B004183M70 EBOK (35 page)

"Not without me, you won't."
Darlene proclaimed. "He's like a cobra ready to strike. I want this mess
finished by the time I leave Saturday afternoon."

I looked up from attaching my stocking to
my garter belt. "Skyway's given you a flight assignment?"

Darlene nodded. "Rome first, and I
have a full schedule for the next month. Stu's going with me. We'll be at his
place tonight, making plans."

Staring at the coffeepot, willing it to
drip faster, I thought about how much I'd miss Darlene. She might not be the
only one leaving my life for a while. I took off my shades and squinted at the
office light, trying hard not to think about how this might be Bradley's last day
at Ryan.

"Miss Bennett," Bradley called from his office.

I moved to his doorway. "Coffee is almost ready."

"Good. Please bring me a cup, and then I want to talk to
you."

I carried his filled mug into his office and gave it to him.
Holding a cup for myself, I dug in the pocket of my suit.

"Here," I said, laying Suzie's gold bracelet on his
desk. "I found this in Pierre's bedroom. Suzie won't need it now."

"In Pierre's bedroom?" he asked ominously.

I sat down and drank some coffee. "Please, not today. It
was all innocent. He wasn't even in the bedroom at the time. I was just—"

"Putting yourself into a dangerous situation," Bradley
said. He picked up the glittering gold piece and said, "Why don't you take
it, kid."

"No, thank you. I'd rather not have Suzie's hand-
me-downs."

Bradley put the bracelet in his suit coat pocket. He would
wear my favorite suit today—the medium-blue one made of silk.

"Drew's coming in after lunch to take my place,"
Bradley said. "I know you don't like him, but do your best."

"I'll do my best to make Drew miserable every day he's
here." Tears replaced the sand in my eyes.

Bradley pointed at me. "Don't make me ruin my
handkerchief. Pickering will—"

"Mr. Pickering, yes, he's swell," I said.

Bradley drew in a deep breath. "You won't have work from
me today, so try to clear your desk—" He broke off and looked toward the
doorway. "Can I help you?"

A skinny guy with
speedy delivery
stamped on his navy shirt stepped forward. "I have
an envelope from a Mr. Ben something for Mr. Williams."

"Oh, I'll take those," I said,
jumping to my feet and holding out my hand.

"Supposed to give them directly to
Williams and get his signature," the dufus said.

Bradley stretched out his arm. "I'm
Williams." He signed the messenger's pad, making him disappear.
"These must be the Durden photos from Saint Thomas."

"Here, let me have them and I'll send
them off to Durden myself. You don't need to concern yourself with trivial
matters right now," I said, placing my coffee cup on his desk and holding
out my hand.

Bradley ripped open the envelope.
"Wait a minute. Didn't Gloria say you had posed—" He broke off,
taking pictures out of the envelope one at a time and tossing them on his desk.

There I was in that tiny bikini, giving my
best Sophia Loren imitation. I'd never looked better, but there was a lot of
skin showing.

I tried to come up with an explanation.
"Lola got drunk, and we had no one else. I only did it to save the
shoot."

Bradley's astonishment, obviously genuine,
grew until he reached the last of the photos and looked at me. His voice was
cold and filled with contempt. "I must say, you're an enigma, Miss
Bennett. Never, in my wildest imagination, would I have thought you would pose
wearing less than we see on America's beaches, and more like what men view in
Playboy."

My heart hammered in my chest.

Bradley scooped up the photos and returned
them to their envelope. "Your father would gun me down in the street if I
allowed these photographs to be printed in magazines distributed nationally.
I'll call the Durden people right now and tell them the shoot will have to be
redone. Close the door on your way out."

I picked up my coffee cup and did as he
asked, making my way to my desk. My blood pounded, my face grew hot with
humiliation, and I felt as if I'd just lost something precious. Bradley had never looked at me with
such disappointment.

My fingers automatically reached for the
mail. I opened letters and invoices, stacking them into piles, all the while
feeling a deep sense of shame.

Around ten, Debbie Ann came in holding a
newspaper. She stopped at my desk.

"Hi, Debbie Ann."

"Bebe, how can you look down in the
dumps when you're mentioned in the society section of today's Times? Actually,
the reporter didn't know your name, but he described you well, and said you had
dinner at Sardi's last night with Pierre. Didn't you see it?"

I shook my head. "I don't have time to
read the society section of the newspaper, Debbie Ann. Besides, I don't know
any of those people."

"My dear, if you're going to live in
New York, you must familiarize yourself with our luminaries. I'll leave this
with you. Perhaps it will cheer you. Whatever is wrong?"

I twirled a piece of my hair, ready to pour
my heart out to her, but I didn't think she'd have a sympathetic ear. Debbie
Ann was a caring person, but so opinionated. I said, "Oh, it's nothing
that won't be fixed. When two people care about each other—" I broke off,
blushing.

"I see. You know what? I think I'll go
whip up some cookies. I have some cookie dough in the freezer," Debbie Ann
said, patting me on the shoulder. "While I don't want to ruin your
figure, I think we can make an exception today."

I managed a smile. "Thanks, Debbie
Ann."

She signed the talent sheet and disappeared
into the elevator.

The phone rang half an hour later.
"Ryan Modeling Agency, Miss Bennett speaking."

"Finelli here."

I sat up straight. "What have you got?
Something on Pierre?"

"No. I assigned three officers to
check out Granford's alibi."

"Did they find out Jeff lied? Did they
get evidence that he killed Suzie?"

"Sorry to disappoint you, but just the
opposite. I've got two witnesses who can vouch for Granford boxing with a kid
named Shelton late into the night Suzie Wexford was murdered."

"They were boxing after midnight?"

"The kid goes to high school, then
works as a waiter. Doesn't get off work until eleven thirty or later.
Granford's broke, needs the money. Before you ask, I verified with Granford's
bank that the guy is living on nothing. Miss Wexford probably helped support
him. Now that we've cleared him, he'll probably go back to Omaha."

"Thanks, anyway," I replied,
despair washing over me.

"Got any new leads for me?"
Finelli asked.

"No, but I think Pierre is the
killer," I said, and hung up.

I sat staring into space. I needed to call
Darlene and tell her I wouldn't need her to go on a Jeff Granford mission. I'd
get the energy to do it in a minute.

"Bebe?"

Debbie Ann stood next to my desk with a
paper Dixie cup full of what looked like white wedding cookies. "Those are
like the ones my mother makes at Christmas," I said.

She smiled. "They're small. I brought
you half a dozen, so you can nibble on them throughout the afternoon. If you
want to talk, I have some time."

I accepted the cup and dug for a cookie.
"Thanks for the offer, Debbie Ann. I may go home early today."
Anything to get away from that crushing look of disapproval on Bradley's face.

"That's sensible. It.can't be pleasant
working for a murderer. I'll never understand why you've stayed this long. At
least his replacement has finally arrived."

I popped the cookie into my mouth so I
wouldn't have to answer. The powdered sugar melted on my tongue, and
the cookies were yummy. "These are delicious, Debbie Ann," I said.

"I'll be on my set if you want any milk to go with
them," she said, and went to the elevator.

I popped another cookie in my mouth and dialed home.

"Hello."

"Darlene, it's me. More news."

"Uh-oh, I don't like the sound of your voice."

"Finelli's cleared Granford. We don't need to pay the
boxer a visit."

"Damn Finelli!"

"It's not his fault Granford is innocent. There's also
more bad news."

"What? Speak up, it sounds like you're eating
something."

I swallowed my second cookie. "Sorry. Bradley saw the
Saint Thomas photos and flipped. In a bad way. He was disgusted with me,
Darlene."

"What exactly did he say?"

"I can't talk about it now," I said. "I'll
tell you later. I'm so tired and down, I want to come home and crawl under the
covers. Drew's going to be here all afternoon. I don't think I can take
it."

"Get that girl from the typing pool to cover for you and
leave. You'll only get more upset as the day goes on, and when the time comes
for Bradley to go—"

I rubbed my left temple. "Gosh, I hadn't even thought of
that moment. Dear God. Bradley's shut his door. I've got to finish some work,
then let Danielle have her lunch. Maybe after that I'll come home."

"Good. Honey, I'm going to head over to Stu's house. You
call me if there's anything you need, okay?"

"Yes. Thanks, Darlene."

I dialed Danielle and asked her to cover for me after she'd
had lunch. She said she would, but that it might not be until two, because they
were swamped in the typing pool.

Throughout the morning, Bradley's door stayed shut.

Around one, Drew swooped in like a vulture.
"Hey, baby. Ready to start work for your new boss?"

"Temporary boss," I replied, and
popped another cookie into my mouth.

"I'll win you over, baby. Soon you'll
be eating cookies out of my hand," he promised, entering Bradley's office
and closing the door behind him.

I felt queasy just looking at him.

In fact, by the time Danielle finally
arrived to relieve me at close to two thirty, I felt dizzy from nerves,
exhaustion, and lack of sleep.

I grabbed my purse, my cup of cookies, and
took the elevator to the lobby. I had no idea when I'd see Bradley again. Days?
Months?

I rode the subway home, trying not to cry.
The noise of the train sounded loud in my ears, and the masses of people began
to blur together. I wished I could shake the dizziness. Plus, now I could take
only shallow breaths. I needed sleep.

As I entered my apartment, it was all I
could do to close and lock the door. With difficulty I changed into a short,
sleeveless cotton nightgown, leaving my suit lying across my bed.

About to leave the room, I spotted
Bradley's scarf on the Banana chair. I grabbed it and held the soft wool close
to my face. I opened a window in the living room and lay down on the sectional,
out of breath. I tried to sleep, but instead developed a terrible headache.

I looked at the big conch shell on the
coffee table next to where I'd dropped my purse and the rest of Debbie Ann's
cookies. As pretty as the shell was, I decided to give it away. It only held
memories of that trip to Saint Thomas, and the mistake I'd made. Bradley was
right: I should never have posed for Pierre. I had been so darned concerned
about not disappointing Bradley, I'd ending up doing just that.

My stomach rolled. I needed to take some
aspirin for my headache. I pushed myself off the sectional and stood. The room
tilted. By holding on to the sectional, then grasping the door frame to the kitchen, I
managed to reach the aspirin on the counter. My heart beat hard in my chest. I
thought about calling Darlene, but I didn't want to interrupt her time with Stu
over something that would pass with sleep.

The phone rang.

Bradley!

"Hello," I said, surprised that
my voice sounded like I'd been running.

"Bebe, dear, this is Debbie Ann. I
heard you left the office. I've been worried about you. My show ended moments
ago, and I called you first thing. Are you all right?"

I leaned against the wall for support,
closing my eyes in an attempt to stop the dizziness. "I have a terrible
headache, I'm dizzy, and I feel a little nauseous. I'm going to take some
aspirin."

"Heavens, sounds like a flu coming on.
Is your roommate helping you?"

"No, she's not here," I mumbled.
"I think it's the strain ... Suzie's death ... Mr. Williams ... Pierre ...
I need sleep."

"Give me your address, Bebe, I'm
coming over. I don't like the way you sound," Debbie Ann commanded.

"I'll be fine," I said, and
gasped for breath. "Need aspirin and sleep." I slid down and sat on
the floor.

"Listen to me, Bebe. You're a young
girl without a mother nearby to take care of you. Of course I don't have to
come over, but I want to. I have a strong pain reliever, and I am no stranger
to illness. You might have to see a doctor, and mine would make a house call if
I asked him."