Who Killed the Pinup Queen?

by Kelner, Toni, L. P.

  An hour and a half later, she wished they’d dined so leisurely that there would have been no time at all for the stores. It wasn’t that Cooper wasn’t an excellent companion for shopping. He had a gift for putting together outfits, and thanks to a side gig editing copy for a fashion magazine, knew what was in style, what was coming in, and what was going out. Plus he seemed to be able to sniff out bargains. But this time, he was a bit overwhelming. Apparently he’d been saving up advice ever since hearing that she might be taking a position at Entertain Me!

  “This is exactly what you need for daily office wear,” he proclaimed, holding up a wool suit at Saks.

  “The skirt is too short.”

  “You look good in short skirts.”

  She checked the price tag. “Shit, Cooper, do you know how many stories I’d have to sell to buy this?”

  “One, it’s an investment. Two, you’re not going to buy it now. You’re going to come on a sale day and get it for 20 percent off.”

  At Ann Taylor, he put a blouse and pants together. “This would be stunning on you.”

  “Should I try them on?” she said.

  “Not until the clearance sale next week. Take a picture with your phone, and don’t forget.”

  “Can I buy anything today?”

  He considered the matter. “January . . . Boots will be on sale.”

  “I can get a pair of Doc Martens at Newbury Comics.”

  “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

  The boots she let him talk her into buying at Lord and Taylor were nearly as comfortable as the boots the police still had, and considerably less militant. Plus they were at such a deep discount that she would probably still be able to afford new Doc Martens, even if Cooper wouldn’t let her wear them to the office.

  They agreed to wait on a handbag until Cooper had a sense for the spring styles, because neither of them were loving the winter stuff, but they had no luck at all with coats. Since it was the dead of winter, naturally most of the stores were showing spring jackets and cruise wear.

  Finally Cooper admitted defeat, albeit temporarily. “I’ve got to get back to the office,” he said, “but I’m going to call my connection at Marshalls. There was a coat there last week that would be perfect, but there’s no reason to go all the way down there if it’s already gone.”

  “You have a connection at Marshalls?”

  “It’s a discount store within walking distance of the office—of course I have a connection. Where are you heading?”

  “Home?”

  “Why don’t you come back with me until I get a chance to call Marshalls?”

  “Sure, why not?” Since she had her laptop with her, she could write up the interview with Louise while it was fresh in her mind. It turned out to be a good choice. When they arrived back at Entertain Me! headquarters, Nicole snapped, “Tilda, don’t you ever check your e-mail?”

  “They’ve got this amazing new device for sending messages,” Tilda retorted. “It’s called a telephone.” She pulled hers out. “Now if you’d called my phone, I would have a message and would therefore be able to find out what you want.” She pretended to check. “But lo and behold, there are no messages.”

  Nicole gave her what was doubtless intended to be a withering look. “I understand that you can’t afford an iPhone, but can’t you at least scratch up enough to pay for a low-end BlackBerry? I mean, get with the program!”

  That hit a nerve, since Tilda had been trying to scratch up enough to pay for an iPhone, not that she was going to admit that to Nicole. “You may not realize it, but an iPhone is also a type of telephone. All you have to do is—”

  “Whatever,” Nicole said, waving it aside. “The Ambrose brothers are coming to meet with Jillian this afternoon, and they want to see what you’ve done so far.”

  “I thought my deadline was—”

  “Did I ask about your deadline? They want to make sure they like what you’re doing before any time is wasted, if that’s okay with you.”

  Tilda looked for Jillian, but unfortunately her chair was empty. Nicole might be jerking her chain, but it was barely possible that Jillian really wanted the articles right away. “No problem. I’ve got two interviews written up already, and I can do a quick draft of a third right now.”

  “I suppose that will have to do, if that’s all you’ve got.”

  She stepped away before Tilda could come up with a snappy comeback, which was just as well, since Tilda was out of snappy comebacks.

  Cooper whispered, “Don’t let her get to you.”

  “How do you stand working with her every day?” Tilda wanted to know.

  “By not letting her get to me!”

  It didn’t take long for Tilda to get herself situated so she could print up the interviews with William Sonnett and Lucas McCain. Then she went to work on the story about Louise Silberblatt, consulting her notes and online databases as needed. She was halfway through a rough draft when Cooper sent her an IM.

  Cooper: My connection has the coat put aside! Sneak out with me to get it.

  Tilda: Can’t. Have to finish article. Nicole is watching.

  She looked up, and sure enough, Nicole was giving her the evil eye. Tilda gave her a wide but slightly crazed smile, which convinced the redhead to transfer her attention elsewhere.

  Cooper: My connection goes off duty in an hour, and will be off all weekend. Must buy from her to get the discount.

  Tilda: Have to do without.

  Cooper: Hell, no! Give me your credit card and I’ll go get it.

  Tilda: Your connection lets you forge signatures?

  Cooper: Yes.

  Tilda: Can I meet her?

  Cooper: No.

  Tilda decided that she needed to get a connection of her own, but until she found one, she’d have to rely on Cooper’s.

  Tilda: I’ll hide the card in a paper airplane and fly it to you.

  Cooper: Smart ass. Just get it out.

  She slipped the card out of her wallet and held it in her lap while continuing to work, waiting to see what Cooper had planned.

  A few minutes later, he stood and stretched. “I better get going if I’m going to make it to the dentist’s office.”

  “I don’t remember you saying anything about a dentist appointment,” Nicole said.

  “Didn’t Jillian tell you? The note I gave her must be on her desk somewhere.” Of course, he knew Nicole wouldn’t dare touch anything on Jillian’s desk. The one time she had, Jillian had nearly fired her.

  Nicole looked suspicious, but since Cooper was caught up with his work, there really wasn’t anything she could complain about. When he walked by Tilda’s desk on his way to the door, he managed to knock some of her papers onto the floor, and as he helped her pick them up, he somehow ended up with her credit card in his pocket. After making sure Nicole wasn’t watching, he gave Tilda a wink and left.

  With Cooper gone, Tilda could concentrate on finishing the interview with Louise. A couple of drafts later, she was ready to print it out. Despite Nicole’s riding her, Jillian and the Ambrose brothers hadn’t shown up yet, and she wasn’t sure if they would need to see her or not. Knowing what the answer would be if she asked Nicole, she didn’t bother. Instead she checked e-mail, and when she found responses from more Cowtown guest stars, sent off notes suggesting times over the next couple of days when they could conduct phone interviews.

  That done, she really didn’t have anything to do but wait for Cooper to let her know about the amazing wonder coat, but she didn’t want to look as if she was killing time, even though that’s what she was doing. Her first time killer was to print out a batch of photos of the guest stars she’d interviewed or had scheduled to interview. This time she was smug that she had a legitimate reason to use the Entertain Me! printer, which was two generations newer than hers at home. But once she had slid those into one of the cardboard photo mailers the magazine kept handy she was out of ideas.

  Not surprisingly, she started thinking a
bout Sandra’s murder again, and of course, the funeral. That led to speculation about the woman Louise had encountered in the bathroom, the one who’d denied knowing the actress. What had Louise called her? Morning Glory, which sounded like another nom du pinup.

  She hit the Web to visit Joe’s Lost Pinups site one more time. There was no Morning Glory on the list of missing pinup queens, but when Tilda searched the site more thoroughly, she found Glory’s name on a list of dead models. Somebody had e-mailed Joe the previous year to let him know. Had Louise been mistaken? That would certainly explain why the woman in the bathroom had denied being Glory.

  Tilda was curious enough to do a little more hunting, and found a few photos of Morning Glory that had been posted online. Glory had been blond with big brown eyes that gave her an innocent look despite her decidedly le ss-than-innocent poses and outfits. Tilda was about to shut down the screen when suddenly Nicole appeared next to her.

  “Are you looking at that shit again?” she asked in a voice that was just short of yelling. “Didn’t we discuss this?”

  “Yes we did,” Tilda said, “which is why you should remember that it’s research.”

  “Research? Do you think I don’t know porno when I see it?”

  Naturally, Jillian, the Ambrose brothers, and Cynthia Barth picked that very moment to walk into the office, and of course, Tilda’s laptop was angled perfectly for the four-some to get a glimpse of what was displayed.

  Jillian looked annoyed, and the Ambrose brothers looked surprised, but Miss Barth’s expression was the scary one. Her mouth was a perfect O, and her eyes were wide with shock. Her brown eyes. Her big brown eyes.

  Tilda twisted around to look at the woman on her screen, then turned back to stare at Miss Barth. Now she knew why the voice of the woman in the funeral home bathroom had sounded familiar. Morning Glory was Cynthia Barth.

  Chapter 17

  The girls willing to work nude could also get regular work

  from amateur photo clubs and art schools, and maybe a day’s

  work from one of the photographers who sold his work to

  calendar companies. The decision, however, even to appear

  nude once on a calendar, meant the end to a serious career on

  Broadway or in films.

  —BETTIE PAGE RULES! BY JIM SILKE

  AFTERWARD, Tilda could have kicked herself for being so damned obvious. Miss Barth’s eyes darted from her computer screen to her face, and of course the woman realized right away what Tilda had discovered. Knowing it was too little, too late, Tilda closed the file with the photo that had revealed so much more than freckled skin.

  Nicole must have been satisfied with the effect she’d had because she went back to her own desk, but Tilda could see her smirking. She’d probably known Jillian and the others were on their way in before she put on her “shocked and disgusted” act, which was no doubt part of her campaign to keep Tilda from getting hired.

  Tilda opened a word processing file, and pretended to refer to her notepad as she typed random sentences. When she heard Jillian and the others going into the conference room, she tried to decide if it would be possible for her to get out of the office unseen. She was going to give them ten minutes to get thoroughly involved in whatever it was they were doing, then sneak out as best she could.

  Unfortunately, at the ninth minute Jillian stepped back out long enough to say, “Nicole, Tilda, can you join us?”

  “Sure,” Tilda said, and picked up her pad, a pen, and the interviews she’d printed, oddly relieved. Jillian might intend to chase her out of Entertain Me!, but she was far too much of a professional to do so in front of company. Nicole pushed by to get into the conference room ahead of her.

  The Ambrose brothers smiled as Tilda came in, but Miss Barth was looking pointedly elsewhere. Again, Tilda was relieved. The last thing she wanted was the older woman glaring at her while she was trying to keep her mind on business.

  “Tilda, what’s your status on guests for the fund-raiser?” Jillian asked. “Rex Trailer can’t make it, so we need celebrity wattage.”

  “Lucas McCain is willing, if you want him,” she said, “but apparently he’s forgotten even being on the show.”

  “Lucas always did hit the firewater a bit too much,” Tucker said. “Never knew anybody else who could act so well when blind drunk.”

  “He’s also pretty demanding when it comes to perks and per diem. I explained it was for charity, but . . .” She shrugged. “Here’s a draft of the interview with him, if that will help you decide.” She handed it to Jillian, who skimmed it and passed it to Hoyt. “William Sonnett doesn’t travel in the winter,” she said, “and Louise Silberblatt is going to check, but she thinks she has a previous commitment.” She thought she saw Miss Barth flinch at that last name, but ignored it, and gave Jillian the other interviews. “I’ve got feelers out for a few more, but it is short notice, and we’re talking about old people.”

  “Ahem,” Jillian said, but Tucker just laughed.

  “She’s right. We are pretty damned old. Pardon my French, Miss Barth. Keep at it, little lady. There must be a couple of geezers willing to make the trip.”

  “Will do.”

  Jillian handed the other two interviews to Hoyt and said, “These look good. Have you got pictures to go with them?”

  “Do you want ‘then’ or ‘now’?”

  “Get both, and we’ll play with layout.”

  Tilda nodded. She was used to having to produce at least twice as much material as Jillian ever used.

  “One other thing,” Hoyt said. “Have you and Miss Barth set up a time to talk?”

  Both Tilda and Miss Barth froze, but Tilda thawed out first. “Not yet. Miss Barth, why don’t you check your schedule for availability, and we’ll go from there?”

  The woman nodded, still not looking directly at her.

  “Keep us up-to-date on status,” Jillian said, and Tilda was happy to take the hint and get the hell out of Dodge.

  It only took her a minute to pack up her things. The packet of photos was so big she ended up shoving it into an outside pocket of her satchel, hoping it wouldn’t fall out. Then she suited up and headed for the elevator. When she hit the ground floor, she called Cooper on her cell.

  “I got it!” he said triumphantly when he answered. “You are going to love it, love it, love it.”

  “How much do I love it? In dollars?”

  He named a figure that really wasn’t that bad.

  “Excellent. But what’s taking you so long?”

  “I had to accessorize, didn’t I? You aren’t going to wear that skull hat with this coat.”

  “How much do I love the accessories?”

  “Trust me. All bargains. Just wait until you see everything.”

  “I’m ready now. Where are you?”

  “Hustling down Boylston. You?”

  “Just leaving the office.”

  “Grab me some coffee along the way, would you? I’m half-frozen, and my hands are full with your new acquisitions.”

  “I don’t know if I can afford it after all those acquisitions.”

  “My connection gave me a large discount, so make it a large. Ciao!”

  At least carrying the coffee would keep her hands warm, Tilda admitted as she stopped at the nearest Dunkin’ Donuts. Unfortunately, others must have had the same idea, because the line was long and slow, but eventually she got Cooper’s coffee and a hot chocolate for herself and started up Gloucester Street toward Boylston.

  Despite the frigid temperatures, the sidewalk was crowded with the usual assortment of shoppers, business-people who were so busy they had to yell at their phones as they walked, and even a few hardy tourists. Tilda stopped at the crosswalk at Boylston Street, and was waiting for the signal to change when she felt a sharp shove and suddenly she was off-balance, falling headlong into the street.

  Chapter 18

  Heroing is one of the shortest-lived professions there is.

 
—WILL ROGERS

  TILDA knew it couldn’t have taken more than a few seconds for her to fall, but she could distinctly remember cursing at each stage: as she lost her footing, as both cups went flying through the air, as her right knee hit the pavement, and then as the rest of her body tumbled and slid into the street.

  There were screams, and the agonizing sound of screeching tires that stopped inches from her body. Or so Tilda imagined—as soon as she stopped falling she threw her arms over her head and shut her eyes tight, as if that could protect her from a speeding SUV.

  It was only when she heard Cooper’s voice that she dared to look up, and saw that she was surrounded by concerned bystanders. The SUV had managed to stop two whole yards away from her, and the driver was as pale as Tilda suspected she was herself. The cups she’d been carrying were squashed flat.

  “Tilda! Are you okay?” Cooper knelt beside her on the street, and started patting her clothes as if checking for blood and protruding bones. “Where does it hurt?”

  Tilda started to stir, despite some woman who said, “Don’t move, honey. You just lie still.”

  “I think I’m okay,” Tilda said. She rolled over to a sitting position, and bent her elbows successfully. “Help me up.”

  “Are you sure?” Cooper said, but he did so, helped by several other people who supported her as she stood, and then he brushed off the snow and dirt from the street.

  She stood gingerly. Everything seemed to be working, though her right knee hurt a bit when she took a wobbly step.

  The driver of the SUV was asking, “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” Tilda said, more confident that she was telling the truth. “Just a bruise or two.”

  “I’m so sorry—I didn’t see you in the street.”