I opened my mouth to deny it when Bradley moved so close to me I could feel his breath on my face.
"If that's what you want, we can go upstairs to a room right now, and I'll be sure word gets around afterward," he said.
Tears threatened again at the idea of Bradley doing that with me the way he suggested, as if I were another girl just good for one night. I raised my hand to slap his face, but he saw it coming and caught my fingers in a strong grip.
I forced myself not to cry. "You're angry because you thought Suzie was special, and now you've found out she was just another floozy! Don't take that anger out on me, Mr. Williams. I'm not that kind of girl, and you damn well know it!"
My voice shook, but I managed to snatch my hand out of his. I bolted through a gap in the buffet tables, and walked behind them to Maria.
"Hi, Maria. I wanted to see how you were doing," I said, my voice low and quavering.
She froze in the act of placing fancy toothpicks into small squares of cheese. "Bebe, you look like you're going to faint. You're trembling. Take a deep breath."
I did so, realizing I had been taking shallow gasps of air. "Something upset me, that's all. I'll be okay in a minute."
"It was him, wasn't it? You need some ginger ale." She raised her hand and waved until she caught the glance of one of the waiters at the soda table. Maria mouthed the words ginger ale to him and he nodded.
"Hey, you've got some power in this place," I said, as the young man hastened to do her bidding.
"Ah, he's another one who makes big promises," she said under her breath. "Thank you, Carlos."
The young man grinned, then winked at Maria.
She handed me the full glass. I drank it down, feeling cooler, more calm. I began helping her with the toothpicks. "Maria, do I look fast to you?"
She burst out laughing, causing people around us to glance our way. "No, Bebe. You look like what you are, a beautiful woman inside and out."
I lowered my head. "Thanks. I needed that right now."
She regarded me sharply. "Your man didn't try to—"
"No," I told her, and smiled. I gave her a brief hug. "I didn't mean to upset you. He just found out that he'd been grieving for something that was never there. He's hurt and angry, and took it out on me."
"Men. They are wretched things."
I patted her shoulder. "Now, where have I heard that before?"
"Bebe! What are you doing behind the buffet table? Checking the food? Because, you know, I'm the expert at that."
Debbie Ann, dressed in a black shirtwaist dress and a small black pillbox hat with a red feather, had arrived.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
"Just a sec, Debbie Ann, and I'll come around to talk."
I murmured my excuses to Maria, and found my way to Debbie Ann's side. Remembering what Danielle had said about how Debbie Ann and Suzie didn't get along, I wondered for a moment why she was here. Then it dawned on me: the gossip!
"How are you, Debbie Ann? Did you go to Suzie's memorial?" I asked, reaching her side.
"I'm fine, thank you," she said, then took a deep breath. "I always enjoy good health because of my diet, Bebe, and yes, I did attend Suzie's memorial. I can well imagine what her parents are going through, having lost a child of my own. I went out of respect for the Wexfords and Pierre, though I never understood what he saw in such an immoral person," she said, talking nonstop. "But never mind about me. I saw you with—I cannot speak his name—your boss. You looked upset. Are you all right? Because if you're not, I'll take you to my home and give you something good to eat, and we'll think about getting another job for you."
"No, no, I'm okay, but thanks for the offer," I hastened to say. "And I'm so very sorry for your own loss. It must have been agony."
"I try not to think about it or discuss it. Bebe, I worry about you," Debbie Ann said. "You are young and vulnerable. Your boss has quite a reputation and is almost ten years older than you."
Boy, was I sick of people commenting on my age. Before she could go on, I said, "Debbie Ann, I'm twenty-two years old and capable of taking care of myself. People underestimate me. As for Mr. Williams, I don't believe for a second that he killed Suzie."
Debbie Ann smoothed her hair. "That's not what the rest of us think, dear, including the police. I even told that nice detective that I think Bradley Williams is too handsome for his own good. Use reason, Bebe. If he didn't kill Suzie, who did?"
At that moment I spotted Pierre's beret-covered head over by the bar. I wanted to talk to him.
"Bebe?" Debbie Ann said, following my gaze.
"Oh, I'm sorry," I replied absently. "I don't know yet who killed Suzie, but I can assure you it wasn't Mr. Williams. You're a kind person. Please give him the benefit of the doubt."
"Bebe, forgive me for speaking to you like a mother. I sense you don't have much of a social life. Perhaps you might have a crush on your boss that's clouding your judgment. Mr. Williams and Suzie were having an affair. I think she pushed him away, and he killed her in a moment of passion. Men used to getting their way can snap when they don't. That's what I told the detective."
Darn her for talking to Detective Finelli! There was no way I was going to be able to change Debbie Ann's mind about Bradley, and I didn't want her to know my feelings for him. I shook my head. "Oh, no, you're mistaken about me, Debbie Ann. I'm a single girl, enjoying the single life in Manhattan. I have no illusions. Don't worry," I said, and smiled. "If you'll excuse me, I see Pierre Benoit, and I desperately want to speak to him."
"Pierre? You're not talking to him about Suzie's death, I hope. He's grieving," Debbie Ann went on.
"Before all this happened, I tried to point out to Pierre that your boss had won Suzie's affections—"
"Agency business; excuse me," I broke in. "I'd love to hear your thoughts on the food here. I'll find you later." I dashed away.
I was so mad at Debbie Ann for being Mrs. Nosy Homemaker, going to Finelli, I could remove all the food from her kitchen set and replace it with hot dogs! Debbie Ann intruded in everyone's life.
Then I felt bad. She didn't have a family of her own. Maybe her meddling was just her way of trying to be helpful. I would try to find her later, and I'd listen to a sure-to-be-long speech on the evils of the buffet food.
I scooted through the crowd toward the bar. About halfway there, I saw Pierre with a militant look on his face, talking to Lola.
I barged right in and interrupted them. "Hi, Pierre, Lola," I said, and gave Pierre a quick kiss on the cheek. I noticed his eyes were red, his nose swollen, and that he held a drink, probably not his first, and a handkerchief in his hands.
"Bebe, are you responsible for this reception?" he asked.
"Um, yes. Is everything okay?"
He took my hand and kissed it. "Magnificent, my cherie. Elegant and fitting for my Suzie. As a Frenchman, I do regret the lack of wine, but I'm enjoying my bourbon."
I noticed he didn't call Suzie his "fiancee," as he had at the memorial. How could I bring that up now? Besides, I couldn't ignore Lola.
"Lola, you look beautiful," I said, and meant it. The blonde had on a black bouffant dress, tight through the bodice, the skirt puffed out, and her hair was swept into a beehive. Even better, her smoky gray eyes were clear.
"Thank you, Bebe. I was just telling Pierre that I haven't been drinking. I took your suggestion about alcohol, and I've been exercising, eating well, and getting plenty of sleep. I think I'm in top form," Lola concluded.
"And you are going to continue this behavior, and not fail me in this cursed photo shoot in the Virgin Islands?" Pierre asked, a strong hint of mockery in his voice.
Lola kept her temper. "Yes, I am, Pierre. Because I am Ryan's top model now that Suzie is dead, and I intend to regain the Breck Girl contract, magazine covers, and all the plum assignments I lost to her. I hope you'll be my photographer, Pierre, since the best should work with the best."
Uh-oh.
Pierre's face turned that shade of
purple I saw on Daddy when he was about to explode with anger. He hissed words at Lola. "How can you speak in such a selfish way?"
To my surprise, Lola did not let Pierre's anger affect her outwardly. But then I thought I understood: Lola needed Pierre to make her look her best. She would not make an enemy out of him. Maybe she even wanted to take Suzie's place in his bed. She needed to watch her mouth about Suzie, though.
"Pierre," Lola said in a consoling tone. "I'm sorry. You're right. I've been thinking of my own future. I know the great love you and Suzie shared, and I don't mean to diminish it in any way. Remember, you eventually healed after Kiki. You're a young and attractive man. There will be someone else. A new lover is what you need."
Who was Kiki? More important, Lola was stroking Pierre's ego like I stroked my first pet kitten when I was six years old. She was one determined woman. Suddenly I remembered what Gloria had told me about the lengths to which models would go for stardom. Again I remembered that night in the cab, when Lola had said she'd strangle Suzie. And her alibi was that she'd been with a friend.
In that instant, Lola rose to the top of my suspect list.
Pierre addressed Lola but looked at me. "Maybe you're right."
She reached out and gave Pierre a hug, all the while rolling her eyes at me.
"There," she said. "I'm going to make my way out of here, boys and girls. We leave at seven tonight for the Virgin Islands! Being in such paradise will take our minds off our troubles. All right, Pierre?"
He paused for a moment, then nodded. "I'll see you on the plane, Lola."
"Groovy!" She beamed and walked away. Both Pierre and I watched as she smiled and hugged people—clients, I guessed—on her way to the door. Lola was the happiest girl at the reception.
Why shouldn't she be? Lola had the most to gain from Suzie's death. If she was the one who pulled the Pucci scarf around Suzie's neck, strangling her, she had no qualms about Bradley taking the heat. I decided that Lola and I were going to be the very best of friends, confiding friends, in the islands.
Past two o'clock, the crowd thinned.
I spoke to Pierre. "You made sure to get your photograph of Suzie back from the church?"
"Yes, I had my assistant take it back to my studio," he said. "Will you join me for a drink, Bebe? You've been kind, and I appreciate a woman of your beauty, your intelligence."
Uh-oh. Could Pierre be thinking of Lola's advice to take another lover? Me? Surely not.
I placed my hand on his sleeve. "Do you think that's wise, Pierre? I'll bet you haven't been able to eat anything. Why don't you wait until you're on the plane to drink? I have it on good authority that you're going to be pampered on your flight."
He smiled. "I suppose you arranged that too."
I smiled back. "Of course I did."
Pierre sighed. "You're right; I haven't eaten anything all day. I wish you were coming with us tonight, such a charming thing as you are. Who is going to be in charge of the shoot? Not that murderer, your boss, of that I am certain. You should come to work for me, Bebe. Your kindness warms my heart."
First Dirk, now Pierre. "How sweet, Pierre, thank you. Your tribute to Suzie at the memorial was so moving. You know, I didn't even realize the two of you were engaged until you called her your fiancee."
He looked away. "If you don't mind, Bebe, I don't wish to speak of it at length. Let us say that we had a lovers' quarrel over the time Suzie spent with that man. You must have noticed when you came to my studio that I had broken the glass of a few photos."
"I really didn't pay much attention," I fibbed.
"When one is French, one does things out of passion." He shrugged. "I have my temper just like anyone else. Suzie came to me Friday night. She told me how much she loved me, and she accepted my ring."
"That's a wonderful story—I mean memory—that you'll always have," I said, wondering what really went on Friday night. Was that when Suzie left her bracelet in Pierre's bathroom? Was Pierre lying to save face in society?
I glanced around for Bradley and found him standing alone against the far wall, drinking. Security men patrolled the room, most of them in Bradley's direct vicinity.
I needed to get Pierre out of here, before he saw Bradley and caused a hideous scene.
"Pierre, have you paid your respects to the Wexfords?"
His mouth formed a sneer. "They were unwilling to talk to me. They are provincials who wanted to keep Suzie from the world. The fools would have let her marry that barbarian Jeff Granford."
"Luckily Suzie came to New York," I said. I put my arm around his shoulder. "You must be exhausted. Why don't you go home and rest for a while before the flight. Order in a meal. You mustn't neglect yourself. Suzie wouldn't have wanted that."
"Is it what you want, Bebe?"
"Of course."
He put his arm around my shoulder, and I walked him to the door. I had a moment of fear when I saw Scott Roberts nearby, but Pierre had his gaze on the floor. I also saw Darlene and Cole. I held up my left index finger, and Darlene nodded. She knew I wanted to talk to her.
Pierre and I exited the ballroom, and he turned me toward him. "What can I do to convince you to be on that flight tonight, Bebe? I want you with me."
"I'll see what I can manage. You promise to get something to eat?"
"Yes, my cherie," he said, and kissed me on both cheeks.
I waited until he was out of sight, then turned back to the ballroom to find Darlene. Scott Roberts and a man I didn't know were coming straight toward me.
On impulse, I said, "Mr. Roberts, may I introduce myself?"
The man had the lightest blond hair I'd ever seen. "What's it about?" he asked, his pale blue eyes cold.
"I want to talk to you about doing some modeling," I blurted.
Disdain was written across his small features.
"Come on, Scott, give her a chance," his companion said. He was an older man, maybe in his mid-fifties, with dark hair liberally streaked with gray. His nose bore the signs of a heavy drinker, but he had a twinkle in his brown eyes. He reached out his hand for me to shake. "I'm Tony Arturo from Thom McAn shoes."
"Hi, Mr. Arturo," I said, shaking his hand. "I'm Bebe Bennett, and I love your shoe line."
"See there, Scott?" Mr. Arturo said. "A lady with taste."
Scott let out an impatient sigh. "Miss Bennett, the models I work with are mostly blondes, taller than you, and—"
Mr. Arturo broke in. "Scott, you might be able to use her as a foot model. She's got great legs."
I smiled at Mr. Arturo, feeling like a horse at auction, then said to Scott, "Mr. Roberts, all I want is fifteen minutes of your time. As I'm sure you know, all of America loves Luci Baines Johnson, and she's a brunette."
"Miss Bennett's right, Scott," Mr. Arturo said with a laugh. He stepped outside the ballroom and lit a cigarette.
My words didn't sway Scott, but I thought Mr. Arturo's did.
Scott pulled a card from his inside suit pocket and jabbed it in my hand. "This is my address. It'll have to be next week."
"That's fine," I said eagerly.
"I have a shoot on Monday at five. You can come a few minutes before then, and we'll talk while I'm setting up."
"Thank you," I said, but he joined Mr. Arturo, and the two walked away, resuming their conversation.
About a hundred people remained in the ballroom. The Wexfords, with Jeff by their side like a son, were still accepting condolences.
Debbie Ann was talking to Maria and pointing at the remaining food on the buffet line. I caught Maria's eye and shook my head. She smiled.
I wished everyone would leave. I glanced at my watch and saw it was two thirty. Another half hour to go.
Darlene and Cole were over by that awful steak tartare. Darlene wore her sleeveless black silk sheath. She had her arms folded over her chest. Cole's attention was on the steak tartare.
As I walked up to them, I heard Cole say, "I can't believe you won't eat any of this, lambkin. All Texans
like a good piece of beef, doesn't have to be cooked. And why aren't you drinking?"
"Because as a stewardess I'm not allowed to drink for twenty-four hours before a flight," Darlene answered crisply.
Cole laughed. "You're not going to follow that silly rule."
"Bebe!" Darlene exclaimed.
I gave her a hug, whispering in her ear, "We've got to talk. Now."
Cole saw me. "Hello, Bebe. I guess you know our good news," he said, putting a possessive arm around Darlene.
"I heard some news, yes," I replied, feeling the gloves were off between Cole and me.
Darlene broke away from Cole's embrace. "Excuse me, Cole, I have to speak with Bebe."
He narrowed his eyes at me, creating at least twenty more lines around his eyes. With his almost-bald head and that peering look, he could have been an American bald eagle.
Darlene and I walked about twenty feet away from him.
She said, "What have you found out? I've seen you buzzing around here like a bee going from flower to flower."
"Too much to tell right now. It'll have to wait for when we're in the Virgin Islands."
"Like Cole is gonna leave my side," Darlene said.
"He'll probably fall asleep on the plane. Maybe we can talk then—"
I froze.
"Bebe, what's wrong? Oh, no!" Darlene exclaimed, turning in the direction of my gaze.
Detective Finelli and three uniformed NYPD officers had walked into the ballroom.
My heart raced.
Without looking my way, Detective Finelli marched up to Bradley, who had never moved from his place by the far wall.
Everyone in the room fell silent, all eyes on the police.
I broke away from Darlene and dashed over to Bradley's side.
Detective Finelli said, "Bradley Williams?"
He remained cool. "You know who I am. Somehow I think it didn't go my way at the grand jury hearing this morning."
Detective Finelli was all business. "Bradley Williams, you are under arrest for the murder of Susan Ann Wexford."
"No!" I cried. "He didn't do it!"
"Miss Bennett, please," Bradley said.
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