The Case of the Angry Actress: A Masao Masuto Mystery Read Free Page B

went up to Phoebe’s room to lie down. Phoebe said she would bring me a cup of tea. But Al was in his room already, and the doors were closed—two doors, so I could not hear anything. Not possibly.”
    â€œThen you went into the kitchen?” Masuto asked Phoebe.
    â€œThe pantry. We have a hot-cold water cooler there. No one saw me, if that is what you mean.”
    â€œThank you,” Masuto said, bowing almost imperceptably, a tribute to the lady of a house where he once had a friend, for even the small warmth of slight aquaintance is a form of friendship. “You may leave us now, and we will trouble your house only a few minutes more.”
    â€œStay as long as you need to, please.”
    Masuto decided that he liked her. She either mourned the dead in her own way or not at all; it was her affair. He nodded to Baxter’s unspoken question, and the doctor said, “I would like to have an autopsy done, Mrs. Greenberg.”
    â€œIf you wish. If it will help.”
    â€œI think it will only help to put away doubts—but that’s important.”
    â€œThen do as you see best.”
    And with that, she left the room.
    Detective Masuto turned to Trude Burke.
    â€œI was in the john,” the strawberry blonde smiled. “I guess supper agreed with none of us.”
    â€œWhere?”
    â€œFront hall. Came out, heard the commotion, hotfooted it upstairs and almost fell over Arlene.”
    â€œYou mean Mrs. Cotter?”
    â€œYes. Jack, her husband, was in the hall then, yelling for a doctor.”
    â€œMrs. Cotter?”
    Arlene Cotter rose, glanced quizzically at her husband and then nodded at Masuto. “No alibis—poor Oriental detective. I did not know there was a Nisei on our darling little police force. I was in the guest powder room, upstairs, when I heard the commotion and bounded into the hall. I went in there with Lenore Tulley—didn’t I, darling?”
    Lenore Tulley stared narrowly without replying. No love between them, Masuto decided. They were too alike: Beverly Hills twins, same height, same figure, same hairdresser.
    â€œBut then Lenore disappeared somewhere. Where did you disappear to, darling?”
    â€œThe pot, you bitch. You saw me go in there.”
    â€œTemper, temper,” Arlene Cotter said.
    â€œThen I went into the guest room, which connected with the guest bathroom,” Lenore Tulley told Masuto. “To tell the truth, I was prowling. I have never been to this particular castle before. I was curious. Then I heard the commotion and stepped out into the hallway and joined the crowd in Al’s bedroom.”
    Arlene Cotter smiled tolerantly. Mike Tulley watched them both intently, his wife and Cotter’s wife.
    â€œYou remained at the dining room table?” Masuto asked Murphy Anderson.
    â€œMy cigar and I. I heard the commotion and then Sidney joined me. There is a small, spiral staircase in the projection booth, there—” He pointed. “—and first we thought something had happened in the viewing room. But it was empty. We went upstairs by the projection room staircase, which lets one into the far end of the upstairs hall.”
    â€œAnd before that, Mr. Burke?”
    â€œI was with Mike Tulley in the viewing room. We were going to watch some shorts, and Mike was going to run them. He went into the projection booth. I mixed myself a drink and went into the dining room to see what had happened to the girls.”
    â€œMr. Tulley?” Masuto said.
    â€œLike Sidney says, I was in the projection booth, setting up the film. I heard the yelling from upstairs and I went up the staircase.”
    Beckman had been making notes. Now Masuto said, “I don’t think we need trouble you further now. I would appreciate it if you would give pertinent facts, name, place, telephone to Detective Beckman here. Then you can leave. I think it would be wise if you say nothing about what Mr. Cotter