Never Too Rich (63 page)

There were two regal living rooms—one formal and one
informal. Two dining rooms—again, one formal and one informal. A
breakfast room. No fewer than three kitchens—the splendid main
kitchen, complete with baronial fireplace, rush brooms, twig
baskets, and subtle hand-painted bouquets on the cabinets, and two
small but exquisite efficiency kitchens tucked in out-of-the-way
places on two other floors. An English-country-house library. Lydia
Claussen Zehme’s study. Boo Boo Lippincott’s Napoleonic ballroom,
with Empire furniture upholstered in poisonous-green silk,
spear-tipped curtain rods, and authentic crossed swords along the
walls.

Altogether, six bedrooms had been decorated, each in
a completely different style and with beds that ran the gamut:
metal campaign beds, cocooning four-posters hung with hundreds of
yards of fine fabrics, even twin pint-size bassinets with puffy
layers of voile beside two English nursing chairs.

Nothing had been overlooked. Not the pots and pans
in the kitchens, the lavish fresh-flower arrangements in all the
rooms, the fluffy towels in the baths, nor the silver bowl of
pistachios on an end table in one of the living rooms. A few
scattered nut shells even gave the illusion that someone actually
lived there.

One could have moved in A.M. and entertained P.M. It
was that complete. All was elegant. All was perfect.

Not even Joyce Jillson could have predicted that
this dream house would turn into such a house of horrors.

Chapter 67

Twenty-two hours before the grand opening, the sky
was black and star-speckled, and the temperature had plunged. The
partial moon illuminated high, fleeting clouds, and a low misty fog
hovered just above the ocean, wafting along in mysterious tendrils
and current-led swirls. The incoming breakers surged to the shore
in phosphorescent ranks, and spray exploded upon the slanting
beach.

In the Decorator Showhouse, amber lights glowed in
all the windows, giving the illusion that the turreted mansion was
a brightly lit ocean liner washed up upon the dunes.

Edwina came back into the ballroom, hand in the
small of her aching spine. She was bleary, and every bone in her
body demanded rest. Even comfortably dressed in her electric-green
one-piece Danskin and Capezios, it was all she could do to limp
around. She felt as if she had been on her feet for days—which she
had.

Everything ached.

“
Are they gone?” Hallelujah asked.
She and Billie Dawn were sitting on the edge of the naked plywood
runway that bisected the length of the ballroom. Tomorrow it would
be draped with felt.
Tomorrow.

Right now, tomorrow seemed far away. And then again,
dreadfully near.

“
Yes,” Edwina replied, flopping
wearily down between the two of them. She crossed one leg over the
other and massaged a tingling foot with both hands. “Lucky girls,
those models,” she said wistfully. “What I wouldn’t give to have
gone with them. And I always thought models had it so
tough!”

Hallelujah eyed her mother sympathetically. “Ma,”
she said softly, “I’m really sorry. Okay? I didn’t realize runway
modeling took so much practice. I know I’m holding you up. If you
want, I can drop out.”

“
Absolutely not.” Edwina smiled at
her. “We’ve already come this far, so we’re going to go on with it.
A Cooper and a Robinson never quit, remember that. I suppose I’m
doing penance for something I must have done, though what it is, I
really don’t know. God really must work in mysterious
ways.”

“
It shouldn’t take us more than
another two hours to work the kinks out,” Billie Dawn said gently.
“Hal’s a quick study.”

“
Two hours . . . two hours,” Edwina
sighed. She lay back on the plywood and stretched painfully.
“What’s two more hours, heaven help me? A lifetime, my darlings. A
lifetime.”

“
I know, Ma! Why don’t you go
upstairs and spread out in one of the bedrooms? Yeah! Then, when
we’re done, we’ll come and get you.”

Edwina seriously considered it for a moment and then
shook her head. “No, no, I can’t do that. Anouk’s roaming around
somewhere to make sure we don’t mess anything up. She’s responsible
for us, and if I spread out on one of those heavenly made-up beds
she’s liable to lynch me. No, your ma’s place is down here with
you. The rest of the house is absolutely off-limits.”

Hallelujah dangled her legs from the runway. “Yeah,”
she said morosely, “I suppose you’re right.”

“
It’s awfully quiet in here, isn’t
it?” Edwina was staring up at the cove ceiling of the room, viewing
the six giant crystal chandeliers from directly below. Shivering
suddenly, she sat up and rubbed her upper arms briskly. “I hate big
old empty houses,” she said, as if to herself. “Especially at
night. They give me the willies.”

“
We are in a brand-new house, Ma.
Remember?”

“
Maybe, suggums. But it feels old
and creaky to your poor overworked ma. And no matter what they’ve
done to gussy it up, it still looks like a haunted house, at least
from the outside. Doesn’t it? Thank God there’s not a full moon. I
don’t think I could bear being alone in here if there
were.”

“
Yeah, but you’re not alone.
There’s the three of us, right? An’ there’s Anouk. That makes four
of us.”

“
You’re a comfort, sweet pea, you
know that?” Edwina put an arm around her daughter.

“
Plus, if it makes you feel any
better, there are my two plainclothes cops as well,” Billie Dawn
added. “They’re lurking around somewhere outside, so that makes us
six.”

“
And you’re a comfort too,” Edwina
said warmly.

“
Come on, Billie,” Hallelujah said
as she hopped impatiently off the runway. “I’ve rested long enough.
Let’s run through it again. Then, soon’s I’ve got it down pat, we
can blow this joint.”

Billie hopped off the runway looking like a
centerfold, all torso and legs in a flesh-colored body stocking.
Unself-consciously she flipped her waist-long hair back over her
shoulders, and smiling, held out a hand for Hallelujah.

Not for the first time, Edwina marveled at Billie
Dawn’s physical perfection; it would have been easy to hate her if
she weren’t so down-to-earth. They had, in fact, become good
friends.

Hallelujah twisted around. “Aren’t you comin’, Ma?
We like need ya to switch on the music, y’know?”

“
The music?” Edwina said faintly,
and groaned.

“
Y’know, that barfoid tape for the
fashion show?”

How well she knew.
And to think that she had
selected it herself! She should be kicking herself.

Edwina reluctantly pushed herself off the runway and
followed them toward the steps to the plywood stage. “Happiness is
never hearing a bossa nova beat ever again,” she said. “Or did I
already mention that?”

Hallelujah rolled her eyes. “As a matter of fact,
dozens of times! C’mon, Ma! Cheer up. After tomorrow we’ll never
have to listen to it again!”

“
Amen,” Billie Dawn added
softly.

Suddenly Edwina frowned and tipped her head to one
side. “Wait. What was that?”

Billie Dawn looked at her. “What was what?”

“
Ssssh!” Edwina held up a hand to
silence her. “There. You hear it?”

All three of them listened closely.

Now they could all hear it: approaching footsteps in
the hall outside of the ballroom’s two doors.

Hallelujah groaned in disgust. “What’s with the two
of you, anyway?” she scoffed. “You’re actin’ like this place has
ghosts or something. It’s just Anouk.”

“
No, it’s not,” Edwina whispered.
“Anouk doesn’t shuffle like that. Her heels click.
That’s—”

“—
a man!” Billie Dawn finished for
her, and they stared at each other.

“
Are you expecting anybody?” Edwina
whispered.

A sudden fear sprang into Billie’s eyes. Quickly she
shook her head. “No.” She could barely speak. “Are you?”

Edwina shook her head, reached for the nearest
folding chair, and lifted it high. Hallelujah, facing in the
opposite direction, picked up another one and held it above her own
head.

Now the footsteps were very close. Billie shut her
eyes and mouthed a sibilant prayer. Edwina and Hallelujah,
sandwiching her between their turned backs, kept their eyes on the
two different entrances. Neither of them dared breathe.

Then a local uniformed policeman walked in through
the nearest door. Seeing the three frightened women, he raised both
hands slowly and held them up, palms facing outward.

“
It’s all right, ladies.” He
smiled. “You can put those chairs back down now.”

Neither Edwina nor Hallelujah moved a muscle.

“
Who are you?” Edwina
demanded.

“
Southampton police, Officer Moody.
An NYPD detective by the name of Koscina called in and asked us to
keep checking up on you.”

“
It’s okay,” Billie whispered.
“It’s not him.”

Exhaling sighs of relief, Edwina and Hallelujah put
down their chairs. They were both still shaking.

“
I apologize if I frightened you
ladies. I didn’t mean to.”

“
That’s. All. Right.” Edwina could
barely speak.

“
This house is getting to me,”
Billie said faintly.

“
It’s gettin’ to all of us,”
Hallelujah interjected. “You’ve even got
me
actin’ all
squirrley!”

“
Look, ladies, I’m going to make
myself scarce. We’re just patrolling our regular beat. I’ll come by
in about forty minutes and check up on you again. Is that okay with
you?”

Edwina nodded. “That will be fine.”

“
But next time, warn us that it’s
you who’s coming,” Billie said weakly. “This house is creepy enough
as it is. Don’t sneak up on us again.”

He smiled. “I promise I won’t.”

“
Thank you, officer,” Edwina
said.

“
My pleasure, ladies.” With a
slight smile he pushed up the shiny black visor of his cap and went
back out. They could hear his slightly shuffling gait
receding.

“
Let’s go to work,” Edwina
suggested. “The longer we hang around here, the more spooked we’re
liable to get.”

Billie glanced at her sideways. “Not only that,” she
pointed out, “but the longer we stick around, the longer Anouk has
to stay too. And you know that sweet way she has while managing to
ice you?”

“
Good point.” Edwina
nodded.

Anouk was roaming the far end of the second floor,
slowly working her way from room to room. Having to stick around
for Edwina, Billie Dawn, and Hallelujah gave her just the
opportunity she had been waiting for—namely, doing something about
those perfect rooms of certain designers who had fallen into her
disfavor over the years. It wouldn’t hurt, she’d decided, to make
some wee little last-minute changes in some of their efforts. Most
of the designers wouldn’t be coming in tomorrow, so they would
never be the wiser. At least not for a day or two.

It really was too simple—moving a perfectly aligned
chair from here to there, bending the stalks on the expensive
flower arrangements so the blooms would wilt and droop overnight,
tilting a few paintings so that they hung crookedly, squashing some
carefully fluffed cushions, jumbling a few precisely folded bath
towels, smudging a mirror or two . . .

Anouk was consumed by the electrifying urge to
vandalize. Now she knew just how those spray-can-wielding graffiti
terrorists must feel. Powerful and yet frightened of exposure—both
at the same time. Exhilarating! Her hands were actually trembling
and her mouth tasted like cotton. But her blood felt so . . .
Yes!
So
alive!
It actually seemed to percolate! And
best of all, nobody could blame her, because tomorrow morning the
caterers and the party staff would descend in full force, and there
would be people everywhere, all with the opportunity for a little
sabotage.

Even better, if none of them got blamed, then there
was always Hallelujah Cooper to use as a scapegoat—she just
looked
like a vandal with that wild hair and bizarre
makeup.

Quietly moving from room to room, Anouk continued on
her little spree. It really was too, too delicious for words!

“
Snake, honey? ‘Member that time,
months back, when we watched TV? And your ex was being
interviewed?”

Christ! What a dumb fuckin’ bitch. How could he
forget something like that?

“
Yeah,” Snake growled
noncommittally, and finished his can of Bud. He crushed the empty
with his hand and tossed it over his shoulder before wiping his
mouth on his hairy forepaw. “What about it?”

“
It said her name was Billie Dawn,
right?”

“
Shirl. Her fuckin’ name’s
Shirl.”

“
Sure, Snake. Shirl. Anyway, I
picked up this newspaper an’ flipped through it? An’ look what I
found! She’s mentioned in a column, an’ it’s even got her picture.
See?” Conchita held up the newspaper.

He snatched it out of her hand. “What you doin’
readin’ shit like this?” he snarled, but he lumbered over to the
table under the lighting fixture, spread the paper out flat, and
pulled up a chair. He plopped himself heavily down into it and
hunched forward, squinting closely at the tiny print. “Where does
it mention her?”

Conchita came up to him from behind. “Right there,
see?” She pointed toward the end of Riva Price’s column.