Slash and Burn

by Valerie Bronwen

  “I didn’t want to keep the deception going,” Kyle insisted. “I didn’t! But Diana—Diana wanted to.”

  “Did she? Did she really?” Jerry purred. “Remember, Kyle, Dani’s a reporter. This is going to go on the news. So think very carefully about your role in all of this, and what you’re going to say.” He leaned in closer. “And it’s her job to verify facts.”

  Kyle opened and closed his mouth.

  “Kyle contacted me.” Jeremy took up his story again with a slight frown. “And told me he’d bought my contract from Belvedere, and that if I didn’t keep pretending to be Antinous, he’d sue me.” His face wrinkled in confusion. “They both told me I’d be blackballed if the truth ever came out, that no one would ever publish me if I caused so much trouble. And she stopped being so nice and encouraging.” He rubbed his eyes. “Melvin had been kind of mean and nasty sometimes, but now? She was even meaner and nastier than he’d ever been. She threatened me. She told me if I didn’t do what she told me to do, she’d make sure I’d never ever get anywhere as a writer. No agent would touch me, no publisher would come near me. She said she would ruin me if I didn’t do what she told me to. And Kyle—” He shuddered. “You can sit there and act like you were innocent, Kyle, all you want to. You were in on it with her, all the way up to your neck. You could have put a stop to it at any time, but you didn’t. You’re a disgusting, miserable excuse for a human being.” He made a face. “Kyle even offered to intercede with her for me, said he might be able to make it not so rough on me—if I slept with him.”

  We all looked at Kyle. I didn’t even try to disguise my utter contempt. “How repugnant,” I said after digesting it for a moment. I was revolted—this whole sordid story made my skin crawl. “This is kind of like the whole Milli Vanilli thing, only with books.” I got a blank look from Jeremy, so I explained, “They were a couple of models who were hired to front a singing group, only they lip-synced for the real singers who weren’t as pretty as they were because the record company didn’t think the real singers would make it on their own talent. It was a big scandal in the early 1990s.”

  “But everyone lip-syncs now,” he replied, frowning.

  “Believe it or not, dear, there used to be a time when singers were not only expected to sing live but they were also expected to sound good,” Jerry said, patting Jeremy’s shoulder and smiling at him.

  “So I didn’t know what to do,” Jeremy went on finally. “And then Anne Howard found me…and the rest is history.” He scowled. “All along, they’d been lying to me. They didn’t have a leg to stand on. They blackmailed me into going along with their fraud.”

  “That isn’t how it started,” Kyle blurted out. He looked absolutely miserable—and I was kind of glad. The whole story was more disgusting than I could have ever possibly imagined.

  Had I known any of this when she’d sat down next to me at the airport Thursday, I would have slapped her senseless.

  “Tell them, Kyle,” Jerry said sharply. “Tell them everything.”

  “Jerry was right about my book.” Kyle took a deep breath. “No one would publish it. No agent would represent it. I got some money when my grandfather died, so I started my own press and self-published it. It got good reviews…it didn’t sell very well, but it got good reviews.”

  “On Amazon.” Jerry made a face.

  “Yes, on Amazon!” Kyle snapped. “I wanted to work in publishing so badly, wanted to be a writer so badly…but no one wanted to publish me or hire me. I am talented, goddamnit! But I lost my shirt on my collection—didn’t even earn back its cost. So I started doing some work for Belvedere. It was located in Baltimore, where I’m from, and I…I had a crush on Antinous,” he mumbled, turning dark scarlet. “Jeremy did a signing at the gay bookstore in Baltimore, and so I went.”

  “Because you wanted to meet Antinous?” This was from Dani. “Because you thought he was hot.”

  He nodded. His face was so red his pimples stood out in bas relief. “I talked to him about the book, but it was weird—he couldn’t answer some basic questions I had about the book, and it was so obvious, in the bio and everything, that he was British and older, so I started getting suspicious. I did a little research—it wasn’t that hard, he told me he was still a student at the University of Maryland—I was right, he wasn’t British at all. And I found out who he really was…and then I knew. I knew he hadn’t written those books. I tracked down Melvin and confronted him. He admitted everything. He offered me a job editing, offered to publish my next book.” Kyle swallowed. “And when Melvin went bankrupt, I took over his list and his authors. I borrowed money. My press was doing well, you know—I was right, I knew what I was doing. I kept telling her to calm down, play it cool, pull back and not be so nasty publicly about other authors on her website.” His voice shook. “And she kept telling me she owed it to the readers, and the genre, to be honest, to tip them off to bad books and bad authors—she made it sound noble.”

  “Bullshit,” Jerry said pleasantly. “She was your hit woman. You used her as a mouthpiece to get even with authors you felt had slighted you.” He crossed his arms. “You’re just as big a piece of filth as she ever was. You didn’t turn on her until it started hurting your wallet. You reveled in her nastiness.” He turned to me. “Remember how I told you she went after me? I emailed Kyle—but that wasn’t personal, was it, Kyle? It wasn’t because I’d refused to blurb one of your books, was it? She just thought my book sucked, didn’t she?” He laughed. “She was such a fucking egomaniac, and Kyle, you’re no better than she is.”

  I have thousands of fans, I heard her smug voice telling me at the airport again.

  “So I did a little digging of my own,” Jerry went on. “I found out what her real name was, everything—it really wasn’t hard, she wasn’t smart enough to cover her tracks that well. Anyone could have found out Antinous was actually a woman pretending to be a man.” He rolled his eyes theatrically. “So of course, when she went after Leslie MacKenzie, I got in touch with Anne Howard. The rest was history.”

  “She was so defiant,” Kyle went on, swallowing hard. “She blamed everyone else but wouldn’t take any responsibility herself. It was everyone else’s fault—she blamed me for wanting to keep the deception going.”

  “And you denied everything?” I raised my eyebrows. “You claimed you didn’t know she was really a woman?” I shook my head. “You were telling her to come clean while you lied?”

  “I didn’t know what to do,” he pleaded, his voice getting higher and whinier. “Her next book was already in production. I couldn’t pull it and lose the money. I was bleeding money left and right. I didn’t know what I was going to do.”

  I exchanged a grim look with Jerry.

  “When Anne Howard got in touch with me, I told her the truth,” Jeremy replied with a sigh. “I was tired of all the lies, and I just didn’t care anymore. If it meant I wasn’t going to ever be an author, so be it. I was sick of everything. Anne told me that her threats were just that, empty threats, and that there wasn’t really a damned thing she could do. That I’d been just stupid and she’d used me. And she offered to help me get out from under her. It was such a relief to not have to lie anymore! To be able to tell the truth finally.” He slumped down a bit in his seat. “I feel like such an idiot.”

  “You shouldn’t,” I said slowly, meeting Jerry’s eyes. “You were manipulated and used. Don’t blame yourself for trusting the wrong people.”

  Wheels in my head were turning, everything I’d been told and seen and heard over the past few days trying to come together in my head. Think of it as the plot of a book, and try to make sense of it that way.

  “So, Jerry, you invited everyone involved to come to Angels and Demons?” Dani asked.

  He nodded. Dani’s eyes looked like they were about to pop out of her head, and I could see the wheels turning in her head, repeating over and over Big story, big story, big story!

  And of course, that was what really mattered to her.
But now wasn’t the time to say anything.

  “So I suppose the only question left is who killed her,” I said bitterly. “And poor Demi.”

  “Can I interview you on camera, Jeremy?” Dani already had her cell phone in her hand. “You, too, Kyle. I’m betting I can get this on the national broadcast.” Ambition glittered in her eyes. She got up and walked away from the table, leaving the four of us alone as she called her producer.

  Yeah, well, you knew deep down it was going to end this way, I thought as I watched her walk back out into the lobby of the hotel, then turned back to look at the three gay men at my table. “So which one of you bitches murdered Antinous?”

  Kyle and Jeremy both stared at me, but Jerry burst into raucous laughter. After a few moments, he got hold of himself and smiled at me. “I love you so much.”

  “Yes, well.” I took a bite out of my cheeseburger. I was chewing when it all became clear to me.

  How could I have been so blind?

  Chapter Eleven

  Dani was good at her job, I’ll give her that.

  Within an hour, she had an entire news production team at the hotel and was set up in one of the conference rooms on the mezzanine lobby. Jerry had helped, getting in touch with his hotel conference planner to get the keys and get the room opened up. He was being so incredibly helpful to her and not in the least bit snarky—which of course had my antennae up. He also, with some help from his volunteers, had assembled everyone who had anything to do with the story in another room, just down the hall from the conference room—and had catering bring up coffee and water for everyone.

  Kyle Bennett was sweating, even though the room was cold. Demi’s friends were all huddled together, whispering to each other. Leslie MacKenzie was sitting next to her son, and they both looked like they’d rather be anywhere else. Kenny Simon stood, leaning on the back wall, glaring at Kyle.

  And, of course, Jerry was there, a smirk on his face.

  I poured myself a cup of coffee and looked around the room, and couldn’t help but laugh a bit to myself inwardly. This is such a scene from a classic mystery—all the suspects gathered in one room. I could never get away with this in one of my books! The only thing missing is the cop.

  And as if on cue, Detective Randisi walked into the room. He smiled when he saw me and joined me at the sideboard.

  “Coffee?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “Figured it all out yet?” The corners of his mouth twitched.

  “I think so,” I replied with a shrug. I looked around the room and cleared my throat.

  Everyone’s heads swiveled in my direction.

  “Thank you all for coming,” I said, managing somehow to keep my voice steady. “I think we all know each other, so introductions aren’t necessary. On behalf of Dani, I’d like to thank you for agreeing to be interviewed for her story. I know we are all curious as to what’s been going on around here this weekend. Who killed Antinous, and who killed Demi.” I glanced over at Demi’s friends, who still looked a bit shell-shocked. “I believe I’ve figured out everything now that has happened, and while we wait to go on camera with Dani, I’m going to float my theory past all of you.” Every eye turned to me. “Okay, let’s get started.” I took a deep breath. “Okay. What most people here don’t know is that Demi loved to use her camera phone. She loved to document everything she did, posting the pictures on Facebook.” Her friends nodded. “So, when Demi arrived at the Maison Maintenon on Thursday, she got her phone out and took pictures of her room. She also took pictures of the view from her room.”

  Randisi smiled. “According to the Maison Maintenon, she arrived from the airport and checked into her room around two thirty.”

  “So, give or take, she started taking pictures around three-ish.” I shrugged. “She got here before her friends, who arrived later in the day. Her room was on the third floor of the main building at the Maison Maintenon, with two big French windows that looked out onto the pool in the back courtyard. So when she was taking pictures of the pool, she was also taking pictures of the gallery of the slave quarter. I don’t think she was really paying any attention to the gallery behind the pool—she was too busy taking pictures. She was on vacation, here to learn about writing and make some connections in the industry, she was away from her family…she wanted to have a good time. And of course document every little bit of her trip. What she didn’t know was that she actually got pictures of a man going to Antinous’s room. I don’t even know if she noticed at the time she took the pictures. At any rate, she was taking pictures that showed not only the gallery, but also part of the door to Antinous’s room. The gallery roof cut off part of the view, but she managed to get pictures of a man at Antinous’s door before the time she was actually murdered. And I don’t think she realized what she had pictures of—not until she downloaded them into her laptop the next day. Once she looked at the pictures, she knew what she had—but at the same time she wasn’t really sure if it meant anything or not. And the man in the pictures did not know that he’d been photographed.”

  “She took pictures of the killer?” This was Pat, and her voice was shaking. “Oh my God.”

  “I didn’t say that,” I replied. “I said she took pictures of a man going to Antinous’s room.” I closed my eyes. “But those pictures are significant because those pictures are the reason why Demi was murdered.” I opened my eyes and looked around the room. “I’ve been confused and had difficulty figuring out everything that happened over the past few days because, you see, I, and the police, have assumed all along the two murders were committed by the same person and were linked. I assumed the man in Demi’s pictures had killed Antinous, and then when he found out about the pictures, he killed Demi. And we were both right and wrong about the link.”

  “How can you be right and wrong?” This was Leslie MacKenzie. Sitting next to her son, she leaned forward curiously. “You can’t be both.”

  “In this case, yes, we can,” I replied. “You see, the murders are linked—but not in the way I and Detective Randisi and everyone assumed. If Antinous had not been murdered, Demi would still be alive. But they were killed by different people, and for different reasons.” I shook my head. “Demi took a picture of someone going into Antinous’s room before Antinous was murdered, and then Demi herself was murdered. It stood to reason that Antinous’s murderer and Demi’s murderer were one and the same. But it wasn’t the case. Demi was killed because of the pictures she took, but she didn’t take a picture of Antinous’s murderer.” I turned to Leslie MacKenzie. “But you didn’t know that, did you, Leslie?”

  Every eye in the room turned to Leslie MacKenzie, who looked confused. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “It’s okay, Leslie,” I said reassuringly. “Any mother would have done what you did. Those pictures Demi took—that was your son, wasn’t it?”

  Lance turned and stared at his mother. “Mom?”

  “She recognized him,” Leslie replied. “She walked back with me from the Monteleone Hotel back to the Maison Maintenon yesterday afternoon. She came running after me on Royal Street. She told me she had something to show me, about Lance, that I’d want to know.” Her voice shook, her eyes filling with tears. “When she showed me the pictures on her laptop, and I saw Lance…I just grabbed the laptop out of her hands and hit her with it, God help me, I didn’t know what I was doing, I swear…and then when I saw she was dead and the laptop was destroyed…I just got the hell out of there.”

  “But, Mom, I didn’t kill that awful woman!” Lance grabbed her hands. “You have to believe me!” He turned back to me and Randisi. “I didn’t kill her!”

  I nodded. “I know. You just went to confront her, didn’t you? You just wanted to give her a piece of your mind.”

  “Yes.” He nodded. “I didn’t know what I was going to do, honestly. I really didn’t, but I wanted to see her, face-to-face, have her look me in the eye and say the things she’d said about me and my mother to my face. But she
wasn’t there. I knocked and knocked and she never answered, so I went back to my own room.” He swallowed. “I just assumed I’d run into her later.”

  “She didn’t answer.” I picked up my narrative again. “She couldn’t answer because not only was she not in her room—she was already dead.” I turned back to Randisi with a smile. “You didn’t find a murder weapon in her room, did you?”

  He shook his head. “No, we didn’t find anything in her room that could have been used to kill her. There was no blood, nothing. She wasn’t killed in her room.”

  “That was the first problem,” I went on. “Everyone assumed she’d been killed in her room, and the killer panicked and tossed her body over the gallery railing. That was a conundrum for me. She wasn’t a small woman, so I could not for the life of me figure how the killer had gotten her over that railing.” I shook my head. “Which of course was all wrong. The killer didn’t get her over the railing because the killer didn’t need to. That was the other thing I was wrong about.” I sighed. “It all had to do with the layout of the hotel—but it’s funny how you can convince yourself about something and you don’t see the obvious. I was operating under the assumption all along that the killer had killed Antinous in the heat of the moment and then tossed her over the railing because he panicked. I was so blind. Antinous didn’t come over the railing. She came out of a window on the third floor of the slave quarters.” I laughed at myself. “I was so stupid. This wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment murder. This was carefully planned, almost from the very beginning.

  “Any number of people had reason to want her dead. She was an incredibly unpleasant woman—arrogant, self-absorbed, she wandered through life like a bull in a china shop, carelessly causing damage everywhere she blundered and bumbled. And she didn’t care. She always excused herself, found a way to blame someone else for what she’d done. When the killer found out she was coming to Angels and Demons, the killer started planning this out. The great irony of it all is that Antinous herself, in her own arrogance, gave the killer all the information needed to commit the crime. Some of it was, of course, just blind luck. The killer couldn’t have known, of course, that Antinous’s room was going to be directly below hers—that was just a stroke of really good luck.”