B004183M70 EBOK

by Rosemary Stevens

  "He doesn't like me either!"

  Darlene chose to ignore that. "I'm working the Skyway exhibit at the fair from noon until five today. Cole is coming with me, but he's tuckered out, and is gonna stay in tonight at his hotel."

  "Can't keep up with you, huh?"

  "Plus, Miss Cynical, I need time to do chores like washing my stockings, redoing my nails, and trying on some of the clothes I brought back from London."

  "Great, we can talk while you're doing that. But, Darlene, I need you now for a few minutes. Something terrible has happened."

  "Well, why didn't you say so! What is it?"

  "Suzie Wexford was murdered—strangled—last night, and they've got Bradley in jail for it." Somehow saying this out loud to Darlene turned out to be my breaking point. I started to cry.

  Darlene sneezed like she always does when she's upset. "Oh, my stars! I just saw the bitch yesterday at the fair. She was shouting orders to her makeup girl."

  "Gloria," I said, tears running down my face.

  "Whoever. Did you say Bradley is in jail?"

  Another sob. "Yes! I mean, when I left him he was. He called me from there about five this morning, wanting me to find him a criminal lawyer. I called Stu, you know, your boyfriend, and he helped. A Mr. Pickering—he's English—came down to the jail."

  "Wait a minute. You were at the jail with Bradley?" Sneeze.

  "Uh-huh. You don't think I'd leave him there all alone?"

  "No, of course not. I don't know what I was thinking. Why do the fuzz think Bradley killed her? I thought he and Suzie were, uh—"

  "That's okay—you can say it; I'm a big girl," I said, wiping my eyes. "They were having an affair. Bradley had given Suzie a Pucci scarf. Then they had dinner last night and went back to her apartment for, well, a long time. Suzie asked Bradley to go out and get some chocolate syrup. . . . Darlene, are you okay? You sound like you're choking."

  "I'm fine, Bebe, I just swallowed some coffee the wrong way. Did Bradley tell you all this?"

  "Yes, through the bars at the jail," I said grimly. "Bradley came back, and he found Suzie dead, strangled with the scarf he'd given her. She must have fought her attacker and screamed, because someone, probably a neighbor, called the police. Bradley said they got there and saw him with the body, and Darlene, Suzie was naked except for a fur coat."

  "Classy way to go," she muttered.

  "And you'll never guess who brought Bradley in and put him in a cell with criminals."

  "Oh, please. Not Detective Finelli."

  "Bingo."

  "Lord have mercy, that man gets under my skin."

  "Well, since he once thought you murdered someone, I guess so." For a while Darlene had been a prime suspect in the Philip Royal murder investigation.

  "Why are you at the office now, Bebe?"

  "I left Bradley with Mr. Pickering, hoping the lawyer will be able to get him released. I told him I'd be here. We have all this rescheduling of modeling shoots to do now that Suzie is .. . dead. God, Darlene, I just remembered that I wished her dead!"

  "Honey, that doesn't mean anything!"

  "Yes, it does. I feel awful that I kept thinking I'd like to murder her, and now someone's gone and done it. Even Gloria and I talked about how there'd be a line of people waiting to kill her."

  "Bebe! Who all did you tell you wanted to kill Suzie?"

  I thought for a moment. "I guess just Gloria, Suzie's makeup girl."

  "Don't mention it to anyone else, you hear? You don't want the fuzz thinking you did it."

  "That thought never occurred to me; my head's been in such a whirl since Bradley called."

  "Think of it now, and be on your guard. There's no reason you can think of why Bradley might have killed her, is there? I mean, in the heat of passion and all."

  "Darlene Roland! Bradley would never kill anyone. I want you to apologize right now for even thinking such a thought."

  "I'm sorry. Who do you think killed her?"

  "That's what I'm going to consider next. I need to talk to some people—"

  "Bebe, you're not going to get involved— Oh, what am I saying? You're going to try to find the killer, aren't you?"

  "Darlene, have you come unhinged? The man I love is in trouble. If he's charged—God forbid—or even if he just remains a suspect, of course I'm going to find out who really did it. And you're going to help me."

  "Yes, Lucy."

  "What? Are you comparing me to Lucille Ball?"

  Darlene snickered.

  I drew in a deep breath. "If anyone is Lucy, it's you with your red hair."

  "Okay, Ethel?'

  "I'm hanging up now. My head is clear, and I've got work to do."

  "See you tonight. By the way, what are you wearing?"

  "One of my Jackie Kennedy suits, the bright yellow one."

  "Have you got on your white sleeveless shell underneath it?"

  "Yes, why?"

  "Take your jacket off in case Bradley comes in, and remember to cross your legs. He needs that right now."

  "I'm already one step ahead of you. I kissed him through the bars in the jail."

  "What a hussy you are!"

  "Tell you about it tonight," I teased, and hung up the phone.

  There was work to be done, and I was a list maker. First I pulled out my daisy Mary Quant compact and touched up my face, then covered my lips in pink lip gloss. Next I pulled out a lined pad and began working in two sections. The one in front was Ryan Modeling Agency business. Toward the back I wrote, List of Suspects. I decided to work on the latter first.

  Number one: Pierre Benoit. The photographer had made Suzie famous, and the two were having an affair. According to Gloria, Pierre had grown increasingly possessive of Suzie, culminating in his marriage proposal, which Suzie refused. Had there been a furious fight when she said no? Pierre knew she was seeing Bradley. Had he been mad enough to kill Suzie, using the old male logic that if he couldn't have her, no one else would? Would a man in his position really throw his life and carefully built reputation away over one model?

  Number two: Lola. I rolled my head, getting the kinks out of my neck. Lola sure had a motive. Although part of it was Lola's own fault that her career was faltering, Suzie had been devious in snagging Lola's clients, if one believed what Lola said. And if you did believe her, did that mean she was serious that night in the taxi? That she would strangle Suzie if she took the Breck Girl account away from her? Suzie had taken the Breck Girl contract. Suzie was dead.

  I tapped my pen on the paper, thinking about how Lola had been drunk when she'd made her threats. Were her vows to kill Suzie just a way of expressing her anger?

  Number three: Gloria. I chewed my bottom lip as I wrote her name. I liked Gloria, but what did I really know about her? Our conversations had been limited to guys and our mutual dislike of Suzie. Gloria had said we'd have to stand in a line of people who wanted Suzie dead. Yesterday, at the fair, Gloria had been very angry at Suzie, even said she could kill her. She hadn't hung around waiting for me after I'd told her I had news—my accepting a date with Louis. . . .

  My pen slipped from my fingers. How was I going to go out with Louis now when Bradley needed me? Well, I just would, that was all. Canceling the date would be plain rude. Besides, what had really changed in my relationship with Bradley? He'd called me a sweet, adorable pain in the neck, not the sweet, adorable love of his life.

  Back to my list of suspects: I decided I would find a way to speak to each of them as soon as possible, face-to-face to get their reactions to news of Suzie's murder. Someone had been watching her apartment; yes, that sounded right. And when Bradley came out, he or she decided to go up and kill her. I closed that section of the lined pad with that notation.

  Reaching around to my credenza, I picked up the black spiral notebook that served as a schedule list for upcoming photo shoots and TV commercials and the models involved.

  Flipping to Monday, I saw the biggest projects were "Fun in the Kitchen with Debbie
Ann" at four, and a TV commercial for Fuller Brush to be filmed at one.

  Skipping through to Tuesday, I saw we had our big photo shoot for B. Altman's department store at the brand-new fountain outside Lincoln Center. Eight models, four women and four men, were set for that. Suzie had not been hired for that one, the department store having felt that her going rate was ridiculously high.

  Problems didn't start until Wednesday afternoon, when Pierre, a crew, Bradley to oversee, and Suzie to model, were all set to fly to the Virgin Islands for the Durden swimwear account. Durden wanted Suzie photographed in lush, tropical settings wearing their daring new bikini.

  I twirled a strand of hair. We certainly didn't want to lose the lucrative Durden account to Ford Modeling, so we had to come up with another famous model. Could Lola do it? Would Bradley approve?

  Over the next couple of hours I made lots of notes of things to do for Ryan, and made plans for Suzie's murder investigation.

  Finally the elevator pinged, and Bradley walked in, apparently straight from jail, as he still wore his suit and tie from the night before.

  "You really are here, kid," he said, as he sat down behind his desk.

  I hurried after him, steno pad in hand. "Did you ever get any coffee?"

  "Coffee? No? Liquid tar? Yes."

  I grabbed his mug and returned a minute later with the hot beverage.

  Bradley drank some, then leaned his head back against his chair. "At least I'm out of that place."

  "What happened? How did the meeting with Mr. Pickering go? Did you have to appear before a judge?"

  He raised a hand. "I met with Pickering for about an hour, and he called a judge he knew and got me released. Pickering's got a brilliant mind, but he seems focused on my future trial and how to prepare for it, not on looking for the killer."

  "Does that mean you've been charged with murder?" I asked, feeling an awful sinking sensation.

  "No. I expect Pickering is thinking ahead." Then he said, "We need to plan a memorial for Suzie. I think Wednesday morning at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine, followed by a reception at the Legends Hotel would be good. Write that down, please, and place a notice in the Times. Detective Finelli informed Suzie's parents in Omaha, and they're flying in to take her body back home."

  Gosh, he'd been doing some planning. "How sad for them."

  Bradley puffed out one cheek and blew out air. "Sad for a lot of people."

  I guess he was including himself.

  "Look, I'm beat. I need sleep. I'm going home, and I think you should too. Tomorrow is going to be a very busy day."

  He stood and so did I. "Mr. Williams, what is Mr. Pickering going to do?"

  "This is my mess, Miss Bennett, and I'll handle it."

  He began to go past me, but I stopped him in the doorway.

  "Why won't you tell me—"

  Looking down at me through red-rimmed eyes, unshaven, and with an air of melancholy, he said, "A woman I've been involved with has been murdered. I'm the prime suspect. I don't have time for chitchat right now."

  Ouch! "As your secretary, I was trying to help you, and I don't think I deserve to be snapped at."

  "Trying to help me? See, that's exactly why I'm not going to talk to you about this anymore. You did your job by finding a lawyer for me. Let Pickering and me handle it. We're doing well so far. I'm out of jail."

  "But I can help! I have information—"

  He pointed at me with his right index finger and spoke in a stern voice. "No. You are not to get involved in this like you did with the Philip Royal murder, do you understand me? I won't have it, Bebe, and that's my final word."

  I crossed my arms over my chest, watching him walk to the elevator. His final word indeed. Did he think he could stop Bebe Bennett?

  I'd help him whether he wanted me to or not.

  As he stepped into the elevator, leaving me alone, I wondered if he realized he'd called me by my first name.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Deep in thought, I wandered around Fifth Avenue, window-shopping aimlessly; then I went home.

  Darlene greeted me at the door wearing an apron. "You're just in time for my famous tuna-and- macaroni-and-cheese casserole."

  "Since when have you become so domesticated?" I said, taking my jacket off and throwing it over the pink sectional.

  "I caught a few minutes of "Fun in the Kitchen with Debbie Ann" the other day. That woman comes across like a real kook about food, but she inspired me to do some cooking."

  "They shoot the show at Ryan. I've met Debbie Ann. She's not a kook, but she likes to mother everyone."

  "Come on, honey, I bet you're hungry. Sit down, and I'll get everything."

  Too tired to do anything else, I obeyed, taking a seat at our tiny table in the minuscule green-and-white kitchen.

  "So, clue me in, Bebe," Darlene said, putting hot plates of food in front of us and taking the seat opposite me.

  "Bradley came back to the office for about ten minutes. The lawyer got him released from jail." I took a bite of the casserole. "This is good. You even left out the peas. Thanks, Darlene."

  She waved a fork. "I like tomatoes in my tuna casserole anyway. Has Bradley been charged with Suzie's murder? And what's this about you kissing him?"

  "He's not been charged yet, but don't ask me for any other details. He refused to tell me anything except to say, 'Stay out of it and let me handle everything.' He's such a . . . such a—"

  "Man?" Darlene supplied.

  "I guess that's it."

  "And the kiss?"

  I shrugged. "I don't know what came over me. He looked so bummed and vulnerable, I kissed his forehead, that's all."

  "Hmmm. Did he get all professional on you?"

  "No. He called me a 'sweet, adorable pain in the neck.' "

  "I can dig it!"

  "Yes, but he's miserable."

  "He's probably in shock. I mean, he finds his easy lay—I mean date—dead, strangled with something he gave her, and the fuzz are all over him. He doesn't know what he's doing right now. Think he's grieving?"

  "Some. I don't know. Bradley is always so in control, so cool." I swallowed a bite of macaroni. "He did slip and call me Bebe."

  Darlene grinned. "You've got him running hard. First this thing with Suzie, who was nothing but a slut—"

  "Darlene! Don't speak of her that way now. She's dead."

  "Still. Playing loose like he did with Suzie is the final step a man takes before he settles down for good. His last hurrah." Darlene nodded wisely. "I'll bet he's having more and more thoughts about you, and they aren't the pure type."

  "What's this sudden insight into my relationship, huh? Let's talk about you and Cole."

  Darlene sighed, rose, retrieved a pitcher of iced tea from the fridge, and poured us each a glass. "Cole's from Texas, like me."

  "So it's a 'Texas thing'?"

  Darlene looked at her plate. "It's comfortable being with an older man. I feel like I can trust him."

  "Isn't he old enough to be your father?"

  "Man, let's not talk about my father," she said.

  I reached across the table and took her hand. "You never talk about when you were growing up. Can't you even tell me about it?"

  Darlene sneezed. She pushed a red curl behind her ear. "Oh, it's a common enough story, happens all the time. My father worked on an oil rig; Mother was a barmaid in town. When she got pregnant, they married and had me. I guess I was an ugly little girl, all red hair and freckles, because he took off when I was three."

  "I'm sorry, Darlene, and I'm positive it had nothing to do with you. Don't think those kinds of thoughts."

  "Don't be sorry; that's what men do. Leave. Mother got all religious after he split, and I don't mean like you being a Catholic. She's a fanatic, raised me so strict I couldn't go out on a date until after I'd left home and landed the job at Skyway. I was always having to pray or read the Bible or do my chores. I didn't have any friends, because my parents were divorced. You know how
cruel kids can be."

  "How did the job at Skyway come about?"

  "Wasn't easy. My father never came back, never sent money, and most of the money my mother made waitressing at this little diner, Mason's, she gave to the church. When I got old enough to babysit, she forced me to give money to the church, only I lied about how much I'd made and started saving." Darlene looked at me. "I'm going to hell for that, aren't I?"

  "No! God knows the reason you saved part of the money was for your future. You might want to tell Him you're sorry for lying, that's all."

  Darlene sneezed twice, so I knew her opening up to me this way was hard for her. "What were you saving for?" I prompted.

  "From the time I was fourteen I wanted to be a stewardess. Just thinking about that glamorous job and getting to fly all over the world made me the only babysitter in our small town who would take care of the Tyler twins. Lord, those boys were terrors. Anyway, I knew that once my senior year came, I'd find my way to the airline recruiter in Dallas, fifty miles away."

  "So you had to save up for the bus money?"

  "Yeah, but that wasn't all. I had no decent clothes. By the time my senior year came, I'd managed to save enough to buy a white blouse, a navy-blue skirt, navy pumps, and some cheap lipstick and mascara. I couldn't afford a purse, so I just put the lipstick, mascara, and some money into my bra."

  I giggled, and Darlene smiled.

  I said, "I'll bet they hired you on the spot."

  She nodded. "I had to break the news to Mother that I was going to stew school. She never has spoken to me since. In her mind, being a stewardess is like walking the streets."

  "That's not fair. I know you get lots of attention from men on your flights, but you work hard preparing and serving meals, making sure the passengers are comfortable, dealing with crying babies."

  "Honey, you don't have to tell me."

  An idea formed in my head, and I chose my words carefully. "Darlene, I don't want to sound like that Freud guy, but a couple of things make sense to me, now that I know what you went through growing up."

  "Like what?" Darlene asked, getting up from the table and taking down the bottle of whiskey she kept in the cupboard. She poured a small amount into a shot glass and drank it.