Killer Cocktail

by Sheryl J. Anderson

  “Where’s my present?”

  Lara had the apartment door open far enough for me to enter, but she hadn’t invited me in yet. She looked at me expectantly, taking a hit off a new joint. Thankfully, she was clothed this time—although it was a relative state, given the shortness of her BCBG floral poplin skirt and the paintedon fit of her Generra ruffled tank. Still, even the suggestion of clothes made it easier to look her in the eye, although she was wearing Giuseppe Zanotti pink satin sandals, complete with pink crystal flowers and four-inch heels, so I had to look up to do it.

  As I’d hurried out of the flower shop, I’d realized my next move had to be talking to Jake. The idea of Veronica being pushed into the understudy slot yet again and Jake assuming the role of killer was becoming more compelling by the moment. Jake had given Lisbet some sort of ultimatum. Had she ignored it and that made him mad enough to kill her? Dorothy had said leave one love and go to a new one. Was Jake’s lust for Lisbet, or at least for taking away Lisbet, so strong that he’d given her an ultimatum and when she didn’t make the choice he wanted—him over David—he’d killed her? Could Veronica really be blameless in all this? Well, blameless in the murder, because her seducing David couldn’t have helped matters. Was it Jake’s voice on my answering machine and not Veronica’s? The voice had been so distorted it had been almost impossible to discern its gender, but I’d had a hunch it was female. Though with all the little electronic filmmaking gadgets he had, Jake could probably have altered his voice to sound like a twelve-year-old girl if he’d wanted to.

  Did it make sense that Jake would post footage from the party if he was the one who’d killed Lisbet? The best defense is supposedly a strong offense. And given what Veronica had said about Jake liking to film everything, it made sense Jake would see the footage as a trophy, like those ghastly serial killers who keep body parts. I wondered if Jake had filmed Lisbet’s death, but the idea was too sickening and I pushed it out of my mind. Besides, how could he have swung the champagne bottle and held the camera at the same time?

  If Jake was the one who’d threatened me, how could I approach him and not bare my neck to the executioner? But I had to talk to him. Maybe there was a way to play this with innocence, an approach Jake was probably completely unfamiliar with. Besides, there was a chance that if I went to see him, he’d think I’d taken him off my list of suspects. Because who would be bold/foolish enough to go grill someone who had threatened to kill her unless she stopped asking questions? That would be me.

  So I’d called him, planning to give him some song-anddance about the article. The maddening article. Even if I did come out of this with a byline, I was going to wind up with enemies, too. One story wasn’t going to please all masters. Unless I wrote about everyone’s investment in the piece and how a subject’s expectations conflict with the writer’s goal. Hey. That had potential. But I still needed to talk to Jake.

  Lara answered the phone, her voice distant and chirpy. I’d caught her smoking and better yet, she didn’t seem to recognize my name when I offered it. So maybe Jake hadn’t let her in on his campaign against me, which was greatly to my advantage. When I asked to speak to him, she coolly informed me that Jake wasn’t home. And when I asked when she expected him, she said, “I never expect Jake. I experience Jake on his own terms.”

  Some people stay in film school so long they forget how to interact with the real world. “When do you suppose Jake’s terms might bring him home next?” I attempted. I stopped where I was on the sidewalk, trying to beam all my energy through the cell phone and into Lara’s fuzzy brain to get her to focus.

  “Why do you want to see Jake?” she asked petulantly.

  “To accuse him of murder” was what I thought, but what I said was, “To talk to him about his filmmaking some more. I’m the magazine writer,” I added, in case the vague promise of publicity might work on her as well as it had on Jake.

  “He could not make these films without me,” she replied, a touch of haughtiness replacing the petulance.

  Right. She’d shot the footage of David and Lisbet and Veronica in the hallway. She’d been messing with the camera when Veronica and Jake were flirting at dinner. What else had Lara shot and/or seen that I didn’t know about yet?

  “Then you should definitely be in the article.” The ever-expanding article. The Article that Ate New York City. Or at least my career. “Can I come talk to you, even if Jake isn’t home?”

  “I don’t know,” Lara responded with the automatic coyness of a woman who’s accustomed to trading on her looks and charm.

  A store across the street caught my eye. “I’ll bring you a present.”

  So now, like some perverse dealer, I was standing in the stuffy hallway with a Blockbuster bag in my hand, trying to bribe my way into the apartment. And for the promise of getting her name in a magazine and a new DVD, she was going to let me in.

  Lara squealed with excitement when she took the Dora the Explorer DVD out of the bag, then gave me an enthusiastic hug that semidragged me across the threshold. “You are so kind!”

  “I hope you don’t have this one,” I said, trying hard not to feel ridiculous.

  “No, I didn’t even know about ‘The Pirate Adventure,’” Lara assured me. She grabbed my hand and led me into the living room. Pushing me down onto the couch, she ran over to the DVD player. She wasn’t really expecting me to watch it with her, was she?

  I tried to strike a nonchalant pose on the couch, but the couch’s angle and my mood were all wrong. “Lara, I’m sure it’s a great piece of cinema, but I need to talk to you. About the films you and Jake make, remember?”

  Lara paused, weighing the pleasure of talking to me about herself with that of watching her new DVD. For a moment, I thought I was going to lose, but then she put down the DVD. “What would you like to know?”

  “Do you do all of Jake’s camera work?”

  “Not all,” she said. “Most. The good stuff.”

  “You must’ve shot more than was on the Web site.”

  Lara’s face darkened suddenly. “You’re talking of David’s party.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why? What do you know?” Lara’s long legs carried her to the couch in the blink of an eye and she leaned over me, preventing me from getting up. How had I upset her?

  “What should I know?”

  Lara bent down to get in my face. Her pupils looked pretty normal, so maybe she wasn’t all that buzzed, but that didn’t make her any less unpredictable. “You’re trying to trick me.”

  I wanted to laugh this off, but her intensity was disturbing. Was Lara the one who was trying to trick me? Did she know more than she was letting on? Had she done more than I could imagine? Was she also involved in Lisbet’s death? Her leaning over me was suddenly making me very claustrophobic. I pushed against her legs, trying to get her to move so I could get up. She recoiled from my touch, jumping back. It was startling, but at least I could stand.

  “It’s you,” she gasped in horror. “You did it.”

  “Did what?” I asked indignantly. It was one thing for me to show up at her apartment thinking her boyfriend was a killer, but it was another thing entirely for her to suspect me. Of anything. I’d given my theory a lot of thought and she was just accusing me in the heat of the moment.

  “You made Jake go away.”

  “I did not. I haven’t talked to Jake since I was here yesterday. If I’d made him go away, why would I come here looking for him? Where did he go?”

  “You have to leave. I can’t talk to you anymore.” Lara shoved me in the direction of the front door with surprising strength.

  “Why did he go, Lara? Did he say where he was going?”

  “I thought you were my friend.”

  “Yeah, there’s a lot of that going around. I need to talk to Jake, Lara. It’s important. Really, really important. A matter of life and death.”

  “Out! Get out now!”

  The Zanottis gave her impressive leverage and with a
nother sharp shove, I was out in the hallway, minus my dignity and the information I’d come looking for. And the cash for the DVD. But I’d gained a huge new question. What did Lara imagine I’d done that made Jake go wherever he’d gone? It made sense Jake would want to hide if he’d killed Lisbet, but why had he waited until now to go? Had I tipped my hand and spooked him? What sort of story had Jake fed Lara to make her so protective? Or had he just blown her off and she was eager to lay some blame?

  More important, how was I going to find Jake now? Lara was stonewalling me and the only other person I knew who knew Jake was David Vincent. I was willing to bet Lara’s ability to toss me out on my ear didn’t hold a candle to Tricia’s ability to keep me away from David while she was still angry. But Jake and David were the two people I needed to talk to the most. I had to get David’s story on what had happened with Veronica and his insight on where to look for Jake. But I also had to be careful or Tricia was going to blast me yet again for impure motives and other assorted character flaws.

  So I called Cassady I felt positively old-fashioned holding my cell phone to my ear, but I’ve never found a comfortable enough earpiece that didn’t make me feel like I was practicing to be on tour with Janet Jackson. Earpieces have become so prevalent in New York that it’s hard to tell the bankers from the crazy people as both storm down the avenues, railing at unseen tormentors. “I know you have other things to do today,” I began as I walked back to Sixth to get a cab.

  “Nothing more important than this.”

  “You’re such a good friend.”

  “Cherish me. What’s up?”

  “I need to talk to David.”

  “What’re you going to talk to him about?”

  “Are you asking as a lawyer or a friend?”

  “As an interested party. Specifically, a party interested in minimizing the damage on all sides.”

  “I want to hear his side of the story about sleeping with Veronica.”

  “That would be interesting.”

  “So you haven’t talked to him about it either?”

  “I haven’t seen him. I’ve only talked to Tricia. Apparently, her parents are confining David ‘on doctor’s orders,’ which is Park Avenue-ese for locking your child in his room, no matter his age.”

  “I need you to get me in there.”

  “Into David’s room?”

  “I’ll settle for just inside the front door, as long as David’s within hollering distance.”

  “So what you’re suggesting is that I come up with some sort of plan that gets you into the Vincents’ apartment under false pretenses and gives you the opportunity to grill their son about illicit sex he may or may not have had prior to the commission of a murder of which he may or may not be guilty.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “The disgusting thing is, I can do that.”

  “I know. That’s why I called.”

  “But it can’t be until this evening. Before dinner. Anything sooner’s going to look transparent and needy.”

  “Heaven forbid.”

  “All I’m saying is, that never wins over anyone.”

  True. Still, this was a lip-chewer. I didn’t want to wait that long. On the other hand, I couldn’t imagine any other way I was going to be able to get the information. I stopped chewing and admitted, “You’re right.”

  “Of course. Tricia’s spending the afternoon with her family, poor thing. I’ll tell her we’ll meet her there. At six-thirty. You show up, on your best behavior, and ask your questions quickly and quietly. Then we’ll go out and mend fences between you and Tricia.”

  “Sounds planlike. Thanks.”

  “You’re being careful, right?”

  “Absolutely.”

  I hung up and hailed a cab. As I was getting in, my phone rang again. I almost answered without looking at the number, assuming Cassady had thought of something else, but I glanced down at the last minute. It was the office, so I let it go to voice mail. Let Eileen grouse into a digital chip for a while.

  I did keep my phone out and call Kyle. I wasn’t sure if he hadn’t gotten back to me because his new case was overwhelming or because he hadn’t found out anything helpful about the threat on my answering machine. Of course, there was always the possibility that he was done with helping me. Or done with me. There are so many options to consider when you’re a wary, weary, worried single woman in Manhattan. The city’s full of men who want to finish you off, one way or the other.

  He answered quickly, which was a good sign, and sounded concerned, which I also found hopeful. “Hey. You okay?”

  “Fine. You?”

  “More or less. What’s new?”

  “You got a minute?”

  “Maybe even two.”

  “Okay. Forget what I said about Veronica.”

  The Pause was excruciating. I could hear the effort he was exerting to breathe evenly. My jaw started to tingle and I realized I was gritting my teeth, bracing for the response. When it came, it was way too controlled and way too quiet.

  “Why?”

  “I’ve come across information that suggests a new direction,” I said, trying to sound as clinical as possible.

  It didn’t help. “Stop.”

  “Stop what?”

  “Everything. Just stop.”

  “What did you find?”

  “I can’t talk to you about this right now. It’ll have to wait.”

  “Can I afford to wait? Do you know whose voice is on my answering machine?”

  “Not yet. Just stay at work and I’ll call you as soon as I can.”

  I didn’t bother pointing out that I wasn’t at work, since he already sounded pretty upset. That was just great. Kyle thought I was a flake, Tricia thought I was a traitor, Lara thought I was stalking Jake. I was building up quite a fan base. And it wasn’t even lunchtime.

  Though I dreaded returning to the hollow halls of Zeitgeist with more questions than I’d left with, I had no choice. I needed to check back in, lest I raise Eileen’s curiosity and ire. Plus, the computer on my desk was thirty blocks closer than the computer in my apartment. If I wasn’t going to be able to talk to David until later, maybe I could spend sometime trying to find Jake. And if Jake had vanished, maybe his Web site would give me a clue as to where he’d go to hide.

  I did my best to hide as I slunk back into the office. Eileen was going to want more than I had and my colleagues were going to be smirking about the little sideshow Tricia and I had put on for their entertainment. But I hadn’t even gotten half the distance from the elevator to my desk before Genevieve appeared in my pathway, like the Grim Reaper in a mint green sweater set.

  “Hey,” she chirped.

  “Genevieve,” I replied neutrally.

  “Busy?”

  “Very.”

  “Visitor.” She pointed to Eileen’s office.

  If it wasn’t Jake or David, I wasn’t interested. “Who is it?” Genevieve shrugged. “A happy visitor?”

  Genevieve scrunched her nose in thought. “Furious.”

  Great. Not that I could think of anyone who would come see me at work without calling first whom I hadn’t spoken to in the last twenty minutes (Kyle and Cassady), who wasn’t currently not speaking to me (Tricia), who could possibly have anything happy to say to me (Santa Claus), but who else was mad at me? I actually had half a moment to wonder if it was Lara, though I wasn’t sure she understood where I worked, before Eileen’s office door opened and Eileen herself ushered out my visitor. My newest fan. Veronica Innes.

  They were saying their farewells, but both saw me at the same time and fell silent. Genevieve helpfully filled in the silence. “Here!”

  The meerkats all took that as permission to stop what they were doing and observe what was about to happen. Eileen frowned at Genevieve. “Thank you, Genevieve. We can see that.”

  They were quite a pair, framed in the doorway, Eileen in her Lilly and Veronica in her Diane von Furstenberg multicolor wrap dress, which wasn’t wra
pped quite tightly enough. Unlike Veronica. I hoped they’d been chatting about the play or fashion or world peace. Then Eileen beckoned imperiously for me to join them. I hesitated, inciting Veronica to scream, “You bitch!” across the bullpen at me. She yelled it at just the right frequency to change my reluctance to talk to her at all into a burning desire to make her apologize and then shut up.

  “I beg your pardon?” I asked, trying to strike the proper tone of outraged innocence as I walked up to them. Genevieve tagged along at my heels like a miniature terrier who’d retrieved a bone twice her size.

  The actress in Veronica took over and she centered herself, fixing me with a frosty glare as I approached. Her voice was well modulated and complete ice. “What are you trying to do to me?”

  “Nothing.”

  “The police came to the theater and destroyed me.”

  As hard as I was trying to look like the injured party here, I faltered a step. The police had done what? And how had she connected it to me? Was this why Kyle had been unhappy when I told him I wasn’t sure it was Veronica anymore? “I don’t understand,” I told her, possibly the first wholly sincere thing I’d said to her.

  Eileen gestured again, a little more impatiently. “Why don’t we step back into my office?”

  I still flinched every time I walked into Eileen’s office, having been so accustomed to it being Yvonne’s office. Yvonne’s space had been aggressively homey, with lots of dark wood. Eileen’s was like something a set designer in the sixties might have designed for an office in the new millennium. Lots of twisted, lacquered acrylic in primary colors, abstract art on the blindingly white walls, and a floor painted Chinese red and buffed to such a high gloss that you wanted to take your shoes off and slide across it, just once. It was also the only intimation of fun in the entire place, Eileen included.

  She leaned against the edge of her desk since she wasn’t quite tall enough to sit on it, while Veronica perched on the lip of a shiny red chair in the shape of a question mark. I stood.

  “Ms. Innes is quite upset,” Eileen recapped.

  “I can see that and I’m sorry, but I don’t understand what it has to do with me.”