Fleeced: A Regan Reilly Mystery (15 page)

Georgette escaped into the bathroom when Regan started sticking her nose around the party. I knew we were running into a streak of bad luck, she thought. This is not good.

Looking at herself in the mirror, she sighed. She unzipped her purse and took out her brush. As she fussed with her hair, she reviewed her options. By the time she was reapplying her lipstick, Georgette had decided that she couldn’t leave. It would look too suspicious. But after tonight, that’s it. Blaise and I will search for the diamonds in Nat’s apartment, and if we don’t find them, we’ll cut our losses and get out of town tomorrow. Who needs this aggravation?

When she came out of the bathroom, Blaise was standing there with a tray of drinks. “Keep cool,” he whispered. “We’re out of here soon.”

Georgette smiled, took a glass of champagne, and walked back into the living room. I’m not going to miss these parties, she thought. Having to make excuses to a bunch of losers, explaining why you don’t want to go to the movies. Give me a break. Uh oh. Here comes Regan Reilly, acting so fake friendly.

“Hello,” Georgette said. “Any luck so far?”

Regan shrugged. “The woman I just spoke to said she wasn’t even here last night.”

“I was talking to her. She’s a friend of Lydia’s from New Jersey. She called Lydia today and told her she was coming into the city, so Lydia told her to stop over. By the way, my name is Georgette.”

“Nice to meet you. Is there anything you can tell me about last night that might be helpful?”

Georgette tossed back her blond-streaked hair, shifted from foot to foot, and lowered her voice. “You know, Regan, the big mystery to me is why I come to these parties. The guy with the rug who was hitting on you asked me last night if I like to take walks on moonlit beaches.” Georgette chuckled into her glass. “Or lounge on sheepskin rugs in front of the fireplace.”

“Sheepskin rugs?” Regan asked.

“Can you believe that? My skin crawls just thinking about it.”

“Thinking about the rugs, or him?” Regan asked.

“Him! I’ve got nothing against sheep.”

Regan laughed. “So why
do
you come to these gatherings?”

Uh-oh again, Georgette thought. “I bought the package deal Lydia was offering. I figured I may as well use it up. And you never know, lightning might strike. Sometimes I think finding the right guy is like trying to find a needle in a haystack.”

“What kind of guy are you looking for?”

“Someone who is kind and caring. Sense of humor. That’s really important to me. There are so many problems in life, you have to laugh, right, Regan?”

“That you do,” Regan agreed. “I love your perfume. What kind is it?”

Georgette laughed shyly. “It’s called Lethal Injection. My old boyfriend gave it to me.”

Regan smiled. “And what happened to him?”

Georgette waved her hand at Regan. “Another loser. He expected me to take care of him.”

One of the butlers accidentally bumped into Georgette. “Excuse me,” he said as he held out a tray of pigs in blankets.

“Thank you,” Regan said as she took one and dipped it in the mustard. “These are good.”

“At the end of the night there are never any of these left,” he replied, moving on when Georgette refused any.

“So you didn’t see anything unusual last night?” Regan asked.

“No. It was the exact same deal as this. The guy with the camera was out here. I think he’s spending tonight with the butlers in the kitchen.”

He certainly taped enough of the party scene last night, Regan thought. For the next hour she talked to the other guests. When she mentioned to Snoopy’s mom that one of the women with the heavy perfume hadn’t even been there last night, she just shrugged. “I get confused sometimes.”

Most of these women are heavy on the perfume-and makeup, Regan noted. After all, this party is a mating dance. People try to look their best.

“Are you having a good time?” Lydia asked as she pulled Regan aside.

“Lydia,” Regan said in a low voice, “I’d like to get the names and addresses of everyone here. I’d also like to know who was here last night who didn’t make it tonight. I’ll run a quick check on them. No one has to know.”

Lydia’s eyes narrowed. “It had better not leak, Regan. This is my livelihood.”

“It won’t,” Regan assured her. “Don’t forget. This is also for the sake of the Settlers’ Club. Now, I also need the names and addresses of the butlers.”

Lydia inhaled sharply. “Maldwin’s not going to like that.”

“If he and his students have nothing to hide, then it shouldn’t be a problem. This is standard procedure. I’m going down to see Thomas now.”

“I’ll put together the list and slip it under your door tonight,” Lydia promised.

“The sooner, the better,” Regan said. “I want to call everyone as soon as possible.”

At a candlelit table down in the stately dining room, Thomas and Janey were recuperating from their day of woe. They had each had a salad and a bowl of pasta and were now finishing the last of their bottle of wine. Before dinner, Thomas had made the dreaded calls to several of the members, assuring them that of course the party was still on and everything would be fine. He had also put a cold compress on Janey’s face and persuaded her to lie down on the couch. When they emerged from his apartment, she was wearing a pair of his sunglasses. Her eyes were red and swollen from the Mace.

When Regan walked in, she found them at the corner table, underneath the portrait of the founder of the club. He must be rolling in his grave, Regan thought.

“Did you sniff out anything up there?” Thomas asked as he wiped his mouth with a napkin. On the way back from Ben’s apartment they had discussed the perfume Janey had smelled as well as the reference to perfume in Ben’s journal.

Regan smiled wryly. “There were a lot of women wearing perfume. 1And everyone claims to have seen nothing.” She turned to the waiter who had approached her. “I’ll have a glass of red wine, please.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t go up there with you,” Janey said. “I just didn’t feel up to it, and I look a mess.”

“Don’t worry about it. Lydia wouldn’t have been too happy anyway. She doesn’t want it to seem as if we suspect any of her clients, and if you had walked into a singles party while you’re still recovering from a Mace attack, it might have seemed a little odd.”

“Or people might think I’m desperate.”

“That too,” Regan agreed.

“But I’m not desperate. I have Thomas.” Janey reached for his hand as he beamed.

And you’d better hang onto him, baby, Regan thought. Because something tells me you’re going to bring the Settlers’ Club into the papers tomorrow. And it ain’t going to be pretty. As the couple gazed into each other’s eyes, Regan took a sip of the wine the waiter had just put in front of her. I may as well continue, she thought. “I got the names of the perfumes all the women were wearing. I’m going to go out tomorrow and buy each one of them. Then we can see if you recognize any of them as the one you smelled today.” Regan paused. “Whoever ransacked Ben’s apartment might have no connection with the woman Nat was seeing. It could just be a coincidence.”

“The Fragrance Foundation would be thrilled to know how many people are spritzing themselves,” Thomas remarked.

“You might say the whole situation stinks,” Janey said before she drained her glass and started to giggle.

How many glasses of wine have you had? Regan wondered as she smiled at Janey. I guess I’d get a little giddy too after being locked in a cold, dark closet for a good part of the day, not knowing when I’d be rescued.

“Clara’s coming in tomorrow,” Thomas announced. “In an attempt to make amends for her disastrous phone call to the crime show.”

“I want to talk to her,” Regan said.

“Of course.”

After several minutes of small talk, Regan stood. “Time to call it a night. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“We have a lovely breakfast here in the dining room. Why don’t you come down?”

“Sounds good,” Regan said. As she walked out of the room, she looked at her watch. It was eleven-thirty. I’ve been here nearly fourteen hours, and I only have two days left to solve this crime.

Crimes, she thought. With each passing minute, she was becoming more and more certain that Nat had been murdered. That’s why she had to talk to Clara. She felt sure that Clara, unknowingly, had information that would be helpful.

When she got off the elevator and walked down to Nat’s door, she could still hear a small group of people inside Lydia’s apartment. The diehards, she thought.

Within fifteen minutes she was in bed in the guest room, the alarm set for seven o’clock. I want to get up early and take a good look through this apartment, she thought. There’s got to be something around here that gives me a clue. Regan turned out the light and put her head down on the pillow. Five minutes later, she was asleep.

Action!” Jacques Harlow cried to Daphne.

They were in his sparsely furnished, high-ceilinged, drafty loft on a deserted street in lower Manhattan. Jacques had signaled one of his assistants to turn on a fog machine as Daphne sat on the floor, surrounded by darkness, and began to rhapsodize on the benefits and sorrows of selling her farm. Nat and Wendy’s sheep stood at attention on either side of her.

“I look out over the moors,” Daphne almost whispered, “and my heart starts to sing…”

“Wait!” the cameraman shouted.

“Wait! What do you mean wait?” Jacques demanded. “The director is the boss! The director calls ‘action’ and the director calls ‘cut.’ How could you forget such a thing?”

“You’re going to waste a lot of film. I’m getting a bad reflection off the sheep’s eyes.”

“So turn the sheep sideways and pull their bangs down,” Jacques screamed impatiently.

Two weary production assistants hurried over. When they turned Dolly to face Daphne, one of her eyes fell out and rolled away into the darkness. As they frantically scrambled to feel around for it on the floor, Jacques screamed again. “Don’t worry about it! I don’t care about the sheep’s eyes. I only care what’s going on in my actor’s eyes. Now turn the other sheep and let’s go!”

Bah-Bah in place on one side, Dolly on the other, Daphne was ready to start over. The two sheep now looked as though they were dying to hear what she had to say.

“Action!” Jacques cried again.

For the next six minutes, Daphne emoted over her character’s sheep farm like nobody’s business. At the end, sobbing, she lowered her head to the ground as Scarlett O’Hara had done so famously in
Gone with the Wind.

“Cut!” Jacques cried, his voice trembling. He wiped a tear from his eye and ran over to embrace Daphne. “I was so moved,” he whispered in her ear as the crew broke into applause. “You’re a magnificent actress. I want you to star in my next film.”

Daphne was speechless. She hadn’t felt this good in years. Both her personal and professional lives had been less than satisfactory. But all of a sudden, it seemed as if a whole new wonderful world was opening up to her. It sure beat stand-in work. “Oh, Jacques,” she finally mouthed as she laid her head against his shoulder.

Pumpkin sat seething in the corner. She stood up. “Are we ready to shoot my final scene?”

“No!” Jacques sneered. “Daphne is going to do her monologue again for me. Her well is overflowing, and I want to capture more of it.”

“Yeah, well I’m going outside for a cigarette,” Pumpkin announced and turned on her heel.

Jacques gave Daphne a mischievous glance. “Would you like Pumpkin to be your stand-in?”

Daphne laughed as Jacques returned to his director’s chair. She petted Dolly and Bah-Bah. “Can you imagine how surprised your mommy and daddy would be to see that you’ve turned into movie stars?”