B004183M70 EBOK

by Rosemary Stevens

  "Is he still there?"

  Finelli held up his hand. "Do you want the whole story or not?"

  "Yes!"

  "With Benson safe in the slammer, I was telling Williams that I would put out an APB on Debbie Ann Benson when he shouted your name and shot out of there like a man on fire. He could run in the Olympics."

  "Really?"

  "Yeah. Williams saved you from Debbie Ann. You'd blacked out when I got there. When I told Debbie Ann we had her son in jail on suspicion of murder, she broke. I've got a full confession for Suzie Wexford's murder. Sheesh, that woman went on and on about how I'd ruined her plans for a future with Benson in the French Riviera."

  "What will happen to her now?"

  "Life in prison is my guess. New York frowns on frying women."

  "She deserves it. And Peter?"

  Finelli shook his head. "He's had a mental breakdown, doesn't believe his mother did anything wrong. We took him to a private institution at her insistence. The man is traumatized."

  "I feel sorry for Peter. What about Mr. Williams?"

  "The case against your boyfriend has been dropped.

  "Thanks, Detective. I knew you'd see the light about Bradley," I said, and smiled.

  Finelli rubbed his crew cut. "When I go to church this Sunday, I'm going to pray that no one connected to you is ever murdered again, Miss Bennett."

  Darlene and Stu brought me home from the hospital Friday afternoon. Stu left us alone on this, Darlene's last night in town.

  I put the Beatles on my record player and flopped down on my bed.

  Darlene went through my wardrobe. "Let's see, a trip to Tiffany's at noon. He'll probably buy you lunch afterward."

  "That would be delicious. How about the boots?" I asked.

  Darlene shook her red curls. "No. They're stuffy at Tiffany's." She pulled out a cherry-red dress. "This one."

  Although not a mini, the dress was sleeveless and had four round cutout circles between the collar and the bust. When I had first tried it on, I had been pleased by the way the dress curved in at my waist.

  "Red is supposed to be my best color."

  "It was your red suit that drove Bradley to get you on that sofa."

  "Groovy," I said, and grinned.

  We chatted until the album ended; then Darlene said, "We should both get some sleep. I'm leaving early in the morning, so I won't see you."

  She gave me a big hug and I hugged her back. "I'll check on you, honey. The airline lets us call home."

  "That would be super," I said.

  At the doorway, she turned back. "You know, I just realized Bradley had his hands on my panties."

  I threw a pillow at her and yelled, "What were you doing with handcuffs?"

  She laughed and laughed.

  Saturday I took special care with my hair and makeup. When I slipped on the cherry number, I smiled with evil glee. Neutral stockings and black T-straps completed the outfit. In the bathroom I sprayed myself with My Sin, and then put on pearl earrings just to confuse Bradley.

  I bounded down the steps and out into the sunshine. Thanking God I was alive, I darted down to the corner and waited for a cab. I didn't want to go underground on such a beautiful day.

  Saturday midday traffic held me up. My watch read ten minutes after twelve when the taxi dropped me at the corner of Fifty-seventh and Fifth Avenue. I paid the driver and joined the throngs of people on the sidewalk.

  Through them, I saw Bradley, dressed in a mod combo suit, lounging in front of Tiffany's.

  Telling myself to be cool, I walked closer. His tight pants were black. His suit jacket was a gray, light blue, and white plaid. He wore a white shirt with a narrow pale blue tie.

  I tried not to fall into his arms.

  "Hi, Bradley," I said, trying not to burst out laughing with delight.

  His blue gaze ran the length of me and back up, stopping at the cutouts of my dress. "Hi, Bebe. Let's go inside," he said. "That's an unusual dress you have on."

  I smiled as he held the door for me. "Thank you."

  A portly, balding, middle-aged man met us at the bracelet counter. "May I help you, sir?"

  Bradley pulled out Suzie's gold bracelet and a receipt.

  I turned discreetly away, acting as if I were giving Bradley privacy, while I strained my neck to see the diamond engagement rings.

  The clerk's next words snagged my attention. "Mrs.

  Williams, would you like to select another piece?"

  I-

  "She's not my wife. Miss Bennett is my executive secretary," Bradley said, looking in the display case.

  The clerk regarded me askance. "Oh, pardon me," he said in a snooty voice.

  I gave him a flirty look and ran a finger around one of the cutouts of my dress. He turned beet red.

  "Bebe, how about a gold cross?" In an aside the clerk couldn't hear, Bradley added, "A cross around your neck might remind me what kind of girl you are."

  "No. No crosses," I said hastily. "I have a family one at home."

  "Okay. Oh, I have it. Bebe, how about a gold charm bracelet? You don't have one, do you?" Bradley asked.

  "Um, no—"

  The clerk pulled the bracelet out for me to inspect. Then he reached into a drawer underneath the counter and placed a gold typewriter charm on a turquoise velvet pad.

  "Hey, that's perfect, Bebe. Try it on, with the typewriter charm, of course," Bradley said.

  I longed for something more intimate, more romantic.

  Before I could say a word, the clerk closed the bracelet, charm dangling, around my right wrist.

  Bradley took my hand in his and examined the shiny gold piece. Then he bent and whispered in my ear, "This will remind us of how we first met."

  My heart melted. No way could anyone rip the bracelet from my wrist. "Bradley, I love"—I cleared my throat—"it. May I keep it on now, please?"

  He winked at me. "Sure, kid." Then to the clerk, "But we would like a box for it, for when Miss Bennett is not wearing the piece."

  How did he know I wanted one of Tiffany's famous pale turquoise boxes? I sighed.

  Back on the sidewalk, Bradley hesitated. "It's a beautiful day."

  "Yes," I said, transmitting vibes that said, Let's spend it together!

  He turned to me abruptly. "Are you hungry?"

  "I haven't eaten all day."

  "You've just gotten out of the hospital! Where would you like to go for lunch?"

  Your town house. No! I pushed that thought from my head. "What about the Waldorf-Astoria?" I said, remembering my neglected list of things to do in New York, specifically the last entry.

  "Great idea. The Waldorf isn't far from here, but we could try to get a cab if you don't feel up to walking," Bradley said.

  "I'd love to walk," I chirped.

  "I like a girl who isn't afraid of a little exercise. Here," he said, walking around to the street side. Then he held out his arm for me to hold. I took it, feeling the muscles underneath his suit coat.

  I felt blissfully happy, alive in the city of my dreams, on the arm of the man of my dreams. And the Tiffany's bag in my hand.

  We walked down Park Avenue in comfortable silence. I happily thought I'd escaped any lecture on my investigating.

  I was mistaken.

  The Waldorf was in view when Bradley said, "You know you almost died."

  "No, I didn't. The doctor said I didn't consume a lethal dose."

  "But had you eaten all the cookies, you would be dead."

  "You would have saved me."

  "Like you risked your life trying to save me? I told you to leave it to Pickering."

  "Are you saying you're not grateful for all I did?"

  "You're a very frustrating person, twisting my words around. Of course I'm grateful. It's just that I don't want you to be in danger ever again."

  "Have you heard from your Uncle Herman?"

  "Yes, he called me from Palm Springs, all apologies."

  "Good."

  "I saw
that bottom painting at your apartment. The one you signed. That's not you."

  I smiled. "No, it's not."

  "I want your promise, Bebe, that you won't do any more snooping."

  We walked into the Waldorf lobby.

  "As long as no one close to me is charged with murder, my investigating days are over."

  "I'll hold you to that, Bebe, I mean it."

  "Yes, Bradley."

  "That dress isn't very modest, either."

  "You don't like it?"

  "I didn't say that. And another thing—"

  I had guided him over to where I wanted him. "What's that?"

  He faced me. "I told you not to wear that perfume again."

  I looked up at him from under my lashes. My hands moved to rest lightly on his chest. "Why? What kind of effect does it have on you?"

  "This kind," he murmured, and put his arms around me and kissed me, a long, slow kiss, which I returned with enthusiasm.

  There, under the clock in the lobby of the Waldorf-Astoria.

  Look for Bebe Bennett's next mystery adventure in the 1960s-set MURDER A-GO-GO series: SECRET AGENT GIRL Coming from Signet, in April 2007

  When Bebe's boss, Bradley, on whom she continues to have a huge crush, is put in charge of the famous Merryweather Toy Shoppe, he assigns Bebe the task of making sure the fortieth anniversary party at the flagship store in New York City goes smoothly. But the store's mascot, Mr. Skidoo, nastily insults all the other store characters, and Bebe herself, before turning up dead, a toy pirate knife stuck in his chest. Inspired by the popular "Man From U.N.C.L.E." TV show, Bebe dubs herself "Secret Agent Girl" and sets out to unmask the murderer . . . and to win Bradley's heart once and for all.

  Introducing the new Murder A-Go-Go Mystery series by Rosemary Martin

  Bebe Bennett is set to take 1964 New York City by

  storm. She's got her own apartment, a fun roommate, and a great job as secretary to dreamy Bradley Williams, vice president of talent for Rip City Records. But when a British pop star is murdered, she'll have to venture into the dark side of the swinging city to expose a killer.

  "That Girl meets Miss Marple...You'll have a ball" —Jerrilyn Farmer

  "Beehve hairdos, Jackie O clothes, British rock stars...and murder. What fun!" —Kasey Michaels

  "Romance, charm, originality, and plenty of Dippity-Doo." —Harley Jane Kozak

  0-451-21470-6

  penguin.com