Murder at the Movies (Albert J Tretheway Series) Read online

  “You mean that’s the movie you picked?” Zulp said. “The three of you?”

  Tretheway nodded.

  “Quite a feather in our cap, really,” Thake expanded. “Clark Gable and that English girl, Vivien Leigh. One showing only. By invitation. A Saturday evening with an intermission. Then it goes public downtown to a bigger theatre. The Palace, I think.”

  “By invitation?” Wan Ho repeated.

  Thake smiled around the room. “You’re all invited.”

  “What about some other movies?” Zulp asked.

  “Okay,” Tretheway said. “I know we’ve set up these guidelines. But they’re certainly not etched in copper. If anybody has any suggestions …”

  Doc Nooner stood up again. “I said Son of Frankenstein. All kinds of eerie possibilities. The monster drowned in a sulphur pit. Bela Lugosi as the broken-necked Ygor. Deformed by a hangman. You could do something with all that.”

  “Good choice, Doc.” Tretheway spoke to Jake. “Maybe you’d better write these down.”

  Addie handed Jake a paper and pencil.

  “I’ve got one,” Violet Farrago said. “The Hunchback of Notre Dame.”

  Jake scribbled.

  “Charles Laughton as Quasimodo. Looks out for Esmerelda. Real middle ages spooky stuff. Boiling oil and everything.”

  “Okay Violet,” Tretheway acknowledged.

  “We have a suggestion,” Lulu Ashcroft said. Joshua Pike stood up with her. Tretheway waited while they decided who went first.

  “The Cat and the Canary,” Lulu said. “Great haunted house stuff. Hands coming out of nowhere. Secret doors. A real screamer.”

  “And Bob Hope to boot,” Joshua said.

  By now the rest of the guests were either standing up or raising their hands. Tretheway bent over Jake, ostensibly to read the list.

  “Everyone’s got their own bloody movie,” he whispered.

  “Everyone’s a critic,” Jake said.

  Tretheway straightened up. He pointed at Miles Terminus.

  “Each Dawn I Die,” Terminus said.

  “I liked that one,” Jake said. “But then, I like James Cagney.”

  “You also like the Ritz Brothers,” Wan Ho said.

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “They’re awful.”

  “Keep on track,” Tretheway said.

  “George Raft was good in it too,” Terminus went on. “Super prison picture. With its share of murders. Remember when they stabbed the stoolie?”

  Jake nodded. Addie handed him another piece of writing paper.

  “Okay, Neil,” Tretheway said. “You probably see more movies than anyone. What’s your professional opinion?”

  Neil Heavenly smiled, a young impish grin, no teeth showing. “The Rains Came,” he said.

  “I almost picked that one myself,” Tretheway said.

  “Lots of inspiration,” Neil elaborated. “Floods. Earthquakes. A monsoon. The Raj, Ranchipur. A sneaky romance with Ty Power as an Indian doctor.”

  “So you think The Rains Came could prod our Fan’s imagination?” Tretheway asked.

  “Everything from flooding someone’s basement to drowning in a shower. Or wait for a real storm,” Neil added. “With luck, a hurricane.”

  “That’s all very well,” Thake broke in. “But I don’t think it has to be a disaster or murder movie.”

  “I suppose not,” Tretheway said. “What’s your suggestion?”

  “The Story of Vernon and Irene Castle,” Thake said.

  “You going to dance someone to death, Freeman?” Doc Nooner said.

  “Vernon Castle was killed in WWI,” Thake said.

  “That’s right,” Jake said. “He was a flyer.”

  “Doesn’t get my vote,” Zulp said.

  “It was only a suggestion,” Thake defended his choice.

  “And a very interesting one,” Tretheway said.

  “Union Pacific,” Bartholemew Gum said.

  “What?” Tretheway looked at Gum.

  “That’s my movie,” Gum explained. “Union Pacific. Building a railroad. Gamblers. Gunslingers. Indian attacks. Train crashes. Even romance. Cecil B. DeMille at his finest.”

  “I think it’s a good choice.” Jake made more notes. Gum sat down smiling.

  “Basil.” Tretheway pointed. “We haven’t heard from you.”

  Basil Horsborough mumbled something.

  “Can’t hear you, Basil,” Tretheway said.

  “Tarzan Finds a Son,” Horsborough blurted. “I mean, the Fan could have a picnic with this one. Dress in an animal skin. Swing through the trees in someone’s backyard. Even ride an elephant. Don’t forget, he stole a horse.”

  “A little easier to get a horse,” Tretheway said.

  “But not impossible,” Horsborough persisted.

  “Well… no,” Tretheway had to admit.

  “Also crocodile wrestling. Nasty white hunters. Guns. And remember Boy caught in that giant tarantula web?” Horsborough clucked. “All grist for the Fan’s mill.”

  Tretheway nodded. “We’ve got it all written down.” He looked around the room. “That about does it.”

  Zulp coughed.

  “Chief, of course,” Tretheway said. “Saved the best ’till last.”

  Zulp stood up. “Haven’t given this too much thought. Busy. Lots to do.” He stared at the ceiling.

  “You have a movie?” Tretheway prompted.

  “Haven’t seen too many. But there is one. Stands out. Memorable.”

  Everyone waited. Tretheway found himself leaning forward on his chair with the others.

  “The Terror of Tiny Town,” Zulp announced.

  Tretheway frowned. He exchanged looks with Jake and Wan Ho. They shook their heads.

  “You got us there, Chief,” Tretheway said.

  “A musical Western. Lots of action. Gunfights. Hard riding cowboys. Dynamite. Log cabin exploding.”

  “A musical?” Wan Ho asked.

  “Yes,” Zulp said. “Got some catchy numbers.”

  “Who’s in it?” Jake asked.

  “That’s the interesting part,” Zulp said. “The whole cast is midgets.”

  “Midgets?” Jake repeated.

  “Yes,” Zulp said. “All little people.” A sudden glimmer of uncertainty passed over his wrinkled features.

  “Something else?” Wan Ho asked.

  “And a penguin,” Zulp said. “A giant penguin was in it. I’m not sure why.”

  “All food for thought, Chief,” Tretheway said. “You got that, Jake?”

  “I’ll remember that one,” Jake said.

  Zulp sat down, still frowning. Tretheway noticed Addie fidgeting by the kitchen door, a sure sign that sandwich time was not far away. He decided to sum up.

  “That’s about it, then. There were more suggestions than I anticipated. All imaginative. Some more than others. Thank you for every one of them. But please don’t forget Gone with the Wind. It’s still close to the top of the list. And we’ll see it as a group.” Tretheway looked at Thake. “Saturday?” Thake nodded. “Seven o’clock sharp.”

  “Right,” Tretheway said. “Think about it. Try to see it through the eyes of the Fan. And if you get any ideas, we can talk about it.”

  “Does this mean another meeting?” Zulp asked.

  “I don’t think that’s necessary,” Tretheway replied.

  He spoke to the room. “Individual phone calls would better suit the purpose. Call any one of us.” Tretheway indicated himself, Wan Ho and Jake. “Thank you for your patience.”

  Polite unexpected applause goaded Addie into action. She pushed through the swinging door of the kitchen and returned on the next swing bearing a sandwich-laden tray. Two students followed carrying a punch bowl brimming with a dandelion-wine-and-soda-water mixture and a second tray jammed with a collection of unmatched glasses. Addie announced that other spirits and beer were available in the kitchen on a help-yourself basis.

  For most, the meeting changed di
rection. Talk turned to subjects as diverse as Adolph Hitler’s actions in Europe to a FY Expo article about a man in Denver who couldn’t stop walking backwards. Doc Nooner and Gum discussed the punch heard ’round the world in the recent Louis/Galento world championship boxing match. Neil Heavenly described an RFYLI demonstration he’d seen of a new automatic weapon (Bren gun). Lulu Ashcroft and Joshua Pike raised eyebrows bemoaning the price of a new dining room suite ($109, nine piece, walnut) they were going halfers on. Thake complained about the price ($920) of a new Ford V8 he was considering for Mrs. Thake. Violet Farrago defended the economy by spinning around, modelling the dress she had bought for ninety-nine cents. Miles Terminus was full of a bargain funeral he had read about ($120); “and that includes a solid oak casket,” he said.

  Zulp missed most of this by dodging through people on his way to the door and home. He had made earlier excuses to Addie about getting a good night’s sleep for Monday morning but, in truth, his favourite radio program, “American Album of Familiar Music,” came on at half past nine.

  Fred wandered freely in the crowd begging the equivalent of three sandwiches. Thake’s four employees started a Rummy 500 game while their boss explained the social niceties of ballroom dancing to Basil Horsborough. Tretheway, Jake and Wan Ho were the only ones who continued to rehash the movies.

  “So we’re agreed then,” Tretheway said. “Gone with the Wind is our best choice.”

  “The most logical,” Jake said.

  “What about The Terror of Tiny Town?” Wan Ho grinned.

  Tretheway shook his head. “I was afraid he was going to ask you to round up all the midgets.”

  “We got any?” Jake asked.

  “I don’t know,” Wan Ho said.

  “We only had seven Indians.”

  “Your ancestors must have a quotation for this,” Jake said.

  Wan Ho’s brow wrinkled as he mentally flipped through his Charlie Chan aphorism file. “Ah,” he said finally. “Each man thinks his own cuckoos better than next man’s nightingales.”

  The three bowed slightly toward each other. Addie pushed among them with a sandwich tray.

  “What are you up to?” she asked.

  “We’re discussing Oriental History,” Tretheway said.

  “I see your dandelion wine is moving well tonight,” Jake said to Addie.

  They turned and watched as Freeman Thake spun a protesting Basil Horsborough around in an impromptu demonstration of the fox trot.

  “He’ll sleep well tonight,” Addie said. She went toward the twirling pair with sandwiches.

  “You know what bothers me about tonight?” Jake said.

  “What’s that?” Tretheway drained a Molson quart. Everyone had finally gone home. They were the only ones in the house still up. Jake stood now poised on the back stairs heading for bed. Tretheway sat at the kitchen table.

  “Two things, really. One bad, one good,” Jake went on. “It’s unfortunate the next victim, the killee so to speak, wasn’t here. At the meeting. Too bad he couldn’t’ve heard what was said. Be forewarned.”

  “I assume that’s the bad one,” Tretheway said.

  Jake nodded. “But on the other hand, I’m glad our Fan wasn’t here. The killer. But for the opposite reason.”

  Tretheway stared at Jake. A slow humourless smile spread over his face.

  “What’s the matter?” Jake asked.

  “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  Jake nodded.

  “Jake, I’d bet my pension they were both here. In this house. At the meeting.”

  Jake’s eyes went twice their normal size.

  “But it doesn’t really change anything,” Tretheway said.

  “Eh?”

  “I mean, you’ve still got one good one and one bad one.”

  Jake went up the stairs without saying goodnight.

  Chapter

  11

  Gone with the Wind lived up to its ground-breaking publicity. The audience oohed at the magnificent splendor of the Old South and aahed at the lavish costumes in the opening shots of Tara. They picked their favourites early in the Rhett loves Scarlett, Scarlett loves Ashley, Ashley loves Melanie complicated relationships.

  Image followed memorable image; the indifference of Scarlett O’Hara walking through the railway depot where hundreds of Confederate soldiers lay wounded or dying in a moaning panorama, the breathtaking escape of Scarlett and Rhett from burning Atlanta, the madness of Scarlett’s father (Thomas Mitchell), the horror of Bonnie’s fatal riding accident, the dignity of Hattie MacDaniel contrasted with the “I don’t know nothin’ bout birthin’ babies” mentality of Prissy (Butterfly McQueen), and the inconsolable remorse of Ashley over gentle Melanie’s death. Probably the most memorable scene, Scarlett literally kissed off her feet before Rhett carries her up the wide red-carpeted staircase two steps at a time, brought romantic palpitations to the hearts of the ladies and a matching surge of macho identification to the breasts of the men.

  When Rhett’s final, controversial, melting-into the-fog line, ‘Frankly my dear I don’t give a DAMN,’ ended the four hour saga, almost everyone stood and applauded, an unheard-of reaction in the West End Theatre.

  Each one of the Tretheway party responded to the movie in a different way. Tretheway never lost himself in its mood as he would have in another Four Feathers or any Sherlock Holmes film. To him it remained celluloid. Jake became part of the Old South from the beginning credits but, as Wan Ho said, “You’d do the same thing with a Three Stooges flick.” Addie was emotionally drained. Lulu and Joshua shed tears, each at different places. Even hard-nosed Violet cried when Melanie went to heaven. Doc Nooner paid rapt attention to the hospital scenes, but became bored with the kissing.

  Except for the authentic uniforms, Basil Horsborough didn’t enjoy anything after the Civil War. Neil Heavenly liked everything he managed to see but his concern centred on the projector and the reels. Miles Terminus and Gum sat together and, as with Doc, the love scenes were their least favourite. Zulp sat in a special row of dignitaries beside Mayor Phineas (Fireball) Trutt. The mayor became noticeably excited during the fire scene.

  Over the next couple of weeks, Tretheway received several interesting phone calls from the group. Once again, he was surprised at the keen response. The Civil War came out on top.

  Gum called first to suggest the war itself posed endless possibilities of murder from bullets to sabres to bayonets, among others. Basil Horsborough supposed wildly that despite their vintage someone might try to activate the ship’s guns guarding his museum. But how they could be pointed effectively, or how anyone could be inveigled to stand in front of one, taxed his and Tretheway’s imagination. Neil Heavenly thought the scene where Scarlett shoots the Union Army deserter in the face with his own firearm could somehow be recreated. It also gave credibility, Neil implied, to the theory of a female killer. The burning of Atlanta garnered favourites, Tretheway among them. Joshua Pike had it at the top of his selections, but when pressed for an explanation couldn’t explain. “Just a gut feeling,” he said.

  Freeman Thake proposed death involving horses, inspired by Mr O’Hara’s riding accident. Lulu Ashcroft said the same thing, but her reason came from Bonnie’s fall from yet another horse. Doc Nooner insinuated that Melanie’s waning strength, resulting in her lingering demise, could have been brought about by injection or poison. His viewpoint was the least popular with Tretheway. Jake and Wan Ho felt that the actual fighting should play a part but neither could recall enough of the surprisingly short montage of battle scenes to argue sensibly.

  Tretheway forced himself to remain objective. “Let’s keep it open,” he said.

  Addie abstained. And Zulp gave no suggestions at all for Gone with the Wind. He did, however, urge Wan Ho for some action (he didn’t say what) on the midget cowboy musical movie.

  By the middle of August, Tretheway was disconsolate. He had all the necessary facts within his grasp, in his opinion, to solve the murders, but app
eared to be no closer to the solution.

  “Doesn’t that dog ever go home?” he said.

  Fred wagged her tail. She had wandered into the parlour after supper and lay now with her head on the lower shelf of the tea wagon.

  Addie looked disapprovingly at her brother. “Albert, what’s the matter?”

  Tretheway didn’t answer. In the background, the canned voice of The Old Ranger was spinning one more tale on the Friday episode of “Death Valley Days.” Jake lowered his newspaper.

  “You want to talk about it?” he asked his boss.

  “We’ve talked our ears off.” Tretheway complained.

  “You certainly have.” Addie’s empty cup and saucer rattled with indignation as she put it back on the tray. Fred lifted her head. “Too much talk. It’s time you did something. Get a move on.”

  Jake hid behind his paper. Tretheway’s face reddened. He jerked upright in his soft chair. Cigar ashes sprayed over his shirt front. Just as suddenly, he relaxed and leaned back.

  “You’re quite right, Addie,” he said. “It is time to get a move on. A time for action. Sometimes a decision, right or wrong, is better than none at all.” He brushed the ashes from his chest. “If the Fan follows his pattern, something should happen in a week. Maybe two.”

  “Okay.” Jake folded his paper away. He clapped his hands together. “What’s the movie?” he asked Tretheway.

  “Gone with the Wind,” Tretheway replied without hesitation.

  “And the scene?”

  Tretheway hesitated only briefly. “Atlanta,” he said. “The burning of Atlanta. A huge raging fire. That would appeal to the Fan. A great climax.”

  “Where?” Jake pressed. “What’s he going to burn down?”

  “Something spectacular,” Tretheway said.

  “Like what?”

  “How do I know?” Tretheway’s foul mood threatened to return.

  “What did they burn down in the movie?” Addie asked.

  “An old MGM set,” Jake said. “From King Kong.”

  “But we don’t have one of those,” Tretheway said.

  “I’m just trying to help,” Addie said.

  “And it was planned. Everybody knew about it,” Jake said. “It was all in the script.”