B004183M70 EBOK (11 page)

Stepping out of the police station, I felt drained. Heat
rushed to my face when I remembered how I had brazenly kissed Bradley. Funny,
though, he hadn't chastised me for it, or given me a lecture on office
romances. And he had called me "the sweetest, most adorable pain in the
neck" he'd ever known.

Remembering that made me smile, but I
couldn't dwell on it now. First I had to get some coffee in me, since I hadn't
had anything to drink or eat yet today. I felt a headache coming on, and needed
aspirin and caffeine. There was a Chock Full o' Nuts near the Ryan building, so
I whistled for a cab (Harry had taught me how).

Later, as I sat at my desk munching
doughnuts between sips of coffee, the thought crossed my mind that meddling
Debbie Ann would not condone my breakfast. No doubt she'd lecture me about my
figure while writing down instructions for making oatmeal. Luckily, since it
was Sunday, she was not around.

Sunday! I clapped a hand over my mouth: I'd
missed the early-morning Masses at St. Patrick's, and had told Bradley I would
be at the office, so I couldn't leave now to attend the later Mass. Groaning, I
pulled my notebook out of my purse, turned to the current
"Confessions" page, and wrote down my transgression.

Then I got up and put on a pot of coffee
for when

I'd finished my take-out cup. I still couldn't think
straight, so I decided to call Darlene.

To my surprise, she answered on the second ring.

"Darlene, I didn't think you'd be home."

"Then why'd you call, silly?" she asked, and
laughed. "Where are you?"

"I'm at the office, and I need to talk to you."

"Honey, I know we haven't had any time together, but we
will tonight, I promise."

"Really? You mean you won't be with Cole?"

"Now, Bebe, I know for some reason Cole has rubbed you
the wrong way—"

"He doesn't like me either!"

Darlene chose to ignore that. "I'm working the Skyway
exhibit at the fair from noon until five today. Cole is coming with me, but
he's tuckered out, and is gonna stay in tonight at his hotel."

"Can't keep up with you, huh?"

"Plus, Miss Cynical, I need time to do chores like
washing my stockings, redoing my nails, and trying on some of the clothes I
brought back from London."

"Great, we can talk while you're doing that. But,
Darlene, I need you now for a few minutes. Something terrible has
happened."

"Well, why didn't you say so! What is it?"

"Suzie Wexford was murdered—strangled—last night, and
they've got Bradley in jail for it." Somehow saying this out loud to
Darlene turned out to be my breaking point. I started to cry.

Darlene sneezed like she always does when she's upset.
"Oh, my stars! I just saw the bitch yesterday at the fair. She was
shouting orders to her makeup girl."

"Gloria," I said, tears running down my face.

"Whoever. Did you say Bradley is in jail?"

Another sob. "Yes! I mean, when I left him he was. He
called me from there about five this morning, wanting me to find him a criminal
lawyer. I called Stu, you know, your boyfriend, and he helped. A Mr.
Pickering—he's English—came down to the jail."

"Wait a minute. You were at the jail
with Bradley?" Sneeze.

"Uh-huh. You don't think I'd leave him
there all alone?"

"No, of course not. I don't know what
I was thinking. Why do the fuzz think Bradley killed her? I thought he and
Suzie were, uh—"

"That's okay—you can say it; I'm a big
girl," I said, wiping my eyes. "They were having an affair. Bradley
had given Suzie a Pucci scarf. Then they had dinner last night and went back to
her apartment for, well, a long time. Suzie asked Bradley to go out and get
some chocolate syrup. . . . Darlene, are you okay? You sound like you're
choking."

"I'm fine, Bebe, I just swallowed some
coffee the wrong way. Did Bradley tell you all this?"

"Yes, through the bars at the
jail," I said grimly. "Bradley came back, and he found Suzie dead,
strangled with the scarf he'd given her. She must have fought her attacker and
screamed, because someone, probably a neighbor, called the police. Bradley said
they got there and saw him with the body, and Darlene, Suzie was naked except
for a fur coat."

"Classy way to go," she muttered.

"And you'll never guess who brought
Bradley in and put him in a cell with criminals."

"Oh, please. Not Detective
Finelli."

"Bingo."

"Lord have mercy, that man gets under
my skin."

"Well, since he once thought you
murdered someone, I guess so." For a while Darlene had been a prime suspect
in the Philip Royal murder investigation.

"Why are you at the office now,
Bebe?"

"I left Bradley with Mr. Pickering,
hoping the lawyer will be able to get him released. I told him I'd be here. We
have all this rescheduling of modeling shoots to do now that Suzie is .. .
dead. God, Darlene, I just remembered that I wished her dead!"

"Honey, that doesn't mean
anything!"

"Yes, it does. I feel awful that I kept thinking I'd
like to murder her, and now someone's gone and done it. Even Gloria and I
talked about how there'd be a line of people waiting to kill her."

"Bebe! Who all did you tell you wanted to kill
Suzie?"

I thought for a moment. "I guess just Gloria, Suzie's
makeup girl."

"Don't mention it to anyone else, you hear? You don't
want the fuzz thinking you did it."

"That thought never occurred to me; my head's been in
such a whirl since Bradley called."

"Think of it now, and be on your guard. There's no
reason you can think of why Bradley might have killed her, is there? I mean, in
the heat of passion and all."

"Darlene Roland! Bradley would never kill anyone. I want
you to apologize right now for even thinking such a thought."

"I'm sorry. Who do you think killed her?"

"That's what I'm going to consider next. I need to talk
to some people—"

"Bebe, you're not going to get involved— Oh, what am I
saying? You're going to try to find the killer, aren't you?"

"Darlene, have you come unhinged? The man I love is in
trouble. If he's charged—God forbid—or even if he just remains a suspect, of
course I'm going to find out who really did it. And you're going to help
me."

"Yes, Lucy."

"What? Are you comparing me to Lucille Ball?"

Darlene snickered.

I drew in a deep breath. "If anyone is Lucy, it's you
with your red hair."

"Okay, Ethel?'

"I'm hanging up now. My head is clear, and I've got work
to do."

"See you tonight. By the way, what are you
wearing?"

"One of my Jackie Kennedy suits, the bright yellow
one."

"Have you got on your white sleeveless
shell underneath it?"

"Yes, why?"

"Take your jacket off in case Bradley
comes in, and remember to cross your legs. He needs that right now."

"I'm already one step ahead of you. I
kissed him through the bars in the jail."

"What a hussy you are!"

"Tell you about it tonight," I
teased, and hung up the phone.

There was work to be done, and I was a list
maker. First I pulled out my daisy Mary Quant compact and touched up my face,
then covered my lips in pink lip gloss. Next I pulled out a lined pad and began
working in two sections. The one in front was Ryan Modeling Agency business.
Toward the back I wrote, List of Suspects. I decided to work on the latter
first.

Number one: Pierre Benoit. The photographer
had made Suzie famous, and the two were having an affair. According to Gloria,
Pierre had grown increasingly possessive of Suzie, culminating in his marriage
proposal, which Suzie refused. Had there been a furious fight when she said
no? Pierre knew she was seeing Bradley. Had he been mad enough to kill Suzie,
using the old male logic that if he couldn't have her, no one else would? Would
a man in his position really throw his life and carefully built reputation away
over one model?

Number two: Lola. I rolled my head, getting
the kinks out of my neck. Lola sure had a motive. Although part of it was
Lola's own fault that her career was faltering, Suzie had been devious in
snagging Lola's clients, if one believed what Lola said. And if you did believe
her, did that mean she was serious that night in the taxi? That she would strangle
Suzie if she took the Breck Girl account away from her? Suzie had taken the
Breck Girl contract. Suzie was dead.

I tapped my pen on the paper, thinking
about how Lola had been drunk when she'd made her threats. Were her
vows to kill Suzie just a way of expressing her anger?

Number three: Gloria. I chewed my bottom
lip as I wrote her name. I liked Gloria, but what did I really know about her?
Our conversations had been limited to guys and our mutual dislike of Suzie.
Gloria had said we'd have to stand in a line of people who wanted Suzie dead.
Yesterday, at the fair, Gloria had been very angry at Suzie, even said she
could kill her. She hadn't hung around waiting for me after I'd told her I had
news—my accepting a date with Louis. . . .

My pen slipped from my fingers. How was I
going to go out with Louis now when Bradley needed me? Well, I just would, that
was all. Canceling the date would be plain rude. Besides, what had really
changed in my relationship with Bradley? He'd called me a sweet, adorable pain in
the neck, not the sweet, adorable love of his life.

Back to my list of suspects: I decided I
would find a way to speak to each of them as soon as possible, face-to-face to
get their reactions to news of Suzie's murder. Someone had been watching her
apartment; yes, that sounded right. And when Bradley came out, he or she
decided to go up and kill her. I closed that section of the lined pad with that
notation.

Reaching around to my credenza, I picked up
the black spiral notebook that served as a schedule list for upcoming photo
shoots and TV commercials and the models involved.

Flipping to Monday, I saw the biggest
projects were "Fun in the Kitchen with Debbie Ann" at four, and a TV commercial
for Fuller Brush to be filmed at one.

Skipping through to Tuesday, I saw we had
our big photo shoot for B. Altman's department store at the brand-new fountain
outside Lincoln Center. Eight models, four women and four men, were set for
that. Suzie had not been hired for that one, the department store having felt
that her going rate was ridiculously high.

Problems didn't start until Wednesday
afternoon, when Pierre, a crew, Bradley to oversee, and Suzie to model, were
all set to fly to the Virgin Islands for the Durden swimwear account. Durden
wanted Suzie photographed in lush, tropical settings wearing their daring new
bikini.

I twirled a strand of hair. We certainly
didn't want to lose the lucrative Durden account to Ford Modeling, so we had
to come up with another famous model. Could Lola do it? Would Bradley approve?

Over the next couple of hours I made lots
of notes of things to do for Ryan, and made plans for Suzie's murder
investigation.

Finally the elevator pinged, and Bradley
walked in, apparently straight from jail, as he still wore his suit and tie
from the night before.

"You really are here, kid," he
said, as he sat down behind his desk.

I hurried after him, steno pad in hand.
"Did you ever get any coffee?"

"Coffee? No? Liquid tar? Yes."

I grabbed his mug and returned a minute
later with the hot beverage.

Bradley drank some, then leaned his head
back against his chair. "At least I'm out of that place."

"What happened? How did the meeting
with Mr. Pickering go? Did you have to appear before a judge?"

He raised a hand. "I met with
Pickering for about an hour, and he called a judge he knew and got me released.
Pickering's got a brilliant mind, but he seems focused on my future trial and
how to prepare for it, not on looking for the killer."

"Does that mean you've been charged
with murder?" I asked, feeling an awful sinking sensation.

"No. I expect Pickering is thinking
ahead." Then he said, "We need to plan a memorial for Suzie. I think
Wednesday morning at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine, followed by a
reception at the Legends Hotel would be good. Write that down, please, and
place a notice in the Times. Detective Finelli informed Suzie's parents in Omaha, and they're flying in to take her
body back home."

Gosh, he'd been doing some planning. "How sad for
them."

Bradley puffed out one cheek and blew out air. "Sad for
a lot of people."

I guess he was including himself.

"Look, I'm beat. I need sleep. I'm going home, and I
think you should too. Tomorrow is going to be a very busy day."

He stood and so did I. "Mr. Williams, what is Mr.
Pickering going to do?"

"This is my mess, Miss Bennett, and I'll handle
it."

He began to go past me, but I stopped him in the doorway.

"Why won't you tell me—"

Looking down at me through red-rimmed eyes, unshaven, and
with an air of melancholy, he said, "A woman I've been involved with has
been murdered. I'm the prime suspect. I don't have time for chitchat right
now."

Ouch! "As your secretary, I was trying to help you, and
I don't think I deserve to be snapped at."

"Trying to help me? See, that's exactly why I'm not
going to talk to you about this anymore. You did your job by finding a lawyer
for me. Let Pickering and me handle it. We're doing well so far. I'm out of
jail."

"But I can help! I have information—"

He pointed at me with his right index finger and spoke in a
stern voice. "No. You are not to get involved in this like you did with
the Philip Royal murder, do you understand me? I won't have it, Bebe, and
that's my final word."

I crossed my arms over my chest, watching him walk to the
elevator. His final word indeed. Did he think he could stop Bebe Bennett?

I'd help him whether he wanted me to or not.

As he stepped into the elevator, leaving me alone, I wondered
if he realized he'd called me by my first name.

CHAPTER NINE

Deep in thought, I wandered around Fifth Avenue,
window-shopping aimlessly; then I went home.

Darlene greeted me at the door wearing an apron. "You're
just in time for my famous tuna-and- macaroni-and-cheese casserole."

"Since when have you become so domesticated?" I
said, taking my jacket off and throwing it over the pink sectional.

"I caught a few minutes of "Fun in the Kitchen with
Debbie Ann" the other day. That woman comes across like a real kook about food,
but she inspired me to do some cooking."

"They shoot the show at Ryan. I've met Debbie Ann. She's
not a kook, but she likes to mother everyone."

"Come on, honey, I bet you're hungry. Sit down, and I'll
get everything."

Too tired to do anything else, I obeyed, taking a seat at our
tiny table in the minuscule green-and-white kitchen.

"So, clue me in, Bebe," Darlene said, putting hot
plates of food in front of us and taking the seat opposite me.

"Bradley came back to the office for about ten minutes.
The lawyer got him released from jail." I took a bite of the casserole.
"This is good. You even left out the peas. Thanks, Darlene."

She waved a fork. "I like tomatoes in my tuna casserole anyway. Has Bradley been charged with Suzie's murder?
And what's this about you kissing him?"

"He's not been charged yet, but don't ask me for any other
details. He refused to tell me anything except to say, 'Stay out of it and let
me handle everything.' He's such a . . . such a—"

"Man?" Darlene supplied.

"I guess that's it."

"And the kiss?"

I shrugged. "I don't know what came over me. He looked
so bummed and vulnerable, I kissed his forehead, that's all."

"Hmmm. Did he get all professional on you?"

"No. He called me a 'sweet, adorable pain in the neck.'
"

"I can dig it!"

"Yes, but he's miserable."

"He's probably in shock. I mean, he finds his easy lay—I
mean date—dead, strangled with something he gave her, and the fuzz are all over
him. He doesn't know what he's doing right now. Think he's grieving?"

"Some. I don't know. Bradley is always so in control,
so cool." I swallowed a bite of macaroni. "He did slip and call me
Bebe."

Darlene grinned. "You've got him running hard. First
this thing with Suzie, who was nothing but a slut—"

"Darlene! Don't speak of her that way now. She's
dead."

"Still. Playing loose like he did with Suzie is the
final step a man takes before he settles down for good. His last hurrah."
Darlene nodded wisely. "I'll bet he's having more and more thoughts about
you, and they aren't the pure type."

"What's this sudden insight into my relationship, huh?
Let's talk about you and Cole."

Darlene sighed, rose, retrieved a pitcher of iced tea from
the fridge, and poured us each a glass. "Cole's from Texas, like me."

"So it's a 'Texas thing'?"

Darlene looked at her plate. "It's
comfortable being with an older man. I feel like I can trust him."

"Isn't he old enough to be your
father?"

"Man, let's not talk about my
father," she said.

I reached across the table and took her
hand. "You never talk about when you were growing up. Can't you even tell
me about it?"

Darlene sneezed. She pushed a red curl
behind her ear. "Oh, it's a common enough story, happens all the time. My
father worked on an oil rig; Mother was a barmaid in town. When she got
pregnant, they married and had me. I guess I was an ugly little girl, all red
hair and freckles, because he took off when I was three."

"I'm sorry, Darlene, and I'm positive
it had nothing to do with you. Don't think those kinds of thoughts."

"Don't be sorry; that's what men do.
Leave. Mother got all religious after he split, and I don't mean like you being
a Catholic. She's a fanatic, raised me so strict I couldn't go out on a date
until after I'd left home and landed the job at Skyway. I was always having to
pray or read the Bible or do my chores. I didn't have any friends, because my
parents were divorced. You know how cruel kids can be."

"How did the job at Skyway come
about?"

"Wasn't easy. My father never came
back, never sent money, and most of the money my mother made waitressing at
this little diner, Mason's, she gave to the church. When I got old enough to
babysit, she forced me to give money to the church, only I lied about how much
I'd made and started saving." Darlene looked at me. "I'm going to
hell for that, aren't I?"

"No! God knows the reason you saved
part of the money was for your future. You might want to tell Him you're sorry
for lying, that's all."

Darlene sneezed twice, so I knew her
opening up to me this way was hard for her. "What were you saving
for?" I prompted.

"From the time I was fourteen I wanted
to be a stewardess. Just thinking about that glamorous job and
getting to fly all over the world made me the only babysitter in our small town
who would take care of the Tyler twins. Lord, those boys were terrors. Anyway,
I knew that once my senior year came, I'd find my way to the airline recruiter
in Dallas, fifty miles away."

"So you had to save up for the bus
money?"

"Yeah, but that wasn't all. I had no
decent clothes. By the time my senior year came, I'd managed to save enough to
buy a white blouse, a navy-blue skirt, navy pumps, and some cheap lipstick and
mascara. I couldn't afford a purse, so I just put the lipstick, mascara, and
some money into my bra."

I giggled, and Darlene smiled.

I said, "I'll bet they hired you on
the spot."

She nodded. "I had to break the news
to Mother that I was going to stew school. She never has spoken to me since. In
her mind, being a stewardess is like walking the streets."

"That's not fair. I know you get lots
of attention from men on your flights, but you work hard preparing and serving
meals, making sure the passengers are comfortable, dealing with crying
babies."

"Honey, you don't have to tell
me."

An idea formed in my head, and I chose my
words carefully. "Darlene, I don't want to sound like that Freud guy, but
a couple of things make sense to me, now that I know what you went through
growing up."

"Like what?" Darlene asked,
getting up from the table and taking down the bottle of whiskey she kept in the
cupboard. She poured a small amount into a shot glass and drank it.

"Your father leaving like he did,
which was really crummy . . . well, maybe that's left you wanting an older man
in your life. Cole enters the picture, appearing to adore you; he's from
Texas. . . ."

"My relationship with Cole is hardly
one of father and daughter," Darlene said.

"I know, but think about it. Plus,
Cole strikes me as being very possessive, have you noticed? He's hardly left
your side since you met, and doesn't even want you to be around me."

Darlene held the bottle of whiskey to her
forehead and closed her eyes. "Cole just wants to protect me, keep me
safe."

"The Darlene I know likes adventure.
She likes trying new things, dancing all night, exploring the cities she flies
to."

"I have to think of my future. The
mandatory retirement age for stews at Skyway is thirty."

"Darlene! You're not going to be
thirty for five more years. How old will Cole be in five years?
Sixty-five?"

She pushed away from the counter. "I
don't want to talk about it, Bebe."

"That's fine," I said, and got up
and gave her a big hug. "You know I'm here if you ever change your mind.
I'll just say one last thing: I saw Stu at the World's Fair. He was watching
you at the Skyway exhibit."

Darlene looked at me. "He was?"

"Yes. We chatted for a few minutes, and
he said how much he misses you."

She snorted. "He should have thought
of that before he spent that weekend screwing Peggy, that chief
stewardess." She put the whiskey back in the cupboard and started to
leave the kitchen.

I followed. "Did he really do
that?"

She swung around. "Of course he did.
All men cheat!"

"Mama told me the good ones don't. I
think Stu is a good one," I said. Then, seeing a flush come up Darlene's
throat, I thought it best to drop the subject. "Hey, "The Ed Sullivan Show"
is about to come on. Gerry and the Pacemakers are supposed to be playing! Why
don't we do our nails while watching the show. I'd like to try the new Cutex
Hot Pink you have."

"Just as I thought. You're turning
into a hussy," Darlene teased.