He Done Her Wrong: A Toby Peters Mystery (Book Eight) (Toby Peters Mysteries) Read Free

away.
    “He’s going to be here alone?”
    “Not quite,” she laughed. “A few of my more intimate friends will be here. We’re having a Mae West party. You get in free if you’re dressed like me.” Her smile was broad, showing teeth that Shelly Minck would have marveled at.
    “There’s one catch,” she added. “Only men are allowed.”
    “So you’re going to have a houseful of men dressed like you, and I’m supposed to find the one who’s the thief and nail him?”
    “You got it,” she said, plunking down her glass with just a brown residue of steak juice remaining.
    “You have parties like this often?”
    “Since I came out here,” she said. “I like men of all shapes, sizes, and persuasion. I even wrote a play back in ’29 called The Drag . Cast of forty transvestites. Did pretty well, though we couldn’t find a theater to take us in New York.”
    “Too bad,” I sympathized. “Anything else I should know about tonight?”
    “Just be prepared for any—thing.” I could swear her eyes roamed down my pants. “Now, if you will excuse me, I’ve got to do my exercises. Rollo will show you to a room where you can listen to the radio, take a nap or a bath, and look at yourself in the mirror till lunch. One final question.”
    “Thirty bucks a day and expenses,” I said, “but this one is on the house.”
    “Thirty bucks a day it’ll be,” she said. “I don’t take things on the house. The house always decides it wants payment in trade. Besides, that wasn’t the question.”
    “Sorry,” I said, rising with her. She looked deeply into my eyes as she stepped in front of me.
    “How is Phil doing?”
    “He’s a cop with a family, a lot of bills, and a big stick.”
    “I know all about the big stick” she said.
    “He uses it to break heads,” I said. “Like Teddy Roosevelt.”
    She shrugged and walked slowly out of the room. With her departure the temperature dropped suddenly and the monkey came scurrying in. He was a small thing who paused to show his teeth when I reached down to bar his way. I changed my mind, and massive Rollo came lumbering in pursuit.
    The rest of the day I checked out the grounds, made one important phone call, and listened to Dizzy and Daffy galumpfing after the monkey. I leafed through a book on yoga, one on life after death, and another by Sigmund Freud.
    Sometime early in the evening, the first guests began to arrive. I tightened my tie, put on my jacket, and came out to see what was happening. The first Mae Wests were fair to middling imitations. The real Mae West was pretty good in her blond wig, a tight dress, and a floppy yellow hat with a white feather.
    My own invited guest arrived after the first batch, and I placed him where he might be most helpful and least conspicuous.
    By nine the place was full of Mae Wests, and Dizzy and Daffy were busy serving drinks and sandwiches. Each guest who didn’t know was told the rules: no smoking and no groping.
    Just before ten I made my way to the real West, who was holding court on the triumphs of Catherine the Great.
    “I was born for that role boys,” she said to the assembled group, resembling nothing that could pass for “boys.” They nodded in agreement as she excused herself and joined me in a corner.
    “Well,” I whispered.
    “Nothing yet,” she sighed. “I’ve got the envelope up my sleeve and maybe something else too.” Her eyebrows went up suggestively.
    “Don’t you think about anything else?”
    “Not in public,” she said, reaching up to touch what was left of my nose. “Remind me to ask you sometime how you got that proboscis.” She sauntered away on the arm of a tall, thin Mae West who had trouble walking on his white high heels.
    The contact came just before midnight, and I almost missed it. The Chinese comic who wanted to be discovered by Mae West, Richard Horn, was telling me about the fight the Chinese were putting up against the Japanese somewhere in Manchuria. It was hard to