by Tracy Kiely
Skippy did not move.
“Skippy,” Nigel repeated in a firmer voice. “We talked about this. Don’t make me take away your allowance.”
Giving Nigel a baleful look, Skippy vacated the chair. “Good boy,” Nigel praised. Skippy ignored him and curled up on the floor next to me. Nigel glanced back up at Zack. “Just ignore him,” he said. “He stayed up too late last night watching reruns of Animal Kingdom and has been in a mood all day.”
Skippy let out an annoyed huff and nestled his head between his paws.
Zack gave a faint nod of his head and scuttled crab-like into the empty seat. His eyes, however, remained on Skippy.
“Thanks for meeting with us, Zack,” I said. “I hope we haven’t disrupted your day.”
Zack tore his eyes away from Skippy and looked at me from behind his owlish glasses. His face was pale. “Oh, no,” he said with a wan smile. “It’s fine. I’m glad to help.”
“So will you be taking over Dan’s position at Vanity Fair?” I asked.
Zack swallowed and nodded. “I think so,” he said. “I mean, it’s not definite yet. But like I said on the phone, Mrs. Martini, I had no idea—”
I held up a hand to stop him. “And like I said on the phone, Zack, I’m not accusing you of anything. I just wanted to talk to you and get an idea of what Dan has been up to recently. Had he upset anyone with a review or pissed anybody off at the magazine lately?”
Zack looked at me with a curious expression and then glanced down at his lap. “Zack?” I prompted.
Zack looked up at me, his expression pained. “I don’t mean to sound flip, Mrs. Martini, but Dan pissed people off on a weekly basis.”
I nodded at the truth of this. “I see your point. Well, did you happen to notice anything out of the ordinary?”
Zack shook his head. “That’s just the thing, I didn’t,” he said. “Are the police sure he was killed? It couldn’t have been, I don’t know, an accident?”
“No, they’re pretty sure,” I said.
“But it’s got to be a mistake somehow,” Zack said running a hand through his hair. “He just became a dad. It’s not right.”
“No, it’s not,” I agreed.
Zack fell quiet and stared at his lap. “How did it happen?” he asked suddenly.
“Why do you ask?” I said.
Zack flushed. “I don’t know. Morbid curiosity, I guess. I’m sorry I asked. It’s none of my business.”
“He was poisoned,” I said after a beat.
Zack waited for me to say more. I didn’t. “Well, I don’t know how much help I can be,” he said. “Dan and I weren’t close friends or anything.”
“I know, but Harper figured that since you’d been spending so much time together lately that you might have noticed something,” I said.
Zack stared at me in confusion. “Why would Harper think I was spending a lot of time with Dan?” he asked.
“She mentioned that the two of you were spending a lot of late nights working on his book.” As soon as I said the words, I realized my mistake. Zack’s mouth opened in surprise and then abruptly closed as Catherine returned with our tea. Placing the heavy silver tray on the table, she pointed out the different kinds of sandwiches and desserts before pouring the tea. Once we were served, she pulled a few dog biscuits from her pocket. She placed them on a plate and handed it to Nigel, saying, “In case, Master Skippy is hungry.” Hearing his name, Skippy immediately sat up.
“Thank you, Catherine,” Nigel said, taking the plate from her. Skippy eyed the plate hungrily.
“My pleasure, Mr. Martini,” she said. “Please let me know if I can be of further service.”
We promised that we would. As she left, I turned to Nigel. “Why does she know Skippy’s name?” I asked.
“Darling, I think it’s safe to say that the entire hotel knows Skippy at this point,” Nigel said as he handed Zack his cup and saucer.
Skippy placed both of his paws on the armrests of Nigel’s chair and stared down at Nigel. Nigel moved the plate with the biscuits out of reach and wagged his finger in Skippy’s face. “Don’t be greedy, Skippy,” he admonished. “You know very well that it’s polite to serve our guests first.”
Skippy waited until I had my tea before he laid his head in Nigel’s lap and whined. Nigel took one of the biscuits and tossed it to him. “There you go. Now, lie down and be a good boy, Skippy,” he said. “The grown-ups need to talk.”
Skippy obediently flopped back onto the floor. I helped myself to a lobster and caviar tea sandwich while Nigel opted for the egg salad and black truffle. Zack ate nothing. He stared at his tea, his face flushed.
“So Zack” I said after taking a sip of tea, “I gather Dan wasn’t burning the midnight oil. Well, not with you anyway.”
Zack glanced away before clearing his throat and saying, “Oh, no. We were working together a lot. On the book. Sorry, I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
I shook my head. “I’m sure you mean well, Zack, but I really don’t recommend that you use that lie when the police interview you.”
Zack’s face flushed red. “What do you mean?” he asked not meeting my eyes.
“It means that Dan told Harper he was spending time working with you—a fact that you apparently were unaware of.”
Zack let out a sigh. “I’m sorry. It’s just that Mrs. Trados seems like such a nice lady. She just lost her husband. It seems cruel to let her find out that Dan was …” Zack trailed off.
“Cheating on her?” I finished.
Zack nodded miserably.
“Any idea with whom?” I asked.
Zack shook his head. “As I said, we weren’t friends. He was my boss. We didn’t really share much about out personal lives.” Zack blew out a shaky breath. “But based on snippets of phone conversations I happened to overhear, I got the impression that there might have been someone … someone on the side. They seemed to have some private joke about her liking tea, but I don’t know any more than that.”
“I see,” I said.
Zack took a sandwich. “Are you working with the police on this?” he asked after taking a bite. “Somebody said something to me about you being a police detective.”
“Not anymore,” I said, as I helped myself to a chicken and dill sandwich. “I retired a few years ago. However, the lead detective on the case is my old partner, and Harper asked me to help out with the investigation in any way I could.”
Zack popped the rest of the sandwich into his mouth and swallowed it in one gulp. “This is so surreal,” he said. “I mean, Dan could be difficult at times, but I can’t see why anyone would want to kill him.”
“He definitely could be difficult,” I agreed. “How did you like working for him?”
Zack regarded me warily. “He was a great critic and knew the theater inside and out. He could be opinionated, and we didn’t always see eye-to-eye, but I was learning a lot from him.”
“What kind of things did you differ on, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Zack shrugged. “Oh, nothing big. The quality of some stage productions, the trend of placing Shakespeare’s plays in modern day, that sort of thing.”
“Is that what you were arguing about at the afterparty?” I asked.
Zack’s eyes widened. “What? Who said we were arguing?”
“Are you saying you weren’t?” I countered.
Zack took a sip of his tea before answering. “No,” he said slowly. “I’m not saying that, but it wasn’t a big deal or anything. Just a difference of opinion.”
“About what?” I prodded.
“It was nothing, really. Just something to do with his book.”
“The one featuring his old reviews?” I asked.
Zack nodded. “Yes. But he was also adding in various stories and anecdotes about certain stars. I was helping him
edit it, and I disagreed with a story he wanted to include.”
“What was the story?” I asked.
Zack looked as if he were about to refuse to tell me, then he sighed and said, “It was a story about Brooke Casey. I’m not even sure if it’s true, and it just seemed to me a bit unfair to include a story that could be nothing more than malicious gossip.”
“What was the story?” I asked again.
Zack fiddled with his spoon before answering. “Twelve years ago, Brooke tried out for the lead in Annie. She lost the part to a girl named Sally Martin, but she was cast an extra in the orphanage as well as Sally’s understudy. During a rehearsal the day before the play opened on Broadway, Sally lost her footing during a dance routine and fell off the stage, breaking her leg in the process. Shattering it, really. Brooke took over the role and her career took off after that. The press loved her, especially once they found out that just like Little Orphan Annie, Brooke was also adopted. Sally, however, didn’t fair so well. She had to have six surgeries on her leg and even then, it was never the same. The injury effectively ended her dancing career.”
Zack paused and rubbed the edge of his linen napkin between his thumb and forefinger. “At the time, Sally claimed that someone pushed her off the stage and that the someone was Brooke Casey. However, no one who was at the rehearsal saw anything to back up her claims. Sally fell into a bad way after that. She got into drugs and her acting became erratic. No one wanted to work with her anymore. When she turned eighteen, she committed suicide by throwing herself off the top of her apartment building.”
“How horrible,” I said.
Zack nodded. “I know. Anyway, there have always been people who have whispered behind Brooke’s back that maybe she did push Sally off the stage. Dan wanted to include the story in his book. I disagreed. I didn’t think it was fair to dredge up old gossip, especially when that gossip was totally without merit.”
“What did Dan say?” I asked.
Zack shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “He said that the story wasn’t without merit. He said he’d come across someone who was at the rehearsal that day and swears they saw Brooke shove Sally.”
“Did he say who?”
Zack shook his head. “He wouldn’t tell me. I said whoever it was couldn’t be trusted, because if it were true why wouldn’t they have come out when it happened? But Dan wouldn’t listen. He said he believed the story and was going to include it in the book.”
“Did Brooke know that Dan was going to include the story?” I asked. It didn’t seem like the Dan I knew to have such power over someone and not abuse it.
Zack shook his head. “No,” he said a little too adamantly. “Absolutely not. I was the only one who knew what was in the book. Not all of the stories were favorable, and Dan didn’t want anyone to catch wind of what stories he was including. He was afraid certain people might object and takes measures to prevent its publication.”
I stared at my teacup for a moment and asked, “Where is the draft of Dan’s book now? Do you have it?”
Zack shook his head. “No. I dropped off the latest copy at his apartment a few days ago. I assume it’s still there.”
I didn’t share his optimism.
twenty-seven
On the morning of Dan’s funeral, I woke up with a mild headache. While Nigel called down to room service for breakfast, I pulled back the heavy brocade drapes. The view that met me was bleak. Heavy gray clouds blanketed the sky. Fat drops of rain splattered down in a haphazard path. I slid open the window as far as it would go and was rewarded with a face full of unseasonably warm, muggy air. I quickly slid the glass back into place. Thinking of the only black dress I’d packed, I scowled. The wool sheath was definitely funeral-appropriate; unfortunately, it was also intended for much cooler temperatures.
Nigel finished placing our order and hung up the phone. “Quick question,” I said as I hunted for Skippy’s leash. “Would you happen to know Miss Manners’ thoughts on wearing panty hose to a funeral?”
Nigel leaned back against the headboard and regarded me curiously. “That is so weird,” he said as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I was just going to ask you the same question.”
“Really?” I said as I continued my search.
“Yes,” he said. “As you know, the fishnet does wonders for my legs …”
“They do indeed,” I agreed after a search under the bed proved futile.
“But the black sheer might be a bit more …” He paused.
“Appropriate?” I offered as I began to pull up the cushions on the chairs.
Nigel snapped his fingers. “That’s it. Appropriate. Why were you asking?”
“Oh, for the same reason,” I said as I moved my search to the bathroom.
“What are you looking for?” Nigel called out.
“Skippy’s leash.”
“Try the tub,” he suggested.
I did as instructed, and sure enough there it was. I came out of the bathroom and held it up. “You were right,” I said.
“I usually am.”
“Why the tub, I wonder?” I said as I hooked the leash to Skippy’s collar.
“We’re slowly working up to a bubbly bath,” Nigel said as he got off the bed. “Here, give him to me,” he said. “I’ll take him. It’s disgusting out.”
I smiled my thanks. Once they left, I flopped back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. My mood began to match the weather. I had a grim suspicion that it was only a matter of time before Harper was considered a “person of interest.” Now that the higher-ups started to clamor for an arrest, I knew from experience that one was usually made. And that experience also told me that the right person wasn’t always arrested.
I was still frowning at the ceiling when Nigel and Skippy returned. They both shook the damp from their respective coats. Skippy then jumped up and joined me on the bed, laying his large wet head across my stomach. Nigel plopped down on my other side and stared at the ceiling with me. “Bloody Mary for your thoughts,” he said.
“I thought the saying was penny for your thoughts.”
“Do you want a penny?” he asked.
“Not particularly,” I admitted.
“Thus the Bloody Mary.”
“I see your point,” I said.
“I thought you might,” said Nigel. “So what’s wrong? Are you still trying to decipher Miss Manners’ stance on panty hose? If you’d rather, I’ll wear pants and you can wear the hose.”
“You’re sweet, but I’m worried about Harper,” I said as I played with Skippy’s ears. “Marcy is getting pressure to make an arrest. Brian already thinks that Harper’s guilty. I just have a bad feeling.”
Nigel reached down and grabbed my hand. Linking his fingers with mine, he gave my hand a gentle squeeze. “I know you do,” he said. “But all we can do is try to find out what really happened and be there for Harper.”
I let out a sigh. “God, I just wish, for Harper’s sake, that this day was over. She has to bury her husband, a man who was apparently cheating on her, and who was murdered, but she also has to deal with Dan’s mother, Cindy. I’m not sure which of the three is worse.”
“Is Dan’s mother that bad?” Nigel asked.
“She’s horrible,” I said. “She’s a narcissistic, snobby, overbearing social climber.”
“She sounds like she’d get along with my Aunt Olive,” Nigel said.
I laughed. “Trust me. Cindy would eat Aunt Olive for breakfast.”
Nigel let out a low whistle. “Wow. Is it bad that I’m looking forward to meeting this woman?”
“It’s your funeral,” I said with a shrug.
Nigel leaned over and lightly kissed me. “Actually, it’s Dan’s, but I get your point.”
twenty-eight
Dan’s funeral was at St. Patrick’s Cathedral. Nigel and I were runn
ing late due to an unfortunate incident involving Skippy, a novice hotel employee, and an unattended room service cart. It was later agreed to by all parties that bacon would no longer be delivered to our floor.
When we finally arrived, we rushed through the famed bronze doors and straight into Dan’s mother, Cindy. A thin, petite woman with ramrod posture and a skull-like face, she always reminded me of an older, meaner version of Mrs. Danvers. Her dark hair was hidden under a black pillbox hat, her perpetual scowl under the matching black-netted veil.
“Hello, Mrs. Trados,” I said, putting out my hand. “I’m not sure if you remember me. I’m Nicole Martini. I went to school with Harper. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Cindy stared at me a beat and then extended her hand. “Oh, yes. Aren’t you the one who’s a security guard or something?” she asked with a sniff.
I forced a smile. “Sort of. I used to be a detective with the New York Police Department,” I said. “I’m now retired.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” she said with a nod. “That’s not a proper job for a woman, no matter what her particular background.”
I nodded. “Yes. I remember you telling me that.”
Cindy sniffed again. “Well, I’m glad you finally took my advice.” Her gimlet gaze slid to Nigel, and her icy features thawed a tad. “And who is this?” she asked.
“This is my husband,” I said. “Nigel Martini.”
Nigel smiled and took Cindy’s hand in his. “I’m so sorry to have to meet you under these circumstances, Mrs. Trados,” he said. “You have my deepest sympathy.”
Cindy nodded her thanks. “Martini?” she repeated, her eyes lighting up a little. “Are you perhaps related to Audrey Martini?”
Nigel nodded. “She’s my cousin.”
Cindy’s demeanor thawed even further. Nigel’s family is quite well known and quite wealthy—two of Cindy’s favorite characteristics. So much so that over the years she began to sprinkle famous celebrities into her conversation, as in “I read where Julie Andrews drinks the same tea that I do.” After a time, Cindy made the stories more personal. She now indiscriminately tossed about celebrity names with a breathtaking inattentiveness to reality.