Nancy Grace - Death on the D-List

It was a monster, set far off the main highway, down a winding one-car driveway in the center of a huge apple orchard. Parked in a circular drive at the front exterior, the thing loomed over them.

“I think you’re supposed to wait.” Hailey leaned toward the front seat and spoke through a plastic partition between herself and the driver.

“I’ll be right here.” He said it reassuringly from his spot in the front seat behind the wheel. She had no idea why she’d been summoned, but her curiosity caused her to agree to come.

“Thanks.” Hailey slid across the long, leather backseat, pushed open the heavy car door, and stood beside the limo, looking all the way up to the top of the home. It was more like a castle than a home, complete with turrets on the left and right front sides.

Turrets? In East Hampton? Who knew.

There was a tall and impressive set of steps leading to the front door and Hailey climbed them to ring the bell. She could hear it plainly, echoing a series of chimes.

No answer.

She waited a few moments, then pressed the bell again. After a few more moments of waiting, Hailey could hear movement and then the front door swung open. Just over the threshold stood a short, dark-haired woman dressed in formal maid’s attire.

Hailey was taken aback. She’d never actually known anyone who had servants in their home… servants who dressed in uniforms as if they were working at a luxury hotel. The woman smiled through the open door at Hailey. She wore a long-sleeved, light blue dress, covered by a crisp white apron with black, rubber-looking shoes so as not to make a sound as she made her way around Sookie’s mansion. The uniform was topped off with a little white kerchief-looking headpiece, almost like a mini-mantilla.

“Good afternoon. Are you Ms. Dean? I’m Consuela and Ms. Downs is expecting you. Please, come in.”

The woman was pleasant. Hailey stepped in to follow behind after she gently shut the front door and motioned to Hailey to come along.

The entrance hall was cavernous with a hardwood parquet floor. The ceiling was vaulted, and a huge crystal chandelier hung down from its joist in a thick, wooden beam that went from one end of the hall’s overhead surface to the next. Hailey’s footsteps sounded out loudly as they crossed the entrance hall into a formal living room. The carpet was baby blue and the furniture looked antique and uncomfortable. Across the distance of the room, Hailey looked ahead into a den.

Although it was just as large as the living room, it was only a little less formal, with a brownish sofa and chairs whose centerpiece was a large stone fireplace. It fleetingly brought to mind the Manhattan penthouse apartment of Fallon Malone, not in the schematic or color scheme, but because every wall was covered with shots of its owner.

Framed photos of Sookie Downs with every sitting president dating back to the fifties, when she was a little girl, were prominently displayed. As a child, she appeared in the photos along with her father, who was pictured in full military regalia.

Consuela stood silently behind Hailey, also gazing at the wall of photos. She must have seen them a million times. “Please, have a seat, Ms. Hailey. Can I bring you anything? Would you like a glass of wine? Ms. Downs is very proud of her collection.”

“Her collection? Of what?”

“Fine wines.” Consuela looked as if she were confused Hailey did not know she was referring to wine. “Ms. Downs collects wines from all around the world. She even has a climate-controlled wine cellar… I’m sure she will show it to you. She can control its temperature by remote!”

“Oh, my, remote-controlled temperature in her wine cellar. Now that is really something. But, no. Thank you.” It was way too early to be hitting the wine. The woman looked disappointed, as if she’d specifically been instructed to make guests happy.

Hailey quickly added, “Maybe later?”

Since Consuela still looked worried, Hailey decided to ask for something. “Let me see then… may I please have a cup of hot tea? With milk? Skim if you have it…”

The woman smiled broadly, as if getting a cup of tea for Hailey would absolutely make her day. “Oh, yes, Ms. Hailey. I’d be happy to get that for you. What type of tea would you like?”

“Irish Breakfast… I don’t guess you have that on hand. It’s so much harder to find than English Breakfast or chamomile.”

“We do have it, as a matter of fact. Mr. Russo called to tell us it’s one of your favorites, and Ms. Downs insisted we have it for you today. I will be right back. Here, Ms. Hailey, sit here. It’s the most comfortable chair in the house and Ms. Downs wants you to be comfortable. She is on a call and will be right along.”

The comfy chair was located directly in front of the wall of fame, and whoever sat there looked directly into dozens of Sookie Downs’ posed “candid” shots. In just moments, Consuela was back with a full tea service on a silver tray. She handed a cup of piping hot Irish Breakfast to Hailey and left the room again.

Hailey was left alone to examine all the presidential photos on the wall. Hailey looked back to the first one to the left again. It must have been one of the earliest. Out on a landing strip of some sort stood a tall, lean man who was dressed in military garb and obviously Sookie’s father.

Looking carefully, Hailey recognized immediately the significance of the embroidery on his shoulders. There were four stars on either side. He was a four-star army general. Extremely rare.

In his arms, he held what was clearly, from the photos, his only child. Beside them stood President Dwight D. Eisenhower. Hmm. Hailey quickly calculated that, based on the picture, Sookie must be at least in her fifties.

Wow. The miracle of modern science. Hailey would have guessed Sookie to be in her forties instead of mid-to-late fifties.

Hailey could see the resemblance of Sookie, the child, to Sookie Downs, the woman full grown. But over the years, that similarity had become much more vague. Mousey brown hair as a child turned red somewhere in her twenties and instead of dulling over time with age, it became more and more vibrantly red. It was plain to see, when photographs taken over the years were displayed side by side, that extensive work had been done on Sookie’s eyes, nose, chin, neck, and cheeks.

She looked altogether different than she had early in life, but still, the same gray eyes stared out from every photo. Overall, the effect was pleasing. Sookie was an extremely attractive woman, tall and thin with shoulder-length red hair and a physique toned by years on the tennis courts, and then later, whatever the scalpel could offer.

Next in the row were more shots of Sookie and her dad, but with JFK, LBJ, Nixon, and Carter. Then, the photos’ backgrounds changed, from out in the field with her dad to shots with the Harry Todd background behind her. There were Reagan, Bush Sr., Clinton, and George W. Bush, each standing with Sookie. Then there was an Obama event with Sookie in a formal gown along with the President and Harry Todd in tuxedoes at some sort of gala.

The rest of the wall was literally covered with photos of Sookie, with all sorts of celebrities, stars, and dignitaries, ranging from rock bands to ambassadors to screen legends and politicians.

Impressive.

Having given Hailey enough time to soak in all the photos and framed news and magazine articles about Sookie and The Harry Todd Show , the woman herself breezed into the room as if the timing wasn’t intentional. Hailey briefly wondered if she pulled the same effect on every guest before making her entrance.

“ Hello , Hailey!”

Hailey turned. Sookie was perfectly made up and her gleaming auburn hair had obviously just been blown out. She was tricked out like a twenty-year-old in $800 Christian Louboutin spike-heeled shoes with red soles. Hailey recognized the label on her “distressed” jeans and remembered seeing them priced at over $500 a pair. The ensemble was topped with a bright pink cashmere sweater that came just above her belly button. Even her nails were perfect, each one gently rounded on the tip and lacquered to match the pink cashmere.