“Where did she get them?”
“She didn’t say, and I didn’t ask. At the time I was Gabrielle’s publicist and had no thoughts of writing my own book, but things changed. How fortuitous for both of us that this very legitimate source dropped these pictures into our lap.”
Russell Shockley stood up and extended his hand. “If we’re going to head off the competition, we have to move quickly. How quickly can you give me a complete manuscript?”
“Is right now soon enough?” Stephanie asked, pulling the manuscript from her bag.
“Well, Ms. Bancroft, it looks like we’re in business.”
“Oh, yes, we most definitely are.”
“You found something?” Gabrielle asked, emerging from the back room.
“Maybe. Watch this tape again and really listen to what Beatrice is saying,” Doug said as he pushed the “Play” button. Following Bea’s sign-off, he paused the tape, leaving her image looming on the television screen.
“Here’s what I don’t understand. Why would she use her credit card to pay those kids? Since when do delinquents accept credit?”
“She said she used it to get a cash advance,” Gabrielle corrected.
“But why would she make such a point about it? And even if Bea did set this whole scenario up to ruin Jack’s reputation, I can’t believe she’d try to sell it to a tabloid. Why not let the mainstream media simply report the story? Wouldn’t that give the whole thing more credibility?”
“Maybe, but only the tabloids would pay for the story,” Gabrielle pointed out, staring at the television screen. “Hey, that looks like Barclay.”
“Who?”
“The cat peeking over Beatrice’s left shoulder.”
“That’s the same cat I saw go flying across the room when I visited Stephanie earlier this evening. So Bea must have been at Stephanie’s at some point, too.”
“You don’t think that Stephanie—”
“That’s exactly what I think.” Doug was now certain that Beatrice was not admitting any wrongdoing, but instead leaving a bounty of clues that would lead them to the real culprit. “It all makes sense now. What credit card have we all come to hate?”
“Visa. Everywhere she wants to be,” Gabrielle replied, her eyes growing wide with realization.
“Visa Lee, a.k.a. Stephanie Bancroft, tabloid writer. This whole story about ruining Jack’s reputation and souring your relationship sounds much more plausible when you think of Stephanie as its originator.”
“Then why would Bea confess to everything and try to kill herself?”
“Bea must have confronted her. That’s why Stephanie had her make this tape,” Doug said.
“And if Bea dies after leaving this confession, Stephanie gets off scot-free.”
“Exactly.”
“Could she really be that evil?”
Before Doug could respond, they were interrupted by Kylie’s hungry cry. Gabrielle took her into Beatrice’s bedroom to nurse. As she sat feeding the baby, a thought occurred to her. “We don’t have any hard proof that Stephanie is responsible,” she called out into the other room.
“What was that?” Doug asked, stopping in the doorway. There was something profoundly moving about seeing the woman he loved feeding her newborn daughter. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you.”
“We have no real proof that Stephanie is responsible for any of this.”
“Not at the moment, but I think we have enough to call the police and let them—”
“What’s wrong?” Gabrielle said, looking up from the baby and following Doug’s eyes. He had stopped talking and was staring at the bed.
“When Beatrice was at the hospital, she dropped her purse and I helped pick up her belongings. I swear I saw the same bag at Stephanie’s, shoved under the couch. But why would she go there of all places? Beatrice was upset after talking to you. Stephanie would be the last person she’d seek out.”
“To get this, maybe?” Gabrielle said, pulling Doug’s letter out of her pocket. “Bea told me that Stephanie had the letter you sent me, but I found it here on top of the videotape.”
“That would explain it.”
“At the hospital, do you remember if her pills were in her purse? She always carried them with her,” Gabrielle asked.
“There was a prescription bottle, but I can’t be sure if they were the same pills.”
“What are you thinking?” she asked, noticing the look of contemplation that had overtaken his face.
“You said she always carried the pills around with her. Look at her bag. It’s still zipped up. Doesn’t it seem odd to you that a person bent on committing suicide would take a bottle of pills out of her purse, zip it back up, and then go into the bathroom? It’s just a bit too neat.”
“So if her pills are still in her purse …”
“Then she was given something else, somewhere else, and then brought back here.”
“See if the pills are inside,” Gabrielle suggested.
Using his handkerchief, Doug emptied the contents of Beatrice’s handbag onto the bed. They found no vial of pills scattered among the rest of the contents, but they did find something inside that was suspiciously out of place.
“What is that?” Gabrielle asked.
“It’s a garlic press,” Doug said as he examined the press without touching it.
“Why would Beatrice be carrying around a garlic press?”
“I think we might be a tad closer to having some hard evidence,” he answered, bending his nose down to meet the bowl of the press. It smelled like medicine. “No garlic, but if we’re lucky, a good set of fingerprints.”
“You’re right, Doug, it’s time to call the police.”
55
“Well, partner, looks like we’ve arrived, despite a few bumps along the way,” Howie said, knocking the neck of his beer bottle against Stephanie’s.
“This is only the beginning. I’ve decided our next subject should be Kathie Lee Gifford,” Stephanie announced. “She’s just too fucking chipper to be true. I bet she’s hiding more dirt than a Hoover vacuum cleaner.”
“I’m impressed. You’re all ready to serve up your next victim.”
“Yes, but for now I’m gonna savor the sweet taste of today’s dessert—Gabrielle à la mode,” Stephanie said, laughing at her own joke.
“So you think you’re ready for fame and fortune?”
“Are you kidding me? I’ve been ready all my life,” Stephanie remarked as a knock sounded on the front door, “and I can’t wait to show Gabzilla how it’s done.”
Stephanie sauntered over to the door and took a quick look through the peephole. Two men, one tall and black, the other short and blond, stood outside her door with the rumpled authority of two cops. “Yes?”
“NYPD,” the short blond announced, holding his badge up to the peephole.
Stephanie stepped away from the door and took a minute to calm herself before opening the door.
“Can I help you?”
“Stephanie Bancroft?”
“Yes.”
“You’re under arrest for the kidnapping and attempted murder of Beatrice Braidburn.”
“This is obviously some sort of mistake,” Stephanie retorted with false bravado. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with. Ever heard of Visa Lee? Star Diary?”
“You have the right to remain silent,” the blond detective continued, ignoring Stephanie’s comment as his partner handcuffed her.
Stephanie did remain silent, not only because it was her right, but because she was trying desperately not to panic. She had to think straight. If they knew about Beatrice, it wouldn’t be long before they figured out that she was behind the Killington fire and blame her for Jack’s death, too.
As the detective finished reading Stephanie her Miranda rights, Howie sat at the table formulating his own plan. Forget Kathie Lee Gifford. The next head Stephanie served on a platter would be his. Howie knew instantly that when push came to shove, she would rat him o
ut without second thought.
“Howie, call me a lawyer. Preferably one who knows what the hell he’s doing,” Stephanie demanded. “And make sure you stick around where I can find you,” she called out as the detectives escorted her through the door.
Alone in the apartment, Howie hung his head in defeat. The warning in Stephanie’s voice was explicit: They had ridden to the top of this mad rollercoaster together, and Stephanie Bancroft had no intention of going down alone.
56
November 3, 1998
When she walked through her front door, both Kylie and Doug were stretched out in front of the fireplace, sound asleep. The flickering flames bathed the room in a golden glow. She stared tenderly at the two of them, engraving on her memory the picture of the two people she loved most in the world.
“Hi,” Doug called out quietly, his voice groggy with sleep. “How’d your tutoring session go?”
“Great. I’m making a lot of progress, though I spent the last half hour tonight signing copies of our book for my tutor and ten of her closest friends.”
“What do you expect when you’re the coauthor of a bestselling book?”
“I expect to help a lot of people, since most of the proceeds go to the Tommy Montebello Literacy Foundation.”
“I have to tell you again how proud I am that you named your foundation after Tommy. It was very generous of you.”
“It was the very least that I could do. He and his family deserve the recognition and much more.”
“But I know how hard it was for you to go public with his story.”
“It was worth it. At least everything is out in the open. Anything new here?”
“You got several calls. Lois left a message for you to call her about your rehearsal schedule for Soul Survivor.”
“I have to admit that as apprehensive as I was about doing the screen test for Lexis, I’m looking forward to shooting the picture.”
“I’m not sure if I like the idea of you doing love scenes with Jonathan Bradley.”
“Hey, Jonathan may be a Hollywood heartthrob, but his face doesn’t make my heart skip a beat. Yours does,” Gabrielle said, smiling.
“Felicia wants you to call her, and Gil from the prosecutor’s office phoned. The case has gone to the jury, and he’s expecting a quick verdict. It looks like Stephanie’s trial could be over in the next day or two.
“I hope they nail her to the wall.”
“The case against her is strong, especially with Bea’s testimony. Between arson, kidnapping, and murder, I think we can safely count on Stephanie and her picture-taking accomplice being put away for a very long time,” Doug said.
“That will give her plenty of time to stew over the dismal failure her book turned out to be. I still can’t believe that Target Press published it even after Stephanie’s arrest.”
“It’s all about the money, though the publisher, Russell Shockley, won’t have much left once the lawsuits are settled.”
“I don’t know about Salvatore, but I didn’t sue for the money. I sued because I didn’t want Kylie growing up thinking that the things said in Stephanie’s book were true. Stephanie wanted so badly to be somebody famous. In the end, she’s famous all right, but for all the wrong reasons,” Gabrielle said.
“I feel absolutely no sympathy for that woman. In fact, I’ve had enough of Stephanie Bancroft to last a lifetime.”
“Ain’t that the truth. How about Kylie? Have you had enough of her this evening as well?” Gabrielle asked, happy to move on to a cheerier subject.
“No way. We had a wonderful time together. We read a few books, watched a few videos, and took about fifteen laps around the living room. I’d say she has this walking thing down,” Doug said, grinning. “Bea called to check on us, but I assured her that I had everything under control.”
“You know how grandmothers worry.” Gabrielle took Kylie from Doug’s arms and put her in the nursery.
“Are you through cuddling for the evening?” she asked, sitting down on the floor next to him.
“Not a chance.” Doug gently pulled Gabrielle to him and kissed her softly.
“I have something for you. Something I never dreamed I’d be able to give you,” Gabrielle said as she handed Doug an elegantly wrapped box. “Go on. Open it.”
“It’s Kylie’s first birthday next week, not mine.”
“Not every gift needs an occasion,” Gabrielle said as Doug untied the ribbon and opened the box. Under the tissue paper, buried under a blanket of delicious-smelling rose petals, were several large white puzzle pieces.
“I could use a little help here, Jigsaw,” Doug requested after several unsuccessful attempts to solve the puzzle. “Otherwise it might be Kylie’s sweet sixteen before I get this together.”
“Amateur.” Gabrielle sighed happily, and in less than a minute assembled the puzzle. She took a deep breath and, for the first time in her life, began to read her own handwriting:
My dearest Doug,
Life is Strang. Now that I can rite them, there are no words to tell you how much I love you and how much your love meens to Kylie and me. Plese don’t ever stop.
Love forever,
Gabrielle
Doug found himself crying as he focused his attention on Gabrielle. He didn’t notice her halting recitation, as it was his heart, not his ears, doing the listening.
“This is the first love letter I’ve ever written,” she told him as her tears flowed.
“It’s the first one I ever received that mattered,” he answered, pulling her into a loving embrace. “You and Kylie mean everything to me. There is no way I could, would, or will ever stop loving you.”
Safe in Doug’s arms, with no more secrets and lies between them, Gabrielle felt her soul quiet and at peace. For the first time in a very long time, all was right with the world.
Lori Bryant Woolridge is a fifteen-year veteran of the television broadcasting business. She spent seven years at ABC as a presentation and speechwriter, eventually moving up to be their Director of Project Literacy U.S. (PLUS) Outreach, and also worked at PBS and Black Entertainment Television. In 1983 she won an Emmy Award for Individual Achievement in Writing. She lives in northeast New Jersey.
Read Between the Lies Page 44
