The Extra: Frankie Ray, the Sleuth with the Platinum Hair by Mel Anastasiou

Out of the Frying Pan, Into … the Closet?

From movie set to brothel to her very own living room, Frankie Ray is on the run and on the hunt! Fortunately, quick thinking and quaint closets are near at hand for our savvy sleuth.

Enjoy this excerpt from ‘The Extra: Frankie Ray, the Sleuth with the Platinum Hair’ by Mel Anastasiou, in Pulp Literature Issue 28, Autumn 2020.

The Extra: Frankie Ray, the Sleuth with the Platinum Hair

Previously in The Extra …

Frankie Ray and Billie Starr discovered the corpse of movie star Gilbert Howard. When the police accuse Frankie of Howard’s murder, the young community of extras unites to help her escape with the boy next door, the enigmatic Eugene Ellery. Eugene is a policeman himself, or so he says, but Frankie is beginning to doubt whether Eugene has her best interests in mind. 

And now …

Eugene turned away from the window and led Frankie into his unlit bedroom. He switched on a bedside lamp with an iron base and a ruffled shade, a twin to the lamp next to her bed in Villa 7B. Like her own and Connie’s bedroom next door, Eugene’s bedroom was equipped with a built-in closet and twin beds. His bedroom felt a bit roomier than theirs, for he had apparently taken the second bed to bits. The mattress and frame stood against the wall, covering the window that opened, like onto the back lawn he shared with 7A .

“You’re a policeman, Eugene.” Frankie clenched her fists and moderated her tone. She felt as if she were back in front of the camera, acting brave and calm. “As this is a murder case, what will happen now?”

“There will be a door-to-door search. Despite the Queen’s kids’ best efforts to cover your absence, the police will have noticed by now that you are missing. And since we’re the first door the police will knock on, we’ll have to move quickly.”

Move where? Did you think of that before you convinced me to run away? Frankie scowled. She was tired of acting brave when really she was angry. She couldn’t say another word lest she raise her voice in fury to Ellery and give herself away to the police outside. She had never realized that being accused of murder would make her so angry she’d want to kill somebody. 

Or was this burning emotion really anger? Very hot and very cold materials were said to feel the same. Perhaps in extremis, anger and fear were also indistinguishable. With an effort she kept her peace and scanned Eugene’s bedroom for a hiding place. 

She saw only two alternatives: under a bed or in the clothes closet built into the wall. There was nothing else in the room large enough to conceal her. She shook her head and headed for the bedroom door.

Eugene took her by the arm. “You must not leave. You’ll be arrested.” 

Frankie could keep quiet no longer, and she found her tongue, or her tongue found her. “You’re a policeman. Why don’t you arrest me?”

Eugene released her arm. They stared at one another. Eugene lowered his eyes.

“Frankie, I watched how you treated Gilbert Howard — with honour. I know you didn’t kill him. I’ll stand by you as long as you need me.”

Frankie swallowed. Something tied up tight inside her loosened a little. She thanked him, but she still felt like a mouse attempting to conceal itself inside an open orange crate. 

Eugene said, “Hide in my closet.”

Frankie followed his gaze from the tidy row of clothing on hangers to several pairs of shoes lined up on the floor. The police would enter his bedroom and find her in seconds. She imagined the satisfaction in their voices: Now we’ve got you.

She said, “That closet is the second place they’ll look, right after they check underneath your bed. I’m going to have to run out the back and keep to the shadows. I’ve got my car out on Sunset, and I’ll take my chances that the city cops don’t have my description yet.”

“You won’t get ten feet from my door.” With a clatter he shoved the clothing in his closet to either end of the rod, leaving an open space in the middle. There followed a businesslike click of wood on wood as he removed a secret door at the back of the closet. This door was cut along the bevels of the original construction, and could be replaced without any obvious seam. Inside, the space was dark.

Eugene said, “Amazing, isn’t it? It might have been made expressly for hiding innocent women suspected of murder.”

To find out what happens next, pick up your copy of Pulp Literature Issue 28!

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Mel Anastasiou writes the Fairmount Manor Mysteries, starring Mrs Stella Ryman; the Hertfordshire Pub Mysteries, starring Spencer Stevens; and the Monument Studios Mysteries, starring Frankie Ray and Connie Mooney. She teaches the “Writing Success” segment of Pulp Literature Press’s writing school, Quit the Day Job; and wrote the steampunk-themed The Writer’s Boon Companion: Thirty Days Towards an Extraordinary Volume and The Writer’s Friend and Confidante. Visit her on Twitter.