Fatal Impressions

by Reba White Williams

  I know there are plenty of bad people involved: that terrible Parker, the Victor women (although I am sorry they were killed), Moose, Leichter, Danbury. Probably a lot more. Don’t trust anyone at DDD&W. It’s a nest of vipers. If you want to talk, call me! Good Luck!

  As ever, your friend, Ellie.

  P.S. I don’t know if you’ll recognize me when we meet. I’ve enclosed a jpeg.

  Dinah stared at the picture. Ellie the mouse as Eleanor Athos was exceptionally pretty, a typical girl-next-door beauty. Ellie deserved an Academy Award. Not to mention a medal for bravery. She had been annoyed at Ellie for not coming forward, but as it turned out, Ellie had seen nothing, and she’d risked exposure, perhaps worse, by trying to help Dinah.

  Dinah didn’t think she’d ever had a drink alone. But she wanted to toast Ellie. She poured a glass of white wine from an open bottle in the refrigerator, took a sip, and lifted her glass toward the West. “Go, girlfriend,” she said. “Thanks for everything.”

  Coleman was still at her desk at nearly eight Thursday evening when Heyward called.

  “We’ve spoken several times today, but it’s always been to exchange information, and I keep meaning to have a longer chat with you. I’ve got to go to London Saturday night, and I thought we could have dinner at my place Friday night. Are you free?”

  “Yes, that would be great,” Coleman said.

  “I’m going to ask Dinah and Jonathan and a few other people. We’ve disposed of Parker, as you know, but have you heard that Jonathan and I are going to help Elizabeth Davidson? I called her in London and told her about Parker, and also about the mess at DDD&W. When I described Hunt, and how he’s trying to clean house, she said she wants to work with him—to help, if she can. She said her father would want her to. He always wanted her to work at DDD&W, and now the company needs her.”

  “Good grief! Talk about turning the other cheek. She must be quite a girl,” Coleman said.

  “I think she is. She’s going to let the Americana collection go to the Prince Charles Stuart Museum. She said again she thought that’s what her father would want. I’d say that dinner Friday night was a celebration, except that there’s still a murderer at large, and I can’t figure out how we’re going to identify him, or her.”

  “I know,” Coleman said. “I looked at my list of questions about the case, and we’ve answered them all, and the answers don’t help. Poor Dinah is still worried sick.”

  Fifty-Eight

  Bethany and Loretta arrived at DDD&W on Friday morning nearly an hour earlier than usual, but a lot of people were there before them. They followed the crowd to the thirty-third floor, where the masses formed a line near the managing director’s office. One of Moose’s Merry Men waved at them.

  “The Stubbs are back,” he called. “We’re waiting to see them. Better get in line.”

  Bethany and Loretta thanked him and fell in at the end of the line. Naomi Skinner walked by, checking names on a list. She stopped and glared at them. “Sorry, no outsiders,” she said in her screechy voice.

  Bethany, big-eyed in mock surprise, asked, “Why is that?”

  Skinner looked at Bethany as if she were a roach in her soup. “Do you see the length of the line? It will take hours for all the employees to see the paintings. There’s no room for people like you.”

  “But this is our last day here,” Bethany protested. “Can’t you make an exception?”

  “No exceptions. You’re wasting your time.” Skinner stalked off, still checking her list.

  “What do we do now? Coleman wanted me to take pictures,” Loretta said.

  “I’ll call Coleman. She may have a suggestion,” Bethany said.

  But Coleman told them to forget about photographing the paintings—they had more than enough information about them, what with Rachel’s reports from London, Parker’s confession, and Crawdaddy’s admission that he’d made the copies, not to mention Heyward’s “buying” them. “Just finish up, pick up the check, and leave,” she said.

  Bethany, who needed no urging, assured Coleman they’d leave by noon. After Bethany and Loretta finished hanging the last of the prints, they sent the hangers home, and Bethany collected the Greene Gallery’s check from Theodore Douglas’s office. When Bethany handed the check to the messenger who would deliver it to Dinah, she heaved a great sigh of relief. “I can’t wait to leave this place,” she said. She reached under her sweater, removed the wire, and stretched. “My last official act is to hand everything over to you,” she said, passing the wire to Loretta.

  Bethany was struggling to hide her excitement. She and Zeke were catching the three o’clock plane to North Carolina to see her family and go through the various rituals that would allow them to become officially engaged.

  Bethany hadn’t told Loretta her plans, but Loretta knew she was eager to leave early and had offered to stay and close up. Since that involved little more than packing the listening devices, and wouldn’t take more than a few minutes, Bethany had accepted her offer. Bethany could use those minutes. She had to change clothes and take care of last-minute packing. She’d be ready when Zeke picked her up to go to the airport. Oh, yes, she’d be ready.

  She’d told Dinah that she was going home for the weekend, but not that Zeke was going with her, and not the reason for the trip. Bethany wanted to surprise everyone when they came back. She could hardly wait to get to North Carolina, to enjoy the weekend, and to appear on Monday wearing her magnificent ring, and with a wedding date set. She planned to ask both Dinah and Coleman to be in her wedding. She wanted to ask Loretta, too, but she had too many cousins; she couldn’t single one out.

  Loretta watched Bethany rush off. What was that girl up to? Bethany never let anyone do a job she was supposed to do. They’d been warned over and over never to be alone at DDD&W, and Bethany had never left her there by herself. But it suited Loretta to have Bethany out of the way. She had plans for the rest of the day and the night, too. She didn’t want a bossy boots staring over her shoulder, or telling her to go home. Coleman had asked her to take pictures of the fake Stubbs for ArtSmart, and come hell or high water, that’s what she was going to do. She’d already taken a shot of the people waiting in line, and when everyone had left, she’d use the card she’d found in Ellie’s desk to get in that office. She’d get good photos of the paintings.

  But she had a lot of time to fill before she could get into that room, and the first thing she’d do was drop by Moose’s office. She wanted another look at the framed photographs on his desk. She was pretty sure he’d be out—he and his cronies took long lunch hours and came back in the middle of the afternoon laughing, talking loud, and smelling of whisky and beer.

  Right. His office was empty. She walked in, head high, acting as if she owned the place, just in case anyone passed the door, and picked up a silver-framed photograph she’d glimpsed but never examined closely. It was just as she remembered: an exquisite platinum blonde, even more beautiful than Moose’s wife, stood next to a man Loretta had scarcely noticed when she first saw the picture. The photo was signed by both its subjects. She grabbed the picture and stuck it under her jacket. She’d copy it, and one day next week, she’d sneak in and return the original. She rearranged the pictures on the desk so there wasn’t an empty space. She was sure Moose wouldn’t notice its absence. He wasn’t due back for a while, but she better get out of his office. Moose might be a killer. She’d heard rumors that he was a bad guy, but nothing concrete. Anyway, she planned to stay out of his way.

  Back in the office, she used her cell phone to call Coleman but reached voice mail. So much the better. She’d leave a message and avoid questions, like where was she, and when did she leave DDD&W, and stuff like that.

  “Coleman? Something strange. I ran into Theodore Douglas in the Village over the weekend. He was with two little children with red hair—claimed they were his, said they looked like his wife Kathy. I took a picture of him and the kids ‘cause they were so cute, and they all looked so h
appy. I didn’t know who he was at the time, but I saw him in the office yesterday. I didn’t remember where I’d seen him, but today it came to me. I compared my picture to one of him and his wife Glenda, and it’s definitely Mr. Douglas. His wife is not named Kathy, and she doesn’t have red hair. I’m sending you the pictures I took in the Village. I thought you’d want to know.”

  Now for her major mission. She couldn’t go in the office where the Stubbs hung until tonight when everybody had left. That was fine. She still had plenty to do.

  Her first stop was the art storage room, where she put aside an unassembled cardboard box to take back to the office. She rearranged the empty crates and boxes in which prints had been delivered to make a lean-to against the wall. She’d hide behind it until everyone left for the night. She’d already stashed her books, a blanket, a bottle of water, a flashlight and extra batteries, two peanut-butter sandwiches, a banana, and her invisibility cloak—an oversized black sweater, black leggings, and black flats. A big change from the hot pink suit she wore to work today. She stood out in the pink; she would disappear in the black. She grabbed the empty box and returned to home base.

  She removed the black-and-white flower prints from the walls, wrapped them in newspapers, and put them in the box. Next came Bethany’s wire and the bugs from the art storage room, the telephone, the wall behind the pictures, and the restroom. The bugs had been a waste of time and money; they’d picked up nothing but people talking trash. But they’d been worth a try: they might have snared a killer. Too bad they hadn’t. Now to call Rob’s guy to come get the box. She’d leave it for him with the receptionist.

  The technician, who received the box when it arrived at the suite on the fifty-fourth floor, telephoned Rob. “Rob, this is Billy. A box just came up from downstairs. We got all the devices back except the one Loretta Byrd was wearing. They’re coded—that’s how we know the missing one is hers.”

  “She probably left it down there, or forgot and wore it home. Keep the recorder on until you get her device back or you hear from her. Let me know when that happens, okay? If she left it at DDD&W, we’ll have to figure out how to retrieve it.”

  “Yeah. What about the pictures? Pictures of flowers in black frames?”

  “They must me be Dinah’s. Have them dropped off at the Greene Gallery.”

  When Coleman played Loretta’s message, she couldn’t believe her ears. Ted, a two-wife guy? A harem must be more fashionable than she’d realized. At one time bigamy seemed to be a Texas phenomenon. H.L. Hunt set the pattern in Dallas—three families—and got away with it big-time. There wasn’t even a social stigma attached. The illegitimate progeny fared as well as the legitimate. Then along came financier Fayez Sarofim, at that time described as the richest man in Houston, who lived with his wife Louisa, heiress to the Brown & Root construction fortune, and their two children, but who established girlfriend Linda Hicks in a love nest nearby, had two children with her, and refused to give her up.

  More recently, an article in Fortune described a famous Wall Street banker, who had a child with “wife” two. The little boy was four before that Master of the Universe told his legal wife about his “other” family. For years he ran two households, a few blocks apart on Manhattan’s East Side.

  And there was the Wall Street bigwig, who had a wife and teenaged kids in Greenwich, and another family a few miles away in Westport. Loretta seemed to have turned up still another bigamist. But Ted—my God, the gorgeous Glenda and her mighty family would destroy him if they discovered his other life. She wouldn’t have dreamed Ted would take a risk like that. He’d always seemed to be the most conventional of men. DDD&W was full of surprising people, and none of the surprises was pleasant.

  Fifty-Nine

  Jeb sauntered into Heyward’s office looking sleepy and satisfied, like a contented cat. He was all but licking his chops.

  “You must have talked to Roger Black at Colossus,” Heyward said.

  “I did. I ruined his weekend. I explained real slow and careful about your new company, and what it was doin’, and how Miss Coleman fit in. He was sputterin’ and fussin’ and not bein’ a good listener, so I told him how we stumbled on Colossus’s inside-information scheme. I thought for a minute he’d pass out. ‘Course, his name is on the letters to Miss Coleman. How could he be so stupid?” Jeb said.

  Heyward shrugged. “Arrogance. He underestimated Coleman and Coleman’s friends. Probably thought she was a fragile little blonde who’d give them anything they wanted if they frightened her enough.”

  “He hung the Moose out to dry, just like we expected. Blamed everything on him. Well, that’s that on Colossus. I think we’re done with them. What’s next?”

  “Are you set for tonight’s dinner?” Heyward asked.

  “No problem about tonight. After tonight?”

  “I have to go to London for a couple of weeks, and I’ll take Hicks with me. You’re in charge here. Keep an eye on the business—I think it’s pretty much on track. That Swedish team we hired is doing a great job, and I’m sure Coleman is doing fine. You can reach me in London if you need me.”

  “Okay. See you at seven.” Jeb lounged out, whistling “Carolina in the Morning.”

  After Jeb left, Heyward cleared his desk and packed his briefcase, thinking about the evening ahead and what had to be done before he left for London Saturday night. The penthouse suite in what was now officially the CH Holdings building was large enough to accommodate everyone and everything he’d had in mind. The Fishleys, from whom he’d bought the building, had retained the penthouse during their tenure for their own use but had rarely entered it. It was in good shape but had been plain vanilla. He’d asked Coleman’s chic friend, Debbi Diamondstein, who handled both his and Coleman’s press relations, to jazz it up. She’d brought in a crowd of people who’d made it glamorous and exciting. He had a date with Coleman Saturday morning. He planned to surprise her with the suite and her new office. He was sure she’d love both, and they’d have some time to discuss the future.

  Loretta yawned. Seemed like she’d been shut up in the dark for hours. She looked at her watch: only four thirty. She couldn’t go about her business for another six hours. The cleaning people left about ten, and she’d wait an extra half hour or so to be sure they were gone. She’d slip out to the ladies’ room for a few minutes after the receptionist left at six and then sneak back to her cave. Thank goodness she’d brought three mystery books with her. At least one had to be exciting. She needed to stay awake.

  She hadn’t remembered to do everything she should have. She’d forgotten to charge her cell phone, and the battery was dead. She hadn’t told her new roommates she’d be out to dinner. She wouldn’t be on the lease until April 1, ten days from now, but she was at the apartment all the time, and they expected her to obey the rules—call if you were running late or not coming home, or planned to be out for a meal. They thought she was crazy, giving up her own place to sleep on a bunk bed in a room with three others. But they were fun and good company, and she wouldn’t be lonely or homesick living with them. They’d have conniption fits about her not staying in touch, though. And she’d forgotten to turn in that stupid wire. She’d take it off, but she might forget again and leave it in here. She’d been told they were expensive. It was probably safest where it was.

  Sixty

  Coleman had never seen Heyward’s house dressed up for a party. The rooms were beautiful, if too formal for her taste. The word cozy did not apply. The black-and-white color scheme seemed cold, despite the touches of deep red in the cushions, the cranberry glass ornaments, and a striking Motherwell over the fireplace.

  For tonight’s festivities the austere rooms had been decorated with great silver bowls of red camellias and larger arrangements of dark pink crabapple blossoms. Candles in silver and crystal holders glittered everywhere, and the delicate scent of the flowers reminded Coleman of childhood walks in an apple orchard in bloom. The atmosphere was festive, and certainly there was mu
ch to celebrate, although not enough. A murderer was still at large, and a cloud still hovered over Dinah. Coleman pushed those worries out of her mind and concentrated on her surroundings.

  Heyward had collected many beautiful and valuable objects; it would take hours to see everything. She was admiring a group of exquisite miniatures clustered on the wall in the hall when Heyward came down the stairs.

  “Hi, Coleman, welcome!”

  The doorbell rang, Horace answered it, and Dinah and Jonathan joined Coleman and Heyward. After exchanging greetings, Dinah turned to look at the miniatures that Coleman was admiring.

  “These are lovely,” she said.

  Heyward smiled. “Thank you. They’re my most treasured possessions. I inherited them from my paternal grandmother. I can’t make up my mind whether to keep them here or in London. For the time being, I plan to be mostly in New York, so they’ll stay here.”

  “Shouldn’t they be in a safe?” Coleman asked.

  “No, I like to look at them, and to share them with others. Anyway, I have a terrific security system. I had all the New York services checked out, and hired an outfit called Prestige. They installed the alarm system, and they test it periodically. This place is as safe as a bank vault.”

  Jonathan smiled. “We use Prestige, too. I researched all the companies as well. They’re far and away the best.”

  Heyward turned to look at him, an odd expression on his face. “You use Prestige?”

  “Why not? Just as you said, they’re the best,” Jonathan said.

  “Right. Dinah? When you’re at home, do you set the alarm? Or just when you’re both out?”

  “Oh, it’s always on, whether we’re there or not. I turn it off when I unlock the door to go in, turn it back on when I’m safely inside. Jonathan worries that someone will break in while we’re at home, or worse, when I’m home alone,” Dinah said.