Lethally Blond (19 page)

“I’ve talked to a few people already, and according to the rumor mill, at least, they’re going to write Locket’s death into the show and find a new female lead.”

“That makes a lot of sense,” I said after ordering a cappuccino. “It would be crazy to bail after all they’ve invested.”

“Yeah, but that could very well happen. With two actors on the show murdered, the network’s got to feel the show is tainted, and they may want to bag the whole thing.”

“Well, it’s awful to say, but they may feel this actually works to their advantage. There’s going to be a hell of a lot of morbid curiosity.”

“You said you’re covering the story—do you know anything yet about how Locket died?”

I explained how little info I
did
have and asked if he’d managed to glean any details from his end.

“Nobody seems to know anything. I got through to Harper once, but she was like a maniac and had nothing to offer. The papers are saying it might be a botched robbery, but of course everybody at the show is wondering if Locket’s death is connected to Tom’s.”

“I’m pretty sure it has to be,” I said. “Right before I found out she’d been killed, I got one of those awful phone calls again—the person laughing like someone gone mad. And I still couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman. It’s as if they had called to announce what they’d done—to brag about it.”

“Have you told the police?” Chris asked.

“Not yet—but I will today. There’s something else I need to share with them, too. On Sunday, Locket
admitted
to me that she’d been having a fling with Tom—and also that she’d been with him in Andes the Saturday he disappeared. What’s even more amazing is that after she left, she called Tom to check in and he mentioned that a car was just pulling up in the driveway.” I quoted the line of Baptista’s that Tom had used.

“So that’s why you asked me about
Taming of the Shrew
yesterday.”

“Yeah, exactly.”

“But why not tell me about this before?” Chris said, his voice hardening. He stared at me so intensely that his green eyes seemed to penetrate mine. “I thought we were being completely open with each other.”

“I couldn’t tell you because I gave Locket my word I wouldn’t say anything until she’d had a chance to go to the police,” I said, feeling my cheeks redden. Chris had never seemed this miffed at me about anything—and he didn’t know the half of it. “I planned to fill you in as soon as I could. Locket said she had Tuesday off and was going to call the cops then.”

His shoulders relaxed as he seemed to accept my explanation. “Are you thinking that someone found out she had info and killed her before she could go to the cops?” he asked.

“That’s one possibility. Another is that she spilled to Alex—knowing he was probably going to find out anyway.”

“That’s a piece of news he wouldn’t have been pleased to hear.”

“Did you see any interaction between the two of them yesterday?”

“He was curt with her through most of the day, but like I told you last night, he was a real tyrant yesterday, and
nobody
was spared. Something was definitely eating at him. At first I thought it was because of the whole snake incident, but it lasted too long for that.

“And hey, by the way,” he added. “You were right. There really
was
a snake.”

“Do tell,” I said.

“One of the ADs told me they found out that a snake had escaped from a cage on some kind of vet show that’s also shot in the building. Sorry I didn’t just take your word for it, Bailey. I—”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said, relieved that things seemed back to normal with us. “Talk to me more about yesterday. Did you see Locket interacting with anyone else in a way that might be significant? Like with Deke, for instance.”

“No, not Deke, though something weird was going on with him. He seemed to be on his cell most of the day, and one of the ADs finally complained to him. But Locket had a tiff with Harper. I couldn’t tell what the problem was, but they were barking at each other in a corner.”

“What time was this?”

“Late afternoon. Why?”

“She avoided my calls all weekend, but I finally got her on the phone yesterday to ask her why she let me think she’d returned to New York on that Sunday night rather than Saturday. She was all pissy and defensive, so I goaded her a little. I said something about the possibility of Tom having an affair with someone on the show. I’m wondering if she may have confronted Locket about it.”

“Well, they weren’t clawing each other’s eyes out, but their voices were raised.”

“So what this all means is that there’s still no clear suspect. I’ve got one or two small leads to follow up on—like the
Taming of the Shrew
stuff—but if they don’t lead anywhere, I’m at a dead end.”

I took a long sip of my cappuccino. It was time to break the news about my story, and I needed fortification.

“There’s something you need to know, Chris,” I said. “I had to include the information about Tom’s affair with Locket in my piece.”

“What?”
he demanded, his face pinched in agitation.

“I know you wanted to keep it private, but it’s a critical part of the story.”

“But why does the world have to know about it? All it does is sully Tom’s name and Locket’s, too.”

“The affair explains why the two deaths are probably linked. And like I told you, I’m going to be filling the police in on this today—I
have
to—so the news on this will come out anyway.”

“And so what does this mean for me? Are you going to tell the cops I took Locket’s note from Tom’s apartment?”

“You haven’t told them about it yet?”

“No—no, I haven’t. I just haven’t wanted to open that can of worms.”

“They’re going to wonder exactly how I learned the truth about those two, but I won’t say anything about the note. I’ll—I’ll tell them that I heard rumors about the affair and that I bluffed with Locket, hinting to her that I had evidence when I really didn’t. But I still think it’s essential for you to turn in that note. Chris, it was one thing to be protective when the affair didn’t seem to have anything to do with Tom’s death, but now it looks like it may have—and Locket’s, too—and you have to be forthcoming. It might help catch Tom’s killer.”

Chris stared at the table, massaging his forehead with his hand.

“Chris, talk to me.”

“Okay, I’ll go to the police. You’ve got a point. But I just hate all this
Buzz
stuff. One minute you’re helping me, and the next thing you’re turning it all into a story.”

“I see what you’re saying. But I never knew the situation would blow up this way. There’s one thing you’ve got to know. I may be covering this story, but first and foremost my goal is still to find out what happened to Tom.”

“Am I going to end up in a
Buzz
story?”

“God, Chris, of course not,” I insisted. “I’d never do anything to hurt you.”

He sighed. “Okay, I guess I’m just going to have to trust you.”

My cell phone buzzed in my purse. It was Nash on the line.

“You up with your hair combed?” he asked.

“Yup.”

“Then you need to call the PR folks. They’ve got a pretty big plan for you.”

I promised I would and signed off.

“Look, unfortunately I need to get moving,” I told Chris. “But let’s stay in touch today, okay? I promise to do a better job of keeping you in the loop.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

Outside the coffee shop, Chris and I lingered awkwardly on the sidewalk. Please kiss me good-bye, I thought. I don’t want any more friction between us.

“Promise me you’ll be careful,” he said. “This is all really scary.”

“Promise. And let me know if you hear anything about the show.”

As if he’d heard my mental pleading, he leaned down and kissed me tenderly on the mouth.

“When this is all over, I’m going to whisk you off to Jamaica for a long weekend,” he said. “We’ll listen to Bob Marley songs and drink lots of rum.”

I beamed at him, happy that things were straight between us. “That sounds divine.”

But as I watched him cross Broadway, I saw from his profile that his face was scrunched in consternation. He had a lot on his mind right now, of course, but I wondered how much of his agitation had to do with my breaking the news about Tom and Locket.

From that point on, the day moved like a bullet train.

I felt jittery as I sat on the
Today Show
couch in my purple suit with my hot pink lips, compliments of the makeup artist, but once I was talking and just describing what I knew about the case, my fears slipped away.

Later, while I waited for the car to take my PR escorts and me to CNN, I called the Central Park police precinct and told the desk cop that I had information that was pertinent to the investigation of Locket Ford’s death. I was transferred to a detective who urged me to come in immediately. I said I had work obligations, and though he pressured me, I stuck to my guns. Nash would strangle me if I blew the press bonanza.

After a blitzkrieg two hours, I was dropped off at home, told I could rest, but that I needed to begin round two in the early afternoon. I slept for two hours and then bolted awake, knowing how much I still had to do. I checked with my contacts in the police and ME’s office for more info on Locket (she definitely hadn’t been sexually assaulted; there were no suspects yet). My cell phone was clogged with calls from reporters I knew (including Stan, who chided me for holding out on him). When I checked in at
Buzz,
I was told my phone had been ringing off the hook.

I was back on the press bus by one for
Court TV
and a couple of live radio shows. By three-thirty I was finally done for the day.

Still in my suit and slingbacks, I headed north in a cab for the Central Park precinct on the 86th Street transverse, rehearsing my remarks in my head. I’d decided not to raise the idea of Harper as a suspect until I had more facts. I would, however, share what I knew about the loan to Deke.

I waited only a couple of minutes on a folding chair in a small entrance area before being summoned by a detective named Mark Windgate, a good-looking African American, mid-thirties, who was dressed neatly in a khaki blazer and blue-and-tan tie.

“You’ve been a busy lady today,” he said as I took a seat, in a tone that indicated he knew all about my
Buzz
story and the press I’d been doing—and he was none too pleased. “The next thing you know, Greta Van Susteren’s gonna be out of a job.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to stop by before now,” I said as apologetically as possible. I’d learned with cops that it’s always best not to become defensive.

“Sorry?”
he nearly shouted. “And are you also sorry that you released critical information to the world at large before giving it to us, possibly screwing up our investigation?”

I fought the urge to squirm like an earthworm tugged from the ground.

“My boss insisted that I do the press as part of my job,” I explained lamely. “I got here as soon as my last interview was completed.”

“And why not inform us on Sunday, after Ms. Ford reportedly told you about the affair?” he asked, arms folded tight against his chest.

“Because I felt that it was
her
obligation, and she swore to me she was going to contact you on Tuesday.”

He eyed me warily as he used four fingers to smooth his thin mustache again and again. Finally, he let his hand drop. “Have you asked yourself how things might have turned out differently if you
had
come to us immediately?” he asked.

Ouch.

“Look, I promise to cooperate every step of the way going forward,” I told him. “And I have something very important to share, something I didn’t think was appropriate to put in my story.”

“Let’s hear it.”

I told him then about Locket’s call to Tom, the arrival of the visitor to Dabbet Road, and Tom’s line from
Shrew
.

He took notes as I spoke, his face blank. I knew he must find the revelation about the visitor crucial, but it was impossible to tell how meaningful he thought the line from Shakespeare was.

Then the questions started. He came at my conversation with Locket from several different angles, clearly hoping to extract info I might have forgotten to mention or didn’t realize was significant—about the affair, about the mystery visitor—but there was nothing to add. Sure enough, he asked why Locket would have been so candid with me, and I told the fib I’d promised Chris I would. When we’d exhausted that subject, he had me backtrack, describing my trip to Andes. That gave me the chance to raise the phone calls I’d begun receiving on my return and the incident at the Half King.

“And why not contact us about
that
?” he asked.

“I had no proof I’d been drugged, and it may have been unrelated. As for the phone calls, I thought they could be pranks. It wasn’t until the call last night—timed so perfectly to Locket Ford’s death—that I was sure they were really connected.”

He jotted down my cell phone number, saying they would make an attempt to trace the calls.

By the time we were done, I felt wiped, and the back of my cute little suit was damp with sweat. As he walked me to the front of the precinct house, his manner softened.

“So, we’ve got an open line of communication now?” he asked, holding open the door for me.

“Absolutely. Any update on the case, by the way?” It didn’t hurt to try.

He smirked, mildly amused at my chutzpah. “Not that I can share with you. And I don’t want to read a
word
about the phone call we discussed. It’s essential that it be kept under wraps for now.”

“Fine.”

“And last but not least, you need to be careful, Miss Weggins. The killer knows now that Ms. Ford spoke to you. If she was murdered because of information she was privy to, the killer may suspect you have that information in your possession now.”

Not that I’d taken my situation lightly up until then, but hearing him put words to the danger made my fear harden like a boulder in my gut.

Out on the 86th Street transverse, I checked my voice mail. Two requests from the relentless PR department for me to do additional shows tomorrow, a call from Nash asking if I had updated info for the Web site. Just as I was about to return calls, my phone rang.