Done to Death (32 page)

‘Ada, you look like a queen. Absolutely spectacular.'

Ada pointed at the table of underwear. ‘Really? Lenore's underwear?'

‘I know.' Melanie waggled her brows. ‘Who knows if we'll use it, but today is about maximum footage. We have twelve crews!' she leaned in and whispered in Ada's ear. ‘And a few plants.'

‘Plants? What do you mean?'

‘You'll see. It's going to be wild.'

Ada did not doubt that.

‘I need to sit,' Rose said, unable to keep up with Lil as she zipped through the tents snapping pictures for her column.

Lil bit back her irritation. Rose had insisted on joining them, not thinking how grueling the day would be for her ninety-year-old body. ‘I could take you back to the limo.'

‘What, and leave me parked like a dog in the back of the house? Where's the fun in that? I want to see the chaos when they let everyone in. What about there?' She pointed to the dainty Moroccan-style tent in the corner of the estate where Barry and his family had set up.

‘Fine, if they'll let you,' Lil said, and the two women tromped across the lawn.

Barry stood and waved. ‘Lil,' he shouted. ‘Glad you could make it. Our girl looks amazing.' Suddenly distracted, he looked toward the tents and spoke into a mouthpiece strapped to his chin.

Lil stopped and looked back toward the tents. Crew members were rolling up and tying the canvas walls to reveal the inside. Her eyes rested on the beautiful woman in blue satin. She did a double take. ‘Ada?' She pulled out her camera.

Barry walked over to her. ‘She's going to be a star. The camera loves her, and the stuff that comes out of her mouth …'

‘She's my daughter,' Rose said. ‘She gets it from me.'

‘How wonderful!' he said, his eyes on Rose. ‘I'm Barry Stromstein, one of the executive producers.'

‘Rose Rimmelman,' she said. ‘And how many executive producers are there?' she asked, her New York accent thick as if winding up to tell a joke that starts with,
How many executive producers does it take to screw in a light bulb?

‘Three, at the moment.'

Lil looked at him. ‘You, who and who?'

‘Me, Rachel and the LPP CFO, Patty Corcoran.'

‘I don't think I've met her,' Lil said, curious that he'd mentioned Rachel.

‘And you probably won't.'

‘So how does she get a producing credit?' Lil asked, her last several days interacting with LPP having given her a crash course on the importance of getting your name into the closing credits.

‘This.' He threw his arms wide. ‘To get this kind of rapid resource, you have to give to get. I needed money and lots of camera crews. Apparently Patty's always had her heart set on a producing credit.'

‘Got it, and speaking of … seeing as you're getting my girlfriend as your new star, any chance you could let Rose have a spot in your tent?'

‘Not a problem. Come, meet the wife. Excuse me.' He listened to the bud in his ear. ‘Whenever you're ready. How far away is she? Then I'd get started. Remember, more is more.'

Lil tried to figure out who Barry was talking to, while getting her first close-up look at Jeanine Stromstein. Yes, she'd seen her in the distance and had thought,
beautiful woman
. But from ten feet away, she found it hard not to stare. She glanced at Barry, not a bad-looking man with his full head of dark hair and his even features, but his wife could easily have graced the cover of any fashion magazine.

‘Hi,' Jeanine said. ‘Lil, is it?'

‘And this is Ada's mother Rose.' She didn't know where to put her gaze, mesmerized by Jeanine's beauty. Even under the shade of the tent the woman's hair was an explosion of reds and golds. Her complexion was pure cream and the green of her eyes glowed like a cat's. Lil detected an accent, not strong, probably mid-west. She felt rude, but couldn't stop staring. Like studying some masterpiece, searching for the flaw and finding none. She noted a few ungracious thoughts like
, how exactly did Barry wind up with this woman?

‘Pleased to meet you, Rose.' Jeanine selected a chair with arms and set it at the edge of the tent so the older woman could have an unobstructed view. ‘Ashley,' she called to her daughter, who was playing on a blanket with a fashion doll and an improbable purple plastic pony. ‘Say hello to Lil and Rose.'

The little girl looked up. ‘Do you live here?' She looked first at Lil and then at Rose.

Lil smiled, unable to stop the thought that while little Ashley was adorable and would grow up to be pretty, she would pale in comparison to her mother. ‘We do,' she said. ‘I grew up here, not in this house but in Grenville.'

‘I'm going to live here,' she announced. ‘I want to ride horses like my mommy.'

Lil smiled. ‘That sounds like fun.'

‘We've been looking at houses,' Jeanine said. ‘Could I get the two of you some coffee? Tea?'

‘Some water, if you wouldn't mind,' Rose said.

‘Not at all,' Jeanine said. She glanced back at the banquet tents. ‘Something's happening.'

Lil saw movement by the electric gate across the drive. Two camera crews filmed as a pair of guards opened the gate to allow the first hundred shoppers into the estate sale. Lil recognized a few locals in the surging throng. Her camera was out, and she zoomed in on the action. There was a lot of pushing and shoving. People waved their cardboard numbers at the guards and once through the gate they sprinted the last fifty yards to the tents. Pocketbooks flapped from shoulders, and one woman fell to the ground, nearly setting off a domino effect among the eager shoppers.

With Rose settled, Lil sidled next to Barry, whose focus was riveted to the unfolding drama. She overheard him speak into the headset. ‘It's not enough. We need more density … at least the next two … I don't care … if anyone says anything just say you lost count … just do it.'

She followed his gaze back to the gate. One of the guards had a hand to his ear. He nodded and the gate opened. Lil lost count as they let at least another two hundred into the estate. The guards had stopped checking numbers. Her anxiety surged as she looked back toward the tents and at Ada being filmed while the first shoppers descended on Lenore's earthly possessions. This was going to turn into a riot.

Her attention was suddenly pulled by a noise overhead, like a burner on a gas stove. She looked up. ‘What?' She was startled to see a rapidly descending hot air balloon with the LPP logo, a line drawing of Lenore's lips.

Barry glanced at her. ‘Yeah, Trump likes to come in with a helicopter. I thought this was a nice touch.'

Even before she zoomed in with her camera, she knew who'd be in that oversized wicker basket. She started to snap, pushing her telephoto lens as far as it would go, and angling to minimize the sun's glare. But there she was, and Lil had a gut-twisting moment of thinking it was Lenore − the auburn bob, the perfect make-up, even the posture, erect but with the signature head tilt that could convey anything from interest and concern to quiet amusement. ‘You knew she was safe.'

‘Not at first,' he admitted. ‘It was Melanie's idea and, I might add, a brilliant one.'

‘Did the police know?' she asked.

‘No, and I'll leave that for the lawyers to sort. That's why Melanie didn't tell me. She knew they'd question me and that's all I need – to get arrested for obstruction, or some other bullshit charge. I seem to be the one they focus on, even though I haven't been alone long enough to take a piss − excuse me, that was crass.'

‘It's got to have been stressful,' Lil said, as she followed the pink-and-white balloon's descent.

‘Naah. It's just a day at the office.' He glanced from the balloon to the film crews in place at the landing pad, and along the path that would take Rachel from the balloon to the tents.

Lil tried to wrap her head around what was happening. In the midst of a murder investigation Melanie deliberately faked the abduction of a woman who might easily be the killer, or a possible victim. In disbelief she muttered, ‘And the police didn't know.'

Barry exhaled with a sigh and pointed at Kevin Simpson in a Grenville Police blazer. Kevin was red-faced and sprinting across the lawn while speaking into his cell. ‘They do now.'

A
da would always remember the moment when hell broke loose, like watching an accident in slow motion. The chaos started when two women grabbed an antique Turkish prayer rug. It was worth several hundred dollars, possibly more. Marked twenty bucks, it had been planted, along with several other fantastic bargains, for just this reason. Neither woman was going to give ground.

‘I saw it first,' one screamed.

‘The hell you did! It's mine … let go!' And the younger of the two gave a violent pull that sent the older woman tumbling forward, her momentum − and body − caught by a pair of men digging through a box of hand-wrought aluminum from the fifties.

‘Watch it, lady,' one said, as he pushed her off.

She turned and saw her competition for the rug race off with the prize in hand. ‘That's mine!' she shrieked, and gave chase.

To Ada, it was as though a spark had been lit on a pool of gas.
Why are there so many shoppers? There were only supposed to be a hundred
, but clearly there were many times that.

It reminded her of the annual bridal blowouts at Strauss's, an event that would have soon-to-be brides and their mothers grabbing racks of heavily discounted dresses. She'd always been careful not to exceed the store's lawful limit and they'd always had extra security. As she watched from her spot next to the checkout register in the center tent, she noted several things. The crowd, most of whom had waited for hours in the dark to get an early number, were like children at a birthday party who'd had too much cake and ice-cream. The actors, hired as security guards, were not intervening in the growing number of arguments and shoving matches. There were now twice as many camera crews as there'd been when they'd started that morning and something was happening that included multiple sirens.

She looked at Tolliver, who was to be her companion through the sale, their banter about the various items being sold to be worked into segments. He shook his head, his accent − even though he was born and bred in Grenville − pure BBC British. ‘Quite the sale, wouldn't you say?'

‘I'd say something,' and she caught the flashing blue of a police cruiser pulling past the tents. ‘I'll be back,' and, not caring that her instructions had been to stay with Tolliver at the checkout line, she headed outside.

Her pulse raced;
this doesn't feel safe
. Her eyes blinked in the bright sun, and her attention was drawn to a giant pink-and-white balloon with the LPP logo that rose mushroom-like by the pool. She saw a second cruiser surge through the crowd, followed by Mattie's black SUV with a blue flasher in the front window.

The noise in the tents was deafening. A man screamed, ‘That's not fair. I had it first!'

She glanced back to see the cameraman, boom operator and assistant director, who'd all been with her since the start of the week, a couple yards behind her. They were following Melanie's instructions:
Do not let her out of your sight
. She had a moment's pause; a week ago having a camera follow her would have seemed bizarre. Now −
me and my shadow
. She moved fast toward the deflating balloon and the flashing lights.

The assistant director − a girl who couldn't have been much older than Aaron − prompted her, ‘Ada, tell us what you're seeing and what you're doing. Keep up a steady stream.'

As her heels sank into the lawn she thought of what she'd learned about FWC, and here she was. Fine; if this was the job, she could play along. If Tolliver was going to be BBC British she'd play the crazy fifties housewife shtick to the hilt. ‘Quite the exciting day at the estate of Lenore Parks, and it looks like we have an unexpected visitor.' She stopped, faced the camera and made a game show hostess wave in the direction of the rapidly deflating balloon. She smiled for effect, feeling the heavy sapphire earrings brush against her neck.

The assistant director gave her a thumbs up, and then she gasped. Ada looked at her, and then at the cameraman, who for the first time that morning went against Melanie's instructions and shifted the focus off of her to something, or someone, behind her.

Ada turned. ‘Oh my God. Lenore − Rachel.' Coming toward her, flanked by police – including Mattie and Jamie – was Rachel Parks, who from a distance looked just like her mother, from the carefully coiffed auburn locks to her tightly cinched waist and full figure artfully draped in a breezy pink-and-white striped A-line.

Ada stood transfixed as Rachel, shielding her eyes from the sun and ignoring her retinue of police, camera crew and a few autograph-seeking shoppers, waved.

For the briefest of moments Ada wondered if this was a dream. But no, dreams made sense. Rachel had gone missing; there'd been blood and a police search. Now, dressed and sounding like her mother, she'd dropped from the sky in a balloon.

‘Ada!' Rachel shouted.

She wondered what would happen if she answered,
Lenore
. ‘Rachel, you're safe.'

Rachel broke into an easy jog, as did her growing entourage. She seemed oblivious to the questions being fired at her by Mattie, who was clearly flustered by the cameras and this unpredictable girl ignoring her.

‘Ada!' Rachel shouted, as though they were long separated lovers in a made-for-TV movie. ‘Ada,' and she swept Ada into a tight embrace.

‘You're OK,' Ada whispered. She tried not to stiffen, reminding herself of all this poor girl had been through. All she was going through, a murdered mother and brother, a pregnancy which, if the truth were known, could turn her into a societal pariah.