THE MARQUIS STAR
CHAPTER I
"Open the door and let them in," growled Wolfe, to which I asked, "Should I leave on the chain, just in case what they want requires a warrant?" The grunt back to me was, "Such as what, Archie?" "Oh I don't know. Maybe the missing papers from that room with the dead body at the Ignatius Hotel, or perhaps the real pretty blonde currently admiring your orchids." Wolfe responded in exasperation, "Confound it! They wouldn't have a clue about those yet. Now answer the door!" I shrugged as I walked down the hallway, then greeted Inspector Cramer and Sgt. Stebbins. The always surly Inspector croaked, "Hello, Goodwin, Were you waiting for the hors d'oeuvres to cool before letting us in?" as he practically shoved his coat and hat into my chest. Keeping a blank expression on my face, I hung them up on the rack and followed them.
Entering Wolfe's office, the three of us took our usual positions – Cramer in the red leather chair, Stebbins standing guard at the door, and me sitting on the corner of my desk, notebook and pen in hand. "Good morning, Inspector," Wolfe said graciously. "My apologies for Archie's discourtesy. What can I do for you?" Cramer sneered back, "Are you kidding? I would think I was at the wrong house if I didn't have to stand out on the front stoop for several minutes. Anyway, I'm working on a case that I could really use your help with." Wolfe raised his eyebrows and said, "That surprises me, Inspector. You usually like to make a sport of keeping me and Archie as far away from your work as possible. Even so, please give me the details," and pressed the fingertips of his thick hands together.
Cramer began, "There's a Broadway theater near 49th call the Marquis Star, maybe you've heard of it." Wolfe shook his head, but I chimed in, "I have, although I've never seen a show there." "That's not a surprise, Goodwin," continued the Inspector, "I think just about everyone in New York can say that these days. They specialize in putting on classic musicals, you know, the ones where the actors keep their clothes on. Unfortunately nowadays, the audience for those kind of shows is drying up." Wolfe rang for a beer and said incredulously, "But Inspector, crimes involving a business in financial trouble, especially a theater, are routine for the police." Cramer pulled out an unlit cigar from his jacket and began rolling it around in his left hand.
"Normally, Wolfe, that's true, but nothing we've investigated so far follows the pattern. There have been incidents that seemingly cannot be explained – stage lights flickering on and off with no one at the switches, sound equipment getting damaged where it stands, actors and crew getting minor but significant injuries, mysterious gunk instantly appearing on the walls, and other weird stuff. Of course, these could be tricks by the people who hold the money on the place, especially if they are from the underworld, but our informants have heard nothing in their circles. And now the theater manager has disappeared! Yet every one of the staff and those closest to him personally are truly distraught and don't know of any enemies he might have. There have been so many times over the years I've said I feel like I'm chasing ghosts, but damn it, this time seems literal! I'm at my wit's end on this one."
Wolfe slammed his right hand on his desk and shouted, "Inspector Cramer, because your men are overlooking something blatantly obvious that will solve your case, you choose to blame the supernatural! How do you expect me to track down something I don't believe in? How could I possibly give you the effort you are claiming it would take? Besides, contrary to my well-established reputation, I am extremely busy with another case right now." Cramer put his cigar in his mouth and nearly chewed the end clean off, then screamed, "For God's sake, Wolfe, there ISN'T anything obvious! I've checked the theater as thoroughly as my men, even more so!" Wolfe, seeing Cramer's now wild eyes, exhaled heavily and said, "Inspector, I sincerely sympathize with your plight, but there is nothing I can do." Cramer responded, "Look, I hate to say this, because I know you and Goodwin could hold me over a barrel and laugh until you're blue in the face, but I'm BEGGING you to help me on this." Wolfe said solemnly, "The best I can do is take it under advisement. I can let you know my answer by tomorrow night. Good day, Inspector."
Cramer's cigar fell to the floor as his mouth dropped wide open, yet he couldn't say a thing. He then bent over to pick up the stogie, his glare sticking to Wolfe like flypaper, stood up with a jolt, tossed the cigar into the waste basket, walked around the chair and marched angrily through the hallway and out to the street, forgetting his coat and hat. Stebbins and I walked side-by-side several feet behind him. I handed Cramer's things to the dutiful sergeant , and he caught up with the Inspector at their car.
Stepping back into the office, I looked at Wolfe and said, "you know he's desperate, and if we don't soothe his desperation, we'll find ourselves desperate…to find work as unlicensed detectives." Wolfe closed his eyes and moved his lips in and out for a moment, then acknowledged my point. I suggested that he simply put our freelancers Saul Panzer, Fred Durkin and Orrie Cather on the case. He replied frowning, "Fred is nursing a broken leg from a job he did for someone else, Saul is even more disbelieving of the occult than I am, and just watch how much harder Orrie tries to replace you if he thinks you've gone off your rocker. Any other suggestions?" Half-heartedly I answered, "Well, I've heard rumors of some young people who investigate strange happenings. Maybe I can find out how to get in touch with them." Wolfe's eyes opened wide and he snapped, "Amateurs? You want me to work with rank amateurs? Do they actually believe in ghosts?" Blushing I said, "I think they are just curious about ghosts. But from what I've heard, the situations they've looked into have all turned out to be just people exploiting scary stories for money or land." Then jokingly I said, "maybe they'll hit pay dirt on this one. Shall I go for it?" Wolfe retorted with his standard "Phooey." I said, "It's either that or we sick skeptics on this case." Wolfe acquiesced with a heavy sigh. "Very well. I'll have Saul and Orrie take over the Vander horn file while you track down these kids. And Archie, you will be personally responsible for them!"
While my boss paid his afternoon visit to Theodore Horstmann and the orchids, I dialed the number I found in the Yellow Pages. The voice on the other end said, "Mystery Incorporated, Velma Dinkley speaking." I replied, "good afternoon, Miss Dinkley, my name is Archie Goodwin and I work for Nero Wolfe." She asked, "Is that spelled w-o-l-f?" I said, "w-o-l-f-E," then with a little swagger in my voice, "He is a private detective of some renown," to which she merely inquired, "And what can we do for Mr. Wolfe?" I explained our predicament and asked if she could send a representative to New York to meet with us. She said, "Actually, Mr. Goodwin, we are a small cooperative of five. Does Mr. Wolfe have enough room to meet with all of us?" Even though I had never heard of anything called a cooperative, I let her know that his office holds twelve and confirmed an appointment with them at 11:00 the next morning.
The next day started out pretty normal. I sat down in the kitchen and ate another magnificent Fritz Brenner breakfast of poached eggs, honey-glazed bacon and rye toast with an extra-large glass of milk. Once I was done, I took a plate and some orange juice up to our guest in the secure bedroom. Her platinum hair, piercing blue eyes and the night clothes she was wearing made me ask about her comfort and her case much more intently and longer than I should have. I then went down to the office to go through the mail and the newspapers. At around 10:35, I heard the doorbell. As I looked through the two-way mirror at the front door, I saw two men and two women, all in their late teens or early 20's and a large brown dog with black spots. I also saw behind them an interestingly painted van with the words "The Mystery Machine" written on the side.
I opened the door and the blonde-haired kid wearing a white and blue dress shirt and an orange ascot asked if I was Nero Wolfe. I told him I was Archie Goodwin and he introduced me to everyone. "Hi, I'm Freddy Jones, this is Daphne Blake," glancing behind his left shoulder at the cute redhead wearing a purple mini dress and green scarf. Turning his head the other direction, he continued by announcing a curly-haired brunette with thick glasses, a yellow turtleneck with matching knee-high socks and a red pleated skirt. "This is Velma Dinkley. You spoke to her on the phone. And finally in the back is Shaggy Rogers and our dog Scooby-Doo." Believe me when I tell you "Shaggy" is the perfect nickname for the young man with the frizzled brown curly hair, scruffy goatee, oversized green T-shirt and brown bell-bottoms. I said, "Miss Dinkley told me there were five of you. Where is the other member of your group?" Scooby-Doo then said, that's right, Scooby-Doo said, "Rat's re. Reh-ro," and laughed. Once he did this, I had to keep reminding myself that I hadn't touched any alcohol for three and a half days. Rogers stated that since Scooby is part Great Dane and part bloodhound, he was an invaluable part of the team.
I invited them into the office and let them know that Mr. Wolfe would not be available until 11:00. Jones replied, "that's okay, Mr. Goodwin. We're so early because New York traffic wasn't as bad as we had been led to believe." I insisted they call me Archie, and warned them that my boss is not the biggest fan of dogs.
The top of the hour rolled around and as Wolfe stepped off his elevator, he spotted Scooby-Doo and froze. He slowly turned his head and asked me through clenched teeth, "Archie, does that beast bite?" I matter-of-factly answered, "No sir, he does not. He talks, but he doesn't bite." Wolfe tried to correct me, "I believe you mean he barks." "Well sir, he may bark as well, but I mean talks…and yes, Mr. Wolfe, I only had milk with breakfast." Unable to respond, Wolfe pursed his lips and waddled over to his oversized chair and sat down.
When the members of Mystery, Inc. and I first went into the office, I placed Jones in the red leather chair to indicate to Wolfe that he was the leader of the group. Wolfe looked at him and asked him his name. Jones then did a similar introduction as the one he gave me at the front door. Wolfe then told him in no uncertain terms that he did not appreciate having a dog in his home. He told Jones that he is an orchid fancier and that he knows dogs love to eat orchids. At this accusation, Scooby-Doo protested, "Rorkids? Ruck! Riv re a reez-rurgher." Miss Blake turned to him and said teasingly, "Only one, Scooby?" Rogers replied, "More like a hundred, eh Scoob," and laughed. Scooby echoed, "Reh, ruh rundred," and sloppily licked his lips. Wolfe once again froze, then looked over at me. I tilted my head in a gesture that indicated "told you so".
Wolfe quickly composed himself and said, " getting back to the matter at hand, Mr. Jones, I want to make sure, you are the people who chase ghosts?" Jones replied, "Well, Mr. Wolfe, to be accurate, when we hear about trouble that might be supernatural, we go and investigate. We don't necessarily believe in phantoms and monsters. We just wonder if they could be real." Miss Blake added, "We also want to get scary things out of people's lives." Wolfe responded, "I am pleased to hear that. Archie and I brought you in here to do exactly that." Jones asked Wolfe what the problem was, and Wolfe relayed the story Inspector Cramer had told us the day before.
Miss Dinkley exclaimed, "Jinkies, Mr. Wolfe! We've worked with some small-town sheriffs that were not sure about what was going on, but for the head of the New York Homicide Division to be spooked…" Jones interrupted, "Yeah, that's right up our alley!" Wolfe seemed reassured at what they said, but he could not have been happy with Rogers' frequent interjections of "Zoinks!" or Scooby's constant whimpering. Miss Blake turned to them and snapped, "Will you two knock it off and pay attention? Jeepers, you're going to get us fired before we even start, and all Mr. Wolfe is doing is describing what's happening!" Wolfe said, "Thank you, Miss Blake."
We continued to go over details and strategies until Wolfe glanced at the clock and saw that it was 1:10. He then announced that lunch always starts at 1:15 and asked our new employees if there was a restaurant they wanted to go to. Rogers asked if there was a good malt shop around. I said uncertainly , "Malt shop…let me look." I grabbed the phone book and looked for the word "malt" first under restaurants, then under diners. I finally found a place called Charlie's on 58th Street. They all said in unison, "Groovy!" Wolfe then told them that he wanted me to go with them. He then turned to me and said, "I'm sorry, Archie. You know I don't like business being discussed during lunch, but with this being their first case, I want you to keep giving them guidance." Jones said that would be great and that there was room for me in the Mystery Machine. Wolfe then told the kids that he needed to talk to me for a moment, but that I would be out shortly.
As the Mystery, Inc. gang stepped outside, I said to Wolfe, "Did we hire ghost chasers, or the law firm of 'Jeepers, Jinkies and Zoinks'?" Wolfe answered, "Archie, your humor when you're hungry leaves a lot to be desired. Then again, your humor when you're not hungry leaves a lot to be desired. While you're out, please find a nice hotel where they can stay that accepts dogs. I also need you to find out about the financial and operational aspects of the Marquis Star. Now, please don't keep our young friends waiting. I'm sure you are looking forward to having a malted." I snorted indignantly, grabbed my light grey fedora, slammed it on my head and strolled out to the van.