Toni and Heather chose seats in the last row. They’d met for breakfast in a restaurant near Lincoln Center, then used a local car service to take them to and from the cemetery. Although Toni’s new address was not known on the set of Beekman Place, she told Heather about it. She trusted her only friend and refused to keep her new location a secret from her.
When he met Toni on Sunday with the keys to his sister’s apartment, Michael had agreed on this one breach of security. By then, Toni had resigned herself to the move, and they rode across town in a cab stuffed with three suitcases of her clothes and personal items. A shopping bag held her script and a few magazines and books.
The Nevins’ apartment, decorated with sleek, modern furniture, faced Central Park, and at first Toni decried the necessity of leaving her bicycle behind. However, she soon concluded it was safer to shun the crowds jamming the park each weekend, the only free time she had to ride. Each night she phoned her answering machine for her messages and returned the calls without anyone becoming suspicious. However, she had no idea how long she’d be able to keep up the charade. She missed Oscar terribly and looked forward to seeing him when his animal hospital stay was over and thank him for saving her life.
Heather whispered in Toni’s ear, “Everyone seems to be here already. Suzanne is sitting up front.”
Toni glanced around briefly at the people who’d come to mourn Craig and wondered who among them might be capable of murder—and whether the sight of any of them might trigger her memory of the moment it had happened.
Toni could only see the back of Suzanne’s head, much of which was concealed under a wide-brimmed black hat and veil. However, she noticed the woman clutched a handkerchief in one hand and made liberal use of it to dab at her eyes. Her other hand rested on the arm of a tall, heavy-set man sitting beside her—Suzanne’s brother from Detroit, Toni had been told.
“Janet looks far too upset,” Heather said. “I’ve never considered her capable of sorrow.”
“It looks like Janet and Leo are giving each other a wide berth.”
“And isn’t that Kristianna?”
Toni nodded. How well had the model known Craig? If the rumors were true, and they’d been having an affair, wouldn’t she have shown better taste by not coming?
“Ted looks like he’d rather be wading through the Amazon than up there giving the eulogy. Do you find him a little odd?”
Toni focused on Ted Flax. Powerfully built, with dark good looks that bordered on rough, he’d come onto the sound stage twice to take publicity photos in Craig’s place. Toni thought he looked awkward behind a camera, especially when he specialized in society work. He was probably good at it, though, or he wouldn’t have gained access to some of the most exclusive homes on the East Coast. Only the month before, he’d photographed a senior senator and his wife on their estate in Virginia. Still, Craig had enjoyed even wider public recognition.
She knew little of their relationship. Watching Ted while he delivered the eulogy, she wondered if there’d been any jealousy on his part. Did it rankle him to be considered a junior partner when he was at least five years older than Craig? She knew that Craig’s popularity, along with a large infusion of cash by his parents, had gotten their photography studio set up and running, and their east side address didn’t come cheaply. Now that Craig was gone, did Ted gain full control of the business? As Michael had suggested that first day, either money or jealousy might be a motive for murder. She wondered if there had been any mention of Ted in his partner’s will.
When Ted finished at last, he reassembled the stack of file cards he’d referred to during his speech, put them into his jacket pocket, and stepped aside. Then the funeral director invited the mourners to gather at the bier for a final farewell to Craig. Beginning with Suzanne, he handed each a long-stemmed red rose from a wicker basket. Then slowly, one by one, they filed past and dropped the blooms onto the casket.
Heather went forward, but Toni backed away, not wanting to participate in that final ritual. Anxiety, almost as strong as on the night Craig was killed, crept over her. Her hands turned clammy with perspiration, and a premonition too powerful to dismiss warned her that danger could stalk her anywhere.
Quickly, she glanced around, but saw only the composed faces of the other mourners and the anxious looks of the photographers. The latter, with everyone’s attention elsewhere, had inched forward. A tall elm tree stood off to her right, and she walked toward it and leaned against its trunk, enjoying the shade.
She’d made a mistake coming to the funeral. She’d hoped that seeing the people close to Craig might jog her memory and supply the broken link in the chain that had been there Wednesday night. Yet she felt no closer to bringing those dark moments to light than she had in the hours immediately after the tragedy.
“Toni?”
She turned, startled by the masculine voice behind her, to find Ted Flax approaching. He removed his jacket, slung it over one shoulder and stepped into the shadow of the elm.
“I hope I’m not intruding on your privacy. I could call you later.”
Toni shook her head. “No. I don’t mind.”
“The people from Television Quarterly called me this morning. They were concerned about the photo layout Craig was to have shot on the set of Beekman Place this week.”
With everything that had happened lately, Toni had forgotten that she and the bickering Winstons were to be the subjects of the lead article in the October edition of the magazine.
“They’re still interested in the spread, as long as no one minds my standing in for Craig.” He gave a short, uncomfortable laugh and smoothed the wavy brown hair at the side of his head. “I think you’ll all find my style a lot less stuffy than you might imagine.”
Interested in interior design, Toni was familiar with some of his work that had appeared in major architectural magazines, as well as House Beautiful. The photos showed a conservative approach that was to be expected, considering that he had clients from the highest levels of society, business, and government. The women, although elegant, possessed an entirely different type of glamour from the models and actresses Craig usually photographed.
Toni reassured him. “It’s fine with me if you do the photographs. I liked the spread you did on Countess Umbrini’s home.”
“Nice of you to mention it.” Ted touched the back of his hair and smiled.
Toni took a closer look at the thick dark waves and wondered if he wore an expensive hairpiece.
He returned to the original topic. “About the assignment for Television Quarterly … I understand you’re to be on the cover.”
“Perhaps not. There’s been a radical change in the script.” She explained about Alexandra’s accident. “So you see, there’ll be none of the glamour the magazine editors expect. For my next scene, I’ll be bandaged from head to toe and hooked up to all kinds of tubes while I languish in bed. Will that be a problem?”
“Not at all. We’ll do some before-and-after shots. If you don’t mind staying for a while after your scenes, I’d like to get a few in one of those fabulous gowns Alexandra wears. I promise not to keep you too long. Half an hour should be enough.”
Toni hesitated. What, after all, did she know about Ted? Not very much, except that someone murdered his partner. Unaccountably, the prospect of being alone with him in the vast, shadowy studio where they filmed the show struck her as unappealing and possibly dangerous.
“I have an appointment after we film, but I’d be glad to pose in one of the gowns before we do the bandages.”
“Marvelous.” If her quashing his suggestion left him at all disappointed, he hid it well. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
Alone once more, Toni watched the mourners leave the gravesite. Suzanne, her short, reddish-blonde hair almost hidden by the wide-brimmed hat, walked in her direction. For a moment, Toni thought she was going to speak to her. Instead the widow, now unaccompanied by the man who sat beside her and whose protective hand held hers during the service, passed by without a word.
Toni was about to approach her to offer condolences when someone else came into view—Kristianna, of all people. She hurried across the grass, seemingly intent on catching up to Suzanne, and raised her voice. Toni realized she was about to become a reluctant witness to a conversation between two women Craig had slept with.