Perfect Little Ladies (16 page)

“Right,” Alice said. She sensed this was hopeless. The conversation, the dress, the espionage. Maybe the real reason Elinor wouldn’t reveal the name of her lover was that he was someone she was ashamed of. A Donald in Dallas. A Parker in San Jose. Someone not worth Alice’s time or attention. She retreated down the hall toward the staircase.

“Hey, you! Where you go?”

“Home,” Alice said, without looking back. “Have a nice day.”

Finally the damn plane was off the ground. Elinor pulled in her arms, closed her eyes, and tried to focus on other tedious events that had lasted four hours and she’d managed to survive.

The implants she’d had done on her molars.

The colonoscopy her doctor had insisted on because she’d had one of
those
issues.

Father’s funeral, of course. They’d lumped the calling hours and the funeral into one painful morning in order to be done with the ritual once and for all.

There had been so many people. Faculty, administrators, students who’d been helped by his public grandiosity over so many years. There had been parents, mostly mothers, as the fathers were either working or off playing golf. There
were mountains of flowers, many fresh-cut from the cottage gardens around Lake Kasteel. There were tedious speeches. There was crying. There was the announcement of the Franklin Harding Memorial Library on the grounds of the school he’d lorded over.

Four hours at least. Then it had been done.

With Remy, she never had enough time. An hour and a half was the longest “date” she’d been allowed. She knew, because she’d kept track. She’d kept track of everything: dates, times, locations. She’d even taken a few souvenirs: a fork from the vice president’s residence that she might give Poppy one day; a monogrammed hand towel from his private bath; a Cuban cigar from the humidor in his office.

Even at the Lord Winslow she’d only been given an hour of his time in room 402, always 402.

She’d never been trashy enough to keep his DNA in any La Perlas. She wondered if that made her a fool.

The large man beside her slouched toward her now. She angled her spine toward the child and checked her watch. Twelve minutes had passed. Three hours and forty-eight until they would land.

Poppy sat with the four-way flashers flashing. She’d moved to the driver’s side, bound her fingers around the steering wheel until her knuckles had paled, and stared into the rearview mirror until she saw little flecks of light. Both the engine and the air-conditioning were running in preparation for the getaway if it needed to be quick.

Ha! As if she could step on it if the situation arose. As if she could maneuver this big boat through Manhattan traffic.

Sheesh.

“Come on, Alice,” she whimpered to the rearview. “Make it snappy.”

She would have thought Alice might have known she was frightened of the police. It was, after all, part of why she’d continued with this charade. Elinor had sounded believable enough about barely knowing Duane, but, still, he could be behind the blackmail, he was so good at conniving. And if he was, Poppy wanted to know before the police were involved. She wanted to confront him, throw him out,
something!
before the police knocked on their door.

With questions.

And scrutiny.

And reading all those rights.

Yolanda’s brother was a police officer, but somehow, he was different. For one thing, he didn’t wear a uniform. For another, he really was cute.

Poppy smiled.

Then she blinked. She reminded herself that every time she’d thought a man was kind of cute she’d wound up marrying the louse.

Rap, rap, rap.

She nearly jumped out of her freckles. Without turning her head, she rolled her eyes to the window. Naturally, it was a police officer. He wore a uniform and was not cute like Manny. Her heart started racing.

His knuckles
rap, rapped
again.

She sucked in her breath, said a small, “Oh, Momma, help me, please,” and located the button that put the window down.

“Is everything all right, ma’am?”

He had funny-looking teeth, and she couldn’t see his eyes through his dark sunglasses.

“Yes,” she answered. “I’m just waiting for the tow truck.”

“You need a tow?”

She nodded. “Yes, the battery went dead.” As soon as she said it, she knew she was in trouble.

He leaned closer to the window. “Sounds fine to me. Looks like you’re up and running, air conditioner, included.”

“I am?” she asked. “Oh! So I am! Well, thank you, Officer.”

She tried to close the window, but he reached in and stopped her. “I need to see your license and registration.”

Her license? Did she have her driver’s license? And the registration? Where on earth would Alice keep the registration? Poppy fumbled with the Miu Miu—why had she changed back to her big bag at Momma’s? And, oh, no! She hadn’t left any trinkets in there, had she?

She started to cry.

“Ma’am,” the police officer said, “have you been drinking this morning?”

“Drinking? What? Good heavens. It’s not even noon!” She fumbled some more.

“I need to ask you to get out of the car.”

Poppy froze.

“Now, please, ma’am.”

She felt the blood drain from her face the way it always did just before she fainted. Then she heard a familiar voice.

“Excuse me, Officer. Is something wrong?” It was Alice. Dear God, it was Alice. Poppy unbuckled the seat belt and scrambled over the console to the passenger’s side.

“I told her to keep driving around the block while I ran an errand. Poppy?” she asked as she leaned past the policeman and poked her head into the car, “didn’t I tell you to keep driving?”

“I’m sorry,” was all Poppy could manage to say. “I was frightened I’d get lost.”

“She doesn’t come into the city very often,” Alice calmly explained.

“Is this your vehicle?”

“Yes. Would you like to see my registration?”

“No, that’s fine. But please get in and move along. Parking is illegal here.”

“Thank you, Officer.” Alice got in, buckled up, and turned off the four-ways. She cast a side look at Poppy, then pulled into traffic without saying a word.

Twenty-six

When CJ awoke on Malcolm’s bed, the odd
thing was that she hadn’t dreamed about him but about her ex-husband, Cooper. The truth was, she did that often. Throughout the day, the man in her thoughts was usually Malcolm. But during the night, her world belonged to Cooper.

That time they’d been on the ice rink in Central Park, skating to “Lara’s Theme,” as if they’d been atop a music box, the lights of the Manhattan skyline shimmering against the slate-colored sky.

“What do you want for Christmas?” Cooper had asked as they glided together, hand in hand, like teenagers on a first date. They’d been that-kind-of-comfortable since the beginning: every day sweet and nice, every day a first date.

“I want a rose-colored silk dress to paint for the premiere of your play.”

He laughed. “I’ll buy you whatever color you’d like. Now ask what I want.”

“What do you want?”

“A baby.”

“A baby?”

“A son. Or a daughter.” His leather gloves squeezed tightly against her thick mittens. The pace grew faster, the music louder, chiming, chiming…

CJ woke up.

In a strange room.

On a bed.

Malcolm’s bed.

She checked the clock; it was just past noon.

Chimes sounded again. One, two, soft and muted, tuneful and…

Oh, my God,
she thought, leaping from the bed.
The doorbell is ringing!
The doorbell was ringing and there she was on Malcolm’s bed.

She raced from his cozy room, through the master bedroom and out into the hall, pushing her thoughts from Cooper, back to Malcolm, back to Elinor. She prayed it wasn’t Janice or even a housekeeper who’d forgotten a key. She’d be mortified if anyone found out she’d been sleeping where she’d been sleeping.

Oh, God,
she thought again as she swung around the corner and spiraled down the stairs.
I didn’t smooth the comforter or close the door behind me.

She assured herself that it wouldn’t matter if the blackmailer was the one at the door.

It was not the blackmailer; it was Yolanda. Her little girl was perched on her hip.

“Surprise,” Yolanda said, which was, of course, an understatement. “Is Elinor here?”

“No,” CJ replied as she drooped against the door and tried to catch her breath. “You missed her. She’s gone to gather the ransom.”

“Did she hear anything?”

“He called. She said she was getting the money.”

“Rats.”

“Rats,” the little girl repeated.

CJ smiled. She wished she could remember the child’s name. Then she noticed a look of concern on Yolanda’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“Well, nothing. I guess it can wait.”

“Why don’t you come in? I could make tea. Or find something for lunch?”

“I’ve only come for the note. The ransom note. Do you know where it is?”

Elinor hadn’t shown CJ the note or told her where it was. For all CJ knew, Elinor had burned it after Jonas had found it. It was what CJ would have done.

They went into the morning room. Yolanda explained what her brother had said—that if he had the note, he might be able to figure out where the letters had come from.

“And then what?” CJ asked.

“And then, I don’t know. He said it would be a good place to start.”

“I thought he wasn’t going to get involved.”

“He thinks Poppy’s cute.”

“Oh, dear.”

“I told him she’s married. But my brother is a romantic. For years he’s been trying to set me up with a friend of his from the army.”

“And?”

“And nothing. I don’t need a man.”

CJ was about to say she understood when the doorbell rang again. “Good grief,” she said. “Excuse me.”

This time it was Poppy. And Alice, dressed up like the housekeeper.

“How did it go?” CJ asked. Alice said she’d explain everything if she could first have a glass of iced tea. With piles of ice.

They repaired to the morning room, where Yolanda waited. Her daughter greeted them with a happy squeal.

“Did either of you see the note?” CJ asked as she poured glasses of tea and sat down at the table with them.

“No,” they said in unison. “Did you?”

CJ shook her head. “Manny thinks it might provide a clue.”

“Manny?” Poppy asked, looking at Yolanda. “Your brother? He’s cute.”

CJ looked at Yolanda, who looked back at CJ, and CJ thought,
Oh, dear,
again but kept it to herself.

“She probably got rid of it. Or took it with her,” Alice said.

“Or she left it here,” Yolanda commented.

“In a safe,” Alice added.

“Or in her nightstand,” Poppy said. “That’s where I put important things. Duane would never think to look there for anything.”

No one questioned why Poppy felt a need to hide things from her husband.

“Well,” Alice said, “we can’t very well start going through her belongings. We’ll have to wait until she gets back.”

CJ thought about the master bedroom, where Elinor’s nightstand was. She thought about the open door to Malcolm’s room, and the rumpled comforter she’d left. “I can look around a little.” It was better to offer than have one of them jump up and go scouting.

“She wouldn’t mind if you did.”

“You’re her twin sister, after all.”

“And it might be helpful,” Yolanda said, “if you can find it.”

“Fine,” CJ said. “I’ll look.”

They sat another moment in curious silence, spritzing lemon, stirring in sugar. Then Poppy said, “When?”

“When, what?” CJ said.

“When are you going to look?”

“Oh, well. I don’t know. Later.” She didn’t add,
“When I’m alone.”

“You could start now,” Poppy said. “If you go try on the dress.”

“The dress?”

Alice cleared her throat. Then she launched into the story of the housekeeper who didn’t work on Thursday, Friday, Saturday, when the movie stars were there.

CJ couldn’t follow everything, though Alice was quite clear when she said, “You need to dress up like the housekeeper and go back to the hotel tomorrow. You need to find the maid who cleaned the room and ask her what she knows.”

“Me?”

“I’ll be in Orlando.”

“But I have to stay at the house.”

“Poppy can house-sit in case the blackmailer calls. This is important.”

“I’ll have to go by myself?”

“Yes. And you’ll need to find a garage a few blocks from the hotel. No sense letting anyone see that you have your own transportation.” Apparently they did not think it made a difference that CJ drove an old Saab, not a Mercedes.

“But we agreed it would be risky because I look like Elinor,” she said.

Alice shook her head. “Yolanda can get you a wig like she got Poppy.” Yolanda nodded. “Yolanda, can you take a tuck or two in the dress right now? CJ can go to Elinor’s bedroom and try it on. Maybe Elinor keeps a sewing kit in a nightstand next to her bed.”

CJ knew very well what Alice was getting at, but she agreed anyway. “Wait here,” she said. “I’ll get you something to wear, and I’ll try on the dress.” As long as the rest of them stayed downstairs, CJ would agree to almost anything.

By the time Alice drove Poppy home, Poppy was too tired to care that the white Lexus still sat in the driveway. CJ hadn’t found the note in the nightstand or anywhere else, so there would be no clues or fingerprints—like Duane’s, for instance.

Which was good, because right now, all Poppy wanted was to get out of yesterday’s clothes, whether her husband was being a jackass or not.

“Do you want me to go in with you?” Alice asked.

“No,” Poppy said. “I’m sick of being scared.” She gave quick air kisses to Alice and wished her good luck in Orlando, wondering if Alice knew that Poppy envied her, with her nice,
normal family, and play dates with her granddaughter filled with glitter and sequins.

She marched through the garage and into the house. She said hello to Nola, who was scrubbing the kitchen, then asked if she knew where the
mister
was.