“Call your friend at Target Press and see if we can get an appointment with Russell Shockley,” Stephanie ordered Howie the minute she walked into the apartment.
“I thought you wanted to work with a legit publisher. What happened?” he asked, noticing the ferocious look in her eyes.
“I got hoodwinked. They found out I was Visa Lee and set me up. By the time I got to the press conference, Gabrielle had made her big confession and then announced that Doug Sixsmith was going to write her book.”
“Her ex-boyfriend?”
“Yeah. She didn’t even let Jack’s grave get cold before she hooked up with old lover boy.”
“What about your professional reputation?”
“I’ve rethought my position. Forget journalistic legitimacy. Plenty of biographers are raking in big bucks writing unauthorized books. Hell, without the Kitty Kelleys of the world, the true lives of people like Jackie Onassis, Elizabeth Taylor, or Frank Sinatra might never be revealed. Now, go make that call.”
Howie returned shortly with a wide grin on his face. “You’re one lucky lady. You have an appointment at Target today at six-thirty. He’s leaving for vacation tomorrow, but he remembered our proposal and wants to talk before he goes.”
“Perfect. Are you going with me?”
“Nah. I’m working the premiere of Tom Hanks’s new flick. You can handle Shockley without me, can’t you?”
“Howie, don’t ask stupid questions.”
The least I can do for Gabrielle is get her letter back, Beatrice thought as she knocked on Stephanie’s front door. Within seconds she heard the sound of Stephanie’s grumbling as she approached.
“Beatrice, what a surprise. What happened? Gabzilla throw you out of your apartment?”
“I came to talk to you. May I come in?” Beatrice said, trying to sound civil. After everything Stephanie had said and done, it was difficult.
“Sorry, the place is a mess. Next time why don’t you call before you come barging over.” There was no way that Stephanie could let Beatrice into the apartment now, not with the Killington pictures spread on top of the coffee table. She’d pulled them out, along with other photos they had of Gabrielle, to put together a representative sampling for her meeting at Target Press.
“I’m used to your mess,” Bea said, pushing her way inside. She had not come all this way to let Stephanie stop her now. Beatrice was determined that Gabrielle would finally see Doug’s letter.
“Make this quick, Bea,” Stephanie said, as she placed herself between Beatrice and the coffee table.
“I want Gabrielle’s letter back.”
“Sorry, you know what they say: ‘Possession is nine tenths of the law.’ ”
“I’m not leaving until I get it,” Bea insisted, just as the phone began to ring.
“Don’t make me throw you out,” Stephanie responded, ignoring the phone. The answering machine picked up, and the two women could both hear Russell Shockley leaving a message. Stephanie ran to the phone. “Get lost. Now!” she shouted to Bea before picking up the receiver.
Bea, with no intention of going anywhere, walked over to the sofa and sat down. She was shocked to see at least two dozen photos of Gabrielle scattered across the coffee table. What was Stephanie doing with all these pictures? She picked up a photo of Jack and Gabrielle and was about to reach for another when the image of the Killington house caught her eye. She picked up the stack and quickly leafed through it. The first two photos showed the vandalized vacation house. Bea gasped when she saw the last two photos. They were of the back of the chalet engulfed in flames.
How and where had Stephanie gotten these photographs? And why hadn’t she turned them over to the police? Bea was still mulling the questions over in her mind when Stephanie snatched the photos from her hand.
“You just can’t keep your big nose out of other people’s business, can you?” Stephanie barked.
“Where did you get these pictures?” Beatrice asked in a tone that was not to be ignored.
“If you must know, I received them in the mail.”
“Who sent them to you?”
“I don’t know. They were sent anonymously to my office at the paper,” Stephanie lied, taken aback by Beatrice’s sudden assertiveness.
“Do the police know you have these?”
“My source asked me not to contact the police.”
“I thought you said they were mailed to your office.”
“There was a note attached,” Stephanie countered weakly.
“Why wouldn’t your source want the police to have these? They might help solve this case.”
“I don’t know, but I’ve had enough of your inquisition,” Stephanie said, as she walked over to the bookcase and pulled an envelope from between two books. “Here, take your stupid letter and get out of here.” Stephanie was getting nervous. Damn this old bat. Why did she have to show up when these photos were out in the open?
“You’re lying,” Beatrice said, taking the letter and putting it in her purse. “If you received those photos legitimately, you would have printed them in your column. There’s no way you would pass up these pictures unless you were afraid to use them.”
“You’re way off base, old lady,” Stephanie said tensely. “You have your letter, so beat it.”
“Did you take these pictures yourself?”
“How could I? A, I’m not a photographer, and B, only you knew where they were going.”
“That’s true. But you spent the night snooping around my apartment. If you found the key to my pearwood box, then you must have found the calendar book where I kept all of Gabrielle’s travel arrangements,” Beatrice accused the woman. Judging from the panic-stricken look in the back of Stephanie’s eyes and the flushed rims of her ears, Beatrice knew she’d hit the nail squarely on its head.
“I have to give you credit, Henny Penny, you’re much brighter than you look.”
“Why don’t you tell me everything?”
“Damn it, there’s nothing to tell,” Stephanie insisted. “I’ve been keeping notes on everything that happens to Gabrielle professionally and personally for months now. I went up to Vermont to take a few pictures of the lovebirds on their honeymoon for inclusion in my book. End of story.”
“Don’t lie to me, Stephanie. You didn’t go to Vermont to take pictures. You went to the house determined to ruin Gabrielle’s honeymoon. You were the one who broke in and trashed the chalet. There were no college kids, no strangers—only you.”
“Why the hell would I go through all that trouble?”
“Because you’re jealous of Gabrielle—jealous that she married Jack and that she’s rich and famous. That’s the only reason you want to write this book—to capitalize on Gabrielle’s fame and gain some of your own.”
“Is that really so terrible? She gets everything she wants—men, money, work. I get nothing. So what if I found a way to grab a little glory for myself?”
“Glory through murder?”
“I didn’t kill anyone,” Stephanie sputtered, outraged by the accusation.
“You set the house on fire with Jack in it,” Bea accused.
“It was an accident. I admit we tried to make it look like they’d had a big party. I planned to report it in my column, but that’s all. I never meant for anybody to die.”
“You left him in a burning house. What did you expect would happen?”
“It wasn’t on fire when we left,” Stephanie said in her defense.
“You might not have killed Jack, but you certainly set him up to die. You won’t get away with this. Whatever book you plan to write, you’ll be writing it in jail.”
Beatrice stood by disconcerted as Stephanie broke into a throaty laugh. Her bewilderment turned to fear as the look in Stephanie’s eyes seemed to grow increasingly bizarre. Beatrice felt as though she were cornered by a wild animal. Slowly, she began backing away in the direction of the door.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Stephanie said, standing in front of her. Purposefully walking toward Bea, she forced the woman to the couch. Beatrice fell back onto the sofa with a heavy thud.
“I’m going home.”
“To call the police?” Stephanie asked. Beatrice remained quiet, afraid to say or do anything. “Go right ahead and turn me in. We can bunk together in the same cell.”
“That will never happen.”
“Sure it will. Think about it. Was it just coincidence that you were the one who discovered the fire? You, the only person who knew where they were staying?”
“Why would I want to hurt Jack?”
“Because you were afraid of losing your precious Gabrielle.”
“Nobody will believe that story.”
“Everybody knows that you have a history of keeping Gabrielle away from the men in her life. Doug was just a boyfriend. Who knows how far you’d go to get rid of her husband?”
“That’s absurd.”
“I told you we were partners. I meant it. You turn me in and I’ll name you as my partner in crime. I think ‘accomplice’ is the term the police use.”
She was so clever. Not only had she managed to blackmail Beatrice, Stephanie had managed to make her a conspirator in this miserable incident. But she hadn’t bet on one thing: Bea didn’t give a damn anymore. She’d already lost Gabrielle and Kylie. There was nothing left to lose.
“I’m willing to take that chance. I’m almost sixty-seven years old. Going to prison means nothing to me. But come hell or high water, I will not let you get away with hurting Gabrielle. You’ll have to kill me to keep me from turning you in, and we both know you won’t do that.”
The idea that Beatrice was willing to go to jail or even die for Gabrielle enraged Stephanie. She responded to Bea’s statement with a hard, swift slap to her jaw. While Beatrice sat momentarily stunned by the strike, Stephanie hurried over to the desk and pulled out a black revolver. She approached Beatrice again, waving the gun in front of her. Beatrice inhaled loudly. She’d pushed Stephanie too far.
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Stephanie said. She could see that the woman was clearly petrified. To keep her that way, she was careful not to let Bea get a good look at the gun. From a reasonable distance it looked like a deadly killing instrument. In reality, it was Howie’s water pistol.
“Don’t move,” Stephanie ordered as she circled the couch and stood behind Beatrice. Holding the toy revolver to Bea’s head with one hand, Stephanie quickly stripped off her pantyhose and proceeded to tie Bea’s arms behind her at the wrist. She didn’t bother tying up her feet, knowing that without the use of her arms, Bea would not be able to raise her hefty body from the couch.
“Don’t do this, Stephanie. You’re already in enough trouble.”
“Shut up! I didn’t kill Jack, and I’m not going to jail for vandalizing a house,” Stephanie said furiously.
“If that’s the truth, tell the police.”
“They won’t believe me, just like you don’t. Besides, I have a better idea. Since you’re so willing to take the rap for all of this, you can.”
“How so?”
“You’ll see. Don’t go away,” Stephanie chuckled snidely. She walked down the short hall to the back of the apartment and opened her bedroom door. Immediately, the cat sprang from the room. Barclay wandered into the living room and hopped up onto the windowsill behind the sofa to nap.
Stephanie returned to the living room carrying a tripod and video camera. She set the tripod up opposite the couch and bolted the camera in place. She looked through the viewfinder and adjusted the camera so that Beatrice’s head and shoulders were loosely framed by the background of the room. She checked to make sure that Bea’s arms, still tied behind her back, did not stand out suspiciously. This confession could in no way look coerced.
“What is that for?” Bea asked, her voice trembling.
“You’re going to give me a believable confession to the Killington fire. Keep it short, and don’t try anything funny. Oh, be sure to add that you’re sorry and you can’t live with what you’ve done. That’s always a good touch. Here we go. Action!”
“I—uh—I, I can’t do this,” Bea faltered.
“You can do it. You will do it,” Stephanie barked, waving the gun in Bea’s face.
While Stephanie rewound the videotape, Bea took a minute to put her thoughts together, drew in a deep breath, and began. “Gabrielle, I know I’ve hurt you badly, and for that I am so very sorry. What I’m about to tell you will only hurt you more, but you deserve to know the truth about everything.
“I didn’t want Doug to come between us, so I found a way to eliminate him from the picture. For a while things were normal again, but then Jack came along. He ambushed me with your surprise marriage and pregnancy. I resented him for taking you away from me, so I came up with a plan to get rid of him, too.” Beatrice paused, and Stephanie prompted her to continue by pointing the revolver at her.
“I didn’t mean to kill him. I only meant to sour the relationship between you by ruining his reputation. I paid some kids to destroy your vacation house. It was expensive, and I had to use my credit card to get a cash advance, but I knew I could get the money back by selling the story to one of the tabloids. I thought if the public believed that Jack was irresponsible and immature, so might you. But Jack came back too soon. One of the kids knocked him out, and he dropped his cigarette on the floor. That’s what started the fire. His death was an accident.
“I’m so sorry for everything, Gabrielle. I know that you and Kylie will be all right, and that Doug will take good care of you. He’s a good man. Give him another chance to prove it. I hope in time you will find it in your heart to forgive me. I can’t live with myself knowing all the pain I’ve caused you. I love you more than life itself. Good-bye.”
“Very touching. Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“When are you going to send this to her?” Bea asked wearily.
“I’m not. Oh, didn’t I tell you? This is a combo confession/suicide letter. I’m not sending it anywhere. The lucky person that finds your body will find this with it.”
“Suicide?”
“That’s the way it has to be. For one thing, it makes the confession that much more convincing. For another, I don’t have a choice. You know too much, and frankly, I can’t count on you to keep your mouth shut. Now, where’s your purse?”
“On the floor.”
Stephanie retrieved Beatrice’s handbag and emptied it onto the coffee table. Using a Kleenex, she picked up Bea’s bottle of Valium. “These will be perfect,” she declared. “We’re going to make your back pain disappear forever.”
“You’ll never get away with it.”
“Sure I will. If the police haven’t linked me to the fire by now, they never will. And now that they have your very convincing confession, the case will be solved and I can write my book and get on with my life.”
“You have it all figured out, don’t you?”
“Pretty good for something I whipped up on the spur of the moment. I’d love to chat with you, but I have a meeting.” Stephanie went into the kitchen and returned with a tall glass of orange juice and a garlic press. Again handling the bottle with a tissue, she poured the pills into a small yellow mound on the table and began crushing the tablets, several at a time. Stephanie poured the powdered Valium into the glass of juice and carefully mixed the drink with the handle of the press.
“I want you to drink this, and don’t do anything stupid like spitting it out,” Stephanie warned.
All conversation and action were halted by a knock on the door. “Shit,” Stephanie said, pulling the gun out of her waistband. She pointed it at Beatrice, signaling her to remain silent.
“Stephanie?” Doug Sixsmith called out after several unanswered knocks. What the hell did he want? For a moment she thought about not answering, but decided to let him in, just in case she needed an alibi.
“One minute. I just got out of the shower,” she called. It took all of Stephanie’s strength to help Beatrice from the couch. She hurried to the bathroom at the back of the apartment and motioned for her to sit on the toilet as she rummaged through the clothes hamper. She pulled out a pair of socks and stuffed them in Beatrice’s mouth. “Don’t try anything stupid,” she whispered. She pulled her bathrobe over her clothes and wrapped her hair in a towel before going back into the living room. Stephanie scurried to clean up the apartment. She picked up the empty pill bottle and Doug’s letter with a Kleenex and put them in her pocket. Next she quickly shoved Bea’s belongings and the garlic press back into the purse and stuffed it under the sofa. She gathered up the photographs and pushed them under the couch as well, leaving the table clear but for an innocent-looking glass of orange juice.
“Stephanie, open up,” she heard Doug demand as she unbolted the camera and collapsed and carried the tripod into the kitchen and leaned it up against the refrigerator.
“I’m coming,” Stephanie called out, hiding the camera behind a large potted plant as she opened the door. “Fancy seeing you here. Shouldn’t you be out interviewing some of Gabrielle’s old reading teachers or something?” she asked nastily.
“I want to talk to you.”
“I don’t have time to chat right now. I have a meeting with my publisher.”
“What I have to say will take just a minute,” Doug said, pushing into the apartment. “I found out today that besides your public-relations career, you’re also a columnist.”
“So what? There’s no law against freelancing.”
“No, there isn’t. But there is a law against the kind of malicious lies you turn out under your bogus byline.”
“I stand by my sources and my reports, particularly those involving Gabrielle’s many lovers.”
Doug refused to get riled. “Whatever book you’re planning to write about Gabrielle, you and your editor had better go through it twice with a fine-tooth comb. If there’s a single libelous remark in there, you can be sure that Gabrielle will sue you for every bloody cent you earn, and then some.”
“If she can read it,” Stephanie sniped.
Before Doug could respond, they were interrupted by a crash. The loud noise startled Barclay the cat from his perch, and he scurried across the floor toward the bedroom. At first Stephanie thought it was Beatrice trying to signal for help, but she quickly realized that the noise had come from the kitchen, caused by the tripod hitting the floor. It was time to wrap things up before Beatrice got any bright ideas.
“Sounds like you have a bad case of professional jealousy to me,” Stephanie remarked caustically.
“I’m warning you, Stephanie.”
“And believe me, my knees are knocking. Before you go, take this,” Stephanie said, walking over to the desk and scribbling something on a piece of paper. As Doug watched Stephanie traipse across the room, his eye quickly caught a glimpse of leather patchwork sticking out from under the couch.
“Here,” she said, handing him a scrap of paper and reclaiming his attention.
“What’s this?”
“My autograph.” She smirked. “This will save you the embarrassment of having to ask later.”
“Kiss my ass,” Doug said, crumpling the paper and throwing it back at her before slamming the door behind him.
Stephanie had no time to enjoy her snappy comebacks. She had little more than an hour before her scheduled meeting, and she still had to get Beatrice to drink the juice and then take her home. She carried the glass into the bathroom and removed the socks from Bea’s mouth.
“Now, where were we?” Stephanie held the glass to Beatrice’s lips. “Cheers,” she said as the woman slowly drank the lethal concoction. Bea accepted her fate, afraid of doing anything that might further jeopardize Gabrielle or Kylie.
“Good girl,” Stephanie said, watching Beatrice drain the glass.
“May I have a glass of water?” she requested, coughing.
“I guess that’s as good a last request as any.” She got Bea some water and held the glass as she drank, washing away the bitter taste the poisonous cocktail had left in her mouth.
“Enough.”
“I’m going to get myself together. I’ll drop you by your apartment on my way to Target Press,” Stephanie said very matter-of-factly. Beatrice was astounded by her audacity. A moment ago Stephanie had literally been pouring death down her throat, yet she acted as if they’d just had tea together. What kind of monster was she?
“Can you untie my hands now?” Bea asked.
“Sorry. I don’t want you to stick your finger down your throat.” Stephanie pulled on a new pair of pantyhose, ran a comb through her hair, and was back in the living room within five minutes. Quickly she collected the photos and Bea’s belongings and put everything in her big tote, along with her manuscript. Checking to make sure the prescription bottle and letter were still in her jacket pocket, she motioned to Beatrice. “Let’s get the lead out.”
By the time the cab arrived at the apartment building, Bea looked languid and relaxed, like a woman who’d had one too many drinks at happy hour. “Wait for me. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes,” Stephanie told the driver as the two women stepped out of the taxi. Arm in arm they walked into the building. “Don’t get brave on me,” Stephanie hissed in whispered warning, poking the toy weapon discreetly into Bea’s side.
Luckily, the doorman was not at his post, and Stephanie hurried through the lobby. She pushed Beatrice down the hall and rang for the freight elevator. The two women got off on Bea’s floor and walked the corridor in silence. Stephanie found Beatrice’s keys and let them into the apartment. As quickly as Bea’s large and cumbersome body would allow, Stephanie took her into the bedroom and helped her into the bed. Twenty minutes had gone by since she’d taken the medication, and her breathing was becoming increasingly shallow.
Stephanie pulled on a pair of gloves, put the videotape on the nightstand, and propped Doug’s letter up on top of the cassette. She carried the pill bottle into the bathroom and placed it on the counter. To make the scene look authentic, Stephanie filled Bea’s glass from the tap, drank the water, and set it down next to the bottle.
Stephanie walked back into the bedroom and found the woman nearly asleep. Considering everything taking place at this moment, she felt surprising calm. It was a shame that things had to end like this, but Stephanie was too close to achieving her goal to let an old lady get in her way.
“Sleep tight,” she called out as she left the apartment. Stephanie rode the elevator back down and calmly walked through the lobby and into her waiting taxi.