Excerpt: The Love in Bloom Matter

Chapter One
“HOORAY FOR HOLLYWOOD”
“Expense account, submitted by special investigator Johnny Dollar to Pacific Life and Casualty, Los Angeles, CA. The following is an accounting of my expenditures during my investigation of the “Love in Bloom” Matter.”
It began, as usual, with a telephone call. I had been expecting to hear from an attorney’s office in Boston regarding a deposition I needed to give to wrap up a previous case. Not my favorite part of the job, but I supposed that even brain surgery has its tedious moments. Besides, in order to make my appointment, I’d probably be talking to their attractive brunette receptionist… what was her name? Peggy. With any luck, she’d be free for dinner. We’d been out a time or two, and as I recalled, her company was enough to make a trip into the city worthwhile.
But it turned out not to be Boston on the line. This call originated in a city that was about as far away as you could get from Boston, geographically and otherwise.
“Johnny Dollar,” I said crisply as I answered the phone.
“Mr. Dollar? Mark Edwards here. Pacific Life and Casualty.”
I thought for a moment. The company name was certainly familiar, but I didn’t do a lot of work for West Coast firms, and I wasn’t sure I’d ever done a job for this one. Well, it was November. There were worse things than being offered a case in L.A. just as the first snowfall of the season menaced the skies over Hartford. Curious, I replied, “Yes, Mr. Edwards. I don’t believe we’ve met, have we?”
“No, no, we haven’t. But I’ve heard good things about you, and I have a particularly delicate matter that needs an experienced investigator.” He paused, and I could feel the tension seeping through the telephone. I could imagine him licking his lips nervously as he chose his words. “Someone who won’t go off half-cocked, you understand, and won’t make any rash accusations. Someone who will get all the facts before taking any action. From what I’ve heard from others in the industry, I couldn’t find a better man than you for the job.”
I was more than a little wary. A very tense man calls from L.A., cautioning about “rash accusations.” It sounded like what Mr. Edwards was most worried about bad press, which wasn’t usually the primary concern of an insurance company. Their primary concern was usually hanging on to their money. I wondered what celebrity this case involved. I don’t like cases that involve walking on eggshells. If I don’t have free hand in getting at the truth, I’m not interested. If Mr. Edwards was looking for someone willing to go through the motions for a fee, he had the wrong man.
“It’s nice to hear the complimentary words, Mr. Edwards, but…”
A sharp intake of breath came through the receiver. “I hope you’re not tied up on another case!” Mr. Edwards said plaintively.
“No, as it happens, I’m free right now,” I assured him.
“That’s a relief,” he sighed, “Because we’re already at a great disadvantage due to the delay in reporting the disappearance.”
“Who’s disappeared?” I asked, frowning. Maybe I’d been on the wrong track, thinking a celebrity was involved. As far as I knew, Hollywood wasn’t missing any movie stars.
“Not who. What.”
“Ah,” I said. “Something’s been stolen.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Edwards. Then he backtracked. “Well, no. Well, maybe. That’s the trouble. Our client isn’t sure that the item has been stolen; it’s just missing.”
“What’s missing? Missing from where?”
“It hasn’t been seen since the dinner party,” Mr. Edwards continued. “That was a week ago tomorrow. But there’s no evidence of a break-in so…”
I gave up trying to lead him back to the beginning; instead, I tried jumping in right where he was. “So the guests are under suspicion?” I offered.
There was another one of those sharp intakes of breath. “Please, Mr. Dollar! Let’s not be hasty! It’s only missing, we don’t know that it was stolen.”
“Are you saying that maybe it’s only been lost?” I asked, trying to maintain my sunny disposition. But I was growing annoyed. I wished he’d stop edging around the pool and dive right on in. I wasn’t flying out to California just to go poking through somebody’s mansion looking for a misplaced diamond ring.
“Well,” he hesitated. “I don’t think it could be lost. It would be pretty hard to lose a violin.”
At last. Now I could begin to get a handle on the problem. I had assumed that the missing object was small, something that could have rolled under a dresser or tumbled down a drain unnoticed. But a violin was a different story.
“This is a valuable violin?” I asked.
“A Stradivarius.” Mr. Edwards breathed the words reverentially.
And why not? I was certainly no expert on musical instruments, but it was common knowledge that a Stradivarius was the crème de la crème of violins.
“I guess there was a fair amount of insurance on that,” I responded, still trying to get a handle on exactly what the case involved.
“Twenty thousand dollars,” he replied, and now it was my turn for the sharp intake of breath. That was at least double what I would have expected even the fanciest violin would have been worth.
“Are you interested in the case?” he prompted.
“Sure,” I said cautiously, “But just whose violin are we talking about?” I started running through the names of the famous concert violinists that I had heard of. Isaac Stern came to mind. Heifetz, maybe. My imagination sketched the scene for me: a wealthy patron throws some kind of charity bash in Beverly Hills, invites the great man to the party for the entertainment of the guests, and his violin disappears.
Mr. Edwards interrupted my reverie. “Suppose I told you,” he said, lowering his voice, “That I needed you to report to 360 North Camden Drive in Beverly Hills. Does that address mean anything to you?”
I wrinkled my forehead, puzzled. Somehow, that was a vaguely familiar address, but I couldn’t think why. It wasn’t some place I’d been, I was sure of that. But for some reason I recognized it. Had I seen that address in the newspaper, or maybe heard it mentioned somewhere? If so, it seemed like I’d heard more than once. Maybe it was mentioned in a newsreel at the movies? I shook my head. There was no visual image to go along with the address, so it probably wasn’t something I’d seen on the silver screen. Maybe… maybe on the radio? I nodded to myself. Yes, that was it. On the radio. But in what context I couldn’t remember.
“Try this, Mr. Dollar.” Mr. Edwards then cleared his throat and to my near astonishment, began to sing to me! “La dah dah dee dee-dee-dee-dee dee-dee la-dee-dee- dum…”
The tune was so familiar that I could almost hum the next line myself, yet… I couldn’t quite place it. He tried again, this time adding lyrics to his la-dee-dahs. “Can it be the trees that fill the breeze with rare and magic perfume…”
Up to this point, my body language had reflected my attitude: that the jury was still out on whether or not this case was of any interest. I had been leaning back in my desk chair, relaxed almost to the point of sliding out of it. My feet weren’t actually on the desk, but it wouldn’t have required much shifting to plop them there. But hearing the lyrics made the pieces finally click into place, like the tumblers on a wall safe, and suddenly, I was felt all my limp muscles contract. I shot to attention so fast I nearly fell face forward on the desk. “You’re kidding,” was all I could say.
“If only I were. What has dropped into my lap,” Mr. Edwards sighed, “Shouldn’t happen to a dog.”
“Jack Benny?” I asked, incredulously. I didn’t know what was harder to believe: that Jack Benny, the world’s worst violinist, owned a Stradivarius; or that Jack Benny, the world’s tightest tightwad, had let $20,000 slip through his fingers.
“Jack Benny,” Mr. Edwards confirmed. “Mr. Dollar, I can’t tell you what a mess this is. How soon can you get to California?”
“As soon as I can get a plane,” I said.
“Then you’ll take the case?” The relief in his voice was heart-warming. I only hoped that I could live up to my apparent reputation.
“Mr. Edwards,” I replied, “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”