by Nancy Martin
Reed picked me up at ten and delivered me to a Philadelphia department store where a Mensa reject had scheduled a fund-raiser for the literacy foundation during the after-Christmas sale. Kitty had assigned the event to me before her death, presumably so I could be trampled by frenzied shoppers returning unwanted presents.
I rode the escalator behind a woman wearing a Juicy sweat suit and matching lavender flip-flops. The Juicy logo was written across her buttocks. She turned around and I realized she was Gretchen Schwartzenhauser, the air-bag heiress.
“I just came from a pedicure,” she said when I remarked upon her footwear. “I leave for Palm Beach in the morning. I can’t stand winter, can you?”
I admired her toes, which weren’t frostbitten yet. “Are you here for the literacy foundation event?”
“Are you kidding? I’m returning a blouse. When will my stepmother stop getting me things that aren’t on my list?” She rolled her eyes. “I mean, Ralph Lauren is so old-school. I wore it once, but I don’t think anyone can tell.”
Those gifts from the heart sure could spoil a girl’s Christmas.
“Say,” she said, “you always know cool stuff. Where can I get a Brinker Bra?” She pointed at a huge banner that pictured Brinker’s smirking face.
“I don’t think they’re for sale yet.”
“Are you sure?” Gretchen narrowed her eyes. “You’re not pretending, are you?”
“I have no idea when they’ll be available.”
“Hm.” She continued to look suspicious. “If you hear anything, let me know, huh? I want to be first in line.”
Spike poked his nose out of my bag, and Gretchen recoiled. “Yuck! Is that a pet rat or something?”
Spike’s snarl hinted that Gretchen wasn’t exactly Miss America either.
“Yes,” I said. “Rats are the latest thing in pets.”
“Oh, yeah? Where can I get one?”
I escaped before Gretchen could invite herself to my party.
Although the rest of the store was a zoo, the corner where the literacy foundation had set up a table was a sea of tranquility.
English Hubble looked forlorn. “Bad timing,” she said after I commiserated about the low turnout. “Live and learn.”
I liked English. For generations, her family had owned the city’s two most popular tourist restaurants. She aspired to be an actress, but now that she had reached the ripe old age of twenty-eight, she spent a lot of time recording books for the blind.
“Better luck with the next event.”
English ventured to scratch Spike’s head. “Funny puppy, Nora. But then, you always did get attached to underdogs.”
“He’s ugly, but he’s sweet.”
English nodded and sent a sideways glance at me. I knew she noticed my bruise. “Are you okay?” she asked. “I mean, you know I’m happy to do something if you need help.”
I put my hand to my face. “This? I fell, that’s all.”
“You sure? I don’t mean to pry, but if you’ve got relationship problems—”
“I don’t. Really, I fell.”
“Okay.” She accepted that, but followed up one more time, just in case. “How about if we get together for lunch soon?” She grinned. “I love to eat at restaurants my dad doesn’t own.”
“Sure. That will be nice.”
I appreciated English’s instinct to help and her willingness to press a friend in need. She was one of the good ones. I asked her if she had plans for New Year’s Eve. She happily accepted my invitation.
As I made my way out of the store, I noticed a store crew on ladders hanging another huge banner from the store’s marble mezzanine.
BRINKER BRA! COMING SOON!
Already, shoppers were pointing at the banner and buzzing with excitement.
I was supposed to meet my friend Lexie Paine at the Ritz-Carlton’s Grill for lunch. I walked up the windy street with Spike. On his new Christmas leash—patent leather, from Libby—Spike checked the sidewalks for terrorist threats and left a few dire warnings along the way.
We found Lexie standing outside between two of the hotel’s massive neoclassical columns, speaking rapid-fire Japanese into her cell phone. She looked so beautiful that the hotel’s two uniformed doormen were practically throwing themselves at her feet.
Her face lit up with a grin when she saw me. She waved and terminated her call. I put Spike into my bag.
“God,” she said as she stowed the phone in her coat pocket. “If the Japanese would spend less time being polite and focus an equal amount of time on the yen, we’d have a stronger world economy. How are you, sweetie? I’m so glad you called.” She gave Spike’s head a rub and me a heartfelt kiss. “I’m simply—Heavens, what’s wrong with your face?”
“I fainted over Kitty’s body.”
She winced. “What a perfectly ghastly business. Are you all right?”
“Not bad.” I told her I had just left the department store. “Half the city is returning their Christmas gifts in there right now.”
“And buying more stuff, sweetie, which is very patriotic these days. Must keep the economy marching along. Speaking of which, I have just enough time for lunch and a gossip before rushing back to save a major telecommunications company from going bust. Or we could hike down the street to Bojo’s and look at shoes for an hour. What do you think?”
“No contest. Shoes.”
To the disappointment of the Ritz-Carlton doormen, we linked arms and my friend whisked me to a secluded storefront, where she rang the bell and showed her face to the security camera to gain entrance. In the inner sanctum, the general public was not invited, but as Lexie stepped inside, the staff abandoned their intense study of fashion magazines and sprang to our service. Lexie waved them off graciously.
“We’re just snooping,” she announced.
“I keep this place in business,” she confided when we were admiring the glass shelves of beautifully displayed footwear, backlit like priceless artifacts in a museum. “I send my assistant over here every week to buy herself a bonus, can you believe it? I hate keeping her late at night, but there’s just nothing to be done about that until Alan Greenspan pours oil on the waters, so I must spoil her. What about this kitten heel? Too matronly?”
“It’s sensible, yet chic. But the bow is maybe too adorable.”
She nodded sagely. “A shoe must reflect current styles, but also one’s commitment to career.”
Lexie had inherited her father’s share of a venerable brokerage house, but the remaining partners soon surrendered and left her entirely in charge of a vast financial empire, which she ruled like a benevolent tyrant.
“I always think of you in killer stilettos,” I said.
“Excellent for meetings with misogynistic hedge fund pooh-bahs, but hell on my ankles.” Lexie ran her forefinger up the four-inch heel of a Prada pump with a skinny patent-leather ankle strap. “This, however, is definitely a shoe for a woman who wants to be tied up and spanked. Speaking of which, tell me what in the name of all that’s holy has gotten into Libby? She left the most bizarre message on my home machine yesterday.”
“She’s become an Avon lady for X-rated gadgets.”
Lexie dropped the shoe. “I thought she wanted me to join some sort of cult! You mean all that talk about personal satisfaction involved batteries?”
“And some lotion she’s addicted to.” I picked up the shoe from the floor.
“She’s still trying to convert me.” Lexie shook her head. “I swear, she has enough sex drive for half a dozen women, and I could care less. The last man I dated only wanted to take me to the opera, and even that required more estrogen than I was willing to sacrifice.”
“My biggest worry is that Libby’s going to show up New Year’s Eve ready to demonstrate her gadgetry.”
Lexie laughed. “How does Michael feel about her new product line?”
The mere mention of his name gave me an odd flutter in my stomach. I turned my face away from Lexie to avoid
explaining my feelings.
“He doesn’t know,” I said, manufacturing a light tone. “We haven’t reached the stage of intimacy where we can talk about things electrical. Or our relatives, for that matter.”
“A good lifetime policy, if you ask me.”
Lexie had met Michael and liked him, I thought. The two of them talked about money. Sometimes I thought Lexie believed he kept his savings under a mattress, and he liked to listen to her rant about chickenhearted investors and their mutual funds. I wasn’t ready to confide in her about his latest exploit.
“Now, what about New Year’s Eve?” she asked, moving along the display shelves with the concentration of a big-game hunter on the trail of a trophy kill. “I may have mentioned your bash to Posie Beedlewine, and she’s dying to come with all her bipolar book club pals.” Lexie swept on without noticing my pained gasp. “And Jake Jacobson, the drag queen, is back in town for his little brother’s bar mitzvah, so I suggested he stop in. He always brings hijinks to a party, and you’ll need somebody to cause harmless mischief to divert attention in case the real thing breaks out.”
“Which it undoubtedly will.”
“What about Kenny Whatshisname—he’s on your list, surely? You’ll need somebody to play the piano.”
Feebly, I said, “It hasn’t been tuned in years.”
“Even better. It will be so festive that way.”
I decided to throw my cards on the table. “Lex, I can’t afford to throw a party of this size. And certainly not now that all hell has broken loose in my life.”
“Nonsense, sweetie.” She patted my hand. “Hell looks much better through the bottom of a cocktail glass—Emma will be the first to tell you that. And you’ve heard of stone soup? When everybody brings something to the pot? We’ll all contribute, I promise.”
“Lexie, people in our crowd send flowers and thank-you notes. That doesn’t help. I’m going to have to buy cheap gin and make nothing but martinis so everybody gets headaches and goes home early.”
“Brilliant strategy! What about food? In college, weren’t you the one who always ordered white pizza from a takeout joint, cut out tiny squares and stuck them with frilly toothpicks? And you always got credit for throwing the most fabulous soirees.”
She found a pair of black beaded sandals and eyed them with the serious consideration of a connoisseur while I contemplated my options.
“I’ll need some dark chocolate,” I muttered at last. “A party needs good chocolate.”
“There you go! I knew your party-giving endorphins would kick in. It will take your mind off your troubles. Nora, those shoes are so you. Try them on.”
I gazed longingly at the pink suede pump in my hand—delicate heel, pointed toe, snakeskin trim. “It’s insane to spend five hundred dollars on something I can’t wear in the rain.”
“Okay, I’ll try them on.”
We sat in upholstered chairs while the staff brought us green tea and twelve pairs of shoes, all size seven and a half, which happened to be right for both of us.
When the staff retreated to a discreet distance and Lexie was frowning at the reflection of her feet in the low mirror, she said, “So tell me now about Kitty. Are all the newspaper employees dancing on their desktops? Flinging confetti out the windows?”
“It’s a mixed reaction,” I said. “She was universally disliked, but Kitty’s column was one of the most popular among readers. She’s going to be missed.”
I told Lexie that Kitty had specified me to plan her funeral.
Lexie stopped looking at her feet and stared at me. “What will you do? Light fireworks? Sacrifice some virgins?”
“I was thinking of a memorial service. Suppose anybody would come?”
“If you promised a celebrity or two, yes.”
“I thought of that. But what celebrity can I blackmail into attending a memorial for Kitty?”
“Politicians are easy. They’ll go to anything.”
“But they’re no fun. And a good funeral needs just a sliver of something amusing or it’s too awful.”
“See? You’re the expert on parties, even funerals. No wonder Kitty wanted you to plan her last send-off.”
“Hm. I’m thinking of a memorial in three weeks—enough time for the general anger to subside and everyone’s sense of humor to be restored. People will start to feel more kindly disposed then. Maybe I can coerce a few speakers from organizations that benefited by Kitty’s help with fund-raising. And a bighearted clergyman who’s good with a joke—maybe that nice Paul Wilmott from First Espiscopal. I could do it in a hotel ballroom with cocktails and nibblies after. What do you think?”
“That you have the best taste of anyone I know, Nora. I’d like you to plan my funeral, too, please, although not right away.” Lexie came back to sit beside me. “I heard the news, sweetie. They say a member of the Abruzzo family shot her.”
“Danny Pescara. He’s a. . . some kind of cousin of Michael’s.”
Lexie eyed me. “Okay, it’s time to come clean. I can see you’re in pain. Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
“Oh, Lex.”
She sighed, too. “The police visited me yesterday. They wanted to know if I thought you hankered for Kitty’s job badly enough to ask the mob to rub her out. I told them such an idea is utterly ridiculous. Darling, I’m so sorry. What a terrible mess for you.”
I rubbed my forehead to keep it from exploding. “I can’t throw a party, Lex. It’s the wrong time, the wrong everything. What am I thinking?”
Suddenly serious, Lexie said, “Listen to me, Nora. You have two important reasons for throwing this bash. One, it shows the world that you believe in Michael and have the utmost confidence in him.”
“And two?”
She sighed and took my hand in hers. “I’m your friend, sweetie. Your very best friend. The second reason is to prove to yourself that he can live in your world.”
“I have a bad history with men. I know that. I choose the ones who are trouble.”
“You’re drawn to people you can help.”
“Michael doesn’t need my help. Not like Todd.”
“I watched you with Todd, sweetie. You fought for your husband long after he disappeared into that sucking swamp of addiction. And he almost dragged you down with him. I watched you fall apart. You were half-dead, Nora.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“You were dead inside. And now you’re fighting for Michael. Is he slipping too? And dragging you down with him? You’ve started a career, Nora—”
“He’s not a criminal, Lexie. I just know it.”
“The way you knew Todd could be coaxed away from cocaine?”
Softly, I said, “Don’t do this to me, Lex.”
She squeezed my hand hard. “I won’t make you choose between him and me. I wouldn’t dream of it. I know how protective you can get when it comes to the people you love. And you do love him, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“But self-preservation needs to figure into your life, too, Nora.”
“I can’t think my way out of how I feel. It’s not an intellectual problem.”
“There’s a lot of chemistry between you, I know. I may not understand it, but I certainly see it.”
“I’ve never felt this way before. It’s more visceral with Michael. More . . . consuming somehow.”
“What about Richard D’eath?”
I was surprised. “What about him?”
My friend stuck out her foot to look once more at the shoe on it, but I knew she was trying to decide whether or not to hold back. She shook her head and took it off. “He’s an attractive man. And I saw the way he watched you at the fashion show. He’s intrigued.”
“Richard is looking for news, not women.”
“I think you’re wrong,” Lexie said. “He wouldn’t be a bad person to wake up with in the morning. Newspapers at the breakfast table. Clever conversation over dinner. And I’ll bet he’s thoroughly housebroken.”
“Meaning I could introduce him to my friends without embarrassment?”
“That’s not what I meant,” she said, looking contrite. “Okay, forget I said any of this, sweetie. Just tell me how I can help.”
Chapter 11
Lexie’s cell phone rang and she apologized before answering it. While she spoke with her assistant, I checked to be sure Spike was still asleep in my bag, then tried on a pair of Manolos that sported a price tag of a mere seven hundred dollars. I thought about what Lexie was trying to tell me.
Within a minute, she snapped her phone shut. “I’m truly sorry about that. The cell phone is my enemy and my best ally.”
“You’re my best ally, Lex. I know you only want to help me.”
“If you want my opinion, you should buy those pink suede shoes. If you want my opinion on your love life, though, I’ll keep my lip buttoned from now on.”
I smiled a little. “Tell me what you know about Brinker Holt’s business.”
“I’ll do even better. My assistant is sending over somebody right now who can answer your questions better than I can.”
“Who?”
She grinned. “An investigator for the SEC. As the governing body of the stock exchange, the Securities and Exchange Commission wants to make sure that if Lamb Limited buys the Brinker Bra, the deal is kosher. They’ve been asking around my firm all morning.”
“What’s the upshot?”
“Well, everybody knows the Brinker Bra is going to be huge and make Brinker a millionaire. If he sells it to Lamb Limited, he’ll probably become a billionaire. Trouble is, his past is starting to circle back to bite him in the tushie.”
“You mean Upchuckles?”
Lexie nodded. “Nobody could prove Brinker torched his comedy club, but the place burned down at a very, very convenient time for him, financially speaking.”
“Arson was never proved.”
“Not then. But the SEC wants to reopen the case. Despite current publicity to the contrary, the stock exchange takes a dim view of crooks. They also want to know why a murder took place on the grounds of Hemorrhoid’s estate at precisely the time a big deal is in the works with Brinker. Kitty’s death is suspicious, just like Brinker’s fire. I thought you might like to talk to one of the investigators.”
