B004183M70 EBOK

by Rosemary Stevens

  Throwing away my trash, I decided to walk to the Pieta at RIO. On the way, I stopped at the New York State display, where they were having a fashion show, and also a display of paintings of the Hudson River. Then it was on to the Vatican Pavilion.

  The pavilion was an oval-shaped building topped by a cross, with a curving wall extending from the entrance. You had the option of being carried past it on three moving platforms at different heights, or staying on a walkway and visiting at your own pace. I chose the latter and stood in awe of the expression on Mary's face as she held a dying Jesus. It touched me deeply.

  Reluctantly I moved on, turning right around one corner, then left to an avenue that would take me to the Ford and Skyway pavilions.

  Ford was first, so I took a deep breath and entered.

  There she was: Suzie lovingly stroking the Mustang's white hood while a male voice over the speaker system proclaimed the advantages of owning the car.

  People gathered around the Mustang and Suzie. A burly man stood near her, obviously to protect her from overzealous males. She wore an extremely tight strapless cocktail dress—which showed off the ivory column of her neck. The black and white sequins formed a harlequin pattern, and Suzie had topped the dress with a light, airy piece of white fluff that covered her shoulders. Naturally, it kept slipping. She wore her blond hair in an upsweep, with a band that ended in front with a black velvet X topped by four white feathers. A rhinestone—or maybe diamond—clip held the black X in place. Even I had to admit she was stunning. Reporters thought so too, as flashbulbs went off again and again.

  While Suzie smiled and elegantly pointed out the car's features being announced over the speaker system, I looked around for Bradley. When I navigated my way to the area behind Suzie, I spotted Gloria standing on high heels away from the crowd, arms crossed in front of her chest.

  I hurried over. "Gloria! It's me, Bebe."

  She gave me one of her half smiles. "Hi, Bebe, nice to see you."

  "What's going on? You look bent."

  "You don't want to hear about it."

  "Don't be silly! Of course I do."

  Gloria drew in a deep breath. "I swear I'm going to kill Suzie Wexford."

  I tried for a playful tone. "Gloria, we already decided we had to stand in line to kill her, remember?"

  Gloria's expression radiated anger. "I mean it. I've been trying to fly low around her, but I'm about to explode. Between last night and today, man, I can't handle it."

  "Can we sit down and talk?"

  "No. In case you haven't noticed, there is no place to sit down back here. Suzie said it wouldn't look good for me to be sitting around. So I'm stuck here for four hours, standing on these heels—because she insisted I look fashionable—with only my big makeup case for company. This is all for her convenience, her image. She doesn't give a snap of her fingers for anyone else."

  Wow, Gloria was really worked up. "What is Suzie doing? Coming back here for touchups?" I asked.

  "You got it. I wouldn't mind that at all; it's my job. But Suzie is just plain cruel making me stand here. Other models I work with still have some human decency and make sure I have something to drink, a place to sit until I'm needed on a photo shoot. Suzie's got some flunky bringing her water every fifteen minutes."

  "Can I go get you a drink? It's hot in here with all the crowds. You might dehydrate." She looked pale.

  Gloria's gaze darted to Suzie, then back to me. "Maybe if you pretended the drink was yours . . ."

  "I'll be right back."

  "Take your time. I'm not going anywhere."

  I darted in and around the crowd until I found a vendor selling Coke. I bought the largest one he had, then rushed back to Gloria.

  Positioning my body in front of her, where Suzie couldn't see what was going on, I handed Gloria the drink. She sipped from the straw, took a breath, and sipped some more, then passed me the cup.

  "Bebe, you're a lifesaver. I can't tell you how thirsty I was."

  "We'll hang together back here, talk, and you can drink some more," I assured her. "Now, start with yesterday. What happened?"

  Gloria narrowed her eyes at Suzie. "I hate her."

  "Don't look at her. Look at me. Remember, like you told me the other night," I said.

  "First thing yesterday morning, I had to go to her place and do her makeup so she could go down to the Breck offices looking perfect and sign the contract she stole from Lola. Then she told me to be back at her apartment no later than five, because she had a dinner date with Pierre and needed to change from daytime makeup to evening makeup."

  A dinner date with Pierre! Suzie had told me—and probably Bradley—that she felt "the sniffles" coming on and needed to rest. Liar! But why would she want to get out of a date with Bradley?

  These thoughts flew through my mind, but I said nothing to Gloria. "So she and Pierre were together last night?" I asked.

  "Yeah. When he summons, she obeys. I think he knows all her dirty secrets."

  "What dirty secrets?"

  Gloria shrugged. "I don't know the specifics, but I'm sure she's got even more of a lurid past than I told you about at Pierre's showing. Can I have another sip?"

  I passed her the cup. "It must bother Suzie that Pierre has this hold on her."

  Gloria handed the cup back to me. "I've been thinking about that. Now, with the Breck Girl contract under her belt, this Mustang assignment, and an offer to appear on the cover of Redbook, Suzie is chafing at Pierre's control. She had a tantrum while getting dressed for her date with him."

  "Suzie is going to be on the cover of Redbook"

  "Yeah, Pierre told her at dinner last night. He got her the assignment. You'll probably be getting the paperwork at Ryan soon. But here's the big news," Gloria said, and glanced around to make sure no one was listening. "Pierre asked Suzie to marry him, and she said no."

  I gasped. "But I thought they were lovers, and he made her what she is today with his photography and—"

  Gloria held up a hand. "Bebe, you've forgotten what I told you about Suzie sleeping around to further her career. The last thing on her mind is being tied down to Pierre for the rest of her life. She wants to be known as a swinging model and play around as much as she desires without answering to anyone. She told me she might even reel in a bigger fish."

  Not Bradley! "Pierre must have been furious."

  "Oh, yeah, you got it. While I was doing Suzie's makeup this morning, she gabbed on and on about

  how the poor man was broken. I swear, she was bragging. She said that Pierre threatened to reveal all regarding her sleeping around—even with your boss."

  "What else did she say?" I asked, blotting out the part about Bradley.

  "Suzie thinks nothing can touch her now. She laughed in Pierre's face. The way she acted this morning, she thought the whole thing was one big joke, regretting only having to pass up the four-carat diamond engagement ring Pierre had bought her."

  "Maybe she thinks that Bradley—I mean Mr. Williams—will take care of her career."

  "I didn't want to mention it, Bebe, but that thought crossed my mind."

  "It's okay, Gloria. I know how things stand between them."

  "Remember, she's only with him because he's the head of Ryan."

  "Right, I know." But the realization didn't ease the pain. Besides, who could resist beautiful Bradley? "Did she say whether or not Pierre was still going to photograph her? I mean, he's so brilliant with a camera, what will she do if he refuses to work with her now that she's turned down his marriage proposal?"

  "He's still going to photograph her. Suzie thinks he won't give up on getting her to marry him. Suzie always has her bases covered. Oh, here she comes," Gloria said, and opened up her big white makeup case in preparation.

  "I'll come back later, Gloria," I said. "I have news. You'll be so proud of me."

  "I'm done at five."

  I tossed the empty Coke cup in the trash, and walked briskly away into the crush of the crowd. I actually
wanted to see the new Mustang, so I forged my way through until I was at the front.

  "Hello, Miss Bennett," Bradley said.

  I turned to find him squeezed next to me. We were so close, I had to turn slightly and raise my head to speak to him. "Mr. Williams. What a surprise to see

  you here," I said in a tone laced with sarcasm. Oops! That just slipped out.

  I tried a recovery. "Are you thinking of purchasing a Mustang?"

  "I believe I will. I already have a Triumph Spitfire garaged, but I like the look of the Mustang," he said. "Variety is my thing, so it would be nice to have a choice in cars when I decide to leave the city."

  Smelling his lime aftershave, being in a position to reach up and stroke his cheek—Stop! I told myself. Hadn't he just said "variety is my thing"?

  "It'll be groovy if you get a Mustang. They'll probably be popular for years to come," I said casually.

  He looked down at me. "I like that dress and the other outfits you've been wearing lately."

  "Thank you. They're just a few things Darlene brought back from London."

  He raised his right eyebrow. "London fashions? I approve. I have an order in for three suits from London."

  We were ruthlessly cut off from further conversation by the reappearance of Suzie. She flashed me a scornful look before taking Bradley's hand and giving it a squeeze.

  "I should be finished here soon, darling," she cooed. "I'm looking forward to our dinner date." She gave him a sultry smile, one that promised things I could only imagine.

  The wretch grinned at her.

  I turned on my T-straps and marched out of the Ford Pavilion without saying good-bye. Bradley's eyes were on Suzie anyway, so what did it matter?

  I soon found myself at the Skyway exhibit. The huge Aeroflyer, white with its signature large blue stripe going from nose to tail, dwarfed the people standing around it. Beautiful women in bright sky-blue suits with matching pillbox hats smiled and waved to the crowd with white-gloved hands. Men ogled the women, as it was a well-known fact that every guy wanted a stewardess on his arm. They were so glamorous, so worldly, so sexy.

  One stewardess who was not as tall as the others, being only the required five feet three inches tall, shone among the others: Darlene.

  I spotted Cole in his Stetson watching her with possessive eyes, but it took a moment longer to see Stu sulking with his arms crossed over his chest. Uh-oh.

  The area around the plane was roped off, but Darlene let the cord fall near a sign that indicated tour times. I scrambled to get a place in line, hoping for a word with her. With relief, I noticed that neither Cole nor Stu intended to take the tour.

  Darlene smiled at me, then began talking to the crowd about the luxury and safety Skyway Airlines afforded its customers. Men eyed her, rather than the plane, but being Darlene, she kept her wide Texas smile in place, enjoying the attention.

  "The Captain's Special offers a seven-course meal served on china and includes caviar and hors d'oeuvres," she said. "We also offer Dover sole and prime rib prepared in our galley ovens."

  As potential passengers admired the spotless galley, I caught up with Darlene. "You've got to talk to me," I whispered. "What happened between you and Stu?"

  She kept her enthusiastic expression, but muttered under her breath, "I found out from one of the other girls that he had a wild weekend of sex with a chief stewardess in Paris."

  Darn! "Have you asked Stu about it?"

  "No, why should I? He's a free man, able to do just as he pleases," she replied airily.

  "But Stu loves you!"

  Darlene kept tabs on the visitors. "Ssshhh, Bebe. He's never said so. It just seemed like fate had taken a hand when I met Cole. He's so comfortable to be around."

  "Since when have you liked being comfortable?" I asked.

  Darlene went on with her spiel, her audience hanging on her every word. "Let's go down into the belly of the plane, shall we, ladies and gentlemen? This spiral staircase leads to a plush sit-down bar. . . ."

  Frustrated, I turned against the tide of the crowd and made my way out of the plane. Cole was there, waiting for his "lambkin," and I was forced to nod at him. He tipped his hat at me, but I kept walking. Stu was leaving the exhibit, and I hurried after him.

  "Stu!" I called, out of breath.

  He turned and gave me a lazy smile. Tall, with dark hair, he was handsome and rich. While I could see other women would flock to him, I didn't for a moment believe Stu wasn't devoted to Darlene, even if he did have a penchant for stewardesses in general.

  "How are you, Bebe? You're looking good in that boss dress."

  "Thanks." Now that I had Stu's attention, I was suddenly at a loss for words. Then I thought of Cole Woodruff. "Stu, I know it's none of my business, and just stop me if I'm really out of line, but I'm worried about you and Darlene."

  His shoulders slumped. "Hey, she has someone new and looks happy."

  "Stu," I said gently, touching his arm, "was there a misunderstanding between you two? One that could easily be cleared up with a frank talk? You see, I like you both, and you seemed so right for each other."

  He looked off into the distance, and I feared I'd gone too far. Then he turned to me and gazed directly into my eyes. "Bebe, sometimes Darlene gets an idea in her head and nothing can dislodge it. There's a lot of competition among the stews, and someone wanted Darlene to get bent out of shape."

  "So what she's, er, been told about, um, Paris, is not true?"

  "Absolutely not. There's no other gal for me but Darlene. Sure, I like looking at stewardesses, but Darlene's my doll. I tried to tell her that Peggy—she's the one who says she slept with me—was making things up because I hadn't accepted what she offered me."

  "A woman scorned," I said.

  "I'm afraid so. Thing is, I thought there was some trust between me and Darlene, but she wouldn't even listen to me and went ahead and believed the lies. Now she's with that Stetson-wearing lecher."

  "I don't like him either," I added quickly. "There's something about him that's not right."

  "Yeah, what's not right is that he's got my girl. I'm gonna split now, Bebe. I just came to see her, that's all. You're sweet for trying to help."

  He moved away before I could say anything else, leaving me more determined than ever to pin Darlene Roland down on our pink sectional and make her talk to me.

  I wandered around the fair for a while longer, but began to feel tired from the exercise, the heat, and the crowds. Gloria, Suzie, and Bradley were all gone when I returned to the Mustang exhibit. I must have lost track of time, and felt bad about not seeing Gloria. I wanted to tell her about my upcoming date with Louis.

  I waited in long lines for both the bus and then the subway—there were thousands of tourists to contend with—and it was after ten in the evening when I let myself into my apartment.

  No sign of Darlene.

  I put on a pair of blue nylon pajamas, washed off my makeup, and went into the kitchen for a glass of milk. I was so beat, I couldn't even bring myself to think about Bradley being out with Suzie.

  Finishing my milk, I yawned, then lay down on my bed to read the rest of the latest issue of Look magazine.

  Bradley sat in the seat next to me on the Skyway plane. We were holding hands, and he leaned over to kiss my temple. His full lips felt warm against my skin.

  A big Tiffany's diamond solitaire with a matching platinum band on my left ring finger sparkled like the ocean below. Darlene carved prime rib for us. I smiled, but something began pulling me away, while I groaned in protest. The scene evaporated, and I opened my eyes with a start, squinting at the light I'd left on the night before.

  The phone. The phone screamed at me from the kitchen.

  I scrambled out of bed, slipped on the magazine that had fallen during the night, and barely caught myself by gripping the side of the bed before my nose hit the floor.

  Trying to get my bearings, I saw that the clock read twenty after five! The phone demanded my a
ttention, and I stubbed my toe on the bottom of my dresser before making it into the kitchen and grabbing the receiver. This had better be good.

  "Hello?"

  "Miss Bennett?"

  "Yes."

  "Bradley Williams here."

  "Mr. Williams! Are you at the office at this hour?"

  "Miss Bennett, I need you to get me a lawyer."

  "A lawyer? You mean Ryan's corporate lawyer?"

  "No, a criminal lawyer."

  "Cri— Where are you?"

  "In jail, Miss Bennett."

  "What! Why on earth—"

  "Suzie Wexford was murdered last night, strangled with the Pucci scarf I gave her. I found her body, and the police think I did it."

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Wide-awake without benefit of coffee, I took a five-minute shower with my hair in a plastic cap, put on my makeup in record time, and threw on a bright yellow Jackie Kennedy suit.

  I had trouble remembering numbers in general, so I resorted to the worn notebook I kept in my purse to retrieve Stu's phone number. I couldn't spare a thought for what he might think about my calling him. Stu was the most powerful man I knew—next to Bradley—in New York City. He would know the best criminal lawyer, and he would keep quiet about what I told him.

  Stu picked up on the seventh ring. "Hello," he said groggily.

  "Stu, this is Bebe Bennett. I'm awfully sorry to wake you, but this is an emergency."

  "Is it Darlene?" he asked, alarmed.

  "No, Stu, she's fine; I didn't mean to scare you that way. It's my boss, Mr. Williams. He's in trouble, and I need you—well, not you exactly, but your connections, and I have to have them fast."

  "Bebe, Bebe, slow down; you're not making any sense."

  Tears burned at the backs of my eyes. I took a deep breath. "Mr. Williams called me from jail. The model he's been dating, Suzie Wexford—"

  "Yeah, I know who she is. What happened?"

  "Someone murdered her last night with a scarf that Brad—I mean, Mr. Williams—had given her, and he was the one who found the body. The fuzz think he did it." My voice rose on the last few words.

  Stu let out a low whistle. "How can I help?"