“Not at all.”
“She found me at Bergdorf’s.” Alison poured him tea.
“Just like a good bloodhound.” His smile broadened but it didn’t make his blue eyes any warmer.
“I was following Claire Conrad’s orders just like a good assistant. You know what that is.”
He adjusted another one of his great-looking sports jackets. This one was gray and maroon checked. You didn’t have to feel it to know it was cashmere.
“What was so urgent that you had to track my fiancée down at her bridal fitting?”
“She just wanted to know more about Cybella and Sarah,” Alison answered.
He studied her for a moment, the way a lepidopterist might study a butterfly pinned to a piece of cardboard. “You don’t have to answer her questions, Alison.”
“I know.” Her voice was tense.
“I thought your father made that clear.”
“He’s come out of his club? He’s through mourning?” I asked.
“That’s not funny, Maggie,” Alison snapped.
There was an awkward silence. He took a bite of a watercress sandwich, swallowed, thought a moment, and said politely: “I understand Claire Conrad is L.A.-based.”
I nodded.
“I was out there once.”
I waited for more. But that was it. He seemed to enjoy the tension, as if it somehow gave him control over Alison. She somberly watched the violinist who was dipping and swooping around the tables. “Mother used to love to come here. It made her happy. Not much else in her life did.”
“You’re not her protector,” I blurted.
Alison looked as if I’d slapped her. “She needs me, Maggie. She always has.”
“You entered Alison’s life by leaving a threatening message and now you act like her therapist. What exactly do you want from her?” Paul demanded.
I didn’t have an answer.
“You don’t have to put up with this,” he told her. “I think I should take you home.”
She stood and gathered her two bags. “I wish I’d met you earlier, Maggie.” She walked out toward the lobby.
Paul grabbed some money out of his pocket. “Don’t bother her again.” He tossed it on the table. A couple of coins rolled around the teapot. He reached for them but I was quicker. I opened my hand and looked at a quarter and a large token with the silhouette of a naked girl stamped on it. It was the kind of token that got you into a private one-on-one booth at Peep Thrills. I looked up at him. His nice handsome jaw twitched.
“Make any excuse you have to, but put her in a cab and come back here. If you don’t, you may not be walking down the aisle as soon as you think.”
He turned and walked stiffly out of the place. I drank my tea and bit into a chocolate éclair the size of a big toe. Finally, a solid clue. I could hold it in my hand. Why didn’t I feel better about it? Oh, hell, at least Alison’s diamond was big enough to throw back in his face. The violinist swooped up to the table playing some ditty that sounded like a cross between Liebestraum and “Stranger in Paradise.” He swayed back and forth in a studied rapture. Without missing a beat, because he’d never found one, he glided to a table of tourists. Cameras hung around their necks like albatrosses, reminders of all they had seen or missed. They listened politely, nodding their heads. I poured another cup of tea and ate the rest of the éclair. Paul returned.
We stared at each other across the plates of thinly sliced sandwiches and miniature desserts. Very civilized. I leaned back in my chair. The leaves of the palm gently brushed at my hair and touched the back of my neck. It was a ghostly touch—as if the long delicate fingers of a dead woman were tapping on my shoulder.
“You know,” he said, pouring himself a cup, “peep shows are Victorian in their concept.”
“Look, I don’t care what your hang-ups are.”
“It’s Victorian in nature because it compartmentalizes. The Victorians loved to put everything in its proper place. They loved little boxes, desks, and dressers with hidden drawers. They liked to tuck things away.” He took a sip of tea.
“Fascinating.”
“In a sense, I’m Victorian. I have to keep my sexual needs in a special area. I don’t want to get involved with the women. I don’t want to touch them or be touched by them. I just like to unlock the hidden drawer and there they are.” He studied me, and decided a smile might help.
“What about Jackie?”
“I liked to watch Jackie among others, yes.”
“And now she’s dead.”
“It happens to them sometime.”
“You denied knowing her.”
“Not an unusual response under the circumstances.”
“Did you ever see her outside of Peep Thrills?”
“No.” He took another sip of tea and pressed his napkin against his lips.
“I don’t believe you.”
The violinist swirled over. He sawed away, trying for something that sounded like “Some Enchanted Evening.” Sweat beaded on the musician’s upper lip and dampened his dyed black hair at the temples. Playing the violin was hard labor. Paul never took his eyes off me. The fiddle player did his dippy-do, then rushed another table.
“Many men go to peep shows. I’m not unusual, Maggie.”
“Unless you’re a murderer.”
A woman sitting next to us swiveled her head in our direction. She munched a tiny torte. He shot her a disarming smile, then looked back at me. “Would you like to take a walk?” he asked, carefully folding his napkin.
We made our way out of the hotel and down the stairs.
I stared across at Grand Army Plaza. The tourists, the homeless, and the hustlers sat on the steps leading up to the fountain. Water tiered down into the basin, creating a white foam. I put on my sunglasses.
“I stayed in a big pink hotel when I was in Los Angeles,” he said, as if my sunglasses reminded him of the visit.
We headed toward the park. Waiters gazed out of the long windows of the hotel dining room. On Central Park South the horses and drivers still waited. Horse piss mixed with the smell of car exhaust.
“Jackie thought she was being followed,” I said. “Where were you Tuesday around eleven in the morning?”
“At the Reynolds residence. Alison will verify it.”
“Tell me about the video,” I said.
“I don’t know anything about a video.”
“Some men like to direct the girls in these porno videos.”
“Anything is possible.”
We stayed on Fifth. Paul moved with the physical ease of an athlete, his weight pitched slightly forward onto the balls of his feet, as if he were ready to make a run for it.
“Did you like to watch Sarah Grange?”
“She’s not my type.”
“You know, Goldie thought he knew who killed Jackie.”
“Goldie?”
“The bouncer at Peep Thrills. Big guy. Hard to miss.”
“Oh, yes, with the gold rings.”
“He’s dead. That makes two people you knew from Peep Thrills who have been murdered.” I caught him between grins. His lips were a weak line.
“Next you’ll be saying I killed Cybella.”
“Does the Reynolds family know about your Victorian tendencies?”
“No. But Sheridan is a man who has loved another woman and lived off his wife’s money. I think he’ll be tolerant of my one vice.”
“What about Mrs. Reynolds?”
“I think she knows what’s best for her daughter.”
“And you’re it?”
“Alison is a woman who sees the world through a lens. I on the other hand like to see a certain part of life through a smeared Plexiglas partition. We have more in common than you think.”
“How old is Alison? Twenty-one?”
“Twenty-two.”
“Hardly a woman. Don’t you think you’re a little old for her?”
“I need somebody young. Less intimidating. Or so I thought.” He tilt
ed his head toward mine. “She’s very jealous of me—but then, jealousy runs in her family.”
“Of course her money helps.”
“Yes, it does. But I’ll treat her very well.”
“Like you treated Jackie?”
He stopped and looked at me. “Jackie was going to die sooner or later. She’s safe now.”
“You mean she’s where she belongs. In her proper place. You never asked me how she died.”
“How did she die?” The wind ruffled his hair. He quickly smoothed it.
“She was stabbed to death.”
“That’s a little too intimate for me. I have an appointment. Good-bye, Maggie.” He extended his hand. I didn’t take it.
“You think I’m going to touch you? I don’t like to touch a man I think might be a murderer.” My voice was coldly exact. “I don’t like to touch a man that I think is marrying a young woman for her money and will probably end up destroying her life. I want to see you put in your proper place.”
He reached quickly around me, pulled me to him, and pressed his open mouth against mine. Just as quickly he released me, smiled, and sauntered up Fifth.
I could feel my anger all the way down to my fingertips. I had acted like any other dumb woman who had let her guard down because she thought she was in control. I wiped the taste of Paul Quentin off my lips with the back of my hand.
I waited for the light to change and headed toward Madison.
I needed a moment to myself. I stopped and gazed at the black-and-white spectator pumps.
Eighteen
GERTA LET ME INTO the suite and told me we had visitors. Sarah Grange sat in the Queen Anne, draping her long legs over one arm of the chair. She wore a tight yellow sweater and a short skirt. Nora Brown, wearing a red suit with a lot of pockets and gold buttons, sat on the sofa balancing a crocodile handbag on her lap. She looked as shiny and as hard as a new sports car.
“You can sit in any other chair in the room except the one you’re in,” I informed Sarah.
She gazed up at me from under her long lashes.
“That’s Claire Conrad’s chair. You can’t sit in it.” I sat down at my desk.
“Isn’t that a little childish?” she asked, not moving.
“Where is Claire Conrad?” Nora demanded. “We’ve been waiting for twenty minutes.”
“I guess she’s still with the police. Why don’t you sit on the sofa?”
“Police?” Sarah’s eyes widened.
“She went to the police?” Nora asked.
“No. They came to her. We were at the Duke Hotel. You remember the Duke, don’t you?” I asked Sarah.
She was too busy surveying the skin on her well-manicured hands to respond. And she still hadn’t moved from the Queen Anne.
“We found a dead body in Jackie’s room,” I continued. Nora never blinked.
“Linda?” Sarah asked carefully. Now she was scrutinizing the ends of her thick lustrous dark hair.
“No, a man named Goldie. Ever hear of him?”
“No.” Her fingers stroked her neck. It was like watching a beautiful monkey absorbed with picking itself clean.
“He shot the video you were in.”
“That doesn’t mean I know him.”
“Why’d you think it was Linda?”
“She doesn’t answer the phone.”
She pulled her hair back from her sculpted face, twisted it up, then let it fall. She kept doing this. She was something, all right, a party of one.
“What’s Linda’s number and address?”
She gave them to me. I got the machine and left a message asking her to call. Then I reached into my purse, pulled out my gun, and aimed right for Sarah’s forehead.
“Get out of Claire Conrad’s chair.”
Nora leaped to her feet, dropping her purse on the floor. “Have you gone crazy?!”
Sarah let her hair slip from between her fingers. She stared at the gun as if it were a camera. She smiled. Another heavenly smile. I was tired of people smiling at me. I released the safety catch.
“For God’s sake! That gun could go off by accident,” Nora said.
“No accident,” I said.
“Sarah’s worth millions. Please, put it away.”
Still smiling, Sarah said, “How sweet that you care so much about me, Nora.”
How do people talk and smile at the same time? Maybe that’s why they earn the big bucks.
Sarah swung her long legs around in one graceful bored movement and stood.
“I’m worth millions. Do you mind if I fix myself a drink?” she asked.
“Not at all,” I said.
She moved to the drinks table and poured herself some bottled water. We were in the decade of sobriety but it didn’t seem to be improving anybody’s manners or decreasing their inclination to murder. I put on the safety catch and placed the gun in my desk drawer. Nora grabbed her purse off the floor, as if it were going to crawl away, and sat back down.
“Do you know what it’s like to be beautiful and worth millions, Maggie?” Sarah asked, holding the glass of water in her hand as if it were a double martini and she were the life of the party.
“Let me take a wild guess.” I leaned back in my chair and stretched my arms. “It’s no fun to be worth millions. Everybody uses you. Nobody cares about you. They just love you for your beauty and not your inner self. I’m glad you got that off your chest. Feel better?”
“You don’t know what it’s like. You never will. A man will leave a beautiful woman quicker than he’ll leave a plain woman. They like to conquer a beautiful woman, show her off for a while. But they really don’t like all the attention she gets. In the long run it’s a big bother to them. But if you have money, nothing is a bother. For the first time in my life, nothing is a bother.”
“Not even your mother’s death?” I asked, opening my desk drawer and taking out a yellow legal pad and a pen.
“Be quiet, Sarah,” Nora said, brushing something off her skirt. Maybe the crocodile did a nasty in her lap. “We’re here to speak with Claire Conrad.” Her tone let me know she wasn’t here to speak with me.
She looked at her watch, took a portable phone the size of a graham cracker out of the crocodile, and began making calls. Sarah grabbed a large leather bag from next to the Queen Anne and plopped down on the sofa. She placed the bag between her feet and began rummaging through it. She came out with a brush, a hand mirror, and some small zippered bags. She unzipped the bags and dumped their contents onto the coffee table. There was an array of makeup, vitamin pills, perfume, lotion, and a toothbrush.
“Where’s your diaphragm?” I asked.
“Who needs sex?” she countered.
“I forgot. You’re worth millions.”
While she revised herself and Nora made important decisions on the phone, I wrote a thorough report on my meeting with Alison and Paul Quentin for Claire. I got some Scotch tape from the drawer and taped the Peep Thrills token to the paper. Twenty minutes later Sarah had redone her face, taken her vitamins, worked the toothbrush around her gums, sloshed and swallowed, and was now putting all her makeup away. Nora was still on the phone. I was just finishing up my notes when I heard the key in the front door and Claire’s voice.
“Idiots!”
“Quite, madam,” Boulton replied.
She strode into the room holding her walking stick in front of her as if it were a machete. Boulton followed behind her.
“It’s only a quirk of fate that those so-called detectives are policemen and not out stealing cars,” she announced, then stopped and glared at our visitors, giving Sarah a closer inspection. “Behind your youthful petulance, there is a resemblance to Cybella.”
Sarah couldn’t have cared less. All her attention was directed at Boulton. Her every movement was now in response to his presence. I don’t like women who only wake up when a man comes into the room. I bet she was never without her diaphragm. Nora folded her portable phone back into the shape of a cracker and p
ut it in her purse. Claire sat in her chair. I handed her my notes.
“Tea, Boulton,” she commanded.
He withdrew. Sarah was disappointed. She went back to staring at her skin, hair, nails.
“Did you show the police the video?” Nora asked Claire.
“I saw no reason to.”
“Then you’ve kept Sarah’s name out of it so far?”
“So far.”
“Good.”
“But I expect something in return,” Claire said.
“Such as?” The basic black eyes narrowed.
“Truth. Candor. Veracity. Are either one of you even familiar with these words?”
“How dare you be so condescending!”
“Three people have been murdered, Miss Brown, one of whom you knew quite well.”
“Cybella killed herself,” Nora said flatly.
“Yes, yes, I know.” A faint smile formed on Claire’s lips. “Middle-age depression. I’m surprised that all the stairwells in Manhattan aren’t filled with the bodies of aging, depressed women.” Her eyes settled on Sarah. “There is a red St. Rome evening gown hanging in your mother’s closet. It was bought for her by Sheridan Reynolds six months ago. It was carried by you into the Duke Hotel four months ago. It was worn by Jackie in the video, a video shot four months ago at the Duke Hotel. The hotel clerk will identify you if need be.”
“Tell Miss Conrad what you told me,” Nora prompted, awkwardly patting Sarah’s hand.
“When I was sixteen I used to steal makeup from Mr. Feller. He ran the drugstore.” Sarah moved her hand away from Nora’s.
Claire began to read my notes.
“I was in there one day by myself,” Sarah continued in a faltering voice. “And he came up to me and said I could have any lipstick I wanted.” She turned to Nora. “She’s not listening to me.”
Claire, still perusing my chicken scratches, said, “I’m quite capable of concentrating on more than one subject at the same time.”
“It’s difficult to talk to somebody who’s not looking at me.” Her voice trailed off into a whine.
“Mr. Feller was offering you a lipstick. Continue.” Claire did not look up from my report.
“A lipstick if I’d just be nice to him. I told him I wanted thirty-five dollars.” She tossed her hair back and giggled like a naughty girl. “I was nice to him and I got thirty-five dollars. Now I’m worth millions, and I haven’t had to be nice to anybody.” She looked at Nora.
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