“Okay.”
“But she wasn’t only a cocktail waitress, and the club wasn’t only a bar, if you know what I mean.”
“Dean,” she said, sympathetically. “This is so unlike you.”
“I know!” he exclaimed. “I was swept up in the glamour. I’ve never been to a club like that. The tables were encrusted with diamonds. The cocktail waitresses looked like models. And Hans and Taylor seemed so sure of themselves, so in control, that it didn’t compute that there was anything wrong with it.”
“So you slept with Cherry?”
“No!” He paused to reel in his emotions, and then admitted, “Not that night.”
“At a later time?”
“There were many trips to New York, many late nights. I got to know Cherry. I didn’t see her as a waitress or an escort or a...prostitute. To me she was a real person.”
Kate didn’t want to shatter his world by explaining to him that a lot of John’s felt that way and often working girls preyed on that weakness, so she asked, “What was Cherry doing at the mansion?”
“I don’t know; she shouldn’t have been there.”
“Did you know that Taylor was planning on bringing her?”
He hesitated, and then admitted that he had.
“Did you see her inside the mansion?”
“Briefly,” he said. “But as soon as I saw her come in through the door, I knew something was wrong. She didn’t seem like herself, and Taylor was clutching her by the upper arm in a way that looked off to me. I approached them, but didn’t confront Taylor. He’s a big donor, and he believes in me politically.”
If Taylor believed anything, it was that he could buy Dean, control him, and maybe push him up the ranks in the Senate or Congress or wherever Dean’s political career might take him after he retired as mayor and moved on. But Kate didn’t have the heart to tell him that.
“So what did you say? What happened?” she asked.
“I asked if she was feeling okay and offered her one of the bedrooms upstairs if she needed to straighten out. I mean, I felt like I knew her, but she could’ve been a drug user. I don’t know. But when I offered, Taylor said he would handle it, so I walked away. That was the last time I saw her before I found out she was dead.”
“Dean, I have to ask you: did you do anything to rub Taylor the wrong way?”
“Why?”
“Well, he brought the woman to the mansion, and it was against her will. I have to wonder if you were being set up or if Taylor was aiming at destroying you.”
“He wouldn’t.”
“How can you be sure?” she pressed. When he didn’t answer her, she asked, “Is that why you won’t tell me where he’s staying, because you believe he’s innocent?”
“I do believe he’s innocent, but the only reason I’m not telling you is because I know you. I know you’ll confront him, and he’ll find out that I named him, and he’ll renege his donation to my campaign.”
“I’m looking out for you, Dean.”
“So am I,” he shot back. “And telling you where Taylor is isn’t going to be good for me.” After a moment he added, “Cherry was an escort for God’s sake. The possibilities are endless in terms of who might want her dead—a jealous escort, an angered John, who knows.”
“You might be right about that, but the problem is that not anyone could gain access to the mansion. Whoever killed her was invited to your fundraiser.”
“Over two hundred people,” he pointed out.
“This isn’t going away,” she warned him as she got to her feet. “If you ask me, Cherry was a pawn. She was killed because you have an enemy that wants you out of the running for re-election.”
“Then there’s only one person you need to look at,” he said bluntly. “Celia Demblowski.”
“Celia wasn’t at the benefit,” she said out of frustration.
However, the look on Dean’s face told her that wasn’t true.
“She was there?”
“I don’t know how, but she was.”
“You saw her?”
In response, he said, “She should’ve gone to prison for conspiring with Eric to let Becky Langley hide out in their house. Kate, you know she has it in her to do something foul like this. She’s had it in her for years.”
Kate leaned over his desk, staring him down. “Then what’s the harm in letting me speak with Taylor Rheingold?”
But Dean wouldn’t give up the billionaire’s location. He only reminded her that he couldn’t jeopardize the donation that Taylor had made to his campaign.
She sighed and told him to take care of himself then started for the ground floor.
She was cautious when she trailed down the stairwell. She didn’t want to run into any police officers, so she listened for the sounds of voices and boots echoing on the stairs, but heard neither.
Outside, she climbed into her truck and as she turned the engine she thought about Celia Demblowski. Dean had seen her at the event, but Kate couldn’t say that she had. But then again, the mansion had been crowded, and she hadn’t exactly been scanning all the faces.
Had Celia shown up and targeted Cherry because the escort was clearly inebriated? Celia would’ve had to know that Dean had struck up a personal relationship with Cherry; otherwise, she wouldn’t have thought to harm her. It was possible, Kate thought as she drove off down Main Street, but it didn’t explain why Taylor had brought the escort against her will.
Unless...
Could Taylor be playing both sides against the middle? Did he have so much money that he could afford to buy both Dean and Celia and do it in such a way that his friend, Hans Geoffrey wouldn’t find out? What would his motive be, though? Did Celia have a political point of view on an issue that Dean opposed—an issue that Taylor happened to agree with also?
Kate needed to get back to the house. She had been gone a lot longer than one hour, and it wasn’t fair to keep Maxwell hanging. However, as she turned left at an intersection and the Rock Ridge Tribune offices came into view, she impulsively pulled up along the curb in front of the newspaper’s headquarters.
She pulled her cell from her overalls and found her babysitter’s contact number and debated whether to text or call. Considering that she would be very late to relieve Maxwell of his babysitting duties, she figured that the right thing to do would be to call, so that’s what she did.
“Hey, how’s Josie doing?” she asked as soon as Maxwell had answered.
“She’s been a bit more fussy than usual. Hey, where are you?”
“I’m so sorry. I got tied up. I should’ve called sooner. I can be home in a half hour, is that alright?”
He groaned quietly and said, “I have plans with Gillian, or I had plans I should say.”
Kate felt terrible and because of it she offered, “You’re welcome to invite your girlfriend to the house.”
“It’s okay,” he groused. “We rescheduled. I’ll see you in a half hour?”
She checked the clock on her dashboard, noting the time, and said, “Definitely.”
As soon as Maxwell hung up, she tucked her cellphone into the front pocket of her overalls, climbed out of her truck, and started for the entrance door of the Tribune.
Inside she was met with a chorus of reporters hustling around the station house. Some were talking loudly into their desk phones, while others hovered over the various printers and waited for their article drafts to spit out.
The receptionist was on a telephone call as well. Her eyes were down as she scrawled as fast as she could on a notepad, likely documenting the latest quotes from a bystander who thought they knew something about the mysterious young woman who had been killed at Dean’s event.
When she finally slapped the phone into its cradle and lifted her gaze, she said, “Can I help you?”
“Is Celia Demblowski available?”
The receptionist snorted a laugh that also sounded tired and said, “You want to talk to the Editor-in-Chief in the middle of a feedin
g frenzy?”
“Is that a no? She’s not available?”
“It depends. Do you have information on the woman who was found dead at the mansion?”
If saying that she was here for that reason was the only way to speak with Celia face-to-face, then Kate had no choice.
“Yes, that’s why I need to speak with her.”
In an instant, the receptionist launched to her feet, rounded to the front of the counter, and led Kate through the newsroom. After turning a corner they came to Celia’s office. The door was ajar, but the new editor of the Tribune was engrossed in a tense phone call.
The receptionist stuck her head in and whispered, “I have someone with information on the scandal.”
Celia’s eyes snapped up as she said into the receiver, “I’ll have to call you back.”
The receptionist widened the door, Celia smiling eagerly all the while, but when Kate stepped into the cluttered office, Celia’s expression hardened.
She perked up just enough to sound friendly as she said, “Kate, what an unexpected surprise.”
“You two know each other?” asked the receptionist.
But all Celia said was “Shut the door on your way out.”
Obeying, the receptionist slipped out and closed the door.
“This better be good,” said Celia. “I gave up an important phone call.”
“And I appreciate it,” Kate said, approaching the set of chairs across from Celia’s desk.
“You think you’re going to tell me something I don’t know?”
“That depends on what you know,” she countered, taking a seat, while Celia stared down at her.
“The victim was a prostitute, but I’d already told you that. She goes by Cherry, but her real name is Elaine Benson. Benson was killed by a drug overdose, and the medical examiner has ruled her death inconclusive. I imagine Scott and the M.E. are going head-to-head on this one since I bet the M.E. wants to rule the death accidental, and Scott wants it to be documented as a homicide.”
Celia certainly does know a lot, thought Kate. But did she know that Kate, among others, knew Celia was at the event that night?
“What?” Celia asked. “You’re surprised I know so much? I’m an excellent journalist. After all these years, I’ve finally found my calling.”
“And you’re also running for mayor against a man you had formerly assisted,” she pointed out.
“What are you getting at? I loved working in the mayor’s office.”
“Part time? Unappreciated? Underpaid?”
“So what? It was years ago, and I’m happy where I am now.”
“Are you? I ask because if I was happy working at the local newspaper, I wouldn’t be angling for a major life change, which we both know is what being mayor of Rock Ridge will amount to.”
“I’m sorry, did you come here to accuse me of something, or do you actually have information about the crime at hand? Because unless it’s the latter, I simply don’t have time.”
“I have information.”
Finally, Celia settled into her chair and clasped her hands on the desk. “Go on.”
“You were at the mansion that night.”
The older woman just stared at her. After a long moment, she swallowed hard and said, “If that were true, it would obviously be information I already knew and therefore not helpful.”
“I find it very helpful,” she challenged. “You created the perfect scandal to not only be voted in as mayor, but to completely ruin Dean in the process. And I find it interesting that you’re also at the helm of the very newspaper that’s currently in the throes of ripping him to shreds.”
“This is a reputable paper, and we only print facts,” she stated. “But to set your mind at ease, I didn’t kill that woman.”
“Then why were you at the fundraiser?”
Celia said nothing.
“How did you even get past the guard at the gate? Your name wasn’t on the list.”
“I was invited,” she said, folding her arms. “And I don’t know what list you looked at, but I can assure you I was on it.”
Kate narrowed her eyes, feeling thrown. Technically, she hadn’t seen the guest list. She’d only taken Dean’s word for it that Celia hadn’t been on it.
“You were on the guest list?” she questioned.
“I was.”
“Why?” she pressed. “You’re running against Dean—”
“All the more reason to check out how he’s handling things. I consider it research. To the public he tries to seem as likeable as possible. His responses to the issues are wishy-washy. But behind closed doors, when he’s preaching to the choir, is another story. I was there to take cellphone video of his speech. I knew he’d trip up and say something that would offend the public. I’m planning on using it in one of my ads.”
“So, you had your own reason for being there, fine,” said Kate. “Dean wouldn’t have wanted you there. Who the hell let you in? Who put your name on the guest list?”
“Ah,” she said with a smile. “I never reveal my sources.”
“Was it Taylor Rheingold?” she demanded.
Celia’s plastic smile drooped as her expression hardened. “You’ve taken up enough of my time.”
“If Taylor has donated money to your campaign,” she stated, “if he’s playing both sides against the middle and if he got you into that event, then you better watch your back.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s advice,” she shot back. “Taylor was the one who brought Cherry to the mansion. Her hands were tied and an eye witness said that she looked drugged out of her mind.” She stared at Celia for a long moment. “So, if Taylor killed her for your benefit, that’s not going to look very good for you and your campaign.”
Celia looked scared. She began wringing her hands, her gaze scanning the desk as though she saw nothing in particular.
Finally, she said, “I had nothing to do with that.”
“But Taylor might have,” she pressed. “I need to know where he’s staying.”
Celia lifted her eyes and said, “At my house.”
Chapter Six
As Kate left the Rock Ridge Tribune, her thoughts reeling with the profound implication that Celia had not only been collecting secret donations from Taylor Rheingold, but had also been secretly involved with him—the billionaire was staying at her house?—she realized her cellphone was vibrating in her overalls.
At first she startled, assuming it was Maxwell. How long had she been inside the Tribune? But when she glanced at the cell, she saw Hazel Millhouse’s name and number flashing across the LCD screen.
She popped the driver-side door open, hopped in behind the steering wheel, and answered the call as she shut the door.
“Hi Hazel,” she said in a pleasant tone. “It’s been awhile.”
“It has!” said the elderly woman. “I need some help with my kitchen chairs. The legs have gotten wiggly.”
“On all the chairs?”
“Well, yes. When I noticed one chair was wiggly, I started using the next. And when that one got wiggly, I moved onto the next chair and so on and so forth until there were no chairs left.”
“I really have to get home, Hazel,” she said, thinking of Josie and, of course, Maxwell whose good graces Kate was in danger of wearing thin. “Can I come by first thing tomorrow morning?”
Hazel sighed loudly, but told her that would be fine.
“How about eight o’clock?”
“I’ll have a pot of coffee ready for you.”
Kate didn’t have the heart to tell her that she still wasn’t drinking that much coffee, so instead, she thanked Hazel for being thoughtful and wrapped up the call.
The sun was lowering in the sky as she drove home. Stark orange light cut through the windshield, and she had to pull the visor down and squint to see the road. She realized she hadn’t eaten much all day and began doing a mental inventory of the food they had in the refrigerator. Well, maybe she could
order delivery and take it easy, she thought.
When she turned onto the rural road that would lead to her house, her truck began making a strange noise. It sounded like the engine was coughing—sputtering out to die.
“Don’t do this to me now,” she said under her breath, pressing down on the accelerator and checking the dashboard for lights that might indicate what the problem was.
Her truck was brand new, she thought. But it wasn’t. Time moved so swiftly, and though it seemed like only yesterday that she had bought her brand new Mrs. Fix It truck, the fact of the matter was that the vehicle was nearly four years old. Not that it should be in danger of breaking down, but still.
As she turned up the long and winding driveway for her house, her truck bucked then died. She pulled onto the shoulder. Steam was wafting through the cracks in the hood.
“Damn,” she said under her breath, as she pulled the hood release and climbed out.
When she lifted the hood and propped it with the metal stick, a huge billow of steam puffed up into the air and she had to wave her arm to clear it. A sizzling sound came next and as she examined the engine, all she could think about was how much it would cost her to fix it.
Pacing away from her truck, she dialed Maxwell and after the first ring his voice came clear as a bell through the earpiece, as he said, “Don’t tell me you’re going to be even later.”
“I’m at the end of the driveway,” she said quickly. “My truck broke down.”
“Need me to pick you up?”
“No, not at all. I’ll walk; I’m just letting you know.”
She started off walking at a brisk pace. The air was cool and dusk had settled over Rock Ridge. Since the long driveway was pitched at a slight incline, she felt her heart rate climb as she swung her arms and breathed deeply. Man, it’s a long driveway. You never notice these things when you’re in your car, she thought to herself, but soon enough, she reached the front door, having worked up a good appetite for dinner.
She opened the door and walked through the foyer and into the living room where Maxwell was cradling Josie and reading her a children’s book.
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