Читать книгу New Year's Eve Murder - Leslie Meier - Страница 8

Lucy was standing with the other winners in the black-marble lobby, waiting for Camilla and the other editors who would escort them to the Jolie offices which occupied the eighteenth through twenty-first floors, when her cell phone rang.

“How was the trip?” asked Bill.

Just the sound of his voice made her feel homesick and she stepped apart from the others so she could have a private conversation. “Okay,” she said, staring out the window at the busy street. It was still snowing, producing a slippery gray slush on the sidewalk and roadway. “New York is a lot different from Tinker’s Cove. How’s everything at home?”

“Everything’s fine. We’re all great. The girls went ice skating on the pond. They say the new skates are terrific.” He paused. “Did you talk to Elizabeth about taking some time off from school?”

“She might not have to. It turns out the magazine is giving ten thousand dollars to the best makeover team. It’s a contest.”

“No way!”

“Way,” said Lucy, watching a fashionably dressed woman striding along in impossibly high heels despite the slippery sidewalk. “and after seeing the others I think Elizabeth and I have a pretty good chance of winning.”

“How come?”

“I don’t think the others are as desperate for the money as we are. Take the pair from California, for example. The daughter wants a new car, but the mom is pretty laid back and relaxed. The only others who expressed any serious interest in the money are from North Carolina, and they say they’ll give it to their church if they win.”

“The others aren’t interested?” Bill sounded doubtful.

“I honestly don’t think the girls from Texas are. They already seem to have more money than they know what to do with. That leaves the New Yorkers, Maria and Carmela. I don’t know much about them yet so I’m keeping an eye on them, and the midwesterners.” Lucy paused, thinking about Ginny and Amanda. “They’re very polite, and polite doesn’t win contests.”

Bill chuckled. “I didn’t know you were such a cutthroat competitor yourself.”

“I’m desperate. I’ll do anything to win.”

“If you’re really serious about this, I’ve got some advice for you. You know that TV show, Survivor? The winners often form alliances with other players to gain an advantage. They help each other wipe out the competition.”

“But there’s only one prize. Why would you help somebody else win?”

“Because they’ll help you in return. Two are better than one.”

“And three’s a crowd,” said Lucy. “That’s what my mother used to say.” She lowered her voice. “I’m worried about Elizabeth,” she whispered. “She hardly ate a bite of breakfast.”

“Maybe she wasn’t hungry.”

“She thinks she’s fat.”

“That’s crazy. She’s skin and bones.”

“I know, but they had this fashion show today and the models were even skinnier than she is so she’s decided she needs to lose weight.”

“It’s probably just a phase,” he said, sounding distracted. In the distance she heard muffled shouts. “Sorry, honey, I’ve got to go. The girls say the dog knocked over a lamp.”

Lucy closed the phone and replaced it in her purse, thinking over Bill’s advice. The editors had finally arrived and were shepherding the group through the security checkpoint, where a guard was peering into each woman’s purse with a flashlight. Who would make the best accomplice, she wondered, hurrying to join them.

Boarding the elevator, she gave Elizabeth a nudge. “Look, I found this protein bar in my bag. Why don’t you have a bite or two, just to keep up your strength.”

Elizabeth glared at her. “You’re embarrassing me, Mom,” she hissed. “It’s bad enough you’re wearing those duck boots, but now you’re fussing at me.”

“These boots are practical,” muttered Lucy, heading for the revolving door.

“Will you shut up if I take the bar?” asked Elizabeth, when they’d exited onto the eighteenth floor into the magazine’s reception area.

“You have to eat half of it,” insisted Lucy, trying to hide her disappointment. She’d expected the Jolie office to look like something out of the movie Funny Face but instead of glamorous chic pink décor there was only utilitarian, understated beige. The receptionist, a mousy little thing who seemed to physically quail under Camilla’s gaze, gave them a lukewarm smile as they all filed past.

Camilla stopped suddenly and held up a hand, causing a bit of awkward bumping as the women in back came to a halt.

“Okay.” Elizabeth carefully unwrapped the bar and took a bite, chewed slowly and finally swallowed.

Lucy let out the breath she had been holding and turned her attention to Camilla, who was standing in front of a wall decorated with framed cover photos.

“Ladies, ladies!”

The group fell silent.

“Welcome to the world of Jolie magazine,” she said, waving her arm expansively. “This is where your transformation will take place.” She paused dramatically. “Are you ready?”

“You betcha,” declared Serena. “Make me into Kate Moss.”

“That may not be possi…” began Camilla, giving Serena a quick up and down. Then, realizing it was a joke, she trilled, “We’ll do our best.”

The women all laughed.

“But first on our agenda,” she continued, holding up a finger, “is the infamous before picture. And for that, I’m putting you in the capable hands of our art director, Nancy Glass.” She indicated a tiny woman in oversized tortoise-shell glasses, who was wearing a tight gray pencil skirt, a black blazer, and a shiny pink silk blouse along with high-heeled sandals.

“Follow me, ladies. The photo studio is this way,” she said, pointing towards a long, beige carpeted hallway lined with doors.

Once again, they were off and running and Lucy was beginning to understand how city people managed to stay so thin. At home, she drove to the Pennysaver office, parked outside the back door, walked twenty feet to her desk, sat down and, often as not, reached for one of the donuts Phyllis had taken to bringing to work every morning.

“Here we are,” announced Nancy, dramatically opening the studio door.

Lucy wasn’t quite sure what she expected, but it wasn’t this large, windowless room with a raised platform at one end. Several contraptions resembling the screens people used to have for showing slides and home movies dangled from the ceiling behind the platform, along with a silvery umbrella. A cluster of tripods was stacked in one corner, a table held a coffee carafe and a stack of cups but no donuts, and a few mismatched chairs were scattered about. There was no sign of the photographer.

“I see Pablo’s not here yet,” said Nancy, drumming her nails, polished in a shade of pink that matched her blouse, against her pointy hip bone. “I’ll have to go find him.”

Figuring they might have a bit of a wait, Lucy and Elizabeth joined Ginny and Amanda. Across the room, Maria and Carmela were having an animated conversation with the Blausteins and the Montgomerys, fueled perhaps by the Styrofoam cups of coffee they were sipping. Lurleen and Faith Edwards formed a little island, standing by themselves. It was Ginny who broke the ice. “So what do you think of the competition?” she asked.

Lucy turned to her with interest. “What about you? Are you trying to win the prize?”

“You bet,” volunteered Amanda. “Mom and Dad went into business for themselves last year.”

“We do upholstery and slipcovers,” added Ginny.

“It’s been very successful.”

“Beyond our wildest dreams,” said Ginny. “Unfortunately, we knew a lot more about slipcovers than the tax code. Our accountant tells us we have to pay the IRS a quarterly payment on January 15 that’s almost ten thousand more than we budgeted for.”

“We’re in a similar bind,” confessed Lucy, explaining the financial aid dilemma. “I guess I was kidding myself. I didn’t think anybody else was very interested, except for Faith and Lurleen.”

“They’re definitely motivated,” agreed Ginny. “Driven by religious fervor.”

“But the gals from Texas certainly don’t need the money.”

“No, but Cathy had a successful career before she married; she even won a few beauty pageants. She might not be able to resist the challenge.”

“I never thought of that,” said Lucy, gaining new respect for Ginny. “What about Carmela and Maria?”

“Maria was an abused wife who went to law school after getting her husband sent to jail. She’s now one of New York’s top divorce attorneys. They call her Merciless Maria.”

Lucy didn’t say anything but swallowed hard. This was going to be much more challenging than she thought. She was almost ready to give up and go home.

“Serena and Ocean?” asked Elizabeth, her voice practically a squeak.

“Don’t be fooled by Serena’s California cool. She lets that girl get away with anything—just look at how she goes around with her stomach hanging out in the middle of winter! Trust me, that woman will do anything for that girl, and we already know that Ocean wants a new car.” Ginny narrowed her eyes. “The only way we stand a chance is if we team up and help each other.”

“That would be great!” exclaimed Lucy, wondering what she could contribute to their partnership. “Tell you what, I’ll try to find out the rules for this contest. So far, they’ve been pretty vague.”

“Deal,” said Ginny, extending her hand.

Lucy took it and gave a firm shake, just as Nancy returned with Pablo in tow.

“We’re good to go,” trilled Nancy. “This is our photo editor and I’m sure he’s going to get some great photos of you ladies.”

Pablo, a muscular man dressed in a black silk T-shirt and pleated-front slacks, gave them a nod. He looked as if he hadn’t shaved his chin in a day or two but Lucy decided the look must be intentional since he’d certainly shaved his head that morning: it was perfectly smooth and shiny. He stood silently, arms crossed, and studied them. Then, coming to a decision he snapped his fingers and an assistant magically appeared with a camera. Pablo took it and began snapping photos of the women, just as they were, scattered around the room in groups.

“What are you doing? This isn’t what we talked about,” protested Nancy.

“That was no good. This is better. Natural, unstudied. Like Degas backstage at the ballet, no?”

“I see,” said Nancy, with a shrug. “That’s why he’s a genius. Stay as you are, ladies; it seems Pablo’s having one of his creative moments.”

The camera flashed in Lucy’s face, then Pablo was gone, making his way around the room followed by Nancy and the assistant. Nancy kept up a steady stream of chatter while Pablo snapped photos, pausing only to toss his camera to the helper when the film ran out and to snatch a loaded one.

Eventually his energy, or inspiration, seemed to flag and he collapsed into a chair. The assistant vanished with the cameras while another rushed up with a towel and a bottle of water. Pablo wiped his face with a towel, as if he’d just completed the Boston Marathon, and chugged a pint or two of water.

While he rested Nancy gathered the group together on the platform and began arranging them according to height. Lucy cleared her throat and raised her hand.

“Yes?” asked Nancy. “Is there a problem?”

It was then that Camilla arrived, and stood by the door, watching, her arms folded across her chest. She had changed out of the white Chanel suit and into more practical working clothes, a black jersey dress, black tights and knee-high black boots with stiletto heels and extremely pointed toes. She was a perfect, self-contained package.

“No, not a problem,” said Lucy. “But I do have a question. I think we’re all interested in the contest for the ten thousand dollars.”

This was greeted with a murmur of approval from the others.

“It would be helpful to know on what basis the winning mother and daughter will be chosen.”

Camilla’s eyes widened, giving her a doll-like appearance. “That decision will be made by the editors,” she said.

“Of course,” persisted Lucy. “But how will the editors decide? What are the rules?”

Camilla became rigid as a poker, except for one foot, which tapped a rapid beat on the tile floor. “That’s for us to know and you to find out,” she said, as a tight little smile flitted across her lips and disappeared. “Otherwise it wouldn’t be much of a contest, would it?”

“I’d like to get her into my stress-reduction class,” whispered Serena. “People really relax after a session or two of genital breathing. Give me a week and I’ll have her loose as a goose.”

“Genital breathing?” Lucy was intrigued.

“Not in front of the girls,” whispered Lurleen, prompting embarrassed giggles from Faith.

“It’s just a relaxation technique; there’s nothing sexual about it,” said Ocean, defending her mother.

“Well, I never,” began Lurleen, only to fall silent as Camilla approached the group for a closer look. The winners shifted uncomfortably under her gaze.

“This is no good,” she finally said.

Pablo was on his feet, eyes glaring. “No good? What you mean?”

Nancy was quick to intervene. “If you don’t like the group photo we can use individual shots. Pablo took some really nice, creative informals.”

“No, that’s not the problem,” said Camilla, tapping her fingers on her hip. “The problem is…”

Nancy leaned forward, as if to catch the words as they fell from her lips. Pablo stood, arms crossed, waiting warily.

“They look too good!”

Pablo threw up his arms and stalked out of the studio.

Nancy was puzzled. “They look too good?”

“This is supposed to be a before photo, but they don’t look before enough.”

“Oh,” said Nancy. “I understand. Maybe they could take off their make-up. We could change their hair a little bit, give them some ugly clothes….”

Camilla wasn’t listening. She rushed forward and pointed a scarlet-tipped finger at Lucy’s feet. “What are those?”

Elizabeth looked upward, rolling her eyes in mortification.

“I think they’re called duck boots,” said Lucy, lifting her slacks to reveal the brown rubber bottoms and tan leather uppers of her footwear. “Everyone wears them at home.”

Camilla was examining the rest of Lucy’s ensemble with an eagle eye. “What’s that?” she asked, pointing at the watch.

“Oh,” said Lucy, with a little giggle, “that’s my lobster watch. It was a joke present from my husband.”

Camilla pulled Lucy out of the group and she blushed, uncomfortably aware that she was about to be an example. She was pretty sure this was not the way to win the ten thousand dollars.

“Get Deb up here,” she told Nancy, who scurried over to the phone on the wall.

Ginny’s eyes met Lucy’s, and she smiled sympathetically. Serena gazed into the distance, apparently meditating. The others looked down at their feet while Lucy stood awkwardly, waiting for Deb’s arrival, whoever she was. Fortunately, they didn’t have to wait long.

“Deb Shertzer is our accessories editor,” said Nancy, as a woman with short hair burst into the studio. She was dressed in a rosy twin set to which she had added a colorful scarf and small gold hoop earrings, and she was quite breathless. She’d wasted no time in obeying Camilla’s order to appear.

“This is interesting,” said Camilla, pointing Lucy out. “You can tell this woman isn’t from New York just by looking at her boots.”

“I brought heels,” said Lucy, bristling, “but the streets are slushy and I didn’t want to ruin them so I wore my boots. I can get the shoes, if you want.”

“No! Don’t change,” said Camilla, turning to Deb. “Look at her watch.”

Lucy obediently held out her arm, and Deb’s eyes widened as she took in the red plastic watch.

“The hands are little lobster claws,” said Camilla.

“So I see,” said Deb.

“I want this for everyone.”

“Duck boots? Lobster watches?”

“No.” Camilla tapped her foot impatiently. “Regional accessories. Stuff that tells a story. Like the pair from Iowa….”

“Omaha,” said Ginny, with a little edge in her voice. “Omaha, Nebraska.”

“Whatever.” Camilla waved her hand. “She and her kid can wear overalls and hold a pitchfork, like that painting.”

“Grant Wood,” said Nancy, nodding enthusiastically.

“Whatever. And the ones from California?”

Serena hesitated a moment before raising her hand. “That’s me,” she finally said, sounding as if Camilla was taxing even her patience.

“What about a surfboard and swimsuits?” suggested Deb, eager to show her boss that she’d got the idea.

“Cool,” said Ocean. “I can show off my tan.”

“Hold on a minute,” said Cathy, pulling herself up to her almost six-foot height. “I protest. This is tacky. I’m not going to wear a cowboy hat just because I’m from Texas.”

“Don’t worry, honey,” crooned Camilla, “we wouldn’t dream of changing a thing.” Her voice hardened and her eyes flashed. “With that hair and jewelry you look exactly like the Texas trophy wife you are.”

There was a shocked silence, and everyone watched as Camilla turned on her heel and marched out of the studio. When she was gone everyone seemed to let out a big sigh of relief.

“Well now, ladies,” said Nancy, stepping forward briskly, “we have work to do.”

“You’re not kidding,” said Deb. “Where am I going to get a surfboard in New York City in December?”

Nancy turned and looked around the studio. “Where’s Pablo? Has anyone seen Pablo?”

She rushed out to look for him, and the women, who had been standing shoulder to shoulder on the platform, began to pull apart; Lucy felt suddenly chilly. Her eyes met Ginny’s in a mute apology. Ginny shrugged in return, as if to say it didn’t matter, but Lucy knew she had handled things badly and hadn’t kept her half of the bargain. She had a feeling the alliance had broken down.