'Til Death Do Us Part (24 page)

Last, the deaths might have
nothing
to do with either Peyton or the wedding. Perhaps Jamie was killed by someone she knew personally or through some shady dealings she was involved in—drugs, for instance. After several months of snooping around or thinking about it, Robin put two and two together and confronted the killer or let the info slip somehow. That meant she had to die. And Ashley was killed shortly afterward because the killer suspected that, as Robin’s roommate, she also knew more than she should have.

Whoever the killer was, he or she was obviously extremely clever. Each death was so different, yet all three managed to look totally accidental. Which raised the same question about the incident tonight that I’d had about the attack in New York. Why suddenly be so obvious? Was the killer unraveling?

My head felt ready to explode in pure frustration, and my chest was starting to really ache, despite the Advil I’d swallowed. I tossed the composition book back into my purse, shucked off the robe, and crawled between the covers of the bed. I’d lain there only a few minutes when I knew, despite how exhausted I felt, that sleep would be elusive, like trying to catch up with someone in a dream. After a few minutes of lying in the darkness, I heard footsteps, someone moving about at the far end of the hall. I figured it must be David and Peyton coming to bed. I gave it a few minutes and then switched the light back on. Dressed in the robe, I opened the door and crept down the stairs again. There was brandy in the library, and I was hoping a few swigs would both ease my pain and calm me down.

I was halfway down the stairs when I heard voices—David’s and Trip’s—and the crack of billiard balls. They were playing pool toward the back of the house in the pub-style room that I’d glimpsed on my tour. Peyton, I realized, must have been the one who’d retired for the night. I tiptoed down the rest of the stairs and slipped into the library, where the embers of a fire still glowed like lava in the hearth. I found a bottle of Courvoisier on the bar, as well as a brandy snifter, and poured myself a decent-size helping.

“That must have been quite a fright you had tonight.”

I jerked around so fast, the brandy bottle almost slid out of my grasp. Trip was behind me, jacket off, sleeves rolled. He looked at me intensely with his hooded eyes. Clearly the Bordeaux had taken some of the jangle out of his nerves because he seemed less jittery.

“I guess you could say that,” I replied, trying not to act as flustered as I now felt. He was standing too deep into my space.

“May I?”

“Excuse me?” I asked.

“The brandy. I’d like another hit myself.”

“Sure,” I said, offering him the bottle. He smiled smarmily, like a carnie. As he took the bottle from me, our fingers touched for a split second, creeping me out.

“We ought to grab a drink together sometime,” he said. “I get to the city fairly often.”

“Thanks for the offer,” I said, meeting his gaze, “but I’m seeing someone steadily these days.”

“Too bad. Well, things have been known to change. Let me know if you’re on the market again.”

Eeeww
, was all I could think as he slipped out of the room. I hurried back upstairs and nursed my brandy, sitting up in bed with the lights off. What had he meant by that comment that things change? Had I sounded hesitant or ambivalent when I’d stated my romantic situation? Did he really think he had a chance with me?

I took one last sip of brandy and closed my eyes. Thirty seconds later my cell phone rang next to my head. Jack, I thought, just checking to see if I was okay.

“Bailey, sorry to call so late, but I thought you’d want to know this.”

“Who is this?” I asked. The voice was friendly and vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place it.

“It’s Chris. Remember?”

“Oh, sorry,” I exclaimed. I’d done the exact same thing to him the other night.

“I know it’s late, but like I said, I thought you’d want to know. I bumped into that other bartender, Kyle—you know, the one I mentioned? I started asking him questions, and—well, he says something strange
did
happen at that wedding.”

CHAPTER 12

W
ITH THE CELL
phone squeezed between my shoulder and ear, I hoisted myself onto my elbows and fumbled for the light switch.

“What was it?” I exclaimed as the bedside lamp illuminated half of the room.

“I have no idea. He was very cagey with me. But I could tell he wasn’t bullshitting. As soon as I asked him, he got this look in his eyes, and I could see something register with him. I tried to get him to cough it up, but he kept insisting he needed to tell you personally.”

“Can you stand over him and force him to call me? I hate to make you go to any trouble, but it’s really a life-and-death matter. Things have intensified since I last talked to you.”

“How do you mean?”

“Someone followed me tonight. And they ended up running me off the road.”

“Hey, that’s pretty serious. But I’m afraid when Kyle says he wants to tell you personally, he means
in person
. Is there any chance you could come down here?”

“To
Miami
?”

“Yeah. Look, this dude Kyle is a jerk. I mean, he once told me he likes to fly under the IRS radar, so that gives you an idea what you’re dealing with. But I’m almost positive he’s telling the truth when he says he knows something. And he was adamant that he needed to tell you directly.”

“But even if I came down there, what guarantee would I have that he’d still be around?”

“Oh, he’ll be here. The only reason to go to New York would be for some major ad campaign—and that ain’t gonna happen for him.”

“Gosh, let me think about it,” I said, my mind racing. “Can I give you a call tomorrow?”

“Sure. I’m shooting part of the day, but just leave a message on my cell and I’ll get back to you.”

I thanked him for calling me with the info and said good night. Then I just lay in bed for a while with the light on, contemplating what I’d learned. Though I had no clue whether it had led to three deaths, I finally had confirmation that
something
had happened at the wedding. Unfortunately, I was going to learn what it was only if I flew to Miami and talked to some male model, who from the sound of it had an IQ in the double digits. And booking a flight at the last minute wouldn’t be cheap.

A thought gurgled up to the top of my brain. There was a woman in Ft. Lauderdale I was planning to interview for my next
Gloss
article—on identity theft. I’d spoken to her briefly as I was putting the proposal together, and we’d agreed that I’d fly down there in early February when I started my research. Maybe I could move up the interview and kill two birds with one stone. And that way
Gloss
would pick up the tab. Of course, if the police finally kicked into action today, I might not have to go at all—I could just give them the lead.

The rest of the night was awful. I thrashed around in bed for what seemed like hours, unable to get my mind off my accident and Chris’s revelation. My chest hurt like hell, and my neck was sore, too, from being jerked when I hit the snowbank. I also just plain felt scared. I knew that the Slavin residence probably had a top-of-the-line security system, but beyond the gates there was someone who wanted to harm me, and he might very well be waiting for me in the morning. When I finally did drift off, I had one of those four-alarm nightmares you get only every couple of years. I was wading in a lake and looked up to see someone sinister watching me from the shore. I started running, but I was running in water and each step was like lifting my leg through molasses. The sheer terror of it finally woke me. I sat up in bed, nearly shaking, my bruised chest damp with sweat.

It took forever to fall back to sleep, and I awoke just after six. Though I’d barely touched the wine and had had only a few sips of brandy, I felt hung over from fatigue, as if I’d downed three jumbo-size frozen margaritas without realizing it. Part of me, a little part, yearned to wriggle down into the covers and just stay there, hibernating. But the other part, the bigger part, was anxious to be up and moving. Since Pichowski obviously worked the day shift, I wanted to hook up with him as soon as possible.

I took a shower and put on the same clothes from yesterday. A fire was already burning in the hall fireplace when I descended the stairs. Clara was standing just to the left of the fireplace, talking on the phone. She pointed toward the kitchen, which I took to mean that food or people or both were waiting there.

This time Peyton and David were sitting at the table. He was hiding behind
The Wall Street Journal
, and Peyton, dressed in a blue wrap dress, was frowning at her plate in disapproval.

“What is it about the word
firm
that’s so hard to grasp?” she asked, though David did nothing to acknowledge the question. “Every day I say firm, and every day I get runny.”

I suspected she thought I was Clara or one of the other servants and the statement was being made for that person’s benefit, because when she turned her head and saw me, she seemed surprised.

“Oh, you’re up,” she said. “We weren’t sure if we should wake you or not.”

“That’s okay. Good morning, David.”

“Good morning, Bailey. I hope you’re feeling better today.”

“Do you want eggs?” Peyton asked before I had time to answer. “I can’t guarantee they’ll be to your satisfaction because that seems to be a very big hurdle for us here, but we can put in an order and see what happens.”

“No, just a bagel or something,” I said, noticing the same overflowing muffin basket that had been there last week. I pulled out a chair, and just as I did, David dropped the paper and rose from the table.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to make a call before I leave today,” he announced. “How are you getting out of here, Bailey? Will you be able to retrieve your car this morning?”

“I hope so,” I said, pouring myself coffee from an insulated silver pitcher on the table. “I’m going to call the police as soon as I’ve had breakfast. Hopefully I can pick up my car sometime this morning.”

“Why don’t we have our caretaker drop you off there? He’s an able-bodied guy, and he can make sure no one tries to pull anything this time.”

“I’d appreciate that,” I said.

As he left the room, he leaned down and kissed Peyton on the top of her head. She followed his retreating backside with admiration in her eyes.

“Nice, huh?” she asked as the door swung back and forth. She said it in a slightly lascivious way, as if Brad Pitt had just left the room wrapped in nothing but a towel.

“Definitely,” I said, hoping she couldn’t tell from my expression that for me David held about as much sex appeal as a gas pump. “You guys happy and everything?”

“How could we not be? Of course, these days it’s hard to concentrate on my marriage when my life is going to hell. Mary called this morning to say we lost a very big party. They’re
claiming
they have to postpone it for personal reasons, but I’m sure they’re freaked out about this whole Peyton Cross Curse business. What the fuck do they think is going to happen? That their guests will drop dead from eating my crab dip?”

“Oh, Peyton, I’m so sorry. But I think the tide is finally going to turn. After what happened to me last night, the police are going to realize that someone is behind all of this. They’re bound to open an investigation.”

“Are you going to stay on the case as well?”

“I’m going to play it by ear after I see what the police have planned. There are a couple of things I want to check out before I head back to New York today. I also wanted to ask you a few questions about your business.”

“My
business
?” she said. “What about it?” While she spoke, she nudged at her eggs with her fork, like someone goading a cornered animal with a stick.

“As we discussed, one possible motive for the murders is that someone wants to spoil things for you. I heard that you had a few mix-ups with parties late last year. I’m wondering if it could be connected to all of this—someone trying different ways to discredit you. How much do you know about this secretary you had to fire?”

“Practically nothing. She’d only been there since the summer.”

“What did she do to screw things up?” I asked, picking a croissant out of the basket. “Mary was slightly vague about it.”

Peyton rolled her eyes. “I know it makes Mary uncomfortable because she seemed to feel sorry for the girl—despite the fact that she was a total disaster.”

“But what exactly did she
do
?”