Park Avenue (Book Six in the Fifth Avenue Series) (62 page)

“Your enthusiasm knows no
bounds, Pepper.
 
Now, if you’ll both
excuse me, I’m going to check in with security.
 
And if they’re ready to go, we open the
doors and allow our guests inside.”

“I assume Leana’s ready
to do the same,” Pepper said.

“Both parties begin at
eight, so I assume you’re correct.”

“She doesn’t have
anything on this.
 
Nothing touches
this.”

“What she has, Pepper, is
an historic building that’s been painstakingly renovated at a considerable
cost.
 
It’s located on Park Avenue,
and it will attract that set, which is a powerful set.
 
What we have is a relatively new
building that lacks the drama her building has.
 
Save for a good cleaning, we’ve done nothing
to the lobby.
 
But that’s fine.
 
As well as it will do, it’s not this
hotel I’m placing my bets on going forward.
 
It’s the Columbus Circle project that’s
the game changer.
 
Soon, all
apartments will be sold, the press will consider it a triumph, and we’ll move
on to the next project.”

“I thought this one meant
something to you.”

“It’s just glass and
steel, Pepper.
 
It’s just another
building.
 
Don’t misunderstand
me.
 
It’s a beautiful, modern
building that I got at a great price, but in tomorrow’s papers, expect Leana’s
hotel to take the prize.
 
Same goes
for her party.
 
She told me that
Michael arranged for more than a hundred celebrities to come.
 
Tough to compete with that.
 
She’s going to own the press because of
it.”

“What they’ll talk about
is how her husband’s family was planning to murder her.”

“That’ll come up, but
what you need to understand, Pepper, is that there is no such thing as bad
press.
 
The city’s sympathy will be
with my daughter.
 
Her star is set
to rise.
 
Her hotel is just the
beginning.”

She couldn’t believe what
her uncle was saying.
 
And why
hadn’t he complimented her as enthusiastically on what she had pulled off here?

Gordon Elling flashed
before her eyes.

Actually
, Pepper thought,
her
hotel is going to be the end of her.

CHAPTER
EIGHTY-NINE

With Zack Anderson at her
side, Leana moved swiftly across the busy lobby.
 
She checked each table as she passed
it.
 
She stopped at one point to
admire the spray of flowers towering on the end of the bar, and then she said
hello to the bar staff, who were standing at the ready.
 
Mario was across the room talking with Sean.
 
The place was alive with those attending
to any remaining finishing touches.
 
The orchestra was in place and seated, their instruments tuned earlier.

“It’s getting late,” she
said.
 
“Ten minutes, and those doors
open.
 
Are we ready?”

“We’re ready.”

She looked over at the
metal detectors at each door, and cringed at the sight of them.
 
“Those are not going to go over well.”

“I disagree.
 
People will feel safer with them,” Zack
said.
 
“They’ve read the
papers.
 
They’ve seen the news on
CNN.
 
I think people will be
relieved to see them.”

“An alarm won’t sound if
someone sets one off, will it?”

“No.
 
Sean made sure of that.
 
A light flashes low on the floor, and
then the person gets a fleeting swipe with a metal-detecting wand.
 
He told me that it’s generally jewelry
or belts that set off the machines.
 
The security staff has been trained to be friendly, jovial and
accommodating.
 
It’ll be fine,
Leana.
 
Your guests will feel safe.”

“Mario and Sean are
coming over.”

“I think it’s time.
 
Have you looked outside the window?”

“I have.
 
I see them.”

“People are waiting.”

“Why do I want to get
sick?”

Zack put his hand on her
back.
 
“Nobody gets sick in
Dior.
 
Christian is comfortable in
his grave.
 
We don’t want him
rolling over in it.
 
Banish the
thought.”

*
 
*
 
*

On the sidewalk, Carmen
Gragera stood sleek in her red dress with lines of people in front of her and
behind her.
 

The air was warm.
 
A light breeze cooled her skin, which
felt good.
 
Traffic raced up and
down Park, and spotlights swirled against the front of the hotel, which she
thought was beautiful.
 

Near the entrance, she
saw the press and the paparazzi, all of whom were taking photographs.
 
She saw the front doors open.
 
A cheer went through the crowd, which
was likely in support of Leana Redman given the news that hit this morning
about Antonio De Cicco’s foiled plans against her, and then the line began to
move as limousines pulled alongside the sectioned-off curb.

Would Leana recognize her
from their time together on the ship?
 
Carmen had to wonder, even if a month had passed since she posed as a
reporter from the
Times
.
 
She
regretted that in order to get the switchblade that was disguised as a hair
clip into the building, she had to pull her newly blonde hair away from her
face, thus exposing it.

Will she recognize my
face?
 
It’s possible.
 
If so, what then?

Carmen knew.

In an effort to feel less
exposed, she wore diamonds at her throat, wrists and ears.
 
They were extravagant gifts from Alex,
who was with her now in spirit, and she prayed they were enough to keep the
attention on them and away from her.
 

Her makeup also was
different than it had been that night on Fondaras’ ship.
 
Then, she wore almost no makeup.
 
She was a working reporter, after all.
 
But now, she looked elegant without being
bold.
 
It was the diamonds and the
dress she wanted people to admire, not her face, as pretty as it was.

What she needed to do
tonight was going to be difficult.
 
Whereas Spocatti only had to bring down one person—George
Redman—she had to murder Leana Redman and her brother, Michael Archer,
each of whom she needed to get alone.
 
She had thought that was going to be impossible until Vincent came up
with a plausible plan.

“This is the way we both
go,” he told her.
 
“It’s the only
way we can get them away from the crowds and hopefully into a private room.”

“Security won’t leave
their side.”

“So, we take out
security.”

“How?”

He showed her how.
 
She asked him how to use them.
 
He swung back his hand and
demonstrated.
 

“They’re small,” she
said.

“And lethal.
 
Death in seven seconds.
 
Be careful with them.
 
Screw up, and it could be you who dies.”

“Show me how to use them
again.”

“Take your hand like
this, pinch them between your fingers, and throw.
 
Better yet, if you’re close enough, just
stick them hard with it.”

“Got it,” she said.

“Back to the plan.
 
You’re the Photoshop queen.
 
Are you going to be able to pull this
off?”

“Piece of cake.
 
Give me twenty.”

The line moved
forward.
 
Another limousine pulled
to the curb, and this time the crowd took a collective breath when they saw who
emerged.
 
It was an iconic, Academy
Award-winning movie star and his much-younger girlfriend.
 
Curious, Carmen watched them pose for
photographs.
 
He’s so short,
she thought.
 
Good looking, but
short.
 

Not that the crowd seemed
to mind.
 

As stuffy and as ancient
as so many of them appeared to be, celebrity was a powerful intoxicant even
they couldn’t ignore.

But trumping his arrival
was the arrival of Michael Archer.
 
His limousine cut to the curb, he stepped out of the car, and because of
who he was and all that had happened to him and to Leana, the press and the
paparazzi descended upon him in droves.
 

Three guards flanked him,
but they allowed him a moment alone so the press could take their
photographs.
 
Then he was ushered
inside, where he set off one of the metal detectors Carmen had noted
earlier.
 
Because of who he was, he
was given a pass.
 
But as she walked
close to the entrance, Carmen knew that her jewelry and her hair clip would
indeed trigger the machines, which everyone seemed to be setting off.

That actually was in her
favor.
 
Regardless of how
experienced security was, the line behind her was very long, so they’d needed
to get people inside quickly.
 
Mistakes would be made.
 
Better for Carmen was that all she carried with her was a beaded clutch,
which they could check if they liked.
 
Inside were lipstick, a compact, her cell phone, and a small can of
pepper spray.
 
If they questioned
her about that, she’d simply say that she wanted to feel safe if anything happened
tonight, especially given this morning’s news.
 
She had a permit for it.
 
If they asked, she’d present them with
it.

When it was her turn in
line, Carmen set her shoulders back almost regally.
 
A faint smile played upon her lips.
 
She walked forward and set off the
alarm.
 
She put her hand to her
diamond necklace, and looked embarrassed while she handed one of the security
guards her invitation, which was swept beneath a fluorescent light.

“Welcome, Ms. Hines.”

“Thank you,” she
said.
 

“Would you mind stepping
forward?
 
All of this is just a
matter of safety.”

“Of course.”

A woman with a wand came
over and swept her body.
 
The light
at the end of it flashed as it roved over her jewels, and then again when she
waved it over Carmen’s hair clip.
 
The woman looked behind Carmen, saw the clip, and then asked her if she
had anything of concern in her bag.

“My cell,” Carmen
said.
 
“And I do have a can of
pepper spray, along with a permit.
 
I wouldn’t have come here tonight without it given the recent news.
 
It might be dangerous outside the hotel,
for God’s sake.”

“May I see the permit?”

“Of course.”
 
Carmen pulled it out of her clutch and
handed it to the woman, who looked at it and quickly handed it back.
 

“Thank you for being so
accommodating, Ms. Hines.”

“My pleasure.”

And Carmen was inside.

CHAPTER
NINETY

At The Hotel Fifth,
Spocatti, whose cover name for the night was Vicenzo Massara, stood at the far
end of a long bar in a black tuxedo that matched his dark mood.
 

He was in shadow.
 
In his hand was a glass of sparkling
water with a wedge of lime in it, the orchestra played something he recognized
but couldn’t place, and people around him talked and talked, laughed and
laughed, chittered and chattered.
 
No one gave him a second thought save for one woman at the opposite end
of the bar, who was looking directly at him.
 
And who had yet to look away.

He recognized her on
sight.
 
It was Epifania Zapopa,
Charles Stout’s saucy widow with the loose mouth and the looser
reputation.
 
Spocatti had used her
to get to Stout that evening on Fondaras’ ship.