by B R Snow
“You want to give her a shot and find out?” Wilma said.
“Not a chance,” Victor said, laughing as he stood up. “Who needs another drink?”
We both waved his offer off, and he headed for the bar.
“It’s a good party. I just wish I was in a better mood,” Wilma said, glancing around. Then she frowned when she saw a man heading our way. “Ah, crap. Who invited you?”
“It’s nice to see you, too, Wilma,” John Naylor said, frowning at her. “Hi, Suzy. I didn’t know you were going to be here.”
“It was sort of a last-minute thing,” I said. “How are you holding up?”
“I’ve been better,” he said, shrugging. “Melinda’s death is a lot to deal with. Especially since…well, you know.”
“That it could have been you?” I said.
“Yeah,” he said, glancing around the room.
“So, who did invite you?” I said, my neurons kicking into gear.
“Claudine Gilbert,” he said, continuing to search the room. “Have you seen her?”
“She was at the bar earlier with Paradis.”
“Oh, good. She made it in,” Naylor said. “I was worried she might not get here given the storm.”
“You’re friends with both of them?”
“I am,” he said, nodding. “And I’m supposed to do a shoot with them tomorrow.”
“Runway?”
“No, they want some holiday portraits,” he said, making air quotes with his fingers. “It should be a very interesting day.”
“Got it,” I said, frowning.
“I was supposed to do the shoot at my place, but the police still have it designated as a crime scene.”
“How long before you can move back in?”
“They think it could be a couple more days,” Naylor said. “But who knows? They’re certainly taking their time.”
“I’m sure they have their reasons,” I said.
“Where are you hiding your camera?” Wilma said, glaring at him.
“Wilma, you really shouldn’t believe everything you read in the papers,” Naylor said, barely managing to make eye contact. “I’m just a photographer with an entrepreneurial bent.”
“Bent’s a good word for it,” Wilma said.
“My days of tabloid photos are way behind me,” Naylor said.
“Yeah, I imagine blackmail pays much better,” she said, shaking her head.
“What are you talking about?” Naylor said, turning to confront her.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” she said, returning his stare. “And now that poor girl is dead just because you tried to squeeze money out of some poor fool you happened to catch in a compromising position.”
Naylor shook his head, then glanced at me.
“On that happy note, I think I’ll go grab a drink.”
“What a great idea,” Wilma said. “Just leave.”
“Enjoy your evening,” Naylor said, shaking his head as he headed off.
“You were pretty rough on him,” I said.
“He’s the reason Melinda is dead,” Wilma said.
“Victor said you knew her pretty well.”
“We did. She was wonderful.”
“So, who do you think Naylor might be blackmailing?”
“Just another of his targets, I’m sure. He’s despicable,” Wilma said. “I hope the cops are able to tie him to Melinda’s murder. The man needs to be put down.”
“That seems to be the prevailing opinion,” I said, still trying to match her description of Naylor with my memories of the pleasant young man who’d done the photo shoot with our dogs. “Do you think that’s how he’s made most of his money?”
“That would certainly be my guess,” Wilma said. “Tabloid photographs and blackmail. That’s quite a resume, right?”
“I just don’t get it,” I said, shaking my head. “He seems like such a good kid.”
“A lot of psychopaths do,” she said, glancing up when Victor returned to the table.
“I brought you both a glass of champagne,” he said, sitting down.
“Thanks,” I said, accepting one of the glasses.
“What did I miss?” Victor said, glancing back and forth at us.
“John Naylor just paid us a visit,” Wilma said, taking a long sip.
“Too bad I missed that,” he said, glancing around the room. “I’d like to throw him off the building.”
“Get in line,” Wilma said.
“As you can see, we’re not big fans of Mr. Naylor.”
“It’s pretty hard to miss, Victor.”
“Yeah,” he said, taking a sip of his drink. “I can’t stop thinking about what happened to Melinda. We had her over for dinner at least once a month.”
“She seemed like a nice kid,” I said.
“She came from a tough background but had really found herself lately. She had a passion for film and photography,” Victor said.
“She was saving her money to go to film school,” Wilma said.
“And she loved spending time with us,” Victor said. “She said that Wilma and I had restored her faith in love and that a loving relationship was possible.” He reached out and squeezed Wilma’s hand. “I’m sorry about earlier.”
“Me too,” Wilma said, leaning over to give him a kiss.
“Was Naylor involving Melinda in his schemes?” I said.
“No, I don’t think so,” Victor said, shaking his head. “The man is a total sleaze, but even he seemed to have a soft spot for her. She was pretty fragile.”
“Like a baby bird,” I said as the memory of her flitting around Naylor’s loft flashed in my head.
“Exactly,” Wilma said.
“She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Victor said.
“Horrible,” Wilma said, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Just horrible.”
I reached out and patted her hand, then stood up.
“I should get back to the table,” I said. “Would you like to join us?”
Wilma and Victor glanced at each other and shook their heads.
“Actually, I think we’re going to call it a night,” he said. “Neither one of us is in much of a party mood.”
“Yeah, I’m worn out,” Wilma said, draining the last of her champagne. “It was nice seeing you, Suzy. Have fun.”
“Are we going to see you before you leave town?” Victor said.
“I’m not sure,” I said, getting up from the table. “We’re sticking around for a few days since we’re going to have to do another photo shoot. Do you and Abby need my help on anything?”
“No, I think we’re all set,” he said. “We’re just waiting on the marketing materials so we can get rolling.”
“I’ll see what I can do to speed things up,” I said, giving both of them a hug.
I waited until they left the table and headed for the elevators. Then I started walking across the room and caught a glimpse of John Naylor chatting at the bar with the two models. Then he glanced over at our table and shared an indifferent stare with Max’s aunt.
I came to a stop in the middle of the room and studied Naylor closely.
“I don’t get it,” I said out loud to myself.
“That’s because there’s really nothing to get.”
I turned toward the voice and flinched when I recognized the face I’d seen on TV and movie screens for decades.
“What?”
“I said there’s really nothing to get,” he said, smiling at me. “As soon as you realize that, life gets a whole lot easier.”
“Yeah, I really need to start working on that.”
He laughed and extended his hand.
“I’m Chris.”
“Suzy.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Suzy.”
“I love your movies,” I said. “Well, most of them anyway. A couple of them were real turkeys.” Then I flushed red with embarrassment. “Sorry. But you’re always great.”
“Thanks,” he said, still s
miling. “I think.”
“So, that thing about how there’s nothing to get?” I said. “What is that, some sort of Buddhist thing?”
“I guess it’s something that Buddha might have said. But it came from the woman who wrote the movie I’m working on. I’ve been testing the line out all night to see how it works.”
“It’s a good line,” I said, nodding.
“But not a good philosophy?” he said, raising an eyebrow.
“I’d have to give it some thought,” I said, frowning.
“Try not to overthink it,” he said.
“Who have you been talking to?”
“What?” he said, thoroughly confused.
“Nothing,” I said, shaking my head. “Someone did tell me one time that life was just a series of individual, often random, moments connected by choices.”
“Oh, that’s good,” he said, nodding. “Mind if I borrow that?”
“Knock yourself out,” I said, grinning. “I’ll keep an eye out to see if you use it in the movie.”
“Tell you what, if I do, I’ll give you a sign when I say the line. A little wink or a tug on my ear. It’ll be our little secret.”
“Perfect,” I said, then had a thought. “Say, can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“I’ve always wondered about something. How much does an Oscar weigh?”
“Wow. I wouldn’t have got that with a million guesses,” he said, frowning. “Oscar weighs eight and a half pounds.”
“Heavy.”
“Yes, especially for a man my age.”
“You’re too modest. You look great.”
“Thanks. Perhaps knowing that there’s really nothing to get is keeping me young,” he said, grinning at me. “Maybe you should give it a shot.”
“I don’t know, Chris. I’m not sure my brain would know what to do with itself.”
Chapter 12
I got back to our table and sat down next to Bill and Shirley. Max and his aunt were still involved in an animated conservation that had them both laughing. Max noticed my return and beamed at me.
“Welcome back,” he said. “Having fun?”
“It’s quite a party,” I said, nodding. “Where are Josie and Chef Claire?”
“They said they were going to mingle,” Max said. “But I think Josie was hot on the trail of a dessert tray.”
I laughed then felt a hand on my forearm. I glanced over, and Shirley leaned in.
“How was your chat with the Black Widow?” Shirley said.
“She’s pretty spooky,” I said. “On the surface, she seems charming, but there’s definitely something bubbling underneath.”
“Do you think she could have been the one trying to kill Naylor?” Bill said.
“I think she’s completely capable of it,” I said. “But I don’t like her for the murder.”
“Why not?” Bill said.
“It’s strange,” I said. “But I don’t think she was interested enough in Naylor to waste the energy.”
“What?” Bill said, frowning.
“I think she has to be personally invested in whatever she does,” I said. “It’s hard to explain. If she has killed all her ex-husbands, I’m pretty sure the reason she did it was just to see if she could manage to get away with it.”
“As some sort of personal challenge?” Shirley said.
“Yeah, that’s it,” I said, nodding. “As the wife, she’d be the logical suspect, right?”
“Sure,” Bill said. “At least at first.”
“But she’s always managed to meet the challenge and get away scot-free. And it was impossible to miss the way she dismissed Naylor as a human being. I don’t think she did it simply because he was too insignificant. You know, unworthy of her abilities. Does that make any sense?”
“I guess it could,” Shirley said. “Unless Naylor does have something damaging on her. She might like the challenge of getting away with murder, but if he tried to blackmail her and made her mad, she might make an exception just for him.”
“I’ve been watching Naylor closely for the past half-hour,” Bill said.
“Only because he’s been standing at the bar talking to Paradis,” Shirley said, laughing.
“Hey, I can’t help it if that’s who he chooses to spend his time with,” Bill said, grinning at her.
“How does he seem to you?” I said.
“Sad and worried,” Bill said.
“But not guilty, right?” I said.
“Are you talking about him being guilty of murder or blackmail?”
“Blackmail,” I said. “He didn’t kill Melinda.”
“No, I don’t think he did, either,” Bill said. “But I haven’t seen a trace of guilt from him.”
“Yeah, I got the same impression earlier,” I said. “I suppose he could be doing a good job of hiding it.”
“If he is, then he’s a very good actor,” Bill said. “I’m beginning to wonder if somebody tried to kill Naylor for a different reason other than blackmail. Maybe he just rubbed somebody the wrong way.”
“Like someone who was the subject of one of his photos?” Shirley said.
“Have you seen any tabloid photos lately that were credited to him?” I said. “He said earlier that he’d been out of the business for a long time.”
“I wouldn’t have a clue, but I really haven’t been looking,” Shirley said, frowning. “I don’t follow the tabloids.”
“I’ve got a few of our folks doing some research,” Bill said. “But I don’t think they’ve got any hits yet.”
“A lot of the tabloid photos don’t even have credits attached to them,” Shirley said.
“Yeah, that one’s a real needle in the haystack,” Bill said.
“When are you going to let Naylor move back into his place?” I said.
“It’s gonna be awhile,” he said. “We’re going over every inch of his loft again to see if he has something hidden that the person who cleaned his place out might have missed.”
“Maybe he’s got a jealous boyfriend or husband after him,” Shirley said. “He does have a reputation as a player.”
“Yeah,” Bill said, nodding. “But we’ve dealt with a lot of jealous lovers over the years, and I’ve never seen one of them use an elaborate plan like the killer tried to use with Naylor. People who are in a jealous rage tend to use a more direct approach.”
“You’re right,” Shirley said, nodding. Then she focused on her fiancé. “Hey, I thought we were going to take the night off.”
“I think we failed,” Bill said, laughing. “I’m blaming Suzy.”
“Funny,” I said. “Did you get a chance to check out the housekeeping angle?”
“We did,” Bill said. “Naylor’s building has a master contract with a company called High-End Housekeeping. They clean all the lofts. And they come in twice a week.”
“Naylor has an assigned housekeeper?”
“He does,” Bill said. “And she was there the day before Melinda died. She came at her regular time in the morning, did her thing, and was gone by noon.”
“Did she change the linens in the bedroom?” I said.
“She did,” he said. “And you saw how well the bed was made. I believe hotel-quality was the term you used.”
“Yeah, I remember. And that means that Naylor didn’t sleep at his place that night.”
“He swears he didn’t. Says he stayed with a friend,” Bill said. “But maybe he passed out in the living room.”
“It’s possible. But I can’t believe the housekeeper was the one who put the poison on Naylor’s pillows.”
“We can’t either,” Bill said. “But we had to check her out, and she came up clean. She’s been Naylor’s housekeeper since he moved in and loves the guy to death. A mother of six who goes to church every day.”
“Not exactly a killer’s profile, huh?” I said.
“Uh, no,” Bill said, shaking his head.
“What about Melinda?” I said.
>
“What about her?”
“Where did she live?”
“She had a crappy apartment she shared with a roommate just outside of the city,” Bill said. “And when I say crappy, I’m being generous.”
“Apparently, she was saving all her money to go to film school.”
“That’s what her roommate told us,” he said.
“What was the roommate like?”
“She was nice enough,” Shirley said. “But really shaken up about what had happened to Melinda.”
“What does she do?”
“She’s a grad student,” Shirley said. “Works a couple of part-time jobs. Wondering if she’s going to be able to find a job when she graduates. All the usual stuff.”
“What did she have to say about Melinda?”
“Just that they were pretty good friends but didn’t see each other much,” Shirley said. “She said Melinda worked all the time and usually ended up spending a couple of nights a week at Naylor’s place.”
“She and Naylor had something going on between them?” I said.
“Naylor says no,” Bill said. “He thought of her more as a sister. Considered it his job to look after her.”
“Do you believe him?”
“Yeah, I think I do,” Bill said. “As far as she’s concerned, I’m still convinced she just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Which leads us in a circle right back to who might have wanted Naylor dead,” Shirley said.
“I hate when that happens,” I said, staring off into the distance.
They both laughed and sipped their drinks in unison.
“So, you didn’t find anything at Melinda’s apartment,” I said.
“No,” Bill said. “But it’s not like we did a major search of the place. We were just there to deliver the bad news to the roommate. And we got the heck out of there as fast as we could.”
“What a horrible place that was,” Shirley said, shaking her head. “I can’t imagine living there.”
“Yeah, the only thing memorable about it was the address,” Bill said, laughing.
“666 Devil’s Way Road,” Shirley said, laughing along.
“You’re joking, right?” I said, frowning.
“No, and if you ever saw the place, you’d understand why it’s the perfect address,” Shirley said.
“What’s your next step?” I said.