The Celebutantes (20 page)

Poppy nodded, half dreamily and half uncomprehendingly. She didn't protest as Jeremy began gliding and shaking her across the floor. The gust created by their bodies snuffed out several candles.

“Olé!” Madison screamed again, stumbling back as she lost her footing.

Park caught her. She held her up and continued on with the dance.

Lex, still running around them in circles, thrust her hips out and made a series of strange, otherworldly noises. “The spirits are here!” she cried out, her voice guttural. When no one was looking, she grabbed a book off one of the shelves and quickly hurled it across the room.

Poppy screamed. “Everybody stop! Oh! Stop!” Her voice was filled with raw fear—but why would a psychic allegedly accustomed to communicating with the dead be scared of a little unexplained phenomena?

Holding tight to that question, Lex surreptitiously grabbed another book from the shelf and sent it sailing through the air.

Poppy wailed louder.

Jeremy clasped her hands tightly, pulled her against his chest, and leaned her back in an impromptu dip.

The tiara pinned to Poppy's hair flipped to one side.

It was the moment Park needed. She forced Madison into a series of violent spins, twirling her like a top as she inched her steadily across the floor.

Lex ran to the door and pulled it open.

Madison whirled out of the room at breakneck speed, her hair flapping in the air, her arms held high and rigid. She felt as though she were being sucked into a tornado. She didn't stop until she slammed into a wall with a thud. Breath shot from her lungs. She saw a smattering of stars in her field of vision. She pulled herself together just as Lex shut the door to the spirit room again. It had been a successful escape. Madison knew Poppy hadn't seen her make an exit. She also knew that she didn't have much time to snoop around, so she gave her head a hard shake, forced the dizziness from her brain, and started down the corridor.

She muffled a laugh as the tango music stopped suddenly and was replaced by the opening bars of the Italian tarantella dance. “Everybody circle to the left!” Park yelled from behind the door.

Madison dashed to the very end of the corridor and flicked on a light. She was standing in the master bedroom. It was clearly Poppy's personal space, because the bedsheets were slightly wrinkled and there was a TV remote control on the nightstand. The air smelled of perfume and moisturizer. For a few seconds, Madison felt overwhelmed: there was a huge bureau, a small antique desk, a vanity, and a large walk-in closet. She didn't have enough time to scour through everything. She knew that in just a few minutes, Poppy would either demand an end to the theatrics or come running out of her spirit room in fear.

She took a deep breath and scurried across the room to the bureau. She yanked open the first drawer. She spotted lace underwear, stockings, lavender eye pillows, and several silk camisoles.

Strike one.

The second drawer held equally useless stuff: a jogging suit, a ski cap, gloves. It was no good. Madison felt a line of sweat breaking out on her forehead. She ran to the antique desk and pulled open the drawer. Her eyes were moving so rapidly, she almost missed an interesting—and vital—clue: a worn paperback titled
How to Be Psychic: Awaken Your Secret Spirits!
Several pages were creased, several passages underlined. Madison shook her head, both irritated and incensed. A guidebook? It was further evidence that Poppy van Lulu didn't kick back and drink vintage wine with the dead as so many people thought.

Madison dropped the book into the drawer and slammed it closed. She ran across the room to the closet and stepped through the French doors. The overhead track lights were already on. Rows and rows of clothing, racks and racks of shoes. One corner was reserved for hats alone, a four-foot tower of oval boxes. Her eyes flew from left to right, up and down. She swept her gaze along the floor. In her mind's eye she kept the image of what Poppy had been wearing at the luncheon—where the hell was that brown Fendi purse?

She froze when a sound echoed down the corridor. A thud. Had Poppy run out of the spirit room? Madison waited for several seconds, her back pressed to the wall. Then she heard the familiar notes of the tarantella and several hands clapping in rhythm. Lex had probably chucked another book against the wall.

Madison squatted down and began crawling across the carpeted floor of the closet. She shoved away several boxes. She threw fallen blouses over her head. Nothing. She was about to stand up again when she spotted the familiar dark brown lining of the purse peeking out of a small marble bin. Her heart pounding, she reached for it and quickly popped the latch. It wasn't big or roomy, but it was messy: crinkled tissues, a tube of lipstick, a comb, several scraps of paper. Frustrated, Madison dumped the contents of the purse onto the floor and scoured through them.

On the third try, she unfolded a small receipt from the Waldorf-Astoria gift shop. It was marked with the date and time—08/16/08, 2:18 p.m.—and listed only two items: a bottle of water and a packet of Gas-X tablets.

Gotcha!

Madison's first thought was that the watercress salad had done a number on everyone's stomach. Her second was one of shock and excitement—this was proof that Poppy hadn't left the hotel when she said she had. Instead, she'd hung around.
And where did you go?
Madison wondered.
Did you hightail it up to the penthouse right after Coco left? Did you argue with Elijah? Did you and Ina plan everything beforehand?

Her hands trembling, she slipped the receipt into the pocket of her jeans and then swiftly scooped up the items on the floor. She dumped them back into the purse and chucked it into the bin. As she stood up, turning around, her knee slammed against something she hadn't even noticed a few minutes ago: a small two-drawer file cabinet. The pain that shot through her right leg was intense, but Madison ignored it as she realized the first drawer had opened from the impact of her knee hitting the handle. She slid it toward her. Inside were several manila files, each one labeled in the right-hand corner with a name.
Ben Affleck, Kelly Clarkson, Tom Cruise, Jennifer Garner, Brad Pitt, Anna Wintour.
Name after name after name. Who would have guessed that Poppy kept files on her clients?

Madison yanked one out and flipped through it. She didn't find a handwritten account of a psychic reading. Instead, she found magazine articles and newspaper clips and little torn gossip columns—anything that gave her an inkling into the life of the person she was going to meet with. It was research. Poppy obviously used her carefully gathered information and pretended, later on while sitting in the spirit room, that she was receiving little nuggets of truth from the spirit world.

“Unbelievable,” Madison whispered. She pulled the drawer out farther, wondering if her instincts would prove correct.

They did.

She found the file labeled
Traymore, Elijah
and yanked it out. Inside were articles from
Vanity Fair, Art in America, GQ, Men's Vogue.
Pictures of Elijah and Tallula. Snapshots of his sculptures and of Tallula's abstract paintings. Then there was a series of articles that had clearly been printed from the Internet: Elijah visiting an art colony in California; a Q and A that featured Elijah discussing his paranormal beliefs; a gossip column from the
Post
in which Elijah had been quoted bashing the Republican party.

But it was the last article that caught Madison's attention.

Caught it, and held it until a chill shot through her bones.

She stared down at the grainy sheet of paper, her eyes locked on the small black-and-white image in the very middle of the page. She recognized Elijah on the left. And she recognized the good-looking young man standing beside him smiling broadly, holding both his thumbs up in a gesture of support. The caption read:
Elijah Traymore
(left) with student Brooklyn DiMarco at Meet-the-Artist Day at LaGuardia High School.

Madison heard herself gasp. For a long moment, she simply sat there, clutching the sheet of paper and listening to the heavy pounding of her heart. The noise coming from the spirit room—another round of clapping, Poppy screaming—did nothing to startle her.

Brooklyn DiMarco.

The list of suspects had just gotten longer.

16

An Unusual Suspect

F
or the tenth time in an hour, Madison waved the sheet of paper in the air and pointed to the picture of Elijah Traymore and Brooklyn DiMarco. “It's proof!” she said. “Right in front of us! You can't deny it!”

“You really can't,” Park added gently.

“Maybe I just don't want to talk about it, okay?” Lex snapped. “Maybe I just want you both to leave me alone!”

They were standing in the living room of their penthouse. Lex, visibly upset but equally defiant, stood in the doorway with her arms crossed over her chest. She didn't want to face her sisters and their knowing stares. She didn't want to consider the possibility staring her squarely in the face. It was too painful to accept. She hadn't known Brooklyn DiMarco for more than a day, but the magic between them—the huge spark—was undeniable. Lex had seen it in his eyes this evening. She had even felt those butterfly tremors in her stomach when he'd kissed her. Now, however, she felt a heavy sadness in her heart, ebbed by a growing tide of anger.

“Honey, it isn't something we can just ignore,” Park told her. “You know that. A suspect is a suspect.”

“But why does Brooklyn have to be a suspect?” Lex shot back. “All that picture proves is that he and Elijah met back in March.”

“But Brooklyn told us he had only met Elijah the other day,” Madison pointed out, trying to keep her tone even. “Why lie about something like that?”

Lex huffed. She fanned herself with her hands as she stomped over to the terrace doors and threw them open. She was hot and annoyed and flustered. She had changed into shorts and a tank top, having torn off her sweat-soaked clothes the moment she stepped into the apartment. She and Park had gotten quite a workout in Poppy's spirit room: two sets of tangos, a round of the tarantella, and then a quick detour into a few hip-hop moves. When it came time to bounce and kick to one of Kanye's beats, Poppy had all but fainted. She'd been spooked by the flying books, by Lex's strange noises, by the look of mock possession Jeremy had assumed as Park batted him with the plastic rose. It had been a successful night, but it had also been a bad one.

A really, really bad one, Lex thought as she stared out at the shimmering skyline. She felt Park's hand on her left shoulder, Madison's hand on her right forearm. It was a tough couple of minutes, but Lex knew she couldn't stay silent for much longer. “I really like him,” she finally said. “He's so different from anyone I've ever met.”

“No one's saying Brooklyn is a killer,” Park stated firmly. “But there
is
reason to talk about him—and, eventually, to talk
to
him.”

Lex turned around. “Does he really have to jump onto the suspect list? I mean, can't we just concentrate on all the stuff we've already uncovered about Ina and Poppy?”

Park shook her head. “At this point in the investigation, Brooklyn has to be considered a suspect, honey. We'd be bad detectives if we just let this little fact slip by unexamined.”

“I know it hurts,” Madison said. “But that's a homicide investigation for you—one shock after another. And I
know
what it feels like to have the guy you like on the suspect list. Has anyone forgotten that my boyfriend was once wanted by the cops?” Images of that terrible time flashed through her mind—Theo's picture on every TV channel, everyone in the city calling him a killer. It had been hell. Madison had never experienced such gut-wrenching pain, and she hated seeing those same little flashes of hurt in Lex's eyes. Lex was, after all, the baby of the family, and as the firstborn, Madison couldn't help feeling overprotective of her.

“Lex, you're sure Brooklyn never mentioned meeting Elijah before he and Tallula and Ina checked into the hotel?” Park asked cautiously.

“No,” Lex replied. “He told all of us that he met Elijah the other day.”

“But we know that Brooklyn met Elijah a few months ago,” Madison said. “And there's no way Brooklyn could have just forgotten about that. I mean, it's not like they met five years ago at some Starbucks on Columbus Avenue. They met right there at his high school. Even posed for a picture together.”

“Right,” Park agreed. “It isn't the kind of thing you forget. It's the kind of thing you don't want people to remember.”

Lex scowled. “What's
that
supposed to mean?”

“When a person is murdered, it's very common for people who might have even a little bit of information to totally wimp out,” Park explained. “No one wants to be questioned by the cops—or us, for that matter. That goes double for Brooklyn: he works at the hotel, and so does his father. The last thing he wants is for anyone to draw a link between him and Elijah Traymore.”

“But even though we've drawn a link between them,” Lex said, “what does it prove? It totally doesn't prove that Brooklyn's a killer. I mean, what's his motive? Hello?”

“Motive is usually the last thing that comes to light,” Madison answered. “You know that.”

Park started pacing the floor. “Come on, it's time to try and piece this together chronologically.”

Madison and Lex walked over to the couch and sat down.

“We're going to start with Poppy,” Park said, holding up a finger. “She comes up to us yesterday at the luncheon and tells us that something terrible is about to happen. She flat-out says that someone's about to be covered by the shawl of death, right? Then she leaves. But she doesn't leave the hotel as she claimed to—we know that now.”

“Right.” Madison nodded. “Then we spot Coco and Elijah talking, and we meet Elijah. Total sleaze.”

“And
not
a well-dressed one,” Lex tossed in.

Park shrugged. “I actually liked his boots.”

“Oh, please.” Madison made a sour face. “Biker boots and jeans at a society luncheon? That's called having no taste.”

“Taste or not, Elijah left the room a few minutes later and went back up to the penthouse,” Park continued. “Coco leaves—tells us she's going to the bathroom. In fact, she heads up to the suite at what's probably the exact time Tallula and Ina are leaving the suite.”

“So Coco gets up there and Tallula and Ina get down to the luncheon,” Lex said. “I leave to go look for Coco and bump into Brooklyn in the lobby. We talk for a few minutes, and then we go our separate ways.”

“So at this point in the equation, we know three things.” Park held up a finger every time she made a new point. “One, Coco is upstairs with Elijah. Two, Poppy's still in the gift shop buying medication for whatever gas problems she's experiencing. And three, Brooklyn DiMarco has just gone somewhere. Maybe he has an alibi, maybe he doesn't.”

“Fast-forward,” Madison said. “The luncheon's over. We leave to start searching for Coco; Tallula and Ina go back upstairs. Tallula spots Poppy leaving the gift shop. Coco is already in the stairwell trying to make her way downstairs.”

“We know what happens next,” Lex said impatiently. “Ina goes to take a shower and Tallula leaves and gets stuck in the elevator. So that leaves Ina in the suite with Elijah, but it also leaves Poppy unaccounted for…and at this point, it leaves Brooklyn unaccounted for too.”

“And the only reason we're even considering that fact is because Brooklyn flat-out lied to us,” Park added. “And, now that I'm thinking about it, Brooklyn would've totally been able to shove Elijah overboard.”

Lex sighed, annoyed.

“Potential motives,” Madison said. She reached for her purse and pulled out a nail file. She started with her left hand, filing along the edges. “Elijah had info Poppy wanted kept private. Ina's probably pregnant with Elijah's child and maybe he didn't like it. As in, maybe he didn't want her having the baby and started threatening her.”

“Or maybe something else,” Park said.

Lex looked at her hopefully. “Like what?”

“Like something that connects her to the art code I found in Elijah's wallet, and to that painting he was interested in,” Park answered.

“So then, where the hell does Brooklyn come into all this?” Lex asked sharply.

“An accessory to the crime,” Madison said. She made an ugly gesture with the nail file, pretending to draw it across her neck. “He knows something about the murder.”

Lex stood up and walked back to the open doors. A soft breeze drifted into the living room. “Do you both have any idea how crazy this all sounds?” she snapped. “We have three suspects and only a couple of motives. And now we're thinking about linking all three of them together on this. I mean, why the hell would it take three people to kill Elijah? Or, better yet, why would any of them
want
to kill him?”

“Because he had some sort of info on each one of them,” Park replied right away. “Maybe he was blackmailing them, or threatening to blackmail them. Do you know how many people get whacked every year because of what they know?”

“Whacked?”
Madison's eyes widened. “You're starting to sound more and more like you belong on
The Sopranos.
”

“You know what I mean,” Park said. “And when you look at Ina, Poppy, and Brooklyn, you have a very obvious link—they were all in the hotel when the crime occurred, and they're all somehow connected to Elijah from the past.”

“Crazy,” Lex muttered. “I know Brooklyn, and he isn't a killer!”

“You've only known Bensonhurst for like two days,” Madison said, chuckling at her own joke.

“Well, that's enough time for me to know he has nothing to do with this.” Lex plopped back onto the couch and folded her arms across her chest. “And excuse me for asking, but if Brooklyn
is
guilty of something, why would he try to be wooing me when he knows we're involved in this investigation?”

“He's acting like a pretty typical suspect,” Madison explained, doing her best to sound nonchalant. “He's trying to get close to the investigation so that he can sabotage it. And maybe that's what Poppy wanted to do tonight with her little séance.” A pause. “Park, I think it's time we call the police and fill them in on what we've uncovered.”

“No way!” Park shot back. “If we don't have enough info, they'll make sure we don't get the chance to get any more—it will guarantee Coco goes to trial.”

“So then, what are we doing?”

“Tomorrow morning, we'll pay Brooklyn a visit,” Park said. “Then we'll have to find Ina, and maybe we'll get on Poppy's case again. One of them is going to break down under the pressure eventually. Just one more little clue. That's all we need.”

Lex's eyes were unnaturally bright, but she didn't allow herself to cry. She felt like she'd been hit in the head with a wooden platform. “I guess I was just stupid,” she whispered. “Stupid and caught up in the heat of the moment.”

“Heat is very powerful,” Park answered gently. “Especially when it shows up in the form of a tall muscle-god with sexy eyes and hands as big as baseball gloves.” She looked up at the ceiling. “Is the air-conditioning on in here, or am I just getting a little hot myself?”

“Control yourself, will you?” Madison said, dropping the nail file onto the coffee table. “We need to remind Lex that Brooklyn's good looks don't matter. He lied to her.”

“Girls?”

They jumped at the sound of Lupe's voice. She was standing on the threshold, her hands behind her back, a weird expression on her face.

“What is it?” Madison asked. “Did we wake you?”

“No. You no wake me. I been up.” Lupe twitched her nose nervously.

“What's wrong?” Lex asked.

Lupe walked over to them. Her eyes flashed with a sudden mixture of fear and rage. “I guess you no see the
People
magazine yet.”

Park shook her head. “No, we haven't. Why?”

Lupe brought her arms out from behind her back. In her right hand was the newest issue of
People.
She twitched her nose again as she held the magazine up.

And in that instant, Madison experienced a dizzying rush of tunnel vision. She couldn't believe her eyes. She couldn't believe the stab of pain in her chest. She forgot all about tonight and flashed back to what Poppy van Lulu had told her yesterday afternoon—that dire prediction no one had wanted to talk about.

Someone close to you will reveal himself as a liar.

There was a big, grainy picture of Theo on the front page of the magazine; snapped from an angle, it showed him standing on a beach in Antigua, his shirt crumpled on the sand and his arms locked around a tall, thin girl.

Caught!
the headline read.
Playboy Theo Cheats on Madison!

Lex reached out and grabbed the magazine. “That little shit!” she screamed, baring her teeth like a wolf. “Oh! The nerve of him!”

“Madison? Are you okay?” Park asked worriedly.

But Madison was frozen, her eyes locked on the floor.

“I knew he was an asshole!” Lex ranted. “I'll tell every tabloid editor in America that he has a nasty case of herpes!”

“Lex…stop.” Madison wiped away the first tear that trickled down her cheek. “I don't want anybody to do anything.”

“It's too late,” Lupe whispered. Her lip curled into a sneer as she pulled her trusty dish towel from the front pocket of her apron. “Saturday, when Theo gets home, he's gonna meet my little friend.” She unfurled the towel and whipped it against the side of the coffee table.

Park and Lex recoiled in fear.

Madison didn't seem to notice anything except the headline. She buried her face in her hands and ran from the room.