Lethally Blond (12 page)

As Locket accepted the champagne glass, Alex grasped her elbow more tightly and began to maneuver her away from this particular thicket of people. I spun around, not wanting them to see me.

Only inches away, and nearly face-to-face with me, stood Beau Regan.

CHAPTER 10

A
s if I were seeing Beau for the first time all over again, the words that flashed instantly through my mind were the same ones that had formed that day last summer when I’d met his intense brown-eyed gaze across a hushed reception area:
I’m going to marry that guy.
They were now quickly chased away and replaced, however, with the words
Fuck-face scumbag
. Beau had arrived back in town and never called me. I clearly meant nada to him.

“Bailey,” he said, obviously as taken aback as I was. “I— What brings you here?”

“Just trying to pick up a few beauty tricks from Locket Ford,” I said. “I hear she has a recipe for an oatmeal-and-apricot scrub that takes about five years off your face.” Ha, ha, Bailey, you are so freakin’ funny! I felt like screaming. But I couldn’t totally fault myself. I was so nervous right then that my tongue felt as heavy as a U-Haul trailer parked in my mouth, and I was lucky I could say anything at all.

“You aren’t covering this for the magazine, are you?”

“No, I’m still on the fun and fabulous crime beat for
Buzz
.” That didn’t really answer his question, but who the hell cared.

Well, I cared, clearly. My heart was beating wildly just from the sight of him. He was wearing black pants and a cobalt blue long-sleeved shirt open at the collar, which looked awesome with his smooth, tanned face. His dark hair seemed a little lighter, perhaps bleached out from weeks in the Turkish sun, and it was longer, brushed behind his ears.

I figured it was my turn to ask how he had ended up at the Locket Ford book bash, but I couldn’t summon the energy for any phony cocktail banter. If he wanted to make a stab at it, let him. And he did.

“Her book agent’s a pal of mine. I just got back yesterday, and he said he thought this would be good reemersion therapy. I’m not so sure, though.”

“Yeah, well, any party where the paparazzi almost outnumber the guests probably isn’t going to be good therapy.” Oh great, now I was playing Dr. Phil. But I felt incapable of saying anything witty, paralyzed by conflicting emotions. There was the longing to dazzle him blind, making him realize that he really wanted me desperately after all, but also a fierce desire to be my own angel of mercy and extricate myself from the bloody situation.

“Well, it’s great to see you, Bailey,” he said, his voice low and soft. “I was planning to call you this week. I’d really like to—”

He stopped suddenly, his attention caught by something just over my right shoulder. Before I had a chance to turn to see what it was, I felt a strong, muscular arm enclose me. Biceps like that could belong to only one man. There
is
a God, I thought as the arm pulled me close to the body it was attached to so brilliantly.

“So here you are,” Chris said. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“I just got here a minute ago.”

I glanced back at Beau. I may have been mistaken, but I thought I saw a hint of discombobulation in his eyes, a chink in the unflappable manner that he was such a master at presenting to the world.

“Oh, sorry. This is Beau Regan. Chris Wickersham. Chris is working with Locket.”

“Are you with the publishing house?” Beau asked. That was funny. I could just imagine Chris calling Locket and announcing, “I’ve got page proofs for you, Miss Ford. Would you like me to drop by and review them with you?”

“No, we’re on
Morgue
together. Do you know her?”

“I don’t, actually. I’m just a hanger-on tonight.” Beau sounded breezy enough as he spoke, but I could see his eyes scrutinizing Chris, taking in everything about him. “What’s
Morgue,
anyway, a new soap?”

“Actually, a new nighttime drama. Listen, would you mind if I steal Bailey away? I’ve got something important I need to discuss with her.” He lifted his arm from my shoulder and combed his fingers in one languorous stroke through the back of my hair. It was the kind of cock-blocking gesture that announced he’d been to bed with me or at least damn well
intended
to be there tonight. One of Beau’s eyebrows lifted just a little, involuntarily, I guessed.

“Of course,” was all he said. “Nice to see you, Bailey.” He turned and melted into the crowd. Chris took my hand and led me to the side room, which wasn’t nearly as mobbed as the rest of place. We claimed a corner to talk in.

“Sorry to do that to you,” Chris said. “That wasn’t the most important conversation of your life or anything, was it?”

“Hardly,” I said with the kind of disdain I’d normally reserve for people guilty of cell yell.

“I’ve just been really worried about you. When you first told me about getting drugged, I naturally assumed some guy did it. But later this afternoon, I started to wonder if it might have something to do with Tom’s murder.”

“I’m wondering the same thing,” I admitted. I filled him in on the details of last night—both what I’d recalled and what Rusty had shared—as well as what I’d learned about GHB. He winced as I described my terrifying experience on the street in Chelsea.

“Jesus, Bailey, this is getting really scary,” he exclaimed. “I think it’s time for you to back off—I don’t want to put you in any more danger.”

“It’s too late now. If it’s the murderer who drugged me and has been calling me, he—or she—knows I’m snooping around. I’m better off trying to figure out who it is before the person tries anything else.”

“And from the phone call you couldn’t tell whether it was a man or a woman?”

“No, that’s the odd thing. Both the laughing and the crying sounded as if they came from some bizarre androgynous creature. Chris, you may be able to help,” I added. “It’s more than likely that my beer was messed with while you were still in the bar. I drank more than half of it, and I was just fine. Then I went over to talk to Amy, and after that I dropped into the ladies’ room to find Harper. Do you remember seeing anyone over by my stool around that time? Because that’s when someone must have slipped the drug in.”

He scrunched his mouth and thought for a moment, then shook his head back and forth methodically. “I didn’t see anything—it was just so crowded in there.”

“Amy is my only other hope, then. Is she here tonight, do you know?”

“Yeah, she’s here. The last I saw her, she was toward the back of the other room—with Harper.”

“Why don’t we meet up later. I want to talk to Amy and Harper—and maybe Locket as well. Oh, I nearly forgot the big news.” I told him about Alex ordering the Veuve Clicquot for Locket.

“That doesn’t necessarily mean she was there—at Tom’s place,” he said, frowning. “Other people drink that champagne.”

“I know—it’s just an odd coincidence, and I never like coincidences.”

“Well, it might be connected—but not in the way you think. Since Tom had his little fling with Locket, he could have started drinking it himself—because he thought it would impress her.”

“Possibly,” I said. “But it’s worth keeping in mind. One more question. Were you aware that Deke had borrowed several thousand dollars from Tom and never paid him back?”

“You’re kidding—are you sure about that?”

“Yes, two people told me.”

“What an asshole. I— You know, now that I think of it, I got the sense that things had cooled between the two of them, but I figured it was because Harper kept advising Tom to spend less time with the crew. But there was one night—about a week or two before Tom disappeared—when a bunch of us were going out and at the last minute Deke decided to come. The next thing I knew, Tom bailed with some flimsy excuse. I never connected it to Deke until now.”

“I talked to Deke briefly last night, and he seemed hostile.”

“Do you think
he
could have killed Tom?”

“It’s a possibility. If Tom was threatening to get him canned, he may have decided to shut him up. Maybe he never intended to kill him but things escalated. And Deke was right near my drink last night.”

“And guess what? You know how you said gyms are a good source for GHB? Well, Deke is a big bodybuilder.”

“I’ve got to find a way to have more face time with Deke, as unpleasant as that may be. Can you make that happen, Chris?”

“I’ll try. You’ve just got to promise me to be careful.”

I smiled, gave his elbow a squeeze, and told him I’d connect with him in about an hour. I made my way toward a corridor in the back that led to another door to the front room. People were really jammed in there now, rich and successful-looking New Yorkers with their heads bobbing in conversation or muscling their way through the crowd in search of someone better to schmooze with. I spotted both Amy and Harper in the back, just as Chris had predicted, but before heading over there, I glanced toward the front. Jessie was standing at the bar with none other than Alex himself and another man. And Beau was in the same vicinity, in a cluster that included a man, perhaps his buddy, and two hot- looking chicks. But his eyes were scanning the room. Was he looking for me? What words had he been about to say before Chris had interrupted our conversation? “I’d really like to . . .”
What? Talk
to me?
Get together
with me?
Explain things
to me? I could feel an ache beginning to form in my heart, but I was too wired for it to take over. I had work to do.

Amy had a look of concern in her eyes as soon as she saw me approach her, and I figured she probably thought I was still recovering from a
Guinness Book of World Records–
caliber hangover.

“Got a minute?” I shouted to her above the din.

“Sure. You okay today?”

“Not so much.”

“I know, I know. I probably should have made sure you got home okay. But it was so early, I figured—”

“Look, you probably think I was drunk, but I wasn’t. Someone slipped a drug of some kind in my beer.”

She raised both eyebrows.
“What?”

“I can tell you about it later, but right now I need answers since I remember practically nothing. The bartender told me you came back over and spoke to me again—after we’d talked by the garden. What was I doing then?”

“Just sitting there. I realized that Harper had left, and I asked you if there was some new development. As soon as you started to speak, I could tell you were . . . well, I thought you must have had a pretty good buzz on. Your hair was kind of wet, and you were slurring your words.”

“What did I say?”

“You told me that Harper and Chris had left.”

“And then?”

“Nothing, really. I asked if you wanted me to find you a cab, and you said you were going to walk for a while, get some air. Then you left. It was still early, and I figured you’d be fine. No one
attacked
you, did they?”

“No, I’m okay. But if you think of anything else, will you let me know?”

“Of course,” she said emphatically. She looked sheepish, and I suspected she had a case of the guilts. Maybe that gave me a chit I could use to my advantage down the road. As for my missing night, it seemed as if I’d never be able to fill in the pieces. I’d apparently gone to the ladies’ room to try and revive myself and then later headed outside, where I’d wandered aimlessly, searching for my bearings.

My next target was Harper, but I could tell by the expression on her face as I approached that I was the last person she wanted to chat with tonight.

“How are you doing?” I asked. She was standing next to a woman with a clipboard, and they both appeared to be “on duty.”

“This isn’t a good time,” she said. She was pretty dolled up, in a slinky black cocktail dress and dangly silver earrings, but her face looked fatigued, smudged with bluish circles under her copper eyes, verifying the fact that she
had
tossed and turned last night. If she’d killed Tom, why get all churned up now and not two weeks ago? It might be that the discovery of the body made it finally real. Or she could be wigged out now that the police were on the case.

“When, then?” I asked.

“Tomorrow. Call me tomorrow.” She turned back to the woman with the clipboard, offering me a view of her bare back.

I summoned the energy to edge my way through the crowd again, and when I’d progressed about two feet, I felt someone grab my arm. I thought it must be Chris, but when I twisted around, Jessie was wedged behind me with an impish expression on her face.

“Have you
seen
him? Beau Regan’s here.”

“Yeah, I almost had to call for a defibrillator.”

“It took me a minute to realize who he was—I’d just seen him once at that party in the Hamptons. If it’s any consolation, I gave him the evil eye for about ten minutes. I think it worked because someone sloshed a glass of red wine on his shirt.”

“Thank you. Could you try for a vat of rancid cooking oil next time? That would
really
make my night.”

“Don’t look, but he’s staring at you. That’s funny—he has no idea that I know him, and he’s just gawking away like an idiot. Do you think the two of you will hook up again?”

“Not likely. Anything interesting going on between Locket and Alex?”

“They seem perfectly pleasant to each other. But if he squeezes her elbow any tighter, it’s gonna pop like an egg.”

For the next half hour we inched our way around, checking out the scene, with me biding my time for just the right opportunity to approach Locket. It was interesting to play total observer at a party, not worried about meeting anyone or having someone to talk to, but just happy to be the proverbial fly on the wall. I watched people air-kiss, fawn, flirt, fake interest, slug down drinks, and shove their way through the crowd. One woman got her large silver bracelet caught in the zipper of a man’s pants, and she went nearly frantic trying to get it off, like a muskrat with its leg in a trap. At one point I figured out that Beau must have left, because there was no sign of him. Chris, on the other hand, seemed to be at the throbbing center, having clearly been dubbed the new It boy. An ever changing group of people ringed him—mostly superslick guys who might have been producers or agents hoping to poach him as a client, and babes—tons of babes. There were both hot young chicks with flat shiny hair, Chloé tops, and $3,000 handbags and so-called cougars—too-smooth-faced, over-forty glamazons who looked hungry for a no-strings-attached romp in the sack with him. Chris remained rooted in one spot, and women were sucked in his direction from every which way, like birds into the engines of a jet on takeoff. If my twinges of jealousy were any indication, I was starting to feel more than lust for Chris.