If Looks Could Kill (14 page)

Sliding into the chair across from me, she pulled off her sunglasses, flung them on the table, and gestured for the waiter.

“You know what you want?” she said, more a statement than a question. I guess she figured since I’d sat there long enough,
I ought to have memorized the menu. As soon as the waiter walked over, we ordered; me a salad Niçoise and Cat the lamb stew.

“Any update on things?” I asked.

“I had Carlotta chuck all the food in the house and buy new stuff. And Farley called this morning—went over all the names
on the list with me. Wanted to know who was who.”

“What about the caterer?” I asked. “Did you call and ask about the candy?”

“Yeah, I spoke to Maverick, the owner, who was at the party herself,” she said. “She remembered the box on the hall table.
She remembered that it said truffles on it and that it had a flower on top.”

“And she didn’t put the box away anyplace?”

“No. And I had Carlotta check every place, just to be sure.”

“So that pretty much confirms it. The candy was meant for
you.”

“Here’s a fun little tidbit,” she said sarcastically. “Maverick said one of her helpers had wondered if they should put the
candy out on a plate in the living room. She thought someone had brought them to be served at the party. But she double-checked
with Audrey, and Audrey told her no way. Can you imagine if she’d put those truffles out? Half the room might be dead. And
what if Tyler had gotten into them? I get sick just thinking about it.”

“One thing that’s curious is that Heidi took the box of chocolates on Thursday night but obviously didn’t eat them until the
weekend.”

“Maybe she stashed the candy away—for a time when she felt ravenous. Look,” she said, shifting gears, “are you aware of how
Tucker Bobb died?”

“I talked to Leslie about it last night. She didn’t seem to know if the poison mushroom thing was just rumor or fact.”

“But what if it’s true? What if it’s all connected? This could be some kind of plot.”

I pushed my straw around my iced tea a minute as I mulled over what she’d said.

“It
is
odd,” I told her, “and you have to tell the police about it, okay? I’ll ask around, see what I can find out. But, you know,
it doesn’t change the fact that whoever’s involved in Heidi’s death was at your house Thursday night. And we have to give
everyone who was there consideration.”

“I’ve got that stuff you wanted, by the way. People’s résumés. Audrey messengered them over to me.” She pulled a large manila
envelope out of her tote bag and slid it across the table to me.

“Is this everybody?” I asked, sticking the envelope into my own bag.

“Everybody except one guy in production whose file we can’t find. But I’ve never said boo to the guy.”

“Maybe he’s been hoping to get a boo.”

“That’s the damn problem, isn’t it?” she snapped. “People expect me to coddle them and not complain when they turn in crappy
layouts or articles that read like the instructions to a Japanese VCR.”

“So let’s talk about people,” I said. “You said that you couldn’t think of anyone who was especially antagonistic toward you,
other than Dolores. But let’s go through people one by one. Tell me what’s going on with everybody.”

She started with the inner circle, going in no particular order. Things with Audrey seemed “absolutely fine,” she stressed.
Audrey was a forty-two-year-old prematurely gray executive secretary who ran Cat’s life brilliantly. She left every day shortly
after six and went home to her dog, Muchi, and her book club and didn’t seem to give
Gloss
another thought until she was back at her desk the next day. Cat reported that her relationship with Audrey was without trouble,
except for a minor tiff a week ago over a misplaced message.

“And you don’t see any significance in the fact that she told the caterer not to put the chocolates out—to keep them for you?”
I asked.

“No, no. She was just looking out for me,” Cat said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

Sasha, the fashion director. She’d been at the magazine for two years, beating the record for a
Gloss
fashion director by about thirteen months. Sasha, Cat said, was one of the first fashion editors to seem to value her opinion,
and Cat showed her appreciation by giving Sasha lots of autonomy. Around the first of the year there had been one blowup over
Sasha’s disregard for the budget, predicated by the revelation that at one shoot the catered lunch had included chateaubriand
carved tableside, but they’d patched things up.

Then there was Rachel. As I’d suspected, there was definitely tension between them, Cat said. She had heard from two different
sources that Rachel had finagled a lunch with Harry, the company owner. Cat felt that Rachel would love to position herself
as Cat’s replacement, especially since for the first time since Cat had come to the magazine, newsstand sales were soft.

“She thinks she could run
Gloss
better than you?” I asked.

“Oh, sure,” Cat snickered. “She’s been criticizing some of my cover choices lately, and I caught her smirking at a meeting
the other day. I let her have it later in my office. She thinks she’s so damn smart. Up until I hired her, her biggest coup
had been discovering that Jennifer Aniston hadn’t eaten a potato or slice of bread in three years, and now she thinks she’s
Tina Brown.”

“Why not just fire her, then?” I asked.

“Because as a wrangler she’s not that bad. You know what a rat race this celebrity thing is, and she gets us people.”

They brought our lunch and we let go of the conversation for a minute as we dealt with our food. My salad had the air of someone
who’d been sitting around all night waiting for a date to show, and I dug in without much enthusiasm. Cat poked at her stew
before taking a bite. It would be a long time, I realized, before she stopped being nervous about the food she ate.

“Okay, let’s keep going,” I said after a few bites. “Polly. Everything basically okay with you two?”

“I guess,” she said, giving up on the stew and spearing a green bean.

“What does ‘I guess’ mean?” I asked.

“You know Polly,” she said, rolling her eyes. “She’s not exactly a happy person. If she unloaded twenty-five pounds and resisted
the urge to register for fish forks the moment she met a decent guy, things might change for her.”

“Forget that for a sec,” I said, trying to hide my irritation. “Is everything basically okay between the two of you?”

A pause.

“Not completely,” she said finally. “I think she’s still a little pissed over something that happened.”

“Well, don’t make me drag it out of you, Cat,” I said. Placing my fork along the edge of the salad bowl, I leaned back into
my chair.

“All right.” She sighed. “A couple of months ago, Harry decided to start a gardening magazine, and Polly got wind of it and
threw herself in as a candidate for editor in chief. I didn’t exactly champion her cause, and somehow that fact got back to
her. I heard through human resources that she was livid—but she never said anything directly to me.”

“Why didn’t you think she’d be right for the job? It sounds like a good fit.”

“I know you adore Polly and I’m the first to admit she’s extremely talented. But being editor in chief takes more than knowing
how to line edit and write cover lines. You need to have a vision and you need to know how to make that vision a reality.
Personally, I just don’t think Polly could handle a number one job.”

“Has the position been filled?”

“Yes, and Polly knows that. But it’s not going to be announced for a few weeks. The editor’s coming from England.”

The waiter slunk over to clear the plates and take our coffee order, and as he shuffled around the table, I remained quiet.
Frankly, I was stunned by Cat’s revelation. Working for Cat had been a springboard for plenty of people’s careers, and though
she was always furious when they jumped ship, she also seemed to bask in her reputation as someone who groomed talent. This
was the first time I’d ever heard of her squashing someone’s chances for success. Did she honestly think Polly wouldn’t be
able to cut it as editor in chief—or, I wondered, was she scared to lose her, especially at a time when newsstand sales were
less than stellar?

“Okay, Leslie,” I said finally. I figured this one would be easy. To my surprise, Cat just sat there, nibbling on the tip
of a fingernail, saying nothing.

“What?”
I asked.

“You know, of course, that Leslie and I have a great working relationship. A lot of the staff find her tough to take, but
I could never have gotten
Gloss
off the ground again without her.”

“Yeah, and . . . ?”

“Well, I remembered something last night. There was a kind of weird incident a few months ago. Nothing major, but I’ve been
trying to think of
everything
. She and her husband, Clyde, have a house not far from our place in Litchfield. We see them sometimes—for dinner, at parties.
One day after a party, Leslie called and accused me of flirting with Clyde. I couldn’t believe it.”

“Had you been?”

“What? No, of course not. Okay, I’m not above flirting or even a little dirty flirting, but I swear, in this case, I was just
being friendly. He’s a kind of morose guy and at that particular moment didn’t have anyone else to talk to. You know what
they say? No good deed goes unpunished.”

“Did Leslie seem very upset?”

“Yeah, but just momentarily. I was tempted to tell her she was out of her mind, but I defused the whole thing. Just said I
was sorry, had only been trying to be friendly, and so on. After that, everything seemed to go back to normal. I’m sure it’s
nothing, but I thought I should mention it.”

“What about some of the other people at the party?” I inquired. “Was there anyone who might be angry with you? Leave Dolores
out of it for a minute. But let’s consider the authors or the reporters or any of those editors from other magazines. Any
reason to suspect one of them?”

“I didn’t even know most of those people.”

“What about the lower-level
Gloss
staffers—particularly the ones left over from the Dolores days? Could somebody have a grudge?”

“No, no, no. I mean, I banned microwave popcorn in the office lately because I can’t stand the stench, but I don’t think someone
would try to kill me because of
that.”

“So the only person we know for sure totally
despises
you is Dolores.”

“Yeah, but like I said yesterday, why would she try something
now?
It’s been over four years since she got the boot, and though she can’t stand me, things have generally calmed down with her.
She’s got her stupid book and she’s focused on that these days.”

“But think about it,” I pointed out. “There’s all the more reason to do it now, when people would be less likely to suspect
her. I’m cooking up an excuse to talk to her so I can get a read on her.”

The cappuccinos came and I stirred mine a few times, mixing the foam into the espresso.

“Let’s go back to Tucker for a minute,” I said. “You knew him, right? Did you have much to do with him?”

“Oh, please. I couldn’t bear him. He took me to lunch at the Four Seasons when I got the
Gloss
job, and he treated me as if I were his niece from Idaho on her first trip to the big city. I thought he was going to tell
people he introduced me to that I sewed my own clothes.”

“Did you cross paths often? Were you on committees together, for instance?”

“Not if I could help it. I saw him at industry functions, but that’s it.”

“What about the editors of the other women’s magazines? Do you have much to do with them?”

“No. You know I’ve tried to make
Gloss
different, and I hated being lumped with them.”

“But despite that, could someone have lumped you together in their own mind? Seen you as part of something—or responsible
for something that didn’t please them?”

“There is one thing, but I’m sure it’s barking up the wrong tree. Abortion. I believe all the editors in chief are pro-choice
and sometimes I get letters from right-to-lifers who notice that. They see it as some sort of a cabal.”

“Hmmm,” I said. “It seems pretty farfetched that it could be related to that. Of course, some of those pro-life people are
nut cases and they kill. But they use bombs and shotguns, not truffles.”

I took a sip of my cappuccino and then licked the froth off my top lip.

“Okay, for starters, I’m going to concentrate on two areas,” I explained. “One is people at
Gloss
. I’ll go over the résumés and maybe something will jump out. I’ll look to see if anybody ever worked for Tucker at
Best House
. In the meantime, I want you to think back over the last few weeks and ask yourself if any of the more junior staff has acted
pissy, upset, or just weird. Second, I’m going to check into Dolores. Do you think there’s some reason she could have hated
Tucker as much as you?”

“Not that I know of. Though I assume it irked her that she was run out of her job and he wasn’t.”

Cat flagged down the waiter for the check, which she paid, and we collected our things and walked outside. It was bustling
along Madison Avenue now—private-school girls in skirts so short that you could practically see their butt cracks, older women
in Chanel suits, little kids riding silver scooters, mothers who six months ago were managing $20 million hedge funds and
were now pushing strollers—and looking as if they preferred it. There was a town car idling along the curb, and when I saw
Cat catch the driver’s eye I realized that he was waiting for her.

“You want a ride?” she asked, sliding her sunglasses onto her face.

“Nah, I’m going to walk around for a bit. I’ll call you if I find anything on the résumés. And be careful.”

“The problem is, I’m not even sure what I’m supposed to be careful of. Do you know I even tossed the damn toothpaste? God,
this is surreal, isn’t it? If I think too much about it, I feel like I’m about to sob.”