Any more than the usual numberâzeroâand Iâd declare victory.
The early bird may catch the worm, but she can forget about finding a seat on the streetcar. The man in front of me couldnât be bothered to rise and let a lady take the weight off. He was lost in the Register âs morning edition. Glancing down, I found myself staring into Rubyâs eyes.
ALLEY ANGEL IDENTIFIED , the headline blared. RUBY CARROLL WAS HOLLYWOOD HOPEFUL . Sheâd finally made the front page.
Which disappeared when the man folded his paper to get at the boxing column. Two blocks later he started for the exit.
âPardon me,â I said. âAre you done with that paper?â
âI could be, for a smile.â
Despite the ungodly hour I gave him his moneyâs worth, teeth included at no extra charge.
âTake it and maybe Iâll see you again sometime.â He winked, which I credited to Edithâs fashion tip.
Snagging his seat I opened the paper for a good look at the page one photo. Ruby knelt on a towel at the beach in a halter-top bathing suit, blond hair blowing away from her freshly scrubbed face. She looked like an advertisement for California health and beauty.
I recognized Rubyâs swimsuitâthe salesgirl had called it poppy, Ruby insisted it was orangeâand the towel, shanghaied from Mrs. Lindrosâs linen closet. I also knew the girl on Rubyâs left, though the only part of her remaining in the cropped photograph was her knee. It was Vi.
Making the hand on the towel to Rubyâs right mine.
Poor, trusting Vi. She thought sheâd given the photo of our beach jaunt to a detective, but it had been a reporter with a slick line.
Aside from the disclosure of Rubyâs name and the âexclusiveâ photo, the Register âs story was a hash of old news, spiced up with idle speculation about the Alley Angelâs morals. The rest of the ride to Tremayneâs seemed longer than usual.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
MR. VALENTINE STOOD at the entrance to Ladiesâ Wear, his goldenrod necktie so bright I was tempted to slip my sunglasses on again. âMiss Frost. Good to have you back after your ordeal.â
âIâm sorry for any inconvenience.â
âThe way those detectives questioned you, I thought you were a suspect.â He forced an amiable chuckle. So did I.
Next stop hat department, Mr. Valentine nipping at my heels like a terrier. âI read the story in this morningâs paper,â he said solicitously. âThat was your friend, the blond girl? Tragic, just tragic. I thought Lorna put it beautifully in her column. Felled by âthe traps and snares of moviedom.ââ He cupped his hand as he spoke as if clutching Yorickâs skull.
âShe certainly has a way with words.â Ruby had always hated Lorna Whitcomb, branding her a âwithered-face crab who bombed out as a chorus girl.â
I started primping the hat displays, grooming every feather like a vain parakeet. Still Mr. Valentine lingered, reluctant to leave his flesh and blood link to the big news story of the day. He might have tarried all morning if the storeâs assistant manager hadnât come to retrieve him. He took his leave for Tremayneâs loftier climes. Abruptly, he turned back. âBy the way, thatâs a lovely outfit. Very smart.â
Two compliments. Something else to mention to Edith now that I had a moment to call her.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
HEARING EDITHâS UNMISTAKABLE crisp tone brought my motherâs brooch to mind, making me absurdly emotional all over again.
âLillian, a pleasure to hear from you. I hope youâre well.â
âIâm wonderful, thanks to you.â
âIâm sure I donât know what you mean.â
âIâm sure you do. Consider me in your debt forever.â
âLetâs say Iâm happy to help a fellow working girl and leave it at
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