Private Scandals (35 page)

“Besides getting murdered?” With a humorless laugh, he roused himself to go to the bar and pour a generous portion of whiskey.

Finn only lifted a brow as Dan drank it down, poured again. It was barely ten
A
.
M
.

“It would help,” Jenner continued, “if we had a clear sense of her movements throughout the day. Where she went, who she had contact with.”

“She got up about ten.” Dan came back to the sofa. The whiskey helped, he realized. He felt as though he were gliding an inch above the floor. “She had a massage, had her hair and makeup done, a manicure. All here in the suite.” He drank with one hand, smoked with the other,
his movements mechanical and strangely rhythmic. “She did a print interview,
Chicago Tribune,
then went downstairs to the ballroom for the luncheon. She had several other appointments through the day—interviews, meetings. Most of them here in the suite.”

He crushed out the cigarette, sat back with the blue haze of smoke hovering over his head like a dirty halo.

“Were you with her?” Finn demanded.

Dan shot him one resentful glance, then shrugged. “I was in and out. Mostly out. Angela didn’t like distractions when she was dealing with the press. She had a dinner interview with
Premiere
magazine to hype her next special.” In a jerky movement, he reached over to yank another cigarette from the pack on the coffee table. “She told me she didn’t know how long it would run, and that she had a later meeting afterward, that I should go out to a blues bar and amuse myself.”

“And did you?” Jenner asked.

“I had a steak, a couple of drinks, listened to some piano at the Pump Room.”

Jenner noted it down. “Did you have any company?”

“I wasn’t in the mood for company. We haven’t had a lot of time to relax in the past few months, so I took advantage of it.” His bloodshot eyes narrowed. “Are you looking for Angela’s schedule, or mine?”

“Both,” Jenner said pleasantly. He doodled a bit, a quick sketch of the room, of Dan Gardner’s face. “It helps if we have a clear sense of things. When did you last see your wife, Mr. Gardner?”

“Just before seven, when she was getting ready for dinner.”

“And did she tell you she planned to meet Deanna Reynolds at CBC later that night?”

“No.” He bit the word off. “If she had, I would have discouraged it.” He leaned forward now, enough of a showman to know which lines to punch. “He knows it, too,” he added, jerking his head toward Finn. “That’s why he wants in on the investigation, to try to head it off. It’s no secret
Deanna Reynolds hated my wife, was envious and driven to destroy her. I have no doubt that she killed Angela, or had her killed.”

“That’s an interesting theory,” Finn mused. “Is that the line you’re going to feed through your publicist?”

Jenner cleared his throat. “Did Miss Reynolds make any threats against your wife that you’re aware of?”

Dan’s eyes cut back to Jenner, bored in. “I told you, she attacked her physically once before. Christ knows she attacked her emotionally dozens of times over the years. She wanted Angela out of the way. Now she is. That should be clear enough. What are you doing about it?”

“We’re looking into it,” Jenner said mildly. “Mr. Gardner, what time did you return to the hotel last night?”

“Twelve-thirty, one o’clock.”

“Did you meet anyone, speak with anyone who could verify that?”

“I resent the implication, Lieutenant. My wife is dead.” He stabbed out the cigarette, breaking it in two. “And from what I’ve been told, there was only one person with her.” He stared at Finn, secure that he could say whatever he chose with impunity. “A person who had every reason to hurt her. I don’t appreciate being asked to supply an alibi.”

“But can you?” Finn countered.

His teeth snapped together. “You’re really reaching, aren’t you, Riley? Do you really think you can throw the police off Deanna and onto me?”

Finn lifted a brow. “I don’t believe you answered the question.”

“It’s possible one of the night clerks saw me come in. It’s also possible that the waitress at the club would remember serving me, and what time I left. What kind of alibi does Deanna Reynolds have?”

Was it rage? Jenner wondered. Or was it fear that simmered in Gardner’s voice? “I’m afraid I can’t discuss that at this time. Do you have any idea how your wife might have gained access to the CBC Building and Studio B?”

“She worked there for some time,” Dan said dryly. “I imagine she walked in. She’d know the way.”

“There’s a security system that wasn’t in operation during the time your wife was based in the building.”

“Then I’d imagine Deanna let her in. Then she killed her.” He shifted forward, resting one hand on the black silk covering his knee. “Imagine what this will do for her ratings, Lieutenant Jenner. He knows.” Dan jabbed a finger toward Finn. “How many Nielsen homes will tune in to watch a cold-blooded killer, Riley? She’ll murder the competition.” He laughed, rubbing a hand over and over his face. “Just like she murdered Angela.”

“Whoever killed your wife won’t benefit from it.” Jenner glanced at Finn, pleased to see he was maintaining an outward calm. Jenner decided he liked the pattern of their work together. Not something as clichéd as good cop-bad cop. Just teamwork. “Did Miss Perkins have an appointment book, a calendar?”

“Her secretary kept her calendar, but Angela always carried a small date book in her purse.”

“Would you mind if we took a look in her room?”

Dan pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. “Fuck, do what you want.”

“You ought to order up some breakfast, Mr. Gardner,” Jenner said as he rose.

“Yeah. I ought to do that.”

Jenner took out a card and left it on the coffee table beside the ashtray of smoldering butts. “I’d appreciate it if you’d contact me if you think of anything else. We’ll be out of your way in just a few minutes.”

The first thing Finn did in the bedroom of the suite was open the drapes. Light spilled relentlessly into the room. The bureau top was crowded with bottles and pots, the expensive toys of a vain woman who could afford the best. A champagne flute with a pale pink outline of lipstick at the rim stood in the center. A floral silk robe flowed gracefully over the arm of a chair, its hem brushing matching ballet-style slippers.

The only evidence that a man shared the room was the suit hung on the valet.

“You didn’t mention an appointment book in her purse, Lieutenant.”

“There wasn’t one.” He glanced around the room like a hound sniffing the air. “Cosmetics, hotel key, cigarettes, lighter, a silk hankie, a roll of Certs, an eelskin wallet with ID, credit cards and better than three hundred cash. But no date book.”

“Interesting.” Finn nodded toward the champagne flute. “I’d say that was hers, wouldn’t you, sitting there with her perfumes and skin creams.”

“More than likely.”

“There’s another out in the parlor, over by the wet bar. Lipstick on that, too. Dark, hot-red lipstick.”

“Good eye, Mr. Riley. Why don’t we see if room service knows who Angela’s drinking partner was?”

Carla Mendez had never had much excitement in her life. She’d been the oldest of five children born to a shoe salesman and a waitress and had lived a simple, uninspired life. At thirty-three, she had three children and a husband who was slavishly faithful and usually out of work.

Carla didn’t mind her job as a hotel maid. She didn’t like it particularly, but she did her job well if mechanically and tucked away tiny bottles of shampoo and skin cream as religiously as she tucked away her tips.

She was a small, sturdy woman, built like a fireplug, with tightly permed black hair and tiny dark eyes that were nearly lost in a network of worry lines. But her eyes were bright now, flitting from cop to reporter.

She didn’t like cops. If Jenner had approached her alone, she would have closed up like a clam, on principle. But she couldn’t resist Finn Riley. The way his dimples deepened when he smiled at her, the gentlemanly way he’d taken her hand.

And he wanted to interview her.

It was, for Carla, the biggest moment of her life.

Sensing her mood, Jenner hung back and let Finn take the ball.

“What time did you come into Miss Perkins’s room to turn down the bed, Mrs. Mendez?”

“Ten o’clock. Usually I’d turn down much earlier, but she told me not to come in, not to disturb her before ten. She had appointments.” Primly, she tugged on the hem of her uniform. “I don’t like to work so late, but she was very nice.” The twenty-dollar tip had been even nicer. “I’ve seen her on TV, too. But she wasn’t stuck-up or anything. She was real polite. Messy, though,” she added. “She and her husband used about six bath towels between them every day. And she had cigarette butts in every single ashtray. Dishes everywhere.” She glanced around the parlor. “Cleaning up after people gives you insight,” she said, and left it at that.

“I’m sure it does.” Finn gave her an encouraging smile. “Was Miss Perkins with her husband when you were turning down the bed in their suite?”

“Can’t say. Didn’t see him. Didn’t hear him. But I heard her, and the other one.”

“The other one?”

“The other woman. They were scratching at each other like cats.” Carla tugged on her hem again, examined her shoes. “Not that I listened. I mind my own business. I’ve been working in this hotel for seven years. You can’t do that if you poke into people’s private lives. But when I heard how she’d been murdered—Miss Perkins—I said to Gino, that’s my husband, I said to Gino that I’d heard Miss Perkins going at it with this woman in her suite only a couple hours before she was dead. He said I should maybe tell my supervisor, but I thought it might cause trouble.”

“So you haven’t told anyone about it?” Finn prompted.

“No. And when you came in and said you wanted to talk to me about the people in 2403, I figured you already knew.” Her eyes flashed back up. “Maybe you didn’t.”

“What can you tell us about the woman who was with Miss Perkins, Mrs. Mendez?”

“I didn’t see her, but I heard her all right. Heard both of them. The woman said, ‘I’m sick and tired of playing your games, Angela. And one way or the other they’re going to stop.’ Then Miss Perkins laughed. I knew it was her ’cause like I said, I’ve seen her on TV. And she laughed the way people do when they’re feeling mean. And she said something like, ‘Oh, you’ll keep playing, darling. The stakes . . .’ ” Carla screwed up her nose as she concentrated. “ ‘The stakes are too high,’ she said, ‘for you to do anything else.’ They called each other names for a while. Then the other woman said, ‘I could kill you, Angela. But maybe I’ll do something even better than that.’ Then I heard the door slam, and Miss Perkins was laughing again. I finished up real quick and went out in the hall.”

“You know, Mrs. Mendez, I think you should try my line of work.” She preened and tugged on her hem again. “You’re very observant,” he added.

“It comes natural, I guess. You see a lot of funny things working in a hotel.”

“I’m sure you do. I wonder . . . Did you see the woman who’d left?”

“No. There wasn’t anybody out there, but it took me a couple of minutes to finish stacking fresh towels, so she could have gotten on the elevator. That was my last room, so I went home after that. The next morning I heard that Miss Perkins had been killed. At first I thought maybe that woman had come back and killed her right there in my suite. But I found out it didn’t happen in the hotel at all. It happened at the TV station where Deanna Reynolds has her show. I like her show better,” she added guilelessly. “She has such a nice smile.”

Deanna tried to use that smile as Finn hesitated at the front door of the cabin. “I’m fine,” she told him. She’d told him that repeatedly since she’d been released from the hospital three days before. “Finn, you’re going to pick up a few things at the store; you’re not leaving me to defend the fort against marauding hostiles. Besides”—she bent down
to scratch the dog’s ears—“I have a champion.”

“Champion wimp.” He cupped Deanna’s face in his hands. “Let me worry, okay? It’s still a new experience for me to fret.” He grinned. “I like fretting over you, Deanna.”

“As long as you’re not fretting so much you forget to buy me that candy bar.”

“Hershey’s Big Block, no almonds.” He kissed her, relieved when her lips curved gently, sweetly under his. The day he’d had her to himself at the cabin had dulled the edge of her horror, he knew, but she still slept poorly and jolted at unexpected sounds. “Why don’t you take a nap, Kansas?”

“Why don’t you go get me that candy bar?” She drew back, her smile securely in place. “Then you can take a nap with me.”

“Sounds like a pretty good deal. I won’t be long.”

No, she thought as she watched him walk to the car. He wouldn’t be long. He hated leaving her alone. Though what he expected her to do was beyond her. Collapse in a hysterical heap? she wondered, lifting her hand in a wave as he headed down the lane. Run screaming from the house?

With a sigh, she crouched down again to rub the dog while he whined and scratched at the door. He loved to go for rides, she thought now. But Finn had left him behind, a canine sentry.

Not that she could blame Finn for being overprotective at this point. She’d been alone with a murderer, after all. A murderer who could have taken her life as quickly, as cruelly as he had taken Angela’s. Everyone was worried about poor Deanna, she thought. Her parents, Fran. Simon, Jeff, Margaret, Cassie. Roger and Joe and plenty of others from the newsroom. Even Loren and Barlow had called to express concern, to offer help.

“Take all the time you need,” Loren had told her, without a single mention of ratings or expenses. “Don’t even think about coming back until you’re stronger.”

But she wasn’t weak, Deanna decided. She was alive.

No one had tried to kill her. Surely everyone must
understand that one simple point. Yes, she had been alone with a murderer, but she was alive.

Straightening, she wandered around the cabin, tidying what was already competently neat. She brewed some tea she didn’t want, then wandered more with the cup warming her hands. She poked at the cheerfully blazing fire.