by James Calder
“You must see a lot of that at Silicon Glamour. Brendon’s obsession with Alissa—why didn’t you grill him about what happened to her?”
Rupert chuckled. “Trisha had her methods. The boy’s a dreamboat, but I knew to keep him at arm’s length. I do wish my sister applied her famous discipline to her own indulgences. Nevertheless, Brendon’s frantic demeanor betrayed him. He didn’t know where Alissa was.”
“What about the attack on Erika?”
The avuncular tone disappeared. “I can’t talk about that,” he snapped. “She’ll be all right. Now look, I’ve spoken frankly with you. I want you to do the same with me.”
“I have been.”
“No. I want to know who killed Rod. And why Alissa—Kim— is with Mike.”
“She’s afraid. Especially of you. She has reason to be.”
“She has reason to fear whoever killed Rod. Who was it?”
“I’ll tell you,” I said. “First tell me how you’re going to stop Sylvain from eating up Rod’s company.”
“Bill,” Rupert began. He folded his arms in displeasure, then looked at the food table. Brendon was there, chatting with a guest. “Never mind. I’ll ask your new best friend about it.”
I watched Brendon pop a little fish-shaped pastry into his mouth as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “Wait,” I said to Rupert. “I’ll talk to him first.”
Rupert gave me one of his unctuous smiles. “You do that.”
23
“Brendon,” I said, “come with me.”
“What’s up? You find out something from Rupert?”
I just nodded and took him into the kitchen. The walk-in refrigerator was the only place I could think of where we could talk alone. A sous chef gave me a dirty look as I opened the door. I walked around the boxes of produce, flats of eggs, and bins of iced fish to the other side of the refrigerator’s middle rack.
Brendon had some idea of what I was going to say. My theory was that he wanted to be caught: Otherwise why had he made the throat-slitting motion when he talked about the beef? Standing before him in the frigid, misting air, the sweat contracting into tiny beads on his skin, I saw how unformed his face was, how little he knew himself. The smirk, the cool, the James Dean insolence, were masks he’d learned. He had little idea what lay beneath that pretty surface. He hadn’t lived enough for character to take root beyond the dreamboat gaze and the childish demand to have every desire fulfilled. He knew he could make people fall in lust with him, and this allowed him to get what he wanted. But he had no idea what it was he did want. Until Alissa, that is. And she, along with her mother, were the two women in the world who could resist him.
Now, suddenly, he’d lived too much. He was sinking and in need of a lifeline, even if it bound him by the hands. He waited, eyes receptive, lips slightly parted, emitting small breaths of champagne-scented steam. He’d downed enough drinks to allow his mixture of apprehension and exhilaration to show.
“It was nice of you to share the carpaccio with me,” I said. “The blood in the bottom of that bowl looked a lot like the blood on the knife in Alissa’s bedroom. I imagine your butcher friend has plenty of it to spare.”
He hardly blinked. Obviously he knew about the knife. “Rupert did that.”
“You gave him the blood? And the knife?”
“No! I gave the blood to Wendy.”
“Let’s back up,” I said. “The main thing I want to know is if you killed Rod on your own or if someone asked you to do it.”
“That’s wrong!” He shook his head furiously. “I wrestled him to the ground. I had him in my grip. Wendy used the knife.”
“Wendy?”
The head shake turned into a nod. “I hated the fucker. But she hated him more. I didn’t want to kill him, I didn’t need to. Alissa would have chosen me.”
Pride was in his words, but his eyes showed revulsion. I pictured him on the kitchen floor, subduing Rod; Wendy grabbing the knife from the drawer; Brendon shrieking in horror when the blood spurted from Rod’s neck. When they realized what they’d done, Wendy stowed the murder weapon and fit the larger knife in Rod’s still-warm hand. There had been plenty of blood available to coat the new knife.
“All right,” I said. “Let’s say Wendy is the killer. You need to fill in the rest for me. What were you doing in Rod’s house?”
“He had Alissa. Wendy and I both wanted her back. You know my reason. Why Wendy wanted her—I guess because she was her daughter, but also because Trisha offered a big reward, plus access to Eternaderm. Trisha’s the one who said Rod was hiding Alissa. Wendy talked me into joining up with her. She reminded me of Alissa. I was a sucker. I admit it.”
“How did killing Rod get you closer to Alissa?”
“It didn’t!” Brendon burst out. “It was self-defense. He kept coming at us.”
“Why didn’t he have any clothes on?”
“He was getting ready to go to the Cheshire Cat. He answered the door in his boxers. Shaving cream on his face. We wanted to force him to tell us where Alissa was. We were sure he’d kidnapped her; Trisha told us so. Him pretending to meet her at the club was to fake us out.”
“Wendy set that up, not Rod,” I said.
“Yeah, but he called her bluff. I mean, that’s what we thought at the time.” Brendon hesitated, then went on. “The club was also a way to get you out of the picture. She figured you’d be concealing yourself at the Cheshire Cat when we went over to Rod’s. You hid well—she never saw you—but the fact was, the plan worked. We got Rod alone.”
“So you went to talk to Rod. To force him to give up Alissa. How did you end up sticking a knife into his neck?”
“Wendy,” he repeated impatiently. “Rod tried to chase us out. I had to make him listen. He had to tell us where Alissa was. He got away from me and ran into the bathroom. Wendy threatened him with a nail file. She scratched him on the arm a few times. Rod wrapped a towel around his arm to protect himself. He hit her, too. That made her mad. We kind of bashed around the house until we ended up in the kitchen. He threw a toaster at me. Wendy hit him with this pot of coffee. It burned him. I got him down. I was finally going to make him talk to us. He looked at Wendy with this hatred and started talking about how she was a vicious, poisonous mother. Wendy screamed back at him. Then she put the knife—”
Brendon broke off and looked away. I kept my eyes on him. “The only problem,” I said, “is that I saw Wendy at the Cheshire Cat at ten forty-five.”
“She wanted you to see her. She went right after it happened.”
It was plausible. But it was also plausible Brendon had convinced himself Wendy bore responsibility for his actions. I kept going. “What about the note? ‘Sorry.’”
“Wendy wrote it to make people think it was a suicide. She used her left hand.”
“Then a few days later, you got the beef blood from your butcher friend. You still had the knife, and now you immersed it in the blood.”
He stamped his foot. “Bill, you’re not listening! I got the blood. Wendy did the rest.”
“She put the knife in her own daughter’s bed?”
Brendon slammed a fist into a box of lettuce. “That’s what I don’t get. She said she was going to plant it on Rupert. That was our whole plan. You thought Rupert did it, and we were going to set him up for you. I freaked when I found out the knife was at Alissa’s. Wendy said Rupert must have moved it there. He had a key.”
“Do you believe her?”
The fist slowly unclenched. “I don’t know. She’s stopped talking about Alissa since you said you’d come through on the Eternaderm.”
“Wendy could have dressed herself up like Alissa to get into the apartment.”
Brendon stared at a box of radishes. His real gaze was a thousand miles away.
Our teeth were chattering now. My sweat had dried, giving me a clammy feeling. “Let’s go,” I said. “We’ll take Wendy down together.”
“She’s the one who did it,” he repeat
ed.
The refrigerator door opened. “What the hell is going on in here?” Cathy bellowed.
Brendon went around the middle rack, arms extended. “Sorry, Cathy,” he said, grasping her by the elbows. Then he threw her out of his way and ran through the door.
I raced past Cathy and came out of the refrigerator in time to see Brendon grab a carving knife from a cutting board. He swung it wildly to chase people out of the way, then barreled through the swinging doors and back into the ballroom.
I grabbed a large serving tray to use as a shield and plunged after him. Waiters and party hosts were herding the guests toward the ice sculpture and the dining room. I bulled my way in the other direction, fighting the tide. Screams came from somewhere ahead of me. Someone knocked me into a food table, and a four-tiered serving platter of pink mush went flying. I saw Connie’s and Ronald Plush’s heads moving to the left, in the direction of a set of double doors that opened onto a smoking balcony.
Another scream came from the balcony. This one sounded like Kim. I bulled harder and suddenly was through the crowd. I ran with the Plushes toward the balcony doors. A bartender came racing in the other direction. He tried to grab me. “Don’t go out there! Get security!”
I shook free of him and pushed by the Plushes to get to the large, semicircular balcony. The floor above provided a roof, but the front was open to the street, guarded only by a stone balustrade. The area was furnished with upholstered couches and armchairs for the comfort of cigarette and cigar smokers. A small bar to the right of the door served single malts. Mike Riley had a bottle in his hand. He crouched in a defensive position in a niche in the back left corner of the balcony. The niche contained a sofa, coffee table, and some large potted palms on a platform raised like a small stage. Pressed together into the sofa were Wendy and Trisha. Their body language said they wanted to hold on to each other for protection, but some force of repulsion kept them apart. Trying to get to them, waving his knife, was Brendon. Mike blocked his way. Rupert and Gary stood near the stage, a few feet behind Kim, who stood near the edge of the platform at an equal distance from Brendon and Mike. Trisha’s new boyfriend cowered near the bar.
“Stop it, Brendon!” Kim screamed.
“I don’t want to hurt you, but I will,” Brendon said to Mike. “Get out of my way.”
I joined Rupert and Gary. The Plushes followed breathlessly behind me. “Good God!” Dr. Plush cried. Connie shushed him.
I came forward cautiously to stand next to Kim. I raised the tray in front of her in case any knives came flying our way. “Stop, Bill,” Brendon ordered.
“Brendon,” I said, edging closer to the platform, “this is not what I meant about getting Wendy.”
Brendon pointed the knife at me. “This is my business!”
Gary’s eyes darted from Mike to Brendon, waiting for an opening. “Nobody’s arguing with you, man,” Gary said in his low rumble. “Just let Trisha come down here.”
“No way! She’s as bad as Wendy! She said Rod had Alissa! You’re all a bunch of liars!”
“Brendon, darling—” Wendy began.
“Shut up!” he screamed. “You set up your own daughter for murder!”
Mike judged Brendon sufficiently distracted to make his move. He took a quick step and brought the bottle down toward Brendon’s head. But Brendon was faster. He sidestepped the blow and stuck the knife into Mike’s left shoulder. Mike let out a sickening shriek. I dropped the tray and dove for Brendon’s leg. He kicked me away and wrenched the knife from Mike’s shoulder in the same motion. Gary wasn’t fast enough, either, to prevent Brendon from hopping over the coffee table and landing on the couch.
Wendy and Trisha split like pea pods. Trisha swung an open hand at Brendon, catching him in the eye. The blow allowed her to slip away. Brendon grabbed Wendy by the hair.
Trisha nearly ran me over on her way off the stage. Gary stepped up to receive her. She pushed him back, saying she was fine. Mike, clutching his shoulder, writhing in pain, rolled off the edge of the platform.
Two hotel security men burst onto the scene. “Help him!” Connie said, pointing to Mike.
“Stay back!” Brendon ordered.
He had Wendy firmly in his grip now. The knife was at her throat. Her eyes were wild with fear. I rose very slowly and carefully into a sitting position on the platform. Brendon and Wendy must have been in a similar frenzy when Rod’s murder occurred.
“Let me go, darling,” she whimpered.
“Quiet, darling,” he said sarcastically, “or I’ll do to you what you did to Rod.”
“No!” Kim screamed. “Brendon, listen! It’s me, Alissa!”
A hush came over the scene. Kim’s jaw quavered.
“You’re not my daughter,” Wendy objected.
“Yeah, you’re Kim,” Mike gasped from the floor. “Alissa’s—”
“Shut up, you dork!” Brendon bellowed. He gazed at Kim for a moment, then said, softly, “It’s really you.” He giggled. “I was afraid you were dead!”
Kim stepped onto the platform. “Alissa is dead.”
“Honey, is that really you? Help your mother,” Wendy pleaded.
“Why did you do it, Mom?” Kim said. Her voice was cool and even, as if she were speaking to a stranger. “Why did you kill Rod and put the knife in my bed?”
“I didn’t—” Wendy began. Brendon pressed the knife to her skin and she altered course. “We thought he’d kidnapped you, honey.”
“Why’d you try to frame Alissa?” Brendon demanded savagely.
Wendy’s answer was broken and incoherent. “I just—we thought she was gone—and it’d never stick—we could say Rupert—”
Sirens squalled on the street below. “Let her go,” I said to Brendon.” She’s admitted what she did.”
His teeth clamped down in anger. He clenched Wendy’s hair tighter.
“Brendon,” Kim said quietly, “let her go. Do it for me.”
Slowly Brendon’s hand opened. Shaking, he placed the knife on the cushion beside him. Wendy flew from his grip. “Oh, Cindy, darling!” she gasped.
Kim folded her arms and angled her body away from her mother. “You killed Rod. He was right about you.”
“No!” Wendy wailed, then laughed tearfully. “I just said that because Brendon was making me. Don’t you understand? Brendon did it. I was at the Cheshire Cat when he—”
“No, Wendy,” I interrupted. I’d crept forward to sit on the coffee table, staying close to the knife just in case. “You were at Rod’s. Rod had a small red streak on his arm the night I found him. At first I thought it was blood, but the color was slightly different. It was the color of your lipstick.”
“Don’t listen to him, Cindy,” Wendy said. “Somebody help me—somebody tell her. Rupert, Trisha: I was helping you find Alissa, remember? You said Rod had her!”
“We wanted her back,” Trisha said coolly from her spot below between Rupert and Gary. “We accepted help from anyone.”
“No, you promised—the reward—” Wendy’s tone turned malevolent when she saw she was getting nowhere. “Tell them, Trisha, or I’ll tell everyone how Silicon Glamour really works.”
“No one believes anything you say, Wendy,” Trisha replied.
“There are plenty of others who know,” I said. “It’ll come out.”
Brendon had been slumped on the sofa, head back. Now he straightened and said to Trisha in a weary voice, “Don’t forget I know a few details, babe.”
“Murderers,” Trisha spat. But I was watching Rupert and the way he chewed his lip during the exchange. My conversation with him gave me an idea he was ready to revise the way SG did business.
“You’ll be hearing from our lawyers, Trisha,” Mike croaked. The security men had succeeded in dragging him away from the action. A small crowd had gathered in the ballroom, rubber-necking through the balcony doors. More security had arrived to keep them out.
“Connie!” Wendy appealed. “Help me!”
Connie
smiled. “I’m sure you’ll talk some nice lawyer into defending you.”
“I’ll tell them!” Wendy warned. “I’ll tell them about the fake photos!”
“That little prank? Eternaderm is so far beyond that, it’ll dwarf any accusation you make. But if you want to add blackmail to your list of offenses, go ahead.”
“Alissa and I faked before-and-after pictures for their promotional brochure,” Wendy announced to anyone who cared.
No one much did. Kim had taken a step away from her. Wendy stumbled in her direction again, grasping at her daughter. “Don’t leave me alone.”
Kim took yet another step back, coming down from the platform. Her expression had turned to one of wounded and betrayed contempt.
Wendy saw it clearly. Before Kim could speak, Wendy struck first. “You hypocrite!” she cried, standing above Kim on the platform, snapping her arm out at her daughter. “After all I did for you. The sacrifice. You’d have just run off with him and left me in the dust. You should have taken care of your own mother first. But no, you had to grab for it all—the life I was supposed to have.”
“And you had to take it away from me.”
“What about me? You thought you could shed me like an old skin, didn’t you? Well, I’ve got news, girlie. You don’t belong in that world. You’re no better than me.”
The cops had arrived by now. They parted the crowd, but when they got to the stage, they could see the drama had been spent. Kim turned away and began to sob quietly. Rupert led her back in the direction of the bar. I stayed near Brendon and the knife.
Wendy looked wildly for an exit, then rushed to the balustrade. Gary grabbed her as she tried to climb it. An officer cuffed her. Brendon pushed himself to his feet and went quietly. Paramedics tended to Mike. A police sergeant got up on the platform and asked everyone to remain in the area. Statements would be taken.
I picked my way through the crowd to join Rupert and Kim. She managed a smile for me. “Are you all right?” I said.
