In the Club (13 page)

“There are people claiming that St. Cecilia’s Prep is a school with a lot of secrets and a lot of strange academic practices.” The microphone hung in the air like a giant, hairy fly. “Do you think the school will try to cover up certain secrets to avoid more scandal?”

“Absolutely not,” Madison replied sharply. “St. Cecilia’s Preparatory High School is an educational institution of the highest caliber. The work is demanding and challenging, and records show that nearly ninety percent of graduates go on to attend Ivy League colleges and universities.”

“One last question,” the reporter pressed. “How do you feel about the
other
charges being filed against Concetta Canoli?”

Madison glanced at Park and Lex. “What other charges?”

The reporter held the microphone a little higher. “It was leaked to the media about ten minutes ago that forensic analysis of the Canoli town house revealed traces of nitroglycerin and sodium carbonate—chemicals used to engineer explosives—in one of the rooms.”

“What?”
Lex cried.

Park nudged her shoulder, indicating the rolling camera.

It took every ounce of strength for Madison to maintain her composure. She licked her lips and cleared her throat even as her stomach knotted painfully. “I’m afraid we don’t know anything about those charges,” she said firmly. Then she grabbed Park and Lex by their hands and made the quick dash up the front staircase.

“Do you think Concetta Canoli is involved with a terrorist ring operating out of St. Cecilia’s Prep?” the reporter called out.

Madison ignored the question and banged on the front door of the town house.

“Holy shit,” Lex said quietly. “I can’t believe what I just heard. See? I’m right.”

“I can’t believe it either.” Park kept her head held high, aware that cameras were still rolling behind them.

“Well, I, for one, am
furious,
” Madison whispered. “We’re going to find out what the hell is going on here—and then we might have to kick Concetta’s ass.” She banged on the door again.

When a small, impish maid appeared on the threshold, Madison literally shoved her to the side and stepped into the foyer of the town house.

“Oh!” the woman yelled. “Wait! You can’t—”

Park closed the door behind them. “Where the hell is Concetta?” she demanded.

The short maid stared at them with wide-eyed horror. “You Hamilton girls can’t just come barging in here! I’ll call the police! Get out!”

“Cut the crap!” Madison screamed back. “Where is Concetta?”

“Concetta is not receiving guests, and Mr. and Mrs. Canoli are out speaking with their attorneys.” The maid pointed to the closed front door. “Now you have to get out of here! I’m not telling you anything—and I’m not letting you move one step further.”

“You have to!” Lex cried. “Please!”

“Out!” the maid shouted. “You little bitches have no right to be in here.”

Madison bared her teeth and emitted a low, wolflike growl.

“Oh, great,” Park whispered, taking a step back. She shot a glance at the maid. “Now you’ve really done it.”

“Madison, please stay calm.” Lex plunged a hand into the magic purse, already shuffling for a bottle of water and, with any luck, a tranquilizer dart.

There were very few instances when Madison ever lost her cool. She always kept the public in mind. She took her role as an ambassador of Hamilton Holdings, Inc., very seriously. She worked hard to project a professional, refined image. But when her nerves
did
snap, when she bared her teeth and assumed what Park and Lex called the “attack position,” trouble usually ensued.

“Move back,” Park said to Lex with a fluttery wave of her hand.

Madison extended her right arm and clamped her hand over the maid’s white T-shirt, lacing her fingers around the fabric at the woman’s neck. Then she gently but firmly shoved the little woman against the wall.

“Please!” the woman cried. “Don’t hurt me.”

“Listen to me and listen well,” Madison said through gritted teeth. “In exactly
five
seconds, you’re going to take us to Concetta.
Then
you’re going to leave us alone with Concetta.
Then
you’re going to come back down here and forget that
any
of this ever happened, and if you don’t do as I say, you’re going to be sitting on top of a hot dog cart in Central Park, because I’m going to twist you into a pretzel! Got it?”

The woman nodded, her eyes glazing over. “I’m sorry,” she said breathlessly. “I didn’t mean to get you mad.”

Madison growled again, then released her hold on the woman’s shirt.

Park stepped in between them. She smiled brightly at the woman. “I apologize for that,” she said with a chuckle. “My sister just found out she has the same hairdresser as Mariah Carey, so you can understand why she’s so upset. Please don’t take it personally.”

The woman took a deep breath and smoothed a hand over her white shirt.

Lex yanked Madison to her side. She immediately began dabbing lotion onto Madison’s cheeks. “It’s Bliss Fatigue Fighter,” Lex said, working quickly. “You’re all flushed and blotchy and stressed.”

“
That’s
what happens when people push me too far.” Madison threw her head back and fanned herself with her purse. Then she stared at the maid and said, “Take us to Concetta.
Now.
”

“Yes, okay.” The maid nodded nervously. “But be advised that Mr. and Mrs. Canoli don’t want anyone here because they’re afraid the
real
killer might be coming after Concetta. And we have private security here in the house, so if Concetta’s upset, you might all be thrown out on your butts.”

Park smiled. “We’ll take our chances. Thank you.”

The maid led them through the living and dining rooms, into the kitchen, and up the back staircase. When they were all standing in a bright hall, the maid pointed to the closed door at the very end. “Concetta’s in there. But she’s very upset. Please knock first. Please—”

“We’ll take it from here,” Madison snapped. She grunted a third time. Then she tightened her grip on her purse, stormed down the hall, and threw open the door.

12

A Killer Speaks

C
oncetta was lying on the king-sized bed, dressed in a gray Moreno wool sweat suit, surrounded by open boxes of chocolate. She popped up with a gasp. “Madison!” she cried. “Park! Lex! Oh—I’m so glad to see you!” She rolled off the bed, her big hips wobbling.

“Don’t play nice girl with us, Concetta,” Madison said forcefully.

Concetta, jarred by the words, stepped back against the bureau and shook her head. “What—what do you mean? I
am
a nice girl! Why would you say something like that to me? You don’t…” She cupped a hand over her mouth, smearing a line of chocolate across her chin. “You don’t
really
believe I’m guilty, do you?”

Park batted a hand against Madison’s shoulder, instructing her to stay quiet.

Madison gave a quick, understanding nod. She stepped back and stood beside Lex and folded her arms over her chest.

They knew that when it came to interrogating suspects, Park was the expert.

“You think I’m some sort of psycho!” Concetta yelled. “A cold-blooded killer! Well, I’m not!” Her voice broke. “I’m…not.”

Park walked over to her—a steady, fearless stride. She threw her arms around Concetta and held her. “You have to get ahold of yourself, honey,” Park whispered. She looked Concetta in the eyes. “It’s not that we necessarily think you’re psycho; it’s just that we have no other
choice
but to think that. We came here to talk to you and to help you. But you have to answer some questions.”

Concetta shook her head vehemently. She pushed past Park, stomped around to the opposite side of the bed, and stared out the window. “I’m tired of answering questions,” she said. “I’ve been put through hell and no one cares! Everyone keeps saying the same stupid things! I’m tired of hearing them!”

“The shoes, Concetta,” Lex said firmly. “Where the
hell
did you get those awful stilettos? That’s the one question you will
absolutely
answer!”

“Those were my good luck shoes,” Concetta said quickly. “I know it sounds strange, but I wore them only twice before, and both times I got a little attention from the boys in the room. The first time was at my uncle Vito’s wedding in Florence. The second was at my father’s fiftieth birthday party in Las Vegas. I know the shoes are kind of…loud…but I thought they would bring me luck last night. It sounds stupid, but it’s true.”

“You mean you thought maybe you’d have a little luck with Damien,” Park said.

Concetta didn’t answer.

Park motioned for Madison and Lex to stay quiet. Silence, Park knew from reading countless books on criminal investigations, was what often forced a suspect to speak.

After a minute of steady quiet, Concetta turned and faced them. “What’s true is that I was in love with Damien,” she said. “That much I can admit. I tried everything to get him to like me. I really did. But he just…didn’t. But I know in time I would’ve accepted that. I didn’t kill him. It wasn’t a crime of passion like they keep saying on TV.” She ran her sleeve over her cheeks, wiping away tears. “I guess I was stupid to even think a duke—someone with royal blood—would be interested in me romantically. I’m just…fat. I’m fat and blubbery and ugly!” She buried her face in her hands and started sobbing.

Lex ran to her, throwing her arms out. “Oh, honey. Please don’t talk like that. You’re not fat. You’re just…” She scanned the room as if looking for an answer. “You’re just…
roundly sexy.
”

“Voluptuous,” Park offered.

And Madison, feeling genuinely bad for Concetta in these pathetic moments, took a step toward her and said, “Robust and fashionably full-bodied.”

“No I’m not!” Concetta screeched. “I’m just a big pig! That’s why I’m always on the Worst Dressed List in
Star
magazine!”

Park put her hands on Concetta’s shoulders and eased her into the plush chair at the foot of the bed. Looking down at Concetta, Park said, “You have to tell us everything that happened last night at Cleopatra. We don’t
want
to think you’re guilty, Concetta. Maybe if you explain yourself to us, we can help.”

“The cops didn’t believe a word I told them!” she cried. “And neither will you! I haven’t slept all night. They had me in a stinky interrogation room and treated me like some sort of serial killer. They even came here and tore my house apart.”

“And they found some chemicals in here,” Madison said. “Chemicals that are used to make dynamite, Concetta. How did that stuff get here if you didn’t bring it in?”

“I don’t know!” Concetta wailed. “Someone must’ve planted it in here to frame me!”

It was the open highway Park needed. She stared down at Concetta and leaned in close to her. “You mean, you think one of the members of the Black Cry Affair framed you?”

Concetta gasped. Her face went from droopy and sad to tight and shocked. “How—how do you know about…that?”

“We know about the club,” Park said. She stood straight and began pacing the floor. “We know that Emmett McQueen and Jessica Paderman and Julian Simmons are members. And we know Damien was a member too.”

“But…
how?
” Concetta whispered. “It’s a secret. We work so hard to keep it hidden from everyone. How…?”

“It’s not important how we found out. What’s important is that we know about it.” Park crossed her arms over her chest. “You didn’t tell the cops anything about the club?”

Concetta shook her head. “No, I didn’t. I was going to, but then I remembered the oath. Every member of the Black Cry Affair takes an oath of silence and honor when they join. I respected that oath. I’ll always respect it. I
can’t
talk about it.”

“Even if it means the difference between living a normal life or spending your entire life behind bars?” Park asked her flatly.

“You
don’t
want to go to jail,” Lex said, giving Concetta’s shoulder a shake. “They’ll make you wear unflattering jumpsuits and generic sneakers.”

“And they’ll make you sleep on a twin-sized mattress.” Madison shuddered. “You think about
that.
”

Concetta apparently did think about it. As the words sank into her brain, she gulped nervously.

“Why don’t you tell us how it all began?” Park said. “When did the club form? How did you even get the idea to start it?”

“Please, don’t do this.” Concetta’s voice was faint. “I’m so tired. I can’t answer any more questions. I feel like crap.”

“That’s because you don’t look your best.” Without needing to be prodded, Lex reached into the magic purse and pulled out a hairbrush, compact, and nail file. “Here, let me help you relax. Just sit back.” She handed the nail file to Madison, then began running the brush through Concetta’s thick, tangled hair.

Madison kneeled down in front of the chair. She cupped Concetta’s right hand in hers and began to work the tips of Concetta’s nails with the file.

“Maybe…maybe I do need a little primping,” Concetta said.

Madison nodded. “Of course you do,” she replied soothingly. “No matter what happens, you’ll be in a lot of pictures and magazines these next few weeks.”

“Tell me,” Park began again, “how did the Black Cry Affair start?”

“First tell me how you found out about it!” Concetta screamed. “No one knew!”

Park remained silent, her eyes as sharp as daggers.

Concetta licked her lips nervously. “Okay. Fine. Back when Emmett’s dad was charged with extortion and all those icky things, Emmett really relied on me to help him get through it. And I did. He spent a lot of time here. We watched movies and listened to music and all that normal stuff, but then we started getting into deep, serious conversations. And one of the topics we always came back to was how cool it would be to just have the power to escape into another world or another body—ya know, to just
be
someone or something else.” A pause. “Emmett said he would give anything to just escape from the scandal, from all the stress. He wanted to become another person for a while. I understood that, because I’ve always wanted to be thin and pretty, or a real bitch who gets all the attention, ya know? So one night, it just all sort of…happened. We assumed different roles. We got into it. I mean,
really
into it.” She cracked a ghost of a smile. “And it was awesome. I’d never experienced anything like it. For a couple of hours, I really felt like I was Queen Elizabeth. I forgot my life. I forgot everything.”

Park nodded. “And then you and Emmett continued to role-play,” she said.

“Yeah. It was like an addiction. But a good kind of addiction, because it really helped Emmett get through those stressful weeks.” Concetta sniffled. “And it made me feel great too.”

“How did Damien and Julian and Jessica get into the club?” Park asked.

“Lex,” Madison said quietly, interrupting the flow as gently as possible. “May I please have some nail polish?”

“Not anything too red,” Concetta muttered. “I don’t like my nails red.”

“I have a lovely Picasso-brown Chanel,” Lex whispered, passing the bottle to Madison.

“Thank you.” Concetta nodded. She stared up at Park. “Anyway…well…one day Emmett and Damien were hanging out at school, playing chess, I think, and they started talking about stuff. One thing led to another and Emmett told Damien about the club. Damien wanted in. He came and told me himself.”

“Did he tell you
why
he wanted in?” Park asked.

“He just said he thought it sounded fun. And it
was.
Damien was a natural. He fell right into our role-playing sessions. He loved being anyone other than who he was.” Concetta closed her eyes, gulped, then opened them. “A few weeks after that, I was at a small antiques shop in the Village, buying things we needed for the club. Earrings, necklaces, swords, costumes—stuff I thought would make our sessions more authentic. We don’t play Dungeons and Dragons, but costumes are fun. Anyway, Julian Simmons happened to be there at the shop. He saw all the stuff I was buying—a lot of it was pretty strange—and he just started questioning me. I asked him if he’d ever participated in a role-playing game; he told me he hadn’t, but that he’d always wanted to. So he joined us too.”

“And Jessica Paderman?” Park asked. “How’d she get into the club?”

“I invited Jessica into the club myself,” Concetta replied. “She and I have always been friendly. She saw the stamp—our official seal—of the Roman coin on my palm one day and asked me about it. She loves being a member too. We
all
love it. And so did Damien.”

“Where do you guys meet? Where’s the Chamber?”

“Downstairs,” Concetta said quietly. “The basement. But you
still
haven’t told me how you know about the club. Why?”

Park stopped pacing. She ignored the question. She clasped her hands behind her back and fixed Concetta with a hard, don’t-bullshit-me stare. “And that’s
all
that goes on during these sessions? Simple and innocent role-playing?” she asked, an edge of suspicion in her tone. “That’s all the Black Cry Affair is about?”

“Role-playing. There’s nothing else.” Concetta bent her head to one side as Lex pulled her hair up and continued to brush it out. “Lex, I hate having all these messy curls. Is there any way you can tame it down?”

“Of course!” Lex answered brightly. She dug into the magic purse and found several hairpins and a rubber band.

“Thank you.” Concetta sniffled again.

“Fast-forward to last night,” Park said. “You and Damien are dancing in the cage. What happened?”

“We were dancing and having a good time,” Concetta began. “The lights were really bright—those strobes are too strong, by the way—and there were moments when I couldn’t even see Damien. But he laughed when we bumped into each other. I took off my shoes so that I’d be able to dance better. Then there was this point when I saw him—his face—and I didn’t like it. He looked sick. Pale. He started to stumble. He started to cough. Then he leaned over and grabbed on to the cage’s bars to steady himself.”

Madison had stopped painting Concetta’s nails. “Did Damien say anything?” she asked.

“No.” Concetta leaned her head back as Lex tugged at her hair. “He looked like he was having trouble breathing. And even if he
did
say something, how would I have heard it? The music was blaring. I got really scared and panicky. He fell down on the floor of the cage. So I turned around and slipped my foot into my shoe. The lights were spinning and flashing so much, I couldn’t see my
other
shoe. Instead of looking for it, I ran out of the cage and down the stairs and into the bathroom. I was gonna get Damien some water, I was gonna get help.” She pressed her lips together, clamping down on a sob.

“Go on,” Park said firmly. “And then what happened?”

“And then somebody locked me in the bathroom!” Concetta cried, her head straining against the force of Lex’s experienced hands. “The door totally wouldn’t open! I was the only one in there and I kept banging on it and screaming for help, but no one heard me! I was in there for about three minutes before I heard the Requiem and the commotion. I got so nervous I tore my dress. I started crying. I even tripped because I was wearing only one stiletto. It was
horrible.
” She took a deep breath. “Someone else ran into the cage and hit Damien in the head with my shoe!”

Park shot Madison a questioning glance.

Madison’s expression said:
I don’t know what to believe.

Lex, immersed in the nearly impossible task of working curls into a smooth French twist, looked at Park and shrugged slowly.

Park mentally scanned her brain, reviewing everything she’d read about how to question suspects in a homicide investigation. A big part of any successful interrogation was instinct—gut instinct. And Park’s gut was telling her that Concetta hadn’t spilled all her diamonds.

“Please,” Concetta whispered. “You have to believe me.”

Park leaned down and rested her hands on the arms of the chair. She brought her face to within an inch of Concetta’s and said, “I don’t believe you.”

“What?”
Concetta’s head bounced up.

Lex let go of her hair.