“No, I actually haven’t tried to cash it. You see, Miss Lamb already paid me, but then this check came in my mail and I wanted to return it to her.”
The woman looked at the address on the check, and her confused look deepened. “Well, she just lives right up in Las Flores Canyon.”
“Yes, I know. I’ve been there. But she’s not there and the police won’t let me in.”
“The police!”
“Yes, apparently they found a dead body in her house.”
Having obviously overheard this, the walrus put down his paper, rose from his desk, adjusted his cuffs, massaged the knot on his tie, and headed ponderously over.
“Can I help you?” he said in a smooth voice that Archer took an instant dislike to. As a teenager he’d bought a car from a guy who sounded just like that. And the car’s transmission had failed as soon as the thicker oil the guy had poured into the gearbox to mask the failing gears clogged everything. When Archer had gone back to get his money, the gent disavowed all knowledge of the vehicle, Archer, or the existence of any known connection between them.
“I hope so,” said Archer, smiling because he felt he had to at the moment. He explained things again.
“A body?” said the man, who had introduced himself as Horace Mincer, the bank branch manager. “I’ve seen nothing in the papers.”
“It just happened recently, and they’re probably putting the kibosh on the reporters doing their snooping. Do you know Miss Lamb?”
“Well, yes, I mean, as a customer of the bank, I do.” He looked at the check. “What did Miss Lamb need with a detective agency anyway?”
“I’m afraid that’s confidential.”
Mincer shot him a glance. “Well, what do you want us to do about it, fella?”
“I was wondering if you had another address for her where I could drop it off or mail it?”
“She has an office somewhere in LA, I believe. She’s a secretary or something for a big film schmuck.”
“I tried there. They haven’t heard from her and they’re getting quite worried. And she’s not a secretary. She’s a very talented writer for the movies.”
The man looked at Archer like he was trying to feed him a line that could not possibly be true. “Is that right?”
“Goodness,” said Doe-eye. “She’s gone missing?”
Mincer glanced sharply at her, as though trying to determine from which planet the woman might have fallen into his bank. “Right, this way, Mr....?”
“Archer.”
“Right. Better to discuss this in private.”
“It always is.”
The man gave him another stupid look that made Archer wonder if he could even add numbers much less provide cogent information.
They settled behind the glass wall and the man took out a cigar from his desk drawer, sheared off the end with a pinky knife, lit up, and puffed on it, his cheeks performing like fireplace bellows to get the ignited end going.
Archer watched him do this and looked him over once more. In the fellow’s forty-plus years of living, Archer came away with the conclusion that the gent had possibly stopped maturing around the age of twelve.
Mincer put his wingtips up on the desk, blew out smoke, and then tacked on a stupid grin. “Now that we’re away from the little girls, give me the straight dope on this, buddy.”
“Come again?”
He held up the check and then dropped it on his desk. “Who in their right mind turns down free money? You say the lady paid you twice? Okay, you keep both payments and she can ask for the overpayment back. What kind of nut volunteers to do it?”
Archer pretended to be offended as he picked up the check and put it away in his pocket. “This kind of nut. Plus, I get the rep of cheating my clients, how long do you think I’d be in business?”
“Okay, okay, don’t get all sore. It’s no skin off me.”
“What can you tell me about Lamb?”
“Why?” Mincer asked.
“She’s missing, as I said. I’d like to find her.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Is she a good customer?” asked Archer.
“No problems that I know of.”
“She bought a nice house up in the canyon, then did a big remodel. Put in a pool and everything. You people hold the mortgage on all that?”
Mincer put his feet on the floor and swiveled to face Archer with the expression of a man about to do some business of his own. “Technically, we’re not supposed to talk about this stuff with third parties.” He hiked his eyebrows in a crude show of silent communication.
“Well, speaking for interested third parties, how much does it take to get around technicalities in this place?” asked Archer, reaching into his jacket pocket for his wallet.
Mincer glanced at the quartet of ladies, several of whom kept shooting darting glances their way. “Not here. Let’s go for a walk.”
“I’m all for fresh air.”
Chapter 31
They crossed the road and walked along the beach where the sand was hard packed. The sun was high overhead, making it warm for January, and the tide was hovering in roughly neutral right now. However, even the distant breakers would cover any conversation they would have, Archer knew, which was probably why Mincer had headed over here, which meant the man wasn’t all stupid.
“The mortgage?” asked Archer.
“There isn’t one.”
Archer’s jaw went slack. “I know she makes good money with her job, but that house must have cost ten times what she pulls in during the course of a year.”
“Maybe more than that with all the improvements she made.”
“You sound like you know more about it than you let on back there.”
“Let me see your cash.”
“Okay, but keep in mind, pal, I’m a gumshoe, not a Rockefeller.”
“Would you go a grand?”
Archer’s jaw went even slacker. “Oh, sure, if Lamb walks safely out of the ocean over there the second the green hits your palm.”
“How about a C-note then? I’m taking a big risk here, buddy.”
“There’s risk in getting out of bed every day. I tell you what, let me hear it first. Then I’ll judge if it’s worth the C or not.”
Mincer stopped walking and puffed feverishly on his cigar. “Do I look like a monkey’s uncle, pal? I’m a branch manager, for crying out loud.” He held up a foot. “I’m wearing goddamn Florsheims.”
“Okay, let’s say fifty. I pay you half on your promise of having the goods, and the other half when you’re done. That work for you?”
“I guess.”
“That is not what I wanted to hear.”
“Okay, okay, yeah, it works.”
Archer passed him the money.
They started walking again.
“Lamb moved out here, oh, about two years ago. That’s when she opened her account with us. She said she was buying the old Henderson place. We did have a mortgage on that. So I asked her if she wanted us to loan her the necessary funds to buy the property and fix it up, because she told me what she wanted to do with it. We had the survey and title on file and all, we’d just have to update it. All she needed was a male cosigner.”
“Come again?” said Archer sharply.
“An unmarried woman can’t get a mortgage without a suitable man signing with her,” said Mincer. “Didn’t you know that, pal?”
“No I didn’t. Why won’t banks make loans to single women?”
“Don’t be stupid. Banks need a guy on board to feel secure. And it’s for the ladies’ protection, too. Dames are clueless about money and such. They won’t get taken for a ride with a sharp guy around. Turns out it didn’t matter with Lamb. She told me she was paying cash for the property, and the renovations she planned. So she didn’t need a mortgage. And I guess there’s no law against a dame buying a house with her own cash, though there probably should be. Like I said, women have no head when it comes to money and business. My dumb wife doesn’t know the difference between a passbook account and Passover.”