Die Smiling

by Linda Ladd

  I smiled and wished they all really were alive as I watched him drive off in my mud-splattered Explorer. Then I strode cross the lobby in search of the pageant-festive ballroom. It turned out the glorious festivities would be held in the Ozark Ballroom, the biggest and most crystal chandeliered of the three, all of which were magnificently appointed, of course. Ozark just won the glitz and glamour prize, is all.

  Down long hallways, elegantly carpeted in black and tan, I trod until I finally saw half a dozen identical, black velvet–draped double doors, with workers scurrying in and out like ants on a honey spill. At one end of the gigantic room, a team of carpenters hammered like crazy on a stage and an attached fifty-foot runway, all under the screechy supervision of a young woman, tall and thin enough to be Twiggy’s progeny. By her shrilly intoned instructions, however, I decided she was the pageant coordinator and made a beeline straight to her vicinity.

  “Pardon me, ma’am. Are you Patricia Cardamon?”

  The lady turned and looked me over with every intention of dismissing me pronto and ASAP; she had the haughty superiority that only a recently retired, ex-runway model could carry off. “Yes, I am she. May I help you?”

  She might as well as tacked on at the end of her question, You unworthy little pissant. I had the time, so yeah, I looked her over, too. Up and down, even. She appeared to be mid-thirties, slender in an unhealthy, anorexic way but with good skin, good hair, good nails, good just about everything. Well, okay, good-looking seemed to be the word of the day. Sometimes I got downright suspicious that it couldn’t be a coincidence that all Black’s employees looked straight out of the pages of GQ and Glamour, all just as sleek and glossy, too. Maybe that was on Black’s Cedar Bend employment application: Please check the following that most describes your physical appearance: Drop-dead gorgeous, Beautiful, Pretty, Okay, Fair, Ugly, Butt-ugly. The last six need not apply. Or maybe they just kept the ugly people in the basement.

  “Yes, ma’am. My name is Claire Morgan, detective with the Canton County Sheriff’s Department. We talked briefly on the telephone about twenty minutes ago.”

  “Oh, yes, now I think I remember.”

  Great. Patricia thought she remembered. One of the smart models. And she didn’t seem pleased about it, either. I said, “As I told you on the telephone, I’m going to need a list of your contestants, as well as anyone else who has any kind of connection with this pageant.”

  “Well, I must say, Detective, that this will certainly be an inconvenience at the moment. You do realize that this contest will be held day after tomorrow, not to mention the full dress rehearsal tomorrow morning. Really, you are asking a lot.”

  Okay, the woman doesn’t know about Hilde’s terrible demise and can’t know until I notify Black, so be nice, understanding, and benevolent. Coddle the nasty vixen. “Yes, ma’am, I understand that. However, you can rest assured that I do have a very good reason to inconvenience you this way. Official police business, in fact.”

  Ms. Cardamon gave me the slight raised-eyebrow treatment, designed to cower me, I suppose, or she had raised it as much as she could manage with at least thirty-five Botox injections keeping her all smoothed out and wrinkle-less. “What do you mean by official police business? I assume Dr. Black has been informed of this request.” Did I mention the word haughty? Arrogant? Disdainful? Side effects of Botox poisoning? I do not know.

  “That’s precisely why I’m here today, Ms. Cardamon. To speak with Dr. Black about this situation. I understand he’s due in about now.”

  “Perhaps if you tell me what police business you’re talking about and exactly what you need from Dr. Black, I could pass the word along to him. He’s a good friend of mine, and a very busy man, as well. You will probably need to make an appointment with his personal assistant.”

  Oookay, now Pattycakes was beginning to get on my nerves. What few I had left. Apparently she didn’t know I was a pretty good amiga of the good doctor, too, hot and heavy, well past the mutual groping level, in fact, and going on for almost a year now, to be precise. I made a note to watch her face crumple when he showed her how much he liked me, too, even more than her, I suspect. But hell, I could be polite until then. I wouldn’t cuss or kick her off her pointy-toed high heels, or even sneer at her.

  “I’m acquainted with Dr. Black as well, and I’m afraid this will require a private audience with him. Thank you for offering to intercede.”

  See how nice I can be when pushed to it? She nodded and somehow managed to re-arch that eyebrow into the frozen reaches of her forehead. I started to tell a joke to see if her face moved when she laughed, but decided I was behaving badly. Hateful, almost. “Now, if you could arrange to give me that list, I’d appreciate it. It would help as well if you would notify everybody involved that I’ll be conducting interviews tomorrow, before, during and after the rehearsal. They need to schedule time to speak to me or to my partner, Bud Davis.”

  “Oh, dear, that will just wreck my time schedule. Couldn’t you do it the day after the pageant?”

  Sure. Or maybe next Christmas Eve would do. I gave her a dead, unblinking stare until I got her undivided, if superiority-tinged, attention. “I’m not playing games here, Ms. Cardamon. I’ll repeat this again. I’m here on official police business, and we’ll need your complete cooperation.”

  She made a sound closely akin to an old maid spinster’s harumph. Couldn’t say I’d ever heard anybody else do that, not to my face, anyway.

  She said, “All right, Officer. I’ll see what I can do.”

  “See what you can do right now, why don’t you?”

  Ms. Cardamon stalked off in a huff and yelled at one of her assistants, who looked downright startled. Displaced aggression, oh yeah. Can’t yell at the pushy policewoman? Abuse your helper; it’ll make you feel oh, so much better. Good thing her Chihuahua was safe at home.

  I sidled around a while, remaining inconspicuous while I watched the people still laboring on the elaborate set and lighting created to make all the girls look ten years younger. That would put some of the competing tots back in the womb, no doubt. There weren’t any contestants present that I could tell. Not unless they were disguised as overweight carpenters and various and sundry handymen dressed in denim overalls and wearing John Deere caps. Probably all still over at Mr. Race’s fisticuffing it out with Corkie for appointments. It took about fifteen minutes for Ms. Prissy Pants to get back to me with copies of her lists. I thanked her politely. She flounced off, no doubt to check the red carpet’s walkability in spike heels factor.

  Sinking down in a chair on the back row, I went over the names, thinking it was going to take us a whole bunch of time to check out all the people involved in putting on a show of this magnitude. Bud and I might have to enlist help from our colleagues at the station. They probably wouldn’t mind; most of them were males. The thut-thut of an approaching helicopter sent my heart all a-twitter at approximately the same rotation velocity of the rotor blades. Embarrassed at my eager anticipation of Black’s return to the fold, meaning me, I didn’t even deign to glance out the big plate-glass windows facing the lake as his chopper glided by in all its black-and-tan magnificence. Well, okay, I did give it a quick sidelong glance, but it was too far away to see if Nick was piloting. Double embarrassed at how much I had missed him, I forced myself to sit still. I’d give him time to disembark and get upstairs to his penthouse office/apartment/utopia. There would be titillating advantages in showing up there right after he got home from a lengthy absence. Even with some very bad news in tow.

  It took me a while to wend my way through the huge, sprawling resort anyway, but I had a card key to his ultra private, exclusive elevator. See how special I am? Myself and room service was about it as far as extra keys to the master’s penthouse were concerned. He wouldn’t be expecting me to be here, either. I could surprise him for once. He sure as the devil had surprised me enough times, not that I was complaining, they were usually off-the-chart good surprises.

  Th
e elevator whisked me up with a quiet whisper and whoosh and opened with silent efficiency into a lushly carpeted hallway sporting another huge expanse of plate-glass windows overlooking a glittering lake vista, a view to die for, oh yeah. When Black got home, he usually headed straight for the office wing, so I turned in that direction. Imagine my surprise when I saw a tall, raven-haired woman standing at his guest room door, her Gucci luggage all around her like adoring subjects. She turned around and believe me, I knew at once that this was no bellhop dropping off the guru’s luggage.

  “Oh, hello there,” she said.

  Oh, hello there? That’s when I recognized her. She looked just as good as she did on all her magazine covers, only ten times better. Bud had met her once in New York. He’d told me she was unbelievably gorgeous in person, with flawless skin and black-silk hair, but now I really believed him. Oh, yeah, it was Jude of the one name, all right. Black’s famous ex-wife supermodel, a Venus de Milo blessed with both arms, and by the quizzical way she was looking at me, he hadn’t mentioned me to her.

  “Did I forget to tip you?”

  Oh, man, did that ever smart. But I smiled, and real friendly like, too, not a grimace in sight.

  “No need. Police officers aren’t allowed.”

  Recognition flared then inside those big, expertly defined, mascara-drenched, almond-shaped green eyes. “Oh, my goodness. You’re Claire Morgan, aren’t you? I recognize you now from all the newspaper photos. Nicky didn’t tell me you were going to be here.”

  No, I suspect he forgot to mention me at all. And Nicky, huh? Okay, Claire, be the adult you’ve always wanted to be. She’s probably very nice or Black wouldn’t have married her. Wouldn’t have divorced her, either.

  “Actually, I was at the hotel on official business and heard the chopper.” I sure was using the word official a lot of late. Even I noticed it.

  “Well, good. I was hoping I’d get to meet you this week. Nicky told me all about you. You must be quite a woman to have him so ga-ga over you.”

  Ga-ga? Now that made me want to gag-gag. And that’s a hard question she posed, right? Let’s see, should I say yes or no to being quite a woman? A quandary, to be sure. So I said, “It’s nice to meet you, too, Jude.” I stuck out my hand. I could be a real gent when called for.

  We shook, and I made sure my grip meant business. She didn’t wince too badly, so I stood there and breathed in her extremely expensive and delectable perfume for a while. It was flowery and sweet, not roses but something else, peonies, or gardenias, maybe. After a second, I ventured, “Black around?”

  “He had to take a private phone call in his office.”

  “Well, please tell him I dropped by and that I need to talk to him. Police business. I’ll be downstairs in the ballroom when he gets a minute.”

  She was looking me over pretty good, too, but trying not to appear to. Curious what ga-ga entailed, I guess. “He said he wouldn’t be long.”

  “I don’t have time to wait.” I turned and pressed the elevator button, wanting to escape before she kissed me on both cheeks, NYC style.

  “Claire? I just heard you were here.”

  That was Black’s voice, and I turned and found him striding down the hall, grinning, looking really tall and hunky and very pleased to see me, if I say so myself. He was dressed in one of his dozens of six-thousand-dollar suits, no doubt hand tailored and hand delivered from some faraway hemisphere. This time it was black pinstripe with the snowiest white shirt ever laundered this side of Congress and a red tie that probably cost way too much for the scrap of material put into it. But he was all dimpled up with pleasure, his jet-black hair a little longish for him and slightly windblown from the rotors, and those pure blue eyes fastened on me, and me alone. So ha ha, Jude.

  Unfortunately, I also felt that weakness in my knees he could bring out in me, so I locked them together and tried to be unaffected by his physical presence. After all, I hadn’t seen him in two whole weeks, so give my hormones a break here. I felt rather awkward, especially when he grabbed me and gave me a big hug that brought me up on my toes, not that I didn’t like it, but I put the brakes on before he could kiss me. After all, his former wife was inches away surrounded by her ritzy suitcases dripping their pricy logos and a cloud of Chanel.

  “I should’ve called first,” I said pointedly.

  “No, I’m glad you’re here. I missed you like hell.”

  Now Jude was the one looking awkward, but better her than me, I always say. I looked pointedly at Black to make him calm his engines, then pointedly at her for emphasis. Pointedly was getting a workout here lately, too.

  “Jude, this is Claire. I’m glad you’re finally getting to meet her.”

  “Yes, I recognized her. She’s quite lovely.”

  Quite lovely? I bet she would’ve said tough, if my jacket wasn’t covering up the big Glock 9 mm lodged under my arm in its shoulder holster and/or my most recent butterfly-bandaged gunshot wound. I said to Black, “Look, I didn’t know you had company, and I don’t want to interrupt. As I was telling Jude here, I have official business with you.”

  Black looked surprised. Imagine.

  He frowned and said, “You’re not interrupting anything. What do you mean official?”

  Why was everybody saying that? “I hate to tell you this, but you’ve come home to a big problem concerning the pageant.”

  He looked relieved then, but that wouldn’t last long. “Okay, let’s talk about it in my office. Jude, make yourself at home. If you need anything, just call the concierge and he’ll take care of it.”

  Black took my arm in a rather firm, no-nonsense grip as if he expected me to jerk away and take off at a sprint for the elevator, then led me down the hall and into the huge office wing. I didn’t like it much because it felt proprietary, but I let it go. Poor guy was about to get hit with some very bad news. He deserved some consideration.

  We entered his massive yet plushly appointed private office, tan and black, of course, and he shut the door behind us then trapped me against it, full body press. I didn’t fight it when his mouth found mine, didn’t resist for maybe four or five minutes of mutual heavy breathing, hot tongue kissing, and expert hand groping around under my T-shirt. And I didn’t groan and complain, either, when he squeezed my recent gunshot wound against the door and sent a stab of pain coursing down to my fingertips. I told you already that I missed him.

  After a couple more minutes of our hard-panting how do you dos, Black pulled back and muttered, and, yes, gasped out, I’m happy to say, “God, I’m turned on.”

  And he was, trust me. I could just feel it.

  I said, “Ditto and back to you double, but we gotta talk.”

  Black stepped back and let go of me. “Okay, tell me what’s up. And don’t be mad about Jude. She signed on to be a judge, so I told her she could stay up here where the press couldn’t get at her.”

  I righted my clothes and controlled my own machine-gun pulse. “How sweet.”

  “Mind if I stay at your place until she’s gone?”

  “My pleasure.” Was that ever the truth. “Want me to pack up the toothbrush and T-shirt I left here until she’s gone?”

  Black laughed. “Why would I want you to do that?”

  “I don’t know. Just thought I’d ask.”

  “She knows I’m in love with you.”

  That was more than I knew. I tried not to look shocked. He hadn’t said stuff like that much. “You told her that?”

  “Of course. You find it so hard to believe?”

  “Well, you haven’t exactly mentioned it to me lately, or ever.”

  “Yes, I have. You just don’t want to hear it. In fact, you change the subject if I get anywhere close to saying it.”

  “I do not.”

  “Then you’re ready for me to say it out loud from now on?”

  “This is a really stupid conversation. Listen, I’ve got something more important to talk to you about.”

  “See what I mean?”


  “Forget us, damn it. This is serious. Listen to me.”

  He stepped back and jerked loose the knot in his silk tie. “Let me change clothes and pack a bag. You can tell me on the way to your place. I spent the entire flight looking forward to some downtime with you.”

  Wow, I did so like the sound of Jude being left coughing and wheezing in our romantic dust. Unfortunately, it wasn’t going to happen. “We probably need to discuss it here and now. And you’ll probably want to leave that tie on and take some time to think about how to direct your staff.”

  Black frowned. “This does not sound good.”

  “It’s not good. One of your contestants has been murdered.”

  “Oh, my God. Who?”

  “That’s the worst part. The victim is Brianna Swensen’s sister.”

  “Bud’s girl? How did it happen? What’s her name?”

  “Hilde Swensen. She was slated to compete, and here’s some more bad news. She was murdered up at the Royal Condos.”

  “Oh, God, I own that place. Why haven’t I heard about this before now? Somebody should’ve called me.” He sounded highly perturbed, looked that way, too.

  “You’re hearing it now. What’s more, you’ve got to instruct your staff to let us interview everybody remotely connected with this thing. Your girl Friday downstairs is balking on me.”

  “Have you turned up any leads?”

  “Not yet. Brianna says Hilde led a wild and crazy lifestyle in Florida, South Beach, no less, and it could have been somebody connected to that.”

  Black turned, paced a few steps away from me. Paced some more, while I leaned against the door and watched calmly. “I can’t believe this. Not so soon. Good God—”

  When he turned and faced me, I said, “Yeah. Nothing like this ever happened around here until I moved in from LA.”

  “That’s not what I meant. And it’s not your fault, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “Yeah, right. It’s just another big coincidence.”

  “It could be a killer was drawn down here by the publicity of your last two cases, and there was a hell of a lot of it, too.”