“Come in.”
“Is this a bad time?” he asked tentatively.
“It’s fine.” Gabrielle watched as Doug walked across the room and placed the flowers on her bedside table. Before coming over, he stopped at the isolette and gazed down at Gabrielle’s daughter.
“I see that another cover girl has made her way into the world,” he remarked lightly, his back to Gabrielle. He didn’t want her to see the range of emotions moving across his face. “She’s beautiful, Gabrielle. You do good work.”
“Thank you.”
Doug took one last look at the daughter that should have been his and turned to face Gabrielle. “I bought this for her,” he said, handing Gabrielle a four-piece wooden puzzle of a soft, fuzzy lamb. “I figure it won’t be long before she’s ready for the wonderful world of jigsaw.”
“Thank you,” Gabrielle repeated, finding his gesture sweet, but still too confused to say more.
“Are you okay? I know this afternoon must have been rough on you.”
“A little.”
“For a bunch of jaded reporters, they all seemed pretty supportive,” Doug said, trying to fill the clumsy silence.
“I’m happy about that.”
“And for what it’s worth, I’m very proud of you. What you did took a lot of courage. You’re going to help a lot of people.”
“Thank you, but I wasn’t trying to be a hero. I just want to finally learn how to read,” she replied self-consciously.
“About the book. If you’re uncomfortable with the idea …”
“I need some time.”
“I understand. You must be tired,” Doug said, feeling very ill at ease. “I’ll go so you can get some rest,” he said, looking into her lapis eyes.
“Thanks. I’ll have Felicia get in touch with you about the book,” Gabrielle informed him, looking away. She knew that she sounded curt and professional, but Beatrice’s revelation was too new and her emotions too jumbled. She didn’t know how to behave around Doug at this moment.
“Fine. You take care,” Doug said, not taking his eyes off her. Another few awkward seconds went by before he turned and left the room. Gabrielle took several deep breaths. On the third exhale, Doug burst back through the door.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t leave here without knowing the truth. Gabrielle, why didn’t you tell me you couldn’t read?”
“At first I was ashamed, and I thought you would be, too. And then, after my birthday, I sent you a note explaining everything, or at least thought I had, but—”
“Bea told me about your letter. Believe me, it’s the only reason I stayed away,” Doug said.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive her.”
“Try to put yourself in her place. She thought she was protecting you from me.”
“It wasn’t all your fault. If I had told you the truth, things might have worked out differently. Still, Bea had no right to interfere like that.”
“Maybe not, but at least she owned up to her actions. You’ve got to give her credit for that.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Will you think about something else?” Doug asked, reaching for her hand. He was amazed by how comfortable and right it felt in his. “Would you think about forgiving me. I was so stupid for believing that idiot reporter Visa Lee’s lies.”
“You mean Stephanie’s. Visa Lee is her pen name.”
“All this confusion between us is because of Stephanie Bancroft?”
“Not all of it. She had help.”
“You can’t lump Bea and Stephanie together. What Beatrice did was wrong, but she acted out of love. Stephanie was just being a jealous bitch.”
“I’d like to say she was all done, but I think she’s planning to write a book about me.”
“Not if I can help it,” Doug promised. He paused for a moment before continuing and searched her eyes with his. “Gabrielle, do you think there’s a chance, however remote, for us to try again?”
“So much has happened. It could never be the same.”
“I know that things are different,” Doug said, nodding at the hospital bassinet. “We’ll take it nice and slow. Just give it some thought?”
Gabrielle nodded in agreement as Kylie’s hungry cry filled the room.
“I guess that’s my cue to get out of here,” he said, resisting the temptation to run his hand through her unruly curls.
“Thanks for the flowers and the puzzle for Kylie. She’ll love it.”
“My pleasure. I’ll call you soon?”
“Okay.”
“See you later, sweet potato,” he said to Kylie. Doug and Gabrielle shared a smile, both remembering the many times they’d spoken that familiar line. Suddenly the stiffness between them melted, leaving a pool of possibilities before them. Doug departed, leaving Gabrielle alone with her daughter and her memories. He walked down the corridor with other things on his mind. It was time to pay Stephanie Bancroft a visit.
53
“Call your friend at Target Press and see if we can get an appointment with Russell Shockley,” Stephanie ordered Howie the minute she walked into the apartment.
“I thought you wanted to work with a legit publisher. What happened?” he asked, noticing the ferocious look in her eyes.
“I got hoodwinked. They found out I was Visa Lee and set me up. By the time I got to the press conference, Gabrielle had made her big confession and then announced that Doug Sixsmith was going to write her book.”
“Her ex-boyfriend?”
“Yeah. She didn’t even let Jack’s grave get cold before she hooked up with old lover boy.”
“What about your professional reputation?”
“I’ve rethought my position. Forget journalistic legitimacy. Plenty of biographers are raking in big bucks writing unauthorized books. Hell, without the Kitty Kelleys of the world, the true lives of people like Jackie Onassis, Elizabeth Taylor, or Frank Sinatra might never be revealed. Now, go make that call.”
Howie returned shortly with a wide grin on his face. “You’re one lucky lady. You have an appointment at Target today at six-thirty. He’s leaving for vacation tomorrow, but he remembered our proposal and wants to talk before he goes.”
“Perfect. Are you going with me?”
“Nah. I’m working the premiere of Tom Hanks’s new flick. You can handle Shockley without me, can’t you?”
“Howie, don’t ask stupid questions.”
The least I can do for Gabrielle is get her letter back, Beatrice thought as she knocked on Stephanie’s front door. Within seconds she heard the sound of Stephanie’s grumbling as she approached.
“Beatrice, what a surprise. What happened? Gabzilla throw you out of your apartment?”
“I came to talk to you. May I come in?” Beatrice said, trying to sound civil. After everything Stephanie had said and done, it was difficult.
“Sorry, the place is a mess. Next time why don’t you call before you come barging over.” There was no way that Stephanie could let Beatrice into the apartment now, not with the Killington pictures spread on top of the coffee table. She’d pulled them out, along with other photos they had of Gabrielle, to put together a representative sampling for her meeting at Target Press.
“I’m used to your mess,” Bea said, pushing her way inside. She had not come all this way to let Stephanie stop her now. Beatrice was determined that Gabrielle would finally see Doug’s letter.
“Make this quick, Bea,” Stephanie said, as she placed herself between Beatrice and the coffee table.
“I want Gabrielle’s letter back.”
“Sorry, you know what they say: ‘Possession is nine tenths of the law.’ ”
“I’m not leaving until I get it,” Bea insisted, just as the phone began to ring.
“Don’t make me throw you out,” Stephanie responded, ignoring the phone. The answering machine picked up, and the two women could both hear Russell Shockley leaving a message. Stephanie ran to the phone. “Get lost. No
w!” she shouted to Bea before picking up the receiver.
Bea, with no intention of going anywhere, walked over to the sofa and sat down. She was shocked to see at least two dozen photos of Gabrielle scattered across the coffee table. What was Stephanie doing with all these pictures? She picked up a photo of Jack and Gabrielle and was about to reach for another when the image of the Killington house caught her eye. She picked up the stack and quickly leafed through it. The first two photos showed the vandalized vacation house. Bea gasped when she saw the last two photos. They were of the back of the chalet engulfed in flames.
How and where had Stephanie gotten these photographs? And why hadn’t she turned them over to the police? Bea was still mulling the questions over in her mind when Stephanie snatched the photos from her hand.
“You just can’t keep your big nose out of other people’s business, can you?” Stephanie barked.
“Where did you get these pictures?” Beatrice asked in a tone that was not to be ignored.
“If you must know, I received them in the mail.”
“Who sent them to you?”
“I don’t know. They were sent anonymously to my office at the paper,” Stephanie lied, taken aback by Beatrice’s sudden assertiveness.
“Do the police know you have these?”
“My source asked me not to contact the police.”
“I thought you said they were mailed to your office.”
“There was a note attached,” Stephanie countered weakly.
“Why wouldn’t your source want the police to have these? They might help solve this case.”
“I don’t know, but I’ve had enough of your inquisition,” Stephanie said, as she walked over to the bookcase and pulled an envelope from between two books. “Here, take your stupid letter and get out of here.” Stephanie was getting nervous. Damn this old bat. Why did she have to show up when these photos were out in the open?
“You’re lying,” Beatrice said, taking the letter and putting it in her purse. “If you received those photos legitimately, you would have printed them in your column. There’s no way you would pass up these pictures unless you were afraid to use them.”
“You’re way off base, old lady,” Stephanie said tensely. “You have your letter, so beat it.”
“Did you take these pictures yourself?”
“How could I? A, I’m not a photographer, and B, only you knew where they were going.”
“That’s true. But you spent the night snooping around my apartment. If you found the key to my pearwood box, then you must have found the calendar book where I kept all of Gabrielle’s travel arrangements,” Beatrice accused the woman. Judging from the panic-stricken look in the back of Stephanie’s eyes and the flushed rims of her ears, Beatrice knew she’d hit the nail squarely on its head.
“I have to give you credit, Henny Penny, you’re much brighter than you look.”
“Why don’t you tell me everything?”
“Damn it, there’s nothing to tell,” Stephanie insisted. “I’ve been keeping notes on everything that happens to Gabrielle professionally and personally for months now. I went up to Vermont to take a few pictures of the lovebirds on their honeymoon for inclusion in my book. End of story.”
“Don’t lie to me, Stephanie. You didn’t go to Vermont to take pictures. You went to the house determined to ruin Gabrielle’s honeymoon. You were the one who broke in and trashed the chalet. There were no college kids, no strangers—only you.”
“Why the hell would I go through all that trouble?”
“Because you’re jealous of Gabrielle—jealous that she married Jack and that she’s rich and famous. That’s the only reason you want to write this book—to capitalize on Gabrielle’s fame and gain some of your own.”
“Is that really so terrible? She gets everything she wants—men, money, work. I get nothing. So what if I found a way to grab a little glory for myself?”
“Glory through murder?”
“I didn’t kill anyone,” Stephanie sputtered, outraged by the accusation.
“You set the house on fire with Jack in it,” Bea accused.
“It was an accident. I admit we tried to make it look like they’d had a big party. I planned to report it in my column, but that’s all. I never meant for anybody to die.”
“You left him in a burning house. What did you expect would happen?”
“It wasn’t on fire when we left,” Stephanie said in her defense.
“You might not have killed Jack, but you certainly set him up to die. You won’t get away with this. Whatever book you plan to write, you’ll be writing it in jail.”
Beatrice stood by disconcerted as Stephanie broke into a throaty laugh. Her bewilderment turned to fear as the look in Stephanie’s eyes seemed to grow increasingly bizarre. Beatrice felt as though she were cornered by a wild animal. Slowly, she began backing away in the direction of the door.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Stephanie said, standing in front of her. Purposefully walking toward Bea, she forced the woman to the couch. Beatrice fell back onto the sofa with a heavy thud.
“I’m going home.”
“To call the police?” Stephanie asked. Beatrice remained quiet, afraid to say or do anything. “Go right ahead and turn me in. We can bunk together in the same cell.”
“That will never happen.”
“Sure it will. Think about it. Was it just coincidence that you were the one who discovered the fire? You, the only person who knew where they were staying?”
“Why would I want to hurt Jack?”
“Because you were afraid of losing your precious Gabrielle.”
“Nobody will believe that story.”
“Everybody knows that you have a history of keeping Gabrielle away from the men in her life. Doug was just a boyfriend. Who knows how far you’d go to get rid of her husband?”
“That’s absurd.”
“I told you we were partners. I meant it. You turn me in and I’ll name you as my partner in crime. I think ‘accomplice’ is the term the police use.”
She was so clever. Not only had she managed to blackmail Beatrice, Stephanie had managed to make her a conspirator in this miserable incident. But she hadn’t bet on one thing: Bea didn’t give a damn anymore. She’d already lost Gabrielle and Kylie. There was nothing left to lose.
“I’m willing to take that chance. I’m almost sixty-seven years old. Going to prison means nothing to me. But come hell or high water, I will not let you get away with hurting Gabrielle. You’ll have to kill me to keep me from turning you in, and we both know you won’t do that.”
The idea that Beatrice was willing to go to jail or even die for Gabrielle enraged Stephanie. She responded to Bea’s statement with a hard, swift slap to her jaw. While Beatrice sat momentarily stunned by the strike, Stephanie hurried over to the desk and pulled out a black revolver. She approached Beatrice again, waving the gun in front of her. Beatrice inhaled loudly. She’d pushed Stephanie too far.
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Stephanie said. She could see that the woman was clearly petrified. To keep her that way, she was careful not to let Bea get a good look at the gun. From a reasonable distance it looked like a deadly killing instrument. In reality, it was Howie’s water pistol.
“Don’t move,” Stephanie ordered as she circled the couch and stood behind Beatrice. Holding the toy revolver to Bea’s head with one hand, Stephanie quickly stripped off her pantyhose and proceeded to tie Bea’s arms behind her at the wrist. She didn’t bother tying up her feet, knowing that without the use of her arms, Bea would not be able to raise her hefty body from the couch.
“Don’t do this, Stephanie. You’re already in enough trouble.”
“Shut up! I didn’t kill Jack, and I’m not going to jail for vandalizing a house,” Stephanie said furiously.
“If that’s the truth, tell the police.”
“They won’t believe me, just like you don’t. Besides, I have a better idea. Si
nce you’re so willing to take the rap for all of this, you can.”
“How so?”
“You’ll see. Don’t go away,” Stephanie chuckled snidely. She walked down the short hall to the back of the apartment and opened her bedroom door. Immediately, the cat sprang from the room. Barclay wandered into the living room and hopped up onto the windowsill behind the sofa to nap.
Stephanie returned to the living room carrying a tripod and video camera. She set the tripod up opposite the couch and bolted the camera in place. She looked through the viewfinder and adjusted the camera so that Beatrice’s head and shoulders were loosely framed by the background of the room. She checked to make sure that Bea’s arms, still tied behind her back, did not stand out suspiciously. This confession could in no way look coerced.
“What is that for?” Bea asked, her voice trembling.
“You’re going to give me a believable confession to the Killington fire. Keep it short, and don’t try anything funny. Oh, be sure to add that you’re sorry and you can’t live with what you’ve done. That’s always a good touch. Here we go. Action!”
“I—uh—I, I can’t do this,” Bea faltered.
“You can do it. You will do it,” Stephanie barked, waving the gun in Bea’s face.
While Stephanie rewound the videotape, Bea took a minute to put her thoughts together, drew in a deep breath, and began. “Gabrielle, I know I’ve hurt you badly, and for that I am so very sorry. What I’m about to tell you will only hurt you more, but you deserve to know the truth about everything.
“I didn’t want Doug to come between us, so I found a way to eliminate him from the picture. For a while things were normal again, but then Jack came along. He ambushed me with your surprise marriage and pregnancy. I resented him for taking you away from me, so I came up with a plan to get rid of him, too.” Beatrice paused, and Stephanie prompted her to continue by pointing the revolver at her.
“I didn’t mean to kill him. I only meant to sour the relationship between you by ruining his reputation. I paid some kids to destroy your vacation house. It was expensive, and I had to use my credit card to get a cash advance, but I knew I could get the money back by selling the story to one of the tabloids. I thought if the public believed that Jack was irresponsible and immature, so might you. But Jack came back too soon. One of the kids knocked him out, and he dropped his cigarette on the floor. That’s what started the fire. His death was an accident.
Read Between the Lies Page 42
