New Year's Eve Murder (8 page)

Glancing at Deb, who was going through a box of scarves, Lucy thought she detected a smirk.

“She may be your friend,” said Cathy, “but you have to admit she can be bitchy. Everyone knows that.”

Elise was getting quite red in the face, and Lucy was afraid she’d begin breathing fire. “Friendship is a wonderful thing,” she said, hoping to defuse the situation. “I think women especially need friends, for a support system. I don’t know what I’d do without my friends.”

“I met Camilla in college,” said Elise, flipping furiously through a rack of clothes. “We were in the same class at Barnard. Nadine, too, and we’ve been friends ever since.”

“Like the Heathers,” said Cathy, with a wicked gleam in her eye.

Lucy wished she’d let it drop, but Elise either didn’t hear the comment or decided to let it pass. “Now where is that pinstripe pantsuit?” she muttered, marching over to another rack.

The rest of the morning passed without further fireworks between Elise and Cathy, and the women were soon outfitted and accessorized. Lucy had to admit she looked great in the pantsuit and high-heeled boots Elise chose for her, and she was thrilled to learn they would all be able to keep their outfits, even though she couldn’t quite imagine what sort of occasion in Tinker’s Cove would require such a dressy ensemble.

Cathy, on the other hand, wasn’t impressed. “I always wear designer,” she said, with a sniff. “I haven’t worn anything off the rack since I can’t remember when.”

“Oh, I can tell you,” snapped Elise, unable to resist getting in another dig. “I’ll bet it was when you married Mr. Montgomery.”

Lucy expected Cathy to answer with a sharp retort but, instead, she smiled at Tiffany. “Mr. Montgomery is a generous husband, and father, isn’t he? He always says he’s got great-looking girls and he wants us to have pretty clothes.”

Hearing this, Elise looked fit to be tied. “If you’ll be so kind as to take these things off so I can label them for tomorrow’s photo shoot I would appreciate it,” she said, speaking to the room in general and avoiding eye contact.

Back in their own clothes, Lucy and Elizabeth made a break for the exit. They had to get dresses for tonight’s ball and were planning to use the lunch break to make a quick trip to the designer consignment shop. They were on their way when they encountered Fiona in the elevator.

“Aren’t you coming to lunch?’ she asked, noticing they were wearing their coats. “They’ve got a top dermatologist talking about skin care.”

“No lunch for us, we’re going shopping,” said Elizabeth.

“Do you have anyplace particular in mind?”

“Actually, we do,” said Lucy. “It’s a consignment shop on Sixty-sixth Street.”

“Brilliant!” exclaimed Fiona. “Do you mind if I tag along?”

“Please do. We can use your expert advice,” said Lucy.

Since time was short Lucy splurged on a cab, and they all piled in together for the ride uptown.

“So how do you like the makeover so far?” asked Fiona.

“It’s pretty intense,” said Lucy. “Especially with this contest.”

“It’s exhausting,” said Elizabeth.

Lucy quickly added, “But we’re loving every minute.”

“You don’t have to put on a brave face for me,” said Fiona. “I’m just the hired help, and if things work out I won’t be at
Jolie
much longer.”

“Are you looking for another job?” asked Elizabeth.

Fiona was looking out the window. “You could say that.”

“I don’t blame you,” said Lucy. “It must be very stressful working there. It’s a very tense atmosphere, at least it seems that way to me. Maybe all fashion magazines are like that.”

“Not the ones that are making money,” said Fiona.

“Is
Jolie
in trouble?” asked Lucy.

“You bet. And Camilla with it. The publisher gave her an ultimatum that she has to turn a profit in six months or else.”

“Or else what?”

“Heads will roll,” said Fiona, drawing a finger across her throat. “But I bet it won’t be hers.”

“Why not?” asked Elizabeth. “She’s the boss, after all.”

“She’s also a survivor. She’s very good at rising above the fray. I think she’ll fix it so that people she doesn’t like, like Pablo and Nancy, will be blamed. The ones who actually have good ideas and work hard will get the ax and she and her Barnard buddies will probably get raises.”

“So much cynicism in one so young,” said Lucy.

“Listen, I come from the land of Henry VIII and Richard III. Treachery is like mother’s milk to me.” She looked up as the taxi pulled to a halt in front of the pink and white striped awning of the New to You thrift boutique. “I also love a bargain. Did you ever hear how Henry VIII snagged Hampton Court?”

That night, as she climbed up the steps to the Metropolitan Museum of Art on Fifth Avenue, Lucy could easily imagine that she was attending a royal ball. The museum’s classical stone façade was illuminated with floodlights, and strains of music could be heard as they joined the elegantly dressed throng gathered at the door. Once inside, Lucy was overwhelmed by the magnificent great hall, decorated with enormous Christmas trees and floral arrangements; the buzz of voices; and the conflicting scents of perfume.

“Now that we’re here, what do we do?” asked Elizabeth. She sounded nervous, despite the fact that she looked lovely in a floaty blue Stella McCartney number.

“Let’s cruise around and get something to drink,” said Lucy, catching a glimpse of Sam across the room, earnestly engaged in conversation with a photographer. “Maybe we’ll run into somebody we know.”

“Mom, that’s Donald Trump.”

“So it is,” said Lucy, who had to resist the impulse to gawk.

“And that’s Ashton Kutcher.”

“Who?” Lucy had spotted a waiter holding a tray of champagne flutes. “Oh my gosh, that’s Mikhail Baryshnikov helping himself to champagne.”

“Who?”

Lucy was looking for Sam but it was Norah who took them by surprise, engulfing them both in a lavender satin embrace.

“You girls sure clean up nice,” she exclaimed. “Isn’t this amazing? I bet you’ve never seen anything like this in Tinker’s Cove.”

“That’s for sure,” agreed Lucy.

“If I’m not mistaken, you’re wearing Donna Karan. I’ve got that dress myself.”

“It’s the first designer dress I’ve ever worn,” confessed Lucy, pleased to have her good taste confirmed. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I got it at a thrift shop.”

“Good for you!”

“Even so, it was awfully expensive. Bill would die if he knew how much I spent.”

“Never you mind. You can take it back tomorrow. But tonight, you look like it was made for you.”

“Thanks, Norah,” said Lucy, stepping aside as Camilla joined their little circle and exchanged air kisses with Norah. She was dressed in a black sheath that emphasized her slimness, with an oversized white ruffle at the neck; Lucy thought it made her look like Cruella De Vil.

“Don’t you all look fabulous!” exclaimed Camilla. “I can see my staff has done wonders with, uh, you two girls.”

Lucy wasn’t about to introduce herself yet again if Camilla couldn’t be bothered to remember her name. “What, this?” she said, indicating her dress. “I just pulled it out of my suitcase.”

Norah winked and drifted off to chat with another friend.

Camilla watched her go but could hardly run after her. Left with these nobodies, she fingered Elizabeth’s dress. “I do so love Stella McCartney. Such a bright talent. Did you get it here or in London?”

“Here,” said Elizabeth. “She’s my favorite designer.”

“I haven’t seen you at one of these affairs before,” said Camilla, her eyes darting around the room. “Do you get to the city often?”

“To Boston,” said Lucy. “Not New York.”

“Boston is such a quaint little town. Who do you know there?”

“Lots of people,” said Elizabeth, thinking of her friends at Chamberlain College.

Lucy knew that Camilla was probing purposefully, trying to ascertain Lucy’s social status, and she was willing to play the game. “Junior Read is a dear friend,” she said, referring to the Pioneer Press publisher who had a summer home in Tinker’s Cove. It wasn’t such a stretch; she’d helped him out of a tight spot a year or two ago.

“Mom, I see Lance,” said Elizabeth, suddenly becoming quite perky.

Lucy followed her gaze and saw Norah’s son consulting the seating chart. She tended to still think of him as the gangly middle-schooler who had been Elizabeth’s first boyfriend and was shocked to see how elegant he looked dressed in a tux. The garish dyed hair he sported as a kid was gone, replaced with a fashionable close buzz cut, and he looked relaxed and confident.

“Run along,” said Lucy. “Have a good time.”

Elizabeth departed in a flutter of fashionable blue tatters and was embraced enthusiastically by Lance.

“That’s Norah’s son, isn’t it?” asked Camilla.

“They’re old friends,” said Lucy.

“From school? I believe Lance went to Exeter,” said Camilla, naming the prestigious prep school.

“Right, from school,” said Lucy, not finding it necessary to mention that they’d met at Tinker’s Cove Middle School.

“So what do you do?” asked Camilla, continuing her investigation.

“I’m active in civic affairs,” said Lucy, telling herself it wasn’t a lie since she covered town events as a reporter for the local newspaper. “And I lunch with friends,” she added, thinking of the numerous peanut butter sandwiches she’d enjoyed with Sue and Pam and Rachel. “You know the sort of thing: mostly fund-raising for local charities.” Lucy was a mainstay of the Hat and Mitten Fund committee, which provided warm clothing for the little town’s less fortunate children.

“We really ought to do a feature on you country ladies,” mused Camilla. “We tend to forget that there’s life beyond the city.”

“Ah, Camilla! Great to see you.”

Lucy’s eyes widened as she recognized Arnold Nelson, who she’d seen on the
Norah!
show, and waited for Camilla to introduce her.

“Arnold, this is uh, one of our makeover winners.”

Lucy took his hand. “I’m Lucy Stone, from Maine.”

“Nice to meet you. I hope you’ll do me the honor of dancing with me.”

“I’d love to,” said Lucy, seizing the opportunity to avoid more of Camilla’s probing questions. She was irked that the woman couldn’t be bothered to remember her name but could easily recall which prep school Lance Hemmings attended. It just showed her priorities.

Her irritation soon vanished, however, as Arnold spun her around the room in an elegant waltz. He was an excellent dancer, and it was a bit like being in a dream, dancing in the arms of this wealthy man who smelled so good, even if he was a bit thick in the middle and had a jowly chin.

“I saw you yesterday, on the TV show,” began Lucy, intending to ask him about the City Gate Towers project he hoped to build on Governors Island.

“You know, you don’t look at all like someone who needs a makeover,” said Arnold, promptly changing the subject. “You look pretty fine as you are.”

“Oh, this is after. You should have seen me before,” joked Lucy.

“I’d really like to see you after,” said Arnold, his voice deepening. “I’ve got a bottle of champagne on ice at my penthouse and a fresh delivery of caviar from my Russian friend Ivan. Have you ever tasted caviar?”

“I have and I don’t like it,” said Lucy, wondering if this was a pass.

“Ah, then you’ve never had really good caviar,” said Arnold. “I’d love to introduce you to it. What do you say? A man can get awfully lonely up on the thirty-seventh floor.”

Enough was enough, decided Lucy, determined to put an end to Arnold’s propositions as the orchestra played the final chords of the waltz.

“How is Nadine?” she asked. “She seemed so miserable yesterday. I thought she might have this flu that’s in the news.”

“The doctors are puzzled,” he said, turning abruptly to follow a willowy blond model Lucy recognized from the fashion show.

Left to her own devices, Lucy decided to check out the buffet of hors d’oeuvres. She figured it would be a deviled-eggs-free zone, and she was right. She was considering trying a piece of sushi, something she’d never had, when she finally spotted Sam. She would have known her anywhere, she realized with amazement. Even in a fancy evening gown Sam was still Sam, with short red hair, oversized eyeglasses and a huge smile. What was surprising, however, was that she was accompanied by two men, one of whom was Geoff Rumford, Sidra’s husband.

After hugs, Sam began the introductions. “Lucy, meet my husband, Brad….”

“It’s about time,” said Lucy, giving him a hug.

“And I understand you know Geoff from home?”

“I sure do. But how do you know him? It seems incredible to me that two of my friends would meet in a big city like New York.”

“New York’s big, all right, but it’s made up of circles of interest. People who are interested in the same things keep on bumping into each other,” said Sam.