B004183M70 EBOK (15 page)

"I hope that's a promise you'll keep,
Bebe," Debbie Ann said, then turned her attention to that evening's show,
enabling me to make my escape.

Rather than take the elevator, I took the
steps to the seventeenth floor. As I approached my desk, Danielle picked up
the phone and said, "She's back, Mr. Williams." Pause. "You're
welcome."

With that, Danielle gave me a guilty smile,
then bolted in the direction of the typing pool.

Bradley's door flew open.

"Where have you been, Miss Bennett? Do
you know what time it is?"

He was as mad as a hive of bees Daddy once
disturbed when mowing our lawn. I looked at my watch. "It's just a minute
or two past three."

"I repeat, where have you been for the
past three hours?"

Mrs. Seeds from the typing pool moved our
way, probably wanting to speak to me. Instead, Bradley's loud, angry voice must
have dismayed her, as she turned on her heel and hurried back the other way.

"Mr. Williams," I said calmly,
"there's no need to shout. I didn't leave for lunch at noon. I was too
busy."

He pointed at the apple and the glass of
milk in my hands. "And apparently you were too busy to eat when you
did leave."

I placed the food and drink on my desk. When I turned around,
he was motioning me to come into his office. I followed him, and he closed the
door and loosened his tie. "I want a straight answer. Where have you
been?"

"I didn't realize my job description included having to
report my activities outside this office—"

"Oh, for the love of God!"

"All right! I went to Pierre's studio."

Bradley looked so adorable, I wanted to forget he had me on
the grill. "Pierre Benoit? His studio? Why did you go there?"

Uh-oh. "I thought it important to go in person and pick
out the photograph of Suzie we'll be using at the memorial."

"You could have called Pierre and asked him to bring
one."

"I-"

"I don't see the portrait in your hands."

"Pierre decided he'd bring it himself."

"He picked it out by himself too, I'll bet."

I knew where this was going, and I didn't like it.
"Actually, Pierre did select it. But I had no way of knowing that before I
went to his studio."

"Alone, in a man's apartment, possibly Suzie's
killer."

Remembering the uneasiness I'd felt at Pierre's, I blushed.

"That! That pink on your face tells me what I want to
know. You went there, even though it could possibly have been dangerous, and
you asked questions about where Pierre had been when Suzie was murdered. Isn't
that what you did, Miss Bennett?"

Darn him! "It might have happened that way. But I also
had to talk to Pierre about the B. Altman's shoot, and the Virgin Islands
shoot, and calm him down when I told him we'd be using Lola! And it wasn't his
apartment; it was his studio."

"If I'm not mistaken, he lives at his studio."

An image of that big bed upstairs at Pierre's flashed in my
brain. "I guess."

"You were poking your nose into something that doesn't
concern you."

"It does too concern me," I shot back, feeling like
a five-year-old arguing with another five-year-old.

Bradley scowled. "I've told you, this is my mess, and
I'll take care of it. You are not to get involved. Now, I'll ask you again: Why
did you put yourself in a chancy position over my affairs?"

Because I love you, you fool! "Because you're my boss,
and I don't want to lose my job if they throw you in jail for something you
didn't do."

That gave him pause. He stared at me to see if I were telling
the truth. I stared back.

He lowered his voice to a deadly calm. "You will lose
your job, Miss Bennett, if you investigate Suzie Wexford's murder and I find
out about it."

"What?"

"I've told you not to do it, so you'd be going directly
against my orders. Have I made myself clear?"

Men and their pride! "Why must you feel this way? I
solved that other murder. I can help you."

"You almost got yourself killed with your investigating,
if you recall. I won't have you put your life in danger again. I don't need you
to help; do you understand?"

My body felt as if it were shrinking into itself. He didn't
need me. "Yes, I comprehend what you're saying, Mr. Williams. If I may
go, I do have work to accomplish."

He opened the door. "Good idea. Drink your milk and eat
your apple too, kid."

I couldn't decide whether the itching in my hands meant that
I wanted to smack him, choke him, or thrust the scissors Danielle had left out
into my own heart.

I decided Bradley had already done the latter, threatening to
fire me, and took a big crunchy bite out of my apple.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Bradley was irrational, I reminded myself, stricken with
shock and grief. I mustn't hold it against him that he was behaving like the
most pigheaded, willful, stubborn mule I'd ever come across.

The phone rang.

"Ryan Modeling Agency, Bebe Bennett speaking."

"Now that's a pretty name, Bebe Bennett. Miss Bennett,
how'd you like to make a lot of cash, fast? All I need are your thoughts on the
man who killed Suzie Wexford—"

I cut him off. "Since I don't know who that man is, I
cannot help you. Please do not call here again." I hung up.

The phone rang again.

I jerked it to my ear. "The agency is grieving Miss
Wexford's death, and we have no further comment—"

"Bebe! It's me, Darlene."

I sighed. "Hi, Darlene. I thought you were another
reporter."

"Been calling all day, have they?"

"Yes, although I was out part of the afternoon, so I
don't know exactly how bad it's been."

"You sound like you're in the dumps."

I lowered my voice in case Bradley should sneak up on me.
"Bradley chewed me out for going over to Pierre's studio. I had a valid
reason to go, but of course I did a little snooping."

"What'd you find?"

"Some very interesting facts. Pierre was a mess, sobbing
his heart out. He asked me to go upstairs to the bathroom to get some tissues.
Get this: Smashed framed photos of Suzie lined the wall, and I found her
bracelet—the one Bradley gave her—on the bathroom vanity."

"Suzie's pictures were smashed? Sounds like someone has
quite a temper. What about the bracelet? Did you five-finger it?"

I patted the pocket in my dress to make sure the bracelet was
still there. "I did."

"Good girl!"

"I like to think I'm borrowing a piece of
evidence."

"That's right. Pierre didn't need it. You'll look better
wearing it. It proves Suzie was in Pierre's upstairs bathroom."

"We already know they were having an affair, and I'm not
going to wear the bracelet. At some point I'll return it to Bradley."

"At any rate, we'll talk about Pierre later. I took the
liberty of going through your clothes to find something for you to wear
tonight on your big date."

I chuckled. "Okay, Edith Head. What did you come up
with?"

"The perfect dress: your royal-blue chiffon, the one
with spaghetti straps, fitted waist, flirty skirt, and folds of chiffon around
the bust area to, er, fill you out."

"I haven't been brave enough to wear that one yet, but I
will tonight. A problem might be the shoes—"

"Covered. You've got a sexy pair of silver sandals with
kitten heels, and I've got the clutch to go with them."

"Oh, Darlene! That sounds pretty."

"Correction, honey. It sounds sexy."

"Darlene, it's my first date with Louis," I
reminded her. "I don't want to come across as fast."

She laughed. "Don't worry; you won't. You'll look
gorgeous. Don't forget what I told you about men and royal blue. They can't
resist a woman wearing that color."

I laughed. "If you say so. I'd better
leave work right at five, since I got caught in that drizzle and my hair is a
mess."

"Lots of Aqua Net hair spray will do
the trick. Oh, and I left out a tube of lipstick that matches the hot- pink
nail polish you have on."

"Thanks, but does this mean you won't
be home when I get there?"

"Cole's taking me to dinner. He
doesn't know it yet, but afterward we're going down to the Village for a Bottom
Painting. It's all the rage," she said, and giggled.

"A Bottom Painting?" I asked in
disbelief.

"I don't know if I'll see you tonight
or not, but we'll catch up and I'll tell you all about it. Bye."

"Bye." I hung up, thinking that
Darlene might stay overnight with Cole. How could I get her back with Stu? I'd
puzzle over that one later.

The rest of the day flew, and at quarter to
five I knocked on Bradley's door.

"Come in."

I found him in the process of pulling on
his suit jacket.

"Mr. Williams, I'll be leaving in a
few minutes. Is there anything you need before I go?"

"No, thank you. I'm headed home
myself." He pulled his London Fog raincoat from his personal closet,
dropping a navy-blue wool scarf in the process. "Just close the door
behind you when you leave. I'll see you later."

"Good night." I eyed the scarf,
then peeked out the door. Bradley entered the elevator, and the doors closed
behind him.

I picked up the scarf, held it to my face,
and breathed in. My fingers trembled as I smelled his lime aftershave, and
apparently my heart thought it was running from Dracula, because it was beating
so fast.

Looking both ways to be sure the coast was
clear, I darted from Bradley's office to my credenza and slipped the scarf into
my purse. I was becoming quite the kleptomaniac, but I assured myself that I was simply
borrowing the items and would return them. Bradley had no need for a wool
scarf in this spring weather, and Suzie wasn't going to miss her bracelet now.

I didn't know why I wanted to keep Bradley's scarf for a
little while. It seemed such a pathetic, childish thing to do, like a toddler
with a favorite blanket. In my own defense, I was going out with Louis tonight,
taking a step away from my adoration of Bradley. Yet my conscience tweaked me.
Was it fair to go out with Louis while feeling the way I did about Bradley?

Deciding to continue this internal debate on the subway, I
gathered my things and headed toward the elevator.

The phone rang.

I stopped in my tracks and then, sighing, I went back to
answer it.

"Ryan Modeling Agency, Miss Bennett speaking."

A male voice said, "I tried to call Gina, but she must
have gone for the day."

"And you are?"

"Jack Norton. I'm supposed to be at the photo
shoot—"

"Yes, I remember. The B. Altman's shoot at Lincoln
Center tomorrow morning."

"I can't make it."

"Why not?"

"Gee, you sound just like Gina except with a Southern
accent. I'm sick."

"You don't sound sick. What's wrong?"

"Hey, I don't need some hayseed holding my toes to the
fire, okay, lady?"

I clenched the receiver. "And I don't need a model, who
is supposed to be a professional, canceling out on this agency at the last
minute without a darn good reason."

His voice rose. "I'm going on a barge party off Long
Island tonight, and I expect to be boozed and passed out somewhere in the
Hamptons at ten in the morning. That a good enough reason for you?"

The nerve of him! "Very well, Mr.
Norton, I'll leave Gina a note. Before I keep you from your party, can you give
me your trouser and shirt sizes?"

"Thirty-two-inch waist, size fifteen
shirt." He hung up without saying good-bye.

I leaned against my desk. Darn it! There
were four girls and four guys in that shoot. I'd have to find someone else,
and quickly.

My thoughts turned to Louis. I'd ask him
tonight if he would like the assignment. Perhaps if Bradley observed me
handling this situation competently, he would let me go on the Virgin Islands
shoot in his place.

Unless I caught a break in the case.

Poor Louis. The man wasn't going to have
the full attention of his companion tonight.

Waiting for the elevator, I still couldn't
help but wonder how Bradley would feel if he knew his "kid" secretary
had a date with a handsome male model.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Once home, I tried to take a quick bath, but all the water
kept running out of the tub despite the plug. I gave up and took what Mama
called a kitty-cat bath, using the washcloth. While drying off, I spotted a
note from Darlene next to a perfume bottle.