Клео Коул - Espresso Shot

Bite me, gossip boy.

“It was rude of you not to introduce yourself as Matteo Allegro’s ex-wife.”

“Actually, I didn’t introduce myself at all, but what does it matter? You seem to know everything already.”

Knox simply stared at me. Apparently, I’d rendered him as speechless as he’d rendered Madame.

Score one for the Chihuahua.

“I asked you a question, Mr. Knox. Why did you send Ben Tower to the restaurant? A fortunate coincidence for a gossipmonger, wouldn’t you say? There’s your photographer, all ready to snap pictures moments after Breanne is brutally attacked. It’s almost as if you knew something was going to happen. Maybe something you engineered.”

Knox chuckled hollowly. “Sorry, Mrs. Allegro—”

“It’s Ms. Cosi, which you already know.”

“Look, I don’t need to have Breanne Summour mugged to take her down. Truthfully, I just heard the news of the attempted robbery a few minutes before you arrived—Ben Tower phoned me—which means this must be one of your sleuthing adventures. Am I right?”

Now I felt my lips pursing in annoyance. Okay, score another one for gossip boy.

“And what do you know, Mr. Knox, or think you know?”

Knox’s pale-blue eyes gleamed behind his little round glasses. “Let’s see, where to begin... how about last fall? When your daughter was briefly held for the murder of Tommy Keitel, you were the one who cleared that case, not New York’s finest. Before that, you were mixed up with a most unfortunate international incident near the UN, at the Beekman Tower. Then there was that shooting at David Mintzer’s East Hampton beach house.” Knox shook his head in mock wonderment. “Yes, Ms. Cosi, it seems wherever you go, trouble follows. Or is it the other way round?”

I studied the small man’s smirking face, thought of something Matt had mentioned to me right before his bachelor party. “I know things, too, Mr. Knox. My ex-husband told me that your animosity toward his fiancée reaches back years. Is that true?”

Knox glanced away. “Breanne Summour is just another flighty celebrity. More fodder for my gossip page—”

“That’s crap, and you know it. You have some kind of history with her. So what was it? Were the two of you lovers once upon a time?”

“Lovers? Me and Breanne?” Knox snorted. “I could hardly stand the woman, even back then.”

“Then I’m betting Breanne undermined your career.”

Knox raised an eyebrow. “You’re guessing.”

I was, but I figured—given Monica Purcell’s sleazy office tactics—career sabotage had to be it. After all, Breanne Summour had been Monica’s first boss. Who better to teach the girl techniques for undermining colleagues? Even Roman had called her Breanne 2.0.

“What else could it be?” I said. “That’s it, isn’t it? Breanne ruined your career.”

“She certainly gave it her best shot.”

Bingo! Got his motive. But I still need more. I need specifics...

“I never heard that particular story, Mr. Knox. Of course, Breanne would never tell me something like that, because it wouldn’t make her look good. And you and I know that Breanne likes to look good.”

Knox smiled—a little warmer this time. “You know, Ms. Cosi, you’re very good at this. What you do for free you could do for me at a handsome profit.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m sure you have stories to tell.” He leaned toward me, lowered his voice. “You know, secrets. Things you’ve uncovered while you were hanging around with the likes of Chef Keitel, David Mintzer, and his society cronies. Even Ms. Summour. The Journal is willing to pay for the smut you dig up. We have a number of people, just like you, all over this town.”

I decided Knox was worse than Hitler’s propaganda minister, he was more like the head of the Gestapo, with secret agents ensconced all over the city. I had no intention of becoming one of Randall Knox’s goose-stepping stool pigeons, but pretending I might take the offer would certainly get me farther with him.

“What you’re proposing is... intriguing,” I finally replied.

“So you’ll consider it?”

“Yes, Mr. Knox, I will consider it—”

“Clare! How could you?!” Madame turned on me, looking appropriately outraged, but I could tell from the sparkle in her eye that she was in on it, too.

“Don’t worry, Madame,” I said, patting her arm. “I’d never, ever reveal a thing about you or our family.”

“Oh, well, I guess it will be all right then. There are a few people in my social circles I wouldn’t mind seeing taken down a peg or two.”

Knox laughed—genuinely this time. “Sounds like I’m getting two, two muck diggers for the price of one!”

I pretended to laugh and elbowed Madame to chuckle right along with him.

“But, first, Mr. Knox, I’d really like to know more about the woman marrying my child’s father. You understand? Why don’t you tell me about New York Trends. Breanne’s ex-husband mentioned that she started out there. And she also saw to it that the magazine was closed down. Is that true?”

“Not only is it true, you may be surprised to know that I gave Breanne Summour her first big break when I put her on the staff of my magazine.”

“Your magazine?”

“Aha! Something else you don’t know. Yes, New York Trends was mine. I started it. I built my own staff up from scratch. It took ten hard years.”

Knox slid his bottom drawer open and pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. He splashed a shot into an empty paper coffee cup. Held the bottle up as an offering. Madame and I both shook it off.

“For a while Breanne worked out fine. Then one day she asked for a short leave of absence. ‘Just a few weeks to get my head together,’ she said. I gave her the time off.”

Knox lifted the cup to his lips, paused. “The next thing I knew, Breanne had started Trend by stealing most of my staff out from under me.” He knocked back the whiskey. “Breanne became a raving success, the talk of the town. I was not so fortunate. New York Trends tanked soon after she pillaged my staff.”

“You must have been enraged.” Maybe even homicidal.

“I was pissed, all right, Ms. Cosi. And I was out of work. I wrote freelance for a long time, spent some time working in Florida, and then I landed this very glamorous position.” He smirked. “The digs are sleazy, I grant you, but the pay is sweet. And you know what’s even sweeter? I’ll bet you can guess.”

“Yes, Mr. Knox, I can guess: the chance to have a little revenge.”

“Just look at it from my point of view. Breanne humiliated me, and now it’s her turn.”

“See, now you’re making me wonder...” I leaned forward. “Is that why you hired her look-alike to strip for you at your birthday party? To humiliate Breanne, if only by proxy?”

Knox shifted in his desk chair. “Honestly, Ms. Cosi. I don’t know if you’re serious about working for me, but you should be. It can be quite lucrative. As I said, I have feelers everywhere—”

“Monica Purcell was one of your feelers , wasn’t she? What do you know about her death?”

“Nothing.” Knox met my eyes. “It was a tragedy what happened. But I certainly can’t shed any light on that matter.”

“But you were paying her—to give you dirt on Breanne?”

“My arrangement with the late Monica Purcell is a private matter. Just as our arrangement would be, should you decide to work for me.”

“Tell me about the stripper then, because she ended up dead, too.”

“Hazel Boggs wasn’t the only celebrity look-alike at my birthday party—although I have to admit she was certainly the most interesting. She was also willing to learn a thing or two from me.”