B004183M70 EBOK (23 page)

I lowered my head. "Thanks. I needed
that right now."

She regarded me sharply. "Your man
didn't try to—"

"No," I told her, and smiled. I
gave her a brief hug. "I didn't mean to upset you. He just found out that
he'd been grieving for something that was never there. He's hurt and angry, and
took it out on me."

"Men. They are wretched things."

I patted her shoulder. "Now, where
have I heard that before?"

"Bebe! What are you doing behind the
buffet table? Checking the food? Because, you know, I'm the expert at
that."

Debbie Ann, dressed in a black shirtwaist
dress and a small black pillbox hat with a red feather, had arrived.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

"Just a sec, Debbie Ann, and I'll come around to
talk."

I murmured my excuses to Maria, and found
my way to Debbie Ann's side. Remembering what Danielle had said about how
Debbie Ann and Suzie didn't get along, I wondered for a moment why she was
here. Then it dawned on me: the gossip!

"How are you, Debbie Ann? Did you go
to Suzie's memorial?" I asked, reaching her side.

"I'm fine, thank you," she said,
then took a deep breath. "I always enjoy good health because of my diet,
Bebe, and yes, I did attend Suzie's memorial. I can well imagine what her parents
are going through, having lost a child of my own. I went out of respect for the
Wexfords and Pierre, though I never understood what he saw in such an immoral
person," she said, talking nonstop. "But never mind about me. I saw
you with—I cannot speak his name—your boss. You looked upset. Are you all
right? Because if you're not, I'll take you to my home and give you something
good to eat, and we'll think about getting another job for you."

"No, no, I'm okay, but thanks for the
offer," I hastened to say. "And I'm so very sorry for your own loss.
It must have been agony."

"I try not to think about it or
discuss it. Bebe, I worry about you," Debbie Ann said. "You are young and vulnerable. Your boss has quite a reputation and is
almost ten years older than you."

Boy, was I sick of people commenting on my
age. Before she could go on, I said, "Debbie Ann, I'm twenty-two years old
and capable of taking care of myself. People underestimate me. As for Mr. Williams,
I don't believe for a second that he killed Suzie."

Debbie Ann smoothed her hair. "That's
not what the rest of us think, dear, including the police. I even told that
nice detective that I think Bradley Williams is too handsome for his own good.
Use reason, Bebe. If he didn't kill Suzie, who did?"

At that moment I spotted Pierre's
beret-covered head over by the bar. I wanted to talk to him.

"Bebe?" Debbie Ann said,
following my gaze.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I replied
absently. "I don't know yet who killed Suzie, but I can assure you it
wasn't Mr. Williams. You're a kind person. Please give him the benefit of the
doubt."

"Bebe, forgive me for speaking to you
like a mother. I sense you don't have much of a social life. Perhaps you might
have a crush on your boss that's clouding your judgment. Mr. Williams and Suzie
were having an affair. I think she pushed him away, and he killed her in a
moment of passion. Men used to getting their way can snap when they don't.
That's what I told the detective."

Darn her for talking to Detective Finelli!
There was no way I was going to be able to change Debbie Ann's mind about
Bradley, and I didn't want her to know my feelings for him. I shook my head.
"Oh, no, you're mistaken about me, Debbie Ann. I'm a single girl, enjoying
the single life in Manhattan. I have no illusions. Don't worry," I said,
and smiled. "If you'll excuse me, I see Pierre Benoit, and I desperately
want to speak to him."

"Pierre? You're not talking to him
about Suzie's death, I hope. He's grieving," Debbie Ann went on.

"Before all this happened, I tried to point out to
Pierre that your boss had won Suzie's affections—"

"Agency business; excuse me," I
broke in. "I'd love to hear your thoughts on the food here. I'll find you
later." I dashed away.

I was so mad at Debbie Ann for being Mrs.
Nosy Homemaker, going to Finelli, I could remove all the food from her kitchen
set and replace it with hot dogs! Debbie Ann intruded in everyone's life.

Then I felt bad. She didn't have a family
of her own. Maybe her meddling was just her way of trying to be helpful. I
would try to find her later, and I'd listen to a sure-to-be-long speech on the
evils of the buffet food.

I scooted through the crowd toward the bar.
About halfway there, I saw Pierre with a militant look on his face, talking to
Lola.

I barged right in and interrupted them.
"Hi, Pierre, Lola," I said, and gave Pierre a quick kiss on the
cheek. I noticed his eyes were red, his nose swollen, and that he held a drink,
probably not his first, and a handkerchief in his hands.

"Bebe, are you responsible for this
reception?" he asked.

"Um, yes. Is everything okay?"

He took my hand and kissed it.
"Magnificent, my cherie. Elegant and fitting for my Suzie. As a Frenchman,
I do regret the lack of wine, but I'm enjoying my bourbon."

I noticed he didn't call Suzie his
"fiancee," as he had at the memorial. How could I bring that up now?
Besides, I couldn't ignore Lola.

"Lola, you look beautiful," I
said, and meant it. The blonde had on a black bouffant dress, tight through the
bodice, the skirt puffed out, and her hair was swept into a beehive. Even
better, her smoky gray eyes were clear.

"Thank you, Bebe. I was just telling
Pierre that I haven't been drinking. I took your suggestion about alcohol, and
I've been exercising, eating well, and getting plenty of sleep. I think I'm in top form," Lola
concluded.

"And you are going to continue this
behavior, and not fail me in this cursed photo shoot in the Virgin
Islands?" Pierre asked, a strong hint of mockery in his voice.

Lola kept her temper. "Yes, I am,
Pierre. Because I am Ryan's top model now that Suzie is dead, and I intend to
regain the Breck Girl contract, magazine covers, and all the plum assignments I
lost to her. I hope you'll be my photographer, Pierre, since the best should
work with the best."

Uh-oh.

Pierre's face turned that shade of purple I
saw on Daddy when he was about to explode with anger. He hissed words at Lola.
"How can you speak in such a selfish way?"

To my surprise, Lola did not let Pierre's
anger affect her outwardly. But then I thought I understood: Lola needed Pierre
to make her look her best. She would not make an enemy out of him. Maybe she
even wanted to take Suzie's place in his bed. She needed to watch her mouth
about Suzie, though.

"Pierre," Lola said in a consoling
tone. "I'm sorry. You're right. I've been thinking of my own future. I
know the great love you and Suzie shared, and I don't mean to diminish it in
any way. Remember, you eventually healed after Kiki. You're a young and
attractive man. There will be someone else. A new lover is what you need."

Who was Kiki? More important, Lola was
stroking Pierre's ego like I stroked my first pet kitten when I was six years
old. She was one determined woman. Suddenly I remembered what Gloria had told
me about the lengths to which models would go for stardom. Again I remembered
that night in the cab, when Lola had said she'd strangle Suzie. And her alibi
was that she'd been with a friend.

In that instant, Lola rose to the top of my
suspect list.

Pierre addressed Lola but looked at me.
"Maybe you're right."

She reached out and gave Pierre a hug, all
the while rolling her eyes at me.

"There," she said. "I'm
going to make my way out of here, boys and girls. We leave at seven tonight for
the Virgin Islands! Being in such paradise will take our minds off our
troubles. All right, Pierre?"

He paused for a moment, then nodded.
"I'll see you on the plane, Lola."

"Groovy!" She beamed and walked
away. Both Pierre and I watched as she smiled and hugged people—clients, I
guessed—on her way to the door. Lola was the happiest girl at the reception.

Why shouldn't she be? Lola had the most to
gain from Suzie's death. If she was the one who pulled the Pucci scarf around
Suzie's neck, strangling her, she had no qualms about Bradley taking the heat.
I decided that Lola and I were going to be the very best of friends, confiding
friends, in the islands.

Past two o'clock, the crowd thinned.

I spoke to Pierre. "You made sure to
get your photograph of Suzie back from the church?"

"Yes, I had my assistant take it back
to my studio," he said. "Will you join me for a drink, Bebe? You've
been kind, and I appreciate a woman of your beauty, your intelligence."

Uh-oh. Could Pierre be thinking of Lola's
advice to take another lover? Me? Surely not.

I placed my hand on his sleeve. "Do
you think that's wise, Pierre? I'll bet you haven't been able to eat anything.
Why don't you wait until you're on the plane to drink? I have it on good
authority that you're going to be pampered on your flight."

He smiled. "I suppose you arranged
that too."

I smiled back. "Of course I did."

Pierre sighed. "You're right; I
haven't eaten anything all day. I wish you were coming with us tonight, such a
charming thing as you are. Who is going to be in charge of the shoot? Not that
murderer, your boss, of that I am certain. You should come to work for me, Bebe.
Your kindness warms my heart."

First Dirk, now Pierre. "How sweet,
Pierre, thank you. Your tribute to Suzie at the memorial was so moving. You
know, I didn't even realize the two of you were engaged until you called her
your fiancee."

He looked away. "If you don't mind,
Bebe, I don't wish to speak of it at length. Let us say that we had a lovers'
quarrel over the time Suzie spent with that man. You must have noticed when you
came to my studio that I had broken the glass of a few photos."

"I really didn't pay much
attention," I fibbed.

"When one is French, one does things
out of passion." He shrugged. "I have my temper just like anyone
else. Suzie came to me Friday night. She told me how much she loved me, and she
accepted my ring."

"That's a wonderful story—I mean
memory—that you'll always have," I said, wondering what really went on
Friday night. Was that when Suzie left her bracelet in Pierre's bathroom? Was
Pierre lying to save face in society?

I glanced around for Bradley and found him
standing alone against the far wall, drinking. Security men patrolled the
room, most of them in Bradley's direct vicinity.

I needed to get Pierre out of here, before
he saw Bradley and caused a hideous scene.

"Pierre, have you paid your respects
to the Wexfords?"

His mouth formed a sneer. "They were
unwilling to talk to me. They are provincials who wanted to keep Suzie from the
world. The fools would have let her marry that barbarian Jeff Granford."

"Luckily Suzie came to New York,"
I said. I put my arm around his shoulder. "You must be exhausted. Why
don't you go home and rest for a while before the flight. Order in a meal. You
mustn't neglect yourself. Suzie wouldn't have wanted that."

"Is it what you want, Bebe?"

"Of course."

He put his arm around my shoulder, and I
walked him to the door. I had a moment of fear when I saw Scott Roberts nearby,
but Pierre had his gaze on the floor. I also saw Darlene and Cole. I held up my
left index finger, and Darlene nodded. She knew I wanted to talk to her.

Pierre and I exited the ballroom, and he
turned me toward him. "What can I do to convince you to be on that flight
tonight, Bebe? I want you with me."

"I'll see what I can manage. You
promise to get something to eat?"

"Yes, my cherie," he said, and
kissed me on both cheeks.

I waited until he was out of sight, then
turned back to the ballroom to find Darlene. Scott Roberts and a man I didn't
know were coming straight toward me.

On impulse, I said, "Mr. Roberts, may
I introduce myself?"

The man had the lightest blond hair I'd
ever seen. "What's it about?" he asked, his pale blue eyes cold.

"I want to talk to you about doing
some modeling," I blurted.

Disdain was written across his small
features.

"Come on, Scott, give her a
chance," his companion said. He was an older man, maybe in his
mid-fifties, with dark hair liberally streaked with gray. His nose bore the
signs of a heavy drinker, but he had a twinkle in his brown eyes. He reached
out his hand for me to shake. "I'm Tony Arturo from Thom McAn shoes."

"Hi, Mr. Arturo," I said, shaking
his hand. "I'm Bebe Bennett, and I love your shoe line."

"See there, Scott?" Mr. Arturo
said. "A lady with taste."

Scott let out an impatient sigh. "Miss
Bennett, the models I work with are mostly blondes, taller than you, and—"