I hate to break it to ya, toots. But they ain’t gonna be any help. Half the force is in bed with guys like Frankie Martino. You call them and I guarantee Frankie will know we’re on to him before you hang up.”
Arlene returned the phone to the wall. “Drat.” She chewed her lip. What was she supposed to do if she couldn’t call the police for help? Was there anyone who wasn’t somehow connected to the mob? Wait. Of course there was.
She reached for the address book on the top of her mother’s kitchen counter, flipping through it until she found what she was looking for. The ink was still gleaming black, only added to the book within the last month. She dialed and explained to Eleanor at the same time. “If we can’t call the cops, we’re going to need a foolproof plan, so I’m calling in some reinforcements.”
“But I still don’t understand. What did I say? Where is Don?”
“Fishy. You said ‘fishy.’ That symbol. That’s meant to be a fish. Don was trying to writeDadandCannery. But he got interrupted.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Don’s parents worked in the canneries on Terminal Island. His mother was a cashier at the cafeteria and his father worked in the warehouse, filleting and packing tuna. Don hated it. Growing up, their whole house, his clothes, his father’s fingernails, it all smelled like fish. Don’s father expected him to join him when he came of age, but he went to New York instead. That’s what Frankie meant when he said he was gonna remind Don where he came from.”
The phone trilled on the other end of the line. “Pick up, pick up, pick up.”
“Hello. Howard and Davis residence.” Arlene sighed in relief. Joan and Dash had moved into a new mansion in Beverly Hills after they got married. For the second time. But they’d taken Dash’s butler with them. They needed the help. Particularly since Arlene was no longer Joan’s assistant. “Martin, it’s Arlene. I need to speak to Joan right away.” She turned to Eleanor, while she waited for Martin to fetch her friend. “I can’t be absolutely certain, but there’s a handful of warehouses down in the harbor that the canneries use. If there hasn’t been a new catch in a while, they sit empty. I’d bet my eyeteeth that’s where Frankie has Don.”
A deep, sultry voice came on the line. “Hello, darling, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Joan, I need your help.”
“Is it Don? I knew it!” She called into the background, “Dash, it happened. I told you the kid was crazy for him.”
Arlene bit back a retort. Having recently been involved in plotting to get Joan and Dash back together, she couldn’t very well scold Joan for hoping for the same for her. “It is Don. But it’s not what you think.”
Arlene quickly explained all she’d learned in the last twenty minutes—Frankie Martino, Eleanor’s predicament, Don’s scheme, and her hunch about where he’d been taken. “I need you and Dash to help me work this out.”
“We’ll be there in an hour.” Joan hung up, and Arlene pressed the phone to her chest. She had no idea what a group of actors, a dancer, and an assistant turned screenwriter turned director were going to do about a gangster and his schemes. But help was on the way. And she could already breathe easier knowing she wasn’t in this alone.
“Ya know, I think I will take that cup of coffee,” Eleanor chirped, as Arlene followed her gaze to the gleaming metal coffeepot, a look of naked envy in her eyes. Arlene said nothing for a moment, just looked at Eleanor and then back at the coffeepot.
“The cups are in the cupboard on the right.”
Arlene turned on her heel and went back to the living room and the sideboard built into the wall to dig for some more pen and paper in one of the drawers. Already intent on her next task, she still could hear Eleanor in the kitchen, as the dancer squeaked, “Well, I never. Without so much as a kiss my foot or have an apple.” Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, this was going to be a long night.
Chapter 24
By the time Joan, Dash, and a very irritable Flynn arrived at Arlene’s parents’ house, it was nearly sunset. Despite Arlene’s protestations, her mother whipped up something to eat for everyone and was passing around cups of coffee. Apart from leaning on her cane for support, Pauline looked like her spry, cheery self. Color had returned to her cheeks, and she had far more energy than when Arlene had sent her back for a nap upon Eleanor’s arrival.
“I don’t understand why we can’t call the police,” grumbled Flynn.
“For the hundredth time,” Arlene sighed. “Because Eleanor doesn’t know if they’re in Frankie Martino’s pocket. His outfit is an East Coast one, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have friends here.”
“The LAPD has more dirty laundry than a laundromat,” added Eleanor.
“How do you know? You live in New York,” retorted Flynn.
“I know things.” Eleanor was defensive and reached for one of the shortbread cookies that Arlene’s mother had arranged on a plate. Eleanor harrumphed and shoved the cookie in her mouth whole.
“Remind me why you thought we should bring Flynn along,” Joan asked Dash.