Part 19 (1/2)
”Thank you.” Trixie drank down half of the wine, then nodded furiously. ”It was ... it was just one of those bags, you know? From the post office? I'm sorry, but I don't remember a return address. I could feel that there was a box or something inside the package, something the size of a shoe box, I thought, and when I pulled it out, it was gift-wrapped, so I opened it and-”
”It was gift-wrapped? Alex, you didn't mention that before. Was my rat gift-wrapped?” Maggie asked.
Alex shook his head. ”No, my dear, it was not.”
”Ha!” Felicity exclaimed in triumph, lifting her gla.s.s in a salute, as if she'd just won some sort of contest.
”You're pathetic,” Maggie told her, shaking her head. ”And so am I. We've got two murdered writers, Faith, and you or I could be the next target.”
”Maggie's correct, Felicity, and charming as I believe Trixie here to be, I would not feel comfortable allowing you two ladies to remain here, or for Trixie to remain here with you gone. She could become an accidental victim of the person or persons looking for you.”
Trixie finished off her wine in one long gulp, some color finally in her pale cheeks. ”Okay, folks! That's it, that's all I've been waiting for-a good excuse. Felicity? You are the worst boss in the history of lousy bosses, the pay stinks, and you can consider this my two weeks' notice in full. Oh, and the next time you want someone to paint your toenails, pinkie, spring for a f.u.c.king pedicure. I'm out of here!”
”I ... well ...” Felicity smiled weakly up at Alex. ”Not to sound trite, but good help is so hard to find, isn't it?”
”How many a.s.sistants does that make, Faith? You probably go through at least two a month. You know, just in case the concierge and doormen are running a pool I might want to get into.”
Felicity got to her feet. ”That's none of your business, And now that you've lost me an a.s.sistant and frightened me half out of my mind, why don't you just leave. And don't worry about the housewarming gift. I'd just throw that down the chute, too!” She collapsed back onto the couch, her chin quivering. ”If I knew where it was.”
Maggie looked at Alex, who was returning her look levelly. ”What? You're blaming me for this? I wasn't the one who wanted to come here, remember? She makes my teeth hurt, Alex, and you know that. Ever since she dropped me- ”Like a hot rock after she'd found success and you were still struggling to survive and, so that you don't feel the need to remind me, after the two of you had made a pact that whichever of you became successful first would help the other one. Yes, I remember. But that does not negate the fact that she, too, is a potential victim.”
”Yes, I know that. I'm not stupid. She has to get out of here, go somewhere until the killer is caught.”
”Did you hear that, Felicity?” Alex said, sitting down beside the woman and taking one of her hands in his. ”You can't stay here, my dear.”
”Yeah. Right. You can't stay here, Faith.”
”Which is why you'll be moving in with Maggie for the duration.”
”Yeah, which is why you'll-what! Oh no. No, no, no, no!”
”Maggie, it's only common sense. It will be much easier to protect you ladies if you're both in the same place. Unless you'd want to move in here?”
Maggie looked around at Faith's palace, which more and more reminded her of a cross between Barbie's Dream House and Madonna's Material Girl phase. ”Nope, not happening, Alex. She gets to go slumming in my guest bedroom. I'll move the flamingo in there so she feels more at home, but I'm not coming here. So that's it, Faith. Get up, get moving. Pack your toothbrush and let's go before I change my mind and leave you here.”
Felicity was dabbing at her eyes-very carefully-with Alex's handkerchief. ”Thank ... thank you, Maggie. I ... I could go to a hotel, I suppose?”
Maggie was beginning to feel guilty, d.a.m.n it. ”You can't just stay locked up in a hotel room. No, it's better if you move in with me. Alex and Sterling will be right across the hall, and Steve might want to talk to you. It's just better this way. Not great, but better.”
Felicity got to her feet. ”All right. But I have to pack. Oh, and see if you can find Brock.”
”Brock? What's a Brock?”
”My dog, Maggie. I named him after the hero in my last book. He's very shy, and is always hiding somewhere when he hears voices other than mine. Check in the kitchen, will you? He likes to hide behind the bottled-water holder. You do have one, don't you? A bottled-water holder? I only drink bottled water. Toxins, you understand-h.e.l.l on the complexion. Well, never mind, I'll have Trixie-that is, I'll order some delivered. Oh, and don't forget to pack Brock's food and his dishes. And his toys. And his eyedrops-I think Trixie keeps them in the cabinet beside the Sub-Zero. And his bed-how could I forget his little bed? You should see it, Maggie. It looks like real zebra fur. That's upstairs, in my suite. I'll take care of that.”
As Felicity spoke, she was climbing the staircase to the upper floor, her last words issued as she leaned over the balcony, then turned, opened a pair of gold-trimmed double doors, and disappeared.
”One day, Alex Blakely, you will pay for this,” Maggie told him as she stomped in the direction, hopefully, of the kitchen. ”You won't know when, you won't know how-but you will pay for this. Brock. Who names a dog Brock? And what are Wellington and Napoleon going to say, huh? A dog, Alex. Poor babies, they'll be frightened out of their minds. Wow, granite countertops, cool. And an island. I've always wanted an island. Brock? Here, Brock. Where are you, Brock? Wanna go bye-bye, Brock? Oh, my G.o.d, that's Brock?”
It was small, smaller than Napper. Tan. With eyes so big they looked as if they might pop out onto the floor if someone touched them. With ears bigger than its entire head.
”I think it's a Chihuahua,” Maggie said, inching closer, bent nearly in half, her hands on her knees. ”h.e.l.lo, Brock. Aren't you a sweetie, huh?”
The dog immediately piddled on the tumbled sandstone tile floor, and then sat in his mess.
”Oh, this is going to be fun,” Maggie said as Alex chuckled behind her.
”With luck, my dear, it will only be for a few days.”
”I'll hold you to that, Alex. Now let's find all Brock's stuff and get out of here.”
Except that, thirty minutes later, Felicity had still not reappeared downstairs, so that Maggie had to go on the hunt for her while Brock and Alex waited.
Maggie poked her head into the suite, as Felicity had called it, trying hard not to notice the king-size bed, with its canopy, the whole thing propped on a dais, no less.
”Faith? Come on, what's keeping you, I want to get-what in h.e.l.l are you doing? We're not going to Europe for a month, you don't need all of this.”
”Yes, Maggie, I do. I've got a television interview tomorrow afternoon-you'll arrange transport for me, won't you? I need to take at least two outfits, just in case the interviewer wears something the same color, or in a similar style. But you know that, don't you? No, of course you don't. I saw you on the Today show, you know. You and Katie both wearing red? Good planning would have avoided that.”
Maggie was biting on the inside of her cheeks now, as Felicity ducked back into the bathroom-Maggie could see part of it, and she was pretty sure the ladies' room at Grand Central Station was smaller.
Felicity reappeared again, this time carrying two toiletry bags, and with a large canvas bag with the words Gold's Gym printed on the side slung over her shoulder. ”My workout necessities. You have a treadmill, of course. I'll miss my elliptical, but I understand we have to make some small sacrifices at a time like this.”
”I don't have a treadmill, Faith.”
”Don't be silly, of course you do. Everyone owns a treadmill. Look around, you've probably piled it high with dirty clothes and just can't find it. Then again, that probably explains why you look a little ... chubby?”
”I am not chubby,” Maggie gritted out from between painfully clenched teeth. ”I quit smoking, and my metabolism is adjusting, that's all.”
Felicity smiled. ”My mistake. All right, I think that's it. Ready?”
Maggie looked at the five suitcases on the floor. ”Sure. And, hey, just to show I'm not a poor sport about this, I'll help carry this stuff for you. I'll take some, and you and our helpful Alex can carry the rest, okay?”
She picked up one of the small toiletry bags and left the room, swinging it in her hand like Little Red Riding Hood on her way to Grandma's house, and smiling for the first time since Alex had come home with the news about Jonathan West.
Chapter Nineteen.
Saint Just had been pleased to receive the call from Salvatore Campiano and the excuse to distance himself from females for a s.p.a.ce, as dangling constantly at women's shoe tops was proving tedious. Even Maggie was proving tedious, in her own inimitably adorable way, and it was time for the company of men.
He had not as yet had time to examine the contents of the computer disk he'd found in Jonathan West's apartment, but that could wait until later. With Maggie's desk and computer situated in her living room, it would be better if Felicity had retired for the evening before he showed his small prize to Maggie.
He was also delaying the inevitable argument he would get from her about tiresome things like tampering with a crime scene, absconding with evidence, and being a general trial to her. That would take at least twenty minutes, but then she would agree that it might be interesting to see what the disk contained. In other words, she was just as bad as he was-only she felt this need to at least pretend to feel guilty about it all, while he labored under no such sensibilities.
He had made his excuses as Maggie and Felicity were still arguing over the animal situation, which had proved problematic for some time, as the cats had cornered Brock beneath Maggie's desk and were refusing to let him out again. With Wellington on one side, Napoleon on the other. Brock had been industriously demonstrating the surprisingly copious capacity of his bladder by releasing some of its contents in occasional frightened spurts, all over Maggie's carpet.
Yes, it would be good to be out and about, doing more manly things. Gentlemen had needs. Gentlemen needed s.p.a.ce, for one thing. Gentlemen needed to show that they were men, first and foremost, enjoying the company and manly pursuits of others of their gender. That's why gentlemen's clubs had been in vogue nearly since the beginning of time. He himself belonged to Whites, Brooks, and his own very exclusive club, the one he'd founded two years after coming into his majority-the club so exclusive it did not even deign to bother with a name.