Passion, Betrayal and Killer Highlights (28 page)

Anatoly and I locked eyes. Something was off.

“Cheryl,” Anatoly pressed gently. “Why didn’t Bob listen to you when you told him how wrong Leah was for him? You’re his sister. Surely he must have respected your opinion.”

“Bob was never a good listener. Leah and Bob together were like—well, it was like that show
The Nanny—
you know, the one where Fran Drescher gets together with her boss?” Cheryl scornfully blew out a puff of air. “It never should have happened.”

I wrinkled my nose. “They never should have gotten together?”

“No, I mean the whole show shouldn’t have happened! It was a stupid premise and that’s exactly what was wrong with Leah and Bob’s marriage—the whole premise of their relationship was stupid.”

“And what would that premise be?” Anatoly asked.

“Simple. Bob wanted someone who would play the role of a good corporate wife, and of all the women who auditioned for the part—and there weren’t many—Leah did the best.” Cheryl leaned farther back into the cushions. “What Bob never understood is that you don’t marry a woman just so she can play second fiddle to your career. When you pick a spouse, you should think about who they know and where they come from. Anyone can be a housewife, but only a select few can get you into the right VIP rooms.”

I stared at Cheryl, nearly speechless. “You are one of the most bizarre and twisted individuals I have ever met, and when you consider my list of acquaintances that’s saying a lot.”

“Don’t talk to me about being twisted,” she snapped. “I know you lied to me about that interview on
Channel Four
.”

“Oh, you figured that out, did you?”

Anatoly shot me another warning look. “Cheryl, did Bob ever introduce you to Taylor Blake?”

Some of the color drained from Cheryl’s face. “I may have met her once or twice.”

Anatoly leaned forward. “What about Maria E. Souza? Does that name ring a bell?”

“Maria E. Souza.” Now Cheryl looked like she was going to run screaming from the room. “That does sound familiar—she was a friend of Bob’s too, wasn’t she?”

“You know the answer to that.” Anatoly’s tone, while still gentle, had become firm and confident. “We spoke to Taylor. She confessed to everything.”

There was a scratching noise as Cheryl’s nails scraped against the upholstery of her chair. “I didn’t know Taylor had anything to confess to.”

“You don’t have to lie anymore, Cheryl,” Anatoly said soothingly. “Everyone knows about the affair. Taylor even admitted to her rendezvous with Bob at the Gatsby.”

Cheryl’s mouth dropped open, giving her the look of an overwrought guppy. “Taylor admitted to having an affair with Bob? I can’t believe that.”

“It was going to come out sooner or later,” Anatoly said, and crossed his ankle over his knee. “I understand why you would want to help Bob—he was your brother. But helping him required some bending of the rules, didn’t it? For the women like Maria, there were husbands to consider. Did you let Bob know when Mr. Souza wasn’t around? Did you act as a lookout person so that Bob and his mistresses didn’t suffer any surprise interruptions?”

Cheryl’s eyebrows drew together. “Wait a minute—”

“And then his relationship with Taylor presented its own unique problems. They wouldn’t want to reserve a room under either of their names. Perhaps they wouldn’t have wanted to reserve a room at all considering that neither of them planned to spend the night. Is that the real reason they fired you, Cheryl? Were you granting your brother unpaid access to the rooms?”

Cheryl stared at Anatoly, disbelief coloring her features. “Is that what you think?” She shot to her feet, her voice taking on a strangled quality. “That I was trying to turn Hotel Gatsby into my brother’s personal whorehouse? Is that really what you both think?”

She turned her back on Anatoly and faced me. I looked at Anatoly, who was nodding his head furiously.

“Yes,” I said slowly. “That is what I think.” Actually the thought had never occurred to me. Why would Cheryl do something so stupid for a brother she didn’t even care about?

“No one’s judging you.” Anatoly stood up and held his hands up for peace. “He was your brother and he was trapped in an unhappy marriage. Of course you would want to help him in any way you could.”

Cheryl whirled back around to confront him. “I would never have allowed him to take advantage of me or the Gatsby in that way! Maybe I would have done it for someone like, I don’t know…Matt Damon, but I would never bend the rules like that for someone as unimportant as my brother! What kind of person do you think I am?”

“How many times do I have to say it?” I said. “You’re bizarre and twisted.”

“Get out of my apartment.”

“Cheryl, I don’t want to accuse you unjustly,” Anatoly said, “but that’s what Taylor told us. Why would she lie?”

“I said
out!
”

“Okay, we’ll leave.” I stood up and smiled sweetly at Cheryl. “But you realize that the next person who’s going to be kicked out of here is you. It’s not like you’re going to be able to afford the rent on a place like this anymore.”

Cheryl took a step back. “What are you implying?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Judging from the location and size of this apartment, I think it’s safe to presume that an unemployment check isn’t going to cover a lot more than your utilities.”

Cheryl squeezed her eyes closed. “I want you out of here,” she said quietly.

Anatoly nodded and gestured for me to follow him. The minute we stepped out into the hall, Cheryl slammed the door behind us. We listened to the clicks of the dead bolt and the chain lock being secured.

“Okay, so what the hell was that about?” I asked Anatoly as we walked down the stairs.

“I knew she would take offense at my accusation.” On the main floor he pushed the heavy glass door of the lobby open and we stepped outside. “I was hoping that she might let something slip while defending her innocence.”

“So you don’t really think she was renting out the rooms at the Gatsby by the hour.”

Anatoly chuckled. “I think it’s improbable. It’s more likely that she was allowing Taylor or Bob to check in under a pseudonym in exchange for a bribe of some kind.”

“Well, she definitely knows more than she’s letting on. Did you see her face when you mentioned Maria’s and Taylor’s names? Can you say
blanched?
She didn’t want to go there at all.” I shook my head. “I’m going back to my first theory. Cheryl’s the guilty one.”

“I’m beginning to think you might be right,” Anatoly said. “But I still can’t figure out what her motive would be.” He scratched the light stubble on his chin. “Even if she was breaking the company rules for her brother, that, in and of itself, isn’t a good reason to kill him.”

I made a little dismissive sound as I zipped up my jacket. “Maybe she purchased one of Charlton Heston’s old guns on eBay and she wanted to try it out,” I said sarcastically.

“Somehow I doubt it,” Anatoly said. “Besides, it’s Bob’s weapon that’s gone missing.” We paused in front of Anatoly’s Harley and he handed me one of the helmets. “Do you think Bob would have told her where he kept his gun?”

“It’s always possible.” I put the helmet on and waited until Anatoly started up the bike before climbing on behind him. “Hey, maybe she has a thing for the host of
America’s Most Wanted
and she thought killing her brother would get his attention.”

Anatoly revved the engine and started down the street without answering.

“Anatoly?” I yelled. “Can you hear me?”

“I’m trying not to,” he yelled back.

I rolled my eyes and wrapped my arms around him partly to help secure my position but mostly because I liked the way his abdominal muscles felt when I pressed my hands against them. I had no idea why Cheryl would want to see her brother dead, but if Little Miss Hollywood was responsible for setting my sister up for his murder, I’d make sure that the only stars she saw were the kind that appear after you’ve been knocked unconscious.

I was pretty good at keeping the image of Erika’s lifeless body out of my conscious mind during the day, but lying in my bed that night I found that the visual came to me every time I closed my eyes. If that wasn’t enough, I couldn’t stop thinking about all the bizarre information regarding her cause of death. It wasn’t until sometime after two o’clock in the morning that I fell asleep. As it turns out I didn’t have to worry about dreaming, because beginning at 2:25 a.m. Jack started waking up every ten minutes. And just when I started to get used to the sounds of
his
screams, Leah would get frustrated with him and start screaming, too. At three I finally gave up and started working on my next manuscript. I had an idea for a storyline in which a mother forced her mentally unstable sister-in-law to babysit her son, thus driving her to take her own life.

It was approaching 6:00 a.m. when I finally got back in bed. I was able to sleep for another three and a half hours before Mr. Katz started kneading my pillowcase. I opened one eye and looked at him. “I suppose you want food,” I muttered.

I interpreted my pet’s angry expression as a yes. I crawled out of bed and stumbled down the hall. Leah was in the living room staring at five different outfits she had laid out on the couch.

“Hot date?” I asked as I went into the kitchen and retrieved the kibble.

“It’s not exactly a date, just a first meeting.”

“Wait a minute!” I rushed back into the living room, kibble in hand. “I was joking. You’re not seriously thinking about going out on a date with everything that’s going on in your life, are you?”

“No, of course not.” Leah selected a navy blue sleeveless sweater and held it up against her torso. “I misspoke. What I meant was that I agreed to give an interview today. I thought it would be a good idea to tell my side of the story to the press.”

“Oh…okaaay.” I pivoted and went back to my chore of feeding the cat. “Who’s the interview with?”

“The man from
Flavah
Magazine. Jerome.”

I bit my lip as I felt the beginning of a headache come on. “I forgot that you had agreed to meet with him.”

“I did, too. But he called this morning to confirm. He has such a nice deep voice. Do you think I should wear that plum sweater that Bob didn’t like?”

“So you
do
like him!” I slammed my hand against the tile counter. “Damn it, Leah, this is not good!”

“I told you, it’s just an interview.” She opted for the sleeveless number instead, and picked a pair of brown cigarette pants to go with it. “You know, I’ve never been with a black guy before.”

“Leah,” I said in my best warning tone.

“I’ve dated Latinos before, and I went out with that Japanese guy in high school, but I never dated anyone of my own race. Why do you think that is?”

“I don’t know. Can we examine this issue at a different time—say, after Bob’s case has been closed?”

Leah smiled and came into the kitchen. “I swear on our father’s memory that I will not so much as bat an eyelash at Jerome.”

I let out a sigh. “Thank you.”

“On one condition.”

“One condition? Maybe you’re not getting this, but you’re the one facing prison time. You should be suppressing your urge to flirt with Jerome for your own sake!”

“It’s just a small favor, Sophie.”

I threw my hands up in defeat. “Fine, what is it?”

“I need you to babysit Jack today.”

“In what universe is that a small favor?”

“Just while I’m talking to Jerome. He wants me to show him around my house so he can get a better sense of the kind of life I shared with Bob. It shouldn’t take too long.”

“You know the saying ‘time flies when you’re having fun’?” I asked. “Well, the reverse is true, too.”

“Don’t be selfish,” Leah reprimanded. “Besides, you owe me.”

“How do you figure?”

Leah took a step forward and looked me in the eye. “Three little words.
Barbie. Dream. House
.”

I closed my eyes. “Damn it, I knew that would come back to bite me.”

Less than two hours later, I had drunk an entire pot of coffee and it still hadn’t given me the lift necessary to deal with my now awake and inexplicably unhappy nephew. I bounced him up and down while pacing the living room singing every kids’ song I could think of from “Rock-a-Bye Baby” to the theme song from
The Incredibles.
Jack was having none of it.

When the phone rang I shifted Jack to my right hip and tucked the receiver between my ear and shoulder. “Yes,” I screamed, in hopes of making myself heard over Jack’s howls.

“Hi, um, is Leah there?”

“Does it sound like the mother of this child is here?” I put Jack down on the floor, which just made him scream louder.

“Okay, I’m thinking this is a bad time.”

“Wait, who is this?” I sat on the edge of the couch and desperately started sorting through Leah’s diaper bag to find a magic toy to pacify Jack.

“It’s Charlie…”

“Marcus’s Charlie?”

“C’est moi.”

“Oh, I’m so glad you called!” I found a small stuffed clown hiding under a supply of baby wipes and tossed it in Jack’s direction. “Did you find anything out?”

“Sort of.”

“Define ‘sort of.’”

“Well, nobody remembers the name of the husband or what part of Brazil they were from. But Maria went to our day spa while she was staying here. Wendy, the masseuse who worked on her, remembers her.”

“Sounds like you’ve got a knack for this detective stuff, Charlie.” I started unzipping pockets in Leah’s bag, looking for something more effective than the clown. There was a small outside pocket in which I found a supply of Leah’s makeup. I put my hand over the mouthpiece of the receiver. “Here, Jack, try some Estée Lauder.”

“Sophie? Are you still there?”

“I’m here.” I glanced at Jack, who was showing a surprising interest in his mother’s cosmetics, notably a shiny cylinder of lipstick. “Okay, so what did Wendy say about Maria?”

“Basically that Maria was one of those clients who liked to talk when she was supposed to be relaxing. She spent the whole time quizzing Wendy about San Francisco’s hidden treasures—you know, the cool hangouts that the tourists don’t know about. But here’s the kicker. She said that it was her first visit to San Francisco and she didn’t know a soul here.”