My head whirled. So many people wanted to see Philip dead! Reggie, Keith, Peter, Nigel, Astrid, and now Jean.
I sensed it was time to leave the couple alone, while there was a chance to talk to Peter. Astrid was out with Patty Gentry. I wondered about that for a moment, recalling that the two women weren't exactly friends, but then I figured that Astrid wouldn't let that fact stop her if she wanted to use the press. And Patty needed her as well.
"Peter," I said, "let's leave them. I want to talk to you anyway. Can we go to your room?"
Peter's eye twitched. "Sure."
After murmuring good-byes, Peter, Darlene, and I left and went to Peter's room.
"What a mess," Peter said, flopping down on the bed. "Jean's never going to make Reggie's life easy. He shouldn't have married her."
"He obviously loves her," Darlene said. "And being married to a pop star can't be all that easy."
I wished I were Cynthia Lennon, I thought.
"Being a pop star isn't all that easy," Peter said.
Darlene began the attack. "Neither is being a murderer. You admitted that you were in Philip's room. Why don't you tell us what really happened the night Philip was killed?"
Peter jumped up off the bed and began to pace. "I already told you. I went to see Philip. He was singing in the bath. He was in no mood to talk, so I left. That's the end of the story."
I said, "You just decided to drop the whole idea that Philip was threatening to replace you as drummer for the band?"
"What else could I do? He wouldn't talk."
"What did he say?" Darlene pressed on. "That you were too old to be in the band?"
Peter's face reddened. "I'm not too old. I'm just as good a drummer as Ringo. Philip knew he couldn't get anybody to replace me."
"Did he?" I said. "Philip seemed to want to make some changes. He wanted Reggie divorced. He wanted Nigel out. Nigel, of all people, who'd helped the band from its infancy."
"I tell you, he wouldn't have fired me."
"Then why were you so anxious to talk to him?" Darlene pressed.
Peter's nerves were out of control. His voice turned whiny. "I just wanted some reassurance, is all. Philip could be so cruel."
"And when you didn't get it, you came back to your room and spent the rest of the evening with Astrid," I said.
"No, she was out. She's never around when I need her."
Darlene and I exchanged looks. *•
"Peter, what did you just say?" I asked.
"I said I came back to my room and cried in my beer all night. Philip could really rattle me," Peter said.
"No, the other part." I took a step closer to him. "About Astrid. She wasn't with you that night, was she?"
Peter's eyes grew huge. "I didn't mean that. She was here."
"No, she wasn't," Darlene said. "She just made you promise to tell anyone who asked that she was. Wasn't that the way of it, Peter?"
"You're wrong. I don't know what I was saying," Peter cried as he backed into the wall. "Astrid and I are a couple. We were together. We're each other's alibis for that night."
"Astrid's only loyalty is to herself, Peter," I said.
"We showed her the tie tack, Peter. She confessed
she wasn't with you that night," Darlene fibbed. I held my breath.
Peter began to cry. "All right, we weren't together. I don't know where she was. She begged me to say she was with me. That as Philip's ex-girlfriend she'd be the most likely suspect. I love her. How could I turn her down?"
Darlene didn't let up. "Plus, without your saying you were with Astrid, you don't have an alibi either for the time of Philip's death."
Peter was panicked. "I swear I didn't kill him. I left him alive, I tell you. I was tired from the photo shoot earlier and still had some jet lag. I came back to my room and stayed here alone all evening."
"What time did Astrid return?" I asked.
"I don't know. I fell asleep. She was with me the next morning," Peter said miserably. "What are you going to do? Are you going to tell the police?"
"I don't think you killed Philip, Peter," I said, not mentioning that I didn't think he had the gumption to do it. "At this point, I see no need to tell the police you were alone."
I didn't promise not to tell the police that Astrid's alibi had been blown to bits. And now with these new developments, maybe we could tell the police that we'd found her earring in Philip's room.
We just had to wait for whatever information Stu brought back from London. And we might have our killer.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The next night Stu called. Darlene spoke to him.
"Wait, slow down, Stu. I've got Bebe here and I want her filled in on this. I'm going to repeat everything you say," Darlene said.
"You found Astrid's sister, Penny. Okay, go ahead. What did Penny have to say? Astrid is determined to be a fashion model. Right, we know that. Oh! Nasty magazines. Those kind of pictures. And Philip had pictures of her trying to get an all -over sun tan? What was he going to do with those?"
Darlene listened carefully. "What a sweetheart. He just wanted something to hold over her to keep her in line. He knew she was using him as a ladder, hanging with a pop star to further her career as a model. No, Stu, you're right; he never cared for her the way he pretended to. So after the breakup, Astrid begged Philip to take her back? Penny remembers the long weeping phone calls. Astrid was stalking him? And that's why she took up with Peter? To keep an eye on Philip. The song lyrics in 'Get out of My Way' are about her, in Penny's opinion?"
Darlene looked at me to be sure I was getting all this. I rolled my eyes to indicate I was.
"Stu, did Penny say whether she thought it was possible that Astrid killed Philip in a fit of jealousy? She did! And Astrid is going to what? File a claim against Philip's
estate? On what basis? Oh, that's okay. You couldn't have found out everything. You did great, Stu. When are you coming home? Good, then I can see you tomorrow? Great, give me a call when you've had some sleep. In your bed, waiting for you?" Darlene giggled.
I moved away, thinking I'd heard enough.
Darlene hung up the phone and came into the living room, where I was sitting on the pink sectional, staring at the turquoise fur rug.
"Did you get all that?" Darlene asked.
"Yes, and I'm thinking that it all makes Astrid look extremely guilty. I know Nigel tried to run away, but the evidence against Astrid is more pressing."
"What are we going to do?" Darlene asked.
"I think we should force a confrontation with Astrid," I said.
"If you're thinking she might confess, forget it. She's one cool customer."
"I think if we have an opportunity to get her alone, we should do it."
"Okay, it's worth a shot."
Tuesday morning when I went to the office, everyone was in an uproar. I quickly made coffee and took Bradley a cup. It was really an excuse to see what was going on in his office. Vince was there, as was Mr. Purvis, the company president. Bradley was holding a copy of the newspaper in his hands.
"This makes our company look incompetent," Mr. Purvis said.
"Everything that's happened weighs on my conscience," Vince said.
Conscience! Vince had no conscience.
Bradley looked at Vince as if he were a worm. Which he was.
"There's nothing we can do about it now," Bradley said. "The damage is done. All we can do is release a
press statement confirming that Rip-City will not be releasing the album."
"Handle it, Bradley. Make this mess go away." Mr. Purvis turned to leave and noticed me standing there.
I hurried out of the room, feeling like an unwanted eavesdropper. Vince fled to his office.
Curiosity filled me. What had been in the newspaper to make the men upset?
I had on my red suit, which Darlene said made me look sexy. My nails were painted red too.
I stood in Bradley's doorway. "Mr. Williams? May I come in?"
; Bradley had been turned in his chair, staring out at the New York skyscrapers. He swiveled around at the sound of my voice. "Yes, Miss Bennett. Come in and sit down."
"What's happened?"
For an answer, he passed me a folded section of the tabloid, the New York Daily News. The headline screamed, "Inside Scoop on Rip-City's Beefeaters Blunder" by Patty Gentry.
Imagine it. Rip-City's handsome Bradley Williams goes to London and finds what he thinks will be the next big British Invasion pop band, Philip Royal and the Beefeaters. He proceeds to offer the band a solid contract. The band is elated at this big break in America, land of opportunity, and—more important—fame and money.
The band packs its bags and crosses the pond, bringing along their small-time manager, Nigel Evers. Philip Royal reputedly has plans to fire Nigel once the band hits it big. Philip also works to cover up the fact that the bass player has a wife and infant son. Married pop stars are so boring.
But what Philip doesn't know is that someone really hates him. Hates him enough to kill him. He's found electrocuted in his bathtub shortly after his arrival in America. The police have yet to make an arrest, possibly because they have so many suspects.
There's Astrid Loveday, his ex-girlfriend. She had taken up with the band's drummer, Peter Smythe. But as Miss Loveday confided to me in an exclusive interview, this was all a ruse to stay near Philip. Miss Loveday herself does not have a squeaky-clean past. In England, she's posed for the equivalent of Playboy, although she calls herself a fashion model. I've yet to hear what runways she's appeared on.
Then there's Nigel, who hears that he's about to be tossed out on his ear. One can only guess how this made him feel. He made the band a Royal success in England, taking the boys from homeless, pub-playing nobodies to the top of the charts. Making himself look guilty, Nigel was caught trying to flee the country after the police specifically told him he must remain here until the matter of who murdered Philip Royal has been cleared up.
Philip had no friends within the band either. Besides the marital issue with Reggie, Philip often threatened to fire Peter Smythe, the band's aging drummer. And then there's Keith Michaels, whose temper is as legendary as is his desire to shift the band's musical direction to blues.
Besides Philip's death, what's the result of all this chaos? Rip-City is dropping the album from its release in America.
I'm betting Bradley Williams wishes he never set foot in London the day he met Philip Royal and the Beefeaters.
Who exactly did plug in the guitar that fatally electrocuted Philip Royal? This reporter has done some investigating on her own and thinks she knows. And when that person's identity is revealed, it will be the most shocking event in rock since Elvis's grinding pelvis.
Stay tuned as this hot story explodes in the next few days.
I handed the tabloid back to Bradley. "What a nasty article! And Patty Gentry claims to know who the killer is."
"She certainly knows how to get her byline in the paper," Bradley pointed out.
"It makes me angry that she mentioned you the way she did. I mean, how could you know what would happen when you signed the band? Are you a fortune-teller? I don't see a crystal ball on your desk."
That made him smile. Then he looked down at the newspaper. "I wonder if Patty Gentry will go to the police with her so-called knowledge instead of teasing the public to sell newspapers."
I thought of Detective Finelli. Shouldn't he be questioning Patty? Maybe it was time to pay him a visit. I'd put the idea before Darlene and Stu and see what they thought.
And I knew where I was going tonight when I got off work—straight to the Legends Hotel to see what the guys in the band thought of Patty Gentry's article.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
At the apartment, it was hard prying Darlene away from welcoming Stu home, but I managed it by not leaving them alone where they could kiss and cuddle. I stood next to them, studying my nails and humming "My Boyfriend's Back" by the Angels. Darlene shot me an exasperated look, but got ready to go.
When we arrived at Keith's suite, everyone was there, including, to my surprise, Nigel. The atmosphere was one of doom and gloom, with the dreaded tabloid article prominent on the coffee table.
We were admitted, but not greeted with any great enthusiasm.
Astrid sat next to Peter. She glared at Darlene, but said nothing.
"I'm so sorry about the article, guys," I said.
"That Patty Gentry is a bitch. She's followed us for the past year and never had a kind word. Now this," Keith griped.
"And she had to throw in that bit about Jean and Jamesey," Reggie complained.
"Where are they?" I asked.
"Jean's trying to put Jamesey to sleep in our room. Poor tyke's been feeling the tension," Reggie replied.
"He's not the only one," Peter said. "How dare that Gentry woman call me 'aging.' Makes me seem like I'm thirty."
"You don't look anywhere near thirty, Peter. I promise," I said. He nodded and hung his head.
"I just want to get the 'ell out of this godforsaken country," Nigel said from where he sat away from the others looking out the window. "This is what comes from greed. If we'd been 'appy at the top in England, none of this would 'ave 'appened. Our Philip would be alive."
"I'm sure the police will let you go soon, Nigel," I said.
"They have to catch the killer first," Darlene pointed out.
Nigel said, "According to the Gentry bitch, she knows who 'e is. Let 'er put some proof in front of the police so we can all go 'ome."
"She didn't put on to me like she knew the killer," Astrid said, speaking for the first time.
"Maybe that's because she thinks you did it," Keith said with a snarl. "Why you had to open your mouth to her, I don't know."
Astrid bristled. "I thought that if it were in the papers that Rip-City had dropped the band, there would be a public outcry for the record."
"You always were just a dumb blonde," Keith said. "Now look what you've done."
Peter shot Keith a look. "She couldn't have known how Patty would twist things around. Astrid was only trying to help. Why must you always stir up trouble?"
Keith shot a look at Peter. "I don't know why you're defending her when it says right there in the paper that she was only seeing you to follow Philip."
Peter reddened. "Well, Philip's not here now, is he? And Astrid is still with me."
"Aren't we all lucky," Keith spat.
Astrid rose, looking down her nose at Keith. "I'm going downstairs for some ciggies."
Peter said, "Look, when Astrid comes back, let's all of us go out to a club. The Village is the happening place. We'll go to another coffeehouse there, listen to some bands."
Everyone agreed to Peter's plan, instantly ready for a fun time. Reggie hung back, saying he'd stay in the hotel with Jean.
"I won't be but a minute," Astrid said.
I glanced at Darlene. This was our chance to get Astrid alone.
I stood up. "Well, we just wanted to come by and say how sorry we were about the article. And who knows what the future holds? I've got some ideas—too soon to discuss—but maybe they'll work out."
"Take care, guys," Darlene said, and we made our exit.
Astrid had gone ahead of us in the elevator.
"We'll have to catch her downstairs," I said.
"I noticed a cigarette machine down the hall leading to the telephone booth the night I tried to call up to Philip's room. Maybe she's gone there," Darlene said.
The elevator seemed to take forever to get to us. Mr. Duncan was not on duty. A younger man was working. We told him to take us to the lobby fast, but we ended up having to stop twice to pick up other passengers. Darlene let out a growl of annoyance each time. I put my arm around her and said, "Don't worry; we'll catch her."
Downstairs, we did catch Astrid walking back up the hallway from the cigarette machine.
She looked militant upon seeing us. "What do you two want?"
For an
answer, Darlene grabbed her by the arm and dragged her into the nearby empty ballroom. I followed, unable to believe What happened next.
Astrid turned around and slapped Darlene across the face. "Don't you touch me, you dirty Yank! If it hadn't been for you screwing Philip—"
Darlene grabbed Astrid by her long hair and pulled her head down until the woman was bending over backward looking up into Darlene's face.
"You told the police those lies about Philip and me. I
never had a relationship with him before we met on that plane and you know it. Admit it! Admit you lied!"
"Darlene!" I said. "Be careful!"
She ignored me.
Astrid took her right hand and shoved Darlene in the stomach as hard as she could. Darlene stumbled backward, releasing her hold on Astrid's hair. Astrid lost her balance and fell to the ground, her skirt hiking up to her thighs.
Darlene got up, grabbed both sides of Astrid's exposed garter straps, and snapped them hard. Astrid howled with pain. She reached up and clutched Darlene by the knees, knocking her to the floor. The two of them rolled around on the hotel's elegant carpet.
A wild thought of throwing cold water on them, like Mama used to have to do with two of our cats, flashed through my mind.
Astrid had Darlene around the throat, both women huffing and puffing for air.
"Astrid, let her go!" I shouted.
In a lightning-fast move, Darlene used both arms to knock Astrid's hands from her throat. She stood up, dragging Astrid with her, and twisted one of Astrid's arms behind her back. Astrid moaned in pain.
Darlene gasped for air and then said, "I told you to tell me you lied to the police. Are you ready to talk now?" She pulled Astrid's arm harder.
"All right, you American hellcat," Astrid said, breathing hard. "I told them Philip was seeing a red-haired American stewardess."
"And?"
"And that he was going to break off the relationship when he arrived in America. I said I thought it was you."
Darlene said, "I'm going to tell the police you confessed to lying to them. I have a witness right here."
Astrid kicked Darlene with her right foot, forcing Darlene to release her hold and stumble backward. But she did not fall. The two women stood glaring at each other.
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