Private Scandals Read online

  to the cabin. Or I can arrange for them to keep you in that bed for another couple of days.”

  “That’s absurd.” Deanna wanted to be angry, but she was too tired. “Just because we’re getting married doesn’t mean you can arrange my life.”

  “It does when you’re too stubborn to do what’s best for you.”

  “Well.” Fran gave a satisfied nod and kissed Finn’s cheek. “Now that I know she’s in capable hands, I’m going to go find that doctor. I need to talk to you,” she said under her breath, then turned back to Deanna. It was a relief to see the sulky turn of her friend’s mouth. “Don’t worry about the details,” she told her. “The gang and I can handle everything. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  “Fine. Great.” Deanna plopped back on the pillows, wincing when the sudden movement made her head pound. “Just tell everyone I decided to go fishing.”

  “Good idea.” Finn walked to the door to open it for Fran. “I’ll see if I can round up someone to put through the release papers. Stay in bed,” he ordered, and walked outside. “What is it you don’t want her to know?”

  “There are cops swarming all over the sixteenth floor.” Fran cast one last, worried glance over her shoulder as they walked to the elevators. “Her office has been torn apart, like someone went through it in an insane rage. Chairs hurled around, broken glass. All the lists she’d put together for the wedding and the sketches of the dresses were ripped up. Somebody had written all over the walls in red ink.” As Finn watched, her cheeks drained of color so that her freckles stood out in stark relief. “It just said ‘I love you,’ again and again and again. I don’t want her to see it, Finn.”

  “She won’t. I’m going to take care of her.”

  “I know that.” Fran pressed her fingers to her eyes. “But I’m scared. Whoever killed Angela is so focused on Dee. I don’t think he’ll ever leave her alone.”

  Finn’s eyes were sharp as a sword. “He won’t get near her. There’s someone I have to meet. You stay with her until I get back.”

  After a two-hour catnap, Jenner rapped on the door of Dan Gardner’s hotel suite. Beside him Finn was running through a mental list of questions he wanted answered.

  “He’d better be in the mood to talk this time.”

  Jenner only shrugged. He didn’t mind taking the long route, as long as it ended in the right place. “Hard to talk when you’re sedated.”

  “Conveniently,” Finn murmured.

  “Guy’s wife gets snuffed, he’s entitled to break down.”

  “Wouldn’t you think he’d want some details before he went under, Lieutenant? The way I see it, the longer he delays talking to you, the longer he has to formulate an alibi. Angela Perkins was a wealthy woman. Care to guess who’s the chief beneficiary?”

  “Then if he killed her, he’d have been stupid not to have an alibi to begin with. I’ve got a feeling you’re a man used to being in charge of things.”

  “And?”

  “You’re going to have to take a backseat here. I’ve got an instinct about you, Mr. Riley, so I’m letting you tag along—that way I can pick your brain. But you’re going to have to remember who’s running this investigation.”

  “Cops and reporters have a lot in common, Lieutenant. We won’t be the first who’ve used each other.”

  “Nope.” Jenner heard the rattle of the chain. “But that doesn’t change the pecking order.”

  Finn nodded grudgingly as the door opened. Dan Gardner looked like a man who’d been on a wild, two-day bender. His face was gray, his eyes sunken, and his hair stood out in tufts. His black silk robe and pajamas added an elegance that only accented his unkempt appearance, like fresh gilt on a tattered painting.

  “Mr. Gardner?”

  “Yeah.” Dan brought a cigarette to his lips, gulping in smoke like water.

  “I’m Detective Jenner.” He held up his badge.

  Dan glanced at it, then spotted Finn. “Hold it. What’s he doing here?”

  “Research,” Finn said.

  “I’m not talking to any reporters, especially this one.”

  “That’s funny, coming from someone who woos the press like a lovesick suitor.” Finn put a hand on the door before Dan could shut it. “I’ll keep it off the record. But I can tell you, you’re better off speaking with me when you’ve got a cop around. I’m in a real bad mood.”

  “I’m not well.”

  “I sympathize, Mr. Gardner,” Jenner put in before Finn could comment. “You’re certainly not obliged to speak in Mr. Riley’s presence, but I have a feeling he’ll just come back. Why don’t we try it this way, and keep this as short as possible? It would be easier on you to do this here than to come to the station.”

  Dan stared at them both a moment, then with a shrug, he turned around, leaving the door open.

  The drapes were still drawn, giving the parlor of the suite a gloomy air. The smell of cigarettes was strong, mixing uneasily with the fragrance from the two huge vases of roses flanking the sofa.

  Dan sat between them, blinking when Jenner switched on a lamp.

  “I’m sorry to have to disturb you at this time, Mr. Gardner,” Jenner began. “But I need your cooperation.”

  Dan said nothing, only took another greedy drag from the cigarette. Angela’s brand, he thought, and felt the smoke sting bitterly in his throat.

  “Can you tell us what you know about your wife’s activities yesterday?”

  “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 secr
et 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 s
he 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?”