B004183M70 EBOK (13 page)

"There you are," she said coldly.

"Thank you very much," I replied in my sweetest
voice.

Lugging the portfolios onto the elevator, I blew air into my
bangs. Was this the way Bradley would be treated around the agency from now on?
I had to find Suzie's killer!

Bradley's door was shut when I reached our office suite.
Glancing at my phone, I saw that his line glowed red. The portfolios began
slipping out of my arms, so I decided that since he was on the phone, I'd
quietly place them on one of his chairs. I opened the door to hear him saying,
"That's wonderful, Evelyn. I'll see you tonight."

He ended the call as I was leaving.

"Have you talked to the Wexfords?" he asked.

"Yes. Mr. Wexford approved of our plans, and I've made
all the arrangements."

"Very good. What was Mr. Wexford's attitude?"

Oh, boy. "They are grieving the loss of their daughter.
Mr. Wexford was, understandably, not in a good mood."

"Thinks I killed her, doesn't he?" Bradley asked.

"He'll find out he's wrong. I'm sure Mr. Pickering has
hired a private detective," I said, fishing.

Bradley drummed his fingers on top of his cluttered desk,
ignoring my comment. "Have you spoken with Lola yet?"

Talk about pigheaded! "That's next on my list."

"I won't keep you. Close the door behind you,
please."

I did as he asked, thinking it best if he remained ignorant
of my plans to investigate, though at the same time I hoped Mr. Pickering had
hired a private detective. As Bradley's lawyer, it was his duty to make sure
Bradley's name was cleared.

I sat down and called Lola at home.

"Hello," she said, her voice
level and clear.

Encouraged, I said, "Hi, Lola. This is
Bebe Bennett from Ryan."

"I remember you," she said in a
sunny tone. "I had too much to drink at Pierre Benoit's showing, and you
were nice enough to take me home."

Surprised by how chipper she sounded,
coupled with the fact that she actually remembered me, I thought that maybe the
Virgin Islands shoot would work out after all. Meanwhile another part of me
mused that Lola might be in a good mood because Suzie was now out of her way.
Permanently. Strangled, as Lola had threatened.

"I'm sure you've heard that Suzie
Wexford has . . . er, passed away."

"You mean somebody finally bumped off
the bitch," Lola said. "The paper made it sound like the killer was
our princely leader at Ryan. God, I hope not; he's too choice to waste away in
some prison cell."

"I can assure you that Mr. Williams
had nothing to do with Suzie's death."

"Glad to hear it. I pictured him
boning her, and afterward them getting into a fight. She probably had plans for
him, and he didn't follow along."

"What makes you say that?" I
asked, pencil poised over my lined pad.

"Nothing in particular. Just that
Suzie was such a schemer, I think she figured she'd bring Bradley to the altar.
He's rich, handsome, runs the agency—she'd be set for life."

Gloria had expressed a similar theory about
Suzie's plans for Bradley. "Lola, Mr. Williams and Suzie had known each
other for only several days. I doubt he had marriage on his mind," I said.

"I guess you're right. He was getting
the milk for free—why buy the cow, as the saying goes."

I wanted to ask questions, lots of them,
but it had to be in person. "Lola, the reason I'm calling is to offer you
a bikini photo shoot in the Virgin Islands.

The client is Durden swimwear, and we're leaving Wednesday
night. Are you interested?"

"Are you kidding!" she exclaimed.
"I've heard that Durden is really going all-out for this campaign. The
bikini is supposed to be racy. I'll be in the magazines again. Count me
in!"

"I'm glad to hear that." I put as
much authority as I could into what I said next. "Woman to woman, Lola,
between now and when we leave, you should stay away from alcohol. It makes a
girl look bloated, and you're so pretty, we wouldn't want that to happen. I
went to bat for you, and don't want to come off looking like a fool."

"I get your drift, Bebe. I'll stay off
the sauce, no problem. Now that Suzie's croaked, I think my life will be taking
a real good turn for the better."

We went over the details of the trip, and
Lola was easy to please on every issue and thrilled that she'd be working with
Pierre again. The whole time I talked to her, I couldn't help thinking about
how much Lola had to gain from Suzie's death and how different she acted now
that Suzie was dead.

At lunchtime I thought it best to bring
over one of the girls from the typing pool to cover the phones. I intended to
go by Pierre's, and I didn't know how long I'd be gone.

I called Mrs. Seeds, who was in charge of
the girls, and put my request to her.

"Let me check and see who is
available, Bebe. Hold on one moment."

I sat with the phone propped up to my ear,
tidying papers on my desk and laying out a fresh telephone message pad.

Finally Mrs. Seeds came back on the line.
"Sorry to keep you waiting. Girls can get such crazy ideas in their heads.
Danielle will be right over."

"Thanks," I said, and hung up.

Bradley was still behind closed doors in
his office.

He must be reassuring clients. I'd bet he'd also called his
uncle Herman.

My thoughts were interrupted when a tiny
young woman walked slowly down the hall until she reached me. She wore a modest
white blouse and blue skirt and had pretty dark hair. She said, "I'm
Danielle. Mrs. Seeds said I was to come here and answer the phone for you while
you're at lunch."

"Thanks for coming, Danielle. There
are just three lines," I said, showing her the phone. "These two are
for general calls to the agency, and the third is Mr. Williams's private line.
Don't use that one if you need to use the phone. If any calls come in that
sound like reporters, anyone asking about Suzie, don't give them any
information. Your reply should be that Ryan has no comment on Suzie Wexford's
death other than to express sorrow for her loss. Okay?"

Danielle's hazel eyes widened.
"Yes." She looked over toward Bradley's door. "Is he ... in
there?"

Obviously she'd read the newspaper and come
to the conclusion that Bradley was a cruel murderer, roaming the halls of Ryan
Modeling looking for fresh young girls, like a scene from one of those
paperback slasher books.

"Danielle, Mr. Williams is a good man,
and he didn't kill Suzie. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.
You'll see when the police arrest the real killer," I said, and smiled.

Danielle nodded and took her place in my
chair.

Just as I was about to leave, the phone
rang. Looking ruefully at Danielle, I said, "Here, I'll get that one.

"Ryan Modeling Agency, Miss Bennett
speaking."

"Bebe, it's Gloria."

"Hi, Gloria, I've been trying to get
in touch with you," I said, turning and making sure Bradley's door
remained closed.

"I've been busy doing makeup for Edie
Segwick. Did you know she dyed her hair silver to match Andy Warhol's? Hey, what was that news you were going to tell me
at the fair? A date?"

"Yes, I'm going out tonight to the
Phone Booth with a male model I met, but I wanted to talk to you about Suzie's
death."

"Good riddance!" Gloria said, and
laughed. "You can't live wild like she did without putting yourself in
danger. Wonder who killed her? Do you happen to know?"

"No!"

"You don't have to yell in my
ear," Gloria complained. "I'd like to shake the killer's hand, even
though I'll lose some money not working for Suzie, but I'll make it up."

"I don't know who did it," I
said, noting that a second person on my suspect list sounded cheered by Suzie's
murder.

"Guess Suzie's secrets died with her.
Bet it was one of those very secrets that got her killed," Gloria said.

"I love juicy secrets," I said,
thinking about Jeff, the high school sweetheart, and Roberts, the photographer
guy. "When can we get together and grab a burger?"

"Gee, I'm booked all tomorrow; then
Wednesday we're going to the Virgin Islands."

"You'll be at the memorial service for
Suzie, won't you?" I asked, not wanting to tell her that I would probably
be on that flight with her.

"Gloria? Are you still there?"

"Yeah, Bebe, I guess I'll come. Some
of her clients will likely attend, and I don't want to make them wonder why
I'm not there. Otherwise there's no way I'd go"

I gave Gloria the memorial service
information, ended the call, and said good-bye to Danielle.

I took the elevator downstairs and hurried
to the corner. The day had turned cloudy with drizzling rain. Marv didn't have
his usual line of customers at the hot-dog stand. I managed to place a hand on
his arm and ask about Betty.

"The doctors don't know when the baby
will come. Betty's switched from fresh pineapple cravings to peanut butter.
She's eating it right out of the jar."

"Easier on you, Marv! Just stock up on
Peter Pan. I gotta run, but I just wanted to say hello before I get a
cab."

"Good luck in this weather."

Marv was right. While my hair turned into a
frizzy ball, taxi after taxi went by without stopping, all full.

Finally a cab pulled over, and I gave the
driver Pierre's address on East Forty-fifth street. The cab raced away from the
corner, causing my usual slide and bump in the backseat. From my purse, I
pulled out my black daisy Mary Quant compact and surveyed the rain's damage.
The Dippity-Do I'd applied to keep the ends of my hair flipped up was fighting
a valiant battle against the moisture in the air. I ended up powdering my nose
and refreshing my lip gloss, while my stomach rumbled with hunger. I'd have to
wait to eat: Questioning Pierre took precedence over lunch.

My thoughts turned to Lola and Gloria. Both
women had reason to want Suzie dead. Both women would have had the opportunity
to kill her. Suzie would have let either of them into her apartment, even at
that late hour.

Arriving at Pierre's, I paid the cabdriver,
then ran up the steps and rang the buzzer. And waited. I rang the buzzer again.
"Who is it?" a male voice demanded.

I pressed my finger down and spoke into the
intercom. "Mr. Benoit, it's Bebe Bennett from Ryan Modeling. I need to
talk to you about a photo of Suzie Wexford for her memorial."

A minute passed, during which I wondered if
he would answer me, then, "Come on up to the second floor." The door
gave a distinct click, and I pulled it open. The first level was a short but
elegant hall with a door to the right marked, A.

"Up here," Pierre said from the
landing above, scaring me to death.

I climbed the steps and followed him into
what turned out to be his studio. On one side were hardwood floors with no
carpets, a squarish black leather couch and matching chairs, and a white square
cube as a coffee table. In the middle of the room stood a camera set up on a
tripod, a huge umbrellalike thing, which I knew from photo shoots helped with
the lighting, a set of lights, and a black lounging chaise.

But it was the walls around the high
windows that captured my attention. Pierre had covered them in aluminum foil.
On the closest wall I saw a distorted view of myself. No photographs were in
evidence until one looked up to a winding iron staircase where the foil ended
and brick walls lined with photographs began. The glass inside each frame had
been shattered. Every photograph was of Suzie.

A chill went through me. Had Pierre done
this in a fit of temper when Suzie refused his proposal?

"Does it meet with your approval, Miss
Bennett?" Pierre said in an overly polite tone, his voice carrying a
French accent from his earlier years. He wore his customary black, but as I
took a few steps closer to him, I could see that his face around his goatee was
bloated, and his eyelids were swollen.

"Excuse me for gawking, Mr. Benoit.
It's just that I've never been in a photographer's studio before," I said.

"Call me Pierre. Mr. Benoit makes me
feel old. You're a very pretty girl—what did you say your name was? And that
dress would look better with go-go boots."

"Thanks. I have some boots, but
haven't worn them yet. My name is Bebe Bennett. Please call me Bebe. I'm sure
you don't remember, because you had so many famous people at your elegant gala
showing, but I was there. I admire your work."

"Thank you," he said in a
mournful tone. "Now that my star is gone, I don't know how I can take
another photograph."

Saying this, he broke into loud sobs.

Here was my cue. I took a step closer and
said,

"Suzie will be missed by many. I know you and she were
close."

He wept openly now. "Never. Been. So hurt."