Murder in the Air (6 page)

“Don't tell any of the others what I'm being paid,” said Valentine, smoking now in quick jabs. “I don't want to create any bad feeling.”

“The secret of your good fortune is safe with me.”

“Because I really need the money,” he added, taking one last puff and then stubbing out the cigarette. “You understand.”

“Sure.”

“Times have been tough.”

“You still gambling?”

He shrugged, picking up his drink and then setting it back down without taking a sip. “Now and then.”

“You married?”

“Nah.” The grin returned. “I'm too smart for that. I'm not the family-man type. Say, did this Dorothy mention anything to you about the next six episodes?”

“There won't be another six episodes.”

“Why?” He studied George for a moment and then took out another smoke, tapping it against the pack. “Oh, I get it.

You don't think people listen to radio anymore. Well, I happen to agree with Heda. Radio drama is just itching to make a comeback. It might as well be us. Don't get all negative on me, Georgie. We're going to make a big splash. Everyone in the Twin Cities will be listening to our show.”

“Of that I have little doubt.”

Valentine did a double take at George's certainty. “Glad to hear you think that, pal. Anyway, the way I figure it, we'll be asked back for six more episodes. Then another six. Before you know it, we'll be rich men. We've finally hit pay dirt, George.”

“I don't need any more money.”

“Well, I do,” snapped Valentine. “What the hell do you think I'm here for?”

“Oh, I don't know. Maybe to renew old acquaintances.”

Valentine smiled as he lit up again, blowing smoke out of the side of his mouth. “Good one, George. Very good. Say, speaking of old acquaintances, I wonder if Mitzi's checked in yet?”

“I don't know,” said George wearily.

“Now, there was a real looker. I could never understand why that Justin Bloom dumped her for another woman. I mean, to look at the guy, he seemed so normal.”

George finished his drink. “I suppose we never really know what's in another rtlan's mind.”

“True. I see you're still the philosopher. After ail these years we don't change much.”

“I guess not.” It struck George that he was bored with the conversation. Or maybe he was just tired. Either way, he wanted to pay his bill and leave.

“I think maybe IT! go give Mitzi's room a call. It's not late. You game, Georgie? We could have another drink. Reminisce about the good old days. Those were some wild old times, weren't they?”

“Not tonight.”

“Yeah, I suppose you're right. We've all gotta be up at the crack of dawn.”

“You want me to give you a wake-up call?”

“Thanks, pal, but I haven't needed a mother since I was five years old.”

“Fine,” said George, rising and tossing some cash on the table. “See you in the morning.”

6

Mitzi Quinn had a bad case of cold feet. Coming to Minnesota as she had, accepting the invitation so quickly, before she'd really had the time to think it through, had been a terrible mistake, one she had to remedy right away. She'd taken a taxi in from the airport yesterday afternoon, been shown to a lovely room on the fifth floor of the Maxfield Plaza's north wing, yet as soon as she'd set foot in downtown St. Paul, she knew she was in big trouble.

She couldn't imagine what she'd been thinking when Dorothy Veneger had called to offer her the chance to reprise her role in
Dallas Lane, Private Eye.
It was some youthful fantasy, no doubt. Perhaps she'd been seduced by the notion that the stardom that had eluded her in her younger years was finally within her grasp. Except that real life didn't work that way. Dreams didn't always come true. If anyone should know that, Mitzi should.

All night the memories had come flooding back, haunting her thoughts so relentlessly that she couldn't sleep. The years spent trying to land a jpb with a radio station—any radio station. Then, success with WPXL. And finally, the icing on the cake: meeting Justin Bloom, falling in love with him, and planning a life together. Yet here again, Mitzi knew she'd used a bit too much magic in her thinking. She assumed that because she loved Justin more than life itself, that he would love her back
the same way. That small delusion had gotten her into big trouble—trouble that had almost ruined her life.

No, the only way out of this current dilemma was to talk to Heda Bloom face-to-face and get her to see that this reunion of old radio talent—as Dorothy had put it to her—was out of the question. It was never smart to reopen old wounds, and that's what staying in the Twin Cities would accomplish. If it created bad feelings between them, well, so be it.

Mitzi actually remembered Heda quite fondly. For several years of her young life, Mitzi had thought of Heda Bloom as her future mother-in-law. Heda had been unusually kind and generous to her back then, taking her under her wing, helping her shop for clothes, learn about politics and culture, all the things she knew Justin valued. Neither she nor Heda had come from money—or politically sophisticated backgrounds—but the younger woman was willing to learn just as the older woman was willing to teach. For a short time Mitzi even counted Heda as a close friend. Of course, after Justin murdered his paramour and then went into hiding, they'd lost track of each other. It was a situation that might have brought them closer, but, for whatever reason, it hadn't. Yet Mitzi felt confident that their old friendship would make it easier for her to back out of this business deal.

After a quick breakfast, Mitzi left her room and took the elevator upstairs to Heda Bloom's suite. Before she completely lost her courage, she lifted a shaky hand and knocked on the door. It took almost a minute before anyone answered.

“May I help you?” asked a muscular young man dressed in a business suit.

Mitzi had no idea who he was, but forged on. “I'd like to speak with Heda Bloom if I may.” She grew ill at ease under the man's scrutinizing stare. Not many manners, she thought to herself silently. Straightening the collar of her dress, she continued, “I know it's early, but this is important.”

“What's your business with Ms. Bloom?”

“Well, I, ah, that is to say … my name's Mitzi Quinn and—”

A voice from behind him called, “It's all right, Gerald. Let her in.”

As she entered the suite Mitzi saw an older woman emerge from a side hallway. She was carrying a stack of file folders.

“Ms. Quinn,” said the woman, placing the folders on the end of the marble bar. “What a pleasant surprise. I'm Dorothy Veneger. We spoke on the phone.” She moved toward Mitzi, her arm extended.

“Oh, yes. Nice to finally meet you.” They shook hands.

“I see you've already met Gerald. Actually, I didn't expect to see you until our meeting later this morning over at the station.”

“No, well, I—”

“Mitzi!” called a surprised voice from the other end of the room.

Mitzi turned around.

Heda Bloom stood framed in her bedroom doorway, her face lit by a warm smile. “What an unexpected treat. I'm delighted to see you.” Leaning heavily on her canes, she crossed to where Mitzi was standing.

They hugged briefly. Mitzi thought the embrace was a little stiff.

Holding Mitzi at arm's length, Heda gave her a long, measuring look. “How could the years have left you untouched while they've beaten me to a bloody pulp?”

Mitzi couldn't help but laugh. She remembered now that Heda had grown up with a prizefighter father and a vaudeville-star mother. Polite conversation, while an acquired skill, had never been her normal mode of expression. Mitzi was pleased with the compliment. She'd always tried to keep herself up. She selected clothes to highlight her still-slim figure, and with an occasional nip and tuck to keep her face tight and firm, she continued to feel reasonably young and attractive. She'd dithered for almost a year about whether to let her hair go gray, but finally decided her old shade of brown was much more youthful. Mitzi was pleased with her image. She didn't look a day over forty-five; at least, that's what her daughter always said.

Heda looked wonderful as well. Energetic as ever. Older, yes, but still kicking, as they say. Still very definitely alive and kicking.

“What brings you here this morning?” asked Heda, sitting down with some difficulty in an armchair next to the window. She pulled her skirt down over her knees, and then gave Mitzi a pleasant if somewhat curious smile.

“Well, actually, I was hoping to talk to you alone.” She took her cue from Heda and sat down on the sofa.

Dorothy moved to a chair halfway across the room. “If this has something to do with the new radio show, I'd like to stay.” Glancing over at the bodyguard, she said, “I'm sure Gerald wouldn't mind busying himself somewhere else for a few minutes. Would you, Gerald?” She nodded her head, silently telling him to get lost.

“Of course, Ms. Veneger.” He quickly opened the door and stepped outside.

Mitzi could have sworn she saw the butt of a gun under his suit coat as he left the room. It gave her a funny feeling. She couldn't imagine why Heda would need that kind of protection.

“So,” said Heda, folding her hands in her lap, “shoot. What can I do for you?”

“Well, actually,” said Mitzi, feeling as if she were standing center stage with a spotlight shining on her, “I've changed my mind about starring in your new radio project. I no longer want to be a part of it.”

No one spoke for several seconds.

Finally, Dorothy said, “I'm afraid that's not possible, Mitzi. For one thing, we have a signed contract. For another—”

Heda held up her hand for silence. “No, I want to hear this. Why don't you want to remain with us, Mitzi? Are you … unhappy with the script?”

Mitzi shook her head. “I haven't read it yet.”

“Then what?”

She bit down hard on her lower lip. She wasn't prepared to tell Heda the truth. Consequently, she had to come up with
something plausible to extricate herself from this tight spot. “I… you see, it's just that this town holds so many bad memories for me. You of all people should understand.”

“I do,” said Heda gently. “But surely you considered that before you agreed to our proposal.”

Her eyes drifted to the window. “Well, somewhat.”

“Is it your husband? Is he putting pressure on you to come home?”

“I've been divorced for many years.”

“Oh,” said Heda. “I didn't know.”

“Well, actually … now that you bring it up, you
have
hit on the crux of the matter. It's a family problem. I was hoping my daughter could come up from Texas to spend the holidays with me here in St. Paul, but I found out yesterday that she can't. I've never been away from her at Christmastime before. We're very close. It's simply too much to ask. So … you see, I have to decline your offer. It's nothing personal. I simply have to withdraw.”

“I didn't know you had a family,” said Dorothy. “You didn't mention it on the phone.”

“Didn't I? Well, anyway, she doesn't have the money to fly up from Houston. And being away from her during the holidays is just too big a sacrifice.”

“Well, that's no problem,” said Dorothy, smiling calmly. She lifted a pad from her blazer pocket and began jotting down some notes. “We'll send her a plane ticket. We'll even put her up at the Maxfield free of charge. How's that?”

“Good idea,” agreed Heda. “Now, Mitzi, you have to admit, that takes care of your crisis quite adequately. And this way, I get to meet her. We'll all get to meet her.”

This wasn't working, thought Mitzi. She was making her usual mess of things. “No, but it's more than that. It's … it's the memories, too.”

“I can't do anything about those,” said Heda. “And I understand that this is hard on you. It's hard on me, too. The last time I was in the Twin Cities, I lost my eldest son and my husband.”

“And I only lost Justin, is that what you're saying?” She shot to her feet. “Your loss is greater than mine? Because if it is, for your information, I lost a lot more than that.” She knew she had to calm down. She was on the verge of saying too much. “I'm sorry,” she said, turning her back on Heda and pressing her fingers to her temple. “I'm more emotional about this than I thought. Don't you see? That's why I mustn't stay.”

As Mitzi turned back to them, looking from face to face, she could tell what the verdict was before either of them spoke.

“I'm sorry, too,” said Dorothy. “But a contract is a contract. We've already begun to advertise the show, complete with old-time cast members. We have big plans for promotion, for radio and TV spots. If you back out on us now, you leave us no alternative.” She paused. “We'd have to sue, Mitzi.” Staring at her intently, Dorothy lowered her voice to a deeper, more serious register and added, “And we will sue, have no doubt about that.”

Mitzi felt flattened. She hadn't expected that Heda would put up such a fight. After all, if anyone could understand why she might rue her decision to stay in Minnesota, even for six weeks, Heda should. Still, the idea of spending the next year of her life dealing with lawyers and judges, schlepping in and out of courtrooms, was too much. “All right,” she said with a shrug of resignation. “I guess you win.”