Barcelona Jones - Murder on Broadway

  "No, nothing. I'll check with the Chief tomorrow and let you know just as soon as I find out anything, if it's all right with him."

  It took us nearly fifteen minutes to arrive at the Rainbow Room, and most of those minutes I felt like my heart was going to jump right out of my mouth. We arrived right on time. When I made the reservations I'd asked for a quiet table by a window.

  The restaurant was on the twenty-first floor. It was extremely popular at that time, and many famous people gathered there back then, but it's no longer in existence. It had a magnificent view of the city with all of the night lights shining off the many buildings in the distance. It was very beautiful and very romantic.

  I had a tough time keeping my eyes off Barcelona, as did the many other dining room guests. She smiled at many of them as we were led to our table.

  "Do you ever get used to everyone looking at you as you enter a room like this?"

  "No, probably not, but I found out through the years that if I just look at them, smile and acknowledge them, they smile back, and then go back to their own conversations. After all, many of them have helped to make me what I am today, and I do so appreciate all of them."

  "You are an amazing woman, Barcelona Jones."

  She flashed that smile of hers, but it didn't hide the sweetness and also the embarrassment of all the attention she had created.

  We had a great time. The dinner and service were excellent, just what one would expect at a place like the Rainbow Room. The conversation between the two of us was not only fun but very informative. We both laughed a lot and shared our growing up years. She talked about her childhood, losing her parents at an early age and being raised by her grandmother whom she loved very much, and missed seeing while in New York. She also said she was looking forward to making the movie in Hollywood, as her grandmother lived in a suburb close by.

  I told her about my folks and my sister Erica, and how we were all a very close family. Also about inheriting my father's detective agency and that soon he and my mother would be celebrating their thirty-fifth wedding anniversary. I wanted to invite her to the party, and I was waiting for the right moment.

  I had a smile on my face thinking that my parents were probably still laughing about me dating Barcelona, and still thinking that it was a great big joke. I imagined them telling all their friends that I told them that I was bringing Barcelona Jones, the famous Broadway star to their party, and that I was going to marry her. And then breaking out into laughter with all their friends, telling them I was a big jokester.

  My thoughts were interrupted when Barcelona asked, "What are you smiling at, Sam?"

  "I was just thinking of my folks. When I told them I was having dinner with you tonight they didn't believe me. They thought I was pulling their leg. Do you mind if I call the photographer over to take our picture? That will really flabbergast them.'

  "No, not at all. It sounds like fun."

  "Thanks. My parents, believe it or not, are big fans of yours, just like my sister."

  "And how about you, Sam?"

  "I'm definitely becoming one of your biggest fans ever."

  Chapter 12

  When we left the Rainbow Room, the stars were out and it was a beautiful evening. I asked Barcelona if we could walk for a little while before we hailed a taxi. She agreed, so we walked in the direction of her apartment.

  We stopped at many of the lighted windows of the stores along the way, and window-shopped.

  I would jump in front of windows with their mannequins displaying the current fashions, and act like one of them. Barcelona would laugh so hard that sometimes tears rolled down her face. She told me later that was the night when she started to fall in love with me.

  As the evening became more and more relaxed, I placed my hand in hers. She didn't pull back. I remember thinking that it was a very good sign. So feeling that this was the time, I decided to ask her if she would go with me to my parents' anniversary party.

  "Barcelona, next Wednesday afternoon my parents are hosting a party before they leave for a month's cruise to celebrate their thirty-fifth wedding anniversary. Would you be available to join me for the occasion? I would be very pleased if you could. I'd like you to meet my family, and I know they'd love to meet you."

  "I think it may be possible, Sam. I'd love to meet your mom and dad and the rest of your family. Let me check my schedule to make sure. I know I have an appointment with a friend in the morning, but I'm not sure about the rest of the day. I'll call you sometime tomorrow to confirm. Is that all right with you?"

  "I'll be in and out of the office all day tomorrow. I plan on meeting with the Chief about the poisoning of Peter Holmes, plus I have some other investigating I must do. I would like to talk again with John Ashland and his agent Mike Larson. Besides, I'd like to see you before next Wednesday. How about Friday for breakfast or lunch? Then you can tell me if you're able to go with me."

  "Lunch sounds good, Sam. What time?'

  "How about twelve-thirty? There's a great place across from my office. It's small, but the food's great. It's reservations only, so if you can make it by then, I'll go ahead and call them."

  "Twelve-thirty is fine for me. I'll meet you there. What's the name of the place?"

  "It's called 'The Place to Eat.' You can't miss it."

  We waved a taxi. As we got in, I was sorry that the evening was coming to an end. But all good things must end sometime. I looked over at Barcelona. She smiled and I reached over and took her hand. Again no resistance.

  When we arrived at her apartment, there was an elevator but we both chose to walk the stairs instead, holding hands. I wanted to kiss her goodnight, but . . .

  There was a saying in those days that said, "Never kiss a girl on the first date. Wait for date two." But I was remembering what my mother said, about how did I know this was the girl I was going to marry because I hadn't even kissed her yet. My head was whirling. Should I or shouldn't I? I wanted to, just so I could tell my parents that I did, and she was still the girl I was going to marry.

  Barcelona handed me the key. I opened the door and gave the key back to her. As she entered I held her hand a few seconds longer. I waited for the opportunity, but she went inside with the door still open, and said, "Goodnight, Sam."

  Halfway down the stairs I turned around. She was still at the open door. She smiled, and I blew her a kiss.

  My heart? You guessed it -- thump, thump, thump!

  Chapter 13

  Thursday

  I woke up early the next morning, had my leisurely one cup of coffee and a piece of toast. This is something I did then, and still do, just about every day. When I opened up the morning paper that had been delivered to my door, the headlines were big and bold, and just as I anticipated: BARCELONA'S PLAY BECOMES A REALITY. MURDER ON BROADWAY IS JUST THAT, WITH A SECOND MURDER!

  It retold the story of the murder and how the audience thought it was part of the play when they heard the screams and shouts behind the drawn curtain. It reminded the readers that actor Michael Sparks had really been shot, and that it wasn't until Barcelona came out between the curtains and asked if there was a doctor in the house, that the audience was convinced it was a real shooting.

  It went on to report that Peter Holmes, another Broadway actor, had been found dead in his apartment. The paper suggested that the police should look for a connection between the two murders, since both of them had been reported to be up for the same lead in a Hollywood production of the play of the same name beginning next year.

  The article went on to say that the cause of Mr. Holmes' death had not yet been released, but rumors said it was by a rare poison. It was either given to the deceased by someone or that he had ministered it to himself.

  I waited until 9:10 and then called Marty -- Chief Mead. He said there was still no news he could give me, and asked me to meet him around noon at the county morgue where the body of Peter Holmes had been transferred. He thought they would have the information for him by then,
on what kind of poison had been used. I said I'd be there.

  After I hung up, I went to the office. Donna was already there. I asked her to make two appointments for me sometime after two in the afternoon: one with John Ashland, who had now recovered from his peanut reaction, and the other with his agent, Mike Larson. I had Ashland's number but not his agent's. I asked Donna to call Ashland first, set up the appointment, and then ask him for Mike's phone number.

  She asked me, "How far apart do you want the appointments, boss?"

  "I'm not sure. Maybe make it with Ashland today and with Mike the agent tomorrow, if possible. If not, make them both tomorrow, about three hours apart."

  I told Donna I wasn't sure how long it would take with Ashland, because I had no idea if he would want to talk.

  "Ask them both if they can meet me here at the office."

  I left for the County Morgue around 11:30 a.m. Donna still could not get through to Ashland when I left. She had called about three times, getting no answer. Answering machines were only just coming onto the market back then, and it was no surprise that Ashland didn't have one. I told Donna to keep trying and I would check back with her around 1:00.

  Chief Mead was already there when I arrived at the morgue. He informed me that there was no news yet, but that they were sure it was definitely a rare form of poison they hadn't come into contact with before. They mentioned that it was still possibly a suicide. The Chief said he wasn't buying it, and felt it was connected somehow to the death of Anthony Sparks.

  The door opened and Dr. Edwards, the medical examiner, came over and said, "Well, we finally figured it out. Have either of you ever heard of the fugu fish?"

  We both shook our heads.

  "Its most common name is blowfish. Does that ring a bell?"

  "Yeah," the Chief said. "Isn't that some kind of a poisonous Japanese fish?"

  "Right, Chief. Actually it's a Japanese delicacy, but it must be properly filleted by a trained chef, because of its highly concentrated poison in its tissue. There have been reports of death to the Japanese people who try to prepare the fugu fish at home. Just a single drop of the poison can be fatal. It's more deadly than cyanide. There's no doubt in our minds that this is the poison that killed Michael Sparks.

  I asked the doctor if he knew of any restaurants here that served that kind of fish. He said he'd never heard of any having blowfish on its menu.

  I then turned to the Chief. "How about you, Chief? Have you heard of any?"

  "No, none that I know of. But remember this is New York City, and people can find just about anything they want for the right price."

  The Chief and I thanked Dr. Edwards and we headed for the many fish markets on the ocean front harbor to snoop around and ask questions to anyone who was willing to talk.

  We asked umpteen buyers but they all said, "No, we only sell fresh fish out of our waters."

  Chapter 14

  I called Donna from the morgue, She said she had made an appointment with Ashland in my office at 3:00 p.m. I had about forty-five minutes to get there. I excused myself from the Chief, thanked him for his help, and promised to pass on anything useful I found out about the case. I neglected to tell him who my appointment was with. I was sure he'd want to be there, and I wanted to ask John Ashland questions with no interruptions. I felt that he would be more at ease if the Chief wasn't there.

  I arrived at my office ten minutes before John Ashland. Donna mustered him in and I motioned for him to sit down. I was amazed how well he looked after his reaction to the peanut poisoning. He truly looked like a star, both in appearance and dress. When I saw him in the hospital he looked pale and drawn. I hadn't realized how close he must have come to death.

  "Thanks for coming in, John, on such a short notice. You look really well. How are you feeling?"

  "I'm feeling good now, but at times I feel a little worried. Barcelona has hinted that maybe the murder of Michael Sparks might have been meant for me. That's why I'm here. If I can help in any way to solve this crime, I'm willing. I know I'll get a little concerned every time the first act ends with the shooting, thinking that the gun might have real bullets in it again. Believe me, I'm going to check that gun each night myself, just before the curtain goes up. Especially since Peter Holmes is now dead. Poisoning, so I hear. I keep wondering if I'll be the next victim."

  He maintained eye contact as he continued. "I know I'm not here just for a visit, so please ask any questions you have. And let me know any information you find out. It may help me to be calm over all of this."

  "Well, John . . . is it all right if I call you by your first name?"

  He nodded.

  I continued. "As you know, I've been hired by Barcelona. She feels that the shooting was intended for you."

  I neglected to say that for Barcelona my services were free. "So we want to find out as much as we can about how it could be possible for you to digest some kind of peanut extract into your body. Let's begin with Tuesday. What did you do from the moment you woke up until you were attacked by the severe reaction? Try not to leave anything out, no matter how small it may seem to you. Sometimes the most irrelevant thought helps us to solve a case. So think back and take your time. Close your eyes if you have to. It can help you to remember more."

  "Let me see. I woke up at six, just like I do every morning, and had a sweet roll and two cups of coffee. I laid around, read the paper and then went over some of my lines for the evening performance. I kind of flubbed up on Monday night's performance in the second act. Then I went in and took my shower. When I got out, I heard the phone ringing. I ran in and answered it. It was Mike Larson, my agent. He wanted to meet me for lunch. He was actually returning the call I'd made to him the day before, when I'd left a message with his secretary to have him call me back.

  "He said he wanted to talk to me about the new movie of the play, and that it was going to be a close race between all four of us for the lead. But since I was in the play, he thought I had a little edge in getting the part. He said that they were going to check with Barcelona, and he was wondering how my professional relationship with her was getting along. I told him fine."

  I raised my eyebrows but said nothing. Better to let him talk, and listen carefully for any clues in what he said.

  He shrugged. "Okay, I had some disagreements with Barcelona in the past, on another play. Anyway, I told Mike that all was now well. He said he needed to meet with me, so we arranged to meet at twelve-thirty at the Rainbow Room. They have great lunches and dinners, and we know many of the staff there and always run into someone we know. It's a fun place to go. After that, I was on my way home to rest before the evening performance. When I was close to my home I took very sick. Recognizing the symptoms, I took myself to the emergency room at St. Ann's hospital, and that's it."

  "So you've been to the Rainbow Room many times. Do they know about your allergy?"

  "Yes, they're all so helpful and always warn me if they think something that I order might affect my allergy. I usually try and order the same thing each time, although once in awhile I try something different. But that day I had my usual: cob salad, no dressing or nuts of course. I have to be careful. Sometimes they put nuts in dressing. I also had an ice coffee."

  "Did anyone come over and talk to you? Maybe even leaned over your plate? Anything would help right now."

  'Yes, a few came over to talk to me. Mostly congratulations on the success of the play. The ones who saw it said how much they enjoyed it. But no one to my knowledge leaned over my dish. I wouldn't have liked that at all."

  "Did you leave the table for any length of time, maybe to go over to another table and talk to someone?"

  "No, I'm not much of a table hopper."

  "What was your conversation like, and why else did your agent want to talk to you? Was there another reason besides doing the movie?"

  "He wanted to talk about my contract with him. He said he was going to fight for me to receive the part. And if I got it, he wanted a fu
ll ten percent. That's almost double the amount I pay him now."

  "Did you agree?'

  "I did. I knew that he represented the two actors who are now dead, but of course at that time I didn't know that they wouldn't be my competitors. So I said, 'Okay, if I get the part, I'll pay you the ten percent.' As far as I was concerned it would be worth it. A movie with Barcelona is a great push for my career."

  He paused for a second, then said, "I remember now. I did get up and use the bathroom right after we placed our order, and when I returned our lunches were on the table."

  "Okay, now we're getting somewhere. Did you taste anything different when you ate?"

  "No, that's the problem. Very seldom can you taste anything different if peanut oil is mixed with all the spices and flavors. You can't possibly think that Mike Larson had anything to do with this, can you?"

  "Anything is possible. By any chance, do you know who represents Charlie Long, the Hollywood actor who is also up for the part?"

  "No, but I do know that Mike flew to Hollywood a couple of weeks ago. He said he was going there to check out Charlie Long, whatever that means."

  Chapter 15

  I fiddled around the office for another hour or so, putting all the information in the order that Ashland had given me. It looked like Mike the agent, was our culprit. But it was much too early to be sure and to make an arrest. And besides, how and when would he have had an opportunity to put real bullets into the prop gun that killed Anthony Sparks?

  Walking on the way home, my thoughts were no longer on the interview I had just completed, but were now on Barcelona and our lunch date. When I arrived home, the phone was ringing off its hook. It was Donna informing me that I had an appointment with Mike Larson, Ashland's agent, on Saturday at 1:00 p.m.

  I lingered on it for a little while, wondering what would come out of our time together. Would I still think the agent was the guilty one, or would he shed some new insight on the two murders that would make me doubtful?

  Eventually my thoughts returned to the person I was in love with, and wishing I was going to spend more time with her and not just a lunch break. It was early but I was tired, so I went to bed thinking of you-know-who.

  Just when I was about ready to fall asleep, my telephone rang. I wasn't going to answer it, but then thought maybe the Chief had some news for me. I got out of bed and in a very grumpy voice said, "Hello, this is Sam."