B004183M70 EBOK (29 page)

Darlene walked us out of the police station
and hailed a cab.

"Bebe," she said over
"Return to Sender" playing on the cab's radio, "stop worrying
about what Detective Finelli thinks. Let's focus on our next move. We've got a
lot of work to do."

I rolled down my window and let the spring
breeze cool my face. "What are we going to do, Darlene?"

"Once I'm back with Stu—which will be
tonight— he'll help us," she said with confidence. "There's got to be
a way Stu can get to Lola, find out exactly where she was the night Suzie was
killed."

"Okay."

"As for that lying bitch Gloria, you
need to confront her. See if you can figure out why she wanted you put away. I
don't buy that nightclub alibi for a second."

"Neither do I," I said. "I
can't believe I never seriously considered her a suspect before."

"You trusted her too quickly. Gloria's
one of our chief suspects now," Darlene said.

We reached our building. Darlene paid the
cabbie. Behind her back I looked around for Harry, but didn't see him.

Upstairs, I called Danielle again and asked
if Bradley had come in. He hadn't, but at least the staff would shortly know
he was out of jail.

Darlene took the phone from my hands and
called Stu.

I sat on the pink sectional, tired,
confused, and feeling guilty that I'd posed for those photos in Saint Thomas.

"Stu's going to fix me dinner on his
hibachi," Darlene said.

"I'll bet he was happy you
called."

"Yeah. He's going to be even happier
when I walk in wearing what I plan to wear," Darlene said smugly. "I
have to shower and get ready. What are you going to do?"

"I'm beat. I need to type up my notes
on the Dur- den swimwear shoot, but I think I'll go to the office tomorrow for
that. I'm going to confession and Mass."

Darlene patted my shoulder. "Sounds
like what you need is peace and quiet. Then we'll put our plans into
action."

I left the apartment after donning an ivory
hat.

The priest was kind, Mass filled me with
hope, and I gave Harry two quarters upon my return home.

I couldn't eat. I drank a glass of milk and
changed into a light nightgown. I pulled my secret steno pad out from under the
cushion of the Banana chair. Spotting Bradley's blue scarf, I picked it up and
carried it with me to bed, breathing in his lime cologne.

I flipped open to the page in the steno pad
where I had listed my "fun things to do in New York," written while
I still lived in Richmond. I hadn't had time to do many—take the ferry to see
the Statue of Libery, go to the top of the Empire State Building, float a
sailboat in Central Park. But I had attended Mass at St. Patrick's and
window-shopped on Fifth Avenue. I crossed those off the list.

I looked down at the last entry I'd written
since I'd arrived and met Bradley: Kiss one certain guy next to the clock in
the lobby of the Waldorf-Astoria.

I closed the steno pad and tossed it onto
the chair.

Would Bradley come into the office Monday?

Should I call him at home?

What if Debbie Ann was right, and his
replacement was on the way?

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

My eyes flew open. A great pounding on the apartment door
had brought me to consciousness. Funny, I hadn't heard the intercom buzzer.

I threw on my robe and peeked in Darlene's
room. Empty. Whatever she wore to Stu's last night must have been one hot
number, since it was late in the morning and she still wasn't home.

Standing at the front door, I said,
"Who is it?"

Daddy's voice bellowed from the other side:
"Your parents. Open the door, young lady. This building has no
security."

Uh-oh.

"Yes, it does. Someone else must have
opened the building door." I undid the three locks on the door and swung
it wide.

"Mama!" I said, throwing myself into
her arms. She smelled like Shalimar cologne, her favorite.

Grace Bennett, my mama, was dressed
impeccably in a two-piece, cocoa-colored, long-sleeved suit Attached to her
right shoulder was a big gold flower pin with a seed-pearl center. She
collected pretty pins. Styled in short curls, her dark hair capped her head. I
couldn't remember the number of times I'd gone with her to the same beauty
parlor on Broad Street in Richmond, and watched her get her hair done.

She kissed my cheek, then held me at arm's
distance—she was five foot two compared with my five-foot seven. Her weight had climbed until she was now plump.
"Let me look at my baby girl."

"Can we come in?" Daddy asked.
"We spent all yesterday on the train."

"Sure," I said, stepping aside.
"You came in last night?"

"Yes, dear. I'm so happy to find you
in one piece." Mama smiled. "Earl, isn't this the cutest apartment? I
do adore that pink sectional, Bebe. I remember when you wrote to us about
it."

Confused and not fully awake, I asked,
"Where did you stay last night? Why didn't you tell me you were
coming?"

Daddy's face turned a scary shade of
purple. A veteran of World War II, he walked around the small living room with
a stiff, military bearing. He had iron-gray hair and dwarfed Mama with his husky
six-foot- one-inch frame.

"Your mother and I hadn't heard from
you since I called you Monday night. You told me that boss of yours, Williams,
hadn't killed that fancy model. Then I read in Thursday morning's paper that
the playboy has been arrested," Daddy said, taking his suit jacket off and
tossing it over the sofa.

"We were so worried, Bebe," Mama
said. "I tried to call you all day and night Thursday, but there was no
answer. When your father decided to take the train and find out where you were,
I came with him, though you know how I hate to travel out of Virginia and leave
all my plants and flowers."

"Please sit down," I said.
"I'm sorry to have worried you. There was a photo shoot in Saint Thomas,
and I got to go along," I said in a cheerful tone.

Mama put her hand to her throat.
"Aren't there wild natives and animals in those islands?"

Daddy said, "You flew on a plane
again? And you've been working for that playboy Williams—I met him; I know what
I'm talking about—with him being a murderer?"

I spread my hands out in front of me.
"Saint Thomas was lovely, Mama, and I was only there one day. Darlene went
with me. Mr. Williams got arrested because the case hasn't been investigated
properly. His lawyer has already had the judge release him from jail." I
stopped and smiled. "So where did you say you're staying?"

"All these hotels are the same,"
Daddy pronounced. "We're at that Legends Hotel where I was last time.
Tomorrow being Mother's Day"—here Daddy shot me a meaningful look—"I
thought they'd have a nice brunch for us after Mass."

I barely refrained from clapping my hand
over my mouth. Mother's Day! I had completely forgotten.

Mama took my bare hand in her white-gloved
one. "You'll change jobs now, won't you, dear? Or even come back home? I
can't like the idea of your living in such a big city with all manner of
criminals and a fast crowd. You have your reputation to think about, and you
know what I've taught you over the years about a girl's reputation."

"Mama, I'm happy here," I said
gently, looking into her brown eyes. "You know that. Mr. Williams is a
good man, and Darlene is my very best friend. My reputation is fine,
honest."

At that moment the key turned in the lock
of the apartment door. Darlene bounced into the room, grinning. I took one
look at her, closed my eyes for second, then opened them again.

She had on a wild, two-piece outfit,
skintight, in swirls of yellow, pink, turquoise, and black. The top ended just
under her bra. Her entire midriff was exposed, as the bottom half, a pair of
pants, sat snugly on her hips.

Daddy and I stood up.

Darlene smiled at Daddy, then rushed over
and balanced on her tiptoes to gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Hi, Mr.
Bennett. And you must be Mrs. Bennett. You and Bebe look so much alike."

I saw Mama's gloved hands clasp together
tightly, never a good sign. "Yes, I'm Bebe's mother. You must be
Miss Roland."

Daddy hadn't taken his eyes off her figure.

Darlene, oblivious to the reaction her
entrance was causing, said, "Oh, call me Darlene, Mrs. Bennett. Bebe, you
didn't tell me your parents were coming for a visit. We could have arranged for
Broadway show tickets. Heck, it might not be too late. I can ask Stu."

"We're not here to be entertained.
We're concerned about Bebe's welfare," Daddy said.

Darlene gave a lopsided grin, then put her
arm around me and gave me a little shake. "Bebe's doing fiiiiine. She's a
big girl now. You don't have to sweat it. Just the other day she was working a
hot-dog stand for a friend, and this—"

Mama's gloved hand went to her heart.
"Hot-dog stand?"

"Darlene! I don't think Mama and Daddy
would be interested in that silly story," I said sharply.

She giggled. "You're right, Bebe.
Well, I'm just here to change clothes. Stu is taking me out for lunch. I hope
you all enjoy your stay in New York, Mr. and Mrs. Bennett," she chirped,
then went into her room and closed the door.

I turned to my parents.

Mama's coral-colored lips pursed. Her hands
were clenched so tight, I thought she might break a finger or, at the very
least, split a glove.

Daddy opened his mouth to deliver what I
was sure would be a scathing speech.

Quickly, I said the one thing that would
defuse the situation. "Gosh, I sure am hungry."

Mama sprang from the sofa like a
jack-in-the-box. "I'll make you breakfast, or lunch. It's after eleven,
dear. What have you got in your refrigerator?"

I blocked her path to the kitchen.
"Nothing, really. I, ah, planned to go grocery shopping today. And I had
some notes to type up at the office about the photo shoot."

The latter was true. I did need to go to
the office for about half an hour and type my report. Also, if I could slip
away for a little while, I could pick up a Mother's Day gift for Mama.

Daddy patted his big belly. "Little
Magnolia, why don't you put on one of your pretty suits, and we'll go out for
lunch? Afterward you can go to the office, type your notes and your
resignation, and then meet us at the hotel."

"That's a wonderful idea, Daddy,"
I said, and gave him a hug. Once he started calling me by my lifelong nickname,
I knew he might be mad, but wouldn't get purple-faced again. "I'll turn on
the TV for you," I said, switching on the little black-and-white TV.
"And I'll hurry."

"Haste makes waste, Bebe," Mama
said. "I don't want you slipping in the shower. And put on your red suit,
dear. Red is your color."

"Yes, Mama," I said, and ran to
get in the shower before Darlene claimed it.

Slipping into a seat on the subway, I
breathed a huge sigh of relief. My parents and I had lunched on Italian food at
Mamma Leone's. While everything had been delicious, my parents had each
expressed their disapproval of New York in their own way.

I knew Mama would never ride the subway, so
I'd had to perform the magic trick of obtaining a taxi on a busy Saturday
afternoon.

Mama acted like she was Fay Wray in King
Kong's clutches, saying she got dizzy looking up at the tall buildings. She
covered her eyes as the cab wound its way through traffic, and once back on the
street gripped Daddy's arm in case any ruffian dared attack her. Bless her heart.

Daddy assumed his fiercest expression,
escorting what he considered his two weak females through the evil city.

I loved my parents, but I'd never feel free
except here in New York, and I couldn't agree to their repeated
pleas for me to move back to Richmond.

Reaching the subway stop nearest Ryan, I
climbed the steps and emerged into the sunny day. First, I thought, a present
for Mama. I found a jewelry shop and bought her a gold rose pin with
red-enameled petals.

Tucking the box in my purse, I walked to
the Ryan building and entered the elevator.

The doors opened on seventeen, where the
faint sounds of jazz met my ears. I walked slowly to my desk, placed my purse
down, and went to Bradley's doorway. The overhead light was out, leaving his office
illuminated by two windows.

There he was, looking sexier than I'd ever
seen him, in the seating area to the right of his desk. He wore a pair of
slim-cut black pants and a white, long-sleeved shirt open at the neck. The sliding
door to his bar was open, and he sat drinking a martini while seated on the
long blue mission-style sofa. On the coffee table in front of him papers were
scattered in disarray.

"What are you doing here on a Saturday
afternoon, Miss Bennett?" he asked, giving me the once-over.

I walked across his office until I was a
few feet away from him. He stood, swallowed the last of his martini, and began
making another.

God, how I wanted to throw my arms around
him. I'd been starved for the sight of him! His blond hair, neatly combed, his
long fingers, nails buffed to a shine, and those incredible blue eyes. Not to
mention the open neck of his shirt, which allowed me a tiny glimpse of his
chest.

He wasn't wearing an undershirt. I felt a
little woozy.

"I came in to do some work," I
managed, hoping he would not ask about the Saint Thomas trip.

He turned from the bar, fresh martini in
hand, tapped a toothpick holding three olives on the rim of the glass, and ate
one. "Dressed in that red suit?"

I tilted my head slightly, studying him.
How many of those martinis had crossed his lips? He was always so cool, I
couldn't tell if he'd had three or ten. "My parents are in town. We went
out to lunch."

He raised an eyebrow. "You didn't
mention they were coming."

"It was rather unexpected."

He drank half the martini, then licked his
lips and let out a short laugh. "Daddy came to save his Little Magnolia
from the big, bad monster?"

Hot, I felt hot, and wanted to take off my
suit jacket. There was something so intensely intimate in being in that part of
his executive office with him. Alone. On a Saturday. I unbuttoned my jacket and
flung it on the sofa.

Standing there in a thin white sleeveless
silk blouse, I forced myself to chuckle. "Are you making fun of my
father?"

"Never. I don't want to tangle with
the big guy again," Bradley said, and gave a mock salute.

The music ended. There was a clicking sound
of the needle arm returning to its place. Bradley finished his martini and
reached for the silver shaker.

My heart beating fast, I took three steps
until I was but a foot away from him. "How many of those have you
had?" I asked in a low voice.

He put the shaker down, kept his gaze on
it, and said, "Enough to forget the sights and smells of that jail I've
been in twice this week. Enough to forget the pictures I've seen of the
electric chair."

"Erase that picture from your mind. It
has nothing to do with you," I said, instilling my voice with confidence.

Still facing the bar, he glanced in my
direction. He looked from my jacket on the sofa to my silk blouse. "Ever
my champion, Miss Bennett. Maybe I'll get lucky and be sentenced to life in
prison."

"They will never convict you because
you're innocent."

He turned toward me and went on as if I
hadn't spoken. "I'd miss seeing you, kid, and hearing your
honeyed voice. God, I love the way you talk." He closed his eyes for a
moment and breathed in. "And that perfume. I told you never to wear it
again."

Desire overcame me. I couldn't stop looking
at him. The words I love you wanted to come out, but I forced myself not to say
them. Instead I whispered, "Are you drunk? I can't tell. You're always so
cool and composed."

Bradley closed the distance between us and
ran his right thumb lightly across my cheek. "Yes, I'm drunk; that's
it," he murmured. "That's why I'm going to do this."

All at once I was in his arms. He slanted
his head, and his lips came down on mine, warm and tasting of liquor, gently,
as if he were testing me.

To my embarrassment, my whole body
trembled. I lifted my arms. My right hand stroked his neck, my left gripped his
upper arm, and I kissed him back. Out of instinct or I don't know what, I ran
the tip of my tongue across his full bottom lip.

He drew in a deep breath and crushed his
lips on mine. I matched his passion, immersed in pleasure and wanting more and
more.

And he gave it to me, our kisses intense
and desperate, as if he would be taken away at any second and locked in jail
forever. In the darkness behind my closed eyes, nothing existed except the
smell of his lime aftershave, the delicious taste of him, the strength of his
muscles, and the warmth of his hot mouth.

I went along when he moved us to the sofa,
kissing all the while. His knee nudged me down, and then we were lying side by
side, pressed against each other. My hand moved to that tiny area of bare
chest, and I stroked his skin. Bradley leaned over me, ripped open the top
third of his shirt, buttons flying, and my hand caressed his exposed chest.

I thought I'd die if he didn't give me
more. A pain deep inside me began, one I'd never felt before. He laid his cheek
against mine and then kissed my neck,

whispering, "Bebe," in my ear before his mouth returned
to mine. My blouse must have worked its way out of my skirt, because I felt his
hand on my stomach.

I kicked off my pumps and ran my foot up
his calf. He groaned, and I felt his hand on my leg. He moved my skirt higher
and higher until his fingers found the snap of my garter.

Far away I heard laughter, but I didn't—I
couldn't— care about anything except Bradley and what we were doing.

He must have heard it too, because he
abruptly went still. He stopped kissing me, despite my murmuring,
"No," in protest, and pulled my skirt down. He looked into my eyes
and then slowly turned his head toward the laughter.

A male voice spoke, one I recognized and
despised. Bradley's despicable cousin, who wanted his job.

"Back to your old tricks with company
women, cousin? Isn't that what always gets you in trouble? You've been charged
with murdering the last one."

"Get the hell out of here, Drew,"
Bradley ordered, his voice thick.

"I've come all the way from
Chicago—"

"Out!" Bradley yelled.

"Okay, okay," Drew said.
"Carry on; I'll be out in the waiting room."

I heard the door close.

Bradley looked at me and ran a hand through
his hair. "Miss Bennett, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let myself get
carried away like that. You're very pretty, and—"

Frustrated as I'd never been in my whole
life, I sat up, forcing him to do the same. "Don't you dare say you're
sorry, Bradley. And stop calling me 'Miss Bennett' when we're alone."

"I'm not going to put you in a
situation where you're alone with me again," he said, buttoning the few
buttons left on his shirt and tucking it into his pants. "Obviously I
can't be trusted. Of course I'd been drinking."

"That's a good excuse. Nothing would
have happened had you been in your right mind," I said, fighting tears.
Grabbing my shoes, I struggled to put them on. My heart still pounded, and that
ache would not go away. Worse, I didn't think I could stand just yet.

"Kid, you're a good, sweet girl, and I
don't want anything to hurt you," he said.

All my frustration manifested itself in
anger. I struck out at him with words. "Oh, great. You can't even take responsibility
for your own actions. Bradley, I can take care of myself. And by the way, the
investigation is going well. I've narrowed the suspect list down, and hope to
have your name cleared in the next few days."

He shot to his feet and stood towering over
me. Pointing his finger at my face, he said, "I told you not to meddle,
not to put yourself in danger. I told you I'd fire you if I found out you were
investigating Suzie's murder."

That brought me to my feet. Looking him
straight in the eye, I said, "So, am I fired for trying to help you, or
maybe for what just happened, because you don't want to admit any feelings for
me?"

We glared at each other.

"Yes, you are fired. I warned you.
I'll write you an excellent recommendation," he said, and moved to his
desk, fumbling for paper.