* * *
An hour later, when her uncle arrived in what Pepper thought was an immaculately tailored tuxedo, the white collar of which set off his deep tan, she went over to George, took his hands in her own, and with a sense of trepidation, introduced him to Parker.
“Pepper hasn’t told me about you,” George said.
“We’ve just recently made it official, Uncle George. Parker and I have been seeing each other when we can, but now we are exclusive. I haven’t mentioned him to anyone because I needed to make sure that it was serious. Otherwise, what’s the point? Right, Parker?”
“Absolutely, Pepper.”
“So, this is serious?”
“It is. My first serious relationship, actually. I’ve never been so serious, Uncle George.”
George appraised Parker. “What do you do, Parker?”
Parker was about to answer, when Pepper interrupted. “Later. Let’s do brunch. Just the three of us. There’s still so much to do before the doors open. I want you to get to know him, Uncle George. But we’ve got no time for chitchat. We’ve got to get this party started, y’all.”
“Pepper, did your Southern accent just come out?”
For a moment, Pepper looked shell-shocked. Though the lights were dim, she felt in her soul that her uncle could see the color drain away from her face. “It happens when I’m nervous.”
“I haven’t heard an Arkansas drawl for years,” George said. “It was actually pleasant. It reminded me of your father.”
“Atlanta,” Pepper said, glancing at Parker. “Always Atlanta. Not Arkansas. Everyone always gets them mixed up.”
“Right,” George said.
“You’re from Arkansas?” Parker asked.
“No,” George said with a smile. “Atlanta. Always Atlanta. And I’m assuming this was after Atlanta burned?”
“You’re so funny, Uncle George. I wasn’t even born when that happened. I’m too young. I heard about Atlanta burning in history class. Seriously!” She winked at him. “Look around. After tonight, it’s Manhattan that’s going to be set on fire. Nobody will forget tonight.”
“Your enthusiasm knows no bounds, Pepper. Now, if you’ll both excuse me, I’m going to check in with security. And if they’re ready to go, we open the doors and allow our guests inside.”
“I assume Leana’s ready to do the same,” Pepper said.
“Both parties begin at eight, so I assume you’re correct.”
“She doesn’t have anything on this. Nothing touches this.”
“What she has, Pepper, is an historic building that’s been painstakingly renovated at a considerable cost. It’s located on Park Avenue, and it will attract that set, which is a powerful set. What we have is a relatively new building that lacks the drama her building has. Save for a good cleaning, we’ve done nothing to the lobby. But that’s fine. As well as it will do, it’s not this hotel I’m placing my bets on going forward. It’s the Columbus Circle project that’s the game changer. Soon, all apartments will be sold, the press will consider it a triumph, and we’ll move on to the next project.”
“I thought this one meant something to you.”
“It’s just glass and steel, Pepper. It’s just another building. Don’t misunderstand me. It’s a beautiful, modern building that I got at a great price, but in tomorrow’s papers, expect Leana’s hotel to take the prize. Same goes for her party. She told me that Michael arranged for more than a hundred celebrities to come. Tough to compete with that. She’s going to own the press because of it.”
“What they’ll talk about is how her husband’s family was planning to murder her.”
“That’ll come up, but what you need to understand, Pepper, is that there is no such thing as bad press. The city’s sympathy will be with my daughter. Her star is set to rise. Her hotel is just the beginning.”
She couldn’t believe what her uncle was saying. And why hadn’t he complimented her as enthusiastically on what she had pulled off here?
Gordon Elling flashed before her eyes.
Actually, Pepper thought, her hotel is going to be the end of her.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-NINE
With Zack Anderson at her side, Leana moved swiftly across the busy lobby. She checked each table as she passed it. She stopped at one point to admire the spray of flowers towering on the end of the bar, and then she said hello to the bar staff, who were standing at the ready. Mario was across the room talking with Sean. The place was alive with those attending to any remaining finishing touches. The orchestra was in place and seated, their instruments tuned earlier.
“It’s getting late,” she said. “Ten minutes, and those doors open. Are we ready?”
“We’re ready.”
She looked over at the metal detectors at each door, and cringed at the sight of them. “Those are not going to go over well.”
“I disagree. People will feel safer with them,” Zack said. “They’ve read the papers. They’ve seen the news on CNN. I think people will be relieved to see them.”
“An alarm won’t sound if someone sets one off, will it?”
“No. Sean made sure of that. A light flashes low on the floor, and then the person gets a fleeting swipe with a metal-detecting wand. He told me that it’s generally jewelry or belts that set off the machines. The security staff has been trained to be friendly, jovial and accommodating. It’ll be fine, Leana. Your guests will feel safe.”
“Mario and Sean are coming over.”
“I think it’s time. Have you looked outside the window?”
“I have. I see them.”
“People are waiting.”
“Why do I want to get sick?”
Zack put his hand on her back. “Nobody gets sick in Dior. Christian is comfortable in his grave. We don’t want him rolling over in it. Banish the thought.”
* * *
On the sidewalk, Carmen Gragera stood sleek in her red dress with lines of people in front of her and behind her.
The air was warm. A light breeze cooled her skin, which felt good. Traffic raced up and down Park, and spotlights swirled against the front of the hotel, which she thought was beautiful.
Near the entrance, she saw the press and the paparazzi, all of whom were taking photographs. She saw the front doors open. A cheer went through the crowd, which was likely in support of Leana Redman given the news that hit this morning about Antonio De Cicco’s foiled plans against her, and then the line began to move as limousines pulled alongside the sectioned-off curb.
Would Leana recognize her from their time together on the ship? Carmen had to wonder, even if a month had passed since she posed as a reporter from the Times. She regretted that in order to get the switchblade that was disguised as a hair clip into the building, she had to pull her newly blonde hair away from her face, thus exposing it.
Will she recognize my face? It’s possible. If so, what then?
Carmen knew.
In an effort to feel less exposed, she wore diamonds at her throat, wrists and ears. They were extravagant gifts from Alex, who was with her now in spirit, and she prayed they were enough to keep the attention on them and away from her.
Her makeup also was different than it had been that night on Fondaras’ ship. Then, she wore almost no makeup. She was a working reporter, after all. But now, she looked elegant without being bold. It was the diamonds and the dress she wanted people to admire, not her face, as pretty as it was.
What she needed to do tonight was going to be difficult. Whereas Spocatti only had to bring down one person—George Redman—she had to murder Leana Redman and her brother, Michael Archer, each of whom she needed to get alone. She had thought that was going to be impossible until Vincent came up with a plausible plan.
“This is the way we both go,” he told her. “It’s the only way we can get them away from the crowds and hopefully into a private room.”
“Security won’t leave their side.”
“So, we take out security.”
“
How?”
He showed her how. She asked him how to use them. He swung back his hand and demonstrated.
“They’re small,” she said.
“And lethal. Death in seven seconds. Be careful with them. Screw up, and it could be you who dies.”
“Show me how to use them again.”
“Take your hand like this, pinch them between your fingers, and throw. Better yet, if you’re close enough, just stick them hard with it.”
“Got it,” she said.
“Back to the plan. You’re the Photoshop queen. Are you going to be able to pull this off?”
“Piece of cake. Give me twenty.”
The line moved forward. Another limousine pulled to the curb, and this time the crowd took a collective breath when they saw who emerged. It was an iconic, Academy Award-winning movie star and his much-younger girlfriend. Curious, Carmen watched them pose for photographs. He’s so short, she thought. Good looking, but short.
Not that the crowd seemed to mind.
As stuffy and as ancient as so many of them appeared to be, celebrity was a powerful intoxicant even they couldn’t ignore.
But trumping his arrival was the arrival of Michael Archer. His limousine cut to the curb, he stepped out of the car, and because of who he was and all that had happened to him and to Leana, the press and the paparazzi descended upon him in droves.
Three guards flanked him, but they allowed him a moment alone so the press could take their photographs. Then he was ushered inside, where he set off one of the metal detectors Carmen had noted earlier. Because of who he was, he was given a pass. But as she walked close to the entrance, Carmen knew that her jewelry and her hair clip would indeed trigger the machines, which everyone seemed to be setting off.
That actually was in her favor. Regardless of how experienced security was, the line behind her was very long, so they’d needed to get people inside quickly. Mistakes would be made. Better for Carmen was that all she carried with her was a beaded clutch, which they could check if they liked. Inside were lipstick, a compact, her cell phone, and a small can of pepper spray. If they questioned her about that, she’d simply say that she wanted to feel safe if anything happened tonight, especially given this morning’s news. She had a permit for it. If they asked, she’d present them with it.
When it was her turn in line, Carmen set her shoulders back almost regally. A faint smile played upon her lips. She walked forward and set off the alarm. She put her hand to her diamond necklace, and looked embarrassed while she handed one of the security guards her invitation, which was swept beneath a fluorescent light.
“Welcome, Ms. Hines.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“Would you mind stepping forward? All of this is just a matter of safety.”
“Of course.”
A woman with a wand came over and swept her body. The light at the end of it flashed as it roved over her jewels, and then again when she waved it over Carmen’s hair clip. The woman looked behind Carmen, saw the clip, and then asked her if she had anything of concern in her bag.
“My cell,” Carmen said. “And I do have a can of pepper spray, along with a permit. I wouldn’t have come here tonight without it given the recent news. It might be dangerous outside the hotel, for God’s sake.”
“May I see the permit?”
“Of course.” Carmen pulled it out of her clutch and handed it to the woman, who looked at it and quickly handed it back.
“Thank you for being so accommodating, Ms. Hines.”
“My pleasure.”
And Carmen was inside.
CHAPTER NINETY
At The Hotel Fifth, Spocatti, whose cover name for the night was Vicenzo Massara, stood at the far end of a long bar in a black tuxedo that matched his dark mood.
He was in shadow. In his hand was a glass of sparkling water with a wedge of lime in it, the orchestra played something he recognized but couldn’t place, and people around him talked and talked, laughed and laughed, chittered and chattered. No one gave him a second thought save for one woman at the opposite end of the bar, who was looking directly at him. And who had yet to look away.
He recognized her on sight. It was Epifania Zapopa, Charles Stout’s saucy widow with the loose mouth and the looser reputation. Spocatti had used her to get to Stout that evening on Fondaras’ ship.
She looked as beautiful as he remembered, and just as lethal. There was a reason she kept looking at him. Did she know who he was, or was she trying to place him? That night on the ship, he wore dark glasses to fit in with the late-summer party goers, all of whom were freshly back from their time spent in the Hamptons or along the Maine coast. He couldn’t wear sunglasses here since he wasn’t on a ship, and since this was a far more formal affair.
But that likely was a blessing. Those glasses had shielded a good deal of his face, so if Epifania did think she recognized him and came over to him, he might be able to throw her off by suggesting that they’d never met.
For now, he pretended to ignore her. He looked straight ahead, but kept Epifania in his periphery. If she did decide that he was the man last seen with her husband, and she wanted to ask him what happened when they stepped off the boat, he might have to deal with her, especially if her tone was confrontational.
He had yet to see George Redman, but he’d only been here for twenty minutes. When he arrived, he passed through security without a hitch despite what was concealed within his belt. He found the bar, ordered a drink, and hadn’t moved from the spot there where he could assess the situation and just how tight security was. It was better than it had been three years ago, but then it had to be, didn’t it?
Still, it was nothing Spocatti couldn’t handle. He knew this hotel, and while the exterior had been renovated, nothing inside had changed. He knew where the elevators were, where the washrooms were, where the servers prepared the food, and every other place that Ryan had shown him before so he could plan for the unexpected, like Epifania Zapopa, who now was walking over to him, her legs already unsteady. She was thin—too thin—and obviously a little drunk. How many had she had so early in the evening? The party had just started.
Unless it began at home....
“You,” she said, holding out a full martini glass in his direction. “How do I know you? You look familiar. Where we meet?”
He kept his voice low. “Excuse me?”
“Oh, please,” she said. “Just don’t, OK? Don’t act like the other gilipollas in here, who can’t stand me because Charles and I got caught doing it doggy-style on his ex-wife’s prized rug. These bastards tossed me into the pits of hell because of that. So don’t do that. OK? I can’t stand it when people do that, and it happens every day. You and I know each other, but I can’t place from where. Help a girl out. You’re cute.” She shimmied in front of him, and her drink sloshed onto the floor, which made her laugh, but made others look at her with annoyance. “You look like Zapopa material. You look like Zapopa’s new Papi.”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Zapopa, I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Vicenzo Massara.” He extended his hand, which she just looked at. “It’s a pleasure.”
“Vicenzo Massara? That’s not your name. I thought it was Anthony. Tony. Antonio. Something like that. I have a mind like a trampa.”
He lowered his hand. “Like a what?”
“Silly, Papi. Not a tramp. A trampa. A trap. Papi has one thing on his mind. Always does.”
She leered at him with hooded eyes, and he knew at that point that Epifania Zapopa already had waded too far into the drink. There was no saving her now.
“Papi, usted es tan caliente.”
So, now she thinks I’m hot. Move on. “Papi no sabe lo que está hablando. Perdón.”
“Su nombre es Tony. Or close to that. I remember you. I just don’t know from where.”
“My name isn’t Tony, Ms. Zapopa. It’s Vicenzo.” He was aware of people looking sympathetically at him when he moved past her. He gave them a look of weary frustrati
on. “Take care of yourself, Epifania. Have some water. Good night.”
But Epifania Zapopa, recently widowed and desperate for attention, wasn’t about to give up now.
“We dance later,” she said. “Tú y yo. In front of everyone. We show these pricks how it’s done. We take to floor, we get applause. Epifania Zapopa earn her applause! So will you, Papi, but mostly because you chisporrotear. Las mujeres se caerá todo se ha acabado para ti.”
Spocatti held up his hand and moved deep into the crowd. When he did, he not only heard Epifania Zapopa making obscene noises behind him, but he finally came upon George Redman, who was to his right, talking to a group of people who were beaming up at him, as if he were the Chosen One. Two men in black tie stood behind Redman. Spocatti watched him move to another group. The men followed. Security. Spocatti was certain that those men were instructed to follow him everywhere tonight, and he also was fairly sure that walking through the crowd were additional members of Redman’s security team, also dressed in black tie. Listening. Eavesdropping. Watching. So, if he couldn’t get him alone, he’d just deal with all of them, which he was prepared to do.
A hand fell on his shoulder. He turned and faced a grinning Epifania Zapopa.
“Ms. Zapopa,” he said, irritated.
“I know who you are,” she said. “Epifania remembers now. You were at the Fondaras party. You said I was in all the international papers. You were kind to me, which never happens. You asked me to get my husband for you. You were the last one with him. I saw you leave the ship together.”
Spocatti stood completely still. If he had to, he’d lead her to the dance floor and hold her so close. He’d cut off her breath and she’d pass out in his arms.
But Epifania surprised him. She leaned forward, pressed her formidable breasts against his chest and then whispered in his ear. “It’s all right, Papi. Relax. Your secret safe with me. Because of you, I rich woman now. Properties, properties everywhere. More millions than even Madonna. Oh, and I own big chunks of Apple and Google, which people tell me is good thing. So good! I hated Charles, you know? You saw it on my face that night, and you saved me from having a life with him. Now, tell Epifania, Papi. You’re here for a reason. How can Epifania help?”
Park Avenue (Book Six in the Fifth Avenue Series) Page 38
