Thirty-Two

Back at the apartment, Kate and I discussed what went down. “I couldn’t stay because the guy was watching me like a hawk,” I said. “But I need to get to Madonna.”

Kate laughed. “Don’t we all.”

“I’ll look for her tomorrow.”

“Don’t you have a book to write?”

“Yes, but this has something to do with the story. I feel like there’s a strange connection here.”

Kate leaned forward after fussing with her scarf. “I’m not following.”

“Den and I suspect the person who killed the Harlow impersonator is the same one who killed Justine.”

“You said that earlier. But I don’t understand why. It could be two very unrelated cases. First, you said the look-alike’s body was found where?”

“In the back of an abandoned car down by the East River.”

“I don’t guess the tea room killer could be the backseat killer. Do you? It doesn’t seem to fit.”

I mulled that over. “I doubt where the bodies were discovered counts. What matters is Justine was working on the biography. I was being stalked by a person who looks like the subject of the biography, and now she shows up dead. Of a heart attack, no less. Maybe caused by poison.”

“Hmm, I see your point. But why? Why would someone murder them? Is there something about Harlow? The ring? Surely he or she didn’t kill them for the ring. They’re dead. If they had the ring, the killer just eliminated their chances of getting it. Right?”

“You’re right. On the face of things, it makes no sense. And yet, there’s more here to chew on.”

Kate sighed, a long, drawn-out, yawn-type of sigh. “Girl, you are borderline OCD. I swear. You always have been. You never know when to quit.”

“Is that bad?” I said, grinning.

Kate waved me off, shaking her head. “I guess it’s served you well,” she said after a few beats.

“And then there’s the phone call,” I said.

“Yeah, that’s weird and creepy. How would she know anything about the look-alike’s father?”

“Well, it sounded like she’d met him, or maybe the look-alike told her about him.” My stomach knotted. I hated speaking with Kate about fathers.

“I see why you need to find that person and ask what it’s all about.”

“So I’ll check into the Madonna impersonator. If Marilyn was being honest about not calling me, then it must be Madonna.”

“You know what’s funny? You’re chatting about Harlow on the one hand, and two celebrities who’ve said she was their inspiration on the other.”

“An odd coincidence, but you’re right.” I was chilled. The slight scent of Cotillion hung in the air. “Did it get cold in here?”

Kate nodded.

“I’ve not been able to figure out the thermostat.”

“That felt like someone opened a window, not anything to do with the thermostat. Odd. These old apartments are so sturdy. But they can also be drafty and dilapidated.”

“That must be it.” I didn’t mention Justine’s perfume. “I can’t wait for the tox reports to come back on Harlow.”

“Yeah, that’ll tell us everything, right? If she was poisoned by the same thing. Man, how freaky would that be?”

Freaky, indeed.

As Kate filed her nails, my eyes moved to my laptop and I reflected on the story. I always felt I should write instead of doing anything else. But then, after hours of writing, I suspected I should get out, away from the computer and the story. The constant push and pull between these things was a part of my life, and I wondered if it was the same for every writer.

“The writer’s life is a bitch, believe me, kid.”

Still, it was the only thing I’d ever wanted to do. Was I sadistic? Were we all?

I never wished to be anything else, like a computer programmer or a teacher or, God forbid, a police officer. But here I was, investigating two murders. The daughter of a cop who left his family; the woman who craved cops in her bed. Sometimes I worried Kate was right. Sometimes I wondered if I had a problem with the men in blue. I mean, who wouldn’t, after it all. But I wouldn’t give her satisfaction over that revelation. Not at all.

The startling fact I’d found out about myself over the past few weeks was that I didn’t need sex as much as I believed. Or maybe I’d just been distracted by the murders and my work. But that had never happened before. Another surprising revelation was that Den, an incredibly hot cop, liked me without sleeping with me. But what would happen after?

My heart fluttered. I didn’t know what would transpire with Den, but he seemed different. “Proceed with caution, dear girl.”