“Thank you.”
“Because I know who did.”
The storm.
The clock.
Two cats made their way in from one corner of the room, fought viciously for a few seconds of hissing and spewing and clawing and biting, then left through the small trap door on the other side of the room.
“What?”
“I know who had mad, stinking sex with Garth Amboise.”
“Who?”
“Me.”
“You!”
“Yes.”
Well, what do you know about that?
Harriet Crossman.
The same person who had, lo these many years, been going to bed with Professor Brighton Dunbury.
The woman, Nina found herself thinking, is a gerbil.
“It was, in fact, almost exactly as Rebeccah Thornwhipple described it. I went up to his room between the end of breakfast and the beginning of the first session. I knew it would probably be no help because…well, some months ago, Garth had made up his mind. I was simply too old for him.”
Be quiet, Stupid Nina, Smart Nina said to Stupid Nina.
“How did you meet him in the first place?” Stupid Nina asked, refusing the advice.
A shrug.
“In New York City, actually. Garth was there to accept some award or other. He was always winning awards, you know.”
“I saw his resume.”
“Yes. He has a splendid resume. It’s such a beautiful thing. I fell in love with his resume, even before I ever came to know him. I have a copy of it, in my bedroom. I shall always keep it, along with a lock of his hair.”
“Well, they can’t take that away from you. Either of those things, actually.”
“No. And I told myself that no one could take Garth, either. And no one could take him away from me. Except for Garth himself though. And he did. So I went to his room. And I threw myself at him. Gave myself to him, one last time. And do you know what?”
“No what?”
“He laughed at me.”
“Son of a ….”
She hesitated, then said:
“… gun.”
Harriet Crossman was obviously on the verge of tears.
“I was enraged. I’ve never hated another human being so intensely in my life.”
Nina hardly knew how to phrase the next question.
She simply knew that it had to be phrased.
“So, did you…”
The woman looked at her in a puzzled way for an instant, then recoiled in horror:
‘Oh, no! No, no, a thousand times no! I may have hated Garth at that moment, but I would never have murdered him. Even now, when I think of all that blood—that someone could have done that to him…”
Okay, said Nina to herself, so you didn’t kill him. Good. Why are you telling me all of this?
“I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this.”
So, that question answered.
“It’s just that I feel I can trust you. You’re a kind of…”
If you say ‘comforting presence,’ I’ll barf.
“…a kind of comforting presence.”
“You’re so kind to say that!”
“It’s true, my dear. Already I feel so much better for telling someone about this.”
“I’m glad that I can help.”
“You are a help. A great help. Just to listen the way you do. I hope Officer Thompson is as good a listener, when I tell him my story.”
“Are you sure you have to tell him?”
“Yes. Now or later. You see, I’m certain my fingerprints are all over the bed frame.”
“Why would your fingerprints be all over the…”
“Don’t go into it.”
“Sorry.”
Once again Nina found herself thinking:
Gerbils.
“And so I shall tell him my story. I can only pray he believes it.”
“I’m sure he will.”
“Perhaps, perhaps not. But there is one more thing. One thing that I must tell him, and that he absolutely must believe.”
“What thing?”
Harriet Crossman leaned forward:
“Someone else had been in that room before me!”
I have, Nina found herself thinking, an immense respect for Garth Amboise.
Talk about a resume!
“There was a scent, an aroma.”
“Perfume?”
“Yes. Garth would occasionally wear cologne, like when he flew to Paris to receive the Coco Chanel Award for Best First Novel Promoting the Cause of French Fashion. But this was a woman’s scent. Also I found, in the bed, a nail.”
“A fingernail?”
“Yes, a long false nail. And it began to dawn on me: whatever woman had been there earlier in the morning could have come back. And with those nails…”
“You think fingernails could have done that much damage?”
“It depends on the woman. In one of C. R. Robertson’s latest books, Blood on the Glass Ceiling, Patty Parity discovers a corporation in which men are being paid higher wages than women, even though they’re doing the same job. She disguises herself as a secretary—long nails, lipstick, you know—succeeds in finding two of the chauvinist board members in a meeting room, and, when they make a pass at her…”
“I think I understand.”
“Now I’m not saying it’s a cozy novel. But it has sold a great many copies.”
“I’m sure.”
“There is talk of Patty Parity being played by Jennifer Anniston.”
A thought appeared in Nina’s mind, and she let it come out:
“Harriet, do you think C. R. Roberts could have been responsible for Garth’s death? I mean, clearly he exploits women. He’s every true feminist’s worst nightmare. She’s very muscular, but perhaps he might have found that attractive.”
Harriet thought for a time:
“It’s possible, but the body was all in one piece.”
“I see.”
“If it had been dismembered…”
“No, it was just a passing thought.”
Harriet smiled and said:
“Well, you’re not a cozy writer. No, I don’t believe it was C. R. But I do believe a woman was there, and I believe she may have made love to Garth. If, spurred on by whatever passion, she was driven to come back…well, anything might have happened.”
Harriet Crossman looked at her watch.
“My heavens, it’s half past five. There will be dinner, then the evening session, and, of course, the HBO Award. Strange, isn’t it? So very strange. It was to be a kind of crowning glory for the Guild, and a moment I would never forget. And now—now I can only think of Garth. He’s gone. And I can only think the same thing, over and over. I can only think: I’ve never hated a loved one quite so much!”
“That’s so moving.”
“Good-bye for a time, Ms. Bannister. And thank you for listening.”
And so saying, Harriet Crossman left the room.
Five minutes passed.
Harriet Crossman was definitely gone.
AND NOW THERE WAS NOTHING TO STOP HER FROM TAKING A NAP!
Except the knock on the door.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
For an instant she simply closed her eyes yet more tightly.
It would go away, wouldn’t it?
Etc., etc., etc.
“Yes?”
An answer came.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Ms. Bannister. May I come in?”
No no no no no no no No no no no no no no No no no no no no no No no no no no no no No no no no no no no No no no no no no no No no no no no no no No no no no no no no No no no no no no no No no no no no no no No no no no no no no No no no no no no no No no no no no no no No no no no no no no No no no no no no no No no no no no no no No no no no no no no No no no no no no no No no no no no no no No no no no no no no No no no no no no no No no no no no no no No no no no no no no No no no no no no no No no no no no no no
No no no no no no no No no no no no no no No no no no no no no No no no no no no no No no no no no no no No no no no no no no No no no no no no no…
“Of course!”
And the door opened.
It was Suzy Maples.
“I’ve disturbed your rest.”
Well duuuuh!
“Not at all.”
“I can come back later.”
“No, this is fine. Come in. Sit down.”
“If you’re sure––”
“Of course. I’ll join you. We can sit at that desk over by the window.”
And they sat by the window and not the bed and––
––etc., etc., etc.
“I’m Suzy Maples. I write the Chrissie Oakton Mysteries. Chrissie is young and beautiful, and takes part constantly in beauty pageants. All of the murders she solves take place at such pageants, and the victims are always beauty queens. The cat is a beautifully groomed Siamese named Skipples.”
“Your cat?”
“No, Chrissie’s cat. My cat is a Siamese named Whiskers.”
Oh yes, Nina remembered. The one that was humping Sluggo, the plantation cat.
Nina attempted to rid her mind of that image by looking more closely at Suzy Maples and noting how she was dressed:
She wore an Armani Colleziani sleeveless pique dress, over which hung a Helmut Lang ‘eroded threads’ sweater, the dress cinched at the waist by a liquid satin chain-embellished caviar-flash belt (from the St. John Collection). Underneath the dress, she wore (Nina could only assume) a Cosabella x Erin Fetherston unlined underwire bra, Wacoal ‘retro chic’ high cut briefs, and a star power by Spanx ‘Lady Luxe’ super slimming slip. Around her neck was a tasteful Etro double-sided floral/paisley scarf (white on dark green), and from her ears hung two Alexis Bittar ‘lucite-dust’ long-leaf statement aqua-marine earrings, which set off beautifully her delicately applied rouge (Koh-Gen do mai fan shi fresh-face cheek color Oro 2-Mandarin orange). Her long fingernails were Deborah Lippmann ‘Magic in the Moonlight,’ and from her wrists hung several bracelets, among them a silver Vadri ‘celtic knot’ and a Nadri Pave hinged open bracelet. Spaced among these charming bracelets was an elegant watch (Kate Spade New York ‘metro’ crystal bezel heart dial watch 34 mm.) and several rings, among them two Ariella collection mixed stackable rings and Argento Viva hammered skinny rings. Her eyes were shaded by Tom Ford ‘celina’ 55 mm. polarized sunglasses (which Nina knew, from her trips to Wal-Mart, sold for $3,678.00).
As headwear, she wore a striking lavender CGI infrared Cole Gear beanie, and on her feet were two Valentino ‘rock stud’ t-strap leather pumps with three-inch heels.
She wore Chantecaille hyra chic “Arctic rose” lipstick and carried for a purse a Dooney and Burke nylon shopper with braided handles.
Her scent was Hermes limited edition 24 Faubourg eau de parfume edition numero 24.
“I love what you’re wearing,” said Nina.
“Oh, these old things.”
“No, really, you look fantastic.”
“That’s so nice of you to say, especially since I’ve come barging in here disturbing you.”
“It’s no bother.”
“I just—well, I had to come and tell you. I don’t hold it against you.”
“Hold what against me?”
“Murdering Garth.”
“I didn’t murder him.”
“I know, that’s what you have to say.”
“But it’s the––”
“No, you don’t have to lie. He told me he was having an affair with an older woman. A much older woman.”
“Well, I’m not really that––”
“And he also told me he was going to end it. So I understand. You were deeply hurt. I can only imagine what it must be like to be your age.”
“It’s all right if you can take a nap every now and then.”
Suzy Maples appeared not to hear this, and continued:
“I suppose by now you’ve figured out that I was having an affair with Garth, too.”
As it was, Nina found herself thinking, the entire Daughters of the Confederacy was probably having an affair with Garth.
“I was in his room last night. This morning, really. We’ve been lovers for several months now.”
“When were you there?”
“From about 2 a. m. until a little after 5 a. m.”
“You made love for more than three hours?”
“Oh, no, we only had sex for a half hour or so.”
“But you were there for over three hours.”
“It takes me a long time to get undressed.”
“Oh, I see.”
“And then I have to hang everything up––”
“Yes, yes, I understand.”
“It’s not like it’s all perma-press.”
“Of course not.”
“Then there’s the makeup to take off.”
“Obviously.”
“And then, when we’re through, I have to put it all on again.”
“Well, that would follow.”
That would also explain, Nina began to realize, the scent that Harriet Crossman had detected.
Hermes limited edition 24, Faubourg eau de parfume, edition numero 24.
And the nails.
Deborah Lippman ‘Magic in the Moonlight.’
“I have to tell you that I thought about killing him. I really did.”
“Why?”
“He was through with me. He told me so last night.”
“What reason did he give you?”
“He was brutally honest, I will say that for him. I went with his last award. But he expected to get another award, so he thought he’d be needing another woman.”
“I don’t understand. What do you mean, you ‘went with his last award’?”
“Atlanta.”
“What about Atlanta?”
“A month ago. I won the Miss Atlanta Pageant. So of course, I had to write a Chrissie Oakton cozy, in which Chrissie won the Miss Atlanta Pageant. At the same time, Garth was winning the Atlanta Peach Award for Best Novel Featuring Globular Fruit. We met at a book signing. He asked me to go to bed with him, and since he was a writer, I said yes. But I found out he only wanted me for his second resume.”
“Second resume?”
“Yes. He liked to have one woman for every literary award. And as long as his most current award was the Atlanta one, why, I was his most current mistress. I knew all of this, of course, but somehow I hoped against hope that he wouldn’t win anything else for a long time. Garth was so brilliant though. You know, he had six doctorates and he was only thirty––”
“I know how old he was.”
“Yes, and he’d published poetry in over a thousand––”
“I know that, too.”
“He had the most wonderful resume. I loved to just touch his resume.”
“Sure you did.”
“Didn’t you?”
“Thrilled me so, you can’t imagine.”
“But anyway he told me early this morning after we’d made love and I was an hour and a half into getting dressed again. He was expecting to win the HBO contract, and he would need a new woman to keep the resumes even. Probably a Los Angeles woman. I was so hurt.”
“Well, who wouldn’t be?”
“But now that you’ve killed him, it doesn’t seem so bad somehow.”
Nina had given up convincing Suzy Maples that she had not killed Garth Amboise.
In fact, she’d grown rather fond of thinking that she had killed Garth Amboise.
Killed him and cut off his resume.
But that was neither here nor there.
“Why,” she found herself asking, “doesn’t it seem so bad anymore, Suzy?”
She brightened.
“Because he was certain to win the HBO Award. Now that he’s dead, I believe I have an excellent chance. I had a great interview with Sylvia Duncan. I can so clearly visualize Chrissy Oakton on television. Chrissie and Skipple
s.”
If, Nina found herself thinking, old Skipples isn’t pregnant.
But about this she said nothing.
“I feel myself getting so deeply into her character, her personality, her innermost being. She’ll be played by Jennifer Anniston, of course. In the first episode, Jenn will be wearing a Donna Karan Collection organza trumpet skirt. The following week, when she wins the Seabreeze Cove Pageant—Seabreeze Cove is a quaint little New England––”
“That’s all right, I can visualize it.”
“Anyway, when she wins the contest, she’ll be wearing an Akris Punto guitar print silk tunic. But later on, she’ll change into––”
“You know, Suzy, maybe you shouldn’t tell me.”
Suzy Maples smiled.
“I understand. The suspense. You don’t want me to ruin the suspense.”
“That’s it! I can just imagine sitting in my little bungalow, Furl the Cat curled up on my lap, watching Jennifer––”
“Jenn.”
“––Jenn changing from one outfit into another––”
“And you’ll be able to say to yourself, ‘This is all happening because of me.’ How is that going to feel, Ms. Bannister?”
“I can’t tell you. I really can’t begin to tell you.”
“Ooooh, I was dreading coming to talk to you. But now I feel much better.”
“Glad I could help.”
“Are you going to be downstairs tonight when the big announcement is made?”
“Wouldn’t miss it. And I’ll be keeping my fingers crossed for you!”
“Thank you! Thank you so much!”
And, so saying, Suzy Maples rose and left the room.
To be followed, in precisely five minutes––
(How did they all manage to keep showing up in perfect five-minute intervals, as though they were German trains?)
––by Pat and Jim Hershey.
They knocked, she told them to come in, they did, they all went to the table.
And again and again and again and––
What if, once these two left, she just threw herself out the window and ended it all?
How high was this window?
She looked.
Probably not high enough.
And there were bushes down there to break her fall.
And it was raining, so she would get wet.
Better to just endure.
“We hope––”
“––that we’re not disturbing––”
“––you but we wanted to tell––”
Climate Change: A Nina Bannister Mystery (The Nina Bannister Mysteries Book 7) Page 18