Hostile Makeover (8 page)

“This is you, right?”

“Not my best angle.”

“You found out who killed these women, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but it sounds so braggy,” Lacey said. “And I’m no detective. Amanda, I don’t understand what you want.”

“It’s very simple,” Amanda said, as if Lacey were intellectually challenged. “Someone is trying to kill me. If they succeed, I want you to solve my murder.”

Chapter 6

“Someone wants to murder you?”
Why do I get all the nutcases? And why am I not surprised?
Amanda was clearly not as lovable as her press releases would indicate, and there were deadly looks being exchanged behind her back among her own staff.
But murder?

“Just humor me! Okay? Or this interview is over.”

“Oh, that would be such a shame.” Lacey was unable to keep her comment completely sarcasm-free, but her fatal flaw was kicking in and she knew it: She always needed to know the end of the story. Besides, this was going to make great giggle-time conversation with her friends. Miguel would simply eat it up, not to mention Brooke and Stella. And she owed Amanda at least one good comeback in return for her comments about her suit. Lacey just didn’t know what it would be yet.

“Okay, sure.”
So, you’re a murder victim waiting to happen.
“Have you told the police? Tell me what’s going on.”
Keep your poker face on, Lacey,
she ordered herself.

“I have bodyguards.” Amanda indicated Turtledove, who somehow once again seemed to appear out of the ether, and at her nod silently drew forward out of the shadows. A beautiful mixture of races, the dark man looked even bigger up close, wearing khakis and a short-sleeved black knit shirt that showed off his bulging biceps to maximum effect. He was very intimidating. Lacey took his hand, and Amanda made a cursory introduction. “This is Forrest Thunderbird. He’s the day shift.”

“Pleased to meet you, miss.” Only Lacey could see the look of recognition on his face.

“Smithsonian. Lacey Smithsonian.” He gave Lacey another wink and took her hand. “I feel as if I know you already,” Lacey said.

“But can we ever really know each other?” Forrest replied.

“You’re right. There are so many layers to uncover,” Lacey deadpanned.

“An interesting proposition,” he murmured.

Lacey cocked one eyebrow and blushed a little. She hadn’t intended a double entendre. But Turtledove, a.k.a. Forrest, seemed to be enjoying himself, which irritated Amanda.

“Enough chitchat! Forrest, go check my dressing room to see how someone could have gotten in there past you and your so-called security experts.”

“I can tell you, Miss Manville, that no one has breached security. Everyone who has entered has been on the list. If someone is leaving you notes, it’s someone on the list. And I’ve been informed that the people on the list are not my concern.” He set his shoulders back, nodded to Lacey, and gave a small salute to Amanda before sauntering off to fight her phantoms. Lacey was aware that Yvette was now standing close by, apparently to make sure there were no more scenes.

“You see? My security people are as incompetent as the rest of them,” Amanda sneered. “I’m not planning on being killed without a fight, but if anything happens I want you to find out who did it and make sure they are brought to justice.”

“Tall order. And I don’t take orders from sources,” Lacey protested.

“It’s a good story, isn’t it?” Amanda snapped. “Why doesn’t anybody believe me?”

“Tell me about the stalker.”

“Which one? The one in D.C. is just an overeager fan, a celebrity groupie. His name is Johnny Monroe, or so he says.”

“Why don’t you think he’s a threat?”

“Ha! You should see him. He’s just a nerdy little pipsqueak nuisance. But apparently someone else wants to see me dead. Here, if you don’t believe me . . .” Amanda pulled a small note from a carefully concealed pocket in her dress. Lacey was impressed: a designer frock with pockets! Not having enough pockets was one of her pet peeves. Amanda thrust the note at Lacey. It was written in red marker on a small glossy photo of Amanda. Scrawled messily across her face was the message,
Pretty is as pretty dies. Sweet dreams, top model.

“You don’t think this Johnny Monroe wrote it?”

“No. He believes we could have a ‘relationship.’ He’s desperate to see me. He has something to tell me, he says. But we can’t let him get too close, because . . . well, you just don’t want to encourage that sort of thing. He writes daily. And we’ve caught him trying to deliver another letter today.”

So that’s what the ruckus at the door was about?

“Forrest could break him with one hand. And he doesn’t write these horrible things,” Amanda said, pointing at the new message. Lacey wondered if this was all just an elaborate ruse to get more news coverage.

“Did you tell the other reporters this story?”

“The other reporters have not solved any murders, to my knowledge.” Amanda sipped her tea.

“Let’s say I believe there may be someone who wants to kill you. Let’s narrow the field. Who do you think it is?”

At that, Lacey saw Zoe and Yvette trade a look that told her there was no shortage of people who might like to dispatch Amanda to the Big Runway in the Sky. She overheard Yvette whisper, “Kill the golden goose?” Fawn shot Amanda a look of pure hatred.

“I know who it is,” Amanda said. “It’s Greg. Greg Spaulding.”

“Your fiancé?”

“Former fiancé. You know how to deal with killers. Can’t you just stab him or something?”

“No, I can’t just stab him!”
A couple of incidents with sharp-edged weapons and they never let you forget,
Lacey thought. She wondered why Amanda didn’t suspect her unfortunate former boyfriend, Caleb Collingwood, of being behind the threats. Unless she knew he really
was
dead. Did she even have a hand in his disposal? But Lacey didn’t want to interrupt the flow of Amanda’s thoughts, especially if Dr. Spaulding was involved in a murder plot. So she simply jotted down Caleb’s name in her notebook with a question mark. She couldn’t print the mad ravings of Amanda Manville. Not ethically. Politicians were easy targets, but libeling private citizens, especially wealthy, influential ones? Very dangerous. Mac’s eyebrows would have something to say about it. “And why on earth would Dr. Spaulding want to kill you?”

Amanda stood up and clutched her chest melodramatically. “To destroy his own creation. He made me what I am; he told me that. And now he hates me. He never should have fallen in love with me, he said, that it was wrong for a doctor to fall for his patient. He wants to erase me, permanently.”

“What does it matter that he’s finished with you? You’ve gone on to greener fields too. And new conquests,” an angry Yvette cut in. “And you don’t seem to care if your conquests are married or not.”

And we’ve made a turn into new territory,
Lacey observed.

“I told you, Yvette, it was just a fling with your darling Brad. It didn’t mean anything. Not to me. And certainly not to him. Just look at him. Does Brad care about anyone but Brad?”

Amanda’s gaze passed over their heads, and Lacey followed her eyes. Brad Powers was standing at the door, well within hearing distance. He looked like a man made of polished stone and gave no hint of what he might be thinking.
This chic Georgetown boutique crowd is really tough,
Lacey thought, taking mental notes. Powers turned and left without a word.

“It means something to me, old friend.” Yvette spat the last two words at Amanda and stormed out of the room, followed by Zoe, who always seemed to want to smooth things over. Yvette stopped her cold. “Leave me alone, Zoe. And after tonight I want her out of here.”

Zoe said nothing, but padded back morosely. She picked up a mug of tea and avoided the sweets. Amanda turned her attention back to Lacey.

“It’s Greg; I know it is. He called me the biggest mistake he ever made.” Amanda’s eyes began to fill with tears. “He said he wished he’d never met me and that I would be better off ugly. Better off if he’d never made the first incision. Better off if I never met him.” The tears began to slip down Amanda’s cheeks.

“This wasn’t the first time you were engaged, though, was it?” Lacey asked quietly. Everyone turned to look at her. Zoe rattled her mug on the table, narrowly missing a spill. “There was Caleb Collingwood.”

Penfield clicked off a couple of close-ups with a Nikon, and Amanda waved him away.

Amanda sat down and looked at the floor. “That is ancient history, and we were talking about Greg Spaulding,” she sniffed.

“But surely you’re not in danger here in Washington. Spaulding’s a well-known plastic surgeon. In Beverly Hills.” At least, that was what Lacey remembered about Dr. Greg Spaulding.

“He’s not in Beverly Hills. He’s here in D.C. for a conference on plastic surgery. He’s one of the speakers and organizers; he’s been here for a week.”

“What is his speech about? His work on
The Chrysalis Factor
? ”

Amanda rolled her eyes. “How he miraculously saved poor woebegone little Mandy Manville. How he deserves all the credit. He tells the world I’m his masterpiece. But he tells me I’m a monster.”

“Oh, no, Dr. Greg has totally changed his focus,” Zoe cut in, and absentmindedly took a chocolate off the tray. “Greg is delivering a talk about physicians who donate their services to help children with disfigured faces in third-world countries. He’s raising money for them.”

“He’s no Mother Teresa, Zoe. He’s a phony.”

“He’s not a phony, Mandy, he’s not. And he’s not the scourge of Beverly Hills either.” Zoe faced Lacey. “He donates a couple of months every year to perform surgery on these children at no cost. Greg’s actually a very decent and nice man.” Zoe licked chocolate off her fingers, daring her sister to say something.

“A nice man who wants to see me die.” Amanda leaped to her feet and paced the stage. She never gave up the floor for very long. “That’s why he’s here!”

“These surgeons change lives dramatically,” Zoe told Lacey.

“He changed my life, and then he left me,” Amanda screeched.

Lacey was beginning to think that Greg Spaulding had good reason to flee his creation. “If he’s so busy, how could he find time to come after you and leave little notes?”

“He’s hired somebody to do his dirty work. He’s good at that.”

“Amanda,” Lacey asked, “did you arrange to be here while Greg Spaulding was in town?”

“No! Premiering Chrysalis at Snazzy Jane’s has been on the calendar for at least six months. It was part of my plan all along,” Amanda protested. “It’s been my driving desire to premiere my clothes in my hometown. Next week I’ll open—that is,
we
will show the collection on the West Coast, in Beverly Hills. Then New York. Saks is going to carry the line.”

“Washington is the first stop on the tour?”

“Of course. I wanted everyone to see where I came from—and where I’ve ended up. Do I have anything to prove? You’d better believe I do.”

And when you grow up, you get to be Joan Crawford in
Amanda Dearest.

“We really wanted our friends around us for this happy occasion. We’ve worked so hard to get to this point,” Zoe said. Lacey wondered if she were taking some kind of happy pills. “Greg and Amanda were still together when this was planned. Greg’s speech for the surgeons’ conference was on board even before that.”

“They planned to be in D.C. together?” Lacey asked.

“He knew I would be here,” Amanda said.

“Do you still love him?”

“That doesn’t matter!” Her eyes teared up. Instead of answering, she waved one of Lacey’s news stories on a dead intern named Esme Fairchild. “You found this woman’s killer. And I want you to . . .”

“To what?”

“To find my killer
before
I die. Please.”

That
please
was the only humble word Amanda had uttered, but it felt sincere.

“I’ve never been asked to do that before. How do you suggest I go about it?” This was going to make great dinner conversation.
But maybe not with Vic.
Yvette returned quietly, pretending to rearrange dresses on the racks.

“If you expose him before he tries to kill me, then maybe it won’t happen.”

“You want me to libel a prominent plastic surgeon who is leading other doctors to donate their time and money to fix the faces of poor disfigured children.”
I don’t think so.
“What about the note you found? Your bodyguard says no one breached security.”

“Greg is smart. He paid someone to put the note here. Don’t you see? It’s not libel if it’s true.”

“You can’t prove it, and if you can, you should bring it to the police.”

“But you promised!” Her whine suddenly climbed into a shriek. “Fawn! I need a warm-up. And it’s Earl Grey, not warmed-over hay!” But Fawn was nowhere to be seen. Lacey tried to bring things back to reality.

“Amanda, I said in the event something happened, I would look into it. I did not agree to libel anyone. It’s hard to believe Spaulding would go after you so obviously. You’re way too high-profile. And you have security.”

Amanda sat down in a sulk, as if out of steam. Lacey straightened up and readied her pen.

“There’s something else we haven’t discussed,” Lacey said. “What happened to Caleb Collingwood?”

Amanda stared at her silently.

“I don’t know why you would bring him up now,” Zoe said carefully. “He’s been gone for years.”

“I don’t want to talk about Caleb,” Amanda said.

“You broke his heart, didn’t you?”

Amanda shifted uncomfortably, then bolted up out of her chair. “I know all about those insane rumors. I know that people still think—”

“That you killed him?” Lacey heard a camera whirring away and looked over at Penfield, who seemed completely absorbed in his work.
I guess I’ve put a little spark in his documentary.