Talk (The Alexandra Chronicles Book 4) Page 11

  "Why?"

  "Partly to eliminate themselves from suspicion, but mostly to—"

  "Jerk off over it," Cassy finished for him, grimacing. "I understand. But, Agent Kunsa, you also said that about Bea's funeral. You've gone over and over those videotapes of everyone who came near the church or the grave—"

  "We're still watching the grave," Kunsa reminded her. "He may come yet."

  "Okay, fine, but what's it gotten you?" Cassy asked. "Nothing."

  "We'll get him at the party," Kunsa said. "Don't kid yourself, he'll be there. He won't be able to stay away. He has this fantasy of not only being Jessica's soul mate, but her protector. He will have to be there."

  "We'll have a very tight net around her," Detective Hepplewhite said. "And around the other guests. Miss Wright's self-defense skills are pretty good and Wendy and Slim are excellent at what they do."

  Cassy's eyes moved to Dirk. "What do you think?"

  "I think it may be our best chance of catching the guy," he answered. "But I have to admit, I hate the idea of risking it. Not with so many big names there." He turned to Agent Kunsa. "If we do it, I'd want to change the locale at the last minute."

  "Of course," Kunsa said.

  Dirk turned back to Cassy. "If we get final approval over the security arrangements, it should be okay."

  After the meeting broke, Agent Kunsa asked Cassy for a private word, outside the facility; perhaps they could take a stroll in the square. Cassy said sure, told her longtime secretary, Chi Chi, to hold off anybody and everything, and took the elevator down to the ground floor with the agent. As they walked outside, she looked up at the three buildings that surrounded the square, the endless line of office windows facing them.

  "Yep," Agent Kunsa confirmed, "he could be up there watching us this second."

  Cassy frowned slightly, but walked on. "You seem pretty confident of catching him."

  "I am. The trick is to do it without him hurting anyone else before we get to him." They walked a few steps, heading toward the thick line of fir trees that blocked the sight of the West Side Highway, but allowed a view of the Hudson River. They stopped under a shady elm and sat on the bench there.

  "I hear Jessica's pretty heavily involved with Will Rafferty," Agent Kunsa said. "Is that right?"

  "Yes," Cassy confirmed.

  "I don't know how you can manage it," he continued, looking straight out at the water, "but I think it would be a good idea if you see that she's not left alone with him anymore. Not until our investigation is concluded."

  For a moment Cassy was confused and then she caught the look in the agent's eyes and recoiled. "No. Oh, no—no way. You're way off base."

  "It's only a precaution," he said, "until we finish checking him out." He paused a moment and then looked at her. "It could be coincidental, but the fact remains, Rafferty's either been right at the scene of Leopold's visits, or has been free and able to leave the notes and presents for Jessica."

  "That's absolutely ridiculous," Cassy told him. "And may I remind you that he was with Jessica in New Jersey when Bea was killed."

  "He was not with Jessica at the time of the murder. He was somewhere outside on the farm, and Rafferty's no stranger to electronics, as you know."

  "Agent Kunsa!"

  "We also know," he continued in a low voice, "that the stalker somehow penetrated security at Bonner Farm to leave the note and hot chocolate for Jessica under her pillow. And the easiest way, obviously, maybe the only way to do that would have been to have had access to the house earlier in the day."

  "So what about Jessica's bridge partner, that French guy?"

  "We've checked him out and he's not in the running. Rafferty is, that's all I'm telling you. And I'm also telling you that you better keep them apart until we finish checking him out."

  From what Cassy had gleaned from Alexandra, Will and Jessica had been seeing a lot of each other since Bea's funeral, and the anchorwoman had intimated there was a sexual relationship going on, too. And Alexandra should know; Jessica was still staying at her apartment.

  "Will hardly fits your profile. He's one of the most successful news producers in the world. He's not insecure. And he certainly doesn't live with his mother."

  The idea that Will Rafferty... It was ludicrous. She had known him for years, Alexandra had known him for years. But the FBI obviously knew Will's background, his engineer's license, his days in the field, of power packs, splicing power lines to run cameras, jerry-rigging lines off generators during power outages, his visits to nonunion affiliates where he easily pinch-hit as anything from lighting director to engineer... And electrician.

  No, no doubt about it. Will knew a hell of a lot about electronics and electricity and gadgets and gizmos.

  "It's been my experience that stalkers try to engineer a crisis in hopes the subject will be drawn closer to him,” Kunsa said. "Send her flying into his arms. And in this case, it certainly seems to have worked."

  Cassy looked past the agent to where the TV offices were in Darenbrook III, trying to regain her cool. "How many of our people—Darenbrook employees—are on this list of yours? Besides Will?"

  "At the moment, thirty-four."

  “Thirty-four? Good grief, I suppose you're investigating my husband, as well?"

  "No, we're not. Because, for a start, your husband's happily married."

  "So you've been checking on me, too."

  "We're checking on everyone, and I think that's exactly what you'd want us to do."

  He was right.

  "So on this list of yours, it's all unmarried men."

  "Let me put it this way," Kunsa said. "If a guy has active, healthy relationships and a sex life, they move off the list very quickly."

  "And if Will has an active, healthy relationship and sex life? That will get him off the list?"

  "But that's just the point, Mrs. Cochran. He hasn't had any lasting relationships with women that we can find. And the happy, healthy sex life you speak of seems to have commenced only with the death of Bea Blakely. Which also happens to be the last time that Leopold made contact."

  Later in the afternoon the intercom buzzed in Cassy's office.

  "Alexandra wants to see you," Chi Chi said.

  "I bet she does," Cassy sighed before telling her secretary to send Alexandra in.

  At least Alexandra closed the door behind her before she blew up. "What do you mean by sending Will to Moscow? Not only do I need him here, but we have a little problem of a murdering stalker running around, and Will is just about the only thing that is taking Jessica's mind off it."

  "I'm sorry, but he's got to go," Cassy said calmly. "There's no one else. Langley can't get there, I can't leave, and someone has to finalize the collaboration agreement for the Olympics coverage."

  Alexandra's mouth fell open. Then she screwed up her face in disbelief. "What?"

  "I just told you," Cassy said evenly.

  Alexandra stepped forward to lean on Cassy's desk with both hands. Very carefully, very slowly, she said, "What the hell is going on?"

  Cassy met her eyes. "I promised Kunsa I would keep Will away from Jessica until Will was completely cleared in the investigation."

  Alexandra looked as though she might be sick, and couldn't speak for several moments. When she did, it came out as a whisper. "How could you?"

  "I have to," Cassy said. "I have no choice. And I'm asking you to support me in my story and get him on a plane tonight. Besides," she looked away, messing with some papers on her desk, "we need that agreement finalized anyway."

  Alexandra slammed the door on her way out.

  "You'd better come back in one piece," Jessica said, coming around her desk to be held by Will. "Because I only just found you, you know. And this isn't fair."

  "Darling, I'm so sorry, but I can't seem to get out of this. And the sooner I go, the sooner I'll get back. And Cassy swears that somehow she'll get me back here in time for your party."

  "I know, I know," Jessica murmured
, resting the side of her face on his shoulder.

  "Wendy and Slim and Alexandra will take good care of you," he said.

  "Hardly the kind of care I want." She sighed, smiling, bringing her head up to look at him. They kissed.

  "I love you," he said.

  "Yes, I know," she murmured back.

  He smiled. "Jess, you're supposed to say, 'I love you, too.'"

  "Okay. I love you, too."

  He shook his head, still smiling. "You just don't get it, do you? How much you mean to me?"

  She kissed him again and said, "I think you'll just have to come home and show me."

  11

  Jessica frankly didn't know how to feel tonight. Any joy and satisfaction from having written a book—holding it in her hands, seeing her photograph on the jacket, reading the finished book from cover to cover, seeing it in a bookstore window—had been quickly robbed from her. There was something positively ghastly about an autobiography that ended on such a positive note when Jessica, in fact, was being stalked by a psycho who had murdered her secretary. The same secretary, incidentally, who had stolen letters and journals from Jessica's apartment in order to sell morbid tidbits about her boss's personal life to the tabloids.

  ("Despite what she writes in her book," The Inquiring Eye said, "friends say Jessica lies alone in her apartment, sobbing, night after night from loneliness and regret.")

  On the other hand, she had written the book and it was being received very well and it looked as if it was going to make a lot of money. And once Jessica had made arrangements to donate all monies earned by the book to various causes in Bea's name, she felt a good deal better about the whole thing.

  And then, of course, there was how she felt about Will.

  Although she missed him terribly, she thought it had perhaps been a good thing that he had gone away. Had he stayed, they might well have ended up doing something rash, like going down to City Hall and getting married in order to prove to each other and to themselves that this relationship was indeed different from all the rest. And how could anyone know something like that in such a short period of time? She knew better. He knew better. And yet they both felt overwhelmed by finding each other, particularly after knowing each other platonically for so many years.

  "You've got that goofy expression on your face again," Alicia said to Jessica. "You're supposed to be memorizing names, not daydreaming about Sir Lancelot."

  They were sitting in the back seat of a limousine, on the way to Jessica's publication party. Jessica had made Alicia ride with her, since The Inquiring Eye had already linked her romantically to Slim this week in an article entitled "Jessica Succumbing to Bodyguard's Boyish Charm." The last thing she wanted was the press to see her emerging alone with Slim from the back seat of a darkened limo. Wendy had gone ahead to go over the party site before Jessica's arrival.

  "So where are we going?" Jessica asked.

  "Rockefeller Center,” her head writer said.

  "And we're sure everyone was notified of the switch?"

  "Believe me," Alicia assured her, "your publicist at Bennett, Fitzallen & Coe made sure. The woman is a tyrant."

  Jessica burst out laughing. Talk about tyrants! If a guest missed a taping or jerked them around at the show, Alicia was famous for making the responsible party or parties suffer for years until they formally apologized and made amends. No one had ever jerked them around—no star, no publicist, politician, nobody—and gotten away with it without, sooner or later, having to ask for forgiveness.

  At any rate, after the original party date had been postponed, new invitations had been sent out:

  Alexandra Waring

  Georgiana Hamilton-Ayres

  Bennett, Fitzallen & Coe

  &

  the Darenbrook Broadcasting System invite you to celebrate the publication of TALK by Jessica Wright 5:30-7:30 The Starlight Room St. Regis Hotel 2 East 57th Street

  all royalties from the publication of TALK will be donated to the National Task Force To End Violence Against Women, the Women's Defense Fund, and The Coalition for Safe Families

  This morning, however, the very day of the party, as part of the extreme security measures, guests were notified by phone, fax and messenger that they were not to go to the St. Regis Hotel, but to the All Nations Cafe at Rockefeller Center instead. At four o'clock, customers and tourists had been shooed out of the popular eatery and off its terrace (that, in winter, was the skating rink).

  Large tents were erected outside so that no one walking around the courtyard could see what was going on below. Jessica had already been told she was not allowed on the terrace at all, but had a fifty-by-fifty-foot designated area inside where she had to stay. Security cameras were mounted everywhere. "Normal" guests were notified to expect security delays as they entered through the elevator bank on Forty-Third Street. Celebrity guests were to use the Fifth Avenue entrance and would be led through the underground tunnel to the cafe.

  As for the press, only those personally known by DBS were allowed to photograph guests as they arrived.

  Jessica's limo pulled up on the Fifth Avenue side of Rockefeller Center. Rush-hour crowds, walking around the police blockades, spotted her and stopped to wave and cheer. She was wearing a stunning navy silk mini-dress with rhinestones and matching navy and rhinestone cowgirl boots. She was also wearing Alicia's contribution to the evening, a big rhinestone tiara which, while hilariously funny, was also extremely flattering. She looked like Miss America or something. She smiled and waved to people and the press, and Wendy was suddenly there, too, saying hi, showing Jessica the way in as Slim followed the women.

  There was quite a crowd assembled in the cafe already, mostly the book-publishing and DBS staffs, plus a number of plainclothes security people. The DBS and Bennett, Fitzallen & Coe publicists were standing at the door to the cafe; Cassy, Langley and Kate Weston came next, followed by Alexandra and Georgiana to round out representation of the party hosts.

  The cafe tables were covered in white linen tablecloths with elaborate floral centerpieces. Copies of Talk were prominently displayed. A blowup of the book jacket was at one end of the cafe, a blowup of Jessica at the other. A scaled-back version of Jessica's band from the show was set up by the bar, a foursome playing jazz. Through the plate-glass windows, Jessica could see the lovely table settings outside on the terrace and the livery for the occasion in white jackets and black-tie.

  Jessica greeted all she knew and took her designated position in the middle of the cafe with Cassy's husband, Jackson Darenbrook.

  Jessica's literary agent was there, Howard Stewart, and his wife, Amanda Miller. Her AA sponsor and friend, Sam Wyatt, appeared a short time later with his wife, Harriet.

  People in the book business had come early so as not to miss the celebrity glitter, and Jessica was introduced to buyers and executives from a number of chains with bookstores in the East: Borders and Waldenbooks, Lauriet's, Encore, B. Dalton, Little Professor and others. They were not to be confused with, she was told, the wholesalers like Baker & Taylor and Ingram's, or distributors like Anderson's or Levy or Kroger, who were certainly not to be confused with people like Arthur Loeb and Perry Haberman of a splendid independent store like Madison Avenue Books.

  Everyone invited to this party had been warned of Jessica's current security risk, which, surprisingly, seemed only to inspire greater determination on the part of celebrities to attend. To the TV newspeople, the security risk was nothing, since people like "60 Minutes'" Ed Bradley and "PrimeTime's" Diane Sawyer had regularly risked their lives in dangerous, godforsaken pockets of the world to cover stories, and then there was Barbara Walters, who had journeyed overseas many times to interview people who had entire countries trying to kill them. All three of the aforementioned news giants congratulated Jessica and circulated in the cafe with the easy grace of guests at a garden party.

  Donna Mills and Madonna arrived at almost the same time, meaningful perhaps because of their own stalker problems in the p
ast. (Dave Letterman was taping his show, otherwise he'd have been there, too.)

  Linda Ellerbee, Rush Limbaugh and Kathie Lee Gifford were there, congratulating Jessica on the book and receiving hugs of gratitude from her. Rosie O'Donnell swept in, and Mary Higgins Clark arrived full of sparkle and pizzazz. It was the New York crowd for real with Joan Hamburg, Liz Smith, Dominick Dunne, prosecutor-turned-novelist Linda Fairstein, "Saturday Night Live's" Molly Shannon, and a wisecracking Charles Grodin swirling by. Judy Collins appeared then, and in the next moment Jessica greeted Faye Dunaway. Queen Latifa was suddenly there, and then it seemed as though the theater had taken over as Betty Buckley, Patricia Elliot and Julie Harris arrived within moments of each other.

  Jessica's mother and father and her brother and his family were there, too. ("Well," Jessica heard her mother say to Barbara Walters, "she was always a bit of a nut.")

  Jessica worked hard hugging, kissing, thanking people for coming—Sam Waterston, Rona Jaffe, Deborah Norville, Joan Rivers—getting her photograph taken, and, most of all, never moving out of her designated box. She was introduced to Michael Anderson of the New York Times Book Review, and then to Len Riggio, CEO of Barnes and Noble, who she, in turn, introduced to Otto Penzler, owner of the Mysterious Bookshop in New York (and L.A. and London) where Jessica regularly shopped for mysteries. ("You are a bit of a puzzle," Otto told her. "I suppose we could use that angle to sell your autobiography to our customers.")

  Madonna left, but Glen Close arrived, and Jessica kept going. Periodically, Alexandra would come over to shove a glass of Perrier into Jessica's hand and take away the empty.

  "The food's pretty good," Alexandra said to Jessica, muscling in through the crowd again. "Have you had any? There's a great dip and some cheese-pastry thing."

  "1 couldn't possibly eat," Jessica said, handing her empty glass back to Alexandra and extending her arms out to radio talk-show host Montgomery Grant Smith. "Hey, Big Mont, you came!"

  "How could I pass up a den of left-wing liberalism like this," he said. He pulled a woman up next to him. "You remember my wife, Elizabeth Robinson?"