The Tinseltown Murderer Read online

  The house was currently overflowing with members of a branch of the Hollywood communist party. There were about three dozen people, all of them drinking as if Prohibition were about to begin again. There was a distinct possibility the alcohol would run out if they didn’t have a distillery in the back yard.

  “Caroline,” said Dora, as she greeted their hostess. “Please let me introduce my friends, Josie and David Remington.”

  Caroline looked to be about thirty with chin-length, brown curly hair and piercing blue eyes, which were currently squinting at both Josie and David. “You look like a fed,” she said to David.

  “How do I look?” asked Josie.

  “Like someone who would marry one, which is almost as bad.”

  “Neither of us works for the federal government in any way,” said Josie. “We’re just out-of-town friends who want to learn more about communism.”

  “That sounds like something one of Hoover’s spies would say. He does that, you know. He plants agitators in meetings so he can find an excuse to arrest us.”

  “Caroline,” said Dora, as she took a drink from Blake, who joined them. “I’ve known Josie and David for years and can guarantee they’re not spying for Hoover or anyone else. They’re in town from up north and wanted to get a taste of what Hollywood is really like. You can trust them as you trust me.”

  Blake nodded. “There’s no need for the third degree for these two. They’re good eggs.”

  Caroline didn’t look so certain, but after seeing two of her guests were about to accidentally set her curtains on fire with their cigarettes she hurried away to save her house.

  “I hear golf was interesting,” said Josie.

  “Do you think we made an impression on Kurt?” asked Blake.

  “It’s hard to know just what penetrates that head of his,” said Lawrence. “Or if anything ever does.”

  They were interrupted by Caroline tapping her glass with a spoon. “All right you reprobates, try to sober up. The meeting’s about to begin.”

  “But they’re so much more interesting when we’re at least a little drunk,” called out Blake. That made the others laugh and even the extremely serious Caroline chuckled.

  Dora leaned in to whisper to Josie, “He’s charming, isn’t he? And not bad to look at. Are you sure he doesn’t become a big star? He goes from one audition to the next, and I figure it’s only a matter of time until he makes a splash.”

  Josie hesitated. “I haven’t heard of him in my day, but we’ve already seen how much history changed after my first trip back in time. Perhaps, his day is coming.” Josie was discomfited by that fact, though Dora didn’t notice as Blake put his arm around her waist and led her to a chair next to Lawrence.

  “What’s wrong?” David asked quietly.

  “What if we change history for the worse again? I mean, look what happened on our last trip. What if things get even worse? And not just with the war. What about our friends? We could be endangering them, changing their fate.”

  David took her hand. “What if we make things much better? Look, we’re already here. We’ll figure it out as we go.”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Remington, are you going to stay in the corner and chit-chat or join the group?” asked Caroline. “I thought you were curious about communism.”

  “Sorry,” said David, as they took their seats near Lawrence.

  Half an hour later, after an exhaustive conversation about dues – many of the actors and artists were unsurprisingly behind on them – and enough second-hand smoke to give the actual house cancer, Caroline moved on to new business, but not before casting another suspicious look in Josie and David’s direction.

  “You can trust them, Caroline,” said Dora again.

  “I’d better be able to or we’ll all end up in jail,” said Caroline. “This is serious stuff we’re about to discuss and there can be no leaks.” She turned an appraising eye on everyone. “I am more and more convinced that Roosevelt and his ilk are trying to get us involved in the tensions in Europe. It’d be lunacy to get dragged into a conflict over there when we have our own problems here at home.”

  The group seemed to perk up at that point, with some of the men who might have been old enough to fight in World War I nodding in agreement.

  Caroline continued. “You’ve seen the bread lines. You’ve probably stood in a few yourself. But nothing is being done in Washington, nothing at all.”

  “What about the WPA programs?” asked Josie, referring to Roosevelt’s federal Work Projects Administration, which organized recovery efforts during the Depression.

  Apparently, Caroline wasn’t a fan, judging from the glare she sent Josie’s way. “That’s just lip service, a drop in the bucket compared to the ocean of need we have. All Roosevelt is doing is heading off a people’s revolution. But it’s coming. Have no doubt about that.”

  “I don’t think it is,” said Josie.

  “What happened to lying low and just listening?” asked David quietly.

  “That never really works for me.”

  Lawrence stifled a chuckle. “There are two things which call me to revolt. One is an empty liquor cabinet, and the other is any meeting which begins before noon.”

  “I thought it was 1 p.m.,” said Dora.

  “I’m becoming more accommodating as I age. That’s a third thing I find revolting – aging.”

  “Your point?” asked Caroline.

  Lawrence looked at her head on. “What are we going to do about the more immediate problem of the Nazis in our midst? The German American League is becoming more active.”

  “That’s just what Roosevelt wants you to think,” said Caroline.

  “No, the threat is very real. That social club of theirs downtown has become a hotspot for influential people from all over town, including plenty of police officers.”

  “It’s a glorified beer hall.”

  “Like the kind where Hitler got his start? I’m serious, Caroline. Some friends of mine had a run-in with some of their goons a few nights ago and one of them ended up in the hospital.”

  “And what were your friends doing to offend them?” asked a smug man from across the room, while a few others smirked.

  “They didn’t do anything to those German brutes,” said Lawrence calmly as he looked the man in the eyes. “They were minding their own business.”

  Blake cleared his throat. “I should point out to my comrades that the Soviets consider everyone equal. So, we can find no fault with Lawrence’s friends, unless, of course, they were there to burn Marx in effigy.”

  “I assure you they were doing no such thing,” he said with a smile and a nod toward Dora’s boyfriend.

  “Does no one want to talk about the measures we can take against the state?” asked Caroline.

  “It depends,” said Blake. “Is there more alcohol?”

  Dora raised her hand. “I happen to know that some of the studio heads have been spending more time at the League. There’s a dinner there this weekend and I suspect any number of businessmen and union busters will be there to mingle, getting tips on how to get rid of labor unions, like the way the Germans have done in their own country.”

  That got the attention of people in the room. “You say the studios are sending people to the dinner?” asked a man who was eating half of Lawrence’s pie.

  “Yeah. They already have a stranglehold on most of us with their contracts. I, for one, don’t want them to get any more ideas on how to keep us from earning what we deserve.” A number of people in the room nodded in agreement. “What do you say, Caroline? My friends and I have been invited to the party. That’ll give us a chance to hear what’s going on first-hand. But maybe it’s time for the rest of you to make your presence known outside.”

  Now the crowd was really getting enthusiastic. Caroline took note. “All right, we’ll picket the League this weekend. Is there any other new business…” She looked around, but people were already headed to the bar. “Then I guess the meeting is a
djourned. Pay your dues!” Caroline refilled her glass, then began circulating in the crowd.

  Half an hour later, as Lawrence, Dora and Blake were leading some of the actors in song, Josie walked through the house, catching bits of conversations as she walked by various groups. Like in her day, most of the conversations were about frustrating auditions and demanding studio bosses. Unlike in her day, not one person was standing in the corner scrolling on a phone.

  “Did you accomplish what you came here to do?” asked Caroline as she approached Josie. “Whatever your goal really is?”

  “What makes you think it’s anything other than what we said it was?”

  “You don’t look like the communist type, especially your husband. He was a big man on Wall Street a while back, wasn’t he?”

  “That doesn’t mean we don’t want to learn more about your movement.”

  “Toward what end? Stopping us?”

  “Not stopping you as much as wanting to make you aware of the danger Germany poses. A war is coming, one the United States can’t stay out of. The whole world is at stake.”

  “So, you’re a warmonger.”

  “No, just a believer in standing up for freedom and trying to avert atrocities.”

  Caroline studied her as she took a sip of her drink. “I don’t believe you give a damn about communism. I think you’re here to spy on us.”

  “We’re not with Hoover and the FBI.”

  “I don’t think you are. I think you’re something worse.”

  They were interrupted by a very drunk young man, who handed Caroline an envelope. “Here,” he said, staggering a bit. “A kid just delivered this to your house, said it was urgent.”

  “Why is there beer on it?” she asked, as she took the soggy piece of paper.

  “’Cause I stopped to get a beer first. That was urgent, too. Is there a place for me to be sick?”

  “Out back.”

  The guy staggered toward the back door, hopefully making it in time. Caroline glanced at the envelope, then quickly tucked it away in her pocket.

  “You’re not going to open that?” asked Josie. “He said it was urgent.”

  “It’s probably from my boss, but his idea of urgent and mine are very different. And right now, I’m hosting a party. Drink up, Josie Remington, but know that I’ll figure out what you’re doing here and I’m not someone to trifle with.” With that, Caroline waded through her party, stopping to talk to various people, but always keeping one hand in the pocket where she’d just stashed her note.

  Two hours and several bottles of cheap beer later, Josie, David, Lawrence, Dora and Blake stepped out into the foggy Venice night for the six-block walk to the streetcar.

  “How do you like our merry band of communists?” Dora asked Josie and David, as Blake pulled her arm through his.

  “I’m just glad no one talked about setting off bombs,” said David. “The party used to have quite a reputation for violence.”

  “Hollywood communists prefer dreams over something so commonplace as violence,” said Lawrence wryly. “Bombs take too much work.”

  Even as Josie laughed, she got the feeling that someone was watching them. She stopped for a moment to look around, though the fog made it difficult to see very far.

  “What’s wrong?” asked David.

  “I have a weird feeling, like there’s someone out there.”

  David pulled her closer to him. “It’s probably just someone walking home from a bar.”

  “No, I think we’re being followed deliberately.” She scanned the area, but still couldn’t see anything, though she couldn’t shake the feeling.

  Blake lowered his voice. “Why don’t we walk for a dozen steps then stop to see if he does, too?”

  The group did as he suggested, stopping after the twelfth step. That’s when Josie heard it. Someone, somewhere, had stopped two steps after that. “Did you hear that?” she asked David.

  He nodded. “Fortunately, the streetcar stop is just ahead.”

  “He could be blocks away since fog has a way of amplifying sound,” said Lawrence, who looked around them, nonetheless.

  “I would just as soon get out of here,” said Dora. “There are a lot of desperate people around and street crime has gone up.”

  “I’ll protect you, darling,” said Blake, as he indicated a bulge in his suit pocket.

  “Do you have a gun?” asked Dora.

  “Of course not! It’s just a trick I learned from working on so many gangster films. Sometimes it’s good to look like you have a gun in your pocket.”

  “It always works for me,” said Lawrence.

  A few moments later they reached their stop, just as the streetcar was about to depart. After running the last few yards, the five of them were able to get on board. As they settled into their seats, Josie turned back to see a man in a dark blue suit and fedora standing in the shadows behind them. It was too dark to see him clearly, and the streetcar increased the distance between them with each passing second. But she knew that was the man who’d been following them.

  And she had a feeling they’d see him again.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Josie looked out the window at a Los Angeles she didn’t recognize. She was sitting in the back seat of Lawrence’s 1933 bottle-green Chevy Mercury, as he drove her and Dora to the Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer lot in Culver City. Josie had made the trip from Los Feliz to Culver City many times in her day, but this was a whole other world.

  “You should think about getting seatbelts,” Josie said to Lawrence.

  “What are they?” he asked.

  “Just something to keep us alive.” Though, given the size of the car, and the steel it was made of, Josie felt a bit safer than she normally would have – right up until she thought of a similar car crashing into them. “I can’t believe that Los Angeles seems so small.” They’d driven through several neighborhoods of small bungalows and Craftsman houses, most of which had been torn down in later years to build either apartment buildings or eyesore mansions. But at the moment, they could’ve been in a small town in the Midwest, right down to the bright blue sky with fluffy white clouds, both of which were rarities in modern times.

  “What does the city look like in your day?” asked Dora.

  “Too many strip malls and way too many cars.”

  “What’s a strip mall?” asked Lawrence.

  “It’s like a mall made of concrete.”

  “What’s a mall?” asked Lawrence.

  “Let’s just say you’d hate it. I can’t believe we’re going to the MGM lot, one of the most famous places in Hollywood.” They were driving through the streets of downtown Culver City, which were filled with insurance agencies, tobacco shops and bars. “We don’t have a lot of insurance agencies or tobacco shops in my day.”

  “What about bars?” asked Dora.

  “We have a ton of those. It is Hollywood, after all. We’re here!” Josie looked at the large white building next to the wrought iron gate of the studio, as Lawrence waited for a guard to wave them onto the lot. Moments later they were passing actors dressed as cowboys, soldiers and businessmen. “This is a much happier place than Columbia.”

  “What isn’t?” asked Lawrence as he pulled into a parking spot and they all got out.

  Josie looked at the studio office building in front of her. Unlike the giant soundstages or small bungalows, this could’ve been any office building in the city, except for the large Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer sign. “Any last bits of advice about this guy?”

  Dora handed Josie a hatpin. “Here.”

  “I didn’t bring a hat.”

  “I know. This is to poke Ralph Harris when he makes a pass.”

  “I can’t imagine sticking someone with a hatpin.”

  “You will soon. Good luck and we’ll see you back here in an hour.”

  Josie entered the art deco building and looked around. There were signs pointing to screening rooms and executive offices, and part of her wanted to just wander around
the building to see who she might run into. But an hour wasn’t much time, so she climbed two flights of stairs to find herself outside a lavishly decorated reception area with movie posters for Red-Headed Woman, Manhattan Melodrama and The Thin Man. A teeny tiny part of Josie wondered if anyone would notice if she stole all three of them, but decided thievery probably wasn’t the best way to start the meeting. A moment later she was ushered into Ralph Harris’s office.

  He was sitting at a carved mahogany desk the size of Josie’s first apartment, smoking a cigarette and reading Variety. It took a moment for him to stand, though he wasted no time at all in leering. Josie was suddenly thankful for Dora’s hatpin. Harris nodded to his secretary who’d shown Josie in and said, “Thank you Miss Winters. Close the door on your way out.”

  “Keep it open, please,” said Josie to the woman, who completely ignored her request. Josie turned back around to find Harris standing in front of her, an impressive-yet-creepy feat considering how far away he’d been just a moment earlier. He looked to be early-40s, with slicked back hair and too much aftershave. He was an inch shorter than Josie’s height of five feet eight and wore a perfectly tailored three-piece suit.

  His office walls were filled with pictures of him with executives, including Louis B. Mayer, David O. Selznick and Samuel Goldwyn. There were also pictures of him with various stars, including Jean Harlow, Myrna Loy and Norma Shearer. The women all looked vaguely uncomfortable.

  Josie recognized that look. She’d been the one to look that way a few times.

  “What would you like to drink, Miss Matthews?” he asked, as he motioned for her to take a seat on the couch.

  “Water please,” said Josie, as she sat on the end of the couch and placed her purse on the other side of her. “And it’s Mrs. Matthews.”

  “I don’t have any water,” said Harris as he poured himself a whiskey and soda at the bar near his desk. “How about some soda, instead?”