Fly Me to the Morgue by Robert J. Randisi

said, putting her hand on my arm, ‘Bing told me about the . . . the dead men. I’m worried about him being involved in this.’
    â€˜He hasn’t done anything, Katy,’ I said. ‘It’ll probably make the papers, and the wire services, but all he did was drive out to meet a guy who turned out to be dead.’
    â€˜I know, but you also know how Hollywood can blow things out of proportion.’
    â€˜What do you want me to do?’
    â€˜I’ve heard Frank and Dean talk about you,’ she said. ‘They trust you. Can I trust you?’
    â€˜Of course.’
    â€˜Can you just . . . watch out for him?’ she asked. ‘Without telling him that I asked you to?’
    She still had her hand on my arm, so I put my hand over hers and said, ‘Don’t worry, Katy. Everything will be OK.’
    â€˜Thank you, Eddie,’ she said, squeezing my arm. ‘Thank you very much.’

TWENTY-FIVE
    When we went inside, Bing Crosby asked, ‘Did you find it?’
    She touched her ear and said, ‘Yes, it was in the seat. Eddie found it. Thank you, Eddie.’ She leaned over and kissed my cheek.
    They said goodnight to us and went up to their suite, arm-in-arm.
    â€˜They make a nice couple, even though he’s a lot older.’
    â€˜Yeah, they do,’ I said. ‘Let’s get a drink in the lounge.’
    â€˜OK, Mr G.’
    On the way Jerry took off his tie, tucked it into his pocket and undid the top button of his shirt. When we got to the lounge Jack Jones was singing ‘Lollipops and Roses,’ his hit from the year before. When he saw me, he waved, never missing a beat. I waved back, then stopped to look the place over. In a corner booth sat Frank Junior with a young lady.
    â€˜There’s Frank Junior,’ Jerry said.
    â€˜I see him.’
    â€˜Who’s that he’s with?’
    â€˜I’m not sure,’ I said, ‘but it looks like . . . Joey Heatherton.’
    â€˜Are either one of them twenty yet?’
    â€˜Probably not. Come on, let’s just sit at the bar.’
    We went to the bar, got the bartender’s attention and ordered two beers. Didi came over to say hello, and I introduced her to Jerry. Jack Jones did a few more songs, then came over to say hello, also.
    Finally, just before Jack did another set, Frank Junior came over and introduced us to Joey Heatherton, who was a kittenish blonde with more sex appeal than one girl should have.
    Frank agreed to have lunch with me the next day, and then he and Joey left.
    Jerry finished his second beer and said, ‘I’m gonna go to my suite, Mr G.’
    â€˜Already?’
    â€˜Who knows when I’ll ever have a suite again,’ he said. ‘I’m kinda enjoyin’ it.’
    â€˜Jerry,’ I promised, ‘I’ll get you a suite from now on whenever you come to town.’
    â€˜Nah,’ he said. ‘This time is good enough. Makes it special, Especially knowin’ that Mr C. is payin’ for it.’
    â€˜OK,’ I said. ‘Wanna meet for breakfast in the coffee shop?’
    â€˜Sure,’ he said. ‘Eight?’
    â€˜That’s good. We can talk about what we’re gonna do when the cops start comin’ after us.’
    â€˜Mr G.,’ he said, putting his massive paw on my arm, ‘this time we didn’t do nothin’.’
    â€˜You know it,’ I said, ‘and I know it . . .’

TWENTY-SIX
    Rather than stay overnight in the hotel I decided to drive home and sleep in my own bed, even though I’d arranged to meet Jerry early for breakfast. It would only be about an hour’s drive from my house in the morning.
    Because there had been more than one occasion over the past few years when I found some strangers in my house, I used my key and entered very carefully. I felt silly, though, and quickly switched on a light. What reason would anyone have