"Then there was her other boyfriend—you know, Jeff Granford, the guy who followed Suzie to New York from Omaha."
"That madman!" Pierre declared.
"True. But can you blame him? He told me at the memorial reception that Suzie was promised to him. They met whenever they could and talked about their plans to get rich from Suzie's modeling, then return to Omaha and raise a family. Come to think of it, Gloria mentioned Suzie's meetings with Scott and Jeff."
Pierre pounded his fist on the table.
Bradley rose.
Evelyn stood too. I heard her say, "You're not paying any attention to me." Then she slapped Bradley across the face and stormed out of Sardi's. Bradley sat down and ordered another drink.
I had to keep my focus. I put a hand to my heart. "You knew about all this, didn't you, Pierre? Gosh, I hope I haven't said too much."
Pierre's right hand balled into a fist. "I knew."
"You fought with Suzie about her boyfriends, I'm sure."
"Yes, but I couldn't stop her cheating. Then Williams came along. I thought I would lose her forever," Pierre said, his expression clouded with anger. "I bought her a four-carat-diamond engagement- ring. Never had I married before, but I felt if Suzie were my wife, she would be faithful."
"Gloria told me Suzie didn't accept your ring during that Friday night at dinner. Gloria said that you were never engaged," I said softly.
"Gloria has a big mouth," Pierre said with contempt. "Suzie would have said yes had it not been for Williams." He turned and glared at Bradley, who saluted the photographer with his martini glass.
Pierre had just admitted he'd lied at Suzie's memorial, when he declared to one and all that Suzie had been his fiancee. I reached across and took Pierre's hand. Holding it tight, I said, "You must have been awfully hurt when Suzie turned down your proposal. After all you'd done for her, all you'd put up with from her."
He whirled to face me. His eyes blazed with anger. "I made Suzie a star. Scott Roberts could never have done that for her. Suzie should have been grateful, been loyal, obeyed me."
"You're right. You fought about it during that Friday-night dinner when you proposed."
"Yes," he said, his voice inflamed with passion. "We argued all evening, especially about Williams. Then we made love, and when I woke she was gone. She had the Mustang assignment, and Ford had hired their own photographer."
I lowered my voice. "You loved Suzie dearly. She was the most important woman in the world to you. You desperately wanted her to marry you, give up Mr. Williams."
"Yes," Pierre said, shaking with emotion, dragging his hand away from mine. "Suzie called me late that Saturday, and told me she was exhausted, and felt a cold coming on. She said she was going straight to bed."
I coughed. The same excuse she'd given Bradley the night before. "But you couldn't stand being away from her, could you? Late Saturday night, you went to her apartment, and you found her awake and nude. Did she tell you it was Mr. Williams she was with? That he'd gone out and would be returning?"
"What?" Pierre demanded.
"Pierre, don't you know that if you want me to trust you, then you must trust me? Knowing Suzie was with another lover, after you had made your beautiful marriage proposal, surely threw you over the edge."
He looked at me, a mixture of shock and anger twisting his features.
"You're a passionate man. Suzie had hurt you again. This time she wasn't going to get away with it. You reached for the scarf and wrapped it around her neck—"
Pierre leaped to his feet, upsetting his chair. His nostrils flared with fury. "How dare you even suggest such a thing?" French curses fell from his mouth for everyone to hear.
I saw Bradley stand.
A hush came over the room. People were staring.
Pierre walked around to my side of the table, his eyes black and thunderous. He bent and spoke right in my face. "Suzie told me you were in love with Williams. I couldn't fathom a playboy like him having any interest in a piddlin' girl from the South. You're trying to clear his name by accusing me."
"No, I—"
"You are dead to me, as is your agency." He pitched his napkin over my cheesecake, and stalked out of Sardi's.
Talk resumed in earnest across the room.
Trembling, I finished the last of my champagne, peeking over the top of the glass at Bradley. He was seated again and giving orders to a waiter.
A feeling of total failure washed over me.
A different waiter appeared at my table and righted the empty chair. He held a small silver tray with a single glass of champagne. "Miss, the gentleman over there," he said, indicating Bradley, "sends this with his compliments. He asks if he may join you."
"Thank you," I said, accepting the glass. "He may."
The waiter nodded at Bradley, who picked up his martini glass, sauntered over, and sat in Pierre's chair.
Taking a sip of my drink, I realized it was not champagne. "Why, Bradley, how did you know Canada Dry is my favorite?"
"Just a lucky guess, kid. Nice rocks around your neck. Pierre give them to you?"
"What difference would it make to you if he had?"
Bradley sipped his martini. "You just told me the French lecher didn't give them to you. I must be paying you too much if you can buy them on your own."
"They're Darlene's," I said, leaning across the table.
Bradley's blue gaze met mine. "You've got that perfume on again."
"What are you going to do about it? Break into my apartment and steal the bottle?" I narrowed my eyes at him.
He ran his fingertip slowly around the rim of his martini glass.
Suddenly I felt uncomfortably warm. I drank the cold ginger ale. Tension had filled me when I questioned Pierre. Now another kind of tension began to build while I stared at Bradley.
"Louis certainly likes to brag about his conquests."
I rolled my eyes. "He disgusts me."
"So you didn't like kissing him?"
"None of your business."
"Will you be living at your apartment much longer?" Bradley asked. "Holding hands with New York's most famous photographer in one of New York's famous restaurants. The society pages will be all over the story. Won't you have to marry Pierre to protect your reputation?"
"I most certainly will not marry Pierre," I hissed. "And don't you talk to me about my reputation."
His gaze roved lazily over the bust of my dress.
I looked down and felt heat burn my cheeks. The heavy beading at the top of the dress had pulled it down when I leaned forward. I sat up straight, bringing a slow smile to Bradley's lips.
The waiter returned. "Would you like anything else, miss?"
"Yes, a glass of champagne, please."
"And you, sir?"
"Nothing for me, thank you."
"You haven't eaten anything," I said.
"I don't like dining alone, and you've already had dinner."
"Guess you'll have to make yourself a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich when you go back to your bachelor's lair."
"That's right. You were at my town house once. Pity I was already occupied. By the way, what did Gloria mean at Debbie Ann's shoot when she said that you couldn't 'get anywhere' with me?"
I turned my head to the side, but I knew it was not enough. The red of my skin probably started at my toes and went to my hairline. I flipped my hair in a gesture of unconcern and turned to face him. Avoidance of the question seemed best. "You might as well know, I couldn't get a confession out of Pierre," I said, and sighed.
Bradley threw back his head and laughed. Then, looking at me, he said, "You tried your hardest, though. I watched you work, kid. I have to admit, it was impressive."
"Are you laughing at me? Here I am, trying to save—"
The waiter reappeared. He placed my champagne in front of me, and discreetly put a closed black booklet at my elbow.
Oh, dear God! Pierre had left me with the bill.
I took a big swallow of cha
mpagne.
Bradley slid the bill over to his side of the table with one fluid move of a slim finger. He opened it and signed his name. "I'm sure you were discussing Ryan business. The agency will take care of this."
I tried not to appear relieved. "Actually, we did discuss business."
Bradley slanted his body toward me. He placed his right hand over my champagne glass. "What about when Drew flirted with you? He wants you in Chicago with him."
"I love New York."
"I suppose you do. You've made a lot of close friends since you moved here, like the guy who groped you right outside my office this morning."
"That was Stu, Darlene's boyfriend, and he didn't grope me; he gave me a hug!"
I tried to push his hand away from my champagne glass. To further my mortification, I succeeded only in knocking the glass and the contents onto the white tablecloth.
Bradley stood. "Let's go, Bebe."
I got to my feet, feeling woozy. Bradley wasn't going to know about it, though. He might try something with me.
Or I might try something with him.
I giggled.
The maitre d' said, "Good night, Mr. Williams."
"Good night," Bradley said.
Outside, I shivered without a wrap.
Bradley put his arm around me. He kissed the side of my head. "Come on, Bebe, we're going home."
Home? Home to his house?
A black car pulled up, and Bradley held the back door open for me. We entered, and I immediately missed having his arm around me. "Much better than a regular cab," he murmured in the darkness.
"Comfortable," I said softly. Why didn't he touch me?
I couldn't bear being alone with him like this.
I loved Bradley. He might be sent to prison! His uncle might take away Bradley's job and give it to Drew or someone else. Hadn't he threatened to do just that if Bradley didn't clear his name in ten days? Tomorrow would be the tenth day since Suzie's murder.
"Are you still cold? You're rubbing your upper arms," he said.
I loved his voice. "I'm fine, Bradley."
The car rolled to a stop.
"We're here."
I glanced outside. Harry lounged on the stoop of my apartment building. Bradley wasn't taking me to his house for a night of love after all. Damn him!
"If you'll excuse me, Bradley, you are sitting in the seat closest to the curb," I said, trying to keep my voice emotionless. "Thanks for the ride."
He didn't budge. "I couldn't let you go home by yourself wearing that necklace, kid."
"You're such a gentleman," I said, then began to open my door, anxious to get away.
He leaned across me. He took my hand from the door handle and held it in his, staying very close to me. I looked at his lips, mere inches from mine.
He put his hand in my hair, and gently pulled me to him.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Bradley and I turned toward his window.
Harry's face peered inside. Though muffled, his voice came through. "Hey, mister, what are you doing with Miss Sweet Face?"
Bradley eased back into his seat. "This is your wino, I believe." He opened the door, and we both got out. But Bradley only whispered, "Good night," before reentering the car, which drove away.
Harry scratched his head. "He wasn't the one, was he?"
"Yes, he was," I said, handed Harry two quarters, and went upstairs.
Trying to keep myself from going insane over Bradley, I thought about Pierre. Something he'd said niggled at me, but I couldn't think what it was.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Wednesday morning, I entered Ryan, put my purse on my desk, and went directly to the coffeepot. My mouth tasted like yesterday's dishwater, my eyes were full of sand, and my body might have been run over— twice—by a garbage truck.
That's the way I felt after last night's failure with Pierre, the champagne I'd consumed, and about four hours of sleep. Earlier this morning, while dressing in my apple-green suit, I'd told Darlene everything.
"Honey, from all you've told me, I still think Pierre's the killer," she had said.
"I do too, if only we can prove it. I guess I'll go by Jeff Granford's at lunchtime to make sure we've covered every base."
"Not without me, you won't." Darlene proclaimed. "He's like a cobra ready to strike. I want this mess finished by the time I leave Saturday afternoon."
I looked up from attaching my stocking to my garter belt. "Skyway's given you a flight assignment?"
Darlene nodded. "Rome first, and I have a full schedule for the next month. Stu's going with me. We'll be at his place tonight, making plans."
Staring at the coffeepot, willing it to drip faster, I thought about how much I'd miss Darlene. She might not be the only one leaving my life for a while. I took off my shades and squinted at the office light, trying hard not to think about how this might be Bradley's last day at Ryan.
"Miss Bennett," Bradley called from his office.
I moved to his doorway. "Coffee is almost ready."
"Good. Please bring me a cup, and then I want to talk to you."
I carried his filled mug into his office and gave it to him. Holding a cup for myself, I dug in the pocket of my suit.
"Here," I said, laying Suzie's gold bracelet on his desk. "I found this in Pierre's bedroom. Suzie won't need it now."
"In Pierre's bedroom?" he asked ominously.
I sat down and drank some coffee. "Please, not today. It was all innocent. He wasn't even in the bedroom at the time. I was just—"
"Putting yourself into a dangerous situation," Bradley said. He picked up the glittering gold piece and said, "Why don't you take it, kid."
"No, thank you. I'd rather not have Suzie's hand- me-downs."
Bradley put the bracelet in his suit coat pocket. He would wear my favorite suit today—the medium-blue one made of silk.
"Drew's coming in after lunch to take my place," Bradley said. "I know you don't like him, but do your best."
"I'll do my best to make Drew miserable every day he's here." Tears replaced the sand in my eyes.
Bradley pointed at me. "Don't make me ruin my handkerchief. Pickering will—"
"Mr. Pickering, yes, he's swell," I said.
Bradley drew in a deep breath. "You won't have work from me today, so try to clear your desk—" He broke off and looked toward the doorway. "Can I help you?"
A skinny guy with speedy delivery stamped on his navy shirt stepped forward. "I have an envelope from a Mr. Ben something for Mr. Williams."
"Oh, I'll take those," I said, jumping to my feet and holding out my hand.
"Supposed to give them directly to Williams and get his signature," the dufus said.
Bradley stretched out his arm. "I'm Williams." He signed the messenger's pad, making him disappear. "These must be the Durden photos from Saint Thomas."
"Here, let me have them and I'll send them off to Durden myself. You don't need to concern yourself with trivial matters right now," I said, placing my coffee cup on his desk and holding out my hand.
Bradley ripped open the envelope. "Wait a minute. Didn't Gloria say you had posed—" He broke off, taking pictures out of the envelope one at a time and tossing them on his desk.
There I was in that tiny bikini, giving my best Sophia Loren imitation. I'd never looked better, but there was a lot of skin showing.
I tried to come up with an explanation. "Lola got drunk, and we had no one else. I only did it to save the shoot."
Bradley's astonishment, obviously genuine, grew until he reached the last of the photos and looked at me. His voice was cold and filled with contempt. "I must say, you're an enigma, Miss Bennett. Never, in my wildest imagination, would I have thought you would pose wearing less than we see on America's beaches, and more like what men view in Playboy."
My heart hammered in my chest.
Bradley scooped up the photos and returned them to their envelope. "Your father would gun me down in the street if I allowe
d these photographs to be printed in magazines distributed nationally. I'll call the Durden people right now and tell them the shoot will have to be redone. Close the door on your way out."
I picked up my coffee cup and did as he asked, making my way to my desk. My blood pounded, my face grew hot with humiliation, and I felt as if I'd just lost something precious. Bradley had never looked at me with such disappointment.
My fingers automatically reached for the mail. I opened letters and invoices, stacking them into piles, all the while feeling a deep sense of shame.
Around ten, Debbie Ann came in holding a newspaper. She stopped at my desk.
"Hi, Debbie Ann."
"Bebe, how can you look down in the dumps when you're mentioned in the society section of today's Times? Actually, the reporter didn't know your name, but he described you well, and said you had dinner at Sardi's last night with Pierre. Didn't you see it?"
I shook my head. "I don't have time to read the society section of the newspaper, Debbie Ann. Besides, I don't know any of those people."
"My dear, if you're going to live in New York, you must familiarize yourself with our luminaries. I'll leave this with you. Perhaps it will cheer you. Whatever is wrong?"
I twirled a piece of my hair, ready to pour my heart out to her, but I didn't think she'd have a sympathetic ear. Debbie Ann was a caring person, but so opinionated. I said, "Oh, it's nothing that won't be fixed. When two people care about each other—" I broke off, blushing.
"I see. You know what? I think I'll go whip up some cookies. I have some cookie dough in the freezer," Debbie Ann said, patting me on the shoulder. "While I don't want to ruin your figure, I think we can make an exception today."
I managed a smile. "Thanks, Debbie Ann."
She signed the talent sheet and disappeared into the elevator.
The phone rang half an hour later. "Ryan Modeling Agency, Miss Bennett speaking."
"Finelli here."
I sat up straight. "What have you got? Something on Pierre?"
"No. I assigned three officers to check out Granford's alibi."
"Did they find out Jeff lied? Did they get evidence that he killed Suzie?"
"Sorry to disappoint you, but just the opposite. I've got two witnesses who can vouch for Granford boxing with a kid named Shelton late into the night Suzie Wexford was murdered."
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