Free Beauty to Die For and Other Mystery Shorts by Lauren Carr

Celeste Taylor, the legendary actress of Broadway and the Golden Age of movies turned socialite turned recluse.
    The auction was by invitation only. Since Mac Faraday was the son, even if it was illegitimate, of mystery novelist Robin Spencer, one of Celeste Taylor’s friends, then he had garnered an invitation. He would have tossed out if it weren’t for Archie Monday, his late mother’s editor and research assistant, intercepting it.
    “Celeste Taylor knew all of the greats and near greats in both Hollywood and New York,” Archie confided in a whisper while jerking on Gnarly’s leash when he threatened to stick his nose into a fat man’s pocket. “There was even talk of her being the mistress of Le Chat.”
    “Who’s Le Chat?” Mac asked.
    Archie and Catherine stopped to gaze at a life-sized oil painting of the strikingly beautiful actress in her youth. She was clad in an ornate ruby red gown with thick shoulder pads. A ruby tiara covered the top of her head. The gown hugged every delicious curve of her voluptuous body. Her red hair fell in one wave that covered up one eye and draped across her shoulder.
    The two women sighed with adoration.
    Ben chose to answer Mac’s question. “Le Chat was a legendary, and most likely fictional, cat burglar of the rich and famous.”
    “Not according to what I heard,” Catherine countered her husband. “I worked my way through college working at Tiffany’s in DC. The manager told me that Le Chat was for real back in the late fifties through mid-seventies. The best in jewelry and art. They said he even stole a Renoir from the National Museum of Art in Washington after a gala. He only stole from the very rich and the crème of high society. It got so that having your jewelry stolen by Le Chat was like a status symbol.”
    “In other words,” Ben said, “he only robbed those on the A-list. If he passed you by, then socially you were on the out.”
    “That’s the stupidest thing I have ever heard,” Mac said.
    Ben chuckled. “Spoken like a true man of common sense.”
    “Why did they think Celeste Taylor was connected to Le Chat?” Mac asked Catherine.
    “Totally circumstantial,” she replied. “An insurance investigator had noticed that the burglaries occurred after huge social events. Celeste was at each one of these events. At the time she was said to be dating a mysterious French businessman. They tried to identify him, but couldn’t catch him and she refused to give him up.”
    “How romantic,” Archie said.
    Strolling behind the two women being dragged by the shepherd through the mansion with all of the late celebrity’s wares on display, Mac cast a look in Ben’s direction. The lawyer rolled his eyes.
    “Oh, you should read Celeste Taylor’s autobiography,” Catherine grasped Archie’s arm. “She had such a fascinating life. She started out as a dancer. Within less than a couple of years, she was starring on Broadway. From there to Hollywood to become a movie star. Falls in love and marries a millionaire and has a baby, only to lose her husband to a car accident before the bloom has even left the rose. Makes a big comeback—high society, romance with a mysterious stranger sought by Interpol, only to have him disappear leaving her with nothing but a single red rose on his pillow before disappearing into the night.”
    “Didn’t I see that in a movie once?” Mac asked.
    “Wasn’t that the ending of a Celeste Taylor movie that we saw on the golden oldies?” Archie agreed.
    “I’m sure you’re both mistaken,” Catherine said. “We really need to check out the jewelry.”
    “Of course, we do,” Ben said, “we can’t not check out the jewelry.”
    An hour from Deep Creek Lake, the mountaintop estate overlooked a valley in the Virginian countryside. In the early spring, the weather had broken. It was warm enough for the auction personnel to open the doors and windows of the century-old colonial mansion to allow a breeze to sweep through