B004183M70 EBOK (12 page)

"That's me, all right. Kissing men.
Going out on dates with models."

She gasped. "You have a date with a
model?"

"I sure do. I would have had a date
with a cute actor if he hadn't been caught up with some very famous people.
Let's get settled in front of the TV, and I'll tell you all about it."

Monday's Times splashed the news of Suzie's
murder across the front page. A picture of her looking fresh and innocent
headed an article titled, "Top Model Suzie Wexford Murdered."

I cringed when I read . . . police found
the body after a neighbor reported screams coming from Miss Wexford's
apartment. Upon their arrival they found Bradley Williams, head of Ryan
Modeling Agency, crouched over Miss Wexford's dead body.

The article went on to say that the coroner
pronounced Suzie dead due to asphyxiation. The time of death was noted as
somewhere between two and two thirty in the morning. Sitting at my desk at
Ryan, I decided Bradley did not need to see the newspaper, and threw it in my
trash can. Coffee brewed while I finished routine work before Bradley arrived.

He came in an hour later wearing a dark
gray suit and black tie. "Damn photographers. Hello, Miss Bennett, we
need to get busy."

"Yes, Mr. Williams." I stood up,
smoothing the skirt of my bright green, pink, and white horizontally striped
minidress.

Before I could collect steno pad and
pencil, Bradley bolted back out of his office and filled his mug with coffee.
This was a first! He always asked me to get his coffee. For a moment I stood in
shock, then managed to follow him into his office. He sat in his high- backed
blue leather chair.

"Shut the door, Miss Bennett," he
said.

With the door closed, the room seemed more
intimate, more conducive to an exchange of confidences.

Plus, even in these circumstances, I loved being alone with
him.

"All right, first, I want you to get
me the phone number of the blonde in the Bernat Yarn dealer ad. The ad ran in
the March issue of Woman's Day. Her name is Evelyn something, and she's one of
our models." He pulled open his middle drawer. "Here's the key to
the models' personnel drawer in the large filing cabinet over there," he
said, pointing to my left.

I accepted the key. "Do you need her
for a shoot?"

He sat lounging back in his chair, holding
a pencil between two hands, a gesture I knew well. "No, I'm going to ask
her out for tonight."

My mouth fell open. "But, Mr.
Williams, won't that look bad for you—I mean, so soon after Suzie's
death?"

"I'm following Pickering's advice. I
have a reputation around Manhattan, and my lawyer thinks I should maintain it.
Continuing to date will demonstrate that my relationship with Suzie was casual,
not something worth murdering her over."

That did make sense, darn it. "Do you
know Evelyn?"

"No, but she'll accept; they always
do. I'm rich, I run the company, and I'm easy on the eye."

Humble, too!

"At any rate, it's only for show. I
assume you saw the newspaper this morning?" At my nod, he continued,
"If you think about it, I'm sure you'll agree with Pickering's strategy.
Now, on to Suzie's memorial service. Mr. and Mrs. Wexford arrived in New York
late last night. Ryan is putting them up at the Legends Hotel. Neither of them
was willing to speak to me. I want you to call them right away and get their approval
for the plans you and I discussed yesterday for Suzie's memorial. I'm counting
on you, Miss Bennett, to arrange everything; the best flowers, the best music,
the best photo of Suzie—get with Pierre Benoit about that—the best food at the
reception, got that?"

Writing furiously, I said, "Yes, Mr.
Williams."

"I have to spend the morning calling
clients and reassuring them I'm not a murderer, and offering substitute models
for their needs. Although I went over the portfolios when I landed the
assignment here, I need to do it again. Run up to the eighteenth floor and see
if you can find Gina. She might be able to help suggest which models are
popular."

"I will. Mr. Williams, I checked the
schedule for the week, and we have the B. Altman department store shoot at the
Lincoln Center fountain tomorrow. Everything is set for that, as long as it
doesn't rain."

"Good."

I took a deep breath. "The other
assignment is the Virgin Islands shoot for the Durden swimwear account."

Bradley dropped the pencil to his desk.
"I'd completely forgotten."

"What do you think of Lola doing it? I
know we've had some problems with her, but I was thinking of talking to her,
woman to woman. You see, I think she's been drinking because . . . well, um,
because Suzie took away Lola's accounts."

"Only because Lola couldn't
professionally fulfill her obligations. Suzie told me that she only wanted to
help Ryan by going on those shoots when it seemed Lola wasn't going to
show."

Yes, I'll bet that's what Suzie told you.
"I think we should give Lola another chance. Besides, the Durden people
are expecting a star. We don't have anyone other than Lola who fits the bill.
We don't want to lose the contract to Ford Modeling."

"Maybe you're right, kid. By Wednesday
afternoon the police will have lifted this ridiculous order that I not leave
town, so I'll be there to supervise as planned."

"So, Detective Finelli did tell you
not to leave town. You remain a suspect," I said.

"Finelli is investigating. There's to
be a grand jury hearing on whether or not the police have enough evidence to
charge me. I'll be cleared then."

"When is the grand jury hearing?"
I asked, my throat dry.

He sat up straight in his chair and leaned
forward, elbows on the desk. "Oh, no, Miss Bennett, you're not going to
drag information out of me about my personal business. Don't forget what I told
you yesterday."

"This is not just your personal
business, Mr. Williams," I countered. "We need to know who will oversee
the Virgin Islands shoot if you are still under police orders not to leave
town."

That seemed to strike a chord.
"Perhaps."

"I think I should be the one. Will you
authorize me to purchase an airplane ticket for the flight the Ryan people are
taking? My roommate is working the flight as a favor to another
stewardess."

Bradley's expression reflected utter
surprise. "You? You, oversee a shoot for an important client? You're
barely twenty years old."

Fury swept through me, as well as a good
measure of hurt. "Mr. Williams, I am twenty-two years old and have
excellent organizational skills. I like to think I deal well with other people.
In addition, I can keep an eye on Lola, and," I finished, raising my chin,
"since I'm a woman, and Durden is targeting women with this campaign, I
might also be able to offer creative suggestions."

"Pierre Benoit won't listen to a word
you have to say."

I raised my eyebrows into my bangs.
"Would he listen to you?"

Bradley stared at me. "This is crazy.
You're not going to the Virgin Islands on that shoot, Miss Bennett. I am and
that's final."

"Whatever you say," I replied.
"I have a lot of work to do, so I'd better get started. Do I have your approval
to give Lola the assignment?"

"Yes," he said, then turned in
his chair and stared out the window.

Internally fuming, I moved over to the file
cabinet, unlocked it, and began looking for Evelyn's contact information.

The dunce! Didn't he know by now that
Detective Finelli was like a dog with a bone once he got an idea into his head?
Bradley would never be free to supervise the Virgin Islands shoot. I'd have to
wrangle a seat through Darlene.

In the meantime, I definitely would be in
touch with Pierre Benoit regarding Suzie's photo for the memorial.

And her murder.

CHAPTER TEN

After finding Evelyn Miller's phone number in her file—she
was rather ordinary, if her headshot was anything to go by—I put it on
Bradley's desk and left his office, closing the door behind me. We hadn't exchanged
another word.

I threw my steno pad on my desk in a gesture of hurt, frustration,
and fear. Maybe Darlene was right in thinking that Bradley was in shock. He
certainly was irrationally confident that he would be cleared in the next few
days.

Considering the problem of Pierre Benoit, I decided it would
be better to ambush him at his studio rather than phone him. That way I could
see his face, ask questions. Flipping through my Rolodex, I found an address
for him and wrote it down.

Although I dreaded doing it, I had to call the Wexfords to
get their approval for the memorial service. Dialing the number to the Legends
Hotel, I thought it best not to introduce myself as Bradley's secretary.

"Good morning, Legends Hotel," a male voice said.

"Please put me through to Ralph Wexford's room."

A ringing; then a gruff male voice said, "Hello."

"Mr. Wexford?"

"Depends. You're not another lousy reporter, are
you?"

"No, sir. I'm Miss Bennett from Ryan Modeling, and I'm
calling to get your approval regarding Suzie's memorial service. I know you're
planning to take Suzie back to Omaha, but she had so many friends here in the
city, we thought a service and reception here would be welcome."

"Ryan footing the bill for this?"

"Yes, sir."

"They damn well should after the head of that place
killed my little girl!"

I decided to ignore that. "Let me take this opportunity
to offer you and your wife my sympathy. I knew Suzie." God, what a
hypocrite, I thought, but then realized I did feel sorry for Suzie's parents,
even though I hadn't liked her.

"What kind of memorial are you talking about?"

I quickly outlined our plans, which Mr. Wexford grudgingly
agreed to.

"I'll make all the arrangements, Mr. Wexford. Unless
you hear different, expect the memorial to start at ten in the morning on
Wednesday."

"Fine. Then we can book a flight out of this crime-ridden city for later Wednesday. None of this would have happened if Suzie had
married Jeff," Mr. Wexford said.

"Jeff?" I asked, pressing the phone closer to my
ear.

"Jeff Granford, star quarterback. He and Suzie were high
school sweethearts and were supposed to marry, until Suzie sent her senior
picture to that bum of a photographer."

I started taking notes. "You mean Pierre Benoit?"

"No, somebody Roberts. Forgot his first name. He was the
one who told Suzie she could be a model, and enticed her to this heathen
city."

"Oh, I see. Is Mr. Roberts still here?"

"I don't know. Look, the wife's crying again. I hope
they fry that Williams fella for killing my little girl. You can tell him I
said so."

With that, Mr. Wexford hung up.

I thought for a moment and remembered Gloria telling me that
Suzie had an ex that she slept with occasionally for old times' sake. Could
that be Jeff Granford? Had he followed her to New York? Maybe Gloria could point him out to me if he attended the memorial
service. There was always the possibility that he, too, was jealous of Suzie's
other lovers, and got fed up enough to kill her. I needed to talk to Gloria.

I found her phone number and dialed. A
service answered for her, so I left my name and both work and home phone
numbers with a request that she call me.

Making the arrangements for Suzie's
memorial took longer than I thought, even with an unlimited budget. It was
around eleven when I took the elevator up to the eighteenth floor.

The door to Gina's office stood open, but I
knocked anyway.

The former model wore a pale gray
Chanel-inspired suit—or maybe it was the real thing—and gave me a chilly look.
"What can I do for you, Miss Bennett?"

"Mr. Williams wants your opinion about
our female models."

She smirked. "What does he intend to
do with the next one?"

I kept my calm. "I believe he's
wondering if there's anyone in particular whom you have been grooming for
bigger assignments. He'd like their portfolios."

Gina lit a cigarette. "You and your
boss have been here only a week, and our top model, a star in the industry, is
dead. I think I should be talking to the owner of this company before I turn
over any information to Mr. Williams."

She hadn't invited me to sit down, so I
placed my palms on her desk and leaned forward. "First of all, Mr.
Williams had nothing to do with Suzie's death. Second, he already has all the
girls' contact information in his office along with headshots. He simply requested
your opinion as to who might be a rising star. Finally, Mr. Williams's
great-uncle owns this company, among others. I'm surprised you didn't know
that, Gina. You impress me as being a woman who does her homework."

She breathed out smoke through her nostrils
and, without another word, went to a big filing cabinet behind
her desk. I watched with approval as she began selecting, then stacking,
several portfolios.