“Well, partner, looks like we’ve arrived, despite a few bumps along the way,” Howie said, knocking the neck of his beer bottle against Stephanie’s.
“This is only the beginning. I’ve decided our next subject should be Kathie Lee Gifford,” Stephanie announced. “She’s just too fucking chipper to be true. I bet she’s hiding more dirt than a Hoover vacuum cleaner.”
“I’m impressed. You’re all ready to serve up your next victim.”
“Yes, but for now I’m gonna savor the sweet taste of today’s dessert—Gabrielle à la mode,” Stephanie said, laughing at her own joke.
“So you think you’re ready for fame and fortune?”
“Are you kidding me? I’ve been ready all my life,” Stephanie remarked as a knock sounded on the front door, “and I can’t wait to show Gabzilla how it’s done.”
Stephanie sauntered over to the door and took a quick look through the peephole. Two men, one tall and black, the other short and blond, stood outside her door with the rumpled authority of two cops. “Yes?”
“NYPD,” the short blond announced, holding his badge up to the peephole.
Stephanie stepped away from the door and took a minute to calm herself before opening the door.
“Can I help you?”
“Stephanie Bancroft?”
“Yes.”
“You’re under arrest for the kidnapping and attempted murder of Beatrice Braidburn.”
“This is obviously some sort of mistake,” Stephanie retorted with false bravado. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with. Ever heard of Visa Lee? Star Diary?”
“You have the right to remain silent,” the blond detective continued, ignoring Stephanie’s comment as his partner handcuffed her.
Stephanie did remain silent, not only because it was her right, but because she was trying desperately not to panic. She had to think straight. If they knew about Beatrice, it wouldn’t be long before they figured out that she was behind the Killington fire and blame her for Jack’s death, too.
As the detective finished reading Stephanie her Miranda rights, Howie sat at the table formulating his own plan. Forget Kathie Lee Gifford. The next head Stephanie served on a platter would be his. Howie knew instantly that when push came to shove, she would rat him out without second thought.
“Howie, call me a lawyer. Preferably one who knows what the hell he’s doing,” Stephanie demanded. “And make sure you stick around where I can find you,” she called out as the detectives escorted her through the door.
Alone in the apartment, Howie hung his head in defeat. The warning in Stephanie’s voice was explicit: They had ridden to the top of this mad rollercoaster together, and Stephanie Bancroft had no intention of going down alone.