"Next is Jeff Granford, Suzie's hometown boyfriend. I've spoken to him, and he lived in a fantasy world, where Suzie was concerned. And he's a bully. You saw him in action yourself at Suzie's memorial. He could have found out the truth about Pierre Benoit and Suzie—they were having an affair—or about Mr. Williams and Suzie. I'm going to find out his address—"
"Granford was questioned and released," Finelli interrupted. "Don't you go near him, Miss Bennett. He's violent. I called the Omaha police, and Granford has a history of beating women."
"There!" Darlene exclaimed. "With his temper, if he found out the truth about Suzie—he could have followed her around—it's an easy step from hitting to strangling."
"Says he was teaching a kid to box at the time of the murder," Finelli said. "Williams was caught at the scene."
"Jeff was teaching a kid to box at two in the morning?"
Finelli shrugged.
I made a mental note to follow up on that. "Then there's Pierre. He was very possessive of Suzie."
Finelli shook his head. "The photographer has a reputation with the ladies and was known to turn a blind eye to Miss Wexford's straying."
"Did you know he asked Suzie to marry him the night before she was murdered?" I asked. "And that she turned down his proposal?"
Finelli made no comment, but wrote on his pad again.
"Tell him about Gloria, Bebe," Darlene said.
I didn't speak.
"Bebe, you have to! I know you thought she was your friend, but look how she's treated you. Tell him what Gloria said about Suzie."
Reluctantly I conceded. "Suzie's makeup artist, Gloria Castellano, had hated her client for a long time. Gloria told me on more than one occasion that she could kill Suzie. After Suzie was murdered, Gloria was happy. She even said, 'Good riddance.'"
"You and Gloria aren't friends now? Why is that?" Finelli asked.
I shrugged. "Gloria got some idea in her head about me wanting to engage Pierre's affections and become a model. It doesn't make sense to me why that would bother her. Even before that, she turned chilly toward me."
"Miss Castellano came in on her own earlier this week." Detective Finelli held my gaze. "She told me who she thought had the most motive to kill Suzie. Someone who was in love with Williams. Someone jealous of Miss Wexford's relationship with Williams. Someone who had threatened to kill the model."
Silence fell.
I whispered, "You can't believe that I would take a human life."
While I sat stunned, Darlene shot to her feet. "How dare you, Finelli? Bebe would never kill anyone, and you know it! This just makes me think Gloria is the murderer, and she's trying to throw the spotlight elsewhere. Did she come to you before Mr. Williams was arrested?"
"Yes, she did. Sit down, Miss Roland."
Darlene sat. "Has Gloria come back since Mr. Williams was arrested to tell you he's not the killer, that Bebe did it?"
"No, she hasn't," Finelli said.
"Exactly where was Gloria the night Suzie was killed? Did you ask her?"
"She was out at a nightclub with a friend."
Darlene laughed. "Now that's a great alibi. Nobody in this case has a good alibi."
"Williams was at the scene of the crime. He was intimately involved with the victim. The murder weapon was something he bought for her."
"And you've got pressure on you from the chief. It doesn't matter if you've got the killer, just that you made an arrest." Darlene shot the detective a look of disdain. She rose and took my elbow. "Come on, Bebe. We should have known we couldn't work with the fuzz."
Darlene walked us out of the police station and hailed a cab.
"Bebe," she said over "Return to Sender" playing on the cab's radio, "stop worrying about what Detective Finelli thinks. Let's focus on our next move. We've got a lot of work to do."
I rolled down my window and let the spring breeze cool my face. "What are we going to do, Darlene?"
"Once I'm back with Stu—which will be tonight— he'll help us," she said with confidence. "There's got to be a way Stu can get to Lola, find out exactly where she was the night Suzie was killed."
"Okay."
"As for that lying bitch Gloria, you need to confront her. See if you can figure out why she wanted you put away. I don't buy that nightclub alibi for a second."
"Neither do I," I said. "I can't believe I never seriously considered her a suspect before."
"You trusted her too quickly. Gloria's one of our chief suspects now," Darlene said.
We reached our building. Darlene paid the cabbie. Behind her back I looked around for Harry, but didn't see him.
Upstairs, I called Danielle again and asked if Bradley had come in. He hadn't, but at least the staff would shortly know he was out of jail.
Darlene took the phone from my hands and called Stu.
I sat on the pink sectional, tired, confused, and feeling guilty that I'd posed for those photos in Saint Thomas.
"Stu's going to fix me dinner on his hibachi," Darlene said.
"I'll bet he was happy you called."
"Yeah. He's going to be even happier when I walk in wearing what I plan to wear," Darlene said smugly. "I have to shower and get ready. What are you going to do?"
"I'm beat. I need to type up my notes on the Dur- den swimwear shoot, but I think I'll go to the office tomorrow for that. I'm going to confession and Mass."
Darlene patted my shoulder. "Sounds like what you need is peace and quiet. Then we'll put our plans into action."
I left the apartment after donning an ivory hat.
The priest was kind, Mass filled me with hope, and I gave Harry two quarters upon my return home.
I couldn't eat. I drank a glass of milk and changed into a light nightgown. I pulled my secret steno pad out from under the cushion of the Banana chair. Spotting Bradley's blue scarf, I picked it up and carried it with me to bed, breathing in his lime cologne.
I flipped open to the page in the steno pad where I had listed my "fun things to do in New York," written while I still lived in Richmond. I hadn't had time to do many—take the ferry to see the Statue of Libery, go to the top of the Empire State Building, float a sailboat in Central Park. But I had attended Mass at St. Patrick's and window-shopped on Fifth Avenue. I crossed those off the list.
I looked down at the last entry I'd written since I'd arrived and met Bradley: Kiss one certain guy next to the clock in the lobby of the Waldorf-Astoria.
I closed the steno pad and tossed it onto the chair.
Would Bradley come into the office Monday?
Should I call him at home?
What if Debbie Ann was right, and his replacement was on the way?
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
My eyes flew open. A great pounding on the apartment door had brought me to consciousness. Funny, I hadn't heard the intercom buzzer.
I threw on my robe and peeked in Darlene's room. Empty. Whatever she wore to Stu's last night must have been one hot number, since it was late in the morning and she still wasn't home.
Standing at the front door, I said, "Who is it?"
Daddy's voice bellowed from the other side: "Your parents. Open the door, young lady. This building has no security."
Uh-oh.
"Yes, it does. Someone else must have opened the building door." I undid the three locks on the door and swung it wide.
"Mama!" I said, throwing myself into her arms. She smelled like Shalimar cologne, her favorite.
Grace Bennett, my mama, was dressed impeccably in a two-piece, cocoa-colored, long-sleeved suit Attached to her right shoulder was a big gold flower pin with a seed-pearl center. She collected pretty pins. Styled in short curls, her dark hair capped her head. I couldn't remember the number of times I'd gone with her to the same beauty parlor on Broad Street in Richmond, and watched her get her hair done.
She kissed my cheek, then held me at arm's distance—she was five foot two compared with my five-foot seven. Her weight had climbed until she was now p
lump. "Let me look at my baby girl."
"Can we come in?" Daddy asked. "We spent all yesterday on the train."
"Sure," I said, stepping aside. "You came in last night?"
"Yes, dear. I'm so happy to find you in one piece." Mama smiled. "Earl, isn't this the cutest apartment? I do adore that pink sectional, Bebe. I remember when you wrote to us about it."
Confused and not fully awake, I asked, "Where did you stay last night? Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"
Daddy's face turned a scary shade of purple. A veteran of World War II, he walked around the small living room with a stiff, military bearing. He had iron-gray hair and dwarfed Mama with his husky six-foot- one-inch frame.
"Your mother and I hadn't heard from you since I called you Monday night. You told me that boss of yours, Williams, hadn't killed that fancy model. Then I read in Thursday morning's paper that the playboy has been arrested," Daddy said, taking his suit jacket off and tossing it over the sofa.
"We were so worried, Bebe," Mama said. "I tried to call you all day and night Thursday, but there was no answer. When your father decided to take the train and find out where you were, I came with him, though you know how I hate to travel out of Virginia and leave all my plants and flowers."
"Please sit down," I said. "I'm sorry to have worried you. There was a photo shoot in Saint Thomas, and I got to go along," I said in a cheerful tone.
Mama put her hand to her throat. "Aren't there wild natives and animals in those islands?"
Daddy said, "You flew on a plane again? And you've been working for that playboy Williams—I met him; I know what I'm talking about—with him being a murderer?"
I spread my hands out in front of me. "Saint Thomas was lovely, Mama, and I was only there one day. Darlene went with me. Mr. Williams got arrested because the case hasn't been investigated properly. His lawyer has already had the judge release him from jail." I stopped and smiled. "So where did you say you're staying?"
"All these hotels are the same," Daddy pronounced. "We're at that Legends Hotel where I was last time. Tomorrow being Mother's Day"—here Daddy shot me a meaningful look—"I thought they'd have a nice brunch for us after Mass."
I barely refrained from clapping my hand over my mouth. Mother's Day! I had completely forgotten.
Mama took my bare hand in her white-gloved one. "You'll change jobs now, won't you, dear? Or even come back home? I can't like the idea of your living in such a big city with all manner of criminals and a fast crowd. You have your reputation to think about, and you know what I've taught you over the years about a girl's reputation."
"Mama, I'm happy here," I said gently, looking into her brown eyes. "You know that. Mr. Williams is a good man, and Darlene is my very best friend. My reputation is fine, honest."
At that moment the key turned in the lock of the apartment door. Darlene bounced into the room, grinning. I took one look at her, closed my eyes for second, then opened them again.
She had on a wild, two-piece outfit, skintight, in swirls of yellow, pink, turquoise, and black. The top ended just under her bra. Her entire midriff was exposed, as the bottom half, a pair of pants, sat snugly on her hips.
Daddy and I stood up.
Darlene smiled at Daddy, then rushed over and balanced on her tiptoes to gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Hi, Mr. Bennett. And you must be Mrs. Bennett. You and Bebe look so much alike."
I saw Mama's gloved hands clasp together tightly, never a good sign. "Yes, I'm Bebe's mother. You must be Miss Roland."
Daddy hadn't taken his eyes off her figure.
Darlene, oblivious to the reaction her entrance was causing, said, "Oh, call me Darlene, Mrs. Bennett. Bebe, you didn't tell me your parents were coming for a visit. We could have arranged for Broadway show tickets. Heck, it might not be too late. I can ask Stu."
"We're not here to be entertained. We're concerned about Bebe's welfare," Daddy said.
Darlene gave a lopsided grin, then put her arm around me and gave me a little shake. "Bebe's doing fiiiiine. She's a big girl now. You don't have to sweat it. Just the other day she was working a hot-dog stand for a friend, and this—"
Mama's gloved hand went to her heart. "Hot-dog stand?"
"Darlene! I don't think Mama and Daddy would be interested in that silly story," I said sharply.
She giggled. "You're right, Bebe. Well, I'm just here to change clothes. Stu is taking me out for lunch. I hope you all enjoy your stay in New York, Mr. and Mrs. Bennett," she chirped, then went into her room and closed the door.
I turned to my parents.
Mama's coral-colored lips pursed. Her hands were clenched so tight, I thought she might break a finger or, at the very least, split a glove.
Daddy opened his mouth to deliver what I was sure would be a scathing speech.
Quickly, I said the one thing that would defuse the situation. "Gosh, I sure am hungry."
Mama sprang from the sofa like a jack-in-the-box. "I'll make you breakfast, or lunch. It's after eleven, dear. What have you got in your refrigerator?"
I blocked her path to the kitchen. "Nothing, really. I, ah, planned to go grocery shopping today. And I had some notes to type up at the office about the photo shoot."
The latter was true. I did need to go to the office for about half an hour and type my report. Also, if I could slip away for a little while, I could pick up a Mother's Day gift for Mama.
Daddy patted his big belly. "Little Magnolia, why don't you put on one of your pretty suits, and we'll go out for lunch? Afterward you can go to the office, type your notes and your resignation, and then meet us at the hotel."
"That's a wonderful idea, Daddy," I said, and gave him a hug. Once he started calling me by my lifelong nickname, I knew he might be mad, but wouldn't get purple-faced again. "I'll turn on the TV for you," I said, switching on the little black-and-white TV. "And I'll hurry."
"Haste makes waste, Bebe," Mama said. "I don't want you slipping in the shower. And put on your red suit, dear. Red is your color."
"Yes, Mama," I said, and ran to get in the shower before Darlene claimed it.
Slipping into a seat on the subway, I breathed a huge sigh of relief. My parents and I had lunched on Italian food at Mamma Leone's. While everything had been delicious, my parents had each expressed their disapproval of New York in their own way.
I knew Mama would never ride the subway, so I'd had to perform the magic trick of obtaining a taxi on a busy Saturday afternoon.
Mama acted like she was Fay Wray in King Kong's clutches, saying she got dizzy looking up at the tall buildings. She covered her eyes as the cab wound its way through traffic, and once back on the street gripped Daddy's arm in case any ruffian dared attack her. Bless her heart.
Daddy assumed his fiercest expression, escorting what he considered his two weak females through the evil city.
I loved my parents, but I'd never feel free except here in New York, and I couldn't agree to their repeated pleas for me to move back to Richmond.
Reaching the subway stop nearest Ryan, I climbed the steps and emerged into the sunny day. First, I thought, a present for Mama. I found a jewelry shop and bought her a gold rose pin with red-enameled petals.
Tucking the box in my purse, I walked to the Ryan building and entered the elevator.
The doors opened on seventeen, where the faint sounds of jazz met my ears. I walked slowly to my desk, placed my purse down, and went to Bradley's doorway. The overhead light was out, leaving his office illuminated by two windows.
There he was, looking sexier than I'd ever seen him, in the seating area to the right of his desk. He wore a pair of slim-cut black pants and a white, long-sleeved shirt open at the neck. The sliding door to his bar was open, and he sat drinking a martini while seated on the long blue mission-style sofa. On the coffee table in front of him papers were scattered in disarray.
"What are you doing here on a Saturday afternoon, Miss Bennett?" he asked, giving me the once-over.
I walked acr
oss his office until I was a few feet away from him. He stood, swallowed the last of his martini, and began making another.
God, how I wanted to throw my arms around him. I'd been starved for the sight of him! His blond hair, neatly combed, his long fingers, nails buffed to a shine, and those incredible blue eyes. Not to mention the open neck of his shirt, which allowed me a tiny glimpse of his chest.
He wasn't wearing an undershirt. I felt a little woozy.
"I came in to do some work," I managed, hoping he would not ask about the Saint Thomas trip.
He turned from the bar, fresh martini in hand, tapped a toothpick holding three olives on the rim of the glass, and ate one. "Dressed in that red suit?"
I tilted my head slightly, studying him. How many of those martinis had crossed his lips? He was always so cool, I couldn't tell if he'd had three or ten. "My parents are in town. We went out to lunch."
He raised an eyebrow. "You didn't mention they were coming."
"It was rather unexpected."
He drank half the martini, then licked his lips and let out a short laugh. "Daddy came to save his Little Magnolia from the big, bad monster?"
Hot, I felt hot, and wanted to take off my suit jacket. There was something so intensely intimate in being in that part of his executive office with him. Alone. On a Saturday. I unbuttoned my jacket and flung it on the sofa.
Standing there in a thin white sleeveless silk blouse, I forced myself to chuckle. "Are you making fun of my father?"
"Never. I don't want to tangle with the big guy again," Bradley said, and gave a mock salute.
The music ended. There was a clicking sound of the needle arm returning to its place. Bradley finished his martini and reached for the silver shaker.
My heart beating fast, I took three steps until I was but a foot away from him. "How many of those have you had?" I asked in a low voice.
He put the shaker down, kept his gaze on it, and said, "Enough to forget the sights and smells of that jail I've been in twice this week. Enough to forget the pictures I've seen of the electric chair."
"Erase that picture from your mind. It has nothing to do with you," I said, instilling my voice with confidence.
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