Али Брэндон - Double Booked For Death

Reese shook his head. “That’s not my call. Unless we come up with some hard evidence that points to criminal intent, it’s up to the medical examiner to decide if Ms. Baylor’s death was an accident or not. So it would help me out”—his sharp blue gaze swept the whole group—“if all of you kept that kind of talk under your hats until after we have a formal ruling.” He paused. “But you’re all free to go now, all except for Ms. Pettistone. I still need her statement. We’ll let you know if we need anything more from any of you. Oh, and sir—er, ma’am,” he added as Mavis began scooping up Valerie’s purse and cigarettes, “if those belonged to Ms. Baylor, leave them here. We’ll see that her property gets couriered over to her family in the morning.”

Mavis stared blankly at him for a moment and looked as if she’d protest, but then nodded. Gathering up the oversized makeup bag, the assistant joined Hillary and Koji as Darla—after assuring Reese that she would be right back—walked the somber group to the door and waited with them on the outer steps. Everest had walked on ahead to retrieve the limo parked farther down the block.

Darla glanced down the street and was relieved to see that the last police car was pulling away from the scene. The crews from the satellite trucks emblazoned with various local news station logos were packing up their equipment. Very soon, traffic would be back to its usual late-Sunday-night pattern, with no sign that a death had occurred there on the pavement a few hours earlier.

“There goes the rest of the tour,” Hillary said with a sharp sigh as she tapped her foot on the concrete step with ill-concealed impatience.

Indeed, to Darla, she now sounded less grief stricken and more aggrieved when it came to her recently deceased client. She’d shed the earlier reticent air that had hung about her as she had catered to Valerie and now seemed snappishly capable in manner. Perhaps the subdued version of Hillary had been but an act she’d put on for the author’s benefit.

“What about Valerie’s family?” Darla asked, knowing only what she’d told Jake, that the author supposedly lived on the family estate in the Hamptons. “Did she have a husband, or any children?”

“No kids,” Hillary confirmed, “just an ex-husband who’s been out of her life for the last twenty years or so. But she’s got parents and a brother who still live in the area. Koji drew the short straw, so he gets to ride out there with the cops to let them know what happened.”

Darla gave a puzzled frown. Somehow, she would have expected Valerie’s agent to have taken on that particular duty. But Darla saw that the same officer that Jake had called Harry was signaling the publicist to join him. Koji nodded and then turned to Darla.

“Good-bye, Ms. Pettistone,” he told her in a glum tone as he held out a hand. “It was a pleasure meeting you. And I will be sure to inform everyone at Ibizan Books that your arrangements here tonight had no bearing on this tragedy.”

Not sure if a “thank you” was an appropriate response to that last, Darla merely nodded.

Hillary waited until he was just out of earshot and then snorted. “He is so fired tomorrow, I guarantee you.”

“Oh no! Surely the publisher won’t blame him?”

Hillary gave her a pitying look, and Darla hurriedly changed the subject. “I’m guessing the burial will be private?”

“God, can you imagine the circus if it isn’t? Ibizan Books is sure to sponsor some sort of public memorial for her fans later on, but I can guarantee the actual service will be just relatives and the important people in the business.”

She went on to tick off the names of current and past New York Times bestselling authors and their respective publishers, and then dropped a few Hollywood names as well.

“Since they’re still casting the movie version of Haunted High ,” she explained. “We’re hoping to get Miley to play Lani, but we’ve got a couple of backups in case she goes Lindsay on us.” She paused and gave Darla a shrewd look. “I’ll do what I can to get you a seat at the service, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I’d like to pay my respects, that’s all,” she replied, trying not to sound offended. “I can’t help but feel somehow responsible for what happened.”

Everest pulled up in the limo just then, so she followed the remainder of Valerie’s entourage as they trouped down the steps to where he was holding open the car door. Before slipping inside, Hillary paused to give Darla a quick air kiss.

“If I do get you in, promise me you won’t tell anyone who you are. You think Koji’s butt is in the fire? Just wait until you get introduced to the CEO of Ibizan as the person who killed off their golden goose.”

While Darla pictured that last unpleasant scenario and Hillary settled herself in the limo, a red-eyed Mavis extended a large pale hand in Darla’s direction. “I appreciate your kindness tonight,” he said in a tone so low that she barely made out the words. “And ignore Hillary. Don’t worry, no one blames you for any of this.”

“Thanks, Mavis. I appreciate it,” she replied, most sincerely.

By then, however, he already had folded himself into the limo, dragging his wheeled makeup kit in next to him. Everest gave her a polite “Ma’am,” and after closing the rear door, took his seat behind the wheel. She heard the soft purr of the stretch vehicle’s engine, and then the limo made a smooth merge into the late-night traffic. Its twin red taillights gleaming in the darkness reminded her of Hamlet.

“Oh my God, Hamlet!” So saying, Darla rushed over to where the blue sawhorses that earlier extended down the sidewalk had now been gathered into several neat stacks for the barricade guy to retrieve come morning. Jake had just finished chaining the lot together against theft in the interim, padlocking the final length of chain to the wrought-iron railing in front of her basement apartment. She was brushing her palms against her black-denim-clad hips to knock off the worst of the grime as a breathless Darla joined her.

“I forgot about Hamlet,” she hurried to explain. “Valerie said he was out in the courtyard with her the first time she took a smoke break. He was probably still there the second time she went out, too. Damn it, and she left the gate wide open. I need to make sure that he didn’t wander out after her. He’s never left the courtyard before . . . but then, the gate has never been left open for him, either.”

“Go ahead,” Jake told her. “I’ll take a look out here, just in case he snuck around the front. Reese can take your statement later, if need be. It’s not like we don’t know where to find you.”

With a quick word of thanks, Darla took off at a run toward the store. With luck, Hamlet would be lounging in a darkened corner of the courtyard prepared to treat her with lordly disdain once she found him and fawned over him in relief. That, or she’d find him skulking about the alley looking for something furred or feathered he could chomp on. She didn’t want to think about him wandering the streets of Brooklyn, where chances were he’d meet Valerie’s same fate beneath some vehicle’s tires.

“Gotta find the cat,” she told James and Lizzie as she scrambled beneath the counter for a flashlight. “Back in a minute.”

Reese, who was chatting with Mary Ann, half rose out of his chair at the sight of Darla flying past him, flashlight now in hand. Whatever he might have called after her, she did not hear as she slipped into the dark courtyard and snapped on her light.

Its feeble yellow beam did not so much pierce the shadows as bounce right over them. Making an annoyed mental note to see about adding a security light over the door ASAP—that, and buying new batteries—she waved the flashlight in a regular pattern from corner to corner of the enclosure. An oversized glass ashtray sat in the table’s center, filled with several lipstick-stained cigarette butts. Even with the passage of a few hours, the odor of stale cigarette smoke hung heavily in the air, and she suppressed the sneeze that threatened.