The Celebutantes

by Antonio Pagliarulo

  He swiveled around in the chair. “Whaddya mean?”

  “I mean that Coco is really the only suspect right now. Which is bad. There are a few other questions, a few things I don’t understand about this case, but Coco is at the top of the criminal list.”

  “But you don’t really think she did it, do you? I mean, like, you don’t think she up and shoved Elijah over the balcony?”

  Park stared at him. She tried to follow the investigatory rules and keep her expression pensive, but the truth burned through the guise. “Of course I don’t. But I haven’t really had a chance to investigate the way I’d like to,” she said. “Madison and Lex are with Coco now, but I haven’t heard from them yet. I know in my heart that Coco’s innocent, but I have to keep my mind open to every possibility.”

  Jeremy chucked the apple into a nearby garbage can. “What do you think happened?”

  The question struck Park as funny—not that Jeremy had asked it, but that she found herself so eager to answer it. She hadn’t thought it would happen that way. Confused by the evidence, angered by the circumstances, she had spent most of the night in a state of mental limbo, too scared to truly delve into the heart of the mystery. Now, however, she felt the urge to plunge right in and start hammering away at it. The uncertainty had made her restless.

  She met his curious gaze. “Seriously? I think someone else shoved Elijah off that balcony.”

  Jeremy thought about that for a long moment. Then he shook his head. “I don’t get it.”

  “I’m not sure I get it either,” she murmured. “But I know I’m on the right track.” An image of Poppy van Lulu popped into Park’s mind, and the image was as intriguing as it was incongruous. An old little toothpick of a woman like Poppy shoving Elijah off that balcony? Park couldn’t picture it, but stranger crimes had certainly been committed.

  “Wasn’t Tallula’s assistant—what’s her name, Dina?—in the suite when it happened?” Jeremy asked.

  “Ina. Yeah, but she was taking a shower, and she’s deaf and wasn’t wearing her hearing aid. And the cops believe her.”

  A sly smile spread across Jeremy’s face. He had caught the familiar glint of suspicion in his girlfriend’s eyes. “Aha!” he said. “But you don’t believe her, right?”

  Park considered the question. “It’s more like I don’t want to believe her, but the crappy thing is that I don’t really have a concrete reason to think she’s lying.” And that’s because I haven’t had the chance to interrogate her yet.

  Jeremy squinted and stroked the sides of his mouth, trying to look like a detective in one of those old black-and-white movies. “You want to know what I don’t get? I don’t get how a girl who’s, like, five foot one and weighs a hundred and ten pounds pushes a six-foot guy who probably weighs one-sixty off a terrace.”

  “Those aren’t exactly the right weight and height measurements.”

  “Whatever. But you get what I’m saying, don’t you? I just don’t think it makes sense.”

  It didn’t make sense to Park either—not from the outset. But she knew of cases in the annals of criminal justice where the strange combination of adrenaline and alcohol had created superhuman strength in people. The mind stayed foggy but the body reacted. And that was the theory the cops were going with right now. They needed at least that much to turn Coco into a killer. Park took another chug of the Pellegrino, then decided to change the subject. “Do you know anything about skeleton keys?”

  “Skeleton keys?”

  “Yeah.” Park reached for her purse and pulled out the key she had found close to Elijah’s body yesterday afternoon. She held it up. “Like this one.”

  Jeremy stared at it. “My mom still has doors in her house in Iowa that you need those kinds of keys for. They’re in, like, old houses.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Does it say locksmith on my forehead?” He smirked. “Why the sudden interest in skeleton keys?”

  I have no idea, Park thought. She put the key away and shrugged. “It’s nothing,” she said offhandedly. “You never met Elijah or Tallula, right?”

  “Never.” Jeremy put his feet up on the counter. “But I hear she’s totally talented. And that he was a great sculptor. Shame he’s dead.”

  “You know what’s crazy about the art world?” Park said. “Now that Elijah’s dead, his sculptures will be worth double what they were when he was alive.”

  “That’s kinda creepy, when you think about it.” He reached for the bottle of Pellegrino and took a sip. He stifled a yawn. A look of disinterest melted onto his face. “Anyway, babe, what are we doing tonight? Hayden called me this morning—she’s in town and wants to have dinner. Or maybe we can swing by Cleopatra and hit the dance floor?”

  “No,” Park said with a brusque shake of her head. “Tonight, we’re going to a séance.”

  Jeremy’s response to the completely strange news was typical of him: he shrugged, nodded, and smiled. “Cool.”

  Park dropped her attention back to the newspaper. Damn, she thought, there has to be something I’m not seeing, something that nobody’s caught yet. She stopped reading and simply stared at the grainy pictures. One in particular caught her eye: it was the one of Coco being hauled out of the hotel in handcuffs, her face a mask of mascara-laden tears. Park ran her finger over the image. Coco really was tiny—petite to a fault, in fact; she must have been possessed of superhuman strength when she gave Elijah that final, fatal shove off the balcony. Park tried to reconstruct those dark moments in her mind’s eye again, sensing the panic, hearing the cries, feeling the weight of Elijah’s body against the palms of her hands—

  She gasped out loud. Her heart racing, she lifted the newspaper as close to her face as possible and stared at the grainy image of Coco, giving special attention to the shoes she’d worn yesterday. The shoes that were very obviously in the picture.

  “Of course!” she said, slamming her hand down on the counter. “Now I see it!”

  “See what?” Jeremy asked.

  But Park hadn’t heard him. She was too busy scrambling for her cell.

  At four-thirty that afternoon, the Hamilton limo pulled off the Merritt Parkway in Greenwich, Connecticut, and turned down Round Hill Road. Stately mansions flanked either side of the manicured green. Gardeners were outside, trimming hedges and replanting rosebushes. Madison peered through the window and felt her anxiety climb a notch. Hidden behind her trademark Oliver Peoples sunglasses and a silk scarf that covered most of her head, she uttered a silent prayer that no stray reporters would snap a pic of the limo’s license plate. She didn’t need the media finding out that she was visiting Tallula Kayson a mere twenty-four hours after Elijah Traymore had died. But Madison knew the chances of her little trip to Connecticut not leaking out were minuscule.

  “I think the house is up there,” Donnie Halstrom said in his usual monotone.

  Madison leaned forward, hanging over the front partition. At the end of the road were two news vans, and beyond them, a crowd. “Shit,” she muttered. “That has to be it. I can’t believe this mess!”

  Traffic on the two-lane road was heavy. As the limo inched forward, Donnie honked the horn and turned on the blinker.

  The reporters and cameras surged in. A flash cut through the tinted windows of the limo, and Madison pulled the scarf tighter around the edges of her face.

  “Okay,” Donnie said a few seconds later. “We’re in the clear.”

  Madison looked up just as the two tall front gates stretched wide open. The gravel road wound to the right, the land hidden by a canopy of trees and bushes. Then it opened up, and Ghost Ranch came into view.

  The Tudor-style mansion was set far back on the property and flanked by beautiful green acreage. Evergreens shadowed the side of the house. Far to the left, nearly obscured by an army of oaks, was a small white clapboard house with blue shutters and a bird fountain beside it. Madison was sure it was Tallula’s studio.

  She felt her stomach knot as the limo came t
o a stop a few feet from the tall front door. “Just wait here, Donnie,” she said quietly. “I shouldn’t be that long.”

  “Okay.”

  Not until she began walking up the front steps did she pull the scarf down around her neck and remove the sunglasses. She reached the front door, then hesitated a moment, her hands balled into fists. She stared at the doorbell with a heavy heart and just a little bit of fear. She wasn’t scared in the traditional sense. She was just nervous about the task at hand. It was going to take a lot of guts to get through it smoothly without her sisters.

  She pushed the button and waited.

  A few seconds later, Tallula Kayson appeared on the threshold, a weary smile already in place. She waved Madison inside and said, “I’m so glad you called. Thank you for coming.”

  “Thank you for agreeing to see me,” Madison replied. She stepped into the bright, spacious foyer and gave Tallula a quick once-over.

  She looked bad. There was no other word to describe her. Tallula’s blond hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen, her face completely devoid of makeup. She had the appearance of a widow in mourning—and of a young woman who hadn’t slept in the last twenty-four hours. Her jeans were paint-splattered, her tank top caked with particles of food. But she hadn’t completely forgotten her artsy self: a huge brown satin ribbon was tied around her waist, making her look like a hastily wrapped present.

  Madison wanted to offer her some blush and lip gloss but resisted the urge to do so. She doubted a prettier face would make Tallula feel better.

  “I can only offer you water,” Tallula said apologetically. “I haven’t gone shopping in ages, and the fridge is totally empty.”

  “I’m fine,” Madison said. She set her purse down on the foyer table and followed Tallula into the living room. It was large and airy, the skylights taking in the sunlight, the furniture an eclectic mix of art deco and old English. Dark wood pieces stood next to lacquered white ones. The paisley sofa was adorned with a pink cashmere throw. Inwardly, Madison smiled. Only an artist like Tallula could pull off such a feat of interior design.

  “I was so glad when you called,” Tallula said. “God knows, I don’t want to be alone right now.” She lowered herself onto the sofa and indicated the chair across from her. “I couldn’t even think about staying in Manhattan for another minute. I wanted out of that hotel, out of the craziness. Every time I looked outside I saw…” She heaved a sigh. A tear trickled down her cheek. “I can’t talk about it. I’m just so glad you’re here. I feel so alone.”

  “Where’s Ina?” Madison asked.

  “Up in her room.”

  Madison cleared her throat. “Well, in that case, I’m glad we’re alone. There’s some stuff I’d like to talk to you about.” She sat down on the couch, clutching her purse in her lap. The coffee table before her was barely visible under the mess of papers, crumpled tissues, and small boxes. It was the boxes that held her attention: it appeared as though they were filled with men’s clothes. Elijah’s clothes—and lots of other stuff that had probably belonged to him.

  “Oh, it’s such a mess,” Tallula said when she caught Madison staring. “Can you believe this is how the hotel people help you clean up after one of their guests has been murdered? Everything of Elijah’s got tossed into boxes. I haven’t even looked inside them yet.”

  Madison was surprised by her own internal reaction. Her pulse started racing at the thought of scouring those two boxes and examining every item that had belonged to Elijah Traymore. Maybe Park had missed something yesterday.

  “I knew when I met you yesterday at the luncheon that we’d become fast friends,” Tallula said sweetly. “Truth is, I don’t have many friends—just a few kids from high school, but we’re not really that close. And plus, to be perfectly honest, they don’t know about art the way you do. We totally have that in common. Would you be a cookie and grab me a tissue?”

  “We have so much in common,” Madison agreed, handing her the tissue. “I…I pretty much feel like I can talk to you about anything already. That might sound a little strange, but I swear it’s true.”

  “I feel the same way. It’s kismet. We were meant to be friends. I just can’t believe we didn’t run into each other at Fashion Week last year.”

  “It’s so crazy,” Madison said. “All those crowds and cameras. You know how it is.”

  “Well, no cameras in here! Those beasts won’t leave my front gate, but I’ll shoot them if they step onto my lawn!” She sniffled and blew her nose.

  “Is everything else okay, Tallula? Have you sorted things out with your publicist?”

  “Yes. She’s going to start releasing statements over the weekend.”

  “Why so late?”

  Tallula shook her head and stared into her lap. “Elijah’s family—they’re a bunch of pigs! They’ve always hated me. They say I’m the one who made him drop out of college, that I pulled him away from his parents. And now they’re blaming me for what happened in their own way. They’re not even letting me go to the funeral! His body is being released from the medical examiner’s office today and then it’s being flown to Massachusetts.”

  Madison heard herself gasp. “That’s awful!”

  “I know! I called Elijah’s father this morning, and I know he hates me. But I said to him, ‘Mr. Traymore, would you just please be a double-fudge cupcake and let me come and mourn Elijah properly?’ But he wouldn’t hear it! He called me a black widow!”

  Madison shook her head. Then she cracked a nervous smile and looked down. “I know talking about Elijah and what happened is tough, Tallula, but that’s part of the reason I came here.”

  “I know why you came here,” Tallula replied quietly. “Because Coco McKaid is your best friend and you think she’s innocent.”

  Well, that was easy, Madison thought. But she knew the conversation had only just begun. She also heard the slight edge of coldness in Tallula’s voice and saw the angry gleam in her eyes. Which, of course, was entirely understandable. The only problem was that Madison felt lost right now. She wasn’t sitting at her desk at home tackling a term paper. She wasn’t on the phone discussing business for the first Triple Threat store. Either of those tasks would have been easy for her—all work and no emotion. Here, it was different. She had to manage the nearly impossible feat of discussing Coco while not offending Tallula. She had to keep her voice even-keeled and choose her words carefully. In truth, it was a job more suited for Park.

  “I understand where you’re coming from,” Tallula said. “Really, I do. You’ve known Coco your whole life and you can’t picture her doing what everyone thinks she did. Everyone including me.”

  “No,” Madison said, “I can’t.”

  “It’s shocking to me too. But what else am I supposed to believe, Madison? The cops explained everything to me.”

  Madison met her stare. “Then you know Coco’s side of the story?” she asked bluntly. “You know about…about how Elijah…” How Elijah attacked Coco. She wanted to say it, but couldn’t.

  Tallula rose from her place on the sofa and began pacing. Her face crumpled into an angry mask. “I have no choice but to believe that Elijah invited Coco up to the penthouse, and that he planned on cheating on me,” she said tightly. “I’m angry about that. I hate Elijah for it. But that doesn’t mean he deserved to die. It just doesn’t.”

  “Of course it doesn’t,” Madison agreed.

  “And that whole bit about Coco shoving him off the balcony in self-defense?” Tallula went on. “I don’t know if I buy that. I think she just lost control…or…or…maybe he rejected her. Did you think of that possibility?”

  Madison stared down at her hands again. “Tallula, I never believed that Coco was guilty, not even in self-defense. I mean, I made myself consider that possibility, but I know her, and it’s just…impossible.” A pause. “To tell you the total truth, I don’t even think Coco was in the room when you and Ina went up there after the luncheon.”
/>
  “What?” Tallula asked sharply.

  Madison swallowed hard. The knife-edged tone of Tallula’s voice worried her.

  “I don’t understand,” Tallula said. “What are you talking about?”

  “My sisters and I think we can prove that Coco wasn’t in the room when you and Ina got there, and so we think we can prove that she didn’t kill Elijah,” Madison stated very matter-of-factly.

  Tallula sat back down again. “How?”

  Ignoring the question, Madison looked up at her. “Did you know Elijah had been speaking to Poppy van Lulu? That last night he had an appointment to meet with her at her apartment on Central Park West?”

  Tallula’s eyes widened in clear shock. “That old crazy psychic?” She chuckled. “I mean, I know Poppy is a patroness of the arts, but she’s cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs. And Elijah knew that.”

  “He did?”

  “Yes.” Tallula rolled her eyes. “Elijah practiced Wicca and spent all his spare time collecting information on books and ghosts and spirits and haunted sites. Some stuff he believed. Some he didn’t. But he was always up for talking about it. It wasn’t one of our similarities. Is that why he was going to meet with Poppy van Lulu again? Does she practice Wicca too?”

  Madison flinched. “Again? You mean, he met her before?”

  “Of course. When we were students at St. Stephen’s College. The school has a really big psych department, and back in 2004, I think it was, they held some sort of scientific experiment about psychic phenomena and ESP. Stuff like that. Anyway, Poppy van Lulu was one of the psychics who participated. Elijah met her back then.”

  Holy shit, Madison thought. “You’re sure about that?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “Did he ever say anything about Poppy?” Madison asked, trying to conceal her mounting excitement. “Like what happened when he met her? What he thought of her?”

  Tallula sniffled. “He said she was a total fraud. She was the laughingstock of the experiment—I think it was called the Borely experiment. Elijah worked with two of the professors on it. Anyway, none of that information about the experiment was ever released because Poppy was smart—she made a huge financial donation to the college, but it was really hush money. She didn’t want that getting out to the public.”