Morning Noon & Night (20 page)

T
he fashion show was going well. The models moved gracefully along the runway, and each new design received enthusiastic applause. The ballroom was packed. Every seat was occupied, and there were standees in the rear.

Backstage there was a stir, and Kendall turned to see what was happening. Two uniformed policemen were making their way toward her.

Kendall’s heart began to race.

One of the policemen said, “Are you Kendall Stanford Renaud?”

“Yes.”

“I’m placing you under arrest for the murder of Martha Ryan.”

“No!” she screamed. “I didn’t mean to do it! It was an accident! Please! Please! Please…!”

She woke up in a panic, her body trembling.

It was a recurring nightmare.
I can’t go on like this
, Kendall thought.
I can’t! I have to do something
.

She wanted desperately to talk to Marc. He had reluctantly returned to New York. “I have a job to do, darling. They won’t let me take any more time off.”

“I understand, Marc. I’ll be back there in a few days. I have to get a show ready.”

Kendall was leaving for New York that afternoon, but before she went, there was something she felt she had to do. The conversation with Woody had been very disturbing.
He’s blaming his problems on Peggy
.

Kendall found Peggy on the veranda.

“Good morning,” Kendall said.

“Good morning.”

Kendall took a seat opposite her. “I have to talk to you.”

“Yes?”

It was awkward. “I had a talk with Woody. He’s in bad shape. He…he thinks that you’re the one who’s been supplying him with heroin.”

“He told you that?”

“Yes.”

There was a long pause. “Well, it’s true.”

Kendall stared at her in disbelief. “
What?
I…I don’t understand. You told me you were trying to get him
off
drugs.
Why would you want to keep him addicted?”

“You really
don’t
understand, do you?” Her tone was bitter. “You live in your own little goddamned world. Well, let me tell you something, Miss Famous Designer! I was a waitress when Woody got me pregnant. I never expected Wood-row Stanford to marry me. And do you know why he did? So he could feel he was better than his father. Well, Woody married me, all right. And everybody treated me like dirt. When my brother, Hoop, came down for the wedding, they acted like he was some kind of trash.”

“Peggy…”

“To tell you the truth, I was dumbfounded when your brother said he wanted to marry me. I didn’t even know if it was his baby. I could have been a good wife to Woody, but no one even gave me a chance. To them I was still a waitress. I didn’t lose the baby, I had an abortion. I thought maybe Woody would divorce me, but he didn’t. I was his token symbol of how democratic he was. Well, let me tell you something, lady. I don’t need that. I’m as good as you or anyone else.”

Each word was a blow. “Did you ever love Woody?”

Peggy shrugged. “He was good-looking and fun, but then he had that bad fall during the polo game, and everything changed. The hospital gave him drugs, and when he got out, they expected him to stop taking them. One night, he was in pain, and I said, ‘I have a little treat for you.’ And after that, whenever he was in pain, I gave him his little treat. Pretty soon he needed it, whether he was in pain or not. My brother is a pusher, and I was able to get all the heroin I needed. I made Woody beg me for it. And sometimes I’d tell
him I was out of it just to watch him sweat and cry—oh, how Mr. Woodrow Stanford needed me! He wasn’t so high and mighty then! I goaded him into hitting me, and then he’d feel terrible about what he had done, and he’d come crawling back to me with gifts. You see, when Woody is off dope, I’m nothing. When he’s on it, I’m the one who has the power. He may be a Stanford, and maybe I was only a waitress, but I control him.”

Kendall was staring at her in horror.

“Your brother’s tried to quit, all right. When it got real bad, his friends would get him into a detox center, and I’d go visit him and watch the great Stanford suffer the agonies of hell. And each time he came out, I’d be waiting for him with my little treat. It was payback time.”

Kendall was finding it hard to breathe. “You’re a monster,” she said slowly. “I want you to leave.”

“You bet! I can’t wait to get out of this place.” She grinned. “Of course, I’m not leaving for nothing. How much of a settlement will I get?”

“Whatever it is,” Kendall said, “it will be too much. Now get out of here.”

“Right.” Then she added with an affected tone, “I’ll have my lawyer call your lawyer.”

“She’s really leaving me?

“Yes.”

“That means…”

“I know what it means, Woody. Can you handle it?”

He looked at his sister and smiled. “I think so. Yes. I think I can.”

“I’m sure of it.”

He took a deep breath. “Thanks, Kendall. I would never have had the courage to get rid of her.”

She smiled. “What are sisters for?”

That afternoon, Kendall left for New York. The fashion showing would be in one week.

Clothing is the single biggest business in New York. A successful fashion designer can have an effect on the economy all around the world. A designer’s whim has a far-flung impact on everyone from cotton pickers in India to Scottish weavers to silkworms in China and Japan. It has an effect on the wool industry and the silk industry. The Donna Kar-ans and Calvin Kleins and Ralph Laurens are a major economic influence, and Kendall had arrived in that category. It was rumored that she was about to be named the Women’s Wear Designer of the Year by the Council of Fashion Designers of America, the most prestigious award a designer could receive.

Kendall Stanford Renaud led a busy life. In September, she looked at large assortments of fabrics, and in October, she selected the ones she wanted for her new designs. December and January were devoted to designing the new fashions,
and in February, to refining them. In April, she was ready to show her fall collection.

Kendall Stanford Designs was located at 550 Seventh Avenue, sharing the building with Bill Blass and Oscar de la Renta. Her next showing was going to be at the Bryant Park tent, which could seat up to a thousand people.

When Kendall arrived at her office, Nadine said, “I’ve got good news. The showing is completely booked!”

“Thank you,” Kendall said absently. Her mind was on other things.

“By the way, there’s a letter marked
URGENT
for you on your desk. It was just delivered by messenger.”

The words sent a jolt through Kendall’s body. She walked over to her desk and looked at the envelope. The return address was
Wild Animal Protection Association, 3000 Park Avenue, New York, New York
. She stared at it for a long time. There was no 3000 Park Avenue.

Kendall opened the letter with trembling fingers.

Dear Mrs. Renaud,

My Swiss banker informs me that he has not yet received the million dollars that my association requested. In view of your delinquency, I must inform you that our needs have been increased to 5 million dollars. If this payment is made, I promise we will not bother you again. You have fifteen days to deposit the money in our account. If you fail to do so, I regret that we shall have to communicate with the appropriate authorities.

It was unsigned.

Kendall stood there in a panic, reading it over and over, again and again.
Five million dollars! It’s impossible
, she thought.
I can never raise that kind of money that quickly. What a fool I was!

When Marc came home that night, Kendall showed him the letter.

“Five million dollars!” he exploded. “That’s ridiculous! Who do they think you are?”

“They know who I am,” Kendall said. “That’s the problem. I’ve got to get hold of some money quickly. But how?”

“I don’t know…I suppose a bank would loan you money against your inheritance, but I don’t like the idea of…”

“Marc, it’s my life I’m talking about.
Our
lives. I’m going to see about getting that loan.”

George Meriwether was the vice president in charge of the New York Union Bank. He was in his forties and had worked his way up from a junior teller. He was an ambitious man.
One day I’ll be on the board of directors
, he thought,
and after that
…
who knows?
His thoughts were interrupted by his secretary.

“Miss Kendall Stanford is here to see you.”

He felt a small
frisson
of pleasure. She had been a good customer as a successful designer, but now she was one of the wealthiest women in the world. He had tried for several
years to get Harry Stanford’s account, without success. And now…

“Show her in,” Meriwether told his secretary.

When Kendall walked into his office, Meriwether rose and greeted her with a smile and a warm handshake.

“I’m so pleased to see you,” he said. “Do sit down. Some coffee or something stronger?”

“No, thanks,” Kendall said.

“I want to offer my condolences on the death of your father.” His voice was suitably grave.

“Thank you.”

“What can I do for you?” He knew what she was going to say. She was going to turn her billions over to him to invest…

“I want to borrow some money.”

He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“I need five million dollars.”

He thought rapidly.
According to the newspapers, her share of the estate should be more than a billion dollars. Even with taxes…
He smiled. “Well, I don’t think there will be any problem. You’ve always been one of our favorite customers, you know. What security would you like to put up?”

“I’m an heir in my father’s will.”

He nodded. “Yes. I read that.”

“I’d like to borrow the money against my share of the estate.”

“I see. Has your father’s will been probated yet?”

“No, but it will be soon.”

“That’s fine.” He leaned forward. “Of course, we’d have to see a copy of the will.”

“Yes,” Kendall said eagerly. “I can arrange that.”

“And we would have to know the exact amount of your share of the inheritance.”

“I don’t know the exact amount,” Kendall said.

“Well, the banking laws are quite strict, you know. Probates can take some time. Why don’t you come back after the probate, and I’ll be happy to…”

“I need the money now,” Kendall said desperately. She wanted to scream.

“Oh, dear. Naturally, we want to do everything we can to accommodate you.” He raised his hands in a helpless gesture. “But unfortunately, our hands are tied until—”

Kendall rose to her feet. “Thank you.”

“As soon as…”

She was gone.

When Kendall returned to the office, Nadine said excitedly, “I have to talk to you.”

She was in no mood to hear Nadine’s problems.

“What is it?” Kendall asked.

“My husband called me a few minutes ago. His company is transferring him to Paris. So, I’ll be leaving.”

“You’re go…going to Paris?”

Nadine beamed. “Yes! Isn’t that wonderful? I’ll be sorry to leave you. But don’t worry. I’ll stay in touch.”

So it
was
Nadine. But there’s no way to prove it. First the mink coat and now Paris. With five million dollars, she can afford to live anywhere in the world. How do I handle this?
If I tell her that I know, she’ll deny it. Maybe she’ll demand more. Marc will know what to do
.

“Nadine…”

One of Kendall’s assistants came in. “Kendall! I have to talk to you about the bridge collection. I don’t think we have enough designs for—”

Kendall could bear no more. “Excuse me. I don’t feel well. I’m going home.”

Her assistant looked at her in amazement. “But we’re in the middle of…!”

“I’m sorry…”

And Kendall was gone.

When Kendall walked into her apartment, it was empty. Marc was working late. She looked around at all the beautiful things in the room, and thought,
They’ll never stop until they take everything. They’re going to bleed me dry. Marc was right. I should have gone to the police that night. Now I’m a criminal. I’ve got to confess. Now, while I have the courage
. She sat there, thinking about what this was going to do to her, to Marc, and to her family. There would be lurid headlines, and a trial, and probably prison. It would be the end of her career.
But I can’t go on like this
, Kendall thought.
I’ll go crazy
.

Almost in a daze, she got up and walked into Marc’s den. She remembered that he kept his typewriter on a shelf in the closet. She took it down and put it on the desk. She rolled a sheet of paper into the platen and began to type.

To Whom It May Concern: My name is Kendall

She stopped. The letter E was broken.

“W
hy, Marc? For God’s sake, why?” Kendall’s voice was filled with anguish.

“It was your fault.”

“No! I told you…It was an accident! I…”

“I’m not talking about the accident. I’m talking about
you
! The big successful wife who was too busy to find time for her husband.”

It was as though he had slapped her. “That’s not true. I…”

“All you ever thought about was yourself, Kendall. Everywhere we went, you were always the star. You let me tag along like a pet poodle.”

“That’s not fair!” she said.

“Isn’t it? You go off to your fashion shows all over the world so you can get your picture in the papers, and I’m sitting here alone, waiting for you to return. Do you think I liked being ‘Mr. Kendall’? I wanted a wife. Don’t worry, my darling Kendall. I consoled myself with other women while you were gone.”

Her face was ashen.

“They were real flesh-and-blood women, who had time for me. Not some damned made-up empty shell.”

“Stop it!” Kendall cried.

“When you told me about the accident, I saw a way to become free of you. Do you want to know something, my dear? I enjoyed watching you squirm when you read those letters. It paid me back a little for all the humiliation I’ve gone through.”

“That’s enough! Pack your bags and get out of here. I never want to see you again!”

Marc grinned. “There’s very little chance of that. By the way, do you still plan to go to the police?”

“Get out!” Kendall said.
“Now!”

“I’m leaving. I think I’ll go back to Paris. And, darling, I won’t tell if you won’t. You’re safe.”

An hour later, he was gone.

At nine o’clock in the morning, Kendall put in a call to Steve Sloane.

“Good morning, Mrs. Renaud. What can I do for you?”

“I’m returning to Boston this afternoon,” Kendall said. “I have a confession to make.”

She was seated across from Steve, looking pale and drawn. She sat there frozen, unable to begin.

Steve prompted her. “You said you had a confession to make.”

“Yes. I…I killed someone.” She began to cry. “It was an accident, but…I ran away.” Her face was a mask of anguish. “I ran away…and left her there.”

“Take it easy,” Steve said. “Start at the beginning.”

She began to talk.

Thirty minutes later, Steve looked out his window, thinking about what he had just heard.

“And you want to go to the police?”

“Yes. It was what I should have done in the first place. I…I don’t care what they do to me anymore.”

Steve said thoughtfully, “Since you’re giving yourself up voluntarily and it was an accident, I think the court will be lenient.”

She was trying to control herself. “I just want it over with.”

“What about your husband?”

She looked up. “What about him?”

“Blackmail is against the law. You have the number of the account in Switzerland where you sent the money he stole from you. All you have to do is press charges and—”

“No!” Her tone was fierce. “I don’t want anything more to do with him. Let him go on with his life. I want to get on with mine.”

Steve nodded. “Whatever you say. I’m going to take you down to police headquarters. You may have to spend the
night in jail, but I’ll have you bailed out very quickly.”

Kendall smiled wanly. “Now I can do something I’ve never done before.”

“What’s that?”

“Design a dress in stripes.”

That evening, when he got home, Steve told Julia what had happened.

Julia was horrified. “Her own husband was blackmailing her? That’s terrible.” She studied him for a long moment. “I think it’s wonderful that you spend your life helping people in trouble.”

Steve looked at her and thought,
I’m the one in trouble
.

Steve Sloane was awakened by the aroma of fresh coffee and the smell of cooking bacon. He sat up in bed, startled.
Had the housekeeper come in today?
He had told her not to. Steve put on his robe and slippers, and hurried down to the kitchen.

Julia was in there, preparing breakfast. She looked up as Steve entered.

“Good morning,” she said cheerfully. “How do you like your eggs?”

“Uh…scrambled.”

“Right. Scrambled eggs and bacon are my specialty. As a matter of fact, my one specialty. I told you, I’m a terrible cook.”

Steve smiled. “You don’t have to cook. If you wanted to, you could hire a few hundred chefs.”

“Am I really going to get that much money, Steve?”

“That’s right. Your share of the estate will be over a billion dollars.”

She found it difficult to swallow. “A billion…? I don’t believe it!”

“It’s true.”

“There’s not that much money in the world, Steve.”

“Well, your father had most of what there was.”

“I…I don’t know what to say.”

“Then may I say something?”

“Of course.”

“The eggs are burning.”

“Oh! Sorry.” She quickly took them off the stove. “I’ll make another batch.”

“Don’t bother. The burned bacon will be enough.”

She laughed. “I’m sorry.”

Steve walked over to the cabinet and took out a box of cereal. “How about a nice cold breakfast?”

“Perfect,” Julia said.

He poured some cereal into a bowl for each of them, took the milk out of the refrigerator, and they sat down at the kitchen table.

“Don’t you have someone to cook for you?” Julia asked.

“You mean, am I involved with anyone?”

She blushed. “Something like that.”

“No. I was in a relationship for two years, but it didn’t work out.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What about you?” Steve asked.

She thought of Henry Wesson. “I don’t think so.”

He looked at her, curious. “You aren’t sure?”

“It’s difficult to explain. One of us wants to get married,” she said tactfully, “and one of us doesn’t.”

“I see. When this is over, will you be going back to Kansas?”

“I honestly don’t know. It seems so strange, being here. My mother talked to me so often about Boston. She was born here, and loved it. In a way, it’s like coming home. I wish I could have known my father.”

No, you don’t
, Steve thought.

“Did you know him?”

“No. He dealt only with Simon Fitzgerald.”

They sat there talking for more than an hour, and there was an easy camaraderie between them. Steve filled Julia in on what had happened earlier—the arrival of the stranger who called herself Julia Stanford, the empty grave, and Dmitri Kaminsky’s disappearance.

“That’s incredible!” Julia said. “Who could be behind this?”

“I don’t know, but I’m trying to find out,” Steve assured her. “In the meantime, you’ll be safe here. Very safe.”

She smiled, and said, “I feel safe here. Thank you.”

He started to say something, then stopped. He looked at his watch. “I’d better get dressed and get down to the office. I have a lot to do.”

Steve was meeting with Fitzgerald.

“Any progress yet?” Fitzgerald asked.

Steve shook his head. “It’s all smoke. Whoever planned this is a genius. I’m trying to trace Dmitri Kaminsky. He flew from Corsica to Paris to Australia. I spoke to the Sydney police. They were stunned to learn that Kaminsky is in their country. There’s a circular out from Interpol, and they’re looking for him. I think Harry Stanford signed his own death warrant when he called here and said he wanted to change his will. Someone decided to stop him. The only witness to what happened on the yacht that night is Dmitri Kaminsky. When we find him, we’ll know a lot more.”

“I wonder if we should bring our police in on this?” Fitzgerald suggested.

Steve shook his head. “What we know is all circumstantial, Simon. The only crime we can prove is that someone dug up a body—and we don’t even know who did that.”

“What about the detective they hired, who verified the woman’s fingerprints?”

“Frank Timmons. I’ve left three messages for him. If I don’t hear back from him by six o’clock tonight, I’m going to fly to Chicago. I believe he’s deeply involved.”

“What do you suppose was meant to happen to the shares of the estate that the impostor was going to get?”

“My hunch is that whoever planned this had her sign her share over to them. The person probably used some dummy trusts to hide it. I’m convinced that we’re looking for a member of the family…I think we can eliminate Kendall as a
suspect.” He told Fitzgerald about the conversation he had had with her. “If she were behind this, she wouldn’t have come forth with a confession, not at this time, anyway. She would have waited until the estate was settled and she had the money. As far as her husband is concerned, I think we can eliminate Marc. He’s a small-time blackmailer. He isn’t capable of setting up anything like this.”

“What about the others?”

“Judge Stanford. I talked to a friend of mine with the Chicago Bar Association. My friend says everyone thinks very highly of Stanford. In fact, he’s just been appointed chief judge. Another thing in his favor: Judge Stanford was the one who said that the first Julia who appeared was a fraud, and he was the one who insisted on a DNA test. I doubt he’d do something like this. Woody interests me. I’m pretty sure he’s on drugs, and that’s an expensive habit. I checked on his wife, Peggy. She isn’t smart enough to be behind this scheme. But there’s a rumor she has a brother who’s bad business. I’m going to look into it.”

Steve spoke to his secretary on the intercom. “Please get me Lieutenant Michael Kennedy of the Boston police.”

A few minutes later, she buzzed Steve. “Lieutenant Kennedy is on line one.”

Steve picked up the phone.

“Lieutenant. Thank you for taking my call. I’m Steve Sloane with Renquist, Renquist, and Fitzgerald. We’re trying to locate a relative in the matter of the Harry Stanford estate.”

“Mr. Sloane, I’d be glad to help if I can.”

“Would you please check with the New York City police to see if they have any files on Mrs. Woodrow Stanford’s
brother. His name is Hoop Malkovich. He works in a bakery in the Bronx.”

“No problem. I’ll get back to you.”

“Thanks.”

After lunch, Simon Fitzgerald stopped by Steve’s office.

“How’s the investigation going?” he asked.

“Too slow to suit me. Whoever planned this covered his or her tracks pretty thoroughly.”

“How is Julia holding up?”

Steve smiled. “She’s wonderful.”

There was something in the tone of his voice that made Simon Fitzgerald take a closer look at him.

“She’s a very attractive young lady.”

“I know,” Steve said wistfully. “I know.”

An hour later, the call came in from Australia.

“Mr. Sloane?”

“Yes.”

“Chief Inspector McPhearson here from Sydney.”

“Yes, Chief Inspector.”

“We found your man.”

Steve felt his heart jump. “That’s wonderful! I’d like to arrange immediate extradition to bring him…”

“Oh, I don’t think there’s any hurry. Dmitri Kaminsky is dead.”

Steve felt his heart sink.
“What?”

“We found his body a little while ago. His fingers had been chopped off, and he had been shot several times.”

“The Russian gangs have a quaint custom. First they chop off your fingers, then they let you bleed, and then they shoot you.”

“I see. Thank you, Inspector.”

Dead end
. Steve sat there, staring at the wall. All his leads were disappearing. He realized how heavily he had been counting on Dmitri Kaminsky’s testimony.

Steve’s secretary interrupted his thoughts. “There’s a Mr. Timmons for you on line three.”

Steve looked at his watch. It was 5:55
P.M.
He picked up the telephone. “Mr. Timmons?”

“Yes…I’m sorry I couldn’t return your calls earlier. I’ve been out of town for the past two days. What can I do for you?”

A lot
, Steve thought.
You can tell me how you faked those fingerprints
. Steve chose his words carefully. “I’m calling about Julia Stanford. When you were in Boston recently, you checked out her fingerprints and…”

“Mr. Sloane…”

“Yes?”

“I’ve never been in Boston.”

Steve took a deep breath. “Mr. Timmons, according to the register at the Holiday Inn, you were here on…”

“Someone has been using my name.”

Steve listened, stunned. It was the final dead end, the last
lead. “I don’t suppose you have any idea who it is?”

“Well, it’s very strange, Mr. Sloane. A woman claimed that I was in Boston and that I could identify her as Julia Stanford. I’d never seen her before in my life.”

Steve felt a surge of hope. “Do you know who she is?”

“Yes. Her name is Posner. Margo Posner.”

Steve picked up a pen. “Where can I reach her?”

“She’s at the Reed Mental Health Facility in Chicago.”

“Thanks a lot. I really appreciate this.”

“Let’s keep in touch. I’d like to know what’s going on myself. I don’t like people going around impersonating me.”

“Right.” Steve replaced the receiver.
Margo Posner
.

When Steve got home that evening, Julia was waiting to greet him.

“I fixed dinner,” she told him. “Well, I didn’t exactly fix it. Do you like Chinese food?”

He smiled. “Love it!”

“Good. We have eight cartons of it.”

When Steve walked into the dining room, the table was set with flowers and candles.

“Is there any news?” Julia asked.

Steve said cautiously, “We may have gotten our first break. I have the name of a woman who seems to be involved in this. I’m flying to Chicago in the morning to talk with her. I have a feeling we may have all the answers tomorrow.”

“That would be wonderful!” Julia said excitedly. “I’ll be so glad when this is over.”

“So will I,” Steve told her.
Or will I? She’ll be a real part of the Stanford family
—
way out of my reach
.

Dinner lasted two hours, and they were not even aware of what they were eating. They talked about everything and they talked about nothing, and it was as though they had known each other forever. They discussed the past and the present, and they carefully avoided talking about the future.
There is no future for us
, Steve thought unhappily.