Chapter Seven
Maddie Ellis and the Malibu Movie Colony is an old-fashioned mystery serial set during the end of the silent movie era. In chapter 7, screenwriter Maddie Ellis meets more of her neighbors at a star-studded beach party, and learns some disquieting details about the series of burglaries that have plagued the small and exclusive seaside colony. Join us as we travel back in time to January 1928.
Louise Falzenda and Hal Wallis’ little beach bungalow was lit up and filled with life. Dinner guests spilled out onto the beach, where a bonfire provided warmth and light. Louise, clad in a red and gold pajama suit with a matching turban and a long string of blue beads around her neck, welcomed Maddie and Millo.
“Maddie, this is my husband Hal,” Louise said, pulling the man at her side forward to shake hands.
“Maddie’s the new neighbor I was telling you about, Hal,” she told him. “She’s living at the Harringtons’ place, and she’s here to help Harrington salvage that film of Milo’s, the one about the Arabian Knights.”
Maddie knew that the couple were only recently married. Hal Wallis, like so many of the Malibu Colony residents, was involved in film, but unlike his actress wife, he was a publicist for one of the big new studios. He was pleasant-looking rather than handsome. He had a receding hairline and a stocky build that suggested that he, like his wife, was not one of the Colony’s dieters, but the way he and Louise looked at one another told Maddie that this was a true love match. She smiled at him, and meant it when she said she was happy to meet him.
“Talk later,” Louise commanded. “Eat while the food is hot!” She guided Maddie and Milo to the buffet where there was fried chicken, hot biscuits, and Russian salad. Guests were filling their plates and taking them out onto the beach, where they gathered around the fire. Maddie joined the throng. She lost Milo in the shuffle, but was content to be on her own and to listen to the conversations going on around her. They really did talk about dieting all the time. Maddie thought she recognized Marie Prevost and former child star Bebe Daniels, attired in swimwear and kimonos, complaining bitterly about the new ‘eighteen-day diet’—I don’t mind the grapefruit, but I can’t abide Melba toast, darling, so dry and dull!”
That was almost certainly Clive Brook over by the fire, bareheaded and attired in an open shirt. He was smoking a pipe and chatting with fellow actor Ernest Torrence. They, at least, were not talking about Melba toast and grapefruit, but fish was not a particularly elevating topic, either. Then Maddie’s old friend Allan Dwan appeared and introduced her to actor Neil Hamilton and his wife Ella. Like Louise and Hal, they were newly married and had just completed building their beach house a few months earlier. They were friendly and lively and welcomed Maddie with enthusiasm.
“It’s lovely to have you,” Ella confided. “Belle and I are great friends. I was sad when she and Daniel announced they were leaving for London. It’s so nice to have you here. We’re planning to be out often now that we have our darling little sailboat. It’s a dream. You must drop by the cottage and come for a sail.”
Maddie said that sounded delightful.
Maddie’s opportunity to learn more about the burglaries arrived a moment later, when Louise triumphantly brought forth her homemade ice cream.
“Raspberry!” their hostess announced dramatically. “Also, blood, sweat, and tears, darlings. Everyone must try at least a little. The blood was thanks to the puppy, but it isn’t in the ice cream. It’s just that he’s discovered he has teeth.”
“How is the new watchdog, Louise?” Hamilton asked, accepting a dish for himself and one for his wife with a nod of thanks.
“If he’s as fierce towards burglars as he is to the hands that feed him, no crook will ever dare trouble us again,” Louise said.
“The property manager, Mr Crosby, was telling me how several houses have been broken into lately,” Maddie said. “He appeared with the watchman in tow to tell me to shut my windows, just after I’d arrived and opened them. He said the burglars carried off furniture in a boat, which, I confess, is hard to imagine.”
“It’s ridiculous,” Louise said. “But how else did they get away with it? The burglars stole a wicker settee from us and a bed from Neil and Ella. “Imagine sailing off with those treasures aboard your dinghy. Admit it Neil, you are the guilty party. You’re using all of those things to furnish your yacht.”
“That’s why I also took the big gold gilt mirror from our own house,” Neil said. “Ella thought it would raise the tone of the galley.”
“It goes marvelously with Louise’s settee,” his wife said. “The absolute last word in modern yacht living.”
“What else has been taken?” Maddie asked. “Mr Crosby said some of the burglaries were smaller things like jewelry.”
“Leon Verlaine had some cufflinks and collar studs stolen, and a hammock, of all things,” Louise said. “I can’t imagine Leon’s collar studs fetching much from a pawn shop or what have you, even if they were gold. Most of us are only out on the weekends, and who would leave good jewelry here, or even bring it in the first place?”
“We come here to get away from that,” Bebe Daniels said, abandoning the talk of grapefruits and accepting a dish of ice cream from Louise with a murmur of thanks and a smile. “I love it here because it’s free from public scrutiny. It’s wonderful to do what you please. I don’t want burglars and burglaries to cloud a moment of my time here. This ice cream is simply divine, Louise,” she added. “Worth all the blood, sweat, and tears, every bit!”
“Whoever the burglars are, they don’t seem to be terribly particular about what they take,” that was Milo, reappearing at Maddie’s side.
“It’s like a child or a magpie, snatching up whatever strikes his fancy,” Ella Hamilton said.
“A mighty muscular magpie, but I agree,” Louise said. “Losing the furniture was a nuisance, but hardly a serious hardship. It feels like a prank. Kids on a bet, maybe. Please don’t let it frighten you, Maddie. No one has come to any harm.”
A new group of guests arrived at that moment, and put an end to the conversation. The new arrivals were in tearing high spirits, spirits being the operative word. They had rowed to shore from the mysterious yacht in a dinghy, landing on the beach with much hilarity and splashing.
In the middle of the group was Johnny Roberts, the star of the film Maddie and Milo were working to salvage. He leapt from the boat, nearly capsizing it, paused to hand two of the three ladies out, and strode up the beach and into the spotlight: a modern Apollo wearing immaculate nautical attire instead of a fig leaf, and drunk as a lord. He had his arm around a beautiful blonde wearing as little as possible. At his other side was a dark-haired girl, beautiful in sea green silk, but clearly unhappy: a hapless Echo, clinging in vain to a feckless Narcissus, thought Maddie, with a flash of recognition. The dark-haired young woman was Clarice Auclair, the actress who was infatuated with Roberts.
Another woman, dark-haired and vivacious in a silver beaded dress that was wildly inappropriate for a beach party, was carried to shore by a tall, broad-shouldered man. The sixth member of the group was laughing as he tried to steady the dinghy. He appeared younger than the other two men, hardly more than a boy. No, not so young, Maddie decided, but with the kind of looks and build that are perennially youthful. He had a round, boyish face and blond hair.
Despite their good looks, Roberts outshone his companions. He outshone everyone. He was telling everyone about his yacht, in a voice that would have carried beautifully to the cheap seats.
“I’ve named her Bartholomew,” he proclaimed. “Isn’t she a beauty? If acting dries up, I plan to turn to piracy!”
Everyone obligingly flocked down to the edge of the shore for a better look at the yacht.
“There’s your Pirate King,” Milo said to Maddie.
“You’re right,” Maddie said. “‘Bartholomew’ for the pirate Bartholomew Roberts, better known as “Black Bart,” at a guess? No relation, I suspect, but possibly our Mr Roberts likes to imagine there is.” Maddie sighed, but not over Roberts, his merry crew or his sailboat. She had hoped to talk with their star player and the ingénue, but was disappointed. There would be no getting sense out of anyone in that pirate crew.
“Piracy aside, I’m not sure that we haven’t switched performances to The Tempest,” she added. “‘He is drunk now: where had he wine?’”
“‘Reeling ripe,’” Milo agreed. “Was that Trinculo or Calaban? I can’t remember. This lot won’t get anymore here at any rate. Louise never serves anything stronger than lemonade, but she’d better get some food into that crowd before they start causing trouble.”
Food was being passed around, and so was coffee, although Maddie judged it would take more than mere caffeine to sober Johnny Roberts and his friends. The phonograph was cranked up. Wood was added to the fire, and the party continued, but it was louder now and more discordant, and it revolved around Roberts.
Maddie was content to observe. After a few moments, a svelte but tipsy figure broke away from the revelry and joined them, or joined Milo. It was Johnny Roberts’ blonde companion.
“Mr. Devlin,” she gushed, taking his hand in both of hers. “I’m Lucy Desmond, Lulu to my friends, I’m so excited to meet you. Johnny’s told me all about the film you’re doing together. I don’t suppose there’s a teeny weenie role for a beautiful young ingénue? There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to work with you.”
Maddie was amused to observe that Lulu Desmond was looking up at Milo with apparent adoration and actually fluttering her eyelashes. They were about an inch long, the kind that were made of mink and glued on with spirit gum and they fluttered effectively.
“You’re asking the wrong person, Miss Desmond,” Milo said, dryly. “Miss Ellis is the one with the power to write new characters into the story.”
Miss Desmond retained her grasp on Milo with one hand but extended the other to Maddie.
“I heard they hired a woman writer. Good for you, Miss Ellis. How about it, do you think you could find a way to help a sister get ahead?” She essayed a winning smile.
“Alas, no, Miss Desmond,” Maddie told her. “I’m charged with eliminating characters, not adding them.”
“Well, you can’t blame a girl for trying,” Miss Desmond said. “Oh, Billy! There you are!” The boyish young man had come up beside her. She relinquished her grasp on Milo and transferred it to the younger man. “This is the lady who is rewriting Johnny’s movie, and that’s Milo Devlin, the director.”
“Oh yes, Mr. Devlin and I have met before. I’m Billy Worthington, Mr. Devlin, I had a part in Fearless Fliers, just a bit part, but I enjoyed working with you.” His round blue eyes positively beamed with earnest enthusiasm, his boyish face alight with pleasure. They made a charming couple. A society reporter, if one had been there, would have described them as “Bright Young Things,” Maddie thought. Another round of handshakes ensued. This time it was Maddie who had to extricate herself from both the young actor’s hands and from his earnest gaze.
Miss Desmond was not amused. She tugged imperiously at his arm. The gramophone began to blare the question “What do we do on a dew-dew-dewey day?”
“Ooooh, I love this song,” she exclaimed. “Do you dance, Mr. Devlin?” The eyelashes fluttered again.
“I don’t.” Milo indicated his cane. “But you should go have fun.”
Miss Desmond looked disappointed but offered Milo a dazzling smile before turning back to her consort. “Come on Billy, let’s dance!”
The duo departed together, but Miss Desmond soon dispensed with Billy Worthington and was gyrating energetically in the arms of Johnny Roberts to the sound of King Oliver and His Creole Jazz Band. They were hard to miss. Maddie suspected that neither one could bear to be out of the spotlight for more than a minute at a time. She couldn’t see the other members of the boat crew. She would have liked to talk to Clarice Auclair, but if she was as drunk as the rest of her group there wouldn’t be much point. She began to think longingly of home and bed. She was tired and beginning to have a headache.
“Had enough?” Milo asked her. “I have.”
They made their way through the revelers to thank their hostess and slipped away.
“Well, that was certainly…illuminating,” Maddie said, when they were far enough away not to be overheard.
“You can see why our star is causing concern for Messieurs Hoffman and Harrington,” Milo said. “Johnny isn’t usually so very drunk in public, but he’s always a live wire, and ever since Isabel Flores’ accident he’s been erratic. They were engaged, you know.”
“And now they aren’t?”
“A girl on each arm, and neither one his fiancée is not a good look for the newly engaged,” Milo said. “It’s a good thing he put on that show here, and not somewhere where the gossip columnists gather. Poor old Hoffmann would do his nut.”
“Show? Was his entrance staged, do you think?”
“It’s hard to imagine anyone really that drunk remaining upright,” Milo said.
“I don’t know, his friends were doing a remarkably good job of it. Perhaps they have lots of practice. But why the show?” Maddie asked.
Milo only shrugged. “Some performers feel like they have to perform all the time, haven’t you noticed that? It’s not very late,” he said, changing the subject. “Shall we see if Leon Verlaine is in? He’s a real pirate by all accounts, perhaps he knows the answer.”
Maddie weighed fatigue against curiosity. “Why not?” she said.
