Chapter Seventeen

On Wednesday morning, I gave Al January a call and asked if he had Marla Vicenza’s phone number.

I sensed his surprise. I’m sure he wondered why I wasn’t asking Paul Kane for Marla’s contact info, and I mentioned casually that I’d tried Paul’s number a couple of times that morning without success. That was a lie, but January seemed to accept it. He said, “He’s probably at the studio today. I think he mentioned something about it on Sunday.”

I was in luck. January was in a loquacious mood. We chatted casually about sailing and boats, and I managed to work my way around to Langley Hawthorne and Porter’s affair with Nina.

I said -- stretching the truth a little, “I read Bonnie Kirkland’s bio on Paul. I hadn’t realized he and Nina also had an affair.”

Al made a sound of disgust. “That book was garbage. The woman is a homophobe.”

“She sure seemed to take Nina’s side in the breakup.”

“There wasn’t any reason to take sides,” Al said. “They were both kids. It wasn’t anyone’s fault.”

“Nina must have been on the rebound after Porter?” I suggested.

“I never did quite understand the thing with Porter,” Al admitted. “Who can fathom the heart of an adolescent female?”

Even the ones not doing drugs. I made assenting noises like a few years of rubbing shoulders with les femmes in high school and university gave me Man of the World status.

January said, “After the affair with Porter broke off -- after Langley insisted it end -- Nina got involved with Paul. They were both very young and…very stupid. I think in a way Paul was swept off his feet. He came from a poor working class background. Nina was beautiful, young, and the daughter of southern aristocratic privilege. For a kid from a slum in Bristol, it was like American Dream 101.”

“And Hawthorne disapproved of that relationship as well?”

“No.”

“No?”

I could hear the smile in his voice at my obvious surprise. “Not at all. Langley was very fond of Paul. Paul was his discovery, his protégé, and he admired the way he worked his way up from nothing. He thought the future was full of great things for Paul. He thought he was going to be the Cary Grant of our generation.”

“Was Kane’s sexuality under wraps back then?” Considering how voracious he seemed these days, I wondered how successful he would have been at concealing his cosmopolitan tastes.

“Jaded, aren’t you?” He chuckled. “Yeah, Paul was pretty much in the closet back then. Conventional wisdom held -- still holds really -- that coming out as openly gay is the kiss of death in Hollywood as far as marketing yourself to mainstream audiences. Back then we didn’t have anything like Logo or here! And even if we had, being relegated to TV was considered a fate worse than death.”

Paul didn’t strike me as someone who was overly serious about his art, but I could understand that he had probably wanted more for himself than guest appearances on ALF or Moonlighting.

January said, “Anyway, I think Langley was hugely relieved that Nina was involved with someone of her own age. Someone unmarried. Someone he thought highly of.”

“So what happened?” I suspected what had happened was Nina discovered the games Paul liked to play -- I assumed he played those games back then.

“Unfortunately, Langley drowned. Nina went off the rails and her relationship with Paul ended. Not amiably.”

“That seemed to be the gist of the Kirkland book.” This was the tricky part. I asked, “Do you think part of Nina’s problem might have been the way her father died?”

“Not sure what you mean.” There was a cautious note in January’s voice.

“Well, it was sudden. An accident, right?”

“Oh, right. Yes, I suppose part of Nina’s problem was the shock of Langley’s death.” He sounded guarded. Which wasn’t unexpected, since he had been on the yacht that night along with Nina, Paul, Porter, and Porter’s first wife, Marla.

I said, “Was there any suggestion that Hawthorne’s death might not have been an accident?”

There was an abrupt pause.

“There was a full police investigation at the time,” January said. “Which was only to be expected. Langley was very wealthy, and his death was a stupid one.”

“He got drunk and fell overboard, is that what I read?”

“That’s about the size of it,” January said.

I changed tack. “Was Hawthorne married?”

“Widowed.”

“That would have made it harder on Nina, I guess.”

“It didn’t help.”

“Was Hawthorne a heavy drinker?” I asked.

“We were all heavy drinkers back then,” January said.

There were a number of questions I’d have liked to ask, but if I asked them, January would be contacting Paul Kane -- he might give Kane a ring as it stood now -- and I preferred to fly under the radar for as long as possible.

I said, “I’ve met Nina. She seems…like an interesting personality.”

“She’s all that,” January said, “but no way did Nina push Langley off that boat.”

“That’s what Paul said.” I added, “I guess I’ve been writing mysteries for too long.”

“Could be,” he said. “Might want to watch that.” Despite January’s easy tone, I had a feeling he meant it.

* * * * *

It took some doing, but I finally got hold of Marla Vinceza and managed to set up a meeting with her for the following day. After that, my sleuthing had to be placed on hold. It was Natalie’s day off and customers kept me jumping while they amused themselves pulling books off shelves and leaving them stacked around the store, abandoning their empty Starbucks cups on shelves, and informing me they’d changed their minds about books we’d special ordered for them.

Natalie was right about needing help. The way it stood now, any time she had a day off or I was out gallivanting, we were in trouble. Bathroom breaks, stockroom searches, even lengthy phone calls meant no one was available to help customers. And offsite lunches meant closing the shop for an hour or so. When I’d first opened Cloak and Dagger, that wasn’t a problem, but now we were busy enough that closing for an hour irritated customers and cost us in sales.

I resolved to write Angus in Mexico and find out if he was serious about coming home, and then I locked the place long enough to get myself a frozen yogurt from down the street. It was too hot to eat, even if I’d been hungry, but the boysenberry yogurt was something to tide me over.

Checking my messages, I saw there was one from Jake. I listened.

He said in that careful flat voice, “There’s been a development. It turns out that Nina Hawthorne has some kind of heart ailment for which she takes digitoxin.” He hesitated, then added curtly, “Give me a call if you feel like talking.”

It occurred to me that I hadn’t seen or spoken to him since I’d walked off the Pirate’s Gambit. I thought about what Chan had said -- the fact that it mattered to Jake whether we stayed friends or not. I wanted to think that I was mature enough, sophisticated enough, to stay friends with him -- I told myself I didn’t blame him for making the choices he had made, that I saw him as a victim and a prisoner of his internalized homophobia -- and yet…

The truth was, even if I could put aside the past, he was too close to Paul Kane for me to confide in.

* * * * *

When I got back from taking Emma to her riding lessons on Wednesday evening, I found Natalie’s four-footed pal waiting for me beside the side door. The cat scampered away when I got out of the Forester, but then slunk back as I stood there unlocking the door.

It stood just out of range.

“Do I look like a cat person to you?” I asked it.