Death Wears a Beauty Mask and Other Stories (11 page)

It was in London that it had started. She had almost been hit by a car. She had blamed herself for not being careful to look to her left as she crossed the street. But it wasn't like her to do that. She had begun feeling light-headed that day. Why?

In Venice she had barely made it through the magazine shoot, unable to give Larry the wide-eyed expression he had been looking for. “Come on, Alexandra, you have been doing this for years. Did you stay up all night?”

I knew that Grant Wilson had taken out a three-million-dollar policy on me, she thought. He was worried about the Beauty Mask campaign, that the client wouldn't be satisfied. He's been losing clients. I wonder how badly he needs that insurance money to stay afloat.

But it was when they came back to Kennedy Airport that she began to suspect who was responsible for what was happening to her. When Marcus Ambrose offered to drive her home, she had accepted. They were behind the others leaving the baggage area. For some reason he had been stopped at the baggage exit and ordered to open all of his luggage.

When he unzipped his shaving kit, the agent reached in, pulled out a prescription bottle and examined it. “I assume as a pilot you know you can't take these for forty-eight hours before you take the controls. Barbiturates as strong as these can make you very drowsy.”

It was at that moment that she knew she could not get in the car with him.

Alexandra shivered. She wanted to be home. Janice and Mike were surely waiting for her there. She wanted—at last Alexandra allowed
herself to face the reality that she had resisted. She wanted desperately to be with Larry.

•  •  •

When they stepped out of the helicopter, two uniformed policemen were waiting for them. “I'm Captain Rawley,” the older one said to introduce himself. “Officer Jennings is our driver. Let's get out of this rain and into the car.”

The news that Twaddle had been hoping to hear had not come. Lisa Markey was not in the Windham town register.

To find her address, they needed to know the name of her grandfather. She might not have switched the title to her own name.

“We got a warrant for her apartment,” Twaddle explained. “We found nothing related to her cabin. So far we haven't been able to locate any relatives who could help us.”

“There is another potential problem,” Captain Rawley said. “Most people have never heard of the really small towns around here. People who have ski places up here say they're in Windham because people recognize that name. We have the clerks in all of the neighboring towns searching their records. To find her cabin we need to focus on her grandfather.”

“What about neighbors? Would they have noticed an older man living by himself?” Twaddle inquired.

“The trouble is that most of the houses are ski cabins and unoccupied now. Once kids are out of school, about half of the owners come back during the summer,” Rawley replied.

“What about security system providers or caretaking services?” Twaddle demanded. “Either one would have permanent phone numbers to call in case of emergency. They might have a number that matches Lisa Markey's in New York City. Or one of them might remember the name of an elderly client who recently passed away.
Surely someone can be found who can give us the address of Lisa Markey's cabin.”

Twaddle's voice was calm but he had emphasized every word.
Surely someone can be . . .

Ben knew that when his partner spoke like that he was beyond frustration and desperately worried that it might be too late to save Alexandra Saunders.

“We are trying all of the above,” Rawley insisted. “I am awaiting information.”

The car had been idling. Recognizing that they had no idea where to go next, Officer Jennings switched off the ignition.

For ten long minutes there was absolute silence. It was suddenly broken by the cackling of the radio.

“We have it,” a terse voice announced. “We received a call from New York City. The sister got the address. We're dispatching two patrol cars.”

“What is the address?” Twaddle demanded.

“Twelve Snowden Lane.”

“We're five minutes from there,” Rawley snapped.

Before Rawley finished, Officer Jennings had started the car, flipped on the siren and was speeding toward Snowden Lane.

•  •  •

Marcus Ambrose knew he could not risk landing at the town heliport. He had hovered for over a half hour on the perimeter of the storm, waiting for it to diminish.

He remembered clearly that there was a church parking lot about a mile south of Lisa's cottage. Checking to be sure the parking lot was empty, he eased the chopper to a landing behind the church, where it would be out of sight from the road. He was pleased that the rain would muffle the sound of the engine.

He reached behind him for a rain slicker and put it on hurriedly.
Then, taking a deep breath, he opened the helicopter door and hopped to the ground. His hand went into his pocket, checking to be sure that the two items he needed were there. Aiming his flashlight ahead of him, he walked swiftly up the small hill and through the wooded area that separated the church parking lot from Lisa Markey's cabin.

•  •  •

There has really never been anyone else, Alexandra kept thinking. She realized she had a crush on Larry that day ten years ago when as an eighteen-year-old she was sent to his studio. Somewhere along the line she had fallen in love with him.

Her eyes welled with tears. Had she always misread him? How often in Venice had he asked her, “What is wrong?” I know he cares about me. He always did. When I thought he didn't care, I should have realized that he needed some time to himself after all those difficult years with Audrey and then her illness.

She heard a creaking sound behind her.

•  •  •

“It's about a quarter mile down this dead-end road,” Rawley said. “It's the only house on this road. Turn off the siren. We don't want to warn him.”

The dirt road was flooded in some areas and forced Officer Jennings to slow to a crawl. Ben knew that it could become impassable, which would mean they would have to run to the cabin where Alexandra might be.

Lurching and skidding, they finally spotted the cabin ahead. A tree had fallen across the driveway.

•  •  •

The blinding glare of a flashlight was trained on Alexandra's face.

“Just want to be sure it's really you this time,” Marcus Ambrose
said softly. “Too bad about your friend.” He was holding a cord in his hand.

Alexandra pushed aside the blanket and tried to get up. Her feet were tangled in it and she could not move fast enough. In an instant he was behind the chair slipping the cord around her neck. As she struggled to escape, the cord tightened and bit into her flesh.

“No, no, no, please God, no.”

Her hands reached up to try to stop the cord from tightening any further. But it was useless. She could not get her fingers under it. She began to black out, her mind filled with the image of her sister's face. They had had so little time together. And Larry. He loved her. She knew he loved her—

She gasped as the cord stopped being pulled tight and she felt something being rubbed on her face. She tried to move but the cord immediately tightened again.

“Hold still. It's time for your final Beauty Mask,” Marcus Ambrose whispered.

•  •  •

Officer Jennings swerved around the fallen tree onto the front lawn. The tires sank into the waterlogged soil. As their car came to a halt, the electricity blinked back on. Through the living room window, they could see with frightening clarity the nightmarish scene that was being enacted. Alexandra Saunders was seated in a chair, her blonde hair spilling on her shoulders. Her would-be murderer was holding a cord around her neck with one hand. His other hand was smearing something white on her face.

Ambrose looked up and saw the headlights of the patrol car. Startled, he let go of the cord and fled through the side door heading toward the woods. Rawley and Jennings bolted from the patrol car, chased him to the edge of the woods and wrestled him to the ground.

Twaddle and Ben rushed into the living room, where an unconscious Alexandra was slumped against the side of the chair. In an instant Twaddle had loosened the rope around her neck. Ben pulled her from the chair onto the floor and frantically began administering CPR, forcing air into her tortured lungs . . . forcing her heart to begin beating again.

•  •  •

On Sunday afternoon Detectives Twaddle and Lyons paid a visit to Alexandra in her apartment. Mike answered their ring. With a smile of welcome, he motioned them in.

Alexandra was sitting on the couch, a bandage around her neck. She was wearing a multicolored caftan, her blonde hair loose on her shoulders. Her vivid blue eyes were sparkling. Her complexion was flawless.

What an incredibly beautiful woman, Twaddle thought. The face that launched a thousand ships.

She started to stand up but was restrained by a hand on her arm.

“Take it easy,” Larry cautioned. “You're still unsteady on your feet.”

She smiled at the detectives. “I don't know how to thank you,” she said. “If you hadn't been there . . .”

“I am so glad we were,” Twaddle responded.

“I hardly remember anything after he started choking me. . . .”

In an involuntary reaction Larry Thompson put his arm around her.

“You were taken to the hospital in Windham and kept overnight. Do you remember that?” Twaddle asked.

Alexandra nodded. “Sort of. The first thing I really remember clearly yesterday is being on the helicopter coming back here from Windham. And you guys,” she glanced at Janice, Mike and Larry, “waiting for me when I was wheeled away from the helicopter. Talk about a support group. I thought I looked bad. You were all a mess!”

“We certainly were,” Mike said with a smile. “You were still under
sedation but you made it loud and clear that you were not going to another hospital.”

Janice had not taken her eyes off her sister but now she asked, “Detective Twaddle, when we met Marcus Ambrose, I was convinced that he was truly concerned about Alexandra. When did you begin to suspect him?”

“He was the last person to see your sister,” Twaddle said emphatically. “His suggestion that she might have been running away from paparazzi made sense in one way, but it would have been equally easy for her to have gone up to his office to escape them.

“And from all the descriptions I heard from you,” he looked at Larry, “and from Mr. Wilson, and in a twisted way from Mr. Ambrose, I immediately suspected you were having a reaction to medication. As it turns out, I was correct.”

“I feel so guilty that Lisa died instead of me,” Alexandra said sadly. “I will live with it every day of my life. If only I had warned her that I thought it was possible Marcus Ambrose was drugging me, but I was so out of it that I couldn't be sure. But when his bags were inspected and he was warned about the barbiturates he was carrying, I began to suspect. I turned away as though I wasn't paying attention, but I caught the expression on his face. It was worried. More than that, it was furious. If I had only warned her—but I never thought that he intended to kill anybody.”

“We now understand why Ambrose mistook Lisa Markey for you when she was wearing that wig in your apartment,” Lyons said. “But I'm still not clear on the remarkable coincidence that Lisa had on the same dress as your sister the night of the murder.”

“It wasn't a coincidence,” Alexandra said wistfully. “When I bought that dress last Christmas, I got one for me and one for Janice. I wore it a few times and Lisa admired it so much I gave it to her. We agreed she would wear it and the wig to the airport to help Janice and Mike pick her out of the crowd.”

“Speaking of picking people out of the crowd,” Mike said, “I now know why when we met Marcus Ambrose in his office last week he looked familiar. He must have figured out that our flight was due at 8
A.M.
Janice and I weren't the only ones scanning the terminal searching for Alexandra. I am certain that I saw him there.”

Alexandra looked at Twaddle. “Marcus Ambrose drugged me, killed Lisa and then tried to kill me. Why?” she asked.

“Mr. Ambrose has an unsavory background,” Twaddle told her. “While he has never been charged with a crime, it is believed that he has used his charter airline to smuggle valuable antiques into the country at the same time that he was also working for legitimate customers such as the Wilson Modeling Agency. That was why his baggage was inspected so thoroughly.

“He also had much to gain if the Beauty Mask campaign became a failure. He recently purchased a large number of stock options in another cosmetics company, which in a short time will launch its own product similar to Fowler Cosmetics' Beauty Mask. If he had succeeded in making you ill and delaying the launch of the campaign, those options would have soared in value when the rival product beat Beauty Mask to market.”

Larry joined in. “I have good news on that subject. I spoke to Ken Fowler, the chairman of Fowler Cosmetics. When I explained everything that has happened, he immediately agreed to delay the redo of the Venice commercial for another week. He wishes you a speedy recovery.”

“I'll be absolutely okay by then,” Alexandra said. “I'll put a little makeup on my neck next week and get that commercial over with. After that, I never even want to think of the Beauty Mask stuff again.”

Twaddle and Lyons said their good-byes and left the apartment.

Larry Thompson looked at her. “Alexandra, I—”

Before he could continue Alexandra interrupted him. “When I
thought I was going to die, I realized that the three of you are the most important people in the world to me. Larry, any chance you're free the next few days? I'd love it if you'd come with me when I show Janice and Mike around town.”