"Your father leaving like he did, which was really crummy . . . well, maybe that's left you wanting an older man in your life. Cole enters the picture, appearing to adore you; he's from Texas. . . ."
"My relationship with Cole is hardly one of father and daughter," Darlene said.
"I know, but think about it. Plus, Cole strikes me as being very possessive, have you noticed? He's hardly left your side since you met, and doesn't even want you to be around me."
Darlene held the bottle of whiskey to her forehead and closed her eyes. "Cole just wants to protect me, keep me safe."
"The Darlene I know likes adventure. She likes trying new things, dancing all night, exploring the cities she flies to."
"I have to think of my future. The mandatory retirement age for stews at Skyway is thirty."
"Darlene! You're not going to be thirty for five more years. How old will Cole be in five years? Sixty-five?"
She pushed away from the counter. "I don't want to talk about it, Bebe."
"That's fine," I said, and got up and gave her a big hug. "You know I'm here if you ever change your mind. I'll just say one last thing: I saw Stu at the World's Fair. He was watching you at the Skyway exhibit."
Darlene looked at me. "He was?"
"Yes. We chatted for a few minutes, and he said how much he misses you."
She snorted. "He should have thought of that before he spent that weekend screwing Peggy, that chief stewardess." She put the whiskey back in the cupboard and started to leave the kitchen.
I followed. "Did he really do that?"
She swung around. "Of course he did. All men cheat!"
"Mama told me the good ones don't. I think Stu is a good one," I said. Then, seeing a flush come up Darlene's throat, I thought it best to drop the subject. "Hey, "The Ed Sullivan Show" is about to come on. Gerry and the Pacemakers are supposed to be playing! Why don't we do our nails while watching the show. I'd like to try the new Cutex Hot Pink you have."
"Just as I thought. You're turning into a hussy," Darlene teased.
"That's me, all right. Kissing men. Going out on dates with models."
She gasped. "You have a date with a model?"
"I sure do. I would have had a date with a cute actor if he hadn't been caught up with some very famous people. Let's get settled in front of the TV, and I'll tell you all about it."
Monday's Times splashed the news of Suzie's murder across the front page. A picture of her looking fresh and innocent headed an article titled, "Top Model Suzie Wexford Murdered."
I cringed when I read . . . police found the body after a neighbor reported screams coming from Miss Wexford's apartment. Upon their arrival they found Bradley Williams, head of Ryan Modeling Agency, crouched over Miss Wexford's dead body.
The article went on to say that the coroner pronounced Suzie dead due to asphyxiation. The time of death was noted as somewhere between two and two thirty in the morning. Sitting at my desk at Ryan, I decided Bradley did not need to see the newspaper, and threw it in my trash can. Coffee brewed while I finished routine work before Bradley arrived.
He came in an hour later wearing a dark gray suit and black tie. "Damn photographers. Hello, Miss Bennett, we need to get busy."
"Yes, Mr. Williams." I stood up, smoothing the skirt of my bright green, pink, and white horizontally striped minidress.
Before I could collect steno pad and pencil, Bradley bolted back out of his office and filled his mug with coffee. This was a first! He always asked me to get his coffee. For a moment I stood in shock, then managed to follow him into his office. He sat in his high- backed blue leather chair.
"Shut the door, Miss Bennett," he said.
With the door closed, the room seemed more intimate, more conducive to an exchange of confidences.
Plus, even in these circumstances, I loved being alone with him.
"All right, first, I want you to get me the phone number of the blonde in the Bernat Yarn dealer ad. The ad ran in the March issue of Woman's Day. Her name is Evelyn something, and she's one of our models." He pulled open his middle drawer. "Here's the key to the models' personnel drawer in the large filing cabinet over there," he said, pointing to my left.
I accepted the key. "Do you need her for a shoot?"
He sat lounging back in his chair, holding a pencil between two hands, a gesture I knew well. "No, I'm going to ask her out for tonight."
My mouth fell open. "But, Mr. Williams, won't that look bad for you—I mean, so soon after Suzie's death?"
"I'm following Pickering's advice. I have a reputation around Manhattan, and my lawyer thinks I should maintain it. Continuing to date will demonstrate that my relationship with Suzie was casual, not something worth murdering her over."
That did make sense, darn it. "Do you know Evelyn?"
"No, but she'll accept; they always do. I'm rich, I run the company, and I'm easy on the eye."
Humble, too!
"At any rate, it's only for show. I assume you saw the newspaper this morning?" At my nod, he continued, "If you think about it, I'm sure you'll agree with Pickering's strategy. Now, on to Suzie's memorial service. Mr. and Mrs. Wexford arrived in New York late last night. Ryan is putting them up at the Legends Hotel. Neither of them was willing to speak to me. I want you to call them right away and get their approval for the plans you and I discussed yesterday for Suzie's memorial. I'm counting on you, Miss Bennett, to arrange everything; the best flowers, the best music, the best photo of Suzie—get with Pierre Benoit about that—the best food at the reception, got that?"
Writing furiously, I said, "Yes, Mr. Williams."
"I have to spend the morning calling clients and reassuring them I'm not a murderer, and offering substitute models for their needs. Although I went over the portfolios when I landed the assignment here, I need to do it again. Run up to the eighteenth floor and see if you can find Gina. She might be able to help suggest which models are popular."
"I will. Mr. Williams, I checked the schedule for the week, and we have the B. Altman department store shoot at the Lincoln Center fountain tomorrow. Everything is set for that, as long as it doesn't rain."
"Good."
I took a deep breath. "The other assignment is the Virgin Islands shoot for the Durden swimwear account."
Bradley dropped the pencil to his desk. "I'd completely forgotten."
"What do you think of Lola doing it? I know we've had some problems with her, but I was thinking of talking to her, woman to woman. You see, I think she's been drinking because . . . well, um, because Suzie took away Lola's accounts."
"Only because Lola couldn't professionally fulfill her obligations. Suzie told me that she only wanted to help Ryan by going on those shoots when it seemed Lola wasn't going to show."
Yes, I'll bet that's what Suzie told you. "I think we should give Lola another chance. Besides, the Durden people are expecting a star. We don't have anyone other than Lola who fits the bill. We don't want to lose the contract to Ford Modeling."
"Maybe you're right, kid. By Wednesday afternoon the police will have lifted this ridiculous order that I not leave town, so I'll be there to supervise as planned."
"So, Detective Finelli did tell you not to leave town. You remain a suspect," I said.
"Finelli is investigating. There's to be a grand jury hearing on whether or not the police have enough evidence to charge me. I'll be cleared then."
"When is the grand jury hearing?" I asked, my throat dry.
He sat up straight in his chair and leaned forward, elbows on the desk. "Oh, no, Miss Bennett, you're not going to drag information out of me about my personal business. Don't forget what I told you yesterday."
"This is not just your personal business, Mr. Williams," I countered. "We need to know who will oversee the Virgin Islands shoot if you are still under police orders not to leave town."
That seemed to strike a chord. "Perhaps."
"I think I should be the one. Will you authorize me to purchase an airplane
ticket for the flight the Ryan people are taking? My roommate is working the flight as a favor to another stewardess."
Bradley's expression reflected utter surprise. "You? You, oversee a shoot for an important client? You're barely twenty years old."
Fury swept through me, as well as a good measure of hurt. "Mr. Williams, I am twenty-two years old and have excellent organizational skills. I like to think I deal well with other people. In addition, I can keep an eye on Lola, and," I finished, raising my chin, "since I'm a woman, and Durden is targeting women with this campaign, I might also be able to offer creative suggestions."
"Pierre Benoit won't listen to a word you have to say."
I raised my eyebrows into my bangs. "Would he listen to you?"
Bradley stared at me. "This is crazy. You're not going to the Virgin Islands on that shoot, Miss Bennett. I am and that's final."
"Whatever you say," I replied. "I have a lot of work to do, so I'd better get started. Do I have your approval to give Lola the assignment?"
"Yes," he said, then turned in his chair and stared out the window.
Internally fuming, I moved over to the file cabinet, unlocked it, and began looking for Evelyn's contact information.
The dunce! Didn't he know by now that Detective Finelli was like a dog with a bone once he got an idea into his head? Bradley would never be free to supervise the Virgin Islands shoot. I'd have to wrangle a seat through Darlene.
In the meantime, I definitely would be in touch with Pierre Benoit regarding Suzie's photo for the memorial.
And her murder.
CHAPTER TEN
After finding Evelyn Miller's phone number in her file—she was rather ordinary, if her headshot was anything to go by—I put it on Bradley's desk and left his office, closing the door behind me. We hadn't exchanged another word.
I threw my steno pad on my desk in a gesture of hurt, frustration, and fear. Maybe Darlene was right in thinking that Bradley was in shock. He certainly was irrationally confident that he would be cleared in the next few days.
Considering the problem of Pierre Benoit, I decided it would be better to ambush him at his studio rather than phone him. That way I could see his face, ask questions. Flipping through my Rolodex, I found an address for him and wrote it down.
Although I dreaded doing it, I had to call the Wexfords to get their approval for the memorial service. Dialing the number to the Legends Hotel, I thought it best not to introduce myself as Bradley's secretary.
"Good morning, Legends Hotel," a male voice said.
"Please put me through to Ralph Wexford's room."
A ringing; then a gruff male voice said, "Hello."
"Mr. Wexford?"
"Depends. You're not another lousy reporter, are you?"
"No, sir. I'm Miss Bennett from Ryan Modeling, and I'm calling to get your approval regarding Suzie's memorial service. I know you're planning to take Suzie back to Omaha, but she had so many friends here in the city, we thought a service and reception here would be welcome."
"Ryan footing the bill for this?"
"Yes, sir."
"They damn well should after the head of that place killed my little girl!"
I decided to ignore that. "Let me take this opportunity to offer you and your wife my sympathy. I knew Suzie." God, what a hypocrite, I thought, but then realized I did feel sorry for Suzie's parents, even though I hadn't liked her.
"What kind of memorial are you talking about?"
I quickly outlined our plans, which Mr. Wexford grudgingly agreed to.
"I'll make all the arrangements, Mr. Wexford. Unless you hear different, expect the memorial to start at ten in the morning on Wednesday."
"Fine. Then we can book a flight out of this crime-ridden city for later Wednesday. None of this would have happened if Suzie had married Jeff," Mr. Wexford said.
"Jeff?" I asked, pressing the phone closer to my ear.
"Jeff Granford, star quarterback. He and Suzie were high school sweethearts and were supposed to marry, until Suzie sent her senior picture to that bum of a photographer."
I started taking notes. "You mean Pierre Benoit?"
"No, somebody Roberts. Forgot his first name. He was the one who told Suzie she could be a model, and enticed her to this heathen city."
"Oh, I see. Is Mr. Roberts still here?"
"I don't know. Look, the wife's crying again. I hope they fry that Williams fella for killing my little girl. You can tell him I said so."
With that, Mr. Wexford hung up.
I thought for a moment and remembered Gloria telling me that Suzie had an ex that she slept with occasionally for old times' sake. Could that be Jeff Granford? Had he followed her to New York? Maybe Gloria could point him out to me if he attended the memorial service. There was always the possibility that he, too, was jealous of Suzie's other lovers, and got fed up enough to kill her. I needed to talk to Gloria.
I found her phone number and dialed. A service answered for her, so I left my name and both work and home phone numbers with a request that she call me.
Making the arrangements for Suzie's memorial took longer than I thought, even with an unlimited budget. It was around eleven when I took the elevator up to the eighteenth floor.
The door to Gina's office stood open, but I knocked anyway.
The former model wore a pale gray Chanel-inspired suit—or maybe it was the real thing—and gave me a chilly look. "What can I do for you, Miss Bennett?"
"Mr. Williams wants your opinion about our female models."
She smirked. "What does he intend to do with the next one?"
I kept my calm. "I believe he's wondering if there's anyone in particular whom you have been grooming for bigger assignments. He'd like their portfolios."
Gina lit a cigarette. "You and your boss have been here only a week, and our top model, a star in the industry, is dead. I think I should be talking to the owner of this company before I turn over any information to Mr. Williams."
She hadn't invited me to sit down, so I placed my palms on her desk and leaned forward. "First of all, Mr. Williams had nothing to do with Suzie's death. Second, he already has all the girls' contact information in his office along with headshots. He simply requested your opinion as to who might be a rising star. Finally, Mr. Williams's great-uncle owns this company, among others. I'm surprised you didn't know that, Gina. You impress me as being a woman who does her homework."
She breathed out smoke through her nostrils and, without another word, went to a big filing cabinet behind her desk. I watched with approval as she began selecting, then stacking, several portfolios.
"There you are," she said coldly.
"Thank you very much," I replied in my sweetest voice.
Lugging the portfolios onto the elevator, I blew air into my bangs. Was this the way Bradley would be treated around the agency from now on? I had to find Suzie's killer!
Bradley's door was shut when I reached our office suite. Glancing at my phone, I saw that his line glowed red. The portfolios began slipping out of my arms, so I decided that since he was on the phone, I'd quietly place them on one of his chairs. I opened the door to hear him saying, "That's wonderful, Evelyn. I'll see you tonight."
He ended the call as I was leaving.
"Have you talked to the Wexfords?" he asked.
"Yes. Mr. Wexford approved of our plans, and I've made all the arrangements."
"Very good. What was Mr. Wexford's attitude?"
Oh, boy. "They are grieving the loss of their daughter. Mr. Wexford was, understandably, not in a good mood."
"Thinks I killed her, doesn't he?" Bradley asked.
"He'll find out he's wrong. I'm sure Mr. Pickering has hired a private detective," I said, fishing.
Bradley drummed his fingers on top of his cluttered desk, ignoring my comment. "Have you spoken with Lola yet?"
Talk about pigheaded! "That's next on my list."
"I won't keep you. Close the door behind you, please."
I did as he asked, thinking it best if he remained ignorant of my plans to investigate, though at the same time I hoped Mr. Pickering had hired a private detective. As Bradley's lawyer, it was his duty to make sure Bradley's name was cleared.
I sat down and called Lola at home.
"Hello," she said, her voice level and clear.
Encouraged, I said, "Hi, Lola. This is Bebe Bennett from Ryan."
"I remember you," she said in a sunny tone. "I had too much to drink at Pierre Benoit's showing, and you were nice enough to take me home."
Surprised by how chipper she sounded, coupled with the fact that she actually remembered me, I thought that maybe the Virgin Islands shoot would work out after all. Meanwhile another part of me mused that Lola might be in a good mood because Suzie was now out of her way. Permanently. Strangled, as Lola had threatened.
"I'm sure you've heard that Suzie Wexford has . . . er, passed away."
"You mean somebody finally bumped off the bitch," Lola said. "The paper made it sound like the killer was our princely leader at Ryan. God, I hope not; he's too choice to waste away in some prison cell."
"I can assure you that Mr. Williams had nothing to do with Suzie's death."
"Glad to hear it. I pictured him boning her, and afterward them getting into a fight. She probably had plans for him, and he didn't follow along."
"What makes you say that?" I asked, pencil poised over my lined pad.
"Nothing in particular. Just that Suzie was such a schemer, I think she figured she'd bring Bradley to the altar. He's rich, handsome, runs the agency—she'd be set for life."
Gloria had expressed a similar theory about Suzie's plans for Bradley. "Lola, Mr. Williams and Suzie had known each other for only several days. I doubt he had marriage on his mind," I said.
"I guess you're right. He was getting the milk for free—why buy the cow, as the saying goes."
I wanted to ask questions, lots of them, but it had to be in person. "Lola, the reason I'm calling is to offer you a bikini photo shoot in the Virgin Islands.
The client is Durden swimwear, and we're leaving Wednesday night. Are you interested?"
"Are you kidding!" she exclaimed. "I've heard that Durden is really going all-out for this campaign. The bikini is supposed to be racy. I'll be in the magazines again. Count me in!"
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