B004183M70 EBOK

by Rosemary Stevens

  Cole, ever the bearer of good tidings, said, "If you don't stop arguing, you won't get any pictures at all. Storm's coming in later today. Supposed to last through tomorrow. Lola looks pretty enough to me even without makeup."

  She smiled at him and moved away from Pierre to help Cole look for Darlene's ring.

  I couldn't believe what was happening around me. I felt the shoot slipping through my fingers, and me helpless to do anything to save it.

  Added to that, Cole, single for all of two minutes, was flirting with Lola, and she was loving every minute.

  "Bebe," Pierre said, "please make flight arrangements. I wish to leave at once."

  "No, Pierre," I said, half pleading. "There must be a way to salvage the situation. Can't you give Lola some time? I'll help her get the swelling down. With your talent, I know we can work this out."

  "Bebe, I would love to please you, but it's out of my hands. We need at least three hours to shoot, and that's only because I am so talented. I need a model in makeup right—"

  He stopped and looked at me. "This is an important shoot for you, isn't it, my cherie? Whoever is your new superior at the agency will consider this failure your fault, won't they?"

  "Yes," I said in a resigned tone.

  "I have an idea."

  My spirits lifted. "Tell me! I'll do anything to help."

  "Excellent! Now go put on the bikini."

  "What?" I said, not believing my ears.

  Pierre ignored me. "Gloria, you will do Bebe's makeup. I want her to look light and fun. The perfect all-American girl."

  "I knew it would come to this," Gloria mumbled.

  "Pierre," I said, grabbing his arm, "I'm not a model, much less a star model. I can't do it. What about Darlene? She's sexy and beautiful."

  "Darlene is too sexy and curvy for what Durden wants. You should know that. Don't you see? You will be something better than a star model: a fresh new face. You are beautiful, my cherie."

  Lola stood, wiping the sand from her hands. "This is an outrage!"

  "Bebe's pretty, I guess, but not like Lola," Cole said.

  "Leave us. Your opinion is not wanted here," Pierre told Cole. Then as if to himself, "Gloria's makeup will enhance her natural beauty, and I will make her an angel in a devil's attire. I don't know what that murderer was thinking to give Lola the assignment in the first place. Bebe has a sweetness that Lola could never project."

  Cole pulled Darlene's ring from the sand and pocketed it. "Lola, why don't you let me take you back to New York? I can cheer you up if you like Broadway shows, eating out—"

  "I'd love to, Cole. Since it's going to rain here, this place would bore me silly."

  The two walked away.

  My mind raced. Would my doing the shoot be better than coming back with no photographs at all? Maybe Gloria could make me pretty enough. What choice did I have?

  Bradley's words came back to me. Make me proud.

  "Okay, Pierre. But you'll have to give me lots of instruction," I said.

  He clapped his hands together in delight. "Wonderful!"

  I turned to Gloria. "Should I get the suit on first?"

  "Yeah."

  She started walking with me back to the hotel.

  "Gloria, are you mad at me?" I said, finally bringing my feelings out into the open.

  She snorted. "Little Miss Innocent, don't worry; I'll do my job. The photos will be gear. After all, you're going to be Pierre's new girlfriend."

  "That's not true," I protested.

  "Right. We have a professional relationship now, so act like it."

  "I'm sorry that our friendship never grew."

  Silence.

  We were at the staircase leading to my room. Something else nibbled at the edge of my mind. "Gloria, what happened to Kiki?"

  This time Gloria threw her head back and laughed. "Always good to know what happened to those who came before you." Then she looked me right in the eyes and said, "Kiki committed suicide. She jumped off the top of Pierre's building."

  "How dreadful. Why did she do it?"

  Gloria shrugged. "I don't know, Bebe. You tell me why people kill themselves. Or others."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  "I can't wait to see those pictures of you, Bebe. You have to get copies for yourself," Darlene said. "Bradley sure is gonna get an eyeful. I'm so happy I got to watch the whole thing." She burst out laughing.

  I rolled my eyes. "Please. I'm afraid Bradley won't be happy."

  We'd managed to get the shoot done, and with Darlene's pull at Skyway, all of us flew back to New York before the storm got too bad. As it was, I'd had my first experience with turbulence, and I hadn't liked it one bit.

  To add to the tension, Pierre had sat next to me on the plane, trying to convince me to come work for him. He said he would welcome another assistant, and promised he could easily get me modeling jobs. When I'd reminded him I was only five foot seven, hardly tall enough to model, he scoffed and told me height rules were for runway models. I spent the flight being noncommittal and finally feigned sleep even when Pierre took my hand and held it against his heart.

  Cole and Lola didn't join us on the plane. Either they were stuck on the island, or they'd taken an earlier flight. Darlene assisted the stews, glowing with happiness now that she was free of the domineering oil man.

  Gloria sat across and down one row from me. Her head fell to one side the minute the plane took off. While she'd done my makeup, she had only given me commands like "turn your head to the left" and "raise your chin." I wanted to tell her that she was wrong; I wasn't planning a romance with Pierre, or a big modeling career. But then I figured Gloria wouldn't believe me, and I wondered again why she was so upset.

  Once home, Darlene and I had slept until almost noon on Friday. Clad in our pajamas, we were now enjoying coffee and toast in the living room.

  "I want to forget all about those photos, Darlene. I had to show my navel! Not even Annette Funicello does that. If Daddy ever finds out—"

  "What will he do? Ground you for life?" She said, and laughed.

  "You've met Daddy. He'll trot me to the closest nunnery," I said.

  "Honey, he won't even recognize his 'Little Magnolia' in those shots. That one pose Pierre put you in, the one where you're lying on the beach lounger, one knee raised slightly, holding a pina colada with the little paper umbrella in it? Not his little girl," Darlene half sang.

  I put my hands over my ears. "Stop!"

  "Not to mention the one of you just out of the ocean, with drops of water glistening over your exposed skin, lying on the hard sand. Pierre had to adjust his shorts every few minutes—"

  "Darlene!"

  "Once he got you in the mood, you delivered a sexy mix of innocence and secret knowledge," she assured me.

  "It's a secret, all right, even to me. I couldn't have done it without Pierre's instructions. I shouldn't have agreed in the first place. Durden will never accept the photos. I'll disappoint Bradley."

  "Ha! Time will tell." Darlene shot me a sly look. "But you had a teensy-weensy amount of fun, didn't you?"

  "I did it for Bradley, so the shoot wouldn't be a total failure," I said, and sipped my coffee.

  Darlene smiled.

  "Oh, all right! I had fun," I said, shifting position so that my legs were folded under me on the pink sectional. "Pierre made me feel cherished and beautiful."

  "You are beautiful, silly," Darlene said. "Do you think you might accept another modeling assignment?"

  I smiled. "If the circumstances were right, maybe. Pierre said he could get me assignments, and if Bradley fires me for not controlling Lola . . ."

  "Nobody could have handled that drunk. Cole will keep her in alcohol and under his thumb. Lola's modeling career is over," Darlene said, lying down and propping a yellow satin pillow under her head.

  "Gosh, let me call Danielle and see if Bradley is back at the office. That Pickering—the so-called lawyer—had better have gotten him out of jail," I said, and s
tood.

  "You're not going into the office, are you? Even I'm exhausted."

  "Let's see what Danielle says. Don't move."

  Darlene yawned. "I won't. I'm going to close my eyes and figure out what to wear when I see Stu."

  I went to the kitchen wall unit and dialed the office.

  "Hi, Danielle, it's me, Bebe. We got our shots and came home last night because of a storm down in the islands."

  "Wow, that was a fast trip. Are you tired? Or do you want to hear the latest?"

  "Both," I answered. "First tell me if Mr. Williams is back in the office."

  "No, he's not. We haven't heard from him since . . . well, you were at the reception," Danielle said. "No one has come to take his place either, like Debbie Ann keeps telling everyone."

  I closed my eyes and leaned against the wall. Darn Debbie Ann! She believed Bradley was guilty and must have been gloating that she had inside information of the imminent arrival of his replacement. "Okay, give me the latest now."

  "We've been bombarded with phone calls."

  "Reporters?"

  "Uh-huh. Four of them even came to the office, but I showed them the elevator fast. I treated them politely but firmly, like you taught me, Bebe."

  "Thank you, Danielle. I'll speak with your supervisor when I can. I appreciate everything you've done."

  "You're too sweet. I've learned a lot from you, and I can add my extra duties to my resume."

  "Slow down. I don't want you leaving us. You're a valuable person to have around."

  She chuckled. "Okay, the biggest news—I mean, besides Mr. Williams not being here—is that I transferred a call from Precision Knives to Gina. They want to shoot an ad with Debbie Ann using their knives. The ad's supposed to run in newspapers across the state."

  "Debbie Ann must be over the moon."

  "She is! The shoot is scheduled for Tuesday on her set. I'm making a list of things you should know when you come back, but that's the main one. Are you coming in today?"

  "No, I'm not. I'm confident you have everything under control, and I have some things to do," I said.

  "Before you go, tell me something. Did you bring back anything pretty from Saint Thomas?"

  "I didn't have time for shopping, but I found this huge conch shell on the beach. It's heavy, and you can hear the sound of the ocean in it. My roommate and I put it in the center of our coffee table. That and a slight sunburn across my nose and cheeks are all I brought back."

  Danielle chuckled and we ended the call.

  "You want more coffee, Darlene?"

  "No, thanks."

  I plopped down on the sectional. "Bradley's not at the office."

  Darlene shook her head. "Finelli can't still have him in custody, can he?"

  I bit my lower lip, reached up, and twirled a piece of my hair. "There's only one way to find out."

  Darlene nodded. "I'll go with you."

  Darlene and I exited the cab in front of the police station, me in a pale green suit, and Darlene in a short-sleeved lavender A-line dress that tied at the neck.

  I opened the door to the station and almost cursed.

  "You again?" Officer Lonegan said. He stood behind the desk looking more unkempt than he had last Sunday.

  Darlene turned to me. "You know this person?"

  "Who are you, Red?" the officer asked.

  I answered. "She's my friend. Have you got Mr. Williams in jail?"

  Officer Lonegan smirked. "Your boyfriend? That would be none of your business."

  Darlene said, "Get Finelli out here then."

  The officer's eyebrows came together. "Hey, missy, did you forget who's in charge here? I recommend you both take yourselves off. The detective's gone out for lunch."

  "We'll wait," I said, and led Darlene to the long wooden bench behind us. We sat at the far end, away from the officer.

  He picked up his newspaper, folded it, and said, "You can wait here all day if you want. All the same to me. But if either of you causes any trouble, I'll put you behind bars myself."

  Darlene started to get up. I put my hand on her arm and whispered in her ear, "Don't let him rattle you. He's one of those people who've reached a certain age and are unhappy with their life."

  We waited in silence lest Officer Lonegan overhear our conversation. Fortunately, only fifteen minutes went by before Detective Finelli entered the building carrying a deli bag and a bottle of Coke.

  Darlene and I stood.

  Finelli saw us and blew out a deep breath. "I have nothing to say to either one of you at the present time."

  "What if we have evidence you might need?" I asked, knowing I didn't have evidence, only conjecture.

  "As taxpayers in the state of New York, I think you are obliged to hear us out," Darlene said in her firm stewardess-controlling-an-angry-passenger voice.

  "Cripes. Follow me. I know you won't leave until you've given me your ideas on my case," the detective responded.

  He led us down the beige hall, past the desks of curious policemen—Darlene grinned—and into his small office. Motioning us to sit in the two chairs opposite his desk, he sat in a torn brown leather chair.

  "What's the evidence, Miss Bennett?" he asked, dropping his deli bag and Coke on his desk and picking up a pencil.

  "Do you still have Mr. Williams in jail?" I asked.

  Detective Finelli leaned back in his chair, making it creak in protest. "I didn't realize I was giving you information."

  Darlene said, "Maybe if we work together, Suzie's murder will be solved."

  He looked at Darlene. "I've already made an arrest, Miss Roland. Are you telling me I can't do my job?"

  "No," she said. "We just want to help you, because you have the wrong person in jail."

  He pinched the bridge of his nose, then sighed and addressed me. "Look, Miss Bennett, I know you helped me on that other case, and that you recently fended off an armed robber with a bottle of mustard—"

  "How did you find out about that?" I asked, surprised.

  "Cops talk to one another," he said, and coughed. Or smothered a laugh. "The department doesn't encourage citizens to endanger themselves by getting involved in homicide cases. I've had a parade of people in here giving me their opinion on who killed Miss Wexford."

  "You'll need to hear us out as well," I said bluntly.

  Then I remembered how I had treated Finelli the last time I'd seen him.

  I leaned forward in my chair. "Listen, I don't want to argue. I owe you an apology for insulting you when you arrested Mr. Williams. I'm sorry I said that you hadn't investigated the case properly. When I was growing up, my parents taught me to respect the law and policemen. You do have my respect."

  Finelli spoke in a gruff voice. "Apology accepted. In a way, I admire your spunk."

  "Oh, thanks," I said, softening the words with a smile.

  "What about me?" Darlene asked.

  "The department apologized to you after the Philip Royal case was closed, Miss Roland," Finelli reminded her. Then he said, "But what gets me is that the two of you put yourselves in danger. And the chief doesn't appreciate private citizens meddling in police matters. You can see my predicament."

  "We don't go randomly chasing crooks and killers, Detective," Darlene said. "Last time I was defending myself. Now you've got Bebe's boss in jail for strangling that slut Suzie. We had to get involved."

  He sat forward and stared at me. "Miss Bennett, last Sunday you promised me you wouldn't interfere."

  "You're right. But I didn't say I wouldn't investigate." I gave him my most earnest expression. "I'm going to confession this afternoon at St. Patrick's. Now, please, eat your sandwich while we talk."

  Finelli snapped his pencil down on his desk, then reached for the white deli bag. He unwrapped a thick pastrami on rye. "I'm listening." He took a bite.

  "Thank you," I said. "Is Mr. Williams still in jail?"

  I had to wait for him to swallow and take a long drink from his Coke before he answered. "This is a
ll off the record, understand? I could lose my job."

  "We agree," I assured him. "Do I look like the kind of woman who would put two young boys' father out of work?"

  "You don't miss anything, do you? Pickering brought Williams before the judge about two hours ago. Your boss is out on bail."

  "Thank God," I muttered. "You know Jeff Granford threatened to kill Mr. Williams."

  "I've got a team watching the Omaha boy."

  "Good," I said, relief washing over me. "Do you believe Mr. Pickering has put a private investigator on the case?"

  Finelli took another bite of his sandwich and wiped his hands on a napkin. After he swallowed, he said, "Williams was formally charged on Wednesday. Pickering probably didn't want to run up a bill with a P.I. until he knew the outcome of the grand jury hearing. Then his job was to get Williams out of jail, which he did. He'll probably hire someone now."

  "Exactly as I feared," I said, furious at Mr. Pickering and determined to tell Stu how the lawyer had handled the case so far.

  "Miss Bennett, Pickering is a rich trial lawyer with a high-profile practice. Speaking of which, I've had the chief breathing down my neck on this case because of the celebrity status of Miss Wexford. And from where I sit, Williams was caught red-handed."

  I crossed my hands in my lap. "Mr. Williams was with Suzie the night she was killed. However—and this is the important part—he left her apartment for at least a half an hour. During that time, the killer strangled Suzie. When Mr. Williams returned he found her dead. Have you even tried to find a store clerk who could identify him and give him an alibi?"

  "You talkin' about the chocolate syrup?"

  I blushed. "Yes."

  "Didn't your boyfriend tell you? He couldn't find a place nearby that sold the stuff. He didn't buy anything. Which means no clerk to ID him."

  I wanted to scream.

  Darlene picked it up. "We've got suspects, motives, and opportunity."

  Finelli put down the sandwich and picked up his pencil. "Let's hear it."

  "First of all," I said, "there's Lola—another famous model. Suzie pushed Lola out of the spotlight. I'm a witness to Lola stating that she could strangle Suzie. Those were her exact words the Thursday before Suzie's murder."

  Finelli made notes.