“Did Betsy have a sister?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Don’t believe so. In fact, I’m pretty sure she didn’t. I remember her telling me that she was an only child. Her father was a miner and her mother was a teacher. That’s all I know.”
“You must know more than that,” I said softly. “You were her lover at one time, weren’t you?”
“Who told you that? That biddy from across the hall? She just loves to gossip. You’ve been asking a lot of questions, Jessica. Now it’s my turn. What were you doing at Betsy’s apartment?”
“Who was at Betsy’s apartment?” a voice said from behind me.
I turned to see Anne Tripper descending the spiral staircase. She was dressed in a red velour jacket and matching pants with gold slippers, and wore multiple rings on her fingers, as usual. She strode to the sofa, putting her hand out for Kevin’s assistance as she stepped behind the coffee table. I wondered if she dressed on purpose to contrast with the muted tones of the room, to make sure she stood out, to compete for attention with the view.
“You changed?” Kevin said, rising to kiss her cheek.
“Some jerk bumped into me on the street and I spilled coffee all over myself,” she said.
“Get done what you needed to?” he asked.
“Of course. I’m very efficient.” She turned to me. “And how are you, Jessica? I hope the cops didn’t keep you too late.” She dropped onto the sofa next to Kevin.
I ignored her question. “How did you get in here?” I asked instead. “You didn’t use the front door. Were you here all this time?”
“I rarely use the front door,” she said. “We have another door to the upstairs. Saves me from traipsing across the whole apartment to get to the bedroom.”
“The outfit you spilled coffee on,” I said, “was it by chance a pink hooded sweatshirt?”
She laughed. “I haven’t worn a hooded sweatshirt since high school,” she said, “and maybe not even then. Why do you ask?”
“I saw someone coming out of Betsy Archibald’s building today. She was wearing a hooded sweatshirt. I thought it might have been you.”
“I wasn’t anywhere near Sullivan Street today,” she said. “But there have to be other tenants in Betsy’s building who get visitors.”
“I notice you’re not wearing your opal ring,” I said. “Did Lance’s comments about it at the meeting spook you?”
She looked down at her hands. “I never listen to that jerk.” She flashed an ironic smile at Kevin. “Sorry,” she said to him, apparently not sorry at all. “I know what a big deal you made when Betsy got him for the campaign.”
“He’s got a big show. We wanted a big name.”
“My name wasn’t big enough for you?”
“C’mon, Anne. Let’s not take up Mrs. Fletcher’s time with our quibbles.”
“My career is a quibble?” She was not about to let go of her irritation.
“The opal ring?” I asked. “It’s very beautiful. Aren’t you going to wear it again?”
“Well, I would, but I can’t.”
“Because of the bad luck?” I asked.
“Well, yes. It’s actually quite bad luck. I lost it yesterday.”
“The production company must have a lost and found,” I said. “Did you ask the women in the production office?”
“As if anyone there would admit it. I left the ring in my handbag, which I left in the production office. One of them probably stole it.”
“I’m sure it will be returned to you,” I said.
Her face reflected her annoyance. “I doubt it,” she said. She turned to Kevin. “I met the Barkers in the elevator. The couple from downstairs? They invited us to dinner. I said yes for us. I hope you don’t mind.”
He hesitated a moment. “That’s fine,” he replied. “Beats having to order in and have one of those reporters pretend to be a deliveryman from the Chinese restaurant.”
“Can you be ready in a half hour?”
“I think so,” he said. He rose and shrugged his shoulders at me. “I guess we’ll have to put off the rest of this conversation, Jessica.”
“That’s all right,” I said. “We can continue it tomorrow at the location.”
“Will you be there?” Anne asked. “I thought your commercial was already finished.”
“It was,” I said, “but Detective Chesny has asked that everyone who was at the location yesterday be there again tomorrow. The only exception he made, I believe, is for my grandnephew, Frank, who has to be in school.”
Anne made a
tsk
ing noise. “I can’t wait for it to be over. I have so many other appointments to make. You’ll excuse me, Jessica, won’t you? I want to get ready for dinner.”
“Of course,” I said, thinking that if she knew she was going to change for dinner, why get dressed in this outfit?
Kevin opened the door and absently brushed his long hair behind his ear. “You might want to talk to Lance Sevenson,” he said.
“Why?” I asked.
“Betsy knew him from Toronto. That’s how she was able to get him to agree to be in the spot. She told me she called in some favor. He might know if someone had a grudge against her.”
“But she was killed while the commercials were being made. Wouldn’t that seem to indicate it was someone from your business, someone with a more recent motive for murder?”
“Then try Howerstein. She had a big argument with him, too.”
“When was that?”
“After she got ticked off with the cook. He tried to calm her down and she blasted him. Then he went after her. Tonio and I practically had to pull them apart.”
“Anyone else you care to accuse?”
“I don’t know who, unless Stella Bedford’s manager killed Betsy for yelling at his client. He’s a pretty big guy, though. Given the opportunity, he probably would’ve punched her lights out instead. Too bad. That would have been a better outcome for Betsy. See you tomorrow.” He shut the door.
I stood there perplexed. How could he make light of Betsy’s murder? In one moment he was saying he didn’t know how his business was going to go on without her, and moments later he joked about her death. I shook my head and rang for the elevator. I never got to ask him if he suspected that Betsy hoped to woo away his agency’s clients for her new agency. I’d save that for tomorrow.
And Anne Tripper. Interesting that she was aware that Betsy’s apartment was on Sullivan Street. I wondered if they knew each other before this commercial shoot, or if she knew where Betsy lived because she knew Kevin had dated her.
I got off the elevator at the lobby and the doorman opened the glass door to the vestibule. “Are the Barkers at home?” I asked him.
“The Barkers?”
“Don’t the Barkers have an apartment here?”
“Never heard of anyone in the building named Barker,” he said. “And I know them all. We’ve got a single woman named Baker, but she’s away on a business trip.”
“That must be it,” I said. “I must have misheard the name.”
“You want to leave a message for her?”
“No, thanks. I can try her again when she gets back.”
It’s been my experience that when people lie about small inconsequential things, they’ll lie about big things, too. There was no need to pretend they had a dinner date to get rid of me. I was as happy to get out of there as they were to see me go.
Chapter Eighteen
“T
hat was delicious, sweetheart. Nothing like a home-cooked meal.” Grady wiped his mouth with his napkin and looked around with satisfaction. A fleeting sad expression crossed his face, and I thought for a moment that he was going to tear up. But he blinked several times and smiled instead.
“Can I go up to Michele’s, Dad?” Frank asked. “We want to put more songs on my iPod.”
“Don’t you have any work to do for school, sport? You’ve been out for two days.”
“No. Miss Lyons said I can make up my reading over the weekend. Right, Mom?”
“Not exactly. She said you may have until Monday to catch up with your class, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have to start it tonight.”
“Aw.”
“Sorry, son,” Grady said. “Schoolwork comes first; then you can play. But first, help your mother clear the table.”
Frank sighed and made a long-suffering face, but obediently got up and began ferrying plates into the kitchen. I joined him and we had the table cleared in no time. Donna brought in a pot of coffee. I followed with our mugs. She looked at her watch. “If you finish reading the next chapter in your book, Frank, you may look online for another song for the iPod. But you’ll have to tell Michele you can’t see him until tomorrow. It’s getting late and you have school in the morning.”
“Okay! I’m a fast reader. I know just what I want to get, too.” He excused himself and went to his room.
“He doesn’t seem any worse for the experience,” I said. “Has he talked about it at all?”
Grady laughed. “He must have told everyone in the building what happened by now,” he said. “I think he looks on getting locked in the truck as an adventure, now that he’s free. I can tell you, it sure took a couple of years off my life.”
“Mrs. Cranford from the third floor stopped me in the hall to say how happy she is that Frank is all right,” Donna said, suppressing a smile. “Most days, she barely says ‘Good morning.’ This afternoon, she told me how she had a nephew who got lost upstate in a snowstorm. The whole county turned out to look for him. They found him huddled in a hunter’s cabin two days later. He lost a toe to frostbite, but was otherwise okay.”
“Everyone has a story,” Grady said. “I met Mr. Abbott at the mailbox. He told me that he and his wife thought their kids had been abducted when they stopped in a shop in Gallup, New Mexico. They’d gone into a side room to look at Indian jewelry, and the kids were gone when they came out front. They found them back at the trailer, sitting on the car’s bumper waiting for them. That was over thirty years ago, and he says when he heard about Frank, the memory and the fear came rushing back.”
“The building is a little like a small town,” Donna said. “Word gets around fast.”
“Has Frank mentioned Betsy at all?” I asked.
Grady shook his head. “Not to me.”
“Nor to me,” Donna added. “I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, but while he was excited about talking to Detective Chesny, the reason why seems to have slipped his mind.”
“Speaking of shoes,” Grady said. “Frank has already put in his birthday order. He’d like a pair of cowboy boots like Jimbo’s.” He looked at Donna. “I told you about Jimbo Barnes. That’s Cookie—I mean Stella Bedford’s manager. He wears these fancy tooled leather boots.”
Frank poked his head out the door of his bedroom. “And they’re this cool color, too. It’s called turquoise,” he said. “And he’s always polishing them with this big red handkerchief. Even in the bathroom.”
“Have you been eavesdropping on our conversation, young man?” his mother asked. “What did I tell you about that?”
Frank wandered out to the table. “I’m not trying to listen, but I can’t help hearing your voices.”
“It’s easy to hear our voices when you leave your door ajar,” Grady said. “Try closing it. Have you finished your chapter?”
Frank shook his head.
“Back to work,” Grady said, pointing to Frank’s room. “And shut the door.”
“I just wanted to talk about the boots,” Frank whined. “You’re so mean.”
“Go! And no fresh talk or there’ll be no boots.”
Grady gave me a wink. When he heard the click of Frank’s door closing, he leaned forward and said in a low voice, “I hope I don’t have to go all the way to Texas to buy kids’ cowboy boots. You think I can find them here?”
“You can find anything in the world in New York,” I said, “but finding it at a reasonable price is another story.”
“Well, you went shopping today,” Donna said to me. “Did you find what you wanted at a reasonable price?”
“Actually, I did a little investigating today,” I said.
Donna glanced at Grady with a smile. “We figured that’s what you were up to, Aunt Jessica.”
“Dig up anything new?” Grady asked.
“Well, I did learn a few things I didn’t know before, but I think I’ve raised more questions than I’ve answered,” I said. “Would you mind if I used your computer for a while tonight?”
“Go right ahead.”
“I won’t be keeping Frank from doing his homework, will I?”
“No. He’s got his book to read. You’re welcome to use it.”
“I won’t be long. I promise. You two must be exhausted.”
“Take your time,” Donna said. “We’re very happy to linger over our coffee.”
“We’ve found a new appreciation for every opportunity to be together quietly,” Grady said, “to be grateful for what we have.” He reached out and squeezed Donna’s hand. “You never know how much you have to lose until something happens that threatens your everyday life. All you want to do is to turn back the clock, to make your life exactly what it was before.”
Donna gazed tenderly at him. “We’re very lucky.”
“Yes. We are.”
Grady and Donna had set up their computer in a corner of the master bedroom so they would be able to monitor Frank’s time online, and supervise the Web sites he visited. I pulled the chair up to the desk and clicked onto Google. Despite his obvious finger-pointing, Kevin Prendergast had given me a few ideas to follow up on.
I looked up information on Lance Sevenson. The phony British accent gave no clue to his origins, but Kevin had said Betsy knew him from Toronto. I thought back to when we’d been on a panel together years ago in Wisconsin. He’d bragged then about growing up on a military base in California and traveling all over the world with his parents, picking up his knowledge of crystals from Gypsies in Turkey, and honing his psychic abilities with Hindus in India. Was any of that true or had he made it up to bolster his image as a New Age guru? I remembered him as an insufferable snob who had refused to sign people’s books if he didn’t like the tone of their voice, or the way they looked at him.
I found the Web site for Lance’s television show. The short bio on their popular star called him a citizen of the world with no reference to where he was born or raised.