B004183M70 EBOK (21 page)

I overestimated my abilities. About eight
hundred people had decided to attend Suzie's memorial service. More would be at
the reception at the Legends Hotel. There, I told myself, I would have better
luck at seeking people out.

To my surprise, four NYPD officers in dress
uniform were positioned at the front, standing next to Detective Finelli.

Darlene was here somewhere with Cole.

Celebrities arrived at the last minute and
were ushered to the roped-off section in the front pews. I had to hold back a gasp as Truman Capote, the author of Breakfast
at Tiffany's, arrived.

Lola came in, followed by Edie
Sedgwick—wearing a tiny black vinyl miniskirt—who made an entrance with Andy
Warhol.

Bishop Donegan began the service promptly
at eleven.

While he spoke of Suzie's humble
beginnings, I noticed that Pierre had made good on his promise. The
silver-framed photograph of Suzie had been placed on a high stand for everyone
to see.

When the bishop finished speaking, Pierre
took the microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, friends of Suzie, I am at a loss
for words to describe my grief over the cruel way my fiancee has been ripped
from my side," he began dramatically. Pierre had every ear in the church.

Into the silence, a man yelled,
"No!"

A general gasp came from the people
assembled, including me. Gloria had told me that Suzie had turned down Pierre's
proposal. Suzie had been out with Bradley the very next night. Someone was
lying.

Pierre carried on. "The night before
her brutal murder, Suzie had agreed to become my wife."

The photographer droned on about the
couple's love. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Whispers went around the
church like the soft sound of a light breeze ruffling new leaves.

Pierre kept at it for thirty minutes, his
words punctuated by bouts of sobs. Finally, overcome, he stumbled back to his
seat.

A series of people took the microphone and
briefly expressed their sentiments. One of them introduced himself as Scott
Roberts. Suzie's first photographer was a slim man of medium height with very
light blond hair.

"I suppose you could say that I'm the
person responsible for Suzie's rise to stardom. She sent me candid
shots—"

An older man in the first pew rose and
shook his fist at Roberts. "Suzie would be alive today if you hadn't
lured—"

He broke off when Bishop Donegan stepped to
his side, speaking to him and guiding him gently back into his seat next to a
gray-haired lady. The Wexfords.

Scott Roberts heaved a sigh, then
surrendered the microphone to a husky man who promptly burst into noisy tears.
Everyone waited.

"My name is Jeff Granford. I'm from
Omaha. Suz and I were high school sweethearts, and she was engaged to
me," he declared. In his early twenties, the ex-football quarterback still
retained a muscular build and must have been over six feet tall.

He continued in a high voice that didn't
match his beefed-up body. "We were homecoming king and queen. The two of
us planned a wedding; then she sent those pictures to you, Mr. Roberts. You
ruined our lives! I hate you and what you did to my Suz! I could punch your
light out right here!" he yelled. "And wait until I get my hands on
you, Bradley Williams!"

Police officers marched over and restrained
Jeff Granford, taking him with them to the side of the church.

Bradley took the microphone. I held my breath,
fearing a physical attack on him

Dressed in a sleek black suit, white shirt,
and black tie, he did not introduce himself. "We at Ryan Modeling are in
mourning for our star model. Miss Wexford was a consummate professional, a
beauty and talent that come to light only once in a decade. We are grateful
that she chose to shine her light through the assignments our agency easily
obtained for her. To say that she will be missed would be an understatement.
Thank you."

My gaze darted to the Wexfords for a
reaction, but there was none, perhaps out of respect for the bishop.

Pierre, however, shouted,
"
Menteur
!"

At that moment, the choir began singing
"Amazing Grace," drowning out any further outbursts. I didn't
understand what Pierre had said, but I could feel the anger behind the word.

I slipped out of the church and whistled
for a cab. I wanted to get to the Legends and make sure everything was in
order before the crowd arrived.

Thank goodness I had arranged for a dozen
of the hotel's security staff to be on hand.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

I rushed into the Grand Ballroom of the Legends Hotel. The
hotel had a long, glamorous history, including famous star guests. The
brown-and-gold decor was up-to-the minute in fashion, the hotel having been renovated
the previous year.

The large double doors to the elegant Grand Ballroom stood
open, a mistake I corrected immediately.

"Bebe!" a female voice called from behind the long
buffet table, which was covered in creaseless white linen.

"Maria!" I answered, and hugged her across the
table. "How have you been?"

The last time I'd seen the dark-haired girl, she'd been in a
lot of trouble with a bad boyfriend. When Bradley and I had been working at
Rip-City Records, I'd arranged for Maria to have extra waitressing work at the
Legends to help her out.

"I'm so happy I can see you in person and tell you how
much you changed my life," Maria gushed.

"I hardly did anything," I said.

"I took your advice. I never saw that man I told you
about again. The Legends likes my work so much, they give me plenty of hours.
And I moved back in with my parents."

"How is that going?"

"Fine. They're wonderful people, Bebe. I was just
man-crazy and wanted to get away. Now I see it's better for me to stay home a
little longer." Her brown eyes lit from within. "I'm going to school
in the fall."

"That's fantastic!" I exclaimed.

"I want to be a secretary, like
you," Maria said. Then a sad look crossed her face. "I wanted to go
to the best secretarial school, but they don't take people like me."

"What do you mean . . . ?" I
started; then it dawned on me. Maria meant they didn't take Puerto Ricans.
"That's shameful, Maria."

She smiled. "I'll show them by being
the best student in my school."

"Good for you! How's the buffet coming
along?" I asked, observing other waitresses bringing out food. Large
crystal chandeliers throughout the ballroom threw prisms of light on the silver
platters.

"This is quite a feast," Maria
promised. "The chef has been a lunatic ordering his assistants
around."

Together we walked down the line, passing
cold antipasto platters, smoked-salmon rolls with cream cheese, imported
cheeses with crackers, all manner of cut fruit, miniature crab cakes, shrimp
cocktail, and even steak tartare—the latter I thought was icky. The next long
table contained the desserts. Cheesecake, chocolate cake, apple pie, an
assortment of fancy cookies, and even a selection of ice cream. Women in
brown-and-gold uniforms lined up behind the tables, ready to serve the guests.

On the opposite side, behind a table
holding a huge roast beef, a man in a chefs hat waited. Four free bars were
next. I had suggested we serve only wine, but Bradley had scoffed at me.
Another table contained soft drinks.

Small round tables with the hotel's
signature L embroidered in gold on brown cloth were scattered throughout the
room, holding ashtrays.

"This is decadent, Maria," I
said, and laughed.

"Don't worry, Bebe; you could stand to
put on a few pounds."

"Are you kidding? I'm drinking Tab
now, watching my figure like a hawk— Oh, Maria, I see the security guards
coming in that back door. I need to speak to them."

"Anything you need me to watch out
for? I think you're more than a secretary," Maria said, giving me a knowing
look.

I laughed. "Not really, but ... I
don't know if you remember my boss, Bradley Williams. He's tall and lean, with
dirty-blond hair and—"

Maria held up a hand. "Who could
forget a man who makes every woman's knees weak?"

We giggled.

"Is he yours yet?" Maria asked.

I stopped giggling. "No. I'm still
working on it. Anyway, he's in trouble for something he didn't do. There may
be people here who want to hurt him. If you could keep an eye on him—"

"Oh, keeping an eye on that one would
be a pleasure."

"Thanks. See you later. Oh, can I
leave my hat with you? Just slip it under the table, okay?"

"Sure."

I glanced at my watch. Shocked to see it
was almost one, I turned in my tracks and scrambled across the ballroom. I
threw open the doors and gasped.

"Miss Bennett, I wondered how long you
would keep me locked out," Bradley said. Looking as sleek as an ice cube
in a pitcher of dry martinis, he entered the room. "Any problems?"

"That's why I came early and kept the
doors shut. I didn't want to allow people inside until I was satisfied the
Legends had followed my instructions."

"Good work, kid," he said, then
went directly to the bar.

Curious, I edged closer. Bradley gave the
bartender instructions for a martini. I held back a smile. Was he a James Bond
fan like me? If he told the bartender he wanted his martini shaken, not stirred
. . . The bartender shook the stainless-steel pitcher. I giggled. Well, James
Bond Bradley wasn't, no matter the drink, since he was leaving the darn murder
investigation to Mr. Pickering! Though Bradley was much more handsome than
James Bond.

I blew out a breath of air and strode over
to the security guards. I introduced myself, told them what I
wanted, and discreetly pointed out Bradley. We had only a few seconds, as
people began streaming inside.

I sprinted back across the room so that I
could talk to Jeff Granford before he got drunk. I had a feeling everyone was
going to be sloshed before long.

I saw Jeff and followed him to the bar, leaning
up against it casually. "I'll take a whiskey, straight," Jeff told
the bartender.

While waiting for the drink, he looked to
his right, and then to his left, and bingo, there I was.

"Oh, is that you, Mr. Granford?"
I asked innocently.

He gave me the once-over. "Yeah, it's
me."

I gazed into his reddened eyes and said,
"The way you talked about Suzie at the memorial positively made my eyes
fill with tears." I had a more pronounced Southern accent when I was
playing a role.

"Call me Jeff," he said, accepting
his drink and downing half of it in one swallow.

His huge body made me feel like an elf
beside him. And if he drank like that all the time, Scott Roberts had probably
saved Suzie from a rough life. Jeffs face was more than rugged; he looked like
a boxer. There was something about his nose. Maybe it had been broken.

"Thank you, Jeff. Suzie and I didn't
know each other," I lied, fingers crossed behind my back, "but I
thought she was a beautiful girl. Your heart must have been broken when she
left Omaha."

Jeff finished his drink and flashed the
empty glass at the bartender for a refill. He waited until he received it,
took a gulp, and looked into the liquid, as if seeing something there other
than whiskey. "I followed her to New York immediately. I've been here all
along trying to convince her to come home with me, have a houseful of our
babies. She said she would, that I just had to wait."

"When was she planning to go back to
Omaha?" I asked softly so as not to break his concentration.

"We didn't know for sure. Suz told me
that models havea shelf life like food. When she couldn't get work
anymore, we'd have plenty of money to take back with us to buy a big
house."

Suzie? Leave New York? Ha! Only for London
or Paris. "Did you see each other often?"

His meaty face turned red. "Whenever
she could get away from that son of a bitch Scott Roberts. He rented a room to
her. I wanted her to stay with me, but Suz said it would be better for her
career if we kept our relationship a secret. When she got her own place, we
were together whenever she didn't have work or business dinners. Suz worked so
hard; she never had more than an afternoon or evening here or there to spend
with me."

"You have those times to
remember," I said, thinking back to what Gloria had told me about Suzie
keeping an old boyfriend around for nostalgia's sake. Looking at the man in
front of me, I couldn't imagine Suzie doing anything for "nostalgia."
Jeff was more like bad news that wouldn't go away. Maybe he was one man Suzie
couldn't control.

"I can't believe we won't have our
family now." He gulped the rest of his second drink, turned from the bar,
and burst into tears. My purse was jammed with tissues for this reception. I
pulled one out and handed it to him. Although he accepted it, great, wrenching
sobs came from the big man.