A Perfect Manhattan Murder

by Tracy Kiely

  Turning to Harper, he then offered her his arm. “My dear, perhaps you would be so kind as to walk with me for a moment,” he said. “I want to ask you more about your mother.”

  Harper blinked in surprise but nodded. Fletcher smiled at her and then at us. “If you’ll excuse us for a moment,” he said. Turning to the all-but-forgotten brunette at his side, he added, “I won’t be long, Rosie.”

  “Ruby,” several voices said at once.

  nine

  Ruby turned to us with a polite smile. “Well, if you’ll excuse me for a moment,” she said conversationally, “I’ve got to pee like a racehorse.” No one objected.

  As Ruby slowly sashayed away, Peggy watched her, her expression somewhere between bemused and disgusted. “See what I mean about Fletch and the young girls?” she asked. “It’s ridiculous. Whatever can she be thinking?”

  “I’m going to go with ‘vague blurry thoughts,’” I said.

  “Don’t forget, she’s getting a ‘real role with lines and everything,’” Nigel added.

  Peggy laughed. “Still. She’s a pretty girl, and he’s old enough to be her grandfather.”

  I shrugged and sipped my drink. “For some women power is an aphrodisiac.”

  Nigel nodded in agreement. “Usually for the ones who can’t spell aphrodisiac.”

  Evan clinked his glass against Nigel’s in salute. “God, I’ve missed you guys,” Peggy said. “I know I’ve been a horrible friend this past year, but I’ve been just so busy with the play.”

  “Peggy, don’t be silly,” I said. “You haven’t been a horrible friend. We all understand how time-consuming this was for you. But it was worth it. It’s a great play, and it went off without a hitch.”

  Peggy smiled. “Well, I wouldn’t say that,” she said. “There were a few bumbles, but nothing major, thank God. Of course, my heart was in my mouth whenever Jeremy was on stage, but I thought he did well tonight.”

  “Why wouldn’t he?” I asked as I glanced over to the man in question. Tall and lanky with dark hair and a long face, Jeremy Hamlin wasn’t so much handsome as he was expressive. He had a chameleon-like skill that allowed him to twist and shift his expressions with ease.

  Peggy looked at me in surprise. “You mean you don’t know?” she asked.

  “Apparently not,” I admitted.

  Peggy leaned close. “About four years ago, Jeremy’s work started to get really unpredictable,” she said. “He was forgetting his lines, arguing with directors, and generally being a pain in the ass. At the time, everyone thought it was because of his drinking, and less and less people were willing to work with him.” She lowered her voice to a whisper, “There was even a rumor going around that he might actually have to quit the theater all together and take a role on”—she glanced furtively around before dramatically hissing—“General Hospital.”

  I laughed. “Peggy! It’s a soap opera, not cancer.”

  “Well, for some people in this crowd, it’s a fate worse than cancer … or dinner theatre,” Peggy averred. “In any case, Jeremy did not want to move to LA. He once said that’s where the entrance to hell is.” Peggy belatedly realized that Nigel and I lived there and gave an embarrassed laugh. “No offense, of course.”

  Nigel shook his head. “None taken,” he said. “Besides, they moved the entrance a few miles farther south some years back. The property tax out there is sinful, even by Satan’s standards.”

  “Anyway,” Peggy continued. “A few months ago, Jeremy came out. He said that he’d been living a lie, and that he had to be true to himself. Of course, everyone was just stunned. We all thought he was such a ladies’ man, but it turns out that was all an act.”

  I looked over to where Jeremy was conducting a rather animated conversation with a small group of people. He flourished his cocktail glass to make a point, sending the amber contents sloshing dangerously close to the edge. A trim blonde in a snug red dress standing next to him warily eyed the glass for a few minutes before deftly removing it from his hand. Jeremy did not appear to notice its absence. “Who’s the woman in red?” I asked.

  Peggy turned and looked. “Oh, that’s Julie Givens, Jeremy’s agent. They’ve been together forever. They’re practically joined at the hip. She’s the one who finally convinced him to come out. Jeremy was worried that as an openly gay man, he wouldn’t be cast in certain roles, but Julie made him see reason. It’s a good thing she did, too. The community has been really supportive of him as he works through everything.”

  Peggy seemed about to say more when something over my right shoulder caught her attention. “Well, this is a surprise! Nina’s here,” she said. I turned to look where Peggy indicated. Nina Durand stood in the foyer, surveying the mingling guests with an expression that hovered somewhere between bored aristocrat and peevish headwaiter. At five foot four, with ash-blond hair, wide blue eyes, and a milky-white complexion, the comparisons to a Dresden doll were as inevitable as they were laughable, for Nina Durand was nothing if not unabashed in her pursuit of life’s earthier pleasures. Child-friendly, she was not.

  “Why wouldn’t she come?” I asked. “Isn’t it customary for the actors to attend their opening night afterparty?”

  Peggy tilted her head as she considered my question. “Well, yes. I guess. But Nina is different. She’s like Broadway royalty. And she can also be … well, Nina can be a bit, um … temperamental at times,” she finally said.

  Beside her Evan bit back a muffled laugh. “More like ‘mental,’ if you ask me,” he said.

  Peggy whirled around and glared at him. “Evan! For God’s sake, don’t! What if she heard you?” she hissed.

  Evan’s mouth twitched a bit as he glanced down at his irate wife and then to the diminutive woman on the other side of the noisy room. “Then she has bionic ears,” he answered. “Besides, I don’t think you need to worry. I’d say she’s a bit preoccupied at the moment.”

  We glanced back to where Nina stood. At her side was a young man I guessed to be in his early twenties. He was tall, with blond hair and a trim build. He might have been Nina’s son, but I sincerely hoped he was not.

  “What the hell is he doing to her?” Evan asked after a minute. “It looks like he’s trying to perform CPR on her neck.”

  “Stop staring,” ordered Peggy.

  “I can’t,” Evan complained. “It’s like some ghastly car wreck. I can’t seem to look away. Oh God. He just licked her ear. Did you see that?”

  “I told you not to look,” said Peggy.

  “Who is he anyway?” Evan asked. “He’s got to be at least half her age.”

  Peggy arched her eyebrow. “And that age discrepancy didn’t bother you when it was between Fletch and Ruby, why?”

  Evan quickly arranged his face into a contrite expression. “Because I employ a double standard when it comes to judging women, of which I am heartily ashamed, and will work toward improving,” he dutifully recited.

  “That’s what I thought,” Peggy replied with a smile. “Anyway, that’s Nina’s flavor of the week,” she said as she jerked her chin toward the young man. “There’s no point in learning his name. There will be a new one in his place before you know it. If I’ve learned anything by working with Nina Durand it’s that she rather enjoys the company of men.”

  “Is it true that she and Fletcher were once an item?” Even asked.

  “Lower your voice,” Peggy admonished. “But to answer your question, yes, they once were an item. They were even briefly engaged.”

  “When was this?” I asked.

  “At least twenty years ago,” said Peggy. “Nina was just starting her career. She couldn’t have been more than eighteen.”

  “What happened?” Evan asked.

  Peggy shrugged. “I don’t know. But whatever it was, it ended badly. Nina took a year-long hiatus somewhere in Europe. When she came back, she wanted not
hing to do with Fletcher.” Peggy was quiet a moment as she watched Nina and her young friend. “Nina seems to prefer variety rather than a steady relationship, so perhaps that had something to do with it.”

  Nigel gave a knowing laugh. “That’s true. Nina likes her men like Kleenex; strong yet disposable.”

  “Oh,” said Peggy turning to him. “Do you know her?”

  “We’ve met,” Nigel said with an evasive shrug. “However, I don’t believe Nic has had the pleasure.”

  I glanced up at Nigel, eyebrow raised. “No, I haven’t, but I’m certainly curious to hear about yours.”

  “My what?” Nigel asked.

  “Pleasure,” I said.

  Nigel winked. “Darling, you know a gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”

  “I do indeed, which is why I’m asking you,” I replied.

  Nigel let out a lusty sigh. “You wound me. What can I say? It was spring and a young man’s fancy lightly turns to …”

  I cut him off. “Yes. I’m well acquainted with what your fancy lightly turns to.”

  Nigel leaned down and kissed my cheek. “I promise you, darling, you’re the only girl I’ve ever truly fancied.”

  A waiter in a white jacket passed by, and Peggy neatly lifted a glass of champagne from his tray. “Come with me,” she said, as we took a glass as well. “I should say hello to Nina.”

  We crossed the room to where the famed actress stood. Up close, her features seemed somehow exaggerated; her blue eyes were a bit more prominent, her mouth a little wider. She wore a strapless gown of ice blue satin. Glittering crystals adorned the low-cut neckline, highlighting the generous cleavage found there.

  Nina smiled fondly at Peggy. “Peggy, darling,” she said in her trademark throaty voice. “Tell me, were you pleased? I thought it was a smashing success. Toby here thought so, too,” she said absentmindedly gesturing at the young man at her side. Toby gave a dutiful nod. “In fact, my only complaint is that I don’t have a drink,” Nina continued. “Please tell me you brought me one. I’m beyond parched.”

  Peggy blinked. “I’m sorry, Nina,” she sputtered. “I didn’t think to get you one.”

  Nina shrugged and deftly plucked Peggy’s champagne flute from her fingers. “Never mind, darling. This will do.” In a flash, the glass was raised and drained. “Ugh. It tastes like something you’d buy at a drugstore,” she sniffed. “God, Fletch has lousy taste.” Nina’s gaze suddenly landed on Nigel. A slow smile spread across her face. Thrusting the now empty glass at Toby, she said, “Darling, be a dear and go get me another one, will you?”

  “But I thought you didn’t like it,” Toby protested.

  “Now, darling.”

  “Of course, Nina,” Toby said as he scampered off in search of a waiter.

  “Nina,” said Peggy. “I’d like to introduce you to some friends of mine. This is …”

  “Nigel Martini,” Nina said with a throaty purr. Stretching her hand out, she slowly trailed one red fingernail down his lapel. “You sly bastard, I haven’t seen your handsome face in ages.”

  Nigel laughed as he deftly removed her hand and briefly kissed it before releasing it. “Hello, Nina,” he said. “It’s good to see you. How have you been?”

  Nina moistened her lips. “Oh, you know,” she said with a slight flick of her wrist. “Working keeps me pretty busy, but I manage to make time for some fun. How about you? Are you still breaking hearts out in LA?”

  Nigel shook his head. “No. Those days are over. I married a lovely girl, adopted a dog, and settled down.”

  Nina tilted her head back, exposing her long white neck, and let out a throaty laugh. The gesture reminded me of something you’d see in one of those nature programs Nigel and I watch when we can’t find the remote; the ones that depict the savage beauty of an animal before it attacks.

  “Oh Nigel, I’d forgotten how funny you are,” she said her voice almost a purr. She lifted her hand and trailed her long fingers slowly down her throat before extending them towards Nigel’s chest. “It seems like just yesterday that you and I were …”

  I intercepted the hand. Giving it a firm shake, I said in a cheerful voice, “Hello, Ms. Durand. I’m Nic Martini, Nigel’s wife. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  Nina stared at my hand, then at me, and then at Nigel. I felt her grip go slack and she released my hand. “Wait, you were serious?” she asked Nigel. “You really got married?”

  “I really got married,” Nigel confirmed, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. With a grin he added, “I’m respectable now.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” I said.

  Nina’s surprised glance shifted back to me; her gaze quickly flicked up and down my body. “Well, well. Nigel Martini married,” she said, producing a wide smile. “I never thought I’d live to see the day. You must be an extraordinary woman.”

  “She most certainly is,” Nigel agreed affably as he lightly kissed my temple.

  Nina arched an eyebrow. “Does that mean you really own a dog?” she asked. “Whatever for?”

  I shrugged. “Well, sometimes Nigel gets lonesome.”

  Nigel laughed and kissed me again.

  “Nic and I went to college together,” Peggy added. “I think I told you about her.”

  Nina’s eyes widened slightly at this. “Wait. You’re not the one who used to be a cop, are you?” she asked.

  “Detective,” I corrected. “But yes. That’s me.”

  Nina glanced briefly at Peggy, before saying to me, “I must confess, you’re not at all what I expected. When Peggy told me her old college friend was coming and that she used to be a cop—” She paused and corrected herself. “I’m sorry, a detective, but that she’d been shot a few years back and had to retire, I pictured some disabled sourpuss with a bad haircut. Or at the very least, like one of the horrible nuns I had in Catholic school. But you’re nothing like that!”

  “Thank you,” I said. “I think.”

  Nina laughed. “You’re right. That did sound terrible, didn’t it? Not setting the bar for improvement terribly high, was I? But you’re lovely.” She patted my hand and added, “And I’m not just saying that because it’s what I say to everyone I meet. I actually mean it.”

  I smiled. “And, may I say, that I think you’re lovely, too.”

  Nina paused and stared at me for a beat before letting out a peal of laughter. “Oh, I like her, Nigel. I really do. I can see why you married her.”

  Toby returned now with Nina’s glass of champagne. “Thank you, darling,” she said to him as she took the glass. Raising her arm, she added, “Well, I think a toast is in order. To Peggy and her lovely play, and to Nigel and his lovely bride. To new beginnings! Cheers!”

  “Well, if it isn’t the lovely Nina!” Fletcher’s voice suddenly boomed out from behind me. “I thought I heard you. But of course, you do tend to project even when off-stage. Remember, dear, as I always say, less is more.”

  Nina slowly angled her head to look at Fletcher as she took a leisurely sip of her champagne. “Would that were only true for all aspects of life,” she said with a sigh, as she lifted up her glass and stared directly at his crotch. “How happier we’d all be.”

  ten

  We were spared of any more poisonous offerings of advice or trips down a memory lane ridden with landmines by the appearance of Harper. With her was a young man of about thirty-five, who I assumed was Dan’s assistant, Zack. He had a plump, owlish face, round tortoiseshell glasses, and a shock of coal black hair. If Harper noticed the tension within our little group, she didn’t let on. But then Harper had years of practice of defusing awkward social situations from her marriage to Dan. Adroitly stepping between Nina and Fletch, she smiled brightly at the latter and said, “Mr. Levin, I wanted to introduce you to Zack Weems, Dan’s assistant.”

  Fletcher nodded politely. Zack put
out his hand, saying, “It’s an honor to meet you, sir. Your generosity has made the theater what it is today.”

  “Well, that’s very kind of you to say, son,” Fletcher said. “Of course, I don’t expect my lifelong support of the arts to be singled out for special praise, but it is nice to be recognized.” Here Fletcher paused and smiled as if to give the rest of us a chance to add our own praise. No one did. After a second, he blinked and returned his attention to Zack. “So your name is Zack Weems? And you’re with Vanity Fair?” Zack nodded. “And have you always wanted to be a theater critic?” Fletcher asked.

  “Yes,” said Zack. “Although one day I’d love to write plays rather than review them.”

  “A fine goal,” said Fletcher. “Have you written anything yet?”

  Zack shrugged. “I’ve been working on something for a few years now, but I’m not sure if it’s ready for prime time yet.”

  “Well,” said Fletcher, “I’ll be sure to keep an eye out for you. You seem like a capable young man.”

  Gesturing to a hovering waiter, Fletcher held up two fingers. The waiter nodded and left only to return moments later with two tumblers. Fletcher took both and handed one to Zack. “Welcome to my house, Zack.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Zack said as he took the glass.

  Fletcher clinked his glass to Zack’s. “Cheers.”

  Zack took a hesitant sip of his drink and pulled a face. “Something wrong?” asked Fletcher.

  Zack swallowed and sheepishly shook his head. “No. It’s just I’m not a big whiskey drinker,” he said.

  Fletcher laughed. “Good to hear it. Neither am I. Can’t stand the stuff really. That’s why this is scotch,” he said lifting the glass in a salute.

  “Oh, right. Sorry,” Zack said. “I guess I haven’t quite gotten to the point where I like it. My dad always said that if you drink scotch before you’re forty, you’re an idiot, but if you don’t drink it after you’re forty, you’re an even bigger idiot.”

  Nigel laughed. “I think that actually might be on my family’s coat of arms,” he said.