Lethally Blond (24 page)

“Why?” I asked. There was a stirring of the hairs on the back of my neck.

“Because she seemed to know who you were.”

CHAPTER 19

D
id she
say
she knew me?” I asked.

“Not in so many words. I could just tell that she did. What’s going on now? Is she in some kind of trouble?” She asked the last question eagerly, as if nothing would please her more than learning that Blythe was under suspicion for something like running a giant Ponzi scheme.

“She may be. But you can’t let on to her about it.”

“I
knew
it. My mother was
so
right about her.”

“What time is she supposed to come by your place tomorrow night?”

“Around six or seven. You aren’t going to send the cops here, are you? If the super sees them, he could decide to evict me.”

“No, no. I might drop by the theater, though, just to ask her a few questions. I know the theater. Did she say what time she’s going to be there?”

“I think around four. She’s meeting a few people to talk about a play. You know, maybe I should show up there, too. Then I’m guaranteed to see her.”

“But you don’t have any leverage if you go by the theater,” I said hurriedly. “You’ve got her things at your place, and you can ask for the check before you hand them over to her.” I was scrambling to talk her out of it because Terry would be a major fly in the ointment if she tried to lobby for money from Blythe at the precise time I was attempting to extract info.

“I guess,” she said.

“Just do me one favor, Terry. When you
do
see Blythe, it’s best not to get into any kind of confrontation with her tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay, okay. Now let me get back to sleep.”

I hung up and leaned back into my sofa. So tomorrow, if everything went as planned, I would have the chance to meet Blythe. Would asking her a few questions really give me any sense of whether or not she had killed Tom and Locket in a frenzy of sexual jealousy, of whether or not she was the one who had left a steak knife calling card at my apartment? I didn’t know, but that was all I had to start with. My strategy, I decided, would be to tell her that I wanted to interview her for my story for
Buzz
since she and Tom had once dated. I would watch her, listen to her. And see if she gave anything away.

About fifteen minutes later, after I’d wolfed down a grilled-cheese sandwich and tried to decompress, Beau arrived. He was wearing this amazingly sexy black trench coat, damp on the shoulders as if he’d had a hard time finding a cab after all. His hair was wet, too, and his skin was glowing. I had this one totally Harlequin romance moment in which I thought, God, he’s here, he
chose
me. I had been convinced that would never happen.

As soon as he’d peeled off his trench and hung it over a dining table chair to dry, we both collapsed on the couch. He said he was dying to know what the new development was. I carefully laid out my theory about Blythe.

“If you’re right, it’s absolutely chilling,” he said. “There’s something totally film noir about it. You half expect Blythe to be played by a young Barbara Stanwyck.”

“But do you think I could be right? I have no proof whatsoever.”

“Let me play devil’s advocate. What if Blythe actually
was
making a movie in Miami during this time? Is there some way you can check on that?”

“The roommate didn’t have any details. I could certainly find out from
Buzz
if a major studio was shooting a film in Miami recently, but there’s no way to know about minor indie films—or grad student projects.”

“So where’s she been living all this time? And how’s she been getting around? She’d need a car to get up to Andes, and according to the roommate, she’s always broke.”

“We know she’s a conniver and extremely manipulative. I’m sure she’s managed to mooch off other people—even borrow a car from someone.”

“It’s pretty clear why she might kill Tom. But why Locket? Just because she’d been sleeping with Tom?”

“That’s what I’m assuming for now.”

“Why not Harper, then, too?”

“Well, Harper
could
be in danger. Or maybe Harper never struck Blythe as much of a threat on a romantic level. Or maybe Locket was killed because Blythe thought she might know something about the murder.”

Beau pushed himself off the couch and paced the room for a few moments, thinking.

“You got the first phone call on the way back from Andes. How would she have known you went there?”

“I’ve thought about that,” I said. “I’m wondering if she may have been hanging around the property and saw me drive up. In fact, she could have been staying up in Andes for a good chunk of this time. You know, it’s true that killers often revisit the scene. She may have wanted to know exactly when the body was finally found, so she was keeping an eye out for any activity.”

“That’s really scary to imagine,” he said, plopping back onto the sofa and slipping an arm around my shoulder. “That she was there and may have been watching you.”

“But you know, you just made me think of something,” I said. “How in hell did she get my cell phone number?”

“Would they give it out at
Buzz
if she called there?”

“Not to just some stranger calling. But she’s such a damn good actress—for all I know, she called pretending to be my mother and said she’d lost it. But—but that would mean that on the Thursday I drove up there, only
one day
after I started looking into Tom’s disappearance, she’d already gotten wind of the fact that I was, as they say, on the case. How could she have possibly known so quickly?”

“Here’s another scary thought,” Beau said. “What if she’s ingratiated herself with a friend of yours, pretending to be someone else?”

“That’s a possibility,” I said. “But—you know, as I’m talking about it, the whole theory is starting to sound a bit far-fetched. Maybe I’m completely off base here.”

At that same moment, though, I felt something tug yet again maddeningly at my subconscious. I would just have to give it time to surface.

“Have you talked to the police about her?” Beau asked.

“I haven’t yet because I felt I needed more proof. And now that I’ve discussed it with you, I see that I’ve really got to sort more of it out before I go to them.”

“Promise me you won’t do anything that’s potentially dangerous. If Blythe did commit the murders, she’s obviously a real psycho.”

Sharing my plan to drop by the theater tomorrow afternoon suddenly seemed like a bad idea.

“Okay, I promise not to hotdog it,” I said. “Look, do you feel like a drink or anything? I haven’t even offered you one.”

“You know what I feel like on such a rainy night? Sharing a bath. Any interest?”

“That sounds like a perfect idea.”

While the tub filled up, I lit some candles in the bathroom and poured us each a few splashes of brandy. We set the glasses on the floor by the tub as we slid in. Beau positioned me between his legs, and he spent a good ten minutes massaging my shoulders and neck, working his thumbs into all the tight knots there. It felt delicious, and for a little while, at least, all my thoughts about murderous machinations slipped away.

Before Beau and I went to bed, I ducked into the kitchen and called Harper. I hadn’t ruled her out as a suspect, but at the same time I didn’t want it on my conscience if anything happened to her. Her voice was low and tight when she answered, suggesting she’d been crying.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“What do you need
now
?” she asked, not bothering to answer.

“Remember how I mentioned that Tom may have been killed by a blond woman? I now think it might be a girl he was dating before you. There’s a possibility she became obsessed with him.”

“Who?”

“An actress named Blythe Hammell. Did you ever hear of her?”

There were several seconds of silence.

“There
was
an actress,” she said finally, “but I never knew her name. He apparently took her to Atlantic City with him just after he and I started dating. Deke derived some pleasure in spreading that around. I was furious, but Tom told me that he’d booked the trip with her weeks before and wanted to honor the commitment. He swore that was the last time he was ever with her.”

“Well, like I said, I think she became obsessed with him—and she was convinced that he was in love with her, too. It’s what they call erotomania. She may have killed him in a frenzy once she confronted him and realized he didn’t care at all. And then she may have been so consumed with sexual jealousy that she killed Locket, too.”

“Do the police know?”

“I need to gather a bit more evidence before I present this idea to the police,” I said, my voice low. “I’m going to drop by the Chaps Theatre late tomorrow afternoon because Blythe is reportedly going to be there. But I wanted to let you know so you’ll take precautions. If Blythe really is the killer, she may be crazy. You could possibly be a target, too, because of your relationship with Tom.”

“I can’t bear any more of this. I went into PR because it seemed more
sane
than acting.”

After I’d signed off, I went back into the bedroom. Beau was propped up on a pillow, the sheet pulled up just to his waist.

“Getting a little glass of milk to help you sleep?” he asked.

“Hopefully, I’m tired enough that I’m not going to need it tonight. I had insomnia really bad a year or so ago, and I dread it coming back again.”

“Were you going to bed thinking about your work? That could keep
anyone
awake.”

“Actually, it was just after I got divorced. I wasn’t sorry it was over, but it’s the sort of thing that weighs on you no matter how much you swear you won’t let it. I love how all these actresses today rebound so quickly. Two weeks after they announce they’re separated, they’re dating someone like George Clooney and claiming they’ve never been happier. We mere mortals require a longer rebound phase.”

“I don’t know anything about that part of your life.”

“Bailey Weggins, the Dark Years. I’ll save it for a day when there is absolutely nothing else in the world to do.”

“What did your ex do for a living, anyway?” Beau asked.

“His day job or night job?” I said, smirking. “He was a lawyer—criminal cases. I met him on a story I was doing. But it turned out he was also a compulsive gambler who had loan sharks pursuing him with tire irons, and it took me way too long to figure that out. At first I thought he must be having an affair, and then I even wondered if he might be gay. I should have been asked to turn in my press credentials for being such a lousy reporter when it came to my own life. But look, let’s save the gory details for another time. You told me last night that I’d have my turn to focus attention on you. Why don’t we try that tonight?”

“As long as I can leave the light on,” he said, laughing. “This is something I’d like to watch.”

We made love in the light and then again in the darkness. It was a little different from the other times we’d been together—slower, more languorous, but just as intoxicating. As relaxed as I felt, my mind went crazy as soon as my head hit the pillow, with thoughts about the murders ricocheting from one side of my brain to the other. I kept replaying everything I’d heard about Blythe, wondering if she was indeed the stalker-killer. I also contemplated how I should handle her if I
did
get the chance to talk to her.

For a few minutes, I thought of Chris, too. I’d believed the worst of him and had told myself that I never wanted to be with him again romantically. I’d gone to bed with Beau assuming that it was over with Chris. But Chris wasn’t guilty of the crime I’d thought, just of being as ambitious as the next person in his business. I was thrilled that Beau had decided he wanted to make a go of it with me, but that meant I was going to have to break off my relationship with Chris, and the odd thing was, that made me sad. As I’d realized last night, I still felt an attraction to Chris. What a mess.

Overwhelmed by that mess, I fell asleep after only about thirty minutes of brain burn. I awoke the next morning to the distant ringing of my cell phone in my purse. It was one of the PR twins, rattling off the drive-time radio shows I needed to do. While I conducted one interview over the phone in my office, Beau showered. We ended up with only a few minutes together, chugging coffee at my dining table.

“You’re great on radio,” Beau said. “I overheard it.”

“I’d much rather be
asking
the questions, but of course these days if you’re press, you have to
do
press, too. Nash told me that he actually looks for staffers who are
mediagenic
. I should be writing off my highlights on my income tax.”

“Ah, another secret I’ve managed to procure before leaving. It’s only a matter of time before I figure you out, Bailey.”

I laughed, but his remark gave me pause. I probably
did
hold back with him. But it was in part because
he
was a mystery of sorts. He didn’t seem closed off, but his quietness at times, the way he had of studying me without saying anything, left me with the sense that I just didn’t know what was really going on behind his eyes at all times.

“When do you plan to speak to the police today?” he asked.

“Soon,” I said. “I’ll probably call them right after you go.” My legs were crossed beneath the table, easing my guilt slightly.

While he slipped into his trench coat, Beau mentioned that a friend from out of town had called a few days before and asked if he could crash at his place for the night.

“It’s the last thing I need since I’m just catching up after Turkey—plus I’d really like to be with
you—
but he’s too good a friend to say no to. Can we skip tonight and spend the weekend together?”

“That sounds nice. I just have to stay a bit flexible because of doing press, that sort of thing.”

“Call me today and let me know what’s happening. I want to be sure you’re safe and sound.”

The kiss he gave me was long and intense, and my heart was pounding as I shut the door. A week ago, I had given up hope of ever being with Beau again, but now everything had changed. I had no choice but to let Chris know things were over with us. Yet I couldn’t stand the thought of doing that.