Over Her Dead Body (33 page)

Finally, the cops split and I set out to talk to people, following in Tate’s tailwind. I explained to my co-workers that in writing a follow-up to my story about Mona’s murder, I needed to include the fact that there had been another death of a
Buzz
staff member—and I wanted input from them. I was greeted by a whole range of reactions. Some, like Leo, were freaked about Ryan’s death, others appeared numb with shock, and a few actually seemed fascinated, as if they’d just gotten to see a Mack truck jackknife on the opposite side of the meridian.

It turned out that Ryan had zero pals on staff. No one knew much about him, or what he’d been up to, or who his friends on the outside were. And no one claimed to have known he was an addict. But then, without warning, I stumbled on something during one of my last conversations. It was with the assistant beauty editor, of all people, whose tiny office was toward the very back of the floor near the entrance to
Track.
And I had almost skipped her, figuring she’d be clueless.

“Were you friendly at all with Ryan?” I asked routinely. She was very cute and hip looking, with short platinum blond hair, super dark eyebrows, and a tiny silver stud in her nose.

“No,” she said glumly. “To be honest, I didn’t even know who he was—until last week, that is.”

“Why?” I asked. “Did he interview you for his profile of Mona?”

“Yeah, he wanted to know what I thought of her, if I liked working for her, that sort of thing. I told him how Mona used to come into the beauty closet with these huge shopping bags and sweep stuff off the shelves into them. She even took this kit we had that lets you design your pubic hair in a heart. I think just because it was
free.
”

“Did you have any contact with him after that? Or notice anything unusual about his behavior?” I’d asked everybody a variation of the last question. Since Ryan had claimed to be on to something, I wondered if anyone had accidentally been afforded a peek at what it was.

“That was my only contact with him . . . except, well, I saw him down here again this week. On Monday, at around five.”

“What do you mean?”

“He was sitting in that office over there,” she said, pointing to a glass-fronted room that was catty-corner to hers. It was the one reserved for West Coast staff, the one Mary Kay had used to make herself camera ready.

That was odd. I wondered if he might have been using the office to make a private call, the same way I’d used the conference room.

“Was he on the phone?” I inquired.

“The phone? I don’t think so. Maybe. Then I saw him talk to one of the cleaning ladies by the service elevator.”

Goose bumps rose in waves up each of my arms.

“Katya? The one who was injured the night Mona was killed?”

“I guess. She was blond. She came off the elevator and he called out to her and then said something to her, and she went into the office with him for a minute.”

“Did you overhear what they were talking about?” I asked, desperately hoping that she had picked up even a phrase or two.

“No, I was on the phone. We’re doing this hair trauma story, and I’d heard this rumor that Kate Bosworth’s extensions had caught fire one night on a movie set and I was trying to find out—”

“Yeah, okay,” I interrupted. “But could you get any sense of what was going on with the two of them?”

“He was asking her questions, I think, like an interview, but he was doing most of the talking. She didn’t seem very happy about it. She kept fidgeting, didn’t sit down. I thought it was sort of odd, which is why I noticed them.”

I let go of a sigh. Had Ryan simply been pumping her about the night of the murder, or was it more than that? I’d sensed all along that Katya might be holding back information out of fear. Maybe Ryan had thought so, too. Had his pestering convinced her to confide in him?

“Did you notice anything else?” I asked.

“Not really. They didn’t talk that long. She got back on the elevator. He turned out the light in the office and left.”

“Did you tell the police about this?” I asked.

“No,” she declared, “they didn’t ask me anything like that. They just wanted to know if I knew he was an addict and if I’d ever seen him being hostile to Mona.”

As I walked back to my area of the floor, my mind was reeling. I had to talk to Katya and find out if she’d held information back, something that she’d divulged to Ryan. Perhaps Ryan’s death might jolt her into coming clean. As soon as I sat down I called building maintenance, and after being forced to convince them that I was not a producer for
Access Hollywood, Entertainment Tonight, The Insider,
or
E!
I learned that Katya clocked in at four each day in the basement.

It was time now for one more conversation, with a person I’d put off seeing all day: Hilary. I dreaded the idea of it, but because of what Jessie had learned about Hilary’s actions on the day of the barbecue, I had no choice. I would never be able to goad Hilary into admitting that she’d locked me in the sauna, but I could at least put her on warning that I was on to her—and that just might prevent her from trying any other evil tricks in the future.

“What’s it about?” she asked when I told her over the phone that I needed to speak to her.

“Just a few quick things,” I said. “I’m doing a follow-up story on Mona’s death.”

“Can you be more specific? I’ve told you all I know about the party, Bailey, and I’m really very busy.”

“Blind items,” I said. I’d pulled that out of the air in desperation, since I was hardly going to announce my real agenda. “I’d like to talk to you some more about those.”

“I’ve already been over that ground with you.”

“There’s been a new development. And it’s a very serious matter.”

“All right,” she said begrudgingly. “Why don’t you drop by now.”

I wouldn’t have minded having Jessie’s advice about the best way to handle my imminent discussion, but she’d left the building on a story. I’d be on my own—with the Cock Nazi. When I walked into Hilary’s office, she was sitting quietly at her desk, her eyes skimming a page of handwritten notes. But I had the sense that she wasn’t reading any of the words, that instead she’d been just sitting there waiting for me to arrive.

“Isn’t that terrible news about Ryan?” she said as I sat in the chair across from her desk. “Did you know he was a junkie?”

“No, I didn’t. Did
you
?”

“Me?” she asked, laying one of her hands against her breasts in mock surprise. “How would I have known? I didn’t sit right near him like you did.”

“But you’ve got your ear close to the ground on everything. No one can keep a secret from you, can they?”

“How sweet of you to say that,” she said sarcastically. “Now what can I do for you? As I told you on the phone, I’m extremely busy today.”

“Why was Mona so willing to run blind items against the advice of our lawyer?” I didn’t really care what she had to say. I was just stalling until I could figure out the best way to broach the party at Dicker’s.

She slipped her arms behind her back, grabbed her hands together, and arched her back as if to crack it. Her chest was thrust in my direction. To put it bluntly, I was getting kind of sick of her tits.

“Mona knew readers loved them. They didn’t even mind not knowing for sure who we were talking about because they liked the puzzle aspect, trying to figure out who it was. But you said this was
serious.
Why don’t you get to the point?”

“I’ve been wondering if one of the blind items Mona was planning on running may have led to her death.”

Her glistening lips parted involuntarily in surprise. “Which item are you talking about?” she demanded.

“I don’t have any specific information. I was hoping you did.”

“I’m sorry, Bailey,” Hilary said. “I know you’re our star reporter here these days and that Nash has given you this
verwy, verwy
big assignment—but there are some things involving ‘Juice Bar’ that I’m just not at liberty to discuss. Unless you’re willing to explain what relevance all this possibly has to Mona’s death.”

“Let me ask you another question, then,” I said. “Why is it that you dislike me so much, Hilary? I don’t recall doing anything to get on your bad side.”

Hilary tucked in her chin and observed me wryly, her eyes raised. “My, aren’t we paranoid,” she replied. “Have you thought of seeing a shrink for that?”

“Does it have anything to do with Nash?” I asked. “You always seem a little annoyed when you spot me with him.” It had been nervy of me to go there, but I realized that you never made any headway with Hilary if you were on tiptoes.

“Maybe it’s not paranoia, just pure self-absorption,” she replied, hard as a slap. “But I assure you, Bailey, I give as much thought to you during the day as I do my Stayfree panty liner.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Then why play that little prank on me last Saturday, the one with the sauna door?”

“
Sauna?”
she exclaimed, her expression perplexed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh come on, Hilary. You weren’t down by Dicker’s clubhouse, soaking wet?”

“Since you seem so hell-bent on knowing, yes, I was down there. I was trying to find a ride back. Mine fell through and I didn’t want to go with everyone else. I get bus sick. But I was not in any sauna. Now would you mind getting out of my office?”

Her expression had been truly confused when I mentioned the sauna. Maybe she was a better liar than I’d realized up until now.

“Fine,” I said. “But just know that I’ve got my eye on you.”

I stood to go, my heart pounding. As I walked toward the door, I wondered if she might try to tackle me from behind.

“Oh, Bailey,” she said just as I was about to step into the corridor. “Speaking of blind items, did you know that Mona was thinking of running one about Nash?”

I turned back to her.

“What do you mean?” I asked. My mind was having a hard time grappling with what she’d just said.

“We both like working for Nash, don’t we? But let’s face it, he’s a total tomcat. And it turns out that lately he’s been enjoying a fling with a certain married talk show host. Once Mona learned about it, she felt she had no choice but to run an item. The woman has a seven-month-old baby, for God’s sake. Out of respect for Nash, though, Mona was planning to run it as a
blind
item.”

“When did this happen?”

“It came up about a week or so ago,” she said, smiling smugly. “Just before Mona died. Nothing’s run yet. I think Mona was still mulling over the best time to go with it.”

“So—so Nash’s name wouldn’t have been mentioned?” I asked. I’m sure she took satisfaction in my stammering, but I couldn’t help myself. This revelation had taken me too much by surprise.

“No,” Hilary replied, still with the cat-who-ate-the-canary grin. “I believe Mona was going to refer to him as the executive editor of a leading celebrity magazine. I don’t know about you, but I’d say that might have resulted in another blow to the head with a Kate Spade handbag.”

“And Nash was aware of Mona’s intentions?”

“Oh sure. At least Mona said she’d told him.”

I turned to leave again, but this time she didn’t beckon me back. Instead, I could hear her nails clicking on the base of the phone, tapping numbers. Who was she calling—Lucifer? Just to check in and report that she’d been dutifully about his business today?

I passed two people on my way down the hall who both glanced at me curiously, proof that I looked as rattled as I felt. I made my way to the kitchenette and pulled a bottle of water from the fridge. After five gulps, my heart was still thumping. Hilary had given no indication that she was guilty of the sauna incident, but I was still very suspicious of her. She clearly didn’t like me, and she seemed obsessed about Nash and me.

Just as disturbing was what I
had
learned from her: the fact that Mona had planned to do dirt to Nash. Why would she have undermined him that way? Was she growing tired of him as her number two and didn’t care if he quit in a huff? Or did she think it wouldn’t matter to him, that he might even be flattered by the attention?

More important, how had Nash responded? Certainly he would have been livid with Mona. Had he demanded that she not run the item? Even
begged
her not to? Was it possible that he was the one who’d smashed Mona in the head? Nash knew that Ryan had learned something big and that I was uncovering stuff, too.
He
could have locked me in the sauna.
He
could have known I was going to Katya’s because I had asked Lee for the address.

As my heart rate slowed down, I saw things suddenly from another angle. What if it was all a lie? Hilary clearly had the hots for Nash, and she seemed infuriated by the fact that his loins lit up for anyone but her. Perhaps she concocted the story about the talk show host on the spur of the moment just to gall me. She’d convinced herself that there was something between me and Nash, and maybe this was her way of making me feel as consumed with jealousy as she was.

I checked the time on my watch. As tempted as I felt to stand there stewing about all of this, I didn’t want to miss Katya. It was ten to four and she should be arriving at work any minute.

I took the freight elevator to the basement. Once a few weeks ago when I’d boarded the regular elevator in the lobby, it had taken me to the basement, called by one of the maintenance men before I’d had a chance to push the button for sixteen. As the doors parted, I’d been offered a glimpse of the dark, cavernous space down there, but that’s as close as I’d ever been to the area.

There wasn’t a soul in sight when I stepped off the elevator. In the distance, though, I could hear the faint sound of hip-hop music, and I caught a trace of cigarette smoke in the air. It was against the rules to smoke in an office building in New York City, but they probably didn’t pay much attention to that down here.

I glanced around, trying to figure out what direction to head in. There didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to the design. In front of me was a huge space filled with Dumpsters and boxes and a few hallways branching off. I decided to head toward the music, down a small dark corridor. There was a mouse glue board every ten feet, and I made a point of not looking down for fear of seeing some little rodent still squirming for its life. Before long, I found the place where the music had emanated from. It was a small room with a row of metal lockers and a square table, where two maintenance guys sat drinking cans of Mountain Dew. A table fan on top of the lockers swiveled back and forth, making a dull whirring noise. The two men glanced up in surprise when they saw me.