Murder She Encountered Read online

  The hot dog vendor was attired in a blue-and-yellow Childs uniform, which matched the cart, and was carefully rotating a dozen hot dogs on the grill. He smiled at Elizabeth and Kaminsky as they approached.

  “Hot dogs a dime! Boneless, skinless, harmless, and homeless! Who’ll have a dog?”

  “Two hot dogs, please.” Kaminsky reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of change. He picked out two dimes and handed them over.

  “The trick, see, is to turn the dogs with the prongs of the fork without piercing them, on account of you don’t want to let all those good juices run out.” The young man opened a compartment and took out a bun. “You want to cook them a minute on each side. Now your hamburgers,” he pointed toward some patties sizzling on the grill, “they take a minute and a half per side.”

  “That’s impressive,” Elizabeth said.

  The young man grinned. “The Childs Organization sent us to school to learn how to cook the dogs and burgers properly. Nothing but the best for our customers.”

  He handed each of them a hot dog wrapped in a napkin.

  “So were all the vendors at the fair sent to school to learn how to grill franks and burgers?” Kaminsky bit into his hot dog and juice ran down his chin. He dabbed at it with his napkin.

  “Yes, they were. Every last one of them.”

  “Did you hear about the vendor who was arrested for the murder of a gal who worked over at the DuPont exhibit?” Kaminsky said.

  The young man’s eyes widened. “I sure did. What a shocker that was. I could hardly believe it.”

  “You didn’t happen to know the fellow? Since you were all sent to school like you said.”

  “Nah. There are six hundred vendors employed by the Childs Organization. I’m afraid I never met the guy.”

  “It was worth a try,” Kaminsky said to Elizabeth as they walked away. “What do you say we finish our dogs and then go see if we can find this Lou Vitale that Dotty and Myrna mentioned. I have a feeling there’s a lot he can tell us.”

  * * *

  —

  The DuPont exhibit was as crowded as it had been earlier and Elizabeth and Kaminsky had to weave their way through the crowd. They were looking for Dotty or Myrna, but Myrna was onstage performing in the latest demonstration and Dotty was nowhere to be found.

  Finally Kaminsky grabbed the arm of a young man walking past with an armful of nylon hose in his hands.

  “Do you know where we can find Lou Vitale?”

  “Sure.” He motioned with his head down the hall. “He’s got an office at the end of the hall on the right-hand side. His name’s on the door.”

  “Thanks.” Kaminsky touched the brim of his hat.

  The door to Vitale’s office was open. A man was standing by a desk piled high with papers, his back to them. Kaminsky rapped on the doorframe, and the man turned around.

  He was fairly young—Elizabeth put him in his late twenties or early thirties. He was thin to the point of being scrawny—his suit, which was worn in spots, hung on him and his neck swam inside his shirt collar. Like so many people, he must have often gone hungry during the Great Depression. His eyes—a dark brown—had a hungry look about them as well.

  His hair was black—thick and wavy—and held firmly in place with liberal amounts of Brylcreem, and the skin around his right eye was black and blue and swollen.

  “Can I help you?” he said, stepping forward and nearly tripping on a stack of boxes on the floor by the desk.

  “Lou? Lou Vitale?”

  “One and the same.” He grinned broadly.

  “We’re from the Daily Trumpet. We’d like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.”

  “Sure.” Vitale perched on the edge of his desk, his leg swinging back and forth.

  Elizabeth noticed that his socks had been clumsily darned and that his shoes were down at the heel.

  “Quite a tragedy,” Kaminsky began. “That girl from your show being murdered.”

  Vitale’s leg stopped swinging. “Yeah. A crying shame. We were all real cut up about it.”

  “Any idea who might have done it?”

  Vitale stared at them. “It was that fellow who was stalking her—the hot dog vendor. The police have arrested him.” A look of doubt crept across his face. “At least that’s what I heard. You’re not saying they got the wrong guy, are you?”

  Kaminsky shrugged. “I’m not saying anything. I’m just not sure I figure that guy for the murderer.” Kaminsky casually examined his fingernails. “I figure there are other people who might have wanted Flo dead. Like that Shirley you fired in order to give Flo a job.” Kaminsky smiled innocently. “You must have taken a real shine to Flo.”

  Vitale’s eyes widened. “It wasn’t nothing like that. Flo was better for the job, that’s all.” He leaned forward, his hands on his knees. “Mr. Thompson—that’s my boss—gave me a break giving me this job, and I plan to prove to him that he made the right choice. Dotty—she’s my fiancée—and me have plans for the future. A decent apartment where you don’t have to kick the rats away from the front door. Maybe even a house of our own someday. And maybe even a car.”

  “Those are big plans,” Kaminsky said.

  “Sure. Why not?”

  “How was Flo better for the job?” Elizabeth said.

  Vitale held his hands out, palms up. “Shirley was on the plain side, see. Flo was prettier. People respond to pretty girls. It’s a fact of nature. Besides, Flo had better legs, didn’t she? Shirley’s were like stumps. No definition.” He made a curving motion with his hands. “No one would want to see those in a pair of nylons.”

  “So it stands to reason that this Shirley would have been pretty mad at Flo for stealing her job.”

  “Dunno. I mean, Shirley got another job, didn’t she?”

  “Sure. Working in a restaurant kitchen. Not quite as glamorous as working here at the DuPont exhibit.”

  “Glamorous?” Vitale laughed. “Ask any of the girls how glamorous it is.”

  “That’s quite the shiner you’ve got there,” Kaminsky said, pointing at Vitale’s eye. “Must have been quite a fight.”

  “Nothing like that.” Vitale pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his forehead.

  “You seem nervous,” Kaminsky said. “What are you nervous about?”

  Vitale squared his shoulders. “Nothing. I’m not nervous.”

  He was becoming defensive, and Elizabeth realized that wouldn’t do them any good. Vitale would clam up and refuse to answer any more questions.

  “So you and Dotty Howard are engaged,” Elizabeth said, hoping to cool the temperature of the conversation down a bit.

  “Yeah. We haven’t set a date yet. Her old lady wants her to have a June wedding.” He rolled his eyes. “If it was up to me, we’d go down to city hall tomorrow and get hitched. No need for all that fancy rigmarole like champagne toasts and being pelted with rice on the church steps. We’d be just as married either way.”

  “Do her folks have money?” Kaminsky said casually. “I mean champagne toasts don’t come cheap.”

  “They do okay. Her old man manages the haberdashery department at Bloomingdales. They get by.”

  That was odd, Elizabeth thought, thinking about how scuffed Dotty’s shoes had been. If her parents had money, surely she would have bought herself a new pair or taken them to the cobbler to have them repaired. Of course, some women didn’t give a fig about their appearance, but that hadn’t been her impression of Dotty with her carefully styled hair and artfully applied makeup.

  “One of the gals who works here said that Dotty got it into her head that Flo was flirting with you,” Kaminsky said.

  “She said they heard Flo and Dotty having an argument about it,” Elizabeth added.

  “She called it a doozy of a fight,” Kaminsky said.

  “So what if they did?” Vitale grinned. “Dotty’s got quite a temper. I like that in a girl.”

  “Dotty give you that black eye then?” Kaminsky said.

  Vitale looked startled. “Nah. I walked into a door.”

  “Dangerous things, doors.” Kaminsky pulled out his cigarettes and held the pack toward Vitale. “So there was nothing between you and this Flo?”

  “Thanks. Don’t mind if I do.” Vitale shook out a cigarette and put it to his lips. It bobbed up and down as he talked. “Listen, there was nothing between me and Flo. Nothing at all. And Dotty knew that. But she didn’t like the way Flo acted around me—all giggly and coy-like. I told her to get over it. That she was the only girl for me.”

  “And Dotty believed you?”

  Vitale fished in his pocket and pulled out a lighter. Elizabeth was astonished to see it was from Tiffany and engraved with his initials. Her parents had given her brother one just like it for his eighteenth birthday.

  Where would Vitale have gotten the money for something that expensive?

  Vitale leaned forward, held the cigarette to the flame, and sucked until the tip glowed red. “Sure.”

  “Then why did Dotty pick a fight with Flo?”

  Vitale shrugged. “How the hell should I know? Like I told you—Dotty’s got a temper.”

  “I’d imagine you’d want to hang on to a girl like Dotty.” Kaminsky tilted his head back and blew out a perfect smoke ring. He watched it drift away on the air then turned back to Vitale. “Pretty girl. Family’s obviously got a bit of dough.”

  “Say,” Vitale shouted. “You’re not trying to fix me up for this murder, are you? Because I didn’t do it. The police have already arrested the guy who d
id it. It was that crazy stalker who followed Flo around.”

  * * *

  —

  “Me thinks the man doth protest a bit too much,” Kaminsky said as they left Vitale’s office.

  “So you think Vitale might have done it,” Elizabeth said, grabbing at her hat, which a sudden breeze was threatening to unseat.

  “I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not. But it pays to keep an open mind.”

  * * *

  —

  It was after two o’clock by the time Elizabeth and Kaminsky left the DuPont building.

  “What next?” Elizabeth said, falling into step beside Kaminsky.

  “I’m heading back to the newsroom, but it’s Saturday. I’m sure you want to go home. I imagine you need to primp for a date or to go to one of those fancy restaurants your sort frequent.”

  Elizabeth rather resented being lumped into the category of your sort.

  She raised her chin in the air. “As a matter of fact, I am spending the evening at home.”

  Kaminsky raised his eyebrows. “A gal as pretty as you doesn’t have a date on a Saturday night?”

  “No. And I’m perfectly fine with it.”

  “Not even with Marino, your cop friend?”

  “No,” Elizabeth said, horrified by the note of dejection that had crept into her voice. “I imagine he’s busy chasing down criminals.”

  “No doubt.”

  They had nearly reached the entrance to the subway when Elizabeth suddenly stopped.

  “I think I’m going to see a bit of the fair first. Irene and I are planning a visit, but there’s so much to do, I’m sure I’ll want to come back.”

  Kaminsky tipped his hat. “See you Monday then.” He began to whistle as he walked toward the entrance to the IND train.

  Elizabeth stood for a moment, undecided as to where to go first. People strolled past her, couples holding hands giving her a look when they had to separate to go around her. She had to make up her mind. She’d read a lot about the City of the Future exhibit in the Perisphere; perhaps she’d start there.

  Elizabeth strolled back through the amusement zone toward the fair’s theme zone. The breeze had picked up, and even though it was still warm from the sun, it felt good against her face. It blew tendrils of hair across her forehead, and she stopped for a moment to tuck them back under her hat.

  Her feet were getting tired and she was grateful she was wearing her navy-and-white saddle oxfords and not open-toed heels like some of the ladies she passed.

  A woman was coming toward Elizabeth, her face red and sweating under her wide-brimmed hat. She was grasping a little boy in knickers by the hand. The child was desperately trying to squirm out of her grasp.

  “Eddie, you’ll get lost,” Elizabeth heard the woman admonish him as she went past.

  “But, Ma,” the little boy wailed, before they were swallowed up by the crowd behind Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth continued walking and finally reached the enormous round structure known as the Perisphere. She joined the line that led to the moving staircase that would take her inside where the town of tomorrow, known as Democracity, was located.

  The line moved slowly, but finally Elizabeth was able to get on the moving stairway that led into the Perisphere. She found herself high above floor level in an auditorium the size of Radio City Music Hall looking down at a model city of broad streets, expansive parks, and large buildings.

  Finally she came to the Helicline—a grand curving walkway that led her back outside the building.

  Elizabeth headed toward the exit and the entrance to the subway. People were still pouring into the fair. It was nearly dinnertime, but she’d heard that the lighting at night was spectacular and drew crowds well into the evening.

  She was relieved when she arrived home to learn that her parents had gone out for the evening—an early dinner and then the theater with friends. She knew her mother would have been alarmed to learn that she had no plans for the evening. Ever since she’d turned down Phillips Sloan’s proposal, her telephone had barely rung.

  She wondered if he’d been telling tales about her to their crowd. Certainly she must have hurt his pride and perhaps he felt the need for revenge.

  Another thought occurred to her and it stopped her in her tracks. Some of her acquaintances had seen her out dining with Marino. Had they decided she was no longer socially acceptable?

  The thought made her furious—not on her own account but on Marino’s, who was an honorable, intelligent man and deserved respect.

  Chapter 7

  “How was your Saturday evening?” Helen said as she passed Elizabeth the bowl of potatoes.

  Elizabeth and her family were sitting around the dining table enjoying their Sunday dinner. Mrs. Murphy had left a roast all prepared along with potatoes and carrots. Elizabeth had only had to put everything in the oven at the appropriate time.

  The rain that had moved in during the night had dropped the outside temperatures slightly, although the apartment was still quite warm from the oven having been on. But Helen wouldn’t hear of going against tradition and having a cold Sunday meal.

  Sundays always began with mass at St. James Church followed by a glass of sherry in the library and finally the midday meal left by Mrs. Murphy who, along with their butler Jones, had the day off.

  “Quite lovely,” Elizabeth said cryptically, answering her mother’s question.

  “What did you and your crowd get up to? Dancing? A game of bridge?”

  “Nothing like that, actually. I spent the evening at home curled up on the sofa reading The Big Sleep by Raymond Chandler. It just came out this spring.”

  “Isn’t that one of those detective novels?” Helen said. “I simply can’t abide them. Too gruesome for words.”

  “Can I read it when you’re done?” James said, reaching for the bowl of carrots. “I heard it’s very exciting.”

  Helen sighed. “James, darling, we don’t reach for things at the table. Ask someone to pass you the bowl.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  James’s face flushed a deep red. Elizabeth knew it irked him when Helen treated him as if he were still in short pants.

  “But why weren’t you out last night?” Helen frowned, puckering the space between her arched eyebrows. “You’re going to become one of those brittle spinsters one reads about in the advice column in Ladies’ Home Journal if you spend all your Saturday evenings at home alone.”

  “How was the play?” Elizabeth said, deciding that it would be prudent to change the subject.

  “We saw The Philadelphia Story. It’s playing at the Schubert. I’ve been dying to see it for ages—ever since it opened in March. Cora Farthingale went and raved about it.” Helen took a sip of her water. “That Hepburn woman played the lead. She really is quite good, even if she does insist on going about wearing men’s trousers.” Helen leveled her gaze at Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth ignored the silent rebuke.

  “I got to see a bit of the fair yesterday,” Elizabeth said. She broke off a piece of her roll and buttered it. “I saw the City of the Future exhibit. It was quite fascinating.”

  “No doubt,” Helen said in dismissive tones. “But why anyone would want to look into the future is beyond me. I prefer things just the way they are.”

  “The whole fair revolves around the future and the inventions that will be commonplace tomorrow. For instance, hosiery made of nylon. It’s so much stronger than silk.”

  Helen shuddered. “That sounds positively dreadful. I much prefer silk myself.” She put down her fork. “I heard they have a talking machine there that spouts vulgar nonsense at people going by.”

  “That’s Elektro,” Elizabeth said. “It’s a giant robot. It even smokes cigarettes.”

  “Now what possible use could that be?” Helen said. “Nonsense. Pure nonsense.”

  “Are we going to go to the fair?” Rose looked up from the piece of meat she was cutting, her expression eager.

  “I have no desire to see the future,” George said. “Today is good enough for me. I’ll leave that to you young people.” He pointed a finger at Elizabeth. “But I strongly suspect you will be disappointed when the future does get here. I doubt it will be anything like what you’re anticipating.”