Dead Girls Don't Wear Diamonds

by Nancy Martin

  Yale countered his handshake with a bland smile. "It's a pleasure," he said.

  He had grown up in New York, if I remembered correctly, and managed to infiltrate my social circle in Philadelphia by way of a Princeton classmate at first, then by virtue of his own persuasive personality. He attended a lot of charity events—at casino expense, I was sure—and over the last couple of years had made his way through many women of my acquaintance. He had fiery red hair and lots of orange freckles, but he managed to turn those features into assets. He generally wore earth tones, and I noticed his clothing made a striking statement among the cold metal and glass surfaces of his office.

  "You look great," he said, releasing my hand from that wincingly powerful grip. "I'm glad you came up."

  "I can see you're busy." I indicated his associates and the desk where his computer glowed and various notebooks lay open for his study. A bank of television screens showed live video feed from around the casino. "I don't mean to interrupt you."

  "I could use a break," he said. "Can I get you a drink? A glass of wine? Something stronger?"

  "You're having coffee," I guessed by the cup on his desk. "That suits me, too."

  "Coming right up. Tiff?"

  The tall young woman obeyed him by going to a butler's tray near the shark tank. To the concierge who had delivered me and the man who'd been talking with Yale when I arrived, he said, "Why don't you fellows give me ten minutes with my friend?"

  They gathered up their notebooks and departed for the elevator with such speed that I figured they were sent away often.

  I could see Yale was curious about my visit, but he made polite conversation first. "How's your sister Emma? I haven't seen her since last spring."

  "She's fine. She broke her arm earlier this year, but it's mending."

  He looked sympathetic. "That's tough. She was just getting over the broken leg, right? Must make riding difficult."

  "She's bought a horse of her own to train. I think she'll do fine."

  "She's fine, all right." Talking more to himself than to me, he said, "I should give her a call."

  The tall woman returned with a china cup and saucer for me. She had an exotic face with almond-shaped eyes and arching brows balanced by a wide, luscious mouth painted dusky purple. She wore a short-skirted business suit—no blouse, just cleavage—large gold hoop earrings and a pair of very expensive Italian spike-heeled shoes with no stockings. Very Wall Street meets Vegas. Her face was cold when she handed me the coffee.

  At once, I saw the bruise on her wrist.

  "Thank you," I said.

  The young woman made a snorting noise I wasn't supposed to hear. She left the room very quickly, leaving me uncomfortable and Yale smiling.

  "Don't mind Tiffany. Jealous type." He grinned. "Want to meet my pet?"

  "Uh, sure."

  "We can talk while I feed him."

  I carried my coffee cup with me while Yale led the way to a small fish tank in the corner. It was teeming with large goldfish, their colors flitting beautifully in the odd light. Yale said, "Is this a social call, Nora?"

  "Not exactly. I know this is strange," I said, watching him lift the glass lid from the fish tank. "I'm doing a favor for a friend, and I thought you could help."

  If he was dismayed to hear I hadn't come looking for love, he hid it well, but I had made it clear from the moment I arrived that my visit was only business, and he had gotten the message. "Whatever you need," he said. With his left hand, he picked up a long-handled net.

  "I used to be close to Flan Cooper, you know. We were together in college."

  He glanced up from the fish. "I didn't know that."

  "We're still good friends, you see. He's very upset about Laura."

  "I'm sure." It was difficult to be sure in that strange silver light, but I thought his freckles looked brighter orange than before as he bent over the goldfish again. "I'm very sympathetic, Nora, but what does this have to do with me?"

  "Flan's worried that the police will eventually decide he killed Laura."

  He flicked the net into the tank and captured a wriggling fish, but nearly dropped it when my words sank in. "Killed her? I thought she drowned herself."

  "That was everyone's first impression, but I think that ruling is going to change."

  "Someone killed her," Yale said. Looking believably stunned, he stood for a long moment, holding the net in midair while the goldfish gasped. "That's hard to believe."

  I wondered if his response was a performance or genuine shock. "Thing is, Yale, the first step is to piece together what happened during the party and afterwards. Has someone from the FBI talked to you already?"

  He carried the goldfish across the room, indicating that I should follow. "Yeah, sure, a couple of days ago. But they never mentioned anything about murder."

  "I wonder if you remember what happened after the party broke up. You're a Red Baron, right?"

  "Yep."

  "And you went out with the Red Barons after the party. You took your plane and went to dinner."

  He nodded as he unlatched the lock on a much larger fish tank and climbed two steps to stand over the open water. "Yeah, we went to a place near Pittsburgh. It was a beautiful night for flying."

  "Do you remember who went on the trip?"

  He named the same group I had identified to Bloom, then added, "Flan Cooper didn't go. He was three sheets to the wind."

  "What about Laura? Did she travel with one of you?'

  "No," Yale said at once. "She got waylaid before we took off."

  "Waylaid?"

  "Yeah, she was having a talk with Mrs. Cooper."

  "Doe?"

  Yale waggled the net, and droplets fell into the large tank, disturbing the surface of the water. He watched the gasping goldfish without really seeing it. "They were going at it pretty good, so we left without Laura."

  "Laura and Doe were arguing?"

  Yale shrugged. "Something about ruining the party. Doe was steamed."

  I raised my brows and let a question hang.

  Yale grinned. "Okay, so I'd been with Laura earlier in the evening. We were just fooling around, nothing serious, but Flan came along and caught us. He blew up, did some shouting, and Doe—well, Doe was worried the other guests were grossed out. She took it out on Laura later on the patio, said we'd ruined the night."

  "You heard their argument and decided not to take Laura on your plane?"

  He looked up at me, still suspending the poor flopping goldfish over the water in the tank below. "Right."

  "Did you happen to see her at the airstrip with anyone else?"

  "To be honest, Nora, the only thing I really noticed about Laura that night was the fight she had with you."

  I tried not to look at the desperate little fish on Yale's net. "I see."

  "Everybody heard her yelling. And we saw you chase her up the stairs. Even the FBI asked me about it."

  I said, "Yale . . ."

  "What is it, Nora?"

  "The fish. It's dying."

  "Oh, right!" He laughed. "You distracted me. Here you go, little buddy."

  He dropped the goldfish into the tank and it plopped deep into the water. At first it was stunned. Then I saw it revive with a happy wriggle and begin to swim.

  But out of the darkness came the shark. It whipped into sight, slashed its tail and snapped the goldfish into its jaws. Instantly, the goldfish disappeared. Devoured.

  Yale smiled. "Spectacular, don't you think? I love watching this guy eat."

  I put down the cup and saucer before I dropped it on the floor. I felt my head go light and the dark cloud of unconsciousness start to whirl around me. I fought down the faint. Yale had wanted to horrify me, and he'd done it. But I was also suddenly angry, and that made me bold. I said, "I heard you had been dating Laura Cooper before the party. Having an affair with her."

  Yale climbed down from the open tank and shook his head. "Nora, do you know any woman I haven't been seen with one way or anoth
er? Besides you, that is. And believe me, I was just allowing you a decent period of time after your husband died."

  I supposed that was meant to flatter, but I looked at him with loathing.

  He twirled his empty net. "Sure, I saw her for a while. We had a few laughs. But it was a fling. We both understood it was a short-term thing."

  "Could Laura have interpreted your relationship as a serious affair?"

  He waggled his head. "That girl was a nutcase, but even she wouldn't have assumed we were anything more to each other than some afternoon fun. I guess she couldn't get what she wanted at home."

  He smiled again, showing lots of teeth.

  I felt my insides curdle.

  Over his shoulder, I caught another glimpse of the shark tank. The beast inside cruised past again, tail sashaying slowly.

  Suddenly I wondered if the opening in the tank was large enough for Laura Cooper to fit through. Had she been drowned here and returned by plane to the Cooper estate, then left in the pool? If Yale could feed helpless goldfish to his shark, was he capable of drowning Laura?

  "Besides," Yale said, "I'm in a one-on-one relationship now."

  "Oh."

  "It's the real thing," he assured me. "I'm a lucky man. I'm going to marry her."

  "How nice."

  "And you know the lady, too."

  Okay, I have a terrible prejudice against men who call the women in their lives "The Lady." Either they want to be sure you know she's above all moral reproach or it's the name of their childhood dog that they want to perpetuate or something. I couldn't even plaster a small smile on my face. "Really?"

  "Sure. Lexie Paine."

  I stood very still and hoped my expression didn't look as horrified as I felt.

  But I had no time to find out more.

  We were interrupted by the tall young woman.

  "Yale," she said, from the shadows, "we need your attention."

  "Excuse me, Nora."

  While I gathered my thoughts, they murmured together and were joined by another man in a maroon jacket with a casino logo printed on the breast pocket. They conferred seriously. Yale nodded and turned back to me.

  "Nora, I'm sorry, but there's someone I need to take care of. I have a thousand employees, but all the real dirty work falls to me."

  "Of course. I've kept you too long."

  "Not at all. There's just somebody I need to escort off the property. We can't be too careful. Our business is highly regulated, and we have to police our guests or risk losing our license. Shall I ride down with you?"

  The four of us got into the elevator and were joined on a lower floor by two more large men in snug-fitting maroon jackets. Before we arrived at the lobby level, I knew who they were kicking off the premises.

  "Hey, Yale," said Michael, smiling broadly as he stood in the lobby in the company of all those maroon-jacketed security guards. "You want rid of me?"

  "Hey, Mick." Yale looked far from worried as he returned Michael's handshake. "Sorry about this. But you understand, right? I can't have anybody thinking Big Frankie's operation is moving in here, you know?"

  Michael didn't mind being thrown out of the casino. But I wished he'd stayed long enough to bring down whatever legal entity policed the gambling industry. I wanted nothing more than to see Yale Bailey out of a job, flopping on the sand as helplessly as a beached goldfish.

  Chapter 11

  I called Lexie and ordered her to have dinner with me the following night.

  She agreed, on the condition that Michael join us at her current favorite, a new Japanese restaurant near Rittenhouse Square, my old neighborhood.

  I arrived late. The two of them were already at the table, talking about the stock market and drinking rice wine.

  Lexie was saying, "Darling, I understand the need for liquidity, but really. Get out from behind the vegetable cart and into the stock market. And no mutual funds! You're much more the hands-on type."

  They both got up to kiss me hello. Michael looked amused.

  "Sweetie, you look absolutely fabu," Lexie cried. She was wearing at least four thousand dollars's worth of very simple Armani with a Wilma Flintstone-style necklace made of green stones that looked like kryptonite. Her gleaming black hair was pulled straight back from her flawless face in a cheerleader's ponytail. People from the sushi bar were craning to get a glimpse of her, probably because she looked as if she were worth tens of millions, which she was. "Fabu," she declared.

  I smiled. "Are you comparing portfolios?"

  "No, no, dearest. I'm just trying to woo your beau into giving me a peek at his assets. He could probably take us both to Paris with his pocket change, so I think it's high time he did something interesting with his dough."

  "Paris," said Michael. "Now that's an idea."

  "I'm sorry," I told him. "I used to go there with my husband."

  "I'll keep thinking."

  He excused himself. To go look for some pretzels, he said, but it was to leave me alone with my friend for a few minutes.

  We sat down and Lexie grabbed my arm. "Sweetie, that man has made every woman in the room go positively gooey. Why don't you hibernate with him for the winter? See how the bad girls live, for once?"

  "Because I'm trying to prevent Flan Cooper from going to jail. My second reason is keeping myself out, too."

  "Darling," said Lexie, looking alarmed, "tell all."

  I gave her the short version, asking halfway through, "Have you ever had any jewelry stolen while you were around Laura?"

  "I lost a bracelet at a benefit once. My great grandmother's pearl thingy with the double clasp. The whole Cooper clan was seated at my table, but I never thought for a second that one of them could have—" Lexie frowned. "Well, it's possible, I suppose. Good heavens."

  I continued the story and finally got to my trip to Yale Bailey's lair. I slowed down and filled her in completely on what Yale had told me himself. But she couldn't let me finish.

  "That devious little social-climbing shit!" she said, loud enough to turn heads.

  "Well, that's a relief," I said. "I was afraid you'd gone insane."

  "That—that—bastard!" she sputtered with anger.

  "What does he think I am? I had drinks with him once and sat with him at—what presumption!"

  "I didn't think you'd fall for him."

  "Of course not! How many times has that rat been engaged in this town?"

  "Lindsay Fiske last year."

  "And Westie Cunningham before that! He's given trinkets to every heiress in town by now, all in a laughably obvious effort to marry himself a meal ticket!"

  "It was no trinket he was getting ready for you."

  "What?"

  I told her about my visit to Sidney Gutnick's shop and the stupendous ring he'd been readying for Yale Bailey.

  "Oh," she said, blinking. "Well, I do love a nice piece of jewelry."

  "Which any fool could figure out, Lex, so it was part of his plan, I'm sure."

  "But why me?" she demanded. "Isn't there some stupid young millionairess climbing out of a finishing-school window in search of a husband?"

  "Why choose a young millionairess when you're richer than Madonna?"

  "Because I'm just not his type, dear. He maneuvers a girl into bed first, and everybody knows I'm more interested in cash than copulation. There's a lot to be said for abstinence, you know."

  "You are preaching to the choir."

  "Oh, heavens, yes, sorry, darling."

  "Lex, did Yale ever—?"

  She read my mind. "He gave me the creeps, yes."

  "He was physically rough," I guessed.

  Lexie raised her elegant brows in acknowledgement. "I had a feeling he leaned that way. My radar, you know. My God, did he go after you?"

  "No. Why should he? I'm poor and gun-shy."

  "Gun-shy, indeed. With every reason, sweetie." Lexie lifted her glass to me and we clinked rims. Then she knocked back the last of her rice wine without a blink. "No wonder you stayed a
way from Yale. All you need is another man with bad habits. You were such a Sherpa for Todd, Nora. Tell me. Are you in over your head with this new beau, too? Are you in love with another dangerous man?"

  One of the best things about having good girlfriends is cutting to the chase. I'd known Lexie half my life, and she'd been through it all with me. She moved in with me after Todd died and understood things I didn't share with my own sisters. I knew about the cousin who broke her collarbone when she was eleven and raped her when she was thirteen. We'd been known to discuss life and death over cartons of Cherry Garcia ice cream on dormitory fire escapes and the deck of her mother's yacht.

  "He's not dangerous." I said. "Not the way Todd was, at least. In love with him?" I couldn't stop my smile. "It's a slippery slope, Lex."

  "Does he make you cry?"

  "Heavens, no."

  "Well, then, he has my vote." Lexie pushed aside her glass to focus on me. "Sweetie, nobody's happier than I am to see you getting your sparkle back. I don't care if it is your beau or your job. After those horrible years with Todd, it's wonderful to see you laugh again. But have you gone to the other extreme? You protected Todd like a lioness. A misguided lioness, maybe, but you did it. Is that what your knight-in-tarnished-armor is doing for you now? Protecting you?"

  "Maybe so," I admitted. "And it's a nice change, frankly."

  "But is it an equal partnership? And I'm not talking about The Kama Sutra."

  "It's not a partnership," I conceded. "Not yet."

  She sighed. "Well, life can be a roller coaster or a train wreck. Just keep your seat belt fastened, okay?"

  The waiter came with more rice wine, but it hasn't been very good so we waved him away politely.

  "Lex, will you promise not to scream if I ask you something really corny?"

  My friend smiled with affection. "Cross my heart, sweetie."

  "What's your thinking on the whole baby issue?"

  "Oh, God, are we talking about Libby now?"

  "No, not Libby."

  She stared at me. "Good grief. Your beau really has you in the spin cycle."