by Lois Winston
I held up my hands to stop them before they came to blows. "If Gina broke into my house and stole a photo of Karl, she did it before we spoke with her yesterday. It doesn't add up. She first met me last night."
"But she knew about you," said Cloris. She turned to Erica. "Didn't she?"
Erica stared at the floor. She twisted her fingers into pretzel knots and mumbled, "I did tell her about the murder and Anastasia finding Marlys's body glued to her chair." She lifted her head and turned puppy dog eyes to me. "I've known Gina all my life. She wouldn't do this to you. To anyone. It's got to be someone else."
I wasn't so sure. Some women would do anything for love, and Gina struck me as so head-over-heels gone when it came to Emil Pachette that she might be capable of anything. Even an accessory to murder. I decided to have another chat with Gina, but without Erica or Cloris.
ON THE WAY To Emil's studio, I called Zachary Barnes. "Sorry to disturb you," I said after introducing myself over the phone.
"Calling to make sure I'm still not backing out of the apartment?"
"I'm usually not such a worry-wart. As you now know, life kind of flew off into Bizarro Land lately."
"More so than you let on last night?"
"Exactly what else besides belly buttons did my family tell you last night?"
"Something about a dead body."
As much as I'd wanted to keep the boys from hearing about Marlys's death and my involvement in it, our forefathers had written in that annoying Article in the Bill of Rights about freedom of the press. Marlys's murder had made both the New Jersey and New York papers. I'd been mentioned as having discovered the corpse. Overnight my kids became school celebrities because their mother had stumbled across a dead body in her office. It's amazing what will boost a teenager up the ladder of popularity.
Only time would tell whether I'd be listed among Westfield's famous or infamous residents. We had them both-cartoonist Charles Addams of Addams Family fame and John List, a man who'd brutally murdered his family in the early seventies and eluded capture for nearly twenty years.
"Hey, don't worry," said Zack. "I believe in innocent until proven guilty."
Which meant last night Mama had probably said something about me being a suspect. "Good to know."
"Is that why you called?"
"In a way. I was wondering if you'd ever dated Marlys Vandenburg."
"Running out of suspects?"
"How did you-?"
"You left your Who Killed Marlys list on the table in the apartment. I saw it when I was jotting down measurements last night."
Since I was now certain between my bigmouthed sons and my bigmouthed mother, Zachary Barnes knew plenty already, I filled in the few blanks left, including about the photo the cops had found. At this point, what did I have to lose?
"I don't know what to believe about Karl anymore," I said, "but I find it hard to believe he was having an affair with Marlys Vandenburg."
"You think someone's framing you?"
"Exactly."
"And how do I fit into this?"
"I thought if you had dated Marlys, you might be able to give me some insights to help me clear myself. Or find the real killer."
"Wish I could. Never met the woman. I photograph wildlife, not the wild life."
"What about your night life?"
"What about it?"
"According to the gossip columns, you frequented the same clubs."
"Didn't your mother ever teach you not to believe everything you read, Anastasia Pollack?"
"But-"
"I did tell you those were all staged photo ops, didn't I?"
"Right. I just thought maybe-"
"I'm not the club type. Unless it's a golf club. Or a club sandwich. Believe it or not, I never dated any of those women I was photographed with. None of them are my type."
"Oh"
"Sorry to disappoint you."
Okay, so part of me had hoped that Zachary Barnes would pull a name out of his hat and hand me a killer. However, another part of me was glad he'd never fallen under Marlys's spell. But I chalked that feeling tip to pre-menstrual scrambled hormones and lack of REM sleep. And a sorely battered ego that still needed a bit of stroking.
If it wasn't, I didn't want to know what it was because there was also the tiniest part of me smiling over the fact that Zachary Barnes didn't date those women.
And where the hell had that come from?
Two hours later I stood in the hall outside Emil's studio. Throughout the train ride into Manhattan I had pondered how I'd approach Gina, but I still had no idea what to say to her or how to say it without causing either her suspicions or hackles to rise. I'd have to wing it.
Ratcheting up my courage, I reached for the doorknob and opened the door.
Gina jumped up from her desk chair and greeted me with an ear-to-ear grin. "Anastasia! Look who's back." She turned to a GQ- esque stud with spiked black hair and a fine layer of fashion stubble covering his jaw.
Dressed head-to-toe in black jeans and a black turtleneck, he sat in what looked like a trash-picked folding chair alongside the battered desk. A pair of black framed glasses perched on the tip of his nose. He sized me up in the way that men who know they're God's gift to the double-X chromosome eye women.
"I'm so relieved," said Gina. She grabbed one of his hands in both of hers and graced him with a smile of unabashed adoration. His lips thinned into a tight line as he pulled his hand out from under hers.
"Emil Pachette?" I asked.
He rose. "Oui, and you are?"
Gina introduced me. "This is Anastasia Pollack. She works with my cousin Erica. You know? Marlys's assistant? Erica and Anastasia helped try to find you yesterday."
"I told you I wasn't lost, ma chere" He spoke in an affected French accent that could only fool Gina or someone from a galaxy far, far away.
Gina flushed; her voice rose into a high pitched whine. "But I didn't know that, Emil. Not then. What was I supposed to think? You didn't call, didn't answer your phone." She shuddered and gulped back a sob. "You could have been dead. Like Marlys"
"Do you know the police have an APB out on you, Mr. Pachette?"
He waved his hand as if shooing away a dust mote. "No more."
"You've spoken with them?"
"Oui"
"It was all a huge mix-up," said Gina. "Emil didn't even know Marlys was dead until earlier today."
Emil rose from his chair and sauntered over to a second folding chair sitting beside the cutting table. He dragged the chair over to the desk and indicated I sit on it.
"You look like a woman with a million questions on the tip of your tongue, ma chere."
Only a million? My mind swirled. "So where were you since Monday afternoon? Minnesota, perhaps?"
He spun around and glared at Gina.
"I didn't tell her! I swear!"
"She didn't," I assured him. "But how about dropping the faux French accent and coming clean?"
He sighed. "First," he said, "you must promise not to divulge my secret to anyone."
"Is this secret illegal?"
His jaw dropped, his eyes grew wide in mock horror. "Mais, non!"
Gina jumped in to defend her love. "Emil wouldn't do anything illegal."
His glare pierced her with a warning expression that told me Gina's ardor for her boss fell far short of being reciprocated.
"Well?" he asked me.
I slipped out of my coat and sat down. "As long as it's nothing illegal, you have my word." "
I can assure you I've broken no laws." He took his seat and crossed one leg over the other. "My real name is Edwin Peepers."
"Why the deception?"
"Would you spend three thousand dollars for a designer gown from The House of Peepers?"
"I see your point." Although from what I had spied of Emil'sor Edwin's-couture, I wouldn't shell out three dollars for one of his dubious creations.
He raised his arm and waved it in an overly dramatic flourish, lik
e some minor prince casting a crumb of information to a knowledge-starved dolt of a peasant. "Emil Pachette is my fashion nom de plume."
"Along with the phony accent by way of Horse Thief Falls, Minnesota?"
His arm and his jaw dropped simultaneously. Along with his phony accent. "How did you-?"
I didn't bother to explain. "I'm betting you've never even been to France."
He sighed and shook his head. "Only in my dreams."
"So what happened?"
In upper Midwestese, he continued. "Late Monday morning while I stood on line at the corner deli, waiting for a sandwich, I received a call that my parents were involved in a head-on collision. The call from the hospital said they were both in the Critical Care Unit and not expected to live. I rushed home to pack a bag, then grabbed the next flight out of La Guardia."
"And didn't bother to tell anyone?"
His features hardened. "Business was the last thing on my mind."
"So Marlys didn't know not to expect you to show up for your date with her?"
"Meeting," muttered Gina.
He shot her a glance but continued to speak to me. "If your parents were close to death, would you remember to cancel a dinner date?"
So why was he now back here so soon after the accident? I would have thought he'd be busy making funeral arrangements, dealing with lawyers. "Did your parents pull through? Are they all right?"
He laughed. "Oh, they're fine. Never better, as a matter of fact."
"I don't understand."
"Neither do I. Except that some creep has a sick sense of humor. He not only scared the shit out of me, he sent me on a wild goose chase through the worst blizzard to hit northern Minnesota in over a decade."
He stood and paced across the cramped room. "My plane was the last to touch down in Duluth before the airport closed. I rented a car and drove six hours through a blinding snowstorm. When I finally arrived at the hospital, guess what I discovered?"
"What?"
He spun around, his arms akimbo. "They'd never heard of my folks!"
"Were they at another hospital?"
"There are no other hospitals within a hundred-mile radius. I tried calling them at home, but by then all the phone lines were down."
"What about cell phones? Don't they have one?"
"Cell phones?" He spit out a wry snicker. "Horse Thief Falls isn't exactly the Manhattan of Minnesota. The entire county is a dead cell area. It took me another hour to drive what should have taken ten minutes to get to their house. I found them snuggled under quilts, roasting marshmallows in front of the fireplace."
"There was no accident," said Gina.
"Obviously," sneered Emil/Edwin. "Anyway, the roads finally got plowed late yesterday, but the power didn't come back on until this morning. The phone lines are still down. I was stuck in that godforsaken middle of nowhere, freezing my butt off, all that time. No phone. No cable. No Internet. And stuck with two doddering old fools who thought it was all a grand adventure."
Emil/Edwin, the devoted son, had learned he was a wanted man when the Duluth police pulled him aside as he tried to board a pre-dawn flight back to New York earlier today. Two hours of interrogation later, his steel-clad alibi removed him from the list of suspects.
"When I learned of Marlys's murder, I figured someone wanted me out of the way Monday night," he added, almost as an afterthought.
But who? My list of suspects had dwindled down to a precious few. All I had left were Naomi and Hugo, neither of whom I believed capable of murder.
Or Gina?
I studied her as she gazed longingly at Emil/Edwin. Was it possible Gina had sent him off to the hinterlands in order to rid herself of the competition in his absence? His reactions to her led me to discount her version of his relationship with Marlys.
I'd bet my last nickel-and that's about all I had left in the way of available funds at this point-that Emil Pachette/Edwin Peepers, like many before him, had fallen hard and heavy for Marlys.
A quick glance at the muscle defined by his form-fitting garb, revealed all too clearly what Marlys had seen in Emil/Edwin. And it wasn't his talent as a designer.
I wondered if Gina had known that her sophisticated Parisian boss really hailed from the rural Midwest. Yesterday she'd been so adamant about his French connection. "You knew, didn't you?" I asked her.
"About what?"
"Emil's true identity."
Her body grew rigid, her voice defensive. "So?"
"So why did you lie to us?"
"To protect Emil's reputation." "
I see" I stood to leave. "Well, I'm glad you're safe and sound," I said to Emil. "Nice meeting you."
"You will keep my secret." He said it more as a threat than a need for assurance.
"I have no desire to ruin your reputation." I figured his lack of talent would do that soon enough. He didn't need my help.
Gina stopped me as I approached the door. "Anastasia, why did you come?"
I pasted an innocent smile on my lips, placed a comforting hand on her arm, and lied through my teeth. "You seemed so upset yesterday. I was worried, and since I was in the neighborhood, I thought I'd stop in to check on you."
Luckily, Gina was too fixated on Emil/Edwin to pick up on my lack of talent as a fiction fabricator.
I glanced toward the equally unaware Emil/Edwin. "But I can see there's nothing to worry about."
Gina smiled back. "Yes, everything is going to be fine now."
"So you think Gina glue gunned Marlys to death?" asked Cloris.
I had made it back to the office by two o'clock. My stomach roaring from neglect, I ducked into Cloris's cubicle to see what culinary delights she had hidden away. Apologizing for the slim pickings, she handed me a half-empty bag of slightly stale gourmet potato chips.
"She's far gone enough over Emil," I said stuffing a handful of chips into my mouth. As soon as I swallowed, I felt an additional layer of fat globules taking up residence on my hips, but I was too hungry to care.
"Gina takes puppy love to new heights. Or maybe it's new depths. Frankly, I don't see what she sees in that pompous, no-talent phony." I thought for a moment, then smirked. "No. Scratch that. I did see what she sees in him. And what Marlys saw in him."
"Nice packaging?"
"Right off the pages of GQ. Nothing but hot air and arrogance inside, though. He treats Gina with such ill-concealed disdain that I wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake some sense into her."
"Kind of the way we felt about Erica and Marlys," said Cloris.
I reached into the bag for another handful of chips. "Must be genetic."
"People who let other people walk all over them sometimes reach a point where they go postal. Did you get the impression that Gina was so blinded by love that she'd go to any lengths to eliminate her competition?"
I had mulled that question over throughout the train ride back to New Jersey. "I don't know that she's got the smarts, and I doubt she's got the strength."
"Unless she had an accomplice."
WITH A HANDFUL OF chips poised to enter my gaping mouth, I stared at Cloris. "So how well do we really know Gina?"
"Only what Erica told us about Gina and what we observed ourselves yesterday."
"Plus what I saw today."
I scanned the instant replays of Gina as they darted through my mind. My perceptions of her didn't match Erica's vociferous defense of her cousin. "As much as I hate to admit it, I suppose we have to question Erica's credibility, considering her staunch devotion to Gina."
Cloris reached for the bag and shoveled a handful of chips into her mouth. "Exactly my point," she said around the mouthful.
"If Gina did kill Marlys, she would have needed help moving the comatose body to my office"
"Emil?"
"Impossible. He can prove he was fighting a blizzard in Minnesota while Marlys was getting herself killed in New Jersey."
I felt no guilt over having divulged the Emil/Edwin connection to Cloris. Tell
ing Cloris would have no adverse effect on The House of Pachette. Had someone told her Jacques Pepin was actually John Peterson of Prairieville, Kansas, she'd be shouting, "Holy expose! Stop the presses." But being into food, not fashion, Cloris could care less about Emil's true identity.
"Besides," I continued, "you're forgetting that Emil doesn't return Gina's affection, at least not from what I observed of them together. Emil is arrogant and ambitious. Marlys held the means to hoist him a little closer to the twenty-four-carat gold ring of fashion stardom. He had no motive for killing her."
"Someone had to help her. How else would Gina have gotten into the office after hours?"
The thought hit us both at once. I clapped a chip-greasy hand over my mouth. "Omigod! You don't think-?"
"Anything's possible," said Cloris. "They both had enough motive."
"Erica isn't that devious."
"I wonder." Cloris tapped her nails on her desk. "Sometimes I find it hard to believe that anyone could be as naive and innocent as Erica leads everyone to believe she is. After all, the kid grew up in the Bronx, not Mayberry."
"You don't like Erica much, do you?"
Cloris hesitated before speaking. "Let's just say the jury hasn't " reached a verdict yet."
I know she's grating at times, but all other factors aside, Erica's no actress. If she was involved in Marlys's murder, she'd have caved the moment Batswin and Robbins first started questioning her."
"I suppose you're right. But now what?"
"Now I get some work done, or Naomi will have my tush in a sling. I'll have to think about Gina later."
"Don't wait too long," warned Cloris. "I get the feeling Batswin and Robbins want to wrap up this investigation as soon as possible."
Even if they arrest the wrong person. That ominous thought settled in my stomach like a grease-soaked, fifty-pound gourmet potato chip.
Back in my own cubicle across the hall, I stared at the flickering cursor ticking off the seconds on my computer screen. Or was each pulse a countdown to impending doom? In a matter of days, my life's story had segued from normal to insane, from working mom to widowed murder suspect. Not to mention Chump of the Decade, given how blind I'd been to Karl's deceit and secret life.
