by Jill Winters
Then it hit her. How stupid she was not to see it! Here she'd been anxious about getting involved with Rick, worried that maybe he was that same type she always went for, the type that never lasted. But Rick was nothing like her usual type—Brett was her usual type! Brett was the too-shallow, too-cocky, too-needing-to-be-the-center-of attention guy, not Rick. Rick was nothing like him. The thought made her smile... but her reverie was broken when she heard Brett say, "I've got a little latex sombrero here in my back pocket. Why don't we try it on?"
Rolling her eyes, Gretchen made gagging gestures to no one and hurried away from the door. When she got to the elevator, she stopped short, startled. Brett's cousin, whom she'd met yesterday, was standing there with his back to the wall, his arms crossed and his expression serious and purposeful. He appeared to be watching the elevators, but why would anyone do that?
Then she realized: Epau was merely biding his time until his cousin finished having sex with a production assistant down the hall.
Okay, Brett just got a million times lower.
As she approached the elevators, Epau whipped his head to the side and gave her a fierce, scrutinizing assessment. Feebly, Gretchen smiled hello and moved past him to hit the button. Anxiously, she tapped her foot. She was uncomfortably aware of Epau's eyes still on her and his overwhelming physical presence. Finally the doors sprung open and she hopped inside.
On her way to the ground floor, she recalled what Rick had told her about Brett and his poisoned sauce and how someone was out to get him and she couldn't help thinking: He wasn't acting like someone who was afraid. Judging from tonight's antics, Brett didn't behave like a person who was watching his back. Here he'd left the studio door ajar and when Gretchen had pushed it open, he'd been more preoccupied with Taco Bell-esque dirty talk than his safety.
Something was off here. And she just didn't trust him.
Chapter 24
Later that night Gretchen discovered the truth about Misty Allbright. But first, she lay in bed, thinking about the whole messed-up situation.
She couldn't get past what Shawnee had told her yesterday about Misty's tryst with Ed Tate, Susanna's husband. Based on various things she'd said, Susanna was obviously into her husband. It just seemed inconceivable that the idea of her agent sleeping with him was water under the bridge, especially so soon after it had happened. Also, Gretchen couldn't help thinking that when you added up that behavior with the way Misty had dropped Ray Jarian cold the moment he hit a rough patch in his career, it seemed much more logical that she would be the target of a homicide, not Brett.
It just didn't make sense. Who would want to kill him? After tonight, it was safe to say the guy was a sleaze—and undoubtedly a womanizer—but even in that, he was so damn affable. It was nearly impossible to picture someone having such a severe, icy hatred for him, such an unforgiving grudge against him, as to actually try to murder him. It didn't make for convincing reality. Or, she should say, it didn't seem nearly as realistic as someone loathing and wanting to off Misty. Was it possible that she really had been the target all along? Could Rick have been wrong about Brett being in danger? Think about it...
All he really had was Brett's word for all of this.
Maybe whoever killed Misty had found a way to poison the food Brett had brought to her. But who had access to her guest room?
Susanna had been standing there in the foyer with Gretchen when Misty had announced that she was going to lie down, so she knew where she'd be. Gretchen had lost track of her boss until that afternoon when she'd come looking for her, hustling her to go back to the city. She'd been in such a mad rush to leave Brett's... which had seemed strange, even at the time. She'd said it was so she could get home to Ed, but could she have been fleeing the scene? Could she have wanted to dart away before Misty began showing signs of discomfort?
Gretchen thought back. At breakfast that morning, Susanna had said that she'd expected to see Misty the night before, but that she'd asked Brett and he'd told her Misty would be arriving that day. Maybe she'd been waiting for the perfect opportunity to slip the Destroying Angel into her agent's food. She'd said that Brett's cooking was Misty's weakness, so she'd known, without a doubt, that if Misty came, she would eventually eat at some point. Susanna could've stopped up in Misty's room, seen the food Brett had brought for her, and the second Misty was distracted or her back was turned, slipped the poison mushroom powder into the bowl.
Still, it was ludicrously far-fetched. Wasn't it?
It was so hard to picture Susanna—neurotic and almost childlike at times in her need for validation—hatching a murder scheme, and even harder to picture her going through with it. As for the fevered exodus from Brett's house, well, Gretchen supposed it made sense in a way. If Misty had slept with Ed, who knew the kind of problems Susanna and her husband were having? It stood to reason that upon hearing that Ed would be home from his business trip early Susanna would want to spend as much time as possible with him—to heal their marriage, to hold on to him. Besides, as Gretchen discovered when she'd been caught riffling through her boss's old cookbooks: Susanna was hardly a mushroom enthusiast.
Okay, not that you had to be one to commit murder—it probably just took some research—but still, it was too difficult to fathom Susanna as the killer.
Yet...
The more Gretchen mulled it over, the more she became convinced that Misty was the intended victim all along. No one else.
Whoever had poisoned her had set out to do so. So again she considered who'd had access to her room—to her food.
Like a neon pink flashing vacancy sign (well, you get the point), it blinked in front of her. Ellie Galistette. Of course! Ellie had been the one to find Misty sick in the first place; Ellie had been the one to "take care" of her in the days that followed. Ellie had been the one with Misty right up until the time she died.
And when Misty had arrived at Brett's on Saturday morning, she'd been distinctly annoyed with Ellie—angry even—and Ellie had followed her upstairs "to talk." Could Misty have found out what Gretchen stumbled upon herself the night before—that Ellie had taken up with Abe, who'd broken things off with Misty just a couple of months ago?
Remembering that night more clearly, Gretchen thought back to Abe and Ellie's make-out session. She recalled Ellie's insecurity, the way she'd been fishing for Abe's reassurance, basically asking him if she was as passionate as Misty. There was obviously an inferiority issue there, which probably stemmed from their work relationship. Misty was the powerhouse, the shark, the beautiful agent who made eight-figure deals for a living. And Ellie was her "apprentice," but how quickly she was actually going to advance to Misty's level was another issue.
Suddenly the poised, polished way that Ellie had carried herself at Misty's memorial service seemed so contrived, so purposeful. She was there, more than anything, to establish herself as Misty's replacement to take much of Misty's client list as her own and to make it seem like an effortless, logical transition.
Ellie had everything to gain by her boss's death. Personally, she'd get her competition out of the way. Even though Abe had lost interest in Misty, Ellie had still been intimidated by her. More important, with Misty dead, Ellie could go public with her and Abe's relationship without fear of reprisal. And professionally, she won again. Now Ellie was representing Susanna Tate, and God knew how many more of Misty's clients had become her own. The transition was complete.
Gretchen needed to talk to Rick about all this. She felt certain that he was going down the wrong track if he thought this was about Brett.
Brett—damn that little weasel! Sorry, but she was peeved, now more than ever, that he was too cowardly, too intent on avoiding bad publicity, to go to the police. Only four people knew the real cause of death: Brett, Rick, Gretchen, and the destroying angel himself.
The police had put Misty's death on the shelf, probably written it off as "kidney failure brought on by unknown medical complications" or something equally vague. If only they
had more information, maybe they could begin to solve the crime.
But if Brett wasn't talking, what could she do? Rick wasn't going to sell out his brother, and Gretchen certainly wasn't going to break Rick's confidence. But still, she wanted to protect him... only she didn't know exactly from what.
Just then she heard Dana come in the front door, and within seconds, she knocked on Gretchen's bedroom door. "Yeah, come in," Gretchen said, glancing over. The light from the hallway shone into the room and cut a diagonal shaft across the bed.
"Hey! Sorry, did I wake you?"
"No, I was awake."
"Oh, good. Listen, I've got something to tell you."
"What? Where were you, anyway?" Sitting up more, Gretchen climbed backward to put her weight on her elbows. Then she shivered, her bare arms chilled by the sudden loss of heat from the covers. Quickly, she sank back down and waited.
Meanwhile Dana came over and sat on the bed. "I was at Lolly's, looking for jobs because our Internet's not working," she explained. "I was kind of putzing around, wasting time, when I remembered what you'd said the other day. And since I was bored and felt like procrastinating anyway, I did some searching. It didn't even take that long, but the point is—I figured it out."
"Figured what out?" Gretchen said, confused.
"Misty Allbright," Dana replied, her face bubbling over, exuding warmth, life, a revelation. "Aka Melissa Borg," she added emphatically. "Aka Missy Borg."
She looked expectantly at Gretchen, who just shook her head, baffled. "Missy Borg?"
"From high school!" At that, Gretchen shot up in bed. Bare arms be damned; she was too stunned, too confused. "She was in my year," Dana went on, "which would make her two years older than you." Dana's family had lived in Kaplan, Connecticut, for only one year, when Gretchen was a sophomore in high school and Dana was a senior. Because of Dana's friendship and effervescence—because of the days Gretchen spent hanging out at her cousin's house with Aunt Mary, Uncle Dane, Dana, and her brothers—that year was important to her. It was inexorably memorable—but Missy Borg was not.
"I found this picture," Dana continued, pulling a folded piece of paper out of her coat pocket. "I printed it off of oldyearbooks.com. You tell me. Did that agent look anything like this?" she said, unfolding the printout and holding it in front of Gretchen's face.
Anxiously, Gretchen leaned over to switch on her bedside lamp, then practically snatched the sheet of paper from her cousin's hand. Studying the grainy black-and-white but mostly black picture (damn inkjet printers), Gretchen saw a girl with short dark hair and a familiar face. Yes, this could be Misty... if Misty had gotten even skinnier over the years, and grew out her hair, and curled it. Then Gretchen eyed the caption. The girl had been in Dana's graduating class!
As Gretchen's eyes raced over the page, she said, "Oh my gosh, could it be that—wait, but how on earth did you make the connection?"
"It was actually pretty easy. I just typed in 'Misty Allbright' and did a general search. There were tons of entries that came up, linking her name with Romeo Ramero, Susanna Tate, Ray somebody, and a few other TV personalities I can't remember right now. I know one of them was a talk-show host or something. Anyway, I just kept hitting next until I was on, like, the eightieth page of entries for Misty Allbright and I saw this link to some low-budget message board. When I clicked on it, I realized it was part of Kevin Pepper's personal Web site—do you remember him?"
"No."
"He was in my class, too. That blond wrestler, remember? Loud and annoying? Not funny but thought he was? Major nasal voice? Well anyway, apparently he's an accountant now, but he keeps this personal Web site. It has a bunch of stuff, including photos of Kevin from various swimming competitions and marathons. Well" —she took a breath, then blew it out—"I had to scroll and scroll, but I finally found where Misty Allbright's name was mentioned."
Eagerly, Gretchen waited.
"A couple of people had posted messages about the Kaplan High reunion this past fall, and this girl, Lisa Spence—I remember her, she was lame—wrote that Missy Borg hadn't attended, but apparently Lisa had run into Missy in New York City several months back and found out she was going by Misty Allbright now and running her own talent agency."
"Wow," Gretchen said, shaking her head, still taking it all in.
"That's incredible."
"And the thing is, once I heard the name it hit me like a ton of bricks. I totally remember her!" Dana said, pressing her palms flat on the bed. "She was kind of awkward and bizarre. I remember she had long hair in the beginning of the year and then hacked it all off to make some sort of statement. She always seemed kind of... I don't know... desperate for an identity, maybe."
Looking at the picture again, studying the grainy face, she said, "You're right. It's definitely her."
"Wow!" Dana exclaimed. "My first official case solved as a freelance private detective!"
"The key word being free," Gretchen remarked dryly, with a grin curving her mouth even as the surprise of hat she'd learned still settled. "I hope you don't think I'm gonna pay you."
With a giggle, Dana acquiesced. "Okay, fine. But the point is, that explains why Misty was snubbing you. You said it was as if she knew you somehow and didn't like you. Well, she did know you!"
"No, but... it still doesn't make sense," Gretchen countered, pondering it. "Why would she be a jerk to me? I didn't know her personally. We weren't even in the same grade."
"Oh, come on. It's too coincidental that she would single you out to give the brush-off. She must have recognized you as someone from her past. Maybe she was one of those people who wanted to erase her past. Think about it: Why else would she change her name? I told you, the girl always seemed hurting for an identity. And here, once she carves a cool one out for herself, someone from high school was ruining it for her."
Could it be? Had Misty remembered Gretchen, who, admittedly, hadn't changed all that much in the last twelve years? Her body was about fifteen pounds heavier, her hair was longer, her teeth were straighter (braces in college), but otherwise, she was more or less the same. Unlike Misty, who'd made quite a transformation.
"Maybe you're right," Gretchen said, slapping her palm to her covers with affirmation. "Maybe Misty just couldn't face me—a reminder of her teenage angst or something."
"Yes," Dana said, nodding, "exactly. That was it... um, probably was it... I'm sure it was..."
Then Gretchen noticed that her cousin's eyes were darting guiltily to the side, and she couldn't seem to stop nodding. "Dana?"
"Hmm?" she said, her tone high-pitched, her voice lilting with innocence, her eyes still darting around, avoiding contact.
Narrowing her eyes with suspicion, Gretchen spoke slowly.
"What did you do?"
"Nothing!" Dana yelped, but when Gretchen continued squinting at her, she sucked in a breath. "Weeelll... I'm sure that was definitely one reason Misty didn't like you." Then she made a clicking sound with her tongue and shrugged. As Gretchen eyed her speculatively, Dana added, "But there might"—she held up her hands and pushed forward, as if to say, Bear with me here—"just possibly have been another reason... that could—technically—have to do with me."
"What do you mean?"
"See... another thing I remembered... I kind of—ever so slightly—made out with Missy's boyfriend at the prom."
"What!" Gretchen nearly shrieked, eyes wide, jaw dropped open. Haplessly, Dana held up her hands as her innocent act crumpled and guilt contorted her features. "Like I said, when I saw her name and her picture, it all came back to me..."
"I can't believe this... Talk about a small world."
"Okay, I just want to say, in my defense, they were broken up at the time. At least, he said they were. But... they weren't."
Gretchen slumped back against her headboard. After a pause of contemplation, she said, "But you know what? It still doesn't make sense. Even if you were a major hoochie at the prom—"
"Hey! I thought they were b
roken up! I was young and stupid!"
"Fine, well, regardless—I still don't see why Misty should dislike me. I was nice. I never made out with anyone's boyfriends." (Or anyone at all, until her second year of college.)
"Oh, come on, we're cousins," Dana said, like the explanation should be obvious. "It's all in the family."
Grinning, Gretchen sank back into her pillows and teasingly muttered, "Don't remind me."
* * *
Gretchen could barely look Lupe Rodriguez in the eye the next day when they rode the elevator together. Vivid memories of Lupe and Brett's erotic encounter still played in Gretchen's head like cheesy sax music in a B movie. Luckily, Lupe got off on the sixth floor, where Juan Mirando's studio was; Gretchen coasted on to eight to get an early start on to day's kowtowing.
During the taping, Susanna noticed that her wedding ring had slipped off. After getting Kit to "take five," she asked Gretchen to run to her dressing room and find it for her. Apparently, Susanna didn't trust anyone else with the huge, glittering rock Ed had given her. In hushed tones, she explained that if she sent one of the crew members to get it, they could pocket it and claim they couldn't find it. Shawnee, Susanna's own flesh and blood, was implicitly lumped with the potential thieves.
Sometimes efficiency was a bad thing. Gretchen moved so efficiently that she hadn't thought to watch where she was walking. She went through the door that led to the stairwell and barely made it past the first of the four steps when her heel slipped out from under her.
With a keening cry, she slid, slamming hard on her butt and banging her back on the sharp metal edge of each step as she went, Clunk, clunk, clunk. Then her sore body thudded on the floor below. Panting and bleary-eyed, she found herself staring up into a light fixture that looked like a big breast. It was a round translucent dome with a pointy brass nipple in the center.