“And I guess that just came up in casual conversation? Are you sure they weren’t having an affair?”
Felicia clamped her mouth shut. She knew firsthand how irresistible Jerry could be.
“And now Tallie tells us that the police suspect her boss might be involved…what if she and her boss did it together?”
Felicia gave a little laugh. “That’s just crazy, Jané. Tallie didn’t have as good a motive as—” She stopped herself.
“As you or I?” Jané finished with a harsh laugh. “Bingo. So if she and her cop share a little pillow talk and everything comes out, it’ll look worse on us. You used to sleep with Jerry and you took the picture of him. I set up the message and hit the Send button. Tallie just stood back and watched.”
“That was her job, Jané—to keep watch.”
“And she managed to leave a bag on the scene!”
“We don’t know that for sure,” Felicia said stubbornly.
Jané sighed. “Mark my words, Felicia…Tallie will talk.”
Felicia’s mouth tightened. “Jané, it seems to me that you’re the one who’s doing all the talking.”
Silence, then, “Fine. But just so you know, Felicia—if word gets out, it’s every woman for herself.”
A click sounded, and the light for the second line went out. Felicia replaced the handset with a very bad feeling rolling around in her empty stomach. She didn’t entirely trust Jané, but the woman had brought up some valid points. If their story came out, things would look worse for her and Jané…for her in particular since she’d once been involved with Jerry.
Although she hadn’t witnessed his S&M fetish firsthand, she’d been aware of it. Frankly, she’d been glad that with her, Jerry had been all about meat-and-potatoes sex—she was of the mind-set that props were for one-night stands and marriages past their prime. It had made her feel special that their lovemaking had needed no artificial stimulants. Indeed, the sight of him blindfolded and restrained on the bed had struck her as rather silly and a little pathetic. And it had enraged her all over again that he hadn’t been the man she’d thought he was.
She bit her tongue to stem a pool of sudden, hot tears. Had he shared and acted out his fantasies with Suze Dannon? Felicia allowed a thought that had been fermenting all day in her aching head to materialize: Had Suze murdered Jerry? Had she shown up at his room and their hurt-me play had gone too far? Or had Jerry broken off their affair and Suze had retaliated?
The woman didn’t seem capable of murder, but she did make a living writing about it. Felicia closed her eyes. And she herself was living proof that a scorned woman was capable of shocking behavior—from humiliating a former lover to having revenge sex with an author.
At the knock on her door, she looked up to see Tamara standing there with a pained look on her face. “Suze Dannon is here—do you have time to see her?”
Felicia blinked. “Um, yes, I’ll see her.” But her heart was tripping fast when Suze walked in, looking a little less willful than the last time she’d been there, her obnoxious red coat billowing behind her.
“Oh, Felicia,” she cried, her face crumpling. “I just heard about Jerry—it’s so awful!”
Felicia embraced the woman reluctantly and released her quickly. “Yes, it’s a tragedy. I’m sorry, Suze, that I didn’t call to tell you personally, but frankly, I’m still trying to acclimate myself.”
Suze nodded, her face now red and puffy. “I’m in total shock. I can’t imagine how you must feel since you and Jerry”—she stopped and took a well-placed swallow—“have known each other for so long.”
“Yes,” Felicia said, nodding. She had to avert her gaze to gather her composure—she couldn’t look at Suze without remembering her in Jerry’s welcome embrace on the sidewalk.
“Oh, I’m a mess,” Suze whimpered, wiping at her eyes. “Do you have a tissue?”
“Of course.” Felicia opened the bottom drawer of her desk and rooted around for a purse pack of tissues. Her gaze landed on the photo of herself, and she inhaled sharply. Jerry shouldn’t have done it…he shouldn’t have done a lot of things, but he hadn’t deserved to die. Felicia slammed the drawer and handed the tissues over the top of her desk.
She waited while Suze blew her nose heartily and mopped up most of the moisture around her eyes. “Do you know anything about the funeral arrangements?”
“No,” Felicia said. “But if I hear anything, I’ll make sure you and Phil know.”
“Thank you,” Suze murmured.
“I’m a little surprised you’re still in town,” Felicia said. “Have you been visiting…friends?”
“Consulting with my attorney,” Suze said with a sniff. “About the separation and all this nonsense of Phil trying to stop me from using my writing name.”
Felicia sat forward, clasping her hands in front of her. “Suze, I’m glad you stopped by, because I needed to talk to you about something else. This isn’t exactly the best timing, but it can’t be helped.”
Suze lifted her gaze, and Felicia saw a flash of fear in the woman’s weepy eyes—did she suspect that Felicia knew about her affair with Jerry? Felicia maintained her silence a few more seconds for the sheer satisfaction of tormenting the woman who had gone from being a likable and competent writer to an unlikable and difficult diva. “I know about the plagiarism in the current manuscript.”
A multitude of emotions passed over Suze’s face—relief, shock, remorse, then denial. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t do this,” Felicia said. “The publishing industry is a small world. Editors talk about manuscripts that cross their desks, and last night an editor friend told me about a manuscript of one of her writers in which the victims are murdered through their e-book reading devices. They read about their own murder, and then it happens. Sound familiar?”
Suze lifted one shoulder. “Coincidence. There’s no such thing as an original idea.”
“I would ordinarily agree with you,” Felicia said. “Except I read passages in her author’s manuscript, and they were very similar to the passages in your manuscript.”
A flush stained Suze’s face. “That’s impossible,” she said with a little fake laugh.
“It would be,” Felicia agreed, “except that Jerry had read and rejected the manuscript.” She gave Suze a pointed look. “So I think we both know how the material wound up in your manuscript.”
Suze shook her head stubbornly.
“Phil told me that the e-book element was your idea, and that you were especially resistant to changing any of those scenes.”
Suze narrowed her eyes. “When did Phil tell you that?”
Panic blipped in Felicia’s chest…did Suze know about her and Phil? “He told me Wednesday, after you stormed out to mee—” She stopped herself and exhaled. “After you stormed out of the meeting.” She pursed her mouth. “The bottom line is, you have to take out the material.”
Suze stood and paced to the window, then looked back, her expression utterly defeated. “Okay, you’re right…Jerry gave me the idea, and a few photocopied pages, but he swore it was a book that would never see the light of day.”
“It doesn’t matter, Suze—it’s someone else’s work. It’s stealing. Plagiarism is a crime.”
“A crime?” Suze laughed harshly and walked back to Felicia’s desk. “How ironic, because I came to talk to you about a crime.”
Felicia’s mouth went dry. “What…what are you talking about?” She was struck with terror that Suze somehow knew what she and the girls had done…but if so, then Suze must have murdered Jerry. Was she about to confront…or confess? Felicia stared up at the woman who seemed to be weighing her options.
Finally Suze shook her head. “It’s so awful, I can’t even say it.”
Felicia took shallow breaths. “What, Suze?”
“I think I know who killed Jerry.”
Felicia felt light-headed.
Suze pressed her lips together, then murmured, “Phil.
”
Felicia thudded back to earth. “Phil?”
Suze nodded tearfully. “I tried to reach him all last night and he didn’t answer his phone. When he called me back this morning, he was very evasive about where he’d been all night, and…I don’t know, call it a wife’s intuition, but I just got this feeling that he’d done something wrong.”
Oh, God, this wasn’t happening. “Suze,” Felicia said, holding out her hand, “you’re jumping to a big conclusion. Phil could have been out drinking all night, or gambling, or, or, or…at a strip club.”
“Or he might have killed Jerry,” Suze said evenly.
Felicia paused, then gave Suze an equally pointed look. “And what possible motive could Phil have had to kill Jerry?”
She could see the wheels turning in Suze’s head. If she admitted to having an affair with Jerry, she could implicate herself in the murder…especially if Phil wound up having an alibi. “None,” she murmured finally.
“Right,” Felicia said. “So I think you’d better let the police handle this. They’ll put the right person behind bars.” She stood and walked over to a tall file cabinet, opened a drawer, and withdrew the folder containing the changes that Phil had faxed to her. “Meanwhile, you have some revising to do.”
After a few seconds’ hesitation, Suze took the folder. “And no one will ever know about this conversation?”
Felicia crossed her arms. “What conversation?”
Suze nodded. “Okay then…I’ll send a revised manuscript as soon as possible.”
“Good enough.”
A knock sounded at the door and Felicia looked past Suze to Tamara, who had stuck her head in. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but the police are here to ask you a few questions about…Jerry.”
One more hurdle. She clenched her jaw, then smiled. “Suze was just leaving, weren’t you, Suze?”
“Yes,” the woman said and practically jogged past Tamara, who then ushered in two suited gentlemen with loosened ties and knowing eyes—Detectives Riley and McKinley. Felicia did a double take—Martin McKinley reminded her of her father, thick-shouldered and square-jawed. The two men would be about the same age. Is this how her father looked now—a slight paunch and a receding hairline?
“Sit down, gentlemen,” Felicia said, then reclaimed her seat behind her desk. “What can I do for you?”
“We’re investigating the murder of Jerry Key,” Riley said, “and we’re asking routine questions of people who knew him. His secretary gave us your name.”
Good old Lori. “Yes, I knew Jerry. We’ve worked together on various projects over the years.”
“Word is you two used to be an item,” McKinley said.
She nodded slowly, trying to shake the natural defiance she felt toward McKinley simply because he looked like the man who had walked out on her when she was nine. “We were involved for a couple of months about a year ago.”
“Who ended the relationship?” Riley asked.
“I did,” she lied.
“Really? We heard different. In fact, Mr. Key’s secretary told us that he had to change his pager number after you split up because you kept calling.”
Anger bubbled in her chest, but she managed a sad little noise. “That’s simply not true. But I’m not surprised that Jerry wanted people to think that he broke it off.”
McKinley leaned forward. “Cocky SOB, was he?”
“Yes,” she said, then tamped down her anger. “But it was his job to be cocky. He was a salesman.”
“An ethical salesman?” Riley asked.
She gave them a mild smile. “Jerry made deals happen any way he could.”
“Like sleeping around?”
She shifted in her chair. “That happens in this industry, but it didn’t figure into our relationship.”
“Your relationship was different?” McKinley probed.
It was crazy, but she wanted this man to think well of her. “I believe so—we cared about each other.”
“So why did you end it?”
She wet her lips. “It was too intense, dating someone in the same business. I didn’t want it to affect my career.”
“So you weren’t obsessed with Jerry Key?”
Felicia battled to remain calm, but her face felt warm. “Absolutely not.”
McKinley seemed satisfied. “When was the last time you saw Mr. Key?”
Last night in his hotel room, and before that, Wednesday in Suze’s arms. Felicia frowned, then shook her head. “I can’t recall. Probably at a party during the holidays?”
“Which party?”
“I’m sorry—there are too many to keep track.”
“When did you last talk to him?”
“That would have been Wednesday. He was supposed to be here for a meeting with me and two of his clients, a writing team that I edit. He didn’t show, and I called his secretary. She paged him, and he called me back.”
“Where was he?”
She gave them a flat smile. “At his club, getting a massage.”
“What’s the name of his club?”
She hesitated, then realized she had no reason not to tell them. “The Green Globe Spa—at least, that’s where he used to belong.”
“So he blew off the meeting,” Riley said.
She shrugged. “He said he thought I could handle the meeting without him—it was no big deal to him.”
“Was it a big deal to you?”
Felicia splayed her hands in front of her. “Only because I was trying to mediate a problem between the writers. I thought his presence might make things go more smoothly.”
Riley nodded again and looked as if he wanted her to say more. She didn’t.
“Who were the authors?”
“Suze and Phillip Dannon—they are a married couple who write as Suzanne Phillipo.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard of them,” McKinley said. “Don’t they write kinky murder mysteries?”
“Sensual crime novels,” she corrected.
Riley looked back to his notebook. “That was Wednesday…so why did you call Mr. Key yesterday, let’s see—four times?”
She lifted her chin. “The same reason—the matter wasn’t yet settled when the Dannons left my office. I was hoping Jerry could help me expedite a solution, else the release date of the book was going to have to be pushed back.”
“Did you ever hear back from him?”
“No.”
“Ms. Redmon, do you know if Mr. Key was involved with anyone romantically?”
The image of Suze wrapping him in her big ridiculous red coat was burned into her retinas. “No, I don’t.”
McKinley opened a file and held up the photo of Jerry bound to the bed…the photo she herself had taken using his phone. The print resolution wasn’t great, but simply seeing it again was enough to take her breath away. He’d been alive when she’d snapped the photo…alive and healthy…his heart beating…his body long and splendid…
“Ms. Redmon, are you familiar with this picture?”
“Yes. I’m in Jerry’s address book, which is—I assume—why I received the e-mail message containing the picture.”
“Were you shocked by the S&M getup?”
“Jerry had quite a reputation, but it wasn’t a side that he ever revealed to me.”
“Ms. Redmon, do you have any idea who could have taken that photo?”
Felicia channeled all of her energy into looking perplexed and sad, then shook her head slowly. “No.”
McKinley pushed to his feet and Riley followed suit. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Redmon. We’ll let you get back to work.”
She walked them to the door…she was almost over the hurdle.
“Oh, just one more thing,” McKinley said, turning back. “Where were you last night, Ms. Redmon?”
She gave a little laugh, then touched her temple. “I left here about six o’clock, met some friends for a drink, and then I went home.”
“Do you live alone?”
She nodded.
Panic barbed through her as she tried to decide what to say. “Yes…except for a brief time when my author Phillip Dannon came by to drop off some paperwork.”
McKinley raised an eyebrow. “What time was that?”
“I’m not sure…maybe around ten-thirty.”
“Kind of late for a business meeting.” His words sounded almost…fatherly.
“He was headed out of the city back to his home in the Hamptons.”
“I see. And can Mr. Dannon corroborate your story?”
She swallowed. “Of course.”
The detective stared at her, as if he were sizing her up for the truth. “Thank you.”
Felicia maintained a flat smile until her door closed behind them. Then she strode to her desk drawer and downed another Imitrex with a swallow of caffeinated water. She bit down on her tongue to tuck the tears behind the veil of numbness that had descended this morning when Tamara had first told her that Jerry was dead.
She dreaded the moment when the numbness lifted. She never wanted to feel again….
Chapter 22
The phone jolted Tallie awake Saturday morning. She did a vertical leap out of her bed and landed with the receiver in her hand. After pushing her hair out of her eyes, she stabbed the Call button and croaked, “Hello?”
“Mrs. Tallie Blankenship?”
“Miss,” she corrected, shielding her eyes from the blinding daylight streaming through her abnormally clean windows. “Who’s speaking?”
“This is Mr. Hooks down at Yellow Cab. You reported leaving a bag in one of our taxis?”
“Yes,” she said, then held her breath.
“Black, twelve inches by eighteen inches with straps?”
“Yes,” she said, then held her breath again.
“With an envelope inside?”
“Yes,” she said, then held her breath again.
“Well…we found it.”
Unspeakable relief flooded her body. She whooped with joy and did a little dance, thanking the man profusely. “You are my hero! Where can I pick up my bag?”
He gave her directions to the terminal and advised her she’d have to show a picture ID to retrieve the item at lost and found. She thanked him until he hung up on her, then she ran around her apartment, screaming with joy. After the week she’d had, she was due some good news.
Whole Lotta Trouble Page 17
