That wasn't very likely. Then I thought of the recipient of the bottle of Chanel No. 5. That settled it. I would wear the dress. The fact that Bradley would never see me in it was of no import. I would be out on the town in New York City in a very sexy dress.
After meeting the guys at the hotel, we all cabbed it over to Rocket-a-Go-Go, which was, as Darlene said, done in a space motif. Neon outlines of rockets lined the blue walls, and a small stage had been set up where glittering planets were hung. Everything was done in silver, white, and blue, and the room was quite dark. The guys were in an upbeat mood for a bunch who'd just lost their lead singer, and I was glad. Tomorrow would be a different story when they found out their album wasn't going to be released. Let them enjoy themselves tonight.
As soon as we took off our coats, Keith was at my side. "Hey, Bebe, you look really cool." His gaze lingered on my legs.
I remembered our kiss outside the secondhand store. Unfortunately I also remembered Keith's temper. Tonight he wore striped corduroys and a black shirt with his blue velvet coat. All right, he was a sexy man with a temper.
"Hello, Keith. I'm happy to see you, too." I thought about how he had practically run away at the possibility that I was underage. Tonight I would prove to him that I wasn't by ordering a drink. But I would not get tipsy like I had before.
The waiter came by and took our drink orders. When he got to me, he said, "I'll need some identification, please."
I felt my face grow warm.
Keith watched as I pulled out my Virginia driver's
license—no need to get one here in New York—and handed it to the waiter.
Keith grinned at my stormy expression.
The other guys flocked around Darlene. From the way she skillfully handled them, it was clear she was used to lots of male attention.
There was one surprise guest: Astrid, who had slipped into the second cab with Peter. Now she sat at Peter's side in a black dress with a deep rounded neckline. Every once in a while she'd shoot Darlene a poisonous glance, which Darlene ignored with aplomb. Obviously Darlene was not going to call Astrid on her story of Philip dating a red-haired stewardess weeks before his murder.
I was wondering what we could do to further the investigation when, after our drinks arrived—I had ordered a champagne cocktail—Keith announced, "Nigel said I'll be singing lead now that Philip's gone."
I nearly choked. "Really."
"Yeah. It's not that surprising, when you realize I've got quite a good singing voice."
"I'm sure you do."
"And I've convinced Nigel that when the band plays, we can introduce some of the blues tunes I've written. That way, when we include them on the next album, our public will be ready."
"Sounds like a good idea," I said, and forced myself to smile.
"It is," he replied in a smug tone. "I've had to take over as leader now that Philip's gone."
"What about Nigel? He's the manager. Shouldn't he be making decisions like the direction of the music?"
Keith's lip curled, and he lowered his voice, leaning close to me. "Nigel was all right when we wanted to be a pop band in England, but now we're in America."
I opened my eyes to their widest and took a sip of my champagne. The bubbles got in my nose and tickled.
"Keith, you aren't saying that you need another manager, are you?"
He shrugged, carelessly turning his back on the older man at the other end of the table. Keith's voice was for my ears only. "We need a high-powered manager now. Nigel will understand he's taken us as far as he can."
"Will he?"
"He'll have to."
"Is this your idea?" I pressed.
"Well, Philip talked to me about it on the plane over, and it made sense to me."
"Did he tell Nigel?"
"Yeah, Nigel knows. He's just hanging about now because of Philip's death. Soon we'll start looking for someone else. Or someone will come knocking on our door after the album takes off."
"Yes, after the album takes off," I echoed, taking a long sip of my champagne despite my earlier caution to myself not to drink much. Nigel certainly did not know the band was serious about replacing him as manager. At least, he didn't appear to from our earlier conversation. Or was that just a ruse? Did he know, and was he concealing how angry he felt about it?
"Hey, you're not underage after all," Keith said, eyeing my drink. "Not like that Mr. Charming said last Saturday. Isn't that him over there with that blonde?"
My head swung around so fast my hair stuck to my mascaraed eyelashes and had to be pried loose so I could see.
Yikes! There was Bradley, looking mouthwateringly sexy in a midnight-blue silk suit, white shirt, and tie. His blond hair was combed perfectly in place, as always. He sat at a table for two on the next tier up from ours with a sophisticated-looking blonde decked out in a strapless, ice-blue cocktail dress. Miss Chanel No. 5?
My heart plummeted as I took in Bradley's handsome face—still with the redness around his eye due to Daddy's punch. Somehow, although it seemed stupid, that punch made me feel connected to Bradley. I wanted to walk up to him, put my arms around him, and stroke his head until he turned his lips to mine.
He must have felt me staring at him, for at that moment he turned and saw me in that tight hot-pink sweater dress nestled cozily between Keith and the other guys in the band.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I gave Bradley a carefree little wave—just a wiggle of the fingers on my left hand. Here I am, the wave said, no big deal, me out with my pop-star friends. Not pining for you at all.
Bradley waved back, short and businesslike.
I ground my teeth together. There he was with a blonde draped over him like a fur coat in twenty-degree weather. Not that I minded, I told myself sternly with a toss of my hair. I took another sip of champagne and smiled brilliantly at Keith, who was smoking and drinking bourbon.
"When are they going to start the show?" he asked, indicating the stage.
"I don't know. It's my first time here." I forced my head to remain centered, not turning my body so I could stare at Bradley and Miss Chanel No. 5. What I needed was a distraction. Oh, yes, the murder investigation. That might be a good thing to focus on instead of letting my jealousy get the better of me. I needed to question Reggie about those photos we'd found in Philip's room. I needed to ask Peter about the tie tack, although I didn't relish trying to talk to him while Astrid was glued to his side. And let's not forget Astrid's earring and her accusations about Darlene. But not now. Reggie it was.
We were crowded around a small round table with a blue neon ring circling it, I guessed to resemble a launch
pad. I caught Darlene's eye and slid back in my chair so I could talk to her. We moved our heads together.
"I need to question Reggie about the photos," I whispered.
"No problem. I can handle Nigel and Keith. Astrid is monopolizing Peter."
"Okay."
Darlene began to speak to Keith, using her considerable Texas charm. Keith seemed willing to be dazzled.
I turned to Reggie, who was looking deep into the bottom of a glass of beer.
"Reggie, how are you? Did you get in touch with your wife?" I tried for a friendly, confidential tone, which wasn't hard because I liked him. I still couldn't imagine a big teddy bear like him in those poses with that girl, but I had the proof right in my pink purse.
Just now, the bass player was looking morose. "No, Jean still isn't answering the phone. I know she's angry with me."
Here was my cue. "Reggie," I began, touching his sleeve, "do you think Philip succeeded in sending her any of those photos of you and that fan?"
His brown eyes widened, and I felt him jump under my touch. "What do you mean?"
"Reggie," I said as softly as I could with the music playing, "I know about the photos Philip was going to send Jean. Did Philip often interfere with your marriage?"
To my surprise, the teddy bear's expression became that of a grizzly ready to at
tack. "The bastard," Reggie said through clenched teeth. "I don't know how you found out about it, Bebe, but yeah, Philip delighted in getting fans to pose with me and then sending the snaps to Jean. He wanted to put me in the worst light with her, hoping she'd divorce me."
"He wanted you free because of the band's reputation?"
He swallowed a heavy gulp of his beer. "You got it.
So we could be 'swinging' pop stars, not married men with children. At first he just hinted to Jean that I was misbehaving on the road; then he tried to get incriminating photos. What rubbish! I've never been unfaithful to Jean. Those girls posed with me at Philip's urging. It meant nothing. At the- time, I thought I was just going along with what Philip wanted. I never dreamed he'd use the photos as evidence against me."
Sweat was breaking out on Reggie's brow, and his fists were clenched.
"Calm down, Reggie. I believe you. And I think it was a terrible thing that Philip was trying to do. Surely Jean didn't get upset?"
Reggie drained his beer. "That's the rub. You see, Jean's the jealous type, and Philip knew it. He knew how to play on her insecurities. I'll never forgive him for it. Never!"
I felt a chill at the passion in Reggie's voice.
People turned their heads our way. Keith said, "Quiet, Reggie; the show's about to start. Whatever's got you worked up will have to wait."
In a low voice I said to Reggie, "I promise you the pictures will never find their way to Jean now."
He looked at me with an intense stare, then nodded tersely, turning his gaze to the dance floor. He was obviously shaken and angry. How angry? Angry enough to have killed Philip for trying to come between him and his wife? Maybe he'd been trying to get the photos back before Philip could send them to Jean, and an argument had followed. One in which Reggie felt he must take desperate action.
I stole a look at him. Though girls were cavorting onstage in skimpy outfits that were supposed to pass as space suits, Reggie's gaze seemed far away. He glanced at his watch as if calculating the time difference between America and England. I found myself feeling sorry for him. Then I quickly pushed the feeling aside. There could be no room for personal feelings in a murder investigation. Reggie had a reason to want to see Philip dead. That was what I had to keep in the front of my mind. Now, did he have an opportunity to be in the room with Philip the day he was killed? I'd have to find out.
When the stage show was over, general dancing began. Keith stood up and put his hand at my elbow. "Come on, Bebe. Let's dance."
The song was "Heat Wave" by Martha Reeves and the Vandellas. I got to my feet rather reluctantly at first, not being a great dancer, but then I got into the beat and threw myself into the music. Breathless, I was caught up in the song, the lyrics making me think of a certain blue-eyed man who happened to be my boss. Glancing around, I didn't see him on the dance floor. In fact, the steps of the dance enabled me to view the table where he had been sitting with the blonde. It was empty.
Darlene came onto the floor with Nigel, who proved to be a wild dancer, doing the Frug with the best of the younger people. Astrid and Peter remained at the table with Reggie.
When the song ended, I wondered if maybe Keith would ask Astrid to dance, and I would have an opportunity to question Peter.
I was halfway back to my table, to the strains of Bobby Vinton singing the opening notes of "Blue Velvet" when out of nowhere, Bradley appeared.
He held out one long-fingered hand. "Our dance, Miss Bennett."
I don't think I even answered him, I was so surprised. All I felt was my heart leap and my body tremble. The next minute he was guiding me by the elbow back to the dance floor. Couples were in each other's arms for the slow dance. The houselights dimmed even more. My heart was going to jump out of my chest!
When we reached a space in the swaying couples, Bradley turned me into his arms. Could he smell my Emeraude cologne? Oh, he held me a respectable distance away from him, but his left hand was in mine—
skin to skin touching for the first time since he shook my hand at the job interview—and his right was at my waist. Was it my imagination, or was he gently massaging my lower back?
While all this was heaven, I found myself wanting more. Wanting him to pull me all the way into his arms and kiss me right there on the dance floor. A long, deep, satisfying kiss.
Instead, I looked up into his blue eyes and said the first thing that came to mind: "Where's your blonde?"
He chuckled. "She had to leave."
"Oh." What a dunce! Why couldn't I think of something clever to say? We were dancing, though, and my brain apparently couldn't function on more than the naughty thoughts that were flowing through it like Niagara Falls. I felt more than a whisper of a thrill at his touch. I looked down, afraid I couldn't control my emotions.
"Are you proceeding with your investigating, Miss Bennett?"
I had to look at him again. God, he was beautiful. And he was a divine dancer. "Yes, I am."
"You promised your father you wouldn't get involved."
"Well, that's not exactly what I said."
"I see. Twisting the truth a bit, are we?"
"It's for his own good. He'd only worry."
"So what have you found out?" Bradley asked in a casual tone.
"Peter was in Philip's room the day of the murder," I heard myself answering. I felt mesmerized by Bradley's eyes, the touch of his hands, and the closeness of his body. He smelled so good. I wanted to taste him. I'd tell him anything he wanted to know.
"Are you sure? That's a damaging statement."
"I have physical proof."
"What proof?"
"Let's not talk about that now," I murmured into his
ear, as if I were trying to be heard above the music, but really so I could get even closer to him.
To my delight, I felt his breath on my skin. "Oh, come on."
"One of Astrid's earrings, found in Philip's room."
"That is damning. Anything else?"
I snuggled into his arms. "Philip was trying to break up Reggie's marriage. He had photos taken of Reggie with adoring fans and then showed them to Jean, Reggie's wife."
"Not a very nice thing to do."
"No, and Reggie didn't take it well."
"Could he be your man?"
You're my man, I thought. "I don't know. There are too many suspects. Nigel even had reason to be angry with Philip. He was being phased out of the band's management."
"They thought they'd gotten too big for him already, didn't they?"
"Yes. How did you know?"
"I heard talk. Well, Miss Bennett, you have been a busy girl."
"Thank you."
"I wasn't praising you. You must stop before you place yourself in any danger." His blue eyes stared at me.
"What? What do you mean?" I asked, drawing back.
"Exactly what I said. We are dealing with a killer here. Someone who's killed once won't hesitate to do so again. Stop your investigating now and stick to being my secretary."
The music ended. He dropped his arms. We stood facing each other on the dance floor. I was steamed at him now. "You got all that information out of me on purpose, didn't you?"
"Perhaps."
"You just wanted to know what I'd found out. Then you could tell me to quit, just like my father!"
"It's for your own good. Let's leave matters to the police."
"To the police? They think Darlene did it. And what about you? You don't exactly look good to your uncle."
"Let me worry about Uncle Herman. As for Darlene, if she's innocent, the police will find that out."
"What do you mean, if she's innocent? Of course she's innocent. I'll tell you this, Mr. Williams; I'm not stopping my investigation just because you told me to. I will get to the truth. I'm smart and capable of finding out who murdered Philip Royal!"
Bradley adjusted his cuff. His gaze went down the length of my tight dress. "I'll be keeping an eye on you, kid. No one transcribes my writing as well as
you do. I won't be put to the trouble of training a new secretary."
Oh! With that infuriating remark, he practically marched me back to my table and turned to leave.
I followed him and poked him on the shoulder. When he turned around, I said, "Listen here, Mr. Williams, I'm an independent career woman, and I can do as I please. What pleases me is to find out who killed Philip Royal. There's nothing you can do to stop me."
He raised his hand and ran a finger across my left cheek. I felt a shudder run through my body. "Okay, have it your way. Just be careful." With that, he turned and left the club.
I stood there for a monlent longer, still angry. I'd show him. I'd show Bradley Williams that Bebe Bennett could solve a murder. Then he'd be forced to eat his words!
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I sat on the floor of my bedroom, my hair in curlers and under the dryer cap. I had used Lustre-Creme shampoo, and had had to lather only once. The dryer was turned on high so I could finish my hair and get to work.
Darlene ambled into the room wearing a blue terry- cloth robe and drinking a Sego weight-control drink. She perched on the edge of my bed. "Bebe, what happened last night?" she asked, raising her voice to be heard over the noise of the hair dryer.
"You mean about Reggie and the photos?"
"We could start there," Darlene said.
"He claims it's all innocent. I believe him. Philip was just out to cause trouble."
"Even if Reggie wasn't doing anything wrong with those girls, Philip was sure taking advantage of it. That's motive for Reggie to want to see Philip stopped."
I adjusted the hose of the dryer so I could turn my head and see Darlene better. "See Philip stopped, but I don't know about killing him to do it."
Darlene made a noncommittal nod of her head.
"What did you find out from Peter?" I asked.
Darlene rolled her eyes. "What a weirdo. Do you know he draws pen marks on his hairline to keep track of his hair loss?"
"Yes, I noticed that too."
"And they say women are vain. Anyway, I asked him
about the tie tack, and he said he isn't missing one. He acted like he didn't know what I was talking about when I said I'd found one in Philip's room, but the whole time his right eye was twitching and blinking more than a traffic light in a hurricane. You know he and Astrid are each other's alibi. She claims she was with him the night Philip was murdered."
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