Murder in the Air (24 page)

It seemed that in his job as a reporter, Judson had been covering a hot story for the local newspaper. It concerned the hit-and-run death of the sister of a prominent manufacturing magnate in Mill City. Officially, no one knew the identity of the person who'd run the woman down, but Judson said he'd discovered the truth after receiving a note from a friend of Darla's. It was this hit-and-run driver who'd set Judson up, who'd made him look like a murderer. At all costs Judson had to be discredited before he could tell what he knew. The hit-and-run driver's name was Rob Singleton. He was heir to the Singleton's department-store fortune.
Th6
problem was, Judson had no proof. He hoped Dallas could find some hard evidence before it was too late.

As Rudy ate his dinner Sophie sat next to the bed and listened to the episode unfold. She couldn't help but wonder if this new twist in the story had anything to do with the real-life Justin Bloom and his alleged murder of Kay Collins. Tomorrow, of course, there would be the usual avalanche of speculation about the implications. Bram's afternoon radio show had become the major forum for discussion of the old murder case, especially as it paralleled the new radio drama. Officially, the radio station was still denying any similarity between the two stories. However, in recent days, the denials were becoming not only soft, but less frequent.

After the episode ended—with its usual melodramatic cliffhanger—Sophie hurried to clean up the kitchen in Rudy and John's apartment. Just as she was about to put on her coat to go, Rudy sauntered into the room and sat down at
the table, curious for more information about Valentine Zolotow. She quickly explained that the current theory floating around the station was that Valentine had made a huge killing at the gambling tables and he'd simply taken off. The sad part was, no one particularly mourned his loss, or even found it all that surprising. Sophie figured that unless the police found his body, they might never really know what had happened for sure.

Sophie left Rudy's apartment shortly after seven, hoping she wouldn't be late for the Christmas party, which was to begin at eight. It was the first time Heda had invited any of the radio-station employees and their spouses up for drinks, and though^ Sophie had a mound of work waiting for her in her office, she knew it would disappoint Bram terribly if she didn't attend.

By the time she got back to the Maxfield, all she had time for was a quick shower. As she sat down on the bed to dry off, she closed her eyes and nearly fell asleep. Ethel watched from the doorway as she slipped into her slinky red sequined party dress. After a few extra minutes at the makeup table, she heard Bram come in the front door. She met him in the living room with a big smile and a congratulatory kiss.

Sophie was standing now in front of the fireplace in Heda's suite, her exhaustion held at bay by the champagne and all the praise being heaped on her husband.

Heda looked wonderful this evening in an Italian silk evening gown. Her manner was not only gracious, but positively ebullient, Dorothy was working the crowd herself, talking nonstop about the splash tonight's show had undoubtedly made. Sophie had come to the conclusion that Dorothy's only interest in the show was a professional one. She seemed entirely disconnected from the larger ramifications of the story line, sloughing off as idle speculation any comments made to her about the Kay Collins murder. She was, however, an astute businesswoman who understood intuitively how to promote. Privately, Bram had wondered aloud if the reason the station continued to deny any correlation between the two stories was that Dorothy realized those denials were a far more powerful tool than admitting the obvious.

Heda, on the other hand, seemed to grow impatient when even the merest hint of the old murder case came up. Sophie had seen her change the subject several times tonight already. As the crowd grew more oiled and tactless it didn't take an Einstein to predict a possible disaster in the making.

Feeling an arm slip around her waist, Sophie looked up and saw Bram smiling down at her. “Having fun?” he asked, kissing the top of her head. Since he was nearly a foot taller, head kissing was one of his preferred methods of affection.

She fluffed her short strawberry-blonde hair, making sure he hadn't mussed it beyond repair. “So far I've resisted that chocolate torte, but it's about to win the battle.”

“You'll love it,” he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “I just had my second piece.” Noticing her disapproving stare, he added, “Come on, Soph. Don't be a Grinch. It's a Christmas party. If you don't go home stuffed, you simply haven't celebrated with the right spirit.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes,” he said, bending down to give her a real kiss. “It is.”

“You're in a pretty good mood, buster.”

“Wouldn't you be? I'm the toast of the town. Well, part of the town. This living room, to be exact. We'll see how the other part feels about it in the morning. Hey,” he said, popping a stuffed cherry tomato into his mouth, “did you see Larry Blodnik go after that new intern? God, he's like a heat-seeking missile.”

She held on to his hand as she inched toward the dessert table. “Where's Alfred Bloom tonight? I thought he'd be here.”

“Beats me.” He reached for a slice of pecan pie, but Sophie slapped his hand. “Let's keep it under one hundred thousand calories for the evening, okay? Otherwise you won't fit into your Christmas present.”

“What is it?”

“A tent.”

He gave her a pained smile.

Motioning for him to bend down, she whispered in his ear, “Who's that goon standing next to the front door?”

His eyes flicked to the man, then away. “From what I understand, Heda has a bodyguard.”

“Why?”

“Good question. One that undoubtedly has an answer, I just don't know what it is.” As he straightened up, his gaze traveled around the room. “Have you talked to Mitzi yet tonight?”

“Briefly. We got separated during one of the toasts.”

He nodded discreetly to a chair in the corner where Mitzi sat alone. “She's been drinking a lot. Not talking very much. George sat with her for a while, but he's off somewhere else now doing his Santa Claus routine. I wonder what's up.”

“Well, she did mention that her daughter is flying into town this week. They've always spent Christmas together, ever since Mitzi and her husband got a divorce. Maybe Mitzi's afraid her daughter won't like it up here.”

Bram reflected for a moment, then said, “What's not to like about thirty-foot snowdrifts and four-hundred-below-zero temperatures?”

“Yeah, can't be the weather.”

“So, if it's not the arrival of her daughter, what's got her so depressed? You're the one with all the people skills, Soph. Go talk to her again. See what you can find out.”

“Where are you going?”

“I want to stick close to Heda, try to head off any unpleasant comments about Justin Bloom and the old murder case. That woman's got a real temper. I haven't seen it firsthand, but believe me, it's legendary. Some poor sap's going to say the wrong thing and she's going to explode all over him.”

“Good man.”

He gave her a half-lidded smile. “Fasten your seat belt. It's gonna be a bumpy night.”

“I'll remember that, Bette.”

With one final, amused glance, he was off again, wading into the knot of people surrounding Heda Bloom.

After taking another glass of champagne from a tray of flutes sitting on the bar, Sophie edged her way slowly through the crowd toward Mitzi. On a whim she walked first into the rear pantry area to see if the Maxfield's kitchen had catered
the affair. The food didn't look familiar, though Heda may have designed the menu herself. As she passed in front of a rear door, she heard two soft knocks. She stopped and looked around, but no one seemed to be interested in answering it. Moving closer to the door, she waited. After a couple of seconds she heard them again. It almost felt like a signal. As if the person on the other side of the door were waiting for some prearranged person on the inside to respond.

She checked the time. Exactly ten o'clock. She wondered … would it be a terrible breach of Heda's security to answer it? Her hand touched the dead bolt, but once again she waited. Almost a full minute later the knock came a third time. Overwhelmed by her own curiosity, she flipped back the bolt and opened the door. At the same moment a woman in a chef's uniform rushed up to her, thrusting out her hand to prevent the door from opening farther. “This door is to remain closed, lady. No one opens it. We've got strict orders.”

But it was too late. Outside, Sophie could see a man she recognized. “Mr. Greveen,” she said, smiling pleasantly. She turned her back to the caterer, ignoring her angry protests. “I was hoping I'd see you here tonight.”

For a moment he seemed confused. “I'm sorry, if we've met—”

“Sophie Greenway,” she said quickly, yanking the door all the way open. “I'm the owner of the hotel. I checked you in the afternoon you arrived.” She glanced meaningfully at the woman in the chef's uniform until the protestations ceased. “Won't you come in?”

He seemed hesitant. His eyes searched the hallway behind her for signs of life.

“If you're looking for the party, it's in the living room. I'm afraid this isn't the front door.”

Fixing the woman behind Sophie with a questioning look, he asked, “I wonder if you'd go find Dorothy Veneger for me. Just ask anyone, they'll know who she is. Tell her there's someone here who would like to speak to her for a minute.”

When the woman didn't move, Sophie turned and glared. “Do you mind?”

“Oh, all right,” said the woman grudgingly. “But I'm not taking any heat for this door being opened.” She turned on her heel and marched off down the hall.

“Thanks,” called Greveen to her retreating back.

Sophie noticed now that he was cradling a magnum of French champagne in one arm. “You're sure you won't come in? I know there are lots of people here who'd love to meet you.”

A faint smile touched his lips, then faded. “I don't like crowds.”

That was an understatement. As far as she knew, with the exception of Dorothy, no one at the station had seen or heard from him since his arrival three weeks ago. He didn't return phone calls and he didn't go out; at least, not that anyone saw.

“You know, Ms. Greenway, I should thank you.”

“For what?”

“That doctor you recommended to me. When I arrived at the hotel, I think I had the flu, but just to be on the safe side, I scheduled a full physical. I believe I go in tomorrow morning. It's always best to have a physician recommendation when in a new city, don't you agree? You can't trust just anyone with your health.”

As he touched a hand to his tie Sophie once again noticed the unique ring on his left hand. “I'm glad you liked him. He's been our family physician for years.”

Dorothy came rushing down the hallway and interrupted their conversation before Sophie could get past the current topic to the questions foremost in her mind.

“Mr. Greveen, what a surprise,” said Dorothy, a bit out of breath. “I didn't expect to see you tonight.” She seemed at an uncharacteristic loss for words.

“No,” he said softly. “But I wanted you to have this.” He handed her the bottle. “It only seemed right that I bring something to the party, since I couldn't come myself. I have that previous engagement, if you recall.”

“Of course,” she said, glancing at Sophie.

Beneath Dorothy's studied calm, Sophie now noticed a certain agitation.

“I'll make sure Heda knows you brought it by.” She seemed impatient to return to the living room. “Is there anything else you'd like me to tell her?”

Before he could answer, Sophie heard heavy footsteps at the other end of the hall. She glanced to her right and saw Alfred Bloom's lumbering frame making straight for them. She'd never actually met the man, but Bram had pointed him out to her in the lobby last week. Once seen, Alfred Bloom wasn't easily forgotten.

“Are you hiding back here?” his voice boomed as he got closer. It was a subdued boom, but the sound was so deep it seemed to resonate off the walls.

Dorothy's lips thinned in distaste. As she turned to face him she backed up, closing the door on Wish Greveen. “Alfred, how … good of you to stop by.”

“You can drop the bullshit, Dorothy. Consider it my Christmas present.”

Their annoyance with each other seemed of the longstanding variety. Dorothy gave Sophie a pained smile, as if to say she was sorry for Alfred's rudeness, but couldn't do anything about it.

“We've gotta talk,” he snarled.

“I don't have time for one of your tantrums right now,” she replied calmly.

“You're an employee. Don't forget it.”

She bared her teeth in imitation of a smile. “It may gall you that I'm also your mother's friend, but it's a fact. If you didn't fight me all the time, you might see that we're on the same side. I have only her best interests at heart.”

He stood very close to her, obviously enjoying the sense of power his added height gave him. Sophie loathed men who tried to intimidate women with their size.

Thankfully, Dorothy wasn't buying. “What's so important that you need my immediate attention?”

His eyes flicked to Sophie.

As Dorothy noticed his reticence, her expression grew even more distant. “Alfred, you know Sophie Greenway,
don't you? She's Bram Baldric's wife. She also owns the hotel, so mind your p's and q's or she may toss you out.”

He glared, clearly unimpressed by either piece of information.

Sophie wanted to add that she could also tie her shoelaces and count to ten, but decided that in his current mood, nothing would impress him.

“Make an appointment with my secretary tomorrow,” said Dorothy, folding her arms over her chest. “I'm sure I can fit you in sometime in the afternoon.”

Alfred grabbed her shoulders. “Listen, you little idiot, the police want to see us right away. They're waiting down in the lobby.”

“Get your hands off me.”

“Did you hear what I said?”

She straightened the neck of her dress. “Yes. Why didn't you say that right away?”

“They found Valentine Zolotow.”