by Judy Clemens
“But Rikki’s boyfriend—”
“She had a boyfriend?”
“—said you were worried that she was keeping you from becoming a star.”
“Please. The only thing that could keep me from that is my own stuff. Or industry stuff, which I guess could mean her, but didn’t. She was cool. I’ve been doing okay on my own. I had nothing against her. If she thought I did, it was because Gregg or somebody told her so. And seriously? She had a boyfriend? Who was it?”
“What I want to know,” Miranda said, going back to the original subject and saving me from having to give up Austin, “was why Gregg wanted Summer to win in the first place.”
“I know why he wanted Taylor to win,” Daniella said, “but I can’t imagine it was the same for Summer.”
“Which was?”
“He was going to make sure she went all the way to the top, became the spokesperson for Lovely Miss Pennsylvania, then on to win Nationals. He wanted to use her for marketing Sunburst Studios.”
“Kind of lame, isn’t it?” Miranda said. “Using a teenage girl’s pageant for marketing?”
“Not when you think about who listens to most of the music he’s putting out,” Daniella said. “Teenage and tween girls are a huge audience, the biggest. Know who votes the most on American Idol? All those singing reality shows? Those girls. They basically pick the winner each year. Getting someone like Taylor in a position where she would have influence would be a perfect in-road for someone like Gregg.”
“But what about Summer?” Valerie said. “Like, ugh. No girls are going to listen to someone who looks like she got stung by ten thousand radioactive bees.”
I laughed. Yeah, this girl was all right. But I still had questions. “So how do we find out why he wanted Summer to win? And more importantly, if this all somehow led to Rikki’s death?”
“Would he keep information on it?” Valerie asked. “Like on his computer or in his desk or anything?”
“I doubt it. That would be kind of dumb.”
“Besides,” Daniella said, “there’s no way to check. His office would be locked and loaded, wouldn’t it?”
Valerie stared at Daniella, but she wasn’t really seeing her, I didn’t think. Her face had gone all serious, and she popped the sides of her water bottle in and out, in and out.
“Valerie,” I said, “what is it?”
She fidgeted with the bottle. “You know how I said he’s a creep?”
We waited.
“It’s not just about public events like the pageant. He also wants…other stuff.”
“Like degrading marketing campaigns?” I looked at Daniella. She had never told me exactly what Rikki had said no to.
Daniella’s nose wrinkled, like she smelled something rotten. “It was a calendar.”
“A calendar.”
“With practically naked female singers.”
“Oh.”
“He wants more than pictures,” Valerie blurted.
I tried not to show my disgust by puking. “Sex, you mean?”
Valerie looked at the ground, then sat back in her chair, her face hard. “He tried to push it on me. Said if I wanted to get started here, that was one of the perks.” She spat the word. “I don’t know how his wife puts up with him. He goes after anything that moves. I’m not dumb. I know I’m not the first. Rumors were flying during the past few weeks about him and Rikki. I don’t know what happened for real, but I do know his wife hated her.”
Miranda looked appalled. “What did you say when he propositioned you?”
“What could I say? The man held my career in his hands, I couldn’t exactly give him a flat-out no.”
According to Daniella, Rikki had told him no, despite the rumors, but then, not everybody could be that strong.
“So I gave him a maybe. This week he said to sweeten the offer, he would let me have this ‘job’ with the pageant. That if I got good results he would get me in the studio this week, and find a featured artist for my album, like maybe Kelly Clarkson, or even Maroon 5, or somebody.” She waved a hand at the studio door. “My agent made sure he followed through.” She smiled, looking more like a shark than a young woman. “Gregg hadn’t expected me to tell my agent. I guess he thought I wouldn’t want to look shady. But my agent’s been around a long time. She knows how these things work. And she knows how Gregg works.”
“Anyway,” I said, “were you going somewhere with this?”
“Actually, I was.” She sat up straighter. “Do you really think this whole pageant thing is the reason Rikki’s dead?”
“It’s looking more likely all the time. You were a prime candidate up till now, but I’m kind of off that kick now.” I smiled, to show I was only half serious.
Valerie’s chin trembled, and she rubbed her mouth. “And if we find out why Gregg wanted Summer to win, you think you’ll know if he did kill Rikki?”
“I don’t know, Valerie. We’re sort of grasping at straws here.”
She nodded slowly, like she was making a decision. She was here at Sunburst, recording her first album, hoping to make it big, only because of her deal with Gregg. If she screwed that up, who knew what would happen to her. She could just as easily disappear into the wanna-be void as end up on the charts.
Finally, she made her choice. “Would it help to get into his office?”
“It might. There’s no way to know.”
“But it could?”
“It could.”
“Then leave it up to me.”
Chapter Forty-three
Gregg’s ancient secretary, according to Valerie, was used to his conquests, and while she didn’t condone them, she didn’t do anything to stop them, either. So when Valerie told her she was supposed to meet him in his office that afternoon, the secretary took it in stride and let Valerie into the inner sanctum. And then Valerie let the rest of us in through a door in the hallway that wasn’t marked, but was locked with multiple deadbolts.
“He likes having an escape route,” Valerie whispered. “At least, that’s what I’ve been told. Plus, when he’s here, he can bring people into the office without anyone knowing.”
“Security cameras?” I said.
“Not that I know of. He doesn’t want people seeing what all he does in here.”
I tried not to think about what exactly she meant, but it was hard not to, with the comfortable couch, the thick carpet, and the heavy curtains, which served as much for showing off money as for privacy and comfort and the whole brothel feeling. I wasn’t going to get anywhere close to the couch, because it looked like the main place for Gregg to get up to those things he didn’t want anyone to see. That wouldn’t be a problem, staying far away from it, because the room was the size of my barn.
“So what are we searching for?” Miranda said, and we all shushed her. She rolled her eyes. “Sorry,” she hissed. “If the secretary’s that’s ancient, she won’t be able to hear us.”
“Anything that has to do with the Lovely Miss pageant,” Daniella said. “Or Summer.”
Valerie stayed by the door, probably thinking about how her career was going to blow up if we were discovered, and wondering if it was worth it. Daniella had sat right down at the desk, and turned on the computer. While it booted up, she looked through desk drawers.
Miranda opened a closet door and was struck silent when she saw the contents. Clothes. Shoes. A full-length mirror. Not all for Gregg, unless he made a habit of trying on women’s lingerie. Miranda dove in with enthusiasm.
I kept my hands in my pockets and wandered around—avoiding the sofa—thinking that maybe something would pop out at me. Platinum records? Nah. The artists weren’t my type, and couldn’t possibly be threatened by a white, country girl. White baby grand? For heaven’s sake. Did Gregg even play piano? Or was Liberace going to stop by? A stocked bar, a conference table so shiny I could see my reflection, photos of Gregg with every famous Philadelphian he’d ever come into contact with. Bill Cosby, Pink, Dr. J., Supreme Court
Justice Alito, Kevin Bacon, Chase Utley, and Cliff Lee. In addition, there were plenty of other celebrities from other places, including politicians, actors, musicians, and models.
Moving around the room toward his desk, I studied another set of photos. These were more focused on local charities, where Gregg had lent his studio name and celebrities to further a cause. Or, more like, to further his own cause. The photos centered around him and people I supposed were the organizers of various benefits, rich folks who wanted to either make the world a better place, or avoid paying taxes by pretending to care about the needy.
Yes, I know how I sound.
Rikki was in several of the photos with him, sometimes in formal wear, sometimes in her concert dress. In all of them she smiled brightly, standing in groups with Gregg and the philanthropists, also dressed to the nines. Men, women, children…Summer’s mom.
“Hey,” I said, too loudly. “Look here.”
The others trotted over and followed my finger to the photo.
“That’s her,” Miranda said.
“But who’s with them?”
“Gregg,” Miranda said.
“Gee, thanks.”
“Just trying to help.”
Daniella leaned close to the photo. “I don’t know any of those other people. They would be part of the charity, I guess. Does anyone know the organization?”
Physicians United. Who’d ever heard of them?
“Let’s look it up,” Miranda said.
I took a step back. “But not in here.”
“Right,” Valerie said. “Let’s go.” She turned to leave.
“Valerie,” I said. “You’d better lock up after us and go out the way you came in.”
“But Gregg didn’t get here.”
“Tell the secretary he called to say he was running late, or was in the hospital. Or found a girl at the fair he liked better.”
She made a face. “I’m sure that wouldn’t surprise the old lady. Okay, you guys go on. But make sure there’s nobody in the hallway.”
“Where should we meet?”
“Back up in the green room. I have another recording session starting—” she looked at her phone “—in twenty minutes.”
We peered into the corridor, and when the coast was clear, we hustled out and up the stairs. Miranda had her phone out and searching before we’d even sat down.
“Physicians United. ‘To make the world a more beautiful place.’ It says here they’re a group of plastic surgeons who go on mission trips to help kids in developing countries, you know, who have been born with cleft palates or whatever.”
“A worthy cause,” Daniella said. “Where do they get their money?”
Miranda poked around a little longer. “Private donations. Federal grants. Some software pioneer guy. And—” she looked up at me, wide-eyed “—the Wilbur and Sherry Moss Foundation.”
It took me a second. But then it hit me. “They’re named specifically. By name.”
“We got that,” Miranda said. “It says their names.”
“But you know what that means.”
“They like to give away money?”
“It means they have a lot of money. And Gregg would know that.”
Miranda kept messing with her phone. “Wilbur’s dead. Died of a heart attack six months ago.”
“Ms. Moss doesn’t seem to have taken her husband’s death very hard,” I said. “You saw the way she drooled over Nick.”
“Everybody drools over Nick.”
“Not Daniella.”
Daniella gave a small smile. “Not that he’s not very good-looking, of course.”
“What did I miss?” Valerie burst into the room. Miranda filled her in.
Valerie made a face. “What do you want to bet one of those physicians rewards the Mosses’ contributions with free plastic surgery?”
“Not a bet I want to take,” Miranda said, “because it’s plain to see.”
“So.” I sat in the easy chair again. “What does this all mean?”
“Duh,” Miranda said. “That’s obvious, too. Gregg wants to tap into that money. This studio takes tons of money to operate, plus look at his office. How expensive was that to furnish? And his mansion up north? When Daniella and Taylor wouldn’t go along with the whole cheating thing, he moved right on to the next thing. If he couldn’t get her as his Front Page spokesperson to make money that way, he’d go on to the next best thing, which might actually be a better thing—cold, hard cash. Which means he needed Summer.”
“Like a runner-up?” I said.
Valerie laughed. “Yes. Just like that.”
But it wasn’t funny. “Runner-up. Summer is the runner-up.”
They all looked at me. “So?” Miranda said, speaking what they all were thinking.
“Remember that emcee’s description of the runner-up? That she would take over if something kept the winner from being able to perform the role?” They still didn’t get it. “Just how important is it to Gregg that Summer actually be Lovely Miss Pennsylvania?”
The blood drained from Daniella’s face. “You mean—”
“—if Gregg wants the Mosses’ money, he’s going to get it. Even if it means forcing Summer into Taylor’s role.”
Chapter Forty-four
We were flying back to the fair in Daniella’s car, although I was driving. Daniella was in the back seat and on the phone, texting Taylor, texting Zach, calling whoever she could think of. I had Watts’ phone number, as well as several other cops’, seeing how they’d been hounding me for more information, so she was sending them information, too. Watts said she’d be on the lookout for Taylor, who wasn’t answering her phone, and would also be watching for Gregg and his thugs.
“Take the wheel for a second,” I told Miranda.
“What? Why?”
“I’m going to call Willard.”
“But, traffic!”
“Miranda. We’re not moving.”
The Schuyllkill was not only packed, like on any regular day, but at a complete standstill. This meant it was Friday, which caused traffic to behave even worse. We were moving at a lame snail’s pace, if at all.
I got Willard’s voice mail and told him what was going on. I was sure he would at least be in touch with other law enforcement, even if he couldn’t get there himself.
Zach texted Daniella back, saying Taylor was fine. He was watching her at that very moment, awarding a junior 4-H prize to a kid who’d made a photo collage of her dog.
“So she’s okay,” Miranda said. “That’s good, right?”
“Of course it’s good,” I said. Had the woman turned into an idiot? “But it doesn’t mean she’s safe.”
“Do I call Gregg?” Daniella said. “Should I let him know we’re onto him, or would that just make him act sooner?”
“Call him,” Miranda and I said together. We glanced at each other, not quite sure what had just happened. Had we actually agreed on something?
Daniella punched some numbers, but was soon groaning. “He’s not answering. I’ll try again.” But the same thing happened. The third time, she left a message asking him to please call her, and to not do anything rash, that it would just be bad for everybody, and that the cops were keeping an eye on Taylor. She hung up and sank back into the seat. “I knew I never should have let her be in that pageant. I knew it couldn’t be good for her.”
I glanced into the rearview mirror. “Daniella, she’s going to be okay. And listen, it’s not the pageant’s fault.” Again, like when I’d complimented Bryan, I thought maybe the week’s heat had fried my brain. “The pageant has nothing to do with this.”
“Of course it does. If she hadn’t won—”
“She won because she deserved it. She’s in danger because Gregg is a crazy man. It’s his fault. Nobody else’s.”
“His wife,” she said, like I hadn’t been talking. “I’ll call her.” She dialed, and held the phone up to her ear. I expected a repeat of what had happened with Gregg, but suddenly D
aniella was talking. “Edie? Hey, is your husband with you? No? Do you know where he is? I need to talk to him. No, no, it’s about…business. Okay. I understand. If you see him, could you please—Great. Thank you.” She hung up, but didn’t look appeased. “I don’t know who else to call.”
“Miranda,” I said, “call Nick. Tell him what’s happening.”
