Али Брэндон - Double Booked For Death

“I never did find Hillary, but Mr. Vickson kindly escorted me in,” she told him, neglecting to mention that the escort had been entirely involuntary.

Everest, however, seemingly read between the lines, for his scowl deepened. “I expected better of you, Ms. Pettistone. I trust when we get to the cemetery that I won’t find you in the back of the hearse with the casket.”

“No fear of that,” she declared with a shiver that wasn’t feigned. “Good-bye, Everest.”

She headed down the walk and reached for her phone to dial Jake. A crowd had gathered around the valet stand. With luck, Jake in her role as driver could could bypass the line and beat the crowd. Given what she had learned about Morris, she was liable to explode if she couldn’t share this bit of intelligence in the next few moments!

“So what the hell was that message about Valerie’s brother?” the woman demanded as she answered Darla’s call, sounding equally as eager to hear the news. “I tried texting you back, but I guess you’d shut off your phone already.”

“Can’t tell you now,” Darla replied with a look around. “Too many people. Just hurry and get over here.”

“Don’t worry, I bribed the valet directing the self-parking with that copy of Valerie’s book you gave me, so he put me in a nice spot right up front with the Rollses. I’m pulling out of the lot now.”

By the time Darla reached the curb, the Mercedes had nosed to the front of the line and was waiting for her. As she made her way through the knot of other guests awaiting their rides, she almost stumbled into Hillary Gables. The woman was clutching her ersatz grandfather’s arm as they stood on the sidewalk with the rest.

Darla gave the agent a bright smile through her veil.

“Hello, Hillary. Lovely service, wasn’t it? But I almost missed the entire thing. It seems my name wasn’t on the list.”

“Oh, yes, Darla.” Hillary returned her smile with a blank look, eyes unblinking behind her glasses. “I didn’t recognize you at first. So sorry about the list. You know how it goes.”

“Of course. I’d love to chat more and meet your grandfather, but as you can see my car is waiting. Maybe next time.”

With a wink and an even bigger smile for the old man, Darla turned on her heel. Before the valet could open the door, she’d climbed into the front passenger seat of the Mercedes. Jake, still in her driver’s outfit, glanced over at her as she buckled herself in.

“Let’s get a few blocks down the road,” the older woman said as she accelerated, “and we can switch places. In the meantime, spill. What’s up with the brother?”

“Give me a sec,” Darla replied as she kicked off her heels with a sigh and unpinned her hat, carefully setting it in the backseat. Then, feeling rather like the gossipy old woman who’d been sitting beside her in the church, she burst out, “Mavis is Valerie’s brother.”

“Uh, would you like to elaborate?”

By then, they’d reached a spot where Jake could stop the Mercedes. She slid over to the passenger side while Darla hopped out. After a quick look around for oncoming traffic, she tiptoed barefooted around the car and took her place behind the wheel. As they started off again, she began relating the events of the past hour, building up to the point where she’d learned about Morris.

“So Mavis, Valerie’s assistant, is actually Morris, Valerie’s twin brother,” Jake mused. “I assume some of them must have guessed she was a man, but I wonder if any of the rest of her entourage had any idea about the family relationship. That does open the possibilities a bit. But obviously, just because the guy is a cross-dresser doesn’t mean he killed his sister. That kind of stuff is for the movies.”

“So you don’t think Morris is any kind of suspect?”

“Never say never. For the moment, the only real question I have is whether he gave Reese his real name when he made his statement the night of the accident. If Mavis—or, rather, Morris—lied, that could be problematic. He might get charged with obstruction. At the very least, they’ll probably drag his butt back in for more questioning.”

“And if he told Reese the truth?”

“Then that’s that, unless we learn something else that puts him on a suspect list.” Jake paused, her expression thoughtful. “Of course, there’s nothing to stop you and me from scheduling a little gossip-fest with old Morrie. Since you two are best buddies now, do you think you can get her . . . him . . . back to the store for a little chat?”

“I told him about the pictures we took at the autographing, and he gave me his contact info so I can email them to him. Maybe I can tell him that I also found something at the store that might belong to Valerie. I’ll say that I’d prefer not to mail it and ask him if he can swing by to pick it up.”

“Good idea, but what could she have left behind? Remember, Reese had all her things couriered over already.”

“Maybe a vintage cigarette lighter?” Darla suggested, wrinkling her nose a little at the scent of smoke that clung to her friend. No doubt Jake had indulged in a cigarette or two while she waited. Even though she knew Jake would never smoke in her car, Maybelle still would need an airing out to be rid of the lingering odor.

The other woman nodded in approval.

“You could say you found a fancy lighter in the courtyard and thought it might be hers. But, of course, you wouldn’t want to mail it to him without knowing for sure, in case it belonged to a customer, instead. You could borrow some gaudy antique thing from Mary Ann’s shop to show him. While he’s there, we’ll chat him up for a while and see if he spills any secrets. But don’t get your hopes up, Nancy. Chances are the only secret Morris is hiding is that whole Mavis shtick.”

“It’s a plan,” Darla agreed. “Now, what about you? Any good gossip from your fellow chauffeurs?”

Jake snorted. “I learned about one ballplayer’s drug problem, found out a former child actress turned rock star is a closeted lesbian, and that two major players in the financial world brought their mistresses and not their wives to this little shindig. And those are the boring parts. But nothing about Valerie Baylor.”

They chatted more about the service and the fact that Hillary apparently—and deliberately—had left Darla off the guest list. But it wasn’t until they reached the garage again and had started out on foot toward the brownstone that Darla dug into her purse for the gold-embossed business card that Morris had given her.

She studied it more closely while Jake trailed a few steps behind her to indulge in a quick smoke. The title CEO was printed after his name, and “Morris Vickson Enterprises” was his company’s name, with no other clue as to the nature of said business. Since he apparently had time to accompany his sister while dressed as Mavis, did he actually do anything as CEO? His money might come solely from his parents, meaning he was living off their largesse with corporate title and company nothing more than a polite fiction.

Unless it was Mavis, not Morris, who was the moneymaker?

Darla frowned, considering that possibility. She wondered if, in his Mavis guise, he had any other clients besides his sister . . . wondered, too, how much money a professional makeup artist could bring in. Maybe he hired out Mavis through his company? Doubtless any number of positions existed in New York City’s fashion and television and theater worlds for a talented makeup artist. He might well be bringing in a decent paycheck.

Oddly enough for someone who hailed from the Hamptons, the address listed on the card was in Brooklyn, though she didn’t recognize the street name. But that was not what made her stop in midstep and catch her breath.