Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
AVAILABLE IN HARDCOVER
A dead line . . .
Hesitantly, she pushed the door open and peered inside the room. “Sandra?”
The first thing she saw was the telephone. When she’d been there before, it had been on the desk next to the computer, but now it was on the floor with the receiver off the hook, which explained the busy signal. But it didn’t explain where Sandra was. It didn’t make sense—like one of Cooper’s picture puzzles, it felt as if some of the pieces had been confused somehow.
The only thing Tilda could imagine was that the older woman must have had a stroke or a heart attack, and had been trying to reach the phone when she succumbed. So she stepped inside, and wasn’t even surprised to see Sandra lying on the floor, facedown, on the other side of the couch.
She picked up the phone from the floor and called 911. In a calm, collected voice, she explained that an older woman had fallen ill and that she needed an ambulance. It was only when the operator asked for details about the patient’s condition that Tilda actually looked at Sandra. And saw the blood. Too much blood . . .
Berkley Prime Crime titles by Toni L. P. Kelner
CURSE OF THE KISSING COUSINS WHO KILLED THE PINUP QUEEN?
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc. 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)
Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)
Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)
Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)
Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa
Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
WHO KILLED THE PINUP QUEEN?
A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author
PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / January 2010
Copyright © 2010 by Toni L. P. Kelner.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
eISBN : 978-1-101-17150-9
BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME
Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
http://us.penguingroup.com
To Magdalene Ward Kelner: Lots of people told me motherhood would be transcendent, rewarding, and satisfying to the soul. Maggie taught me that it’s also outrageously fun!
Aknowledgments
I want to thank:
My husband, Stephen P. Kelner, Jr., who is always there.
My daughter Maggie, for giving me a dandy plot idea, and my daughter Valerie, for making me laugh.
My beta readers and forever friends, Charlaine Harris and Dana Cameron.
My agent, Joan Brandt, who continues to put up with me.
Sandra Sechrest, who donated actual money to charity so I would name a character for her.
Harley Jane Kozak and Lee Goldberg, who saved me from some of my misconceptions about show business.
Catherine Maiorisi, for providing the perfect answer to a plot complication.
The marvelously knowledgeable and helpful folks on the Mystery Writers of America listserv. No matter what question I come up with, somebody knows the answer.
Pat Houchin of Stickler Involved People. Though the research foundation mentioned in this book isn’t real, the disorder is. When my daughter Valerie and I were diagnosed with Stickler Syndrome, SIP provided the knowledge and support we needed. Visit www.sticklers.org if you want to know more.
Chapter 1
nightmare n 1) Any oppressive terrifying dream. 2) Any threatening, haunting thought or experience.
—THE NEW AMERICAN WEBSTER HANDY COLLEGE DICTIONARY
TILDA woke to the sound of her roommate pounding on her bedroom door.
She stumbled to the door and opened it. “I’m awake, I’m awake.”
“You woke me up again!” Colleen said accusingly.
“Damn it!” Tilda said, wiping the sleep from her eyes. “Sorry.”
Colleen looked nearly as tired as Tilda felt. “Tilda, you’ve got to do something. This is the fourth time in a week!”
Tilda didn’t bother to tell her that it was actually the sixth. Fortunately for Colleen, Tilda had been sleeping over at a friend’s the first time the nightmares hit and she’d suffered quietly one of the other nights.
“It’s not that I’m not sympathetic,” Colleen continued, though she looked anything but. “It’s just that I have to be up in the morning. At least tomorrow is Sunday, but I was late for work twice last week. This can’t keep happening.”
“I know,” Tilda said.
“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it? I’d be happy to listen—I’ll make us some coffee.”
Tilda might have been tempted had she not had a sense that Colleen was more interested in the gory details of what Tilda was dreaming about than she was in helping her work through the issues. “No, that’s all right. I know you need your sleep.”
“You need to talk to someone. If not me, then maybe a professional.”
“I’ll talk to
my sister. She’s a psychologist.” June was a researcher, not a clinician, and currently a full-time mother, but Tilda saw no reason to get technical.
“Whatever.” Colleen yawned. “I’m going back to bed.”
“You do that. I don’t think I’ll bother you again tonight.”
In fact, Tilda thought as she closed the door, she was sure she wasn’t going to have any more nightmares—she wasn’t going to try to sleep. Instead she went to her desk, hoping to get some work done, but when her brain proved to be too fuzzy for that, she watched a DVD of Power Pet cartoons. Anything was better than waking up screaming again.
While Power Pup defeated the Evil Dalmatian of Doom yet again, Tilda kept wondering why it was her subconscious wasn’t satisfied with dredging up memories of the real event. Wasn’t finding an old woman who’d been bludgeoned to death gruesome enough? Why did her sleeping brain have to add the dead woman rising to chase her through snowy Boston streets, and why did the corpse have that obscene mockery of a come-hither smile on her face? Why did Tilda end up screaming, when in reality she’d barely been able to speak?
More importantly, how much longer were the nightmares going to last?
Chapter 2
Episode 1: Welcome to Cowtown
Arabella Newman arrives in Cowtown and opens the Cowtown Saloon and Hotel to fanfare from the cowboys and condemnation from the more respectable folk in town. When she slaps down a lascivious bully and then invites people whose homes were damaged by a stampede to stay at the hotel for free, she’s welcomed as part of the community.
—COWTOWN COMPANION BY RUBEN TIMMONS
SIX DAYS EARLIER
“WHAT differences do you see between these pictures?” Cooper asked.
Tilda glanced at them. “One is on the right side, and the other is on the left.”
“Very droll. There are ten differences. Find them.”
“I hate these things.”
“Did I ask?”
She sighed, and took a closer look. At first, the photos of the Merlotte’s Bar and Grill set from the TV show True Blood looked identical. Then she started spotting variations.
“There’s only three beers on that table in this one, but four in the other,” she said.
“That’s one.”
“That waitress is missing the Merlotte’s logo on her shirt.”
“Two.”
“The framed photo of the guy in the beard and the pretty redhead is lopsided.”
“Three.”
Tilda looked for a minute, but didn’t spot any more. “Do I have to find all ten?”
“Have you got something better to do?”
She looked down at her Jack Skellington watch. Her meeting with Jillian had been scheduled for ten minutes earlier, but the editor in chief was in a previous meeting that was clearly more important than being on time for Tilda. Of course, she knew Tilda would wait—no freelancer could afford to play diva. “Fine.” She looked again. “That guy’s hat is missing.”
“Good. Don’t stop now.”
But after several minutes, she couldn’t find anything else. “I give up, Cooper. I told you I hate these things.”
“You forgot to mention that you suck at them.”
“Why would I hate a puzzle that I’m good at? So what did I miss?”
“The nail polish on the short-order cook is a different color, the beer sign is turned off, one of the chairs is missing a leg, that menu disappeared, and the Dos Equis beer tap is missing an Equis.”
“That’s only nine.”
He grinned. “I made that waitress’s boobs bigger.”
“The inventors of Photoshop must be so proud to have enabled you to reach this pinnacle of achievement. Why are you doing this anyway?”
“For the next issue. We’ve scrapped the personality quizzes in favor of ‘Spot the Difference’ puzzles.”
Doesn’t People do one of these every issue?”
“Yes, and People sells more copies than we do, so some genius in corporate decided that if we had a puzzle like theirs, we’d sell just as many copies.”
“Brilliant strategy.”
“That’s corporate. It’s just as well—I was running out of inspiration for the psychology quizzes anyway. Doing these is fun.”
“If you say so.” Tilda realized Cooper was still staring at the mismatched pictures. “Are you planning to add another difference?”
“No, ten is plenty. Just admiring that short-order cook. Do you think the actor is really—”
“Nope, he just plays gay on the show. I interviewed the guy who plays the werewolf, and he gave me the straight dope. So to speak.”
“Damn.”
“What difference does it make? You’re married, remember?”
“Jean-Paul doesn’t mind my looking.”
“Well, you can still look, can’t you?” Tilda had to admit that Cooper and the actor from True Blood would have made an attractive couple. Both men were black and well built, though Cooper’s skin was lighter and his look was more handsome than sultry.
The two of them went on to discuss the charms of the other male characters on the show until the door to the conference room opened, and Nicole stepped out into the hall.
A phony smile was pasted on her face, and it took a moment for Tilda to guess what the painfully thin redhead’s smile foretold. At first, she thought it meant Nicole was about to stick it to somebody, but upon reflection, she decided it was her I’m-so-pissed-I-want-to-scream smile. It was a tough call, since the latter expression often led to the former.
“Tilda,” Nicole said, “I’m so glad you could finally make it. We’ve been waiting for you.”
Tilda didn’t bother to rise to the bait—anything that had Nicole pissed off was likely to be to her advantage. “Later, Cooper,” she said, and followed the other woman into the conference room.
A quartet of people was arranged around the long oval table, but the only one Tilda recognized at first was Jillian, the relentlessly stylish editor in chief of Entertain Me!, the magazine that provided a sizable percentage of the story assignments that kept Tilda in pizza and Dr Pepper. Beside her was a pair of cowboys, an uncommon sight in Boston. The men were in their late sixties and looked enough alike in the face to be brothers, despite very different builds. Both were wearing suits with Western trim, and string ties with chunks of turquoise in the middle. Two hats that Tilda could only assume were Stetsons were on the table in front of them.
“This is Tilda Harper, the writer I was telling you about,” Jillian said. “Tilda, Tucker and Hoyt Ambrose.” Hands were offered and shaken. Tucker was the big, beefy one, with thick gray hair and a wide grin for Nicole when she sat down across from him. Hoyt was shorter and more trim, and was close to losing the battle against baldness.
“And this is—” Jillian started to say as she gestured toward the other person in the room, an older lady in a rose-colored suit that set off her crown of white hair to perfection.
“Arabella Newman!” Tilda said, suddenly recognizing her.
The woman smiled. “Cynthia Barth, actually, but I don’t mind being remembered as Arabella.”
“Didn’t I tell you she was the perfect writer for this?” Jillian said to the room at large. “Tilda, have a seat.”
She sat down next to Jillian, embarrassed to have called the actress by the name of the character she’d played on TV, but since the woman was obviously delighted, it was probably the best thing she could have done.
“As I was saying earlier, Tilda is our specialist in classic television,” Jillian said, “so of course she’s familiar with your show.”
“Cowtown was a favorite of mine,” Tilda said. “And if I remember correctly, that would make you two gentlemen the Cowboy Kings.”
“That’s right, ma’am,” Hoyt said with a shy grin. “Cowtown was one of our favorites, too.”
That was no surprise, since it had been the longest-lasting and most successful of their Westerns, having run eight seasons. The
Ambrose brothers had produced half a dozen cowboy shows, and a fair number of B-movie Westerns as well. She wasn’t sure if they’d crowned themselves the Cowboy Kings or if it had come from some creative press agent, but the title had stuck both because of their work and because of what they were. Cowboys—real ones at least—were just as rare in Hollywood as they were in Boston. She mentally raised her age estimates for the brothers. Cowtown had been made in the mid-1950s, when Westerns ruled television, so the brothers had to be in their seventies.
Tucker said, “If you know Cowtown, you’re going to get a real kick out of what we’re cooking up now. My brother and I, and Miss Barth here, have gone into partnership to build a resort based on the show. We’ve got us a piece of land in the western part of the state.”
“In Massachusetts?” Tilda asked. She’d have thought an attraction like that would be more appropriate for a more temperate area, not a state with such uncertain weather. There was still snow on the ground from the last storm, with more predicted for later in the day.
“Most of it will be inside,” Miss Barth explained. “A hotel and spa, restaurants, shows, a nightclub, shops. We’re hoping to add a casino—”
“Now Miss Barth, it’s early days to be talking about that,” Hoyt put in hurriedly.
Tilda knew that the governor was pushing for more gambling in the state, though he hadn’t been particularly successful so far.
Tucker went on. “There’s going to be plenty of things for people to do during the summer, too: horseback trails, trick riding shows, maybe a Western-themed petting zoo—”
“Don’t forget your golf course,” Hoyt put in.
“And a golf course,” Tucker agreed. “My brother doesn’t think a golf course is right for Cowtown, but I keep telling him that the people in Cowtown didn’t have hot tubs and massage tables, either, but we’re putting those in.”
Who Killed the Pinup Queen? Page 1
