Over Her Dead Body (22 page)

Even more discombobulating is when you encounter a person who craves the attention. Once, after the publication of an article I wrote about a murdered college student, I received a call from a woman I’d interviewed but had ended up not quoting.

“Is this what you like to do?” she demanded. “Bother the friends of dead people by interviewing them for hours and then never quote them?” I realized at that moment that she’d been looking forward to seeing her name in print.

The address Amy had provided for Carl was on 23rd Street off Broadway, not very far from me, so a little before three I set out on foot. As I emerged from my apartment building, I checked up and down the street, just to be sure no one was lurking around. With two frightening incidents possibly related to the murder, I knew I had to be on orange alert.

Mona’s apartment turned out to be in a modern condominium building, probably expensive to live in but hardly the height of chic. A concierge announced me, and the person he spoke to apparently had to check whether or not I had clearance because there was nearly a two-minute wait before the man nodded that I could go up. The apartment was on the fifteenth floor, and the door was opened by a pale-faced, vaguely pretty young woman with choppy brown hair. For one moment I wondered if she was Carl’s daughter, but after quickly doing the math, I realized that it wasn’t possible. Plus, when she spoke she had a British accent.

“Why don’t you have a seat,” she said. “Carl is just finishing up a phone call.”

She led me to the living room and then trotted off to parts unknown. The place looked fairly spacious—a three-bedroom, at least, I guessed. It was that sort of loft-style apartment you sometimes found in newer downtown buildings, an attempt to offer the best of both worlds—the elegance of an uptown space and the less predictable layout of a SoHo loft—that didn’t achieve either, really. The living room had huge windows offering a view of the Empire State Building, and there was a raised dining area at the far end, just big enough to hold a table for eight. The furniture was ultramodern, not especially expensive looking, and the walls were nearly bare of art. Though Mona surely had been making a great salary and good bonuses at
Buzz,
her job history was checkered. She’d never met a magazine she couldn’t jump-start, but in some instances she’d soon run afoul of management and been booted out despite her hefty newsstand numbers. That lack of continuity may have prevented her from ever building up the kind of equity someone like Cat had accrued.

There was no sound or sign of movement in the apartment for the next ten minutes, so I just sat there studying the view.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Carl said when he finally padded in, wearing jeans, a beige sweatshirt, and a pair of moccasins. “I wish I could just turn the damn phone off, but there are too many things to attend to right now.”

His longish brown hair was limp, possibly dirty, and it had none of that studied unkempt quality that he’d sported on the couple of occasions he’d dropped by Mona’s office. As he moved closer to me to take a seat on the couch, I noticed that the rims of his eyes were red, as if he’d finished a crying jag only moments ago.

“I’m very sorry for your loss,” I said. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”

“Thank you. Your name is Weggins, you said?”

“Bailey Weggins. Mona hired me just a couple of months ago, to write crime stories.”

“Oh right. How ironic,” he said mournfully. “Well, look, I’m not sure what I can do for you. I already spent time with this other guy from
Buzz.
I gave him photos and a huge list of names of people to talk to.”

I explained how my story was going to be different from Ryan’s and promised to take only a short amount of his time.

“I’d really appreciate it if you could tell me a little about the night of the party,” I said. “You went in ahead of Mona, is that correct?”

“Yes, that’s right. She got tied up on some business, and one of her assistants, Amy, came out to the reception area and told me that Mona would meet me in there shortly.”

“What time did Mona finally arrive?”

“Not much later. I’d say it was somewhere around seven-fifteen, maybe a little later.”

“I hear she had words with Eva Anderson’s publicist. Did you witness that?”

“I saw it, but I didn’t hear what was said. I’d gone to get a drink for Mona, and while I’m waiting by the bar I see this woman walk over to her. I could tell by her expression that she was livid. Her teeth were clenched and there was fury in her eyes. Before I could get over there, the woman walked off.”

“Did Mona tell you what the woman was so upset about?”

“No. Just that it was Eva’s publicist and that she would tell me later. I mentioned it to the police, of course. As I’m sure plenty of other people did, too.”

“Who else did Mona speak to at the party?”

“No one, really. She didn’t actually seem to know many people there. Someone from
Track
—I’m not sure of his name—introduced her to one of the heads of the record company, but she didn’t say more than a couple of words to him. In fact, she wasn’t really at the party all that long. She”—his voice choked—“she went back to her office to take a phone call.”

“Do you have any idea what the phone call was about?”

“No, Mona really didn’t talk too much about her work to me. I think she thought I found it frivolous. But I never viewed it that way. I would never have been able to do my own work if it wasn’t for her.”

“You’re a playwright?” I asked.

“Yes, despite the fact that the press likes to say I’m unemployed.”

“How did you and Mona meet?”

“We met in high school.”

“Really? But you have a daughter, don’t—”

“Mona and I broke up our last year in college, and I married someone else. But eventually we found our way back to each other. It was a very magical experience to rediscover what had been lost.” He choked back a sob during the last few words.

Wow, here was someone who, on the surface, at least, actually seemed to care for Mona. Could he be faking it?

We had drifted from talk of the party, but I needed to get back there. And I needed to learn what his alibi was, without being too disgustingly obvious.

“Go back to the party for a minute, will you?” I said. “When did Mona leave for this phone call?”

“At about twenty to eight. I’m sure of that because I looked at my watch when she left.”

“It must have been hard for you to hang at the party without really knowing anyone.”

He put a hand to his forehead and dragged it across, letting his fingers knead his temple. “Generally that’s the case at these shindigs,” he said. “But as soon as Mona left I bumped into a guy I knew from years ago. He works at an ad agency that does business with
Track.
I was still talking to him when one of the security guards came looking for me and told me there was an emergency. It was fortunate for me. Otherwise I’m sure I would have been an attractive suspect—the dilettante househusband of the world’s hottest editor.”

So Carl supposedly had an alibi. That would have to be confirmed. And there was still one piece of information I needed from him.

“Just one last question,” I said. “Mona went up to see Tom Dicker right before the party. Do you know why?”

His gray eyes shot off to the right quickly and then back, and I could see his brain was working way too hard.

“I’m not certain,” he said. “They were
always
meeting. Dicker was her boss.”

“Could it have been about her contract?”

“Who told you that?” he asked, his brow wrinkled.

“Several people have mentioned that Mona’s contract was up for renewal, and that she was reluctant to sign it.”

“Well, perhaps initially there was some reluctance on her part,” he said haltingly. “Mona turned the magazine around, and she wanted to be adequately compensated.”

“Mr. Dicker didn’t want to give her what she deserved?”

“He played hardball with her at first, but that’s to be expected in these types of negotiations. They were getting close, however. I’ve been out of town a lot lately—a small college in Rhode Island is producing one of my plays—so I’m out of the loop somewhat. But I do know that she and Tom were . . . how shall we say? . . . closing the gap in their discussions.”

“But I heard she was considering taking another job,” I said.

He looked startled. “Mona did talk to some people, but it was exploratory,” he said. “Like I said, she and Tom were getting very close on the contract.”

This was the exact opposite of what Cat had sussed out. Which wasn’t surprising considering how news became distorted in the magazine business, like a game of “Telephone.” Unless, of course, Carl was so out of the loop that he was clueless about Mona’s true intentions. Or was he lying for some reason?

“I know Tom has a reputation for being a pit bull,” Carl added as I was digesting his revelation, “but he’s really a good man on many levels.”

“Carl, you have a call. It’s your sister.” The British girl had quietly reentered the room.

“I need to take that,” he said to me. “Sophie will show you out.”

I took my time getting up, giving Carl a chance to disappear into the recesses of the apartment.

“I’m Bailey, by the way,” I said to Sophie. “I was one of Mona’s reporters. Do you work for the family?”

“Just a few days a week when Molly’s here. I’m kind of a combination nanny and tutor.”

“How old is Molly, anyway?”

“Eleven.”

“Isn’t that a little old to have a nanny?” I asked.

She glanced back over her shoulder. “Yes, but it’s still too young to be left alone at night,” she said, turning back to me. “So when Carl and Mona went out, I watched Molly. I was here with Molly the night Mona died.”

“But if Molly was here only a few nights a week, why go out those nights?”

She allowed a hint of a smirk to form on her face. “That’s what Molly always asked, too. But Mona said she couldn’t control the kinds of obligations she had for her job. Carl’s a dreamy guy, but Mona called the shots.”

“Do you have any idea who might have killed Mona? Did she ever mention a problem with someone?”

“Mona had a problem with just about
everybody,
” Sophie declared. “Except Carl. I think she felt so lucky to have him that she was usually pretty sweet to him. And so he spent half his time making excuses for her or smoothing over her messes.”

“Am I right to assume Mona wasn’t an angel to you?”

Again she glanced over her shoulder. “I really shouldn’t be talking out of school like this.”

“I promise to keep it between the two of us. It would only be background for my story.”

She shrugged. “Most of the time she managed to ignore me, but if I accidentally got in her way, she could be a real tyrant,” she said. “One day I’d let Molly wear one of Mona’s cashmere sweaters and she went absolutely ballistic. She raised her hand and I thought she was going to slap me. But she caught herself at the last moment. If it wasn’t for Carl and Molly, I would have left that second.”

“Do—”

“Look, if you don’t mind,” she said, “I really have to get back to Molly.”

Before making my way to the street, I found a small café on 20th Street, where I ordered a cappuccino and made notes in my composition book. I’d come away with more information than I’d anticipated: Carl supposedly had an alibi. And if he was telling the truth about the contract negotiations, Dicker no longer had a lovely motive.

I’d also learned a fascinating tidbit from the English nanny. Mona could be provoked to raise her hand in anger. In the six weeks I’d worked for her, I’d discovered that she was demanding and obnoxious, but I would never have imagined her getting physical in her anger.

While waiting for the bill, I checked my voice mail. Jessie had called just to take my pulse and see how I was doing. I appreciated her concern. All day long, I’d felt a low hum of anxiety in my body about what had happened yesterday, and it was nice to know someone was thinking of me.

To my surprise, the paparazzo Jed Crandall had also finally attempted contact. And he’d done so only ten minutes earlier, when I’d been sitting in Mona’s apartment. I called him back immediately, and a husky, sleepy-sounding voice answered.

“Sorry I’ve been hard to reach,” he said after I’d identified myself. “I’ve been a very busy man lately.”

“Well, I appreciate your calling me back,” I said. “As I mentioned, I’m a reporter at
Buzz,
and I’m writing about Mona’s death. I know she was expecting a call from you the night she was killed. Did you speak to her?”

He must have taken a sip of something, because there was a long pause during which I heard him swallow.

“My, my, you’re quite the detective, aren’t you?”

“Just doing my job. So did—”

“I really don’t like to get into these things on cell phones, which I assume you’re on because it sounds as if you’re in a fucking wind tunnel. Why don’t we meet and discuss it.”

I hesitated for a second. “With everything that’s going on, it wouldn’t be possible for me to get to L.A. this week.”

“L.A.? I’m in New York now. I flew in for some work.”

“Okay,” I said, surprised. “Then I can definitely meet you. Could you do it today?”

He said he was staying at the Hudson Hotel and suggested that I meet him there in an hour, in the outdoor bar. I signed off, mystified by the fact that he was suddenly making himself so available to me.

It seemed senseless to return to my apartment and then travel up to the hotel, which was at 58th between Eighth and Ninth, so I headed straight to the Hudson. It’s an offbeat, surreally decorated hotel, favored by young businesspeople and minor rock bands. You enter a small foyer, with eerie backlit green panels that make you think you’ve just boarded a spaceship. You then ride an escalator to the lobby. It’s a dark, mysterious space, with brick walls, wood floors, a huge crystal chandelier, and ivy cascading from the ceiling. It’s like being in a dream—nothing quite makes sense.

Because I was early I lounged for fifteen minutes in the library bar, in a butterscotch leather chair near the billiards table, which was covered with purple felt and positioned under a huge dome light. Finally it was time to meet Jed, and I moved out to the bar he’d suggested. It was in an open-air courtyard surrounded by the walls of the hotel, and though there were a few tables, most of the seating was on wooden daybeds. In the middle of the courtyard was a gigantic silver watering can that could almost convince you that you were Alice in Wonderland.