B004183M70 EBOK

by Rosemary Stevens

  The phone rang before he could reply. Instead, Bradley and Drew got into an argument over who was authorized to sign the check.

  I picked up the receiver and chatted with a girl from Precision Knives about Debbie Ann's shoot tomorrow.

  Bradley signed the check and held it out to me. Without touching his fingers, I accepted it. He returned to his office.

  Drew went down the hall.

  Ending my phone call, I started typing my notes on the Saint Thomas shoot, noting that Bradley was on his private line. Listening while typing, I figured out he was on the phone with his uncle, talking and drinking coffee I hadn't made for him.

  He was still on the phone when I summoned Danielle to cover for me while I met Darlene and Stu for an early lunch.

  At the restaurant, Darlene and Stu couldn't keep their hands off each other. Their happiness made me smile. I was able to eat a hearty lunch, which made me feel better. The meal, and the looks I got from men checking out my go-go boots, helped put me in a better frame of mind.

  Darlene said, "Okay, now what are we going to do next to clear Bradley's name?"

  Stu looked at me. "Bebe, what about Lola?"

  I shook my head. "She's a suspect with a strong motive and opportunity. I'm sure she won't talk to me after what happened in Saint Thomas."

  Stu grinned. "She'll talk to an adoring fan. Me. I'm good at getting what I want out of a woman. After all, I got the best girl in the world back with me," he said, and winked at Darlene.

  She elbowed him. "Watch it, buster. And behave."

  I said, "Thanks so much for your help, Stu. And Darlene, don't worry if you can't come with me on my appointment with Scott Roberts later today."

  She waved a dismissive hand. "Honey, I'll be there."

  I left them and returned to the office around one. Drew wasn't there. Bradley sat with his chair turned around from me, looking out the window. On his desk was a sandwich from the Automat.

  Danielle and I went over phone messages before she returned to the typing pool. I had about three hours until I'd need to leave for my appointment with Scott Roberts. Out of habit, I brewed a fresh pot of coffee.

  I finished typing my Saint Thomas report and marched into Bradley's office, laying it on his desk.

  "If I hurt you—by firing you—it wasn't what I wanted," he said, turning to face me.

  "I'm fine. You haven't eaten your lunch," I said, unwilling to reveal how much I'd been hurt. "Can I get you a cup of coffee? There's a fresh pot."

  "That sounds great."

  I returned with the hot mug a minute later. "I'll be leaving today at four fifteen. I have another appointment."

  "Are you going out looking for a job?" Bradley asked, his cool demeanor back in place.

  "Actually this has to do with another matter," I said, and crossed my arms over my chest.

  "Pickering hired a private detective. There's no need for you to investigate any longer." The last two words came out through gritted teeth.

  "If you'll excuse me, I have lots of work to do," I told him.

  "Just a minute. What is with you and that wino?"

  I took a deep breath. "While I don't see why I have to answer questions about my personal life, in this case I will tell you. Harry is a friend. I try to help him when I can."

  "You're always trying to help people, aren't you, kid?" Bradley said, picking up a pencil and holding it between his two index fingers. His voice dropped to a husky murmur. "I wish you could help me, stop me from wanting—" He broke off.

  Wanting to kiss me again? My heart started that crazy beat. I chose to misunderstand him. "Don't worry. You'll be cleared of Suzie's murder."

  With that, I strode back to my desk. Bradley and I didn't exchange another word for the rest of the day until I told him good night at four fifteen.

  "Arrange to have someone cover for you during Debbie Ann's shoot tomorrow," he said. "I want you there. You know how to deal with Pierre." A bit of sarcasm laced his last words.

  "Fine," I said, and went downstairs, breathing a sigh of relief. Obviously he hadn't read the Saint Thomas report, which described how I had ended up being the model.

  Outside, Darlene waited for me in the sunshine. "How'd it go?"

  I popped on my shades and filled her in while we tried to get a cab.

  She said, "Sounds like Bradley's a man with a lot on his mind. Betcha you're number one."

  I twirled a piece of my hair. "Yeah, right. Men may be easy for you to charm, but not for me."

  A cab stopped and we got in. I had Scott's card in hand, and gave the cabbie the address.

  "You're in training, Bebe," Darlene said. "As for Scott, we're trying to find out if he really has nude photos of Suzie, right?"

  "Yes. Louis gave me the idea that Scott had that type of photos. I thought Scott might be blackmailing Suzie. If she was paying him, he's off the suspect list If she wasn't, maybe the two argued and he killed her. My only concern is how we're going to convince him to talk."

  Darlene laughed. "You keep forgetting I'm a Texas girl. Don't you worry. He'll talk."

  Scott Roberts's business turned out to be in a brownstone in a residential area. He gave me an ice-cold look, but admitted us. Like Pierre's place, the first floor served as a studio, with cameras and umbrella lights set up.

  Three female models—all long-haired blondes with bangs, blue eyes, and skinny figures—wore matching outfits: a sleeveless black chiffon dress that broke into pleats at the bottom. Round white collars circled then- necks with a white daisy in their centers. Each girl's hair had been pulled to one side in a low ponytail, secured with a fabric daisy pin.

  A lone dark-haired male model, dressed in a black velvet suit and ruffled shirt, sat at a white cloth-covered table set for four.

  They were passing a pipe among them, smoking hash. One of the girls held out the pipe to Darlene. She reached for it, but I put my hand on her arm. "Darlene," I hissed.

  "Sorry. I was just trying to fit in." But her gaze turned wistful as the pipe went on to the next person.

  Scott looked at me without interest. "I can't use you. I told you that at Suzie's memorial."

  Darlene said, "Then why did you make an appointment with her?"

  He shrugged. "Couldn't appear nasty in front of the Thom McAn guy. You can go now, both of you."

  I moved close to him and spoke in a low voice. "I don't think so. You see, I couldn't care less about being a model. I want the pictures and the negatives of the nude photos you have of Suzie Wexford."

  He stared at me with those freaky eyes. "What makes you think I'm going to discuss Suzie with you?"

  Darlene opened her purse. "This does, honey."

  To my horror, a small gun lay in Darlene's purse.

  Scott's face went pale. "Come upstairs."

  As we made our way up, I whispered, "Do you always carry that thing around, Darlene?"

  "No, the gun usually stays in my panty drawer, but I had it with me today because of Scott. I told you I can protect myself."

  Reeling from the thought that Darlene kept a gun in our apartment, I blinked twice when Scott flipped the light on in a small room with a desk and lined with filing cabinets.

  "Show us the pictures," Darlene commanded, the gun now in her hand.

  With an angry movement, Scott unlocked a file cabinet and pulled out a set of photos. He shoved them at me.

  So there really were nude pictures of Suzie! I flipped through two of the shots, my eyes going wide at the sight of her naked body.

  Darlene took a quick glance. "Ha, natural brunette."

  "Why did Suzie pose for these?" I asked.

  Scott shrugged. "Look, most girls who get off the bus wanting to be a model end up doing nude shots."

  "But I thought you encouraged Suzie to move here based on candid pictures she sent you from Omaha."

  "True. I knew she had potential and thought she could go far. It was Suzie who wanted the nudes done in case her career didn't take off as she'd pla
nned."

  "And you enjoyed obliging her," Darlene said.

  "I've found that having those types of pictures can be, shall we say, beneficial to a photographer."

  I stared at Scott. "What I want to know is if you killed her."

  He laughed. "The two of you are crazy. Right in your hands, you've got proof of why I'd never kill the two-timing bitch. Suzie left me for Pierre, but she paid me good, in money and in bed."

  "Blackmailer."

  "As I told you, nude shots are useful."

  "Did Suzie threaten to stop paying you?" I asked.

  Scott gazed at me with disgust. "You're not going to pin her murder on me, baby. I can show you my canceled checks to prove that Suzie had paid me through the end of this year."

  "Let's see them," Darlene ordered, her gun still pointed at him.

  Looking over the documents he produced in short order, I could see he was telling the truth. In 1963, Suzie had paid him five hundred dollars a month regularly. In January of this year, she'd paid him six thousand dollars.

  "All right. I believe you were blackmailing her and she paid, so you had no reason to kill her. Give me all the pictures and all the negatives," I said.

  "Come on, baby, can't we make a deal?" Scott whined. "I'll give you half of what I get for selling them to Playboy."

  And have Bradley's name—sure to be included in any article about Suzie—dragged through the mud again? "I could just take what I have here to the police. I know Detective Finelli personally. He'd charge you with blackmail. Now, would you rather do as I say or have me pay a visit to the detective?"

  Scott sighed. "What difference does it make to you if I sell the pictures to Playboy? I told you I'd give you half the money."

  "This is the difference: Suzie paid you not to sell those pictures. Suzie is dead, and even she doesn't deserve to be humiliated now. Finally, you should earn your money by finding the next top model and making her a star," I finished.

  Darlene waved the gun at Scott. "It's very quiet."

  Cursing bitterly, he handed over the photos.

  I tucked them in my purse. "Now write a statement saying you will never sell or give away any nude photos of Suzie Wexford and sign it."

  "Why? You have everything," Scott replied tersely.

  "I don't trust you."

  Grabbing a piece of paper and a pen, Scott wrote.

  He thrust the document in my hands and I read it. "I'm satisfied now."

  He narrowed his eyes at me. "You know, I could go to the police myself and tell them you forced me at gunpoint to turn over personal property."

  Darlene and I laughed, knowing the coward would never go to the police.

  He went red. "What are you going to do with the shots?"

  I tilted my head. "We have a fireplace."

  Darlene agreed, "That will do."

  "Crazy women, burning a pile of money," he spat.

  Darlene forced him to walk in front of us as we descended the stairs to the first floor. We made our escape outside, and ran to the nearest subway stop.

  Once underground, I caught my breath. "We're down to four possible killers: Lola, Gloria, Jeff, or Pierre. I'm seeing Gloria and Pierre tomorrow. Jeff's address was in the phone book."

  "You're not confronting Jeff alone," Darlene said. "Let's come up with a plan for him later. I'm going to Stu's. He'll give you a report on Lola in the morning."

  I went home, hid Scott's letter, and lit the fire.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  I arrived at the office before nine Tuesday morning. I wore a short knit dress, white on top, turquoise-and-white-checked on the bottom. My go-go boots looked fab with the outfit.

  The first thing I did was put on a pot of coffee.

  Bradley hadn't come in yet, so the second thing I did was refresh my pink lip gloss.

  Debbie Ann's photo shoot for Precision Knives was set for eleven. I managed to return phone calls and type a letter before Bradley emerged from the elevator, Drew on his heels.

  "Good morning," I said. "Do you want coffee, Mr. Williams?"

  "Please, Miss Bennett." He entered his office, took off his suit coat, and sat in his chair. Drew lingered at Bradley's doorway.

  "Hey, Bebe, would you bring me a cup?" he asked.

  I walked past him and snatched Bradley's mug from his desk. Fixing his coffee the way he liked, I indicated the Styrofoam cups next to the coffeepot. "Drew, everything you need is right there."

  Before he could answer, I entered Bradley's office and put the hot mug in front of him. Taking a few steps back, I made sure Bradley could see my outfit. I figured I'd done my job when his gaze went over me; then he quickly averted his eyes.

  "Thanks, kid. We've got a busy day. You don't have any outside appointments, do you?"

  "I'll be here all day."

  From behind me, Drew strolled in with his coffee and sat down on the sofa. "Good coffee, comfortable couch, pretty girls ... I'd like to be in charge of Ryan."

  Bradley swung around in his chair, facing his cousin. "Get out of here, Drew."

  From the doorway a male voice said, "Excuse me for interrupting, but I need to see you, Bebe."

  God bless Stu! Handsome and exuding power, he filled the door frame.

  "Hi, Stu," I said and gave him a blinding smile. "Come on out to my desk."

  Stu knew how to play the game. He put his arm around my shoulder and hugged me so hard that my right foot came off the ground.

  I sat at my desk—in full view of Bradley—and crossed my legs. "What happened with Lola?"

  Stu crouched down, grinning, and spoke softly. "I know you're anxious to hear, and boy, do I have a doozy of a story for you."

  "I'm on the edge of my seat."

  "Be careful you don't fall off when you hear what I've found out."

  "That bad?"

  "Yes. I posed as a modeling agent interested in representing her. Lola was flattered and welcomed me inside. She drinks like a man, Bebe. I swear she had five glasses of scotch. Come to think of it, she had been drinking before I got there."

  "That's Lola."

  "Drinking is only one side of her. I stroked her ego, told her how she wasn't getting the assignments she deserved. She decided I was her new best friend and spilled the beans. She complained about Suzie, how she took all her work." Stu paused. "Brace yourself, Bebe. Here's where you might fall off your chair. Lola confided she's been working part-time for Fran Bitsy."

  "Who?"

  Stu sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Fran Bitsy rims a group of high-class prostitutes in New York."

  I gasped. "Why would Lola do such a thing? And how could she keep it a secret?"

  Stu put his hand on mine. "Bebe, Lola is not only an alcoholic; she's a gambler. Las Vegas is practically her second home. She told me how everyone in the Rat Pack knows her. I saw her at Pierre's gala hanging on Frank Sinatra. Anyway, Lola has deep gaming debts, and the casinos threatened to cut her off about six months ago."

  "So Lola contacted this woman and started to—"

  "Yes. Lola was with a very well known, very married Broadway star the night of Suzie's murder. I verified it with Fran myself."

  "You know this woman?"

  "Yes. Wealthy men and celebrities all over Manhattan know Fran, or know of her. She has a solid reputation for being discreet. That's why Lola hasn't been found out," he said. "It doesn't mean anything that I know who Fran is, Bebe. You know there's only one doll for me."

  Whispering, I said, "Do you think Bradley knows Fran?"

  Stu's gaze met mine. "He probably does, but Williams isn't the type to seek those services."

  "How do you know?"

  "Male intuition?"

  "Okay." I swallowed. "This means Lola didn't kill Suzie."

  "Right. Now, what else can I do to help?"

  We stood. "Nothing, Stu. I can't thank you enough for everything."

  "No need," he said, wrapping me in a big hug. "I consider myself in your debt for helping me square things w
ith Darlene."

  Stu released me, and I saw Drew and Debbie Ann standing down the hall watching. My gaze shifted to Bradley. He crunched a piece of paper into a ball.

  Stu and I smiled at each other and said good-bye.

  I worked hard until near the time of Debbie Ann's shoot. Then I called Danielle to cover for me, and took the stairs up to the eighteenth floor. Inside Debbie Ann's kitchen, Gloria knelt on the floor rummaging through her big makeup case. She hadn't even stopped at my desk to sign in!

  Debbie Ann was talking to her assistant, Nellie.

  "None of the girls here are as attractive as you, Bebe," Drew said close to my ear, startling me.

  I moved away without answering him. Drew was nuts if he thought I'd move to Chicago for him.

  Nellie scurried off to the elevator, which also brought Bradley. Nellie jumped back at the sight of him. He ignored her, and the suddenly chilly atmosphere, and stepped onto the set.

  To my surprise, Louis appeared out of nowhere and greeted me warmly, taking my hand and giving it a squeeze. "Hello, Bebe. You look ravishing, as always."

  "Louis, what are you doing here?" I said for his ears alone. "There's no Burma-Shave shoot today."

  He raised a hand to my hair, pushing a strand behind my ear. "I asked Gina if I could play a husband in the background of Debbie Ann's ad. She said no, but I knew you would approve."

  Jerk! "You're wrong, Louis. You can't use me to get modeling gigs. Gina and Mr. Williams schedule the models. Now please leave the set."

  A wounded expression on his face, he said, "If that's what you want, surely. How about dinner one night this week? You pick the day."

  "No. We won't be going out again," I said, and walked toward the kitchen.

  "You liked it when I kissed you," he said, loud enough for everyone to hear.

  Mortified, I turned and opened my mouth, but Bradley had Louis by the arm. He said, "Do you want me to escort you to the door, or should I call security?"

  Louis snatched his arm away and stalked off to the elevator.

  I entered the kitchen, bracing myself for another nasty encounter. Debbie Ann fussed around, waiting for Gloria.

  I took a deep breath and stood over Gloria. "I want to talk to you," I said.

  No response.

  "Gloria, I'm speaking to you."