The Celebutantes (25 page)

“What the hell is that?” Lex asked.

Park stepped into the inky void, raking her hands over the nearest wall. She found a switch and flipped it.

The single overhead bulb illuminated a narrow, dingy staircase that led straight down to a cellar.

“That's totally creepy,” Lex whispered.

Park ignored the very true statement and began the descent. The wooden stairs creaked beneath her feet. She took them slowly, leading the way down as Madison and Lex followed.

The cellar was a wide, square space with a scarred concrete floor and a low ceiling. It smelled of wet soil, of earth. Though dim, the light cast a glare over the brown paneled walls and what lay pushed neatly against them.

Canvases. No—paintings. Beautiful, colorful abstract paintings held in place by wood slats. One after another, at least twenty or thirty of them. A virtual library of art.

“Oh my God,” Madison whispered. “Look at these! They're amazing!” She bent down and ran her finger over the edge of the first one she saw.

“I don't get it,” Park said, looking around. She held up the multi-lock key. “This was the big deal? Why would Elijah be hoarding this key? We're standing in a storage cellar.”

“An ugly storage cellar,” Lex added. She shivered, as though chilled.

“But it's amazing,” Park said. “I mean, Tallula's a total workaholic. I've never seen so many paintings.”

“Me either. I think—”

“Park? Lex?” Madison's voice was low and strained.

They both whirled around to see her facing the corner of the farthest wall. “What is it?” Park asked.

“We have to get out of here,” Madison said nervously. She took a step back, but her eyes were frozen on something.

“What is it?” Lex asked, going to her side.

Madison stared, unblinking, at the small framed canvas on the floor. Her lips were ashen. She held her right arm out and pointed. “That's
To the Penthouse,
” she said gravely.

“W-what?” Lex stammered.

Park squatted down slowly and studied the painting before her.

The familiar Manhattan skyline, looking south. The bridges lit up. The skyscrapers twinkling. The East River and Roosevelt Island. The painting was dramatic and beautiful—and very clearly a portrait of New York as seen from up high.

“Madison?” Park said. “Are you sure?”

“I'm sure,” Madison replied in a whisper. Her throat was dry. She couldn't tear her eyes from the painting; she stared at it, transfixed by fear. “It's the one that was hanging in Poppy's apartment, and the one I saw in the photos at the society today.”

“Excuse me,” Lex said. “Hello? Why the hell are we standing here? If that painting is here, then that means—”

“That Ina must be here,” Park said, finishing the chilling sentence. She rose to her feet slowly, looking up at the ceiling.

“You think she did anything to Tallula?” Lex cupped a trembling hand over her mouth. “Shit. Come on. We have to get out of here.”

“Wait a minute.” Madison's voice was firm, her gaze suddenly intrigued. She bent down and picked up the framed painting. She held it up close and studied it.

“Madison! We have to go!” Lex tugged at her arm.

But in that moment, Madison was lost in place, utterly transfixed by what she was seeing. “God's eyes,” she whispered.

Park stared at the painting. “What?”

“God's eyes,” Madison said again. “Look. You can see them right there, in the sky above the East River.
God's eyes.
”

“So what?” Lex snapped. “Let's just get out of here!”

“No, don't you get it?” Madison held the painting farther out. “Tallula's mother, L. K. Corcoran, painted this twenty years ago. And she used God's eyes—she was the first to use them. And I think the only one to use them.” She handed the painting to Park and turned around. Her eyes darted around the cellar, back and forth over the rows of paintings. She bent down and picked one up. Held it out against
To the Penthouse.
“My God,” she whispered.

“Madison, what is
wrong
with you?” Lex said harshly.

Madison repeated the process with another painting she'd whisked from the cellar floor. She held it up, examined the unique style, the brushstrokes, the use of color and light and shadowing. “Don't you understand?” she asked them.

“Tallula copied her mother's idea for God's eyes?” Park replied. “Is that what you're saying?”

“No.” Madison pointed to the rows of canvases on the floor. “I'm saying that Tallula's been using her mother's paintings all along. The ones she sold. The ones that she claimed she painted when she was a teenager—those aren't Tallula's paintings. They were painted by her mother.”

“What?”
Lex nearly screamed. “Are you freakin' kidding me?”

“Madison, are you sure?” Park asked.

“Of course I'm sure—look at all these paintings and then compare any one of them with
To the Penthouse,
” Madison said. “It's different.
To the Penthouse
is an actual landscape—probably the only landscape L. K. Corcoran ever painted.” She raked a hand through her hair. “I don't believe it.”

Park picked up another canvas. “You mean the paintings Tallula's been selling, the ones she's been passing off as her own—they aren't hers? She didn't paint them?”

“She couldn't have,” Madison said. “And
To the Penthouse
proves it. Her mother painted that when Tallula was two. And her mother must've gone on painting throughout her life, but she never sold or exhibited another thing.” She pointed to the bottom right corner of
To the Penthouse,
to the small scripted name:
Corky.
Then she picked up one of the other paintings and found the same faint signature.

“No shit,” Park whispered. “So then Tallula's…”

“Forging work that isn't hers,” Lex said.

The full weight of the discovery hit Madison. “And if
she
has
To the Penthouse,
then that means she had to have been in Poppy's apartment….”

Footsteps sounded on the staircase.

Madison and Park dropped the paintings they had been holding. Lex grabbed their arms. They stood frozen in the center of the floor, watching as a shadow spread across the wall and a figure appeared on the landing.

Holding a gun.

22

Smoke and Mirrors

T
allula stepped into the cellar. She looked at each of them, then tightened her grip around the handle of the gun. “Well,” she said quietly, “I knew you'd come. And you're right, Madison. You did it. You figured me out.”

Madison licked her lips nervously. She was standing slightly in front of Park and Lex, and her body went rigid as they both dug their fingers into her arms. She couldn't think of anything pithy or profound to say. She couldn't figure a way out of the confined space they were standing in—and if there
was
a way out, she had a feeling that gleaming silver gun would stop her.

“You were all so talkative a second ago,” Tallula said. “Why the sudden silence?”

“You did a good job of fooling me,” Madison blurted out, her anger flaring. “You…you did a good job of fooling everyone. Of fooling the whole world.”

Tallula smirked. “And what does that tell you about the world?” She took a step toward them. “The world is a shallow place. People want to be fooled.”

“But why?” Park asked. “You've painted your own things, haven't you? Why did you take your mother's paintings instead of your own?”

“Because my mother was a brilliant artist,” Tallula answered quietly. “You can see that. Everyone saw that. She was much better than I am. Oh, I paint—but not like her. She's…the genius.”

“Why did she stop?” Madison asked. “I don't understand.”

“She painted all her life,” Tallula began. “
To the Penthouse
was her first real sale. That brilliant and snooty society had brains, and they awarded her a small grant to continue working. She was twenty-five, she and my father had been married for two years. My mother would have gone on painting and probably had a brilliant career if it hadn't been for my father. He was a beast. He's the reason she stopped pursuing her art. He became a religious fanatic just after she sold
To the Penthouse.
He thought painting was sinful and dirty and evil. Seriously, he did. So my mother—everyone called her Corky—did what a good little wife is supposed to do, and she severed her ties with the society and the art world in general.”

“But she obviously continued painting,” Lex said, gesturing her head at the canvases on the floor. “She didn't stop.”

“No, she didn't. She couldn't. A true artist can never be taken away from her art.” Tallula waved the gun at the paintings. “She worked in secret, while my father was out all day, and that was when she got into abstract art. She hid most of the canvases. I knew about them, and I loved them. I begged her to pursue art, to leave my father. But it was no good. I was only a teenager, and she didn't want to listen.”

“You were a teenager when she did most of these paintings,” Madison said. “Right? That would make your own story seem true. You claimed that you painted all your works while you were a teen, so even if the paintings that made you famous were ever carbon-dated, the truth wouldn't come out.”

A smile spread across Tallula's face. “Such a smart girl you are. But yes, that's exactly right. It's funny—I started doing it as a joke. When I dropped out of college and had my first show, I exhibited eight of my mother's paintings and two of my own. Just to see what would happen. And boy, did shit happen. All those critics and art collectors—they took one look at my mother's paintings and saw the brilliance in them. They didn't even glance at the two that were really mine. And that's when I knew. It happened so fast—overnight, as they say. And I just went along with it. The money. The fame. The power. I just…went along with it.”

Park leaned into Madison, keeping her eye on the gun. “Until Elijah found out,” she said. “That's why you killed him. He was going to expose you, right?”

Tallula sighed. “Oh, Elijah. My cheating, scheming, incredibly smart boyfriend. He went snooping around, did exactly what you girls just did, and found everything out. This was about a month ago. He—”

“He found the paperwork from the society,” Madison cut in. “Right? That was how he knew about
To the Penthouse,
and how Poppy van Lulu had it.”

“Yes, that's how. I did a stupid thing and got sentimental when my parents died,” Tallula explained. “I kept all my mother's things, including the paperwork from the society. She was always so proud of it. She was a good woman. Weak and feeble, but good. I never threw the documents out, I only filed them away.
I
knew Poppy van Lulu had
To the Penthouse,
but it didn't matter to me, because L. K. Corcoran was nearly impossible to trace.”

“Not so impossible,” Madison countered. “I found the connection in an old article in the
New York Times.
Anyone can access that article.”

“And if none of this had happened, why on earth would anyone other than Poppy van Lulu have even cared to look for it?” Tallula asked. “Everything was fine until Elijah walked in on me one day. I was upstairs, painting over my mother's signature on one of the paintings. He couldn't believe his eyes.” She chuckled. “He made the connection pretty quickly. And the past month had been nothing but threats from him. Threats and screaming and fighting. He even stole my spare key, which I believe is in your hand, Park. It was either me or him, girls.” A pause. “I didn't want to do it. I'm not a killer that way you're thinking. I just had no other choice.”

“But how?” Lex asked. “You were in the elevator, weren't you?”

“Ina and I went back up to the penthouse,” Tallula said matter-of-factly. “She really did go into her room and start showering, and she saw me start to walk out the door. But Elijah and I started fighting. I came back in. He went on and on, accusing me of being a fraud, and I just knew right then and there that it wasn't going to end nicely. I knew I couldn't go on living peacefully now that he knew my little secret. He went out onto the balcony. He kept talking as he stood there, facing me. And then…” She glanced away for a moment, and her eyes clouded over. She swallowed hard. “I went up to him and gave him a shove. A hard one.”

Madison gasped and covered her mouth with her hand.

“It was horrible,” Tallula said flatly. “But it all happened in the space of a minute—the whole fight, his walk onto the balcony, everything. A minute. Maybe five seconds more than that. I only panicked for a split second. Honestly, I did. I can't explain how that happened. And after I pushed him, I ran into Ina's room to make sure she was still in the shower, and I saw her hearing aid on the nightstand, and I just…broke it.”

Madison shook her head, disgusted. “Why?”

“I knew I needed to make it look like Ina was involved somehow,” Tallula replied. “And initially, that's how I thought it would play out. I thought Ina would get the blame for it. After all, she and Elijah had been having an affair.”

“So you knew about that,” Park whispered.

“Of course I did. I'm not
that
naïve. I was angry at both of them, but I had to play it cool—I didn't want Elijah turning Ina on me too, so I had to pretend I didn't know about the affair. I figured I would throw it onto the table after the cops accused Ina of pushing him. But I didn't have to—your little friend Coco dug her own grave.”

“The elevator,” Lex said. “You mean to tell us that after all this time, you weren't stuck in that elevator?”

“Of course I was.” Tallula smiled thinly. “And
that
was the greatest stroke of luck, my little munchkins. After leaving Ina's room, I dashed out of the suite and jumped right into the elevator. I figured I'd make it down to the lobby and let myself be seen while Elijah was splatting all over the avenue. But an even better thing happened—the elevator got stuck, and I had an instant alibi. I kept ringing the front desk, talking with them, repeating my name so that they'd know I was trapped in there. Elijah hadn't been on the ground more than thirty seconds by the time I made it into that elevator. It was perfect.”

Madison swayed, hit by a spell of dizziness.

Park caught her and gave her a shake. “Stay strong,” she whispered. “We need you.”

“And Poppy?” Lex blurted out. “You killed her too?”

“I knew I had to,” Tallula said. “Madison, don't you remember? When you came here to talk to me, you asked me if Elijah had known anyone named Corky. That was when I knew that you'd made some sort of connection. I knew I had to get that painting out of Poppy's hands, so very early this morning, at around three a.m., I drove into Manhattan, parked my car five blocks from the Dakota, and gave Poppy a call from a phone booth on Columbus Avenue. I told her I needed to see her immediately, that Elijah had been haunting me relentlessly. That was all I needed to say. She was such a candy bar. She told me to come right over.”

“And you put on a cute disguise and drew a fake star-shaped birthmark on your chin,” Lex said. “Which is what the doorman saw. Thinking it was Ina.”

Tallula nodded. “Left the building easily with the painting hidden in my big blazer. Walked to my car, and drove home slowly. I was back here before dawn.”

“And what happened to Ina?” Madison's voice broke. “She's the innocent one here, and she's missing.”

“Who the hell cares where she is?” Tallula made a sour face. “Probably running for her life like a little dog. The cops will get her soon enough. And when that old doorman sees her, he'll peg her as Poppy's killer. I've done a very good job of leading the police in her direction. Everyone thinks she's guilty. She'll never get away with it.”

“But the handprint,” Lex said. “Ina put moisturizer on in the elevator on the way up to the penthouse. She was using that oil-based—”

“Oh, yes,” Tallula said. “That homemade stretch-mark cream. Raw shea butter and oil and other shit. It's actually very good for dry skin. I put it on in the elevator after her. But until now I wasn't aware of any handprint.”

“It doesn't matter,” Madison said firmly. She met Tallula's stare. “What do you think you're going to do here? You think you can just kill us and run away? You think you'll disappear into the woods?”

Tallula kept the gun level with her right hand and, with her left, reached into the deep pocket of her heavy, oversized sweater. She pulled out a can of turpentine and popped the lid. “You all just don't know how to mind your own beeswax,” she said, walking around, splashing the acrid liquid onto the floor. “I mean, do you realize that if you hadn't poked your noses into this, things would have been completely different?”

Madison stared down at the floor, at the puddles forming everywhere around them. “Please, Tallula,” she whispered. “Think about what you're doing.”

Splash. Drip.
The odor seared the air.

“I
have
thought about it,” Tallula said. “I don't want to do it. But I have to. And later, when the smoke clears and people find your bodies, they'll say, ‘You see? Those nosy Hamilton triplets got themselves caught in a fire. Boohoo.'”

“You'll never get away with this,” Park said. “You'll never make it out of the country in time.”

“And what about all these paintings?” Lex cried. “You're going to ruin them?”

“There's plenty for me without these,” Tallula replied. “I have others.” She flung her hand out, and another arc of turpentine sputtered across the floor. She gestured at them with the gun. “Now be pretty little doves and step back against the wall.”

Madison shook her head, nearly overcome by the fumes. “Tallula, please—”

“Now!”
Tallula shrieked, holding out the gun.

Park and Lex huddled against Madison as they shrank against the wall. “I don't believe this,” Park whispered. “She's gonna light us up!”

Tallula walked backward to the staircase landing. She ran to the very top of the stairs, then dropped the can of turpentine onto the floor, where it spilled the rest of its contents.

“Bitch!” Lex shrieked. “Don't!”

Tallula raised the gun, aimed it at the can of turpentine, and fired.

The shot exploded into a wall of flames. The deafening roar seemed to shake the whole cellar, but not before Tallula leaped over the threshold and disappeared.

Madison had been holding on to both Park and Lex. In the sudden, stunning aftermath of the conflagration, she felt herself being thrown to the floor, her hands slipping from theirs. When she looked up and tried to right herself, she saw nothing but bright orange flames and a growing curtain of black smoke.

“Oh my God!” Lex screamed. “Help!”

“Lex! Where are you?” Park yelled.

Madison heard their desperation through the crackling of the flames. She forced herself onto her feet. She drew in breath to scream, but the clots of black smoke caught in her throat, and she began coughing violently. She stumbled and slammed into a wall.

“Madison!”

“Park!”

“Where are you?” Madison managed to choke out. She steadied herself against the wall, trying to peer through the smoke and flames, but the air was thick, burning her eyes. She finally caught a glimpse of movement on her left—the unmistakable sheen of Lex's magic purse bobbing wildly in the air. Madison lurched forward and grabbed on to it.

With a cry of shock, Lex stumbled into her and together they crashed back onto the floor. “Madison!” Lex cried. “Oh my God!”

“I can't breathe!” Madison screamed.

Squirming onto her side, Lex shoved her hand into the purse and pulled out a scarf. “Put it around your nose and mouth!” she said frantically. “Hurry!”

Madison took the scarf in her hands and quickly knotted it around her head, bunching the front of it over her face. Her breaths grew steadier, but the smell and the thickness of the air made her want to gag.