Blackbird 02 - Dead Girls Don't Wear Diamonds (15 page)

"Miss Blackbird!" Tempeste bellowed, waving a champagne bottle. "We're back here, darling! Do join us!"

Under normal circumstances, the Cassatt Room was a lovely, dignified oasis. The furniture was plush, the tablecloths immaculate. Tall windows overlooked a charming patio garden. The walls were painted with murals depicting the lush landscape of the Du Pont estate. Tall potted palms enveloped each table in a veil of quiet privacy.

Today, however, there was no privacy.

"Pull up a chair!" Tempeste roared.

I stepped over the heap of shopping bags and empty bottles that littered the floor around her table. A waiter cowered a few yards away.

Tempeste waved away smoke so she could get a better look at me. Her hair was covered by a sequined turban she must have copied from a Charles Addams cartoon. Embroidered on her flowing Chinese robe was a red dragon with a long orange tongue.

"By God," she shouted from behind dark glasses. "You don't look anything like your father!"

Since my father was barely five-six and hadn't had a single hair to comb over his head since 1969, I appreciated the compliment. "Thank you, Miss Juarez."

"Call me Tempeste," she commanded. "You already know my guests, I believe."

Doe Cooper was barely visible behind the platoon of bottles on the table. She looked ashen as she breathed Tempeste's secondhand smoke. "Hello, Nora," she croaked, clearly in the throes of an allergic attack. Her eyes were pink, and her face blotchy.

Grandma Cooper's wheelchair had been drawn up on Tempeste's left, and the elderly woman clutched an empty champagne flute in her hand. "Hi there, little filly!"

Doe got hastily to her feet. "Mother Alice," she said with a wheeze, "I think it's time we went home. Oliver will be worried."

"Nonsense, honey. We're just getting warmed up. Aren't we, Tempeste?"

"Run along, Mother," Tempeste said. "I'm going to be interviewed for the newspaper about my jewelry collection. Alone."

"Oh, poo," said Grandma. "I hardly ever get to have any fun."

"Be a good girl," said Tempeste, "and I'll take you shopping for a fur coat tomorrow."

"Fox?"

"If that's what you want, Mother, that's what you'll get. Here's one for the road." Tempeste refilled her mother's glass of champagne.

"I love fox," Grandma confided to me. "It's got sex appeal."

Doe had grabbed their wraps and seized the handles on her mother-in-law's wheelchair. She gave me the desperately grateful look of a woman being freed from ruthless kidnappers. "Nice to see you, Nora. I hope you don't mind us running off this way. But we've been here since ten this morning—"

"Don't worry, Doe," I said. "I'll take it from here."

She gave me a flying air kiss and wheeled Grandma out to the lobby so fast I thought Alice Cooper might get whiplash. Grandma Cooper lifted her glass in a good-bye salute and began to sing "The Yellow Rose of Texas."

I realized I hadn't given them my condolences about Laura, but Tempeste terminated any thought of chasing after them by grabbing my wrist with the strength of a starving bald eagle.

"What about a drink? Garcon! Where is that blasted waiter? Ever since I asked him to take off his shirt, he's been—oh, there you are. Darling, what would you like to drink?"

"I'd love a cup of tea," I said to the trembling waiter. "No sugar, no lemon."

"Belay that nonsense! Bring us another bottle of champagne." Tempeste waved an empty bottle at him. "No, wait! Let's take it upstairs, shall we? It's damn boring down here! And bring lots of glasses! Maybe we'll find someone promising in the elevator."

"Yes, ma'am," whimpered the dismayed young man.

Tempeste got unsteadily to her feet and sailed out
of the Cassatt Room with her Chinese robe flowing out behind her skinny body.

I glanced down at the table and realized Tempeste had left her snakeskin day planner amid the empty glassware. I snatched it up and rushed after her. "Tempeste!"

She plunged into the elevator and punched a button four times.

"So," she said, tipping down her dark glasses to give me a once-over. "You're Charlie Blackbird's granddaughter."

"Yes, I am. Here's your book."

She ignored the day planner I held out to her. "He wasn't really my type, but I wouldn't have kicked him out of bed. Or your charming papa, either. You're very pretty,
cherie."

"Thank you."

"I suppose you're one of the widows?"

"My husband passed away about two years ago."

"Well, take it from me. It's better if you get back in the saddle. You're only young and nubile for a short time. Use it or lose it—words to live by!"

There was no way to respond to that remark with any dignity, so I said, "I'm so pleased you agreed to be interviewed about your jewelry. I'm sure our readers are going to enjoy the piece."

"Anything for the reading public! Let's go look at my sparklies!"

Without further ado, Tempeste escorted me past a pale concierge to the Presidential Suite. She fumbled with the key, clearly unable to see well enough to open the door, so I took over. Once the door was unlocked, she pushed past me, launching into a story about the last hotel she'd visited where the waitstaff anticipated her every wish. "Including midnight massages!"

She threw her sunglasses on the desk and headed straight for the bedroom. There, Tempeste's luggage had exploded across the king-sized bed and spilled onto the floor. Flamboyant blouses and lingerie lay heaped on the chintz armchairs, too.

But the mantel of the fireplace had been brushed clean of everything except a gleaming silver box. A recessed ceiling light had been focused on it.

"Don't mind Benito," Tempeste said, waving her hand at the box when she caught me staring. "He's seen everything. He likes to watch me undress, you know."

"Oh," I said faintly. The box contained the ashes of her first husband.

"Would you like to try on some of my nighties? He might enjoy a change of pace."

I hoped she was joking. Tempeste picked up the television remote and snapped on the set. She clicked through the channels until she found a triple-X movie.

"There," she said, as the room filled with the sound of moans and a tinny guitar. "A little mood music!"

I gulped. "Where do you keep the jewelry?"

"Right to business. I like that! Here, sit down."

Tempeste flung herself full length onto the bed. Her robe parted to reveal a silver Versace bustier with red ribbon trim. Front beneath a heap of pillows she pulled three red leather Vuitton travel cases, each the size of a Whitman sampler. The moaning on the television became more energetic. I couldn't look.

"I love my sparklies," Tempeste said, hugging one of the cases. Then she winked. "Almost as much as I love publicity! Climb in and settle down."

"You don't keep your jewelry in the hotel safe?"

"The hell with that," she said. "I can't enjoy my
things if they're hidden away. Besides, hotel security is better than ever these days, and trust me, I know all about hotels!" She thumbed the tumblers on the lock of the first case.

I picked a pair of rhinestone-studded jeans off the bed to make space for myself. Under the jeans lay a pith helmet, I swear. I folded the jeans and laid them atop a suitcase. There was no space for the pith helmet anywhere but on my own head. Which is where I put it.

"Ninety percent of my time is spent in hotels," Tempeste said. "Or cruise ships. I love to cruise. Plenty of booze and dancing, two of my three fave activities. There!"

How she managed to unlock the case with her bad eyesight, I'll never know. I leaned closer to have a look at the blindingly bright collection of rocks and precious metals that lay tangled in the case. "Wow."

Between her thumb and the long nail of her forefinger, she plucked a brooch fashioned in the shape of a lizard as it ate a dragonfly. "See this piece? I bought it from the Windsor estate. Cute, huh?"

"Lovely," I said, although my taste didn't run to creatures devouring each other. Still, it was hard not to goggle at a pin made of several dozen diamonds, each at least a karat apiece. "Do you buy most of your pieces from estates, or shops?"

"Wherever I can find 'em, honey."

"There's a good shop here in Philadelphia. I wonder if you know it? Sidney Gutnick's place."

She didn't bat an eye, still intent on the contents of her cases. "Gutnick? Is that old queen still in business? Still selling that junk of his? Yeah, sure, I bought some things from him back in the old days, when I couldn't afford anything better. Haven't seen him in years."

Tempeste fished around in the tangle for a hammered gold necklace with the profile of an Egyptian queen cut into the metal. "Ah, now we're getting somewhere. This little beaut came from a very naughty Saudi fellow. He wanted to make me his number-one wife. Oh, the pleasure dome! Here, try it on."

Okay, I really intended to stick to my professional duties, but how many times is a girl invited to put on a necklace that weighs as much as the Heisman Trophy?

Tempeste grinned. "Can't resist, can you? C'mon,
cherie.
Live a little."

She fastened it at the nape of my neck and I went over to the mirror. My reflection stared back at me, somewhat goggle-eyed. Which is why I was preening in front of the mirror while Tempeste lolled among the bed pillows when the waiter stepped through the door with champagne.

At that exact moment, Tempeste said to me, "It'll look better if you take off your dress."

The waiter bobbled his tray and two glasses went flying. I dove in time to rescue the champagne, but the glasses were beyond hope. Despite the thick carpet, the glasses broke. I thought the poor young man was going to cry.

"Oh, buck up!" Tempeste thumped his back as he forlornly stood over the mess. "What's your name, anyway?"

"Julio, missus."

She laughed and began to rub his shoulders. "My favorite! I once had a very virile lover by that name. C'mon, Julio. Sweep up the glass and relax, honey. The champagne is safe, so no harm done."

Tempeste opened the first bottle and the waiter tried to clean up the broken glass, while mesmerized
by the action on the television. I got some drinking glasses from the bathroom, and Tempeste urged young Julio to take a load off. He obediently perched on the edge of the bed, knees together and eyes very wide as he alternately stared at the TV screen and at Tempeste's fabulous jewels.

I'm not sure how it happened, but soon the three of us were guzzling champagne and rooting through Tempeste's jewel boxes while listening to her tall tales. She lit up a joint and had no trouble convincing Julio to join her. Their smoke filled the air, and I had a harder and harder time trying to remember what questions I wanted to ask.

Tempeste fastened a diamond earring to Julio's ear and coaxed a smile out of him by tickling him under his chin. We saw bracelets and anklets and necklaces, and the travel cases kept opening. Along with fabulous diamonds, she showed us nipple rings and a pair of engraved ben-wa balls, which fascinated Julio.

"I've had rings in places Britney Spears never heard of," she confided, making him giggle.

All right, I'm normally in control of myself and careful about what I say and do. I spent a lot of years watching my parents misbehave, and I know about all the consequences firsthand. So I usually watch my step.

Usually.

But after a few glasses of champagne and all that secondhand smoke, Tempeste's argument—use it or lose it—began to sound like brilliant words of wisdom.

She lit up another fat joint and urged me to take off my shoes to try on an ankle bracelet that had come from an Indian maharaja. I reclined on the bed with my foot in the air to admire the way the little gold bangles adorned my ankle.

"You have very pretty feet," Tempeste remarked. "Don't you think so, Julio?"

Julio agreed, looking pink in the cheeks. The champagne was delicious. The room had gotten very warm, too, and he unbuttoned his shirt.

Tempeste made a toast. "To fine jewelry and the men who give it to us!"

I made a toast, "To garage mechanics!"

Julio lifted his glass. And burst into giggles.

"Hear, hear!" Tempeste began helping him off with his shirt.

"Now, with all this beautiful stiff," I said, trying to get down to business, "I mean,
stuff,
have you ever had anything stolen?"

"Oh, sure, honey." Tempeste sighed, collapsing back into the pillows and snuggling with Julio's semiconscious and half-nude form. "But what's the point of collecting sparklies if I have to keep them locked up?"

I fought hard to keep my brain on track. "But you're so fond of it all. Every piece has a wonderful story. Don't you get upset if something goes missing?"

"I've had only one thing disappear that I really miss," she said, running her fingers through Julio's hair. "And, sure, it pisses me off that she had it."

"She?"

Tempeste lifted her glass to the ceiling. "May she rot in hell."