Authors: Rosemary Stevens
B004183M70 EBOK (20 page)
"Is that your way of saying thank-you
for replacing a model at the last minute and stopping Pierre from
leaving?" I asked, miffed that he hadn't thanked me, Though he hadn't really
had a chance.
"I've always said that I consider you
a valuable secretary, Miss Bennett. I did promote you."
Before I could reply, he headed toward the street. A valuable
secretary.
I'd show him exactly how valuable I was, and not just as his
secretary, but as the woman who proved he hadn't killed Suzie Wexford!
About an hour after Bradley returned with a box filled with
cold cans of Canada Dry's Tahitian Treat, which he asked me to hand out, Pierre
told the models they were fabulous, gear, beautiful, and he kissed every one of
them—and me!—on both cheeks, the French way. He had the shots he needed and
seemed in a rush to leave.
After Pierre's display of temper, he did
not interact with Bradley again during the shoot. Just before he left, he
looked at Bradley and spat on the ground.
Bradley ignored him.
"Miss Bennett, can you organize
everyone in cabs back to the agency? I need to go and thank the people in the
center."
"Yes, Mr. Williams. I'll see you back
at the office."
"Okay, kid," he said, leaving me
standing there watching the impressive back view of him.
I managed to get everyone, including
myself, back to Ryan. Outside the building, Gloria told me she had another
assignment and took off immediately. I frowned. I had thought she and I might
grab lunch, but she vanished before I could make the suggestion. I puzzled over
her marked change in attitude toward me.
Deciding to hit Marv's hot-dog stand and
get a Tab, I dashed down the crowded street to his corner and stood in line. A
quick glance at my watch told me it
was almost one o'clock, the height of the lunch rush for
Marv.
I didn't mind the wait. I spent my time
thinking about who had the strongest motive to kill Suzie. Lola? Pierre? Scott
Roberts? Gloria? I hated to think it might be Gloria. She had been so angry at
Suzie, though, an anger that had built over a period of time. At the World's
Fair, she had threatened to kill Suzie. I wondered if Gloria had yet another
motive. Much to my regret, I would have to study Gloria at the memorial
tomorrow. The service would reveal a lot; I could feel it in my bones.
Finally it was my turn for a hot dog.
"Hi, Marv. You sure are busy. I'll
have the usual hot dog but with a Tab. How's your wife? How are you?"
Marv didn't even look up. "Wife's
miserable. I'm miserable. Instead of the doctor, I want to be the one who
spanks the kid's bottom when he or she enters the world."
I laughed. "Marv, you know they don't
let fathers in the delivery room. Soon you'll be showing off—"
A loud screech of tires at the curb
directly behind us made me and everyone else in line turn our heads. A
checkered cab stopped short of running into a crowd of people.
The cabbie screamed out his window,
"Hot-dog man! Your wife's in labor! She won't go to the hospital without
you. Get in the cab! Now! I don't want no woman delivering a baby in my
cab!"
From the back window, a pretty, dark-haired
lady, crying and looking frightened, called, "Marv," in a voice
barely audible over the traffic.
Marv grabbed me. He took off his apron, put
it over my head, spun me around, and tied it tight. All the while he yelled,
"I'm coming, Betty! Hold on!"
"But . . . what ..." I tried,
sputtering.
Marv eased me behind the stand. "Bebe,
just help me out for a while, please. Betty and I need the money bad. I'll call my cousin to come down and then you can
go. Won't be but twenty minutes, tops!"
Me? Run the stand?
"Free hot dogs for life, Bebe!"
Marv shouted as he got into the cab. The driver gunned it. Horns honked when
the cab dived into the nearest lane.
I stood alone behind the hot-dog stand.
An older woman wearing a pillbox hat said,
"Miss, I don't have all day. I want a hot dog with ketchup. No mustard. No
relish. And certainly no onions. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, ma'am," I said, grabbing a
hot-dog bun. I used the tongs to get the hot dog out of the steaming water, but
the darn hot dogs were slippery. I finally got one in a bun, squirted ketchup
on it, and handed it to the woman.
Then I had to take her money and give her
change, which she carefully counted, making the people behind her more
impatient.
I went on in an endless world of hot dogs:
mustard that flew on my cheek, ketchup on my apron that made me look like a
gunshot victim, and bits of relish and onion that covered my hands. Would the
line never end? Where was Marv's cousin?
Finally I thought I had a break when a man
in slacks and an unbuttoned pale orange shirt walked up to me. Marv's cousin? I
smiled.
"Give me the money, cookie. Wouldn't
want to add blood to those ketchup stains." He revealed a long, deadly
knife hidden under his open shirt. One he could use on me, and then run away
through the crowds. The smile died on my lips. I trembled.
Give him what he wants, one side of my
brain screamed.
Then the other side took over.
Marv's money.
The baby.
I took a deep breath. "Okay, mister,
it's underneath the hot dogs in a tray. I'll get it for you; please don't hurt
me," I said, having no trouble acting afraid.
"Make it snappy," the crook said, looking from left
to right.
I bent down to the extra mustard-filled plastic bottles, and
picked one up. My heart raced in my chest. I thought it would explode at any
moment.
The next few seconds blurred together.
"Hey, Scarlett O'Hara, what's taking so long?"
I jingled the cash box. "I'm getting it all together for
you."
"You've got five seconds before— Aaaaaaahhh!" The
crook yelled when I jumped up and squirted a stream of mustard right in his
eyes.
"Help! Someone help!" I screamed.
People walked by, fear on their faces, steering clear.
I hated to run and let the crook get Marv's money, but I had
to or this guy was going to stab me, kill me maybe. Even now, he was using his
shirt to clear his eyes.
The knife came out. I saw the crazed look in the man's
reddened eyes. Run! Run! I commanded myself.
But my feet were frozen to the ground, I was so terrified. It
was like a dream when you want to run, but find you can't move.
I shut my eyes. "Dear Jesus, please forgive—"
The sounds of a scuffle made my eyes fly open.
Four men were holding the crook down on the pavement. Another
man said he'd call the police and ran off to find a phone booth. A crowd
gathered.
My breath came in strained gasps. I was going to live—I was
alive! There were good people all around me. The others who had turned away had
been too afraid, that was all.
Suddenly I went cold. The tall buildings around me started to
sway.
"Bebe! Oh, dear God, Bebe!"
That husky voice . . . those strong arms coming around me, hugging
me tight.
"Bebe, Bebe, are you all right?" Bradley asked in a
panicked tone I'd never heard him use. He held my head against his chest with one hand. The other stroked my
hair.
"Bradley," I mumbled, and threw my arms around him,
never wanting to let go.
"Sshh, you're safe now, sweetheart," he whispered.
"I've got you; go ahead and cry."
"I'm not gonna cry," I said, and sniffled.
"I'll ruin my eye makeup."
I felt rather than heard his deep rumble of laughter.
"That's more like it," he said, continuing to
stroke my hair. "You're going to be fine."
Sirens announced the arrival of the police.
Bradley eased me away from him, much to my regret. He said,
"Let's deal with the police; then I want to know what in hell you were
doing working a hot- dog stand."
That had the effect of throwing cold water on me. What had
happened to sweetheart?
Uniformed officers swarmed the area. They secured the crook
in the patrol car while an officer asked me if I was hurt.
"No, sir, this is ketchup on my apron. I'm okay."
"You sure?" the young cop asked. "You look
pretty shaken up. I don't want you going into shock. How about a check at the
hospital?"
"No, thank you. I'm rattled, but it'll pass."
Bradley said, "I know Miss Bennett, and I'll watch her
for the rest of the day."
I felt better already!
The officers shooed away the crowd.
My officer took a statement from me, detailing what had
happened. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed that Bradley, standing nearby,
listened intently. The cop told me I would have to go down to the station house
and sign the statement once it had been typed up. I agreed, and the officer
turned his attention to Bradley.
"Sir, may I ask your name, and can you tell me about
your involvement in this incident?"
Bradley hesitated. "My office is on this block. I came out to get some lunch, and stopped when I saw what was
happening. The other men here are the heroes. I just happened by and saw Miss
Bennett after the fact."
"So you weren't a witness to the
crime?"
"No," he said.
"All right, then. I suppose there's no
need to involve you. Miss Bennett, you'll be notified when to present yourself
at the precinct. The two of you are free to go."
The four men who saved me came over to
shake hands. I hugged each one. I kept trying to thank them, told them they'd
be in my prayers, but they said they'd done what anyone would do. Gradually
they drifted away.
"Would you like a soda?" I asked
Bradley.
"No," he responded in a terse
voice.
Uh-oh. Using a bottle opener, I took the
top off my Tab and drank, liking the soda as much as Coke. I took a napkin and
daintily wiped my lips. Then I used more napkins to clean my hands. I removed
my apron, folded it carefully, and tucked it away.
"All right, that's enough, Miss
Bennett," Bradley said.
So we were back to last names. "I'm
sorry, Mr. Williams; I seem to have gotten mustard all over the front of your
suit. Do I have some on my face?"
He looked down, saw the huge yellow stain
on his tailored suit coat, and took it off. "Yes, you do."
Outside in the bright sun, I could see he
didn't have an undershirt on. I wanted to stare through his white shirt, but
had to refrain. Bradley had a fierce look on his face. I knew I was in for it.
I took another napkin and wiped my face.
"I think your suit coat is ruined. I don't know what men's suits cost, but
you can take it out of my paycheck."
"My suit jacket is the least of my
concerns right now. I—"
A man walked up to the stand.
Bradley barked, "Closed."
The man looked at me. "Hey, are you
Bebe? I'm Mickey, Marv's cousin."
"I'm so glad to see you!" I had
to explain everything that had happened all over again. To my surprise,
Bradley remained.
Mickey listened, horrified by what I told
him. "Thank God you're not hurt, Bebe." He came around to my side of
the stand, leaned down, and said, "Marv has a permit for a gun. He's been
robbed before. Here's the gun right here."
"Oh, please! Don't bring it out! My
father has a collection, and I'm afraid of guns," I pleaded.
Mickey put the gun back and stood up.
"Don't want to spook you. You and your boyfriend go on. I'll take care of
this. Marv will be so grateful. Free hot dogs for life!"
"Marv already told me," I said
absently, thinking Debbie Ann wouldn't approve.
"Let's go, Miss Bennett," Bradley
said.
We walked back toward Ryan. I carried my
Tab. "Mr. Williams, I'm really—"
"Don't talk to me yet," he
ordered. "I'm not in control of myself at the moment."
I took a swallow of Tab instead of smiling.
Bradley was out of control? Instantly I felt like doing a twirl in the middle
of the sidewalk.
We climbed the steps to the area in front
of the door to our building. Bradley took me lightly by the elbow and guided me
to one side. I remembered standing in that spot with Jerry, the soldier who
told the story of Bradley's heroism.
Bradley removed his black shades and looked
me in the eye. "Miss Bennett, the responsible part of me says I should
call your parents and tell them how much trouble you've gotten into since your
arrival in New York."
I gasped, thinking of what Daddy had said
on the phone. "Don't you dare!"
He held up a hand. There was a spot of
ketchup on
it. "Since I'm no gallant gentleman, I won't. I've had a
difficult time keeping a secretary—"
"We both know why that's so," I
interrupted.
He peered at me with those gorgeous blue
eyes. "I didn't think the gossips would keep their mouths shut, but then,
I do have a reputation to maintain. However, after the last secretary, I
figured I'd do better in Uncle Herman's eyes if I kept my . . . activities . .
. out of the office. That's all I'll say about those days. But you . . ."
He pointed his right index finger at me. "You are the most vexing,
exasperating, provoking, nosy, maddening, walking magnet for trouble I've ever
known!"
I raised my chin. Then I batted his finger
away from my face. "Number one, you have ketchup on your right hand.
Number two, I am a valuable secretary— your words. Number three, I'm smart and
capable, and, unlike you, I care about people."
He blinked at that last part. Then he
retrieved his handkerchief and wiped his hand. Once finished, he looked at me
again, angrier than before, if that were possible.
"I do care about people, but that's
not the topic now. You are the topic. You defended yourself against a
knife-wielding criminal with a bottle of mustard, for the love of God!"
"It worked!"
"No, it did not work, Miss Bennett.
From what I heard, the man had the knife out, ready to cut you, stab you, do
whatever he wanted with you, and you stood there like a deer ready to be run
over by a truck."
"How would you know about deer? You
live in Manhattan."
He wiped his forehead with his
handkerchief, leaving a thin line of ketchup. "I grew up in Oklahoma and
Missouri. I know about deer. Don't try to change the subject. I want you to
immediately, and I mean immediately, stop putting yourself in danger."
"By not helping people?"
"No! Yes!"
"I'm sorry; that's not in my nature.
What happened today won't be repeated. Marv and his wife are at the hospital.
Mickey will take over until Marv decides to return."
"Good, but there's more. Don't think
it's escaped my notice that you are writing things in your notepad in a
secretive manner."
Devil!
"Nor have I been in the dark about
your going to Pierre's, getting chummy with Lola, whispering with Gloria, all people
who could be suspects in Suzie's murder."
"Aha! You agree with me then that
they're suspects."
Bradley lost it. "What did I tell you
about not getting involved in Suzie Wexford's murder investigation? God, I
should have known you couldn't keep out of it. You make me want to strangle
you, Miss Bennett!"
Inside, I smiled, happy to have gotten him
worked up. I did have some power over him, after all. Who knew where that could
lead?
Unfortunately, I saw Bradley's gaze swing
toward the street.
There, listening to us arguing, stood
Detective Finelli, leaning against his car and taking notes.
Without a second's thought I ran over to
him. "Mr. Williams didn't mean that last part. We were kidding around, that's
all."
Detective Finelli ran a hand over his crew
cut. "Thanks for the explanation, Miss Bennett. I can't tell you how
relieved I am to hear it."
"You're making fun of me, Detective,
and I don't like it. Nor do I like your following Mr. Williams around. He
hasn't done anything wrong."
"Love is blind," he replied,
looking at me sharply.
I whipped around to see if Bradley had
heard that, but he'd vanished, thank heavens.
"My personal life is none of your business, Detective."
I tried for a steely gaze.
Detective Finelli's expression remained neutral. "So,
I'm correct. You are in love with Williams."
"You tricked me!"
"Doing my job, Miss Bennett. Although I think I've got
the man who killed Suzie Wexford, I have to cover every base. You have quite a
strong will. I wonder how jealous you were of the attention Williams showered
on Miss Wexford."
Without giving me a chance to reply, he got into his car and
drove away.
By the time I reached my desk, it was almost four o'clock,
and I was beat. Bradley's door was closed, serving as a blockade to any further
sparring.
Danielle's pretty face appeared much more relaxed today.
I said, "I can't thank you enough, Danielle, for helping
me. Was everything okay while I was gone?"
"We had lots of calls from reporters again, Bebe. I'm
beginning to recognize their voices," she said, and chuckled. "And
I'm happy to cover for you. Mrs. Seeds says I'll get extra money in my next
paycheck."
"You deserve it. Danielle, can I confide in you?"
"Sure, I can keep a secret."
"You know I'll be attending Suzie's memorial tomorrow,
but there's more. A strong possibility exists that I'll have to go out of town
tomorrow, and won't be back until Saturday. Would you be willing to cover for
me again? You'd have to do a little more than answer the phone, I'm afraid.
There's some typing to do on the Dictaphone, Debbie Ann's weekly grocery bill
invoice—"
"Bebe, I could use the extra money, and I'm used to
typing." She paused, then added, "I'm not afraid of Mr. Williams
anymore."
I squeezed her hand. "I'm pleased to hear that. He is
innocent of Suzie's murder. There are other people who wanted to see her
dead."
Danielle looked around, then said, "Nobody liked Suzie, even Debbie Ann, who preaches that we should all be
good to one another. I don't know how the police are going to figure out who
killed her."
"Debbie Ann didn't like Suzie?" I
asked, puzzled.
"No, and Suzie hated her. She told
Debbie Ann to her face that her style of cooking would make people fat."
"Gosh, I'll bet Debbie Ann didn't take
that well."
Danielle shook her head. "Debbie Ann
told Suzie that she was so skinny, if she stood sideways and stuck out her
tongue, she'd look like a zipper. They frequently exchanged insults."
"I didn't know any of this."
Danielle nodded. "They were downright
mean to each other. You know Debbie Ann wants to know everything about
everybody and doesn't hesitate to make her views known, even to Pierre."
"Pierre?"
Danielle chuckled. "He's a hotshot,
but when he comes to Ryan, Debbie Ann finds out from her assistant and watches
whatever shoot Pierre is doing. I'm telling you, Bebe, no one is spared from
Debbie Ann's eagle eye. When she signed in today and saw me sitting here, she
asked if I had brought my lunch. I always do pack my lunch, but the phone kept
ringing, and I didn't have a chance to go back to my desk and get my brown bag.
Debbie Ann went and got it for me. She's really concerned about everybody's
personal life and diet, but lots of times she'll bake cookies and send them
around."
"That's sweet of her. She's scolded me
about eating hot dogs," I said, flipping through legitimate phone messages
to see if there was anything urgent.
Danielle laughed. "Never let Debbie
Ann know you eat hot dogs. She has a whole speech on what they're made of, and
it's gross."
After today, I doubted I could eat another
one. Too bad, since I could get them free for life!
"What do you know about Gloria?"
Danielle shrugged. "I haven't been
around her, though I know who she is. . . . Oh, wait, I just remembered
something. Gossip went around the typing pool about three months ago that
Debbie Ann had given one of her lectures to Gloria about her weight. Gloria
mouthed off to Debbie Ann, calling her a lonely old busybody with no life of her
own. Word is Debbie Ann was hurt, maybe because it's kinda the truth. They're
not friends."
"Interesting." Danielle and I
switched places, and I thanked her again for helping me.
At a few minutes before five, Bradley's
door remained closed. I knew I should stay late, but I thought it more
important to go home and pack. I didn't see how on earth Bradley would be on
that plane to the Virgin Islands tomorrow evening, unless he was keeping
something to himself about Mr. Pickering. Maybe the lawyer would pull a rabbit
out of a hat, the rabbit being Suzie's killer.
Wednesday morning, at precisely fifteen
minutes before ten, I arrived at the Cathedral Church of St. John the Divine
on Amsterdam Avenue. The day was overcast and windy. Dark clouds raced across
the sky above the gothic exterior of the church.
Wearing my black suit, black gloves, and a
black pillbox hat with netting over my face, I entered and found a seat near
the back. That way I could see who was crying and who wasn't.