All That Glitters Read Free Page A

the details, but for now, I’ll let the authorities take all the credit. Now if you’ll excuse us.”
    Most of the reporters groaned, and photographers lowered their cameras. A reporter I didn’t recognize crushed his cigarette under his shoe. “You’re holding out for a book deal? What a jerk.”
    While they dispersed, Pat set his hat on his head. “Maybe these other putzes swallowed your baloney, but I know you too well.”
    I introduced him to Laura as he followed us toward the entrance to the main building with the Spanish architecture.
    “Charmed.” Pat tipped his hat then walked beside me. “I heard you’d given up your detective career, but when your name popped up in the papers about these bankers, I knew you were back on the street.”
    “Jake’s detective days
are
over.” Laura slipped her arm in mine.
    Pat gave her the once-over. “Jake, you always did have a flashy dame on your arm.”
    Laura pulled me closer. “He’s given up dames, too.”
    We stopped outside the terminal, and Pat shook my hand. “See you around—when you’re ready to spill the beans about New York.”
    As he walked away, Laura groaned. “I don’t think he likes me.”
    “He never liked actors.”
    “He picked the wrong city to work in.”
    “Pat’s a crime dog. There’s plenty of that.”
    I felt relief after he and the rest of the reporters left. Laura deserved the welcome, but a quiet arrival would be perfect for my plans for the evening.
    Willie, pushing a cart of our luggage, called out, “Mr. Donovan, where can I send your bags?”
    I opened the door for Laura. “Why don’t you wait in the terminal, and I’ll take care of this.”
    When she went inside, I grabbed the bag with her engagement ring inside. “Can you send them to the Hollywood Hotel, Willie?”
    “Consider it done, sir. May I say it’s been a pleasure getting to know you both?”
    “Likewise.” I handed him several bills. “Best of luck with the new baby.”
    He tipped the cap of his blue uniform. “And best of luck making Miss Wilson Mrs. Donovan.”
    “Thanks.” I patted the bag and waved as he pushed the cart toward the platform.
    Inside I scanned the crowd and spotted Laura with a group of Hollywood types who stood out from everyone else. Two men in tailored suits stood with a stunning blonde I recognized as Laura’s costar, the infamous Christine Brody.
    The sex symbol’s silver high-heeled shoes nearly matched her shimmering platinum-blond hair. A formfitting white silk dress over a tight chassis and a glistening diamond necklace made her even flashier in person than in the movies. Although the actress drew stares from men nearby, compared to Laura’s sophistication, she was a run-of-the-mill pinup girl. Naughty and bawdy? Christine Brody.
    I also recognized Laura’s other costar, one of Hollywood’s leading men and no doubt Carville Studios’s highest paid actor, Roland Harper. When I lived in L.A., we had a couple of conversations before he hit it big. While he appeared in a handful of silent movies, I knew him as a carhop at the Brown Derby, but I was sure he wouldn’t remember me, or if he did, he’d pretend not to. If the gossip columns got it right, these days he refused to get into a car that didn’t come with a driver.
    It wasn’t until I moved back to New York that Harper made the leap from silent movie obscurity to leading man in talking pictures. He snagged roles with his handsome looks and sophisticated air.
    Travelers stopped and stared, and several pointed to the group while a photographer circled Harper and the two gorgeous actresses. He snapped photos from various angles, complimenting them after each one.
    I wasn’t certain how to handle the situation. Laura hadn’t seen me, so I set the bag beside a newspaper stand, bought a
Times,
and pretended to read the front page.
    The photographer posed the three stars together. A man directing the shoot, no doubt a Carville Studios bigwig, was a dapper fellow in a