Mystery in Noir

1. Meeting Stella

1.

Meeting StellaThe suave Indian summer varnished suddenly from the City of Light. Trees along the grand boulevards have shed their leaves, daylight waned and nights turned chiller. In a house on the ancient island of Saint-Louis, a black and white movie’s frames were projected on the wall…

Jean is shaving when the boy shouts, on the embankment Juliette is coming towards the barge. The man tries to tidy the room in a hurry, throwing all the clothes into the closet and putting on his beret. Juliette slowly steps on the ship, with a suitcase in her hand she stops at the door of Jean’s cabin. They are staring at each other for a long time. The woman enters while the lad retreats as much. They scrutinize each other before affectionately embracing each other, as the barge gently sails down the Seine…

FIN

Juliette - DITA PARLO Jean - JEAN DASTÉ

All this happened in the office of Anthony Noir – once actor, now famous private eye –, which was located beside his apartment. Despite being in the center of Paris, any visitor to it could feel the touch of the South Seas. With the end of the movie, his secretary switched on the lights.

“Unless I am mistaken, this is the third time you used your office as a movie theater this week,” lamented Vilma to the Polynesian-born man in her distinctive narratory.

“I think it is one of the best examples that even a director full of revolutionary beliefs is able to be poetic.” answered the detective, disregarding the tactful insult of his secretary. “What shall I do? There’s no work in sight,” during the latter assertion he pathetically spread his hands.

“Maybe if you’d dedicate more effort to it! Anyway, the post has arrived.”

“Anything remarkable?” asked Anthony looking at the Notre Dame thorough the windows, before turning back to the stack.

“It seems…”

“Where did this one come from?” he pulled out a bigger envelope from the others.

“Malibu, according to the sender,” Vilma ineffectively attempted to sound disinterested.

“Oh la la!” Monsieur Noir beamed excitedly.

It was obvious from just one look that it contained an important message. Deluxe stationary, the sender and the addressee written in polished letters by a fountain-pen. In the age of electronic mail this kind of consignment was undoubtedly fascinating.

Anthony started to read hastily.

Malibu, California

Dear Monsieur Noir,

Please forgive me that I write you so suddenly without you knowing me, but a very dear Brazilian friend of mine (Senhora Maria Braga) talked highly about you recently, you being a first-class private investigator. She encouraged me to get in contact with you immediately.

My name is Stella Arismendi, and as I am not young anymore, I don’t want to waste the time I still have in this world. I was told, and please excuse me if I am wrong, that once you worked as an actor and are very fond of classic movies. For this reason, in all likelihood you are the ideal person for me, as the case in which I would like to ask your help, has happened a very long time ago.

I wouldn’t go into the details, expect its culmination, the mysterious death of a famous actress. The case is so wide-ranging, I won’t be able to tell in a dozen letters. Considering my age, I cannot visit you in France, but – in case – you have the time and inclination to visit me, I’d be delighted to host you, even if you later decide to decline my assignment.

Looking forward to your answer,

Faithfully yours,

Stella Arismendi

Anthony looked up.

“Are there any pressing cases currently?”

“You are saying…” Vilma started to say, as his boss took the phone into his hand. “…you want to go there? You barely got over your last little adventure at Uncle Jacques, then last summer that affair with the novelist in Spain…”

“All the more reason I should take this,” after two rings he was greeted in Spanish. “Buenos Dias. Soy Anthony Noir. ¿Puedo hablar con Señora Arismendi? …Gracias. Tengo la línea… ¿Señora Arismendi? Soy Anthony Noir. Lo siento pero mi español no es bueno… Sure, we can in English… Definitely I am interested… Thank you for your confidence in me… Yes, tomorrow will do… No problem at all… I’ll meet your grandson at LAX… Hasta luego, ma’am!”

“So?” asked Vilma inquisitively.

“Work! By the way, I wouldn’t get this one if I hadn’t spent all my time watching old movies…”

Even though Anthony hardly knew anything regarding the case, if what the elderly lady wrote is true, the job is certainly meant for him. It is highly unlikely that there is another detective in the world who knows more about Golden Age Hollywood than him. Anthony searched in his memories about classic actresses who died under mysterious circumstances. Who can it be?

“When are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow morning,”

Vilma looked at her boss dreamily, but only said out loud “Bon voyage, Antoine…”

Anthony – after dozed off for a short time – was lightly nudged by the jovial flight attendant, and the delicate pressure in his head indicated, they started descent. After the twelve-hour flight the pilot landed smoothly at Los Angeles International Airport. The detective glanced out through the window, a long time had passed since he visited the city (though every year en-route to Tahiti he had to make a technical stop at the airport).

After he got over the entry procedure, in the arrivals hall he quickly spotted a white sign with his name on it. The man who held it was mid-30s, next to him a similar aged woman was standing.

“Good afternoon,” put the private eye his backpack on his luggage. “I am Anthony Noir.”

“Bienvenido, Sir! I am Abelardo Torres, grandson of Stella Arismendi,” they shook hands. He was medium-height and had charcoal hair. “My wife, Patricia Ortiz,” he introduced the women with elegant clothes and blonde ringlets.

“Enchanté Monsieur Noir! We are very grateful that you could visit us on such a short notice,”

“Don’t mention it! I am thankful for your trust and invitation,”

“We should get going, evening rush hour is coming…” apologized Abelardo.

“I am familiar with LA traffic,” from the bustling international terminal they got out into the open air. “On the contrary, I cannot say anything bad about the weather, by this time Paris is probably under a blanket of snow” the detective inhaled the mild air.

“Have you ever lived in California?” asked the man.

“Yes. With my parents, not far from the Ventura County line. I also returned for attending college in Los Angeles.”

“It must have been an exhausting flight,” continued Patricia the discussion.

“I live in Paris, but as I was born in Tahiti, I am pretty used to taking strenuous trips.”

“A detective from Paradise—sounds like a daydream,” the woman’s voice was filled with sincere longing.

“It is certainly far away, but one cannot imagine a better place to grow up than in Eden itself. I always realize that when I go back.”

“Than you must be a frequent visitor here,” acknowledged Abelardo as the massive SUV turned into Century Boulevard. “The Paris-Tahiti flight has a stopover here in LA, right?”

“Exactly, so if not anywhere else, I definitely call in on at the airport,” laughed the detective.

“How long since you’ve actually been to California?” asked Patricia while her husband followed the flock of cars into the I-405.

“Please call me Anthony, and expect for LAX, I haven’t been here for years.”

“I must admit, in that case, I consider my grandmother’s offer a little less intrusive,” said Abelardo. “The whole family was surprised by her unexpected act. She only informed us after the two of you talked on the phone.”

“But Stella isn’t the kind of person who does something without a reason,” added his wife.

In the never-ending rush hour after thirty minutes of dragging, they reached the Pacific in Santa Monica. Continuing on Pacific Coast High traffic didn’t abate.

“I have to say, your face is quite familiar,” admitted Patricia.

“I worked as an actor for a few years…” Anthony’s face had a wondrous quality as he gazed at the ocean. “Mostly in New York…”

“I see.”

“It is actually often fairly useful,”

“I can understand that,”

“After all, I moved from island to island, ‘cause Manhattan is one, and now in Paris I also live on another,” smiled Anthony, as they exited the highway near Zuma Beach. After crossing a street dotted with bottle palms, they arrived. The terraced house – made up of even geometrical forms and was encircled by purple bougainvilleas – was situated on a cliff looking over the ocean..

“Jorge, please, take the luggage up to the guest room on the first floor,” asked Abelardo the young boy who waited for them on driveway. “Please, come in!”

After taking a few steps the detective entered the spacious hall full of mirrors and flowers. A middle-aged woman with a bun greeted them.

“Welcome, sir!” she said in English with a Latin accent. “I am Inez, the housekeeper.”

“Nice meeting you!” responded Anthony, putting down his rucksack, then looked at the elderly lady behind Inez. She was probably in her seventies, with tidied dark hair and wearing a colorful blouse and black pants.

“God bless you, my dear sir, for coming,” started Stella Arismendi with genuine sincerity, while leaning on her elegant cane.

“Ma’am, it is my honor, for choosing me from all the detectives of the world,” they shook hands for a long time. “But honestly this journey has been very long…” he finished the sentence with a languid yawn.

“Of course. Your luggage has been taken up. Inez, please, show him the room!”

“Thanks, ma’am.”

“Have a rest, then we’ll meet again at dinner,” said Stella cordially.

Anthony followed Inez through many rooms and corridors full of unique objects. Arriving at the room, the housekeeper opened the door.

“Here! If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. Enjoy your stay. ¡Con permisso!”

“Thanks for every…” the detective’s sentence once again ended in a yawn, while his vivid blue eyes were winking sleepily.

His accommodation was first-rate, to say the least. A striking sunshine shone through the enormous windows, underneath the waves of the Pacific crashed onto the rocks.

Anthony awoke two and a half hours later, at sundown. He showered quickly and dressed in fresh clothes. He was brushing his stubble, when someone gently knocked.

“I saw the light in your room, so I thought you’d be awake, Anthony,” said Abelardo affably. “I hope you were able to rest.”

“Thanks, I did,”

“Dinner should be ready soon. Shall we go?”

“Of course,”

“Apart from my grandmother and wife, my aunt, Jacqueline will join us.”

They went down one floor into the dining-room. Subdued classical music was heard from the loudspeakers, then Anthony noticed an older, husky female voice. Around the nicely decorated table three generations of women were talking intimately in Spanish.

At the head of the table Stella Arismendi was sitting. There was only a hint of make-up on her face, as an accessory she only wore one (but very valuable) diamond brooch. On her right side there was an empty seat (for Abelardo), next to it the stylish Patricia. On the other side, Jacqueline was sitting, her calm face showed experience and a sharp mind. The old lady stood up to greet her guest.

“Monsieur Noir, I am very happy that you are here personally! Please, join us!” she said in English to the detective. Only his blue eyes and snow-white face radiated from his black hair, stubble and clothes.

“Thank you very much, ma’am!”

“Inez,” said Stella to the housekeeper. “Dinner shall be served. Wouldn’t you mind, Monsieur Noir, if I call you Anthony?

“Not at all,”

“Very well. And even though we are from very different generations, I’d like you to call me Stella.”

“As you wish, Stella.”

Dinner was a pleasant affair, Anthony talked about his acting career and detective work, about Tahiti, the conversation soon turned into the murder that happened not long ago at the Mystery Lagoon Hotel.

“So Maria Braga told you about me?” inquired Anthony.

“Oh, yes. Maria opened a boutique in Brazil, and a few weeks ago also one at Melrose Avenue. We met at the opening, I knew her late husband quite well. She told me about what happened, and about your love for movies. Then I thought, in my case, you must be the perfect private eye. I’ve been searching for one a long time, but unfortunately I wasn’t successful…” a mystifying light played in the old lady’s eyes. “…hopefully until now.”

“I see. And about old movies, my secretary and my family often scolds me for spending too much time with them. So I was very happy that you take my hobby as a virtue!”

“Don’t bother with critics! But what about…” Stella raised her arm, as like when someone thinks about something suddenly. “Don’t think that I only care about money, but as I don’t often deal with detectives, I don’t know about your fee. I don’t want you to suffer any financial hindrance because of my exceptional request,”

“I should say, as Philip Marlow did, $25 a day plus expenses, but apart from the private eye job, I acquired money from my acting career. Fortunately I don’t need to take cases just for income. After your letter, I felt, and that was the main reason I decided to visit you, because I sensed that in this one, the love of the old world and insight into that world, are what is needed. So I think, give me whatever you deem appropriate. For your invitation and warm welcome, I am honored.”

“You are a very special man, Anthony, and I have kept you waiting for long. So go to sleep, and tomorrow I’ll tell you an old story…”