Hanging Hannah (16 page)

Jane stiffened, but kept her smile pleasant. “Oh?”

“Whoa yeah! There's this woman I work with, Grace. Grace is friends with another woman at the company, this sleazy type who lives in Lake Hiawatha.” Lake Hiawatha was right next to Shady Hills. “Turns out this woman—her name is Abby—was having an affair with Ernie, when all of a sudden he dumped her!”

Jane, disturbed at this turn in the conversation and wanting to protect Louise, pretended to be shocked. “You've got to be kidding! Pudgy little Ernie, who's so devoted to Louise?” The skunk. “No way!”

“Oh, yes way,” Laura said. “Don't let that chubby exterior fool you. You, of all people, should know better than to judge a book by its cover. In fact, apparently this wasn't Ernie's first fling.” She looked thoughtful. “I feel bad for Louise.”

“Me, too,” Jane agreed, and said nothing more about it.

 

Emerging from the Lincoln Tunnel, Jane drove north and parked at a Quick Park on West Forty-sixth Street between Eighth and Ninth Avenues. At the corner of Forty-sixth and Eighth, Jane called Goddess to confirm lunch.

“ ‘Course we're still on,” Goddess said, her voice flat. “I'm looking forward to it. But you're a little early.”

“I know that. I'm with my friend Laura. You met her at the Carol Freund party. Daniel's fiancée. We're doing some shopping—for her wedding gown, in fact.”

“Bring her along,” Goddess said.

Jane was surprised. “Are you sure? Didn't you want to talk business? Laura really doesn't mind being on her own for a few hours.”

“I don't mind talking biz in front of her. Tell her she's gotta come.”

Jane pressed the phone to her chest and turned to Laura. “She wants you to come to lunch.”

Laura looked surprised, then pleased, her eyes widening. “Sure!”

“All right, that will be very nice. Thank you,” Jane said, and hung up.

“Yipes,” Laura said as they started across Eighth Avenue. “Lunch with Goddess!”

They went first to Priscilla of Boston, where Laura tried on several gowns but liked none of them. She was quite petite and had a lovely figure, and to Jane she looked smashing in everything she modeled. But Laura clearly had a certain look in mind, and wasn't prepared to rest until she'd found it.

“Okay,” Laura said as they emerged from the third shop. “Next is Janine Dray up Madison. Do we have time?”

Jane checked her watch. It was just after eleven-thirty, and Goddess wasn't expecting them till one. “Sure,” Jane said. “But Janine Dray . . . I mean, it's gorgeous stuff, but pricey.”

Laura shrugged carelessly. “How many times does a girl get married?” And before Jane could respond with a sarcastic remark, Laura answered her own question: “Once, for this girl, and she's gonna look the way she's always dreamed of looking.”

They hailed a cab and rode up Madison to the exclusive shop. Laura tried on two gowns, frowning no at each of them. Then she emerged in a breathtaking Christian Lacroix—billowy, low cut, topped with a huge hat covered with a bridal veil. She was beaming. Jane had to admit it was the most beautiful gown Laura had tried on so far.

“Isn't it heaven?” Laura breathed. “Daniel will flip.”

“It's heaven, all right,” Jane said. “And I'll bet the price is sky-high.”

Both Laura and the saleslady frowned disapprovingly at Jane for bringing up so vulgar a subject as money.

“Well, I—” Laura looked inquiringly at the saleslady.

The woman told them the price, her tone faintly belligerent.

“Holy smoke!” Jane said with a laugh. She turned to Laura. “You want me take out a second mortgage on my house for you?”

Neither Laura nor the saleslady saw anything funny in her remark.

“I'll take it,” Laura said.

Jane gaped at her. “Laura! Are you sure. Can you—”

Laura was already reaching for her bag on a nearby chair. She brought out a MasterCard. “Charge it,” she told the saleslady.

Jane held her tongue. Arrangements were made for Laura to come in during the week for her first fitting. Then she and Jane left the shop.

“Laura,” Jane said as soon as they got outside, “I don't mean to stick my nose into your business, but don't you think that gown is a bit beyond your budget?”

“I told you. A girl—”

“Only gets married once. If you say so.” Jane checked her watch. “We'd better get over to Goddess's now. She's on East Eighty-second between Fifth and Madison. We can walk it.”

They started west, Laura leading the way. Jane, regarding her from behind, shook her head.

 

Goddess's pied-à-terre was a four-story town house. A uniformed maid led Jane and Laura from a stark white-marble foyer into an equally stark sitting room. The walls and ceiling were bright white, the floor was dark polished wood, and the only furniture were two immense black-and-yellow-striped sofas that reminded Jane of bumblebees, and between them a coffee table consisting of a boulder with a flattened, polished top.

“Cozy,” Jane said.

“I heard that!”

They jumped and turned toward the doorway. Goddess stood in its center, arms folded. She wore a white kimono, her hair piled on the top of her head and held in place with at least half a dozen shiny black chopsticks. Suddenly she threw back her head and laughed, sauntering into the room as if she were wearing a sweatshirt and jeans. “Had you there, didn't I?” She perched on the coffee table and regarded them. “You think I give a damn what anybody thinks of this place?
I
don't even give a damn about this place.”

Jane and Laura looked at her in puzzlement.

“It's very . . .” Laura began, but trailed off, apparently unsure what it was.

“It's worth millions, of course,” Goddess said nonchalantly. “I bought it last year with the money I made from
Goddess at Large
.” She turned to Laura. “Did you see me in that?”

“Of course,” Laura said. “Daniel and I both did. It was hysterical.”

“Mm.” Goddess reached under the sash of her kimono and drew out a pack of Camels. Then she pulled out a Bic lighter and lit a cigarette, drawing on it deeply. “This place used to belong to a Saudi arms dealer. He got tired of it—or his latest wife did—so they sold it to me. It's got a pool, theater, the works. Handy while I'm doing the play.”

She was referring, of course, to
Goddess of Love
, her Broadway show.

“I thought maybe this place belonged to your parents,” Laura said.

Goddess turned on her viciously. “Well it doesn't! My parents are not part of my life, and I don't want anything of theirs. Got that?”

“Yes,” Laura said, fear in her eyes.

Goddess smiled. “Let's eat.”

She led them to the back of the sitting room, where on the right there was an arched entrance to a dining room. This room was as ornate as the sitting room was spare, decorated in pure Louis XIV. Passing a massive sideboard, Jane noticed row upon row of oddly common trinkets: half a dozen Max Factor lipsticks standing like soldiers, a package of cuticle sticks, a transparent yellow-plastic pencil sharpener, a package of Silly Putty, a thimble. Undoubtedly the spoils of Goddess's pilfering.

The table was set with a lavish array of sliced cold chicken, salads, and fruit. Goddess sat at the head of the table, Jane and Laura to each side of her. The maid appeared and offered them food from the trays, then asked if they would like wine with lunch. Laura and Jane both asked for mineral water.

“So,” Goddess said, smoking her cigarette and ignoring the food on her plate, “since we're on the subject of parents, tell me about yours, Laura. You gonna have them at your wedding? Got a big family?”

Laura stared at her, openmouthed. “I—I'm an orphan,” she replied quietly. “The people on my side of the wedding will be just friends.”

What an odd turn of conversation, Jane thought, and decided to try to steer the talk to the reason for the lunch—preparing for their meeting with Hamilton Kiels.

“Would you like to go over what we'll discuss at our meeting with Hamilton Kiels on Monday?” Jane asked Goddess.

“No.” Goddess puffed, blew smoke in Jane's face.

Jane felt an overpowering urge to slap her, but restrained herself.

“But I thought that's why we were getting together,” Jane pointed out politely.

“What's to discuss? We go, we schmooze, we have a meeting. I write a book. People buy it. I get richer.”

Jane smiled a tiny smile. “I wish it were that easy.”

“With me, babe,” Goddess said, fixing Jane with a frank gaze, “it is.” She picked up her fork and toyed with a slice of chicken breast, dragged half a walnut across her plate. “So what's the scoop with Holly? They find out who did her?”

“I don't believe so,” Jane said.

“What a way to go.” Goddess shook her head. “Pinned through the neck like some butterfly or something.” She shivered. “I mean, I know she was a jerk and everything, but nobody deserves that.” She looked at Jane. “Do you think she took a long time to die?”

Jane dropped her fork. It rattled loudly on the fine china. “I—I really wouldn't know. Would you mind if we talked about something else?” She looked at Laura, who was staring down at her plate as if she were about to vomit.

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Goddess said, shrugging. “Let's talk about my favorite subject—me. I got a new movie coming out. You hear about it? It's called
Adam and Eve
.”

“Actually,” Jane said, grateful for the subject change, “I did read about it—in
Entertainment Weekly
, I think. They said you were brilliant.”

“I am. You wanna come to a screening?” she asked them both.

Jane and Laura nodded.

“You got it. I'll tell Yves. You're gonna love the movie. There's this fabulous actress in it who plays my mother—Darlene Hunt. The studio wanted Beatrice Straight, but I said no—Straight is great, but Hunt is better for the part. And I was right. Wait till you see the two of us together. I'm telling you, an Oscar's gonna come out of that movie, and it may very well go to me.”

The rest of lunch was much like this: Goddess talking about herself, about her talent, about her upcoming projects. She would leave her Broadway show during the summer to shoot a movie with Vanessa Williams called
Girlfriends
. Another film, a thriller, was in the discussion stages, with a number of leading men being considered as Goddess's opposite: Brad Pitt, Tom Cruise, Ben Stiller, John Travolta. Madonna was considering a cameo role.

Goddess was also developing a new Broadway show for herself.

“I'm gonna play all these outrageous women in history. Joan of Arc, Marie Curie, Marie Antoinette. It's gonna be a musical. There's one number—” Goddess laughed, blowing out smoke. “ ‘Let 'Em Eat Cake!' It's fabulous. All the songs are by Nikkee Waldman, who did
Goddess of Love
.”

Jane, who would never have used the word
outrageous
to describe Joan of Arc, Marie Curie, or Marie Antoinette, found all of this conversation utterly boring. Not to mention that Goddess clearly had no intention of discussing their upcoming meeting at Corsair, which was why she had wanted Jane to come to lunch in the first place.

Later, as Jane and Laura were taking their leave, Jane pointed out that they hadn't prepared for the meeting.

“I told you,” Goddess said, “don't worry about it. Goddess'll finesse it.” She winked at Jane. “She always does. You be good, you two.” She bowed serenely and a chopstick fell out of her hair, clattering on the foyer floor. “
Sayonara
.”

And Jane and Laura found themselves back on Goddess's front steps, staring at each other.

“What just happened?” Laura asked.

“I'm not quite sure.”

“I thought you and she were supposed to talk about your meeting with the publisher on Monday.”

“So did I.”

“Maybe she felt self-conscious talking about it in front of me.”

Jane shook her head. “She said she didn't mind. Besides, I don't think Goddess feels self-conscious doing anything.”

The receptionist looked Goddess up and down, barely able to contain her excitement, but also puzzled at Goddess's costume. Today she was Raggedy Ann, complete with fake pasted-on freckles and a red-yarn wig. She was also chewing gum.

“Goddess and Jane Stuart to see Hamilton Kiels,” Jane told the young woman behind the desk, who called back to announce them and asked them to please have a seat.

Jane and Goddess sat in facing armchairs. Goddess stared up at a lighted display of Corsair's current books on the wall nearby. At last she said, “Do people really
read
that stuff?”

“Yes, certainly. In fact, the third book from the left on the top row—
Relevant Gods
—that's Carol Freund's novel that I handled. You remember the party was for Carol. It's a wonderful book. I'll give you a copy if you like.”

“I don't read,” Goddess said, looking bored, and blew a huge bubble and popped it, gathering the gum back into her mouth. “That's your department.”

Minutes seemed to stretch to days, and finally the door to the offices opened and Jack Layton appeared. “Jane! So good to see you.”

“Good to see you, Jack,” Jane said. “And you know Goddess, of course, from the . . . party.”

“Yes, of course,” he said enthusiastically. “I never got a chance to tell you how much I enjoyed your performance.”

Goddess simply stared at him. He looked surprised and quickly turned to Jane. “So! Shall we go back and chat?”

They walked through the door and down a corridor to a conference room.

Three people, two women and a man, were already seated at the conference table. They rose as Jack, Jane, and Goddess entered, eyeing Goddess's getup.

Jack introduced Barb Goldman, Corsair's director of sales and marketing, a thin woman in her fifties with a mop of brown hair threaded with gray; and Ellen McIntyre, director of publicity and promotion. Jane had met Ellen before; Ellen and Jane and Carol Freund had had lunch to discuss publicity and promotion plans for
Relevant Gods
. Ellen was another publishing “type” that Kenneth had found amusing: the publicity director who was chronically shy and socially inept. True to form, she gave Jane and Goddess one sharp nod and sat down without putting out her hand or saying a word.

“And this gentleman,” Jack said, “is Hamilton Kiels.”

Kiels was a portly dark-haired man who looked to be in his early forties. He wore black-wire-rimmed glasses, a bright red bow tie on a button-down denim shirt, and, peeking out from under his blue blazer, red suspenders. The classic editor look. Kenneth used to make fun of the way editors dressed, saying they took a perverse pride in looking scruffy and disheveled. Jane wished he could see this one.

“Jane, I know, of course,” he said. “I saw you at the party, Jane, and never got a chance to speak to you in all the—uh—confusion.” He looked uneasy. “And you,” he said to Goddess, “were just marvelous.”

Goddess just stared at him. He sat down, looking uncomfortable.

“Now then,” Layton said, turning to Goddess, “I want you to know we're extremely excited about the possibility of publishing your book. We're glad you wanted to meet with us today, because we'll be able to get a sense of what you intend to do with the project.” He turned to Jane. “I assume you already have a ghost?”

“No,” Jane replied uneasily. “You see, Goddess—”

“I'm writing the book myself,” Goddess announced flatly, chomping on her gum, and proceeded to blow a bubble that grew and grew until it was bigger than her head. Suddenly she stuck her index finger into it and it popped loudly. It began to deflate, but before it could cover her face, she sucked it quickly back into her mouth with a slurping sound.

Out of the corner of her eye, Jane saw Barb and Ellen exchange glances.

“I see,” Layton said. “Well, I'm sure that will be fine. Ham here is a fine editor and can help you in any way necessary.”

Goddess just stared at Layton. Suddenly she giggled, and Jane heard her murmur, “Ham.”

Layton went on, “The book, I understood from—uh—Holly, will be your autobiography?”

“That's right.” Chomp, chomp.

“Well, that should be fascinating. And pretty straightforward. A nice hardcover, two sixteen-page photo inserts . . .” He looked at Barb. “Six-by-nine?”

She nodded.

“Wait a minute,” Goddess said. “Wait a cotton-pickin' minute.”

They all stared at her. Jane wondered what on earth she was going to say.

“This is
my
book,” Goddess announced, sitting up straight at the table now, “and
I
decide how it looks and what goes into it. Got that? ‘Cause if
you
don't, Simon & Schuster will.”

Layton looked at Jane with something close to horror. Jane smiled, embarrassed, and shrugged. Layton turned back to Goddess. “Do you have some special ideas in mind for the book?” His tone was deferential.

“Sure do,” Goddess replied. “First of all, I want it long—you know what I mean?”

“Mm-hmm, horizontal format,” he said, nodding.

“No jacket.”

“No jacket?”

“Nope. I don't see the point of them. They just fall off or tear. I want the picture—
my
picture—right on the book.”

“Paper on boards,” Layton said, to no one in particular.

“Whatever you call it. I got some more ideas, too. For instance”—chomp, chomp—“I want a pop-up, maybe a few pop-ups.”

“Pop-ups?” Kiels repeated, looking queasy.

“Yeah, you know—like in a kids' book.”

“A pop-up of what?” Layton asked pleasantly.

Goddess rolled her eyes. “Of Gloria Swanson,” she said sarcastically. “
Of me
, who do you think? I've got the whole thing worked out in my head. On one page, here on the right, you got this beach scene—waves, sand, maybe a palm tree. Then you turn the page and there's me, rising out of the sea like Venus on the half shell. That's the logo for my show. We'll do cross-promotion. It'll be marv.”

“Marv?” Ellen repeated. “Who's Marv?”

Jane said, “I think she means marvelous.”

Ellen frowned. She looked quite alarmed.

“I got a few more ideas, too,” Goddess went on. “I want a music chip in the cover, so when you open it, you get me singing a few lines from one of my songs. I haven't decided what song yet. Maybe ‘Stranger Than Fiction.' ”

“Well, that would certainly be appropriate,” Layton said, and everyone laughed—except Goddess. Layton continued, “Jane, I think we've got a pretty good idea of what you and your client have in mind.” To Goddess he said, “It all sounds absolutely terrific.” And then to Kiels, Barb, and Ellen, “Doesn't it?”

The three of them bobbed their heads rapidly in unison.

“We really appreciate your coming in today,” Layton said to Jane and Goddess. “Let us run some numbers, have a few discussions, and we'll give you a call, Jane, see what we can work out.”

They all rose, Jane said good-bye to Barb, Ellen, and Kiels, and Layton walked Jane and Goddess to the reception area. Before Layton could thank Goddess for coming, she walked straight out the glass door to the elevator bank and pressed the DOWN button. As soon as the door had swung closed, Layton turned to Jane.

“What are you, nuts? She doesn't want a book, she wants a toy!”

“Well, why didn't you say so in the meeting, instead of kissing her ass?”

He glared at her. “It is your job to keep your client in line, to explain the realities and practicalities of publishing a book.”

“Hah! Practicalities and realities are not two things Goddess worries much about. Let me save you a lot of time and trouble. If you really want this book, be prepared to do it her way. 'Cause if you won't,” she said cheerily, heading out to join Goddess at the elevators, “Simon & Schuster will!”

He was still standing there, watching them, as the elevator doors slid shut.

“So that was a publishing meeting,” Goddess said thoughtfully as they descended.

“Yes,” Jane replied, “that was a publishing meeting.”

“They don't know much, do they?”

Jane opened her mouth to respond, then thought better of it and said nothing.

 

“Call Greenberg,” Daniel told Jane when she entered the office around noon. “It's important.”

Jane called him from her office.

“Jane, I wanted you to know this from me, since you're friends with Louise,” Greenberg said.

“Know what?”

“I've just had Ernie Zabriskie in for questioning in the murder of the woman found hanging behind his inn.”

For a moment Jane simply sat speechless.

“Jane?”

“I'm coming over to see you.”

She hurried back out of the office and drove to the station. Greenberg looked uneasy.

“What's this all about?” Jane asked him.

He closed his office door and sat behind his desk. “I didn't tell you this before, but we found a man's handkerchief in the dead woman's pocket. We've now identified it as belonging to Ernie Zabriskie. We had him in, as I told you. He says he has no idea how it got there, says he'd never laid eyes on the girl before she was found there in the woods.”

Jane was stunned to silence. She thought about Ernie and Dara, and about what Laura had told her in the car on the way to New York. Yes, Ernie was quite clearly a philanderer—but a
murderer
? Could the hanging woman have been one of Ernie's girlfriends, whom Ernie had killed for some reason? No—it just wasn't possible. Jane just couldn't see Ernie in the role of a killer. She decided to say nothing to Greenberg about Dara and the secret room. She'd spare Louise at least that embarrassment, and besides, it wasn't relevant anyway.

From the police station Jane drove directly to Hydrangea House to see Louise. Greeting Jane at the door, Louise looked worse than Jane had ever seen her look—her eyes red from crying, her face pinched and gray. They sat in the kitchen and Louise poured them coffee.

“I know all about the questioning,” Louise said. She looked as if she was about to burst into tears, and hung her head over her mug. “Jane, you've got to help me. I love Ernie. I know it's hard to believe, after all I know, all he's done, but I love him, and I know he loves me. He's made some mistakes, but we can work all that out. I can win him back, but not if he's in prison for a murder he didn't commit.”

How, Jane wondered, could Louise be so sure Ernie hadn't committed the murder? But she did not voice that thought.

“Of course I'll help you in any way I can, Louise.” Jane realized she'd already helped Louise by warning off Dara. “Where's Ernie?”

“Upstairs in his study. He's in shock.”

“What can I do to help?” Jane asked.

“Talk to your friend, Detective Greenberg. Tell him what Ernie is like. Tell him Ernie could never do a horrible thing like that. You know Ernie, Jane; you've known him for ten years. Please, Jane.”

“I agree with you, Louise. I don't think Ernie is capable of murder. I'll tell Greenberg so.”

 

There was a message from Jack Layton waiting for Jane when she got back to her office. She rang him back and was put right through.

“What a nutcase,” Layton said. “We'd like to make you an offer. A million, hard/soft,” he said, referring to a deal in which the publisher bought both hardcover and paperback rights at the same time. “Standard royalties.”

“A million! Jack,
you're
the nutcase. Morrow paid Whoopi Goldberg six million dollars!”

“Not a good example, Jane. The book bombed. And, uh, look at Morrow now.”

He was right. Whoopi, whom most would consider a genius on the same level as Goddess, had not succeeded as an author. And Morrow, her struggling publisher, had been swallowed up by HarperCollins.

“Irrelevant,” Jane said in a tired voice. “I want five million, North America only.”

“
What?
Jane, you're as crazy as this girl is. A million five, and that's it. Best I can do. You'd be a fool not to take it.”

“I'm writing down your offer, Jack, to present it to my client, who I fear will want to explore other options. Keep in mind, too, that she will want to confer with her manager and probably her lawyer as well. So I may need a few days to get back to you.”

“Don't you dare shop this, Jane. We have your promise that Corsair is seeing this first and exclusively.”

“Seeing what? There's nothing on paper.”

“Don't be cute, Jane. Present our offer to your client and call me.”

“I'll present it, but I can't guarantee she'll want it. In fact, I'm pretty sure she won't.”

“Present it,” Layton repeated, and hung up.

Jane glared at the phone. Negotiating this deal was the last thing she needed right now. It was also, financially speaking, the first thing she needed right now, because even if by some fluke Goddess accepted Corsair's offer, Jane's commission at 15 percent would be $225,000. Not all at once, of course, since advances of that size were usually broken up into payments on signing, acceptance of manuscript, and publication, at the very least. But still, that was good money, even spread out—money Jane could definitely use.

She dialed Goddess at her pied-à-terre, and to her surprise Goddess answered the phone. Without preamble, Jane told her Layton's offer.