I didn’t know the story as told by Antinous / Diana in what I was relatively certain she would have referred to as one of her “meticulously researched” novels, but I knew the history. Norah Lofts had even written a novel about it back in the 1970s called The Lute Player. Returning home from the Crusades, Richard the Lionheart was taken prisoner and held captive by Duke Leopold of Austria for several years. Blondel, his favorite minstrel, wandered throughout the Holy Roman Empire, playing songs Richard himself had written, trying to find his missing king. He eventually did, and soon effected Richard’s release and return to England. There was a school of thought amongst some modern historians that the Lionheart had actually been gay; his lack of mistresses and disinterest in his wife certainly spoke to a lack of interest in women, at any rate. It wasn’t hard to imagine what Antinous’s—Diana’s—take on the story had been; Lofts herself had made no secret of her belief that the Lionheart was gay. “I’m familiar with the story. In Antinous’s novel, I assume King Richard and Blondel were lovers?”
He nodded. “Such a beautiful story, the way she told it, and so romantic. They grew up together as boys and were always together—in her book they fell in love when they first reached manhood. If you know the story you know Richard was a second son, so they didn’t really think he’d ever inherit anything other than his mother’s duchy of Aquitaine…” He continued on, obviously taking his knowledge of the history of twelfth-century England and France from what he’d read in her “meticulously researched” novel.
A lot of it was, of course, completely wrong.
I would hardly call myself an expert on the period—my PhD in history was focused primarily on a later period in English history—but Richard’s mother Eleanor of Aquitaine was one of my favorite females in European history. What feminist wouldn’t be fascinated by the true story of the wealthiest and most beautiful heiress in Europe, who wrote poetry and songs and spoke multiple languages? A woman who married a king of France and led a regiment of women on Crusade, who was a patron of poets and musicians, survived a divorce and then married a man eleven years younger who became one of England’s greatest medieval kings? She’d been queen of France and queen of England. Eleanor of Aquitaine kicked ass, and she lived to be over eighty years old in a time when most women died in childbirth before they were thirty. If I were ever to write historical fiction, I’d write about her.
She was amazing.
“It’s always nice when you find a novel you can connect with,” was all I said when he paused to catch his breath. His enthusiasm for reading was encouraging—if his taste in fiction left something to be desired.
He nodded at me. “I know! I love to read, I always have, my parents were always telling me to go outside and play, but I always wanted to just curl up somewhere with a good book. The Minstrel’s Song just spoke to me in a way no other book I’d ever read before had. I tried to find out everything I could about Antinous Renault online—the way he wrote, and he was just so unbelievably handsome…and that body…” He swallowed. “You know she posted tons of pictures of the model on her website and Facebook page and her blog, right? Shirtless or in Speedos…he was so beautiful—or so I thought. The happiest day of my life was when I tracked down an email address for him so I could send him a fan letter, let him know how much I loved the book. I emailed him.” His face darkened. “He answered, very friendly and nice and kind. We started corresponding, through emails and on Facebook and Twitter. He was so nice, and so friendly, and I thought he was interested in me…” He wiped at his eyes. “I sent him pictures. I mean, what did I know? I was just a stupid kid.”
“How old were you?”
“I was seventeen when I first got in touch with him. I’m twenty now.”
“I see.” Inside, I was shaking with rage. Antinous Renault was a worthless piece of shit. I could certainly understand being nice to someone emailing you about your book—but Kenny was just a kid. And she’d fucked with his mind and emotions, just for the fun of it. I’m sure she justified it to herself in some way—I heard her voice echoing in my head, about how supportive she was of—what was it she called it? Oh yes, “the Cause.” I’m sure she told herself she was encouraging a gay teen to be true to himself.
If she weren’t already dead I would have gladly slapped the shit out of her.
“And you know, he was the one who got me into modeling. He saw some of my pictures on my Facebook page and suggested me to Kyle Bennett to pose for the cover of The King’s Sword.” He tilted his head back. “How could I have been so stupid?”
“She was a con artist,” I heard myself saying. “It happens, Kenny.”
His face twisted. “And Kyle Bennett is a perv.”
“Was that your first modeling gig?” I asked softly. “Why do you call him that?”
He nodded. “I spent most of the time fighting him off.” He shuddered. “Nasty little troll! Like I would ever sleep with him.” He sneered. “That was what he wanted, you know. He kept touching me during the photo shoot—my chest, my butt, my stomach—would brush up against me. Ugh.” He shuddered.
“Have you modeled since then?”
He preened. “The photo shoot I did for the book got me a contract with an agency in New York. That’s where I live now.”
I could see it, actually. He was tall and very lean, broad-shouldered but narrow-hipped at the same time. The strong, square jaw, the underbite with the protruding lower lip, the deep-set green eyes, and the olive skin tone—yes, I could see him on a runway or in a magazine ad. “But that’s wonderful! And really, it’s because she encouraged you.”
His face clouded again. “I thought I was in love with him.” He kept saying him and using male pronouns, like he refused to accept the reality that Antinous was—had been—a woman. “I was horrified when I found out it was that nasty fat English bitch pretending to be a man the whole time. And she told me I was stupid, you know? She laughed at me.” He scowled. “When I found out she was coming here, I decided to come here, too, and show her Kenny Simon isn’t anyone to be laughed at or made fun of.” His hands clenched into fists. “But someone killed her before I had a chance to confront her about her lies, and the way she just toyed with me.” He slammed one of his fists into the palm of his other hand, and I reflexively took a step back. His hands were quite large.
“But you wouldn’t have hurt her?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know what I would have done to her, honestly. She deserved a lot worse than what she got.” He leaned in close to me. “I hope she suffered.”
I was really glad to see Dani pull up to the curb, and excused myself, running down the steps and dashing for the car. Dani leaned over and opened the door so I could jump right in, pulling the door shut behind me. Through the rain I could see Kenny go inside the hotel. Dani’s car had the air-conditioning on full blast, and my teeth started chattering. I’d gotten drenched in the dash to the car, and before she pulled away from the curb she reached into the backseat and handed me a towel. I gratefully dried off my arms and rubbed at my wet hair. “Who was that you were talking to?” she asked as she stopped at the Bourbon Street corner.
I started filling her in on everything that happened since she’d left me to go change her clothes as she drove us down to Decatur Street, then back up Bienville to the Monteleone garage. She pulled in and gave the keys to the valet; I gave my room number and we headed into the icy hotel air-conditioning. “Let’s have lunch,” I said when we reached the lobby. “I’m starving.”
The restaurant wasn’t full, and we were seated in a booth almost immediately. Still shivering, I ordered a cup of coffee to start, and when the waitress brought it, held it in my still-cold hands, hoping its warmth would seep into my skin.
“You might want to change out of those wet clothes,” Dani said, glancing at me over the top of her menu. “It’s freezing in here, and you’re going to catch a cold at the very least.”
I took a long drink of the coffee and almost moaned as its bless
ed warmth worked its way through my body. “I’ll be fine, really.”
“Are you sure?” Dani put the menu down. “You look a little green around the gills.” She rolled her eyes. “My God, I sound like my mother. But seriously, Trace, you found a body this morning and you’ve been out in the rain. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Surprisingly enough, yes, I actually am.” It was true—and now with the coffee working its magic and warming me up, I felt much better. The food would be the final trick—my stomach growled again so loudly Dani’s eyebrows went up. “Just hungry.” I gave her a sheepish grin.
The waitress returned, took our orders, and disappeared with our menus.
“So, do you think that model could be the killer?” Dani asked once we were alone again.
“I don’t know.” I frowned and drank some more coffee. “It seems like a big reach—killing someone because they pretended to be someone else?” I made a face. “I mean, I don’t even know if I can fault Diana for it, you know? If she was using a male name and had hired someone to pose for author photos—if she was using a male persona, she couldn’t very well tell Kenny when he emailed her that she was really a woman. And really, is that enough motivation to kill someone?”
“It motivated him enough to spend the money to come to New Orleans to confront her,” Dani pointed out. “Your problem is that in a book, it has to make sense. In real life, it doesn’t have to. People act crazy all the time, do crazy shit. Trust me, I report these kinds of stories all the time and most of the time I just wonder, how can people act like this?”
“That’s kind of what Detective Randisi said to me.” I paused as our waitress placed a glass of iced tea in front of Dani and refilled my coffee. She placed a black plastic carafe next to the little caddy holding the sweeteners, smiled and disappeared yet again. “I mean, I get it—real life isn’t nice and neat, and things don’t get all wrapped up in a nice package with a bow on it at the end. But I can’t believe he came all the way here to kill her. I can’t believe someone would actually fall in love with someone they’ve never met in person.”
“You really need to start watching more television,” Dani replied with a grin. “MTV even has a reality show about this sort of thing. It’s called ‘catfishing.’ It happens a hell of a lot more than you think it does.”
“Catfishing?”
Dani nodded. “These people go online and invent a whole new identity, use other people’s pictures, and start having relationships with people online that are all based on this lie. And sometimes it goes on for years…seriously. Don’t make that face at me.” She pulled out her phone and played with it, finally turning it and showing me the screen. “See?”
I stared at the screen. She’d pulled up a website that was all about the catfishing phenomenon. I read it, not quite believing what I was reading.
People actually sent money to people they’d never actually met in person. They became engaged to them.
I handed her the phone back. “People never cease to amaze me.”
“So, you see?” She put her phone back into her bag. “He could have really thought he was in love with her as a man.” She crossed her eyes. “And had his heart broken when he found out she’d been playing him for a fool. It’s not a far leap to go from love to hate, you know. Those feelings have to go somewhere.”
“I don’t know what to think, to be honest.” I stared into my coffee cup. “On the one hand, I feel sorry for her. I mean, I chose to be Winter Lovelace, but I’ve also never hidden that I’m also Tracy Norris. Different genres, but there’s plenty of crossover. And it’s not like I hired someone to pretend to be Winter, you know? It just seems weird that a publisher would force her to do that.”
Publisher.
Kyle Bennett.
What was it Kenny had said about him?
Like I would ever sleep with him. That was what he wanted, you know. He kept touching me during the photo shoot—my chest, my butt, my stomach—would brush up against me.
“I wonder if her being exposed hurt her publisher?” I gnawed on my lower lip. “But he had to know she was a woman, not a man.”
Dani rolled her eyes. “If he was smart, he’d deny any knowledge of the deception—that’s how I’d play it. If she was completely vested in her masquerade and he never actually met her or spoke to her in person or on the phone, he might have thought she was a man, too.”
“Well, he’s actually here this weekend.” I made a face. “His name is Kyle Bennett—I met him the night of the murder. He wanted Jerry to have some kind of memorial thing for her at the opening reception. Jerry basically told him to fuck off.”
“Do you know who the guy is that pretended to be Antinous Renault?” Dani asked. “That’s who I’d like to speak to.” She grinned at me. “He could probably fill in all kinds of blanks.”
“Well,” I said with a startled shake of my head, “there he is, in the flesh. And he’s with Kyle Bennett and Jerry.”
Chapter Ten
Dani didn’t even attempt to be nonchalant—she was never good at it, anyway. I actually could remember a time when I found her lack of subtlety to be almost charming at best and a bizarre personality quirk at worst. I’d often wondered how she managed to do her job so well—and likewise, how she managed to keep her job given her almost utter lack of anything remotely resembling tact.
I sighed audibly as she didn’t even try to hide what she was doing. She turned around in her chair and stared so obviously that some people at nearby tables also glanced in that direction, but with a little more decorum.
The three men were standing in front of the hostess’s desk as she talked on the telephone while messing around at her computer. Kyle Bennett was in the middle, and I couldn’t help but notice that Jerry and the Model Formerly Known as Antinous Renault were standing almost too close to him—so close they looked sort of like a police escort, hemming him in so he couldn’t escape if he tried.
Kyle wasn’t a good-looking man under the best of circumstances, but standing between two taller, better-built, and much more handsome men didn’t help him at all. He was slouching, the way he always seemed to, and was wearing an extremely unflattering plaid-patterned shirt in varying shades of mustard yellow and green. He was clearly miserable and wanted to be anywhere else but here. I felt rather sorry for him.
I was about to chastise Dani for being so obvious when she stood up and waved, calling Jerry’s name. Mortified, I gasped in a loud whisper, “Dani, will you sit down?”
Jerry looked in our direction, and a dark scowl spread over his face. The scowl turned to shock when he realized I was sitting at the same table. He said something out of the side of his mouth to his companions before walking around the hostess table and crossing the room with long strides. He was wearing his usual short-sleeved black knit shirt and jeans, with a gold-and-silver cross hanging around his neck on a gold chain. A silver dagger hung from his pierced right ear. His face was flushing red, and there were dark circles under his tan. His eyes were also bloodshot, and ignoring Dani completely, he sat down and asked me, through clenched teeth, “What in the name of all that’s holy is Lois Lane doing here?” His voice was even, but he was gripping the arms of his chair with such intensity his knuckles turned white.
Dani slid back down into her chair with a satisfied smile on her face. “Relax, Muscles,” she said, using her old nickname for him—one he’d always hated. “Tracy and I—we’re all good now, so you don’t have to keep being nasty to me for her sake, okay?”
“Maybe you two are,” Jerry shot back, not looking at her but fixing me with an unreadable stare, “but that doesn’t mean you and I are, Lois.”
I’d forgotten he’d always mockingly called her Lois Lane. Jerry had never really liked Dani, never thought she was good enough for me—but was gracious enough to never say “I told you so” when I’d left her. One of his best qualities was his intense loyalty, but he sometimes took it too far. Jerry never forgave people who hurt the people he
cared about, and Dani had really hurt me. He’d never forgive her for that, he’d never forget it, and the best thing for me to do right now was divert his attention from her before things got ugly.
“We’ll talk later, Jerry.” I interrupted them before Dani got a chance to say anything. The last thing I wanted was a scene in the restaurant, and I wanted to know why he was having lunch with the Model and Kyle Bennett. He’d made it pretty clear to me the other night at Muriel’s that he despised Kyle, so I wanted to hear the story. With Jerry, there always was one. “Lunching with Kyle Bennett and the faux Antinous Renault? What is he even doing here? What are you up to?”
Jerry looked back over to his companions, still standing at the hostess stand. The hostess was still on the phone, pounding away at the computer keyboard. The model was jabbing away at his cell phone and pointedly ignoring Kyle. For his part, Kyle looked incredibly uncomfortable and was growing more and more fidgety with every passing moment. Jerry turned back to me, raising an eyebrow and getting his trademark evil smirk on his face. “Oh, I invited him, of course—the faux Antinous.” Dani started to say something but Jerry acted like she wasn’t even there and added, “His name is actually Jeremy Mikulak, but his professional name is Dirk Mantooth.”
“You invited him,” I replied, the wheels in my mind spinning rapidly. I closed my eyes. “That’s why you invited her in the first place, isn’t it? You wanted to humiliate her publicly.”
He got an overexaggerated innocent look on his face and sat back in his chair, raising his left hand to the base of his throat. “Moi?” He batted his eyelids at me. “Do you really think I would do such a thing?”
I closed my eyes. It all started to make sense. I’d never quite believed Jerry’s rather lame excuses for including her in the program, which he had rigid control over. He’d also made it very clear that he despised Kyle Bennett. If I’d really thought about it—give yourself a break, it’s not like you haven’t been stumbling over dead bodies ever since you got here—I would have been more suspicious. If Jerry didn’t like someone and didn’t have a reason to be polite, that person simply didn’t exist to him. Of course he’d had both Antinous—Diana--—and Kyle come to Angels and Demons so he could have the model they’d paid to pretend to be her—him—show up and embarrass them. “You were planning an ambush, weren’t you?”
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