A Fashionable Murder (22 page)

“Yes,” Josie answered.

“Where did he go to school?”

“Yale.”

“Are you absolutely sure he doesn’t come from old money? He sure sounds like it.”

Josie opened her mouth and then closed it. She had no idea what Sam was worth. He never worried about money. He bought what he wanted and didn’t buy more. It wasn’t his style to show off. She thought about his mother. Carol had always spent lots of money, but Josie had been under the impression that that cash was accumulated during one of her marriages. That Sam might be wealthy was an idea she had never considered, but it was possible. And that meant that Pamela’s interest in him might have been only monetary. For some reason, Josie found the thought comforting.

“Pamela was real fond of quoting that old cliché about it being just as easy to fall in love with a rich man as a poor one. I assumed that she had managed to.”

“Maybe. Did she talk about their relationship much?”

“She didn’t talk so much as brag. I heard all about the expensive restaurants they ate at, the islands in the Caribbean where they went to sunbathe. It wasn’t all that interesting, to tell the truth. Pamela seemed to find status in eating in the right restaurant when all anyone has to do is call, make reservations, and pay the bill. It’s not like she was seated at the best table at Elaine’s.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Josie admitted.

“Name-dropping. Pamela approached her life as she approached her wardrobe—everything had to have a designer name attached for her to be interested in it. She chose where she ate and where she vacationed in the same way. If it was well known or famous she went there. Sometimes I thought that the only reason she went anyplace was so she could brag about it afterward.”

“That doesn’t sound like Sam,” Josie muttered.

“Is your Sam the type of guy who is always trying to impress people?”

“No, just the opposite. He’s . . . he’s genuine. Like he knows a whole lot about wine. It was his hobby and now it’s his business, but he never makes a big deal about it. He just buys the best and drinks it, without any fuss or ostentation.” And, she realized, as though he had been doing it all his life. Was Dawn right? Was it possible that Sam had been brought up in a wealthy family? Did he have family money? Is that what had attracted Pamela Peel to him?

“Well, maybe it was true love. Maybe Pamela Peel fell for him because of who he was as opposed to what he had.”

“Do you think that’s possible?” Josie asked.

Dawn took a moment to consider the question. “I suppose. She was ambitious, of course. But we’re not talking about a gold digger here, you know. Pamela Peel worked hard and had a lot of talent. She was at least half the reason Henderson and Peel was so successful. New York City is a place a lot of people come to with a dream. I know I did. But I wasn’t good enough or a hard enough worker. Pamela Peel was both. I admired her professionally.”

“And personally?”

“She used people. But Sam Richardson may not be in that category. She may have sincerely cared about him.”

That didn’t make Josie feel better. “Were you surprised when she followed you here? I mean, couldn’t she have just hired another personal trainer to come to her house?”

“You know, I thought that was exactly what she would do. Not only was she the only client I had who followed me here, but she was the most unlikely. And I did explain that there were other options. The company I was working for then sure didn’t want to lose clients. And, to be honest, I was looking for a new type of client when I changed jobs. But, what can you do? I’m not in the position of picking my clients, unlike Henderson and Peel.”

Josie thought for a moment. “Do you know why they broke up? I mean, did she talk about it?”

Dawn frowned. “I remember knowing that something was wrong.” She paused and continued slowly. “There were little things. She complained a lot more and about different things. Pamela was a woman who was bragging when she complained. You know the type of thing. ‘Oh, I just hate that man. He keeps buying me expensive presents, blah, blah, blah, blah.’ Much of the time I just turn off my mind and stop listening. But suddenly she was complaining about decisions that were nothing to brag about. Like Sam had refused to spend the weekend with her at Gurney’s out in Montauk. It’s a spa, right on the water, gorgeous. He wanted to go to a car show somewhere in the middle of Pennsylvania.” Dawn chuckled. “I cannot imagine Pamela at a car show and then she said that they were going to be staying at the local Holiday Inn. No way she was going to do that. I think she took off for Montauk by herself. And in a huff.”

“You think they were breaking up then?”

“Well, yes and no. She decorated his apartment—it was a gift. A very generous gift. I remember her talking about having two large sofas covered in suede. The cheapest workman she found charged over four thousand dollars per couch. And there was something about a fireplace mantel. The marble was imported from India, taken to Italy to be formed and then flown over here from Italy so it could be installed in time. I couldn’t believe it. The cost was incredible and she wanted everything to be perfect. Well, I guess that’s why she’s so well known. Have you seen the apartment?”

“Yes, I’m staying there now.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“Is it gorgeous?”

“No. It’s hideous. And I’m not the only person who thinks so. My friend saw it and agreed with me.”

“I suppose the only person who matters is the client.”

“I can’t imagine Sam liking it,” Josie protested. “I mean, he owns a house now and he’s decorated it himself. And it’s as different from that apartment as can be. It’s warm and inviting. He likes fifties retro stuff more than I do, but it has color and light and charm. His apartment looks like a dead elephant.”

“A very expensive dead elephant,” Dawn reminded her.

“Yes, but it’s not like Sam!”

“Maybe it’s what she wanted him to be like rather than what he was,” Dawn suggested.

“I suppose.” Josie shrugged. “What do I know about it? I build things. Someone else decorates them. But, you know, I can’t help thinking that it’s a little odd that she decorated his apartment and then, less than six months later, he decides to retire, leave New York City and move to the shore.”

“Sounds like he’s an impulsive guy.”

“But he’s not. He felt that he had done all he could do working for the city, that he wanted to change careers while he was still young enough to enjoy what he was doing. He had always wanted to live near the water. I mean, I always got the impression that he had thought about the change for years and years.”

“But you’re not sure about that.”

“No. That’s part of the problem with all this. I never really thought about any of those things. Sam’s past had always stayed in the past. I mean, I’ve met friends of his from the city. And his mother visits from time to time. But I never thought much about what caused him to change his whole life. It was done before I met him.”

“Did you realize a woman was involved?”

“Sam’s dated lots of women. And he’s talked about them from time to time,” Josie explained, not adding that she had not enjoyed hearing about any of it.

“Pamela Peel?”

“I think I always knew Pamela Peel was special,” Josie answered slowly. “I knew that they dated for quite a while. And I knew that she was the last woman in his life before he left New York. I thought his mother liked her and compared me to her, but now that I’m here, it turns out that she couldn’t stand her.”

“And what about Sam? Had you judged their relationship correctly?”

“I don’t know,” Josie admitted. “The more I learn about her, the less I understand.”

“Yeah, I know how you feel. I’m taking an Italian course at the New School,” Dawn explained, recognizing the surprised expression on Josie’s face. “I knew a bit of Italian for two or three weeks. But now that I have a larger vocabulary and know some grammar, the classes are getting harder and I find myself recognizing fewer and fewer words and stumbling around more than ever. My teacher,” she added, “says it will get better in time. That you have to work your way through the confusion.”

“Yeah, I guess. I just hope the wrong person isn’t arrested before my confusion goes away.”

“You know, I may be able to help you more.”

“Anything you can tell me . . .”

“This isn’t me. It’s a friend of mine. She’s a personal trainer too, but she went back to school and became a licensed physical therapist. She works out of Mount Sinai’s Rusk Clinic, mainly with people who have had strokes. She’s a medical worker and isn’t supposed to talk about her patients. But . . .”

“But?” Josie repeated, wondering what was coming.

“But Sterling Henderson, Shep’s father, was one of her patients. She worked with him during the time he was a patient there and then he hired her privately to see him in his home for a few months. He was not an easy patient. Having a stroke doesn’t always improve patients’ personalities. And he had spent his entire life telling people what to do. Having people tell him what to do was more than a little difficult. But my friend, Gayle, is a fabulous therapist and she became good friends with Mrs. Henderson. Such good friends that Mrs. Henderson introduced her to Shep. She apparently hoped they would get together. They didn’t, but Gayle became something of a friend of the family. She and Mrs. Henderson have lunch together occasionally.”

“Could I talk to her? Maybe she knows something . . . ,” Josie said.

“Gayle won’t talk about patients to strangers. I’m sure of that. But maybe she could figure out a way for you to meet Mrs. Henderson. She must know a lot about Pamela Peel.”

“That would be sensational!”

“Look, it’s a long shot. Gayle may just flat out refuse . . .”

“But you’ll call her and talk to her. You’ll explain . . . won’t you?”

“I will. Where can I get in touch with you?”

“I’ll give you Sam’s phone number. And my cell phone number. And my friend, Betty, she has a new baby and she’s home a lot of the time and she’ll make sure I get a message.” Josie pulled a poster from the wall and began to write on its reverse side. “And . . .”

“That’s fine. I’ll get hold of Gayle and ask if she thinks there’s any way she can get you in to meet Mrs. Henderson. I’ll call you.”

“Right away.”

“Yes, right away.” Dawn glanced down at the Swatch on her wrist. “It’s time for my next client. You pay downstairs.”

“Oh . . .” Josie grabbed her purse and stood up. “I . . .” Hell, she had told this woman all sorts of intimate things about her life; why be embarrassed about this. “I don’t know whether or not I tip you,” she blurted out.

“This is the New York City rule: when in doubt tip and tip well. But not me, not here, not now. I’m glad to help. I told you. I came here to help people lead better lives. Keeping your boyfriend out of jail sounds like it falls under that heading.”

TWENTY-THREE

JOSIE WAS WRITING notes about what Dawn had told her at the little café across the street from New Age Way when Carol joined her.

“You . . . you look wonderful!”

“I feel wonderful! There is nothing like finding a new hairdresser who charges less than half of what I’m paying uptown! I should have come down here years ago!” She pulled out a chair and sat down beside Josie. “I have lots and lots of things to tell you, but I’m starving. Where is our waiter?”

“The menu is on that blackboard on the wall and you order for yourself at the counter.”

“Okay, just let me look for a second . . . what is all this stuff?” Carol looked at the selections offered.

“Macrobiotic. Vegan . . . ,” Josie read.

“Rice and roots!” Carol said dismissively.

“There are some salads.”

“With tofu!” Carol sighed loudly. “Oh well, what are you having?”

“I thought a number three and coffee.”

“Do you think that number three looks less disgusting than the number five?”

“I really don’t think it matters, Carol!” Josie answered, trying to keep the irritation from her voice. Everything looked equally awful, but they had to eat and compare notes. She didn’t want to waste more time looking for a suitable place.

“I’ll place our orders,” Carol announced, getting to her feet and heading to the counter.

Josie looked down at the page before her. There were several possibilities there—especially that of meeting Shep Henderson’s parents. Certainly they would know a lot about Pamela Peel. Of course, she couldn’t even begin to imagine why they would share their knowledge with her.

“So what did you learn?” Carol asked, sitting back down. “I heard some very interesting things—one in particular,” she added, not allowing Josie to answer her question. “Pamela Peel didn’t want to marry Sammy!”

“Really?”

“That’s what KiKi said. I couldn’t believe it, of course.”

“Why not?”

“I . . . well, I . . .” Carol looked across the table at Josie and didn’t finish her thought.

“You can’t imagine any woman not wanting to marry Sam. It’s true, isn’t it?” she said when Carol didn’t reply.

“He’s good-looking, smart, well-educated, kind . . .”

“Nice to stray cats, drives a cool car,” Josie added, now smiling broadly. “I know just what you mean. And I’m sure I’ll feel the same way about Tyler when he’s older,” she added. “But we’re not talking in general here. We’re talking about Pamela. Did Sam ever say anything to you about wanting to marry Pamela Peel?”

“Well . . . he . . .”

Josie recognized the problem. “Carol, don’t worry about my feelings. I have them, of course, but that’s not what’s important now. I need to know how Sam felt about Pamela.”

“He . . . I think he told me that she was the one. You know, the woman he was going to marry.”

“You think he told you?”

“Josie, dear, I’ve been going over this in my mind and, while I’m positive he felt that way about her at one time, I can’t remember exactly when he would have told me that Pamela was going to be my daughter-in-law. Or if he even said so in just those words.”