If Looks Could Kill (27 page)

“Right. And so we have to focus. We know the person was at the party. And it’s not someone who feels a little hatred for you.
It’s a big hatred. Or a big need to see you out of the picture. Who could that person be?”

She rubbed the tips of her fingers on her forehead and rested her head into her hand. “Other than Dolores—and you’ve ruled
her out—I can’t think of anyone at
Gloss
who could feel that level of rage toward me.”

“This isn’t easy,” I said, summoning my nerve, “but I’ve got to ask it. What about you and Jeff? Things seem off between the
two of you.”

Her head nearly snapped back. “
Jeff ?
You can’t be serious. You think
Jeff
tried to poison me?”

“Cat, lower your voice, okay? We have no idea what tabloid types are stalking you these days. Look, I know it’s not pleasant,
but you have to consider it. Someone at that party tried to kill you. Chances are it’s not someone on the periphery of your
life, but someone closer, someone close enough to be really upset about something to do with you. Does Jeff have any reason
to be upset with you? Things seem a little funny with the two of you these days.”

She took a long sip of water before speaking.

“We’ve had some ups and downs lately. But nothing that would make him want to kill me, for God’s sake.”

“What kinds of ups and downs?”

“I hate to even get into this.”

“If I’m going to—”

“Okay, okay. Around the first of the year he started pressuring me to let him shoot fashion stories for
Gloss
. I said no. And he wasn’t very happy about my answer.”

“What made it such a bad idea—his working for
Gloss
?” I asked.

“Well, for starters, it would be incredibly awkward for the art department, being forced to give assignments to my spouse
and trying not to step on anyone’s toes. Second, he’s not ready for
Gloss
yet. We’re using people with far more fashion experience. But his request really had nothing to do with him wanting to make
a contribution to
Gloss
. He wanted me to bail him out of a problem. He was going through a slump. That’s okay, that sort of thing happens, but I
think my helping him would only make matters
worse
. I’m not obsessed about the age gap between us, but it
is
something I think about, and I don’t ever want to play the role of mommy with him.”

“And he was pissed when you said no?”

“Yes. But then it blew over. He got a new agent, and just lately he started to get more work again. Things got back to normal.”
She glanced away for a second, making a quick scan of the diner. Could have been restlessness, but it read more as an attempt
to avoid eye contact at that moment.

“Besides,” she said, looking back at me, “if Jeff wanted me dead, he wouldn’t mess around with a few little truffles. He’d
snap my neck in two or hold my head underwater with one hand.”

Yes, I thought, if he didn’t care who knew. But what if he wanted to get away with it?

She began to make movements to go, scrunching her napkin into her coffee cup, checking her reflection in a hand mirror.

“I’ve got one more question,” I said. “What’s going on with Kip?”

She flushed, just as she’d done when I brought up his name several days ago.

“What do you mean?”

“Cat, if you want me to help,” I said, leaning forward, almost whispering, “you’ve got to clue me in. You can’t tell me some
things and leave me in the dark about others. I’ll never be able to find anything out if you send me down the wrong track.”

She let out a long sigh before speaking, one that seemed half exasperation, half regret. “We rolled around on a sofa together
one afternoon a few months ago. It never amounted to anything because it became clear in less than three minutes that we generated
about as much heat together as two olives attempting to mate. Fortunately he went as floppy as a wet dishrag and I regained
my senses. And don’t tell me I was an idiot because I already know it.”

“I’m not passing any judgment,” I said, though I couldn’t resist mentally doing so. Even though I’d considered that she might
have had a dalliance with Kip, now that I had confirmation, I was shocked. “I’m just surprised. I never sensed any chemistry
between the two of you.”

“Well, there wasn’t and isn’t. It was just one of those things—I was alone and feeling needy, and I’d had about three glasses
of Chardonnay, and he shows up, telling me I’m a goddess.”

“Was this at your house?” I asked.

“Not in New York. Litchfield. Jeff and I were supposed to stay in town for the weekend because we were going to some gig he
needed to be at on Saturday night. We had a huge fight Saturday morning—partly related to this whole idea of him shooting
for
Gloss
—so I took off for Litchfield. I don’t like being in the house alone, but Heidi and that girlfriend of hers, Janice, were
going to be driving up a little later. I’d told Heidi the week before she could have the house for the weekend. In the end,
they didn’t come—Heidi had a cold or something, and I was up there by myself. At around four Kip shows. I was flabbergasted.
He said he’d found out I was there alone and had wanted to see me, and the next thing you know I’ve got my shirt bunched up
around my neck.”

“So you rolled around on the sofa. What happened next?”

“He got in his car and drove away. And about fifteen minutes later I drove back to the city.”

“What I meant was, what happened with you and Kip?”

“Absolutely nothing,” she said. “Well, that’s not exactly true. For three days I’d start to dry heave every time I thought
about it. But then I managed to just forget about it. Maybe this will surprise you—or maybe it won’t—but I’ve never cheated
on Jeff. Okay, I kissed an old boyfriend in L.A., but that’s been it. I hated myself for that little episode in Litchfield.
I even had the sofa re-covered so I’d never have to be reminded of that day.”

“Do you think Kip managed to put it behind him, too? He isn’t secretly pining for you, is he—or furious you dumped him?”

“He acts as if it never happened. I have to admit that I was kind of surprised he could be so hot and bothered one minute
and so cool the next, but who knows, maybe he’s embarrassed over the flubby chubby. I wish I didn’t have to work with him,
but he does a good job and I certainly couldn’t fire him
now
. If he’s got anything on his mind, it’s the fear that his shrew of a wife would catch him with his pants around his ankles.”

“Speaking of spouses, is there any chance Jeff got wind of this?”

“No. Like I said, I drove back to New York, showed up at his gig, and we kissed and made up.”

“When did all of this happen, by the way?”

“Back in March. Trust me, it’s old news—and I’m sure it has nothing to do with what’s happening to me now.”

We wriggled out from the table and walked outside, where the town car was idling at the curb.

“Do you need a lift home?” Cat asked. “I’m heading downtown.”

“No thanks. I’m going up to
Gloss
.” I was tempted to tell her about my
Cape Fear
night in Bucks County, but this didn’t seem like the time. “Are you going in today?” I added.

“Later,” she said vaguely, sliding into the backseat.

I watched as the car pulled away soundlessly. It was a black Lincoln, shiny and sleek, except for a small ding in the back
door.

Had she told me the truth? I wondered. About her and Kip, I thought yes, more or less. Maybe things hadn’t stopped at the
point she’d said they had—indecent groping—and maybe there’d been a
few
encounters, not just one, but I felt pretty sure that the relationship had been no more than a fling, was now kaput, and
she felt nothing more than regret. To some degree, I was letting my personal bias affect my opinion. I couldn’t imagine anyone
wanting an affair with Kip. With a head that small and that smug face of his, it would be like going to bed with a Boston
terrier.

What I didn’t know was how
Kip
felt. Maybe he hadn’t taken the finale as well as Cat thought. I needed to spend some time with him, calibrate his state
of mind.

And then there were Cat’s revelations about Jeff. There was definitely something she wasn’t telling me. She had a right to
be private about her marriage, but unless I knew the extent of any troubles they were having (and how pissed off Jeff was
about them), it would be hard to determine how much of a suspect he truly was. I was going to have to figure out a way to
get her to loosen up. I was also going to have to get her to talk about what kind of prenup arrangement they might or might
not have. If Jeff had flipped for someone else and knew he would walk away from the marriage financially intact, there’d be
no incentive to take Cat out of the picture. But if he would be forced to walk away almost empty-handed . . . well, that would
be
very
significant.

It was time to hightail it to
Gloss
. Though I dreaded going into my office, I wanted to make contact with Kip. It was starting to sprinkle and I spent the next
fifteen minutes with a newspaper over my head, looking for a cab.

By the time I arrived it was after noon and the entire art department was sitting around the pit conference table, eating
Thai food from cartons. First stop: my office. I stepped into the room tentatively and flipped on the light. No candy, no
leavebehinds of any kind, nothing out of place. I set my bags on the side chair and switched on my computer. After ordering
a sandwich and cappuccino on the phone, I moseyed down to Kip’s office. The lights were off and it was empty, though his assistant,
a snippy brunette, was at her desk in the outer office, drinking a Diet Dr Pepper.

“Kip around?” I asked.

“No—and I’m not sure when he’s coming. His cat got wedged behind the refrigerator and he’s been trying to get it out.” Her
voice was dripping with sarcasm, as if she were reporting he’d called to say he was having lunch with Elvis.

On my way back to my office I popped into the ladies’ room, and I spun around when I felt someone right on my heels. It was
Leslie.

“Got a second?” she asked as I started to push open the door to a stall.

“Sure,” I answered. “Do you mind if I pee first?”

“Just drop by my office, okay?”

I assumed she was looking for an update on when I’d be handing in the Marky piece, but when I stepped into her office five
minutes later, I discovered she had something else on her mind.

“What’s up with Cat?” she asked irritatedly, shoving the door closed. “Have you seen her?”

I took a quick second to ponder whether Cat would want me to spill the beans about our coffee klatch and decided I’d better
not.

“Nope—I did talk to her on the phone yesterday. She was up in Litchfield this weekend.”

“I
know
that. But she hasn’t showed yet this morning—or called. She’s got a huge stack of copy in her office.”

“What does Audrey have to say?”

“That she’s off on some, quote, appointment. Here,” she said, clearing off a stack of magazines from the chair in front of
her desk, “sit down.” She walked around the desk and took a seat on the other side, in the power spot.

Whereas the majority of
Gloss
staffers had made little effort to dress up their work spaces, Leslie had gone to town on hers, decorating it with a small
gray love seat, houseplants, several framed museum posters, and about fifteen shots of her and her husband, Clyde, in various
vacation spots around the world—as though they’d somehow been chosen Cutest Couple in the Universe. These little touches,
however, couldn’t help make the room inviting. As everyone knew, if you were called into Leslie’s office, there was a good
chance you were due for a verbal spanking.

“Leslie, I’d love to chat,” I said, perching on the edge of the chair, “but I’m a little pressed for time. I’m trying to wrap
up the Marky piece.”

“Well, I have some concerns that are bigger than that, concerns involving the entire staff. You can appreciate that, can’t
you, Bailey, even as a free agent?” Her nostrils flared and she sounded tightly wound. It brought to mind a recent
Gloss
cover line: “Bloated Belly? Bitchy Mood? PMS Solutions That Work Instantly.”

“Sure, go ahead.”

“I talked to Cat as well this weekend, and she told me you said that this—this thing—doesn’t involve Tucker Bobb at all. That
it’s all a coincidence. That you went out to the Poconos or wherever he lives and talked to people.”

“Yeah, Cat asked me to,” I told her. Obviously Cat had been giving Leslie updates so there seemed no point in being coy. “From
everything I can tell, they’re just not related. I don’t think someone is systematically trying to knock off magazine editors.
I think they wanted to hurt Cat and Cat alone.”

She looked at me, not saying a word.

“What exactly are your staff concerns?” I asked, attempting to hurry things along.

“People are starting to panic about everything that’s happened. The police were here on Friday, and that terrified everyone.
I don’t blame Cat at all for not wanting to be here, but her absence makes this feel like a sinking ship.”

“I’m sure she’ll start coming in again. She’s just trying to adjust to it all.”

“You’re going to continue to help her, aren’t you?”

If Cat wanted to share my pursuits with Leslie, that was one thing, but I felt no obligation to give her any sense at all
about what my plans were.

“If she wants me to, of course,” I said. “But for now I’m going to focus on finishing my poltergeist story.”

Again, that fruit bat stare of hers.

“Look,” I told her, easing myself out of the chair for my escape, “I’ll be working in my office for a while longer. If by
any chance I hear from Cat, I’ll let you know.”

“All right,” she said stingily, and I left her office curious about what her agenda had been. Was she genuinely worried about
Cat and the magazine? Or was she more concerned that I was in on the action and she wasn’t?