The Celebutantes (6 page)

“What were you two talking about for the last hour?” Park asked. “You looked like a couple of prep-school girls who hadn't seen each other for a whole summer.”

Madison reached for her purse. “It was just an instant friendship. I tend to get along right away with artists and people who have a high intellect.” She gave her head another airy toss, then looked at Lex. “Where's Coco? Did you find her?”

“No, I didn't. And I looked everywhere.” Lex did another quick scan of the room as guests continued mingling. “I have a feeling she met Poppy somewhere along the way and got too spooked to come back and join the fun.”

“Oh, God,” Madison moaned, her expression turning serious. “You really think that's what happened?”

“It's totally possible,” Park said.

Madison sighed. “Then we have to save her. Come on. Let's go.”

It took another half hour to make an exit. A proper exit. They couldn't simply walk out of the room. They had to say good-bye to every member of the society, thank the appropriate guests, pose for more pictures. As Madison had expected, polyester-for-brains Mayor Mayer was nowhere to be found; like Coco, he had apparently made a quiet departure. Those kinds of disrespectful infractions irked Madison tremendously—and she didn't forget them. Next time she granted
New York
magazine an interview, she'd let an unfavorable comment about Mayor Mayer slip out.
Oh, I didn't get much of a chance to speak with him at the luncheon because he spent most of the afternoon at the bar.
A nonchalant and seemingly innocent remark like that would have him fending off reporters for at least three days.

And as for Coco…well, Madison would have to take more drastic action. But finding her and making sure she was okay was the first order of business.

She, Park, and Lex did a second sweep of the hotel's first two floors. They split up and each took a section. Forty-five minutes later, they met in the lobby, each of them empty-handed. Coco's cell was still turned off, and a call to her parents' apartment went unanswered. By that time, the luncheon had ended and nearly every guest had left.

“We've done what we could,” Lex said. “I'm sure Coco will call soon and apologize.”

They left the hotel through the main doors and scanned the busy stretch of Park Avenue. Donnie Halstrom, medical school dropout-turned-chauffeur, was nowhere to be found. Lex dialed him without having to be asked to do so.

It was a muggy afternoon. Smog cloaked skyscrapers and the air was heavy with exhaust fumes. Finally, they spotted their limo at the corner and began walking toward it.

But before they even made it to the curb, a scream rent the air, cutting through the cacophony of traffic like a clap of thunder. A woman getting out of a cab pointed frantically at the sky as several cars ground to screeching halts.

Madison, Park, and Lex looked up. And froze.

They didn't know what was plummeting through the air until the body slammed into the pavement five feet from them with a resounding
thud.

5

An Artful Corpse

E
lijah Traymore had never looked so dead.

He had landed on his back. His skull was spouting blood across the pavement in torrents. His arms were outstretched and his eyes stared unseeingly at the sky. To make matters worse, he'd taken the plunge in a white T-shirt and shorts, and bright speckles of red created a ghastly polka-dot pattern across the front of his body.

The whole picture was unspeakably ugly. So much so that Madison, Park, and Lex remained frozen for several seconds, too stunned to breathe. All around them, chaos had erupted: the woman who had screamed was still screaming as she leaned against the cab in front of the Waldorf; people had emerged from their cars and gathered on the sidewalk; and two doormen were shouting commands from their posts at the revolving doors.

It was Park who took control of the situation. She grabbed Madison and Lex by their arms and pulled them back. She turned them around so that they wouldn't have to stare in shock at the broken corpse. Then she inhaled deeply and said, “Madison, whatever you do, don't look at the front of your dress.”

But the order went unheeded.

Madison looked down at the front of her dress. And there, in a messy zigzag pattern, was a series of ugly crimson flecks staining her one-of-a-kind McQueen. Upon impact, blood had sprayed from Elijah's body and followed a very weird trajectory. When Madison realized that her dress looked as if it had broken out in chicken pox, she screamed.

“I told you not to look!” Park snapped.

“This is horrible!” Madison wailed. “I'm covered in blood! Ugh! This will
never
come out! Blood is worse than soy sauce!”

“Calm down,” Park urged her. “We're surrounded.”

“I don't care,” Madison carried on. “Lex, open the magic purse! Do you have any club soda? Oh! I can't even stand here and look at myself!”

Instead of reaching into the magic purse, Lex laced her fingers around Madison's shoulders and gave her a good, steady shake. “Stop it!” she barked. “First of all, there happens to be a dead body behind us. Second of all, people are starting to stare at you. And
third
of all, that dress is made from the finest silk, and club soda would be too abrasive to use on it. Now take a deep breath and maintain.”

Madison swallowed hard. She nodded and wiped a line of sweat from her forehead. “You're right,” she said breathlessly. “I don't know what I was thinking. Club soda is a dumb idea.”

“Damn right it is,” Lex said sharply.

“Everybody, please stay
away
from the body!” Park called out, cupping her hands over her mouth. “Remain at the curb and do
not
come forward until the police get here!” She made clear gestures with her arms, instructing the men who had run out of their cars to take several steps back. “For those of you who may be feeling faint, please lean forward and breathe deeply. Do not be afraid to sit down on the street. I will pay for your dry cleaning bills personally. Please note that this ugly scene is an obvious tragedy and has nothing to do with any
live
person here.”

“And Hamilton Holdings is an equal opportunity employer,” Lex said to the gathering crowd, noting the strict professionalism of Park's tone.

“What the hell happened?” Madison asked. There were tears in her eyes. “Did…did Elijah jump? Commit suicide? Oh, God—it's just so horrible!”

“I don't know if he jumped or what,” Lex answered. “But I guess we have to check.”

“Check?” Madison's voice rose. “Do we have to? I totally don't feel like scoping out a corpse today!”

“We have to move in and inspect the scene,” Lex shot back. “What if…what if by some strange twist of fate he's still
slightly
alive?”

“Look at him!” Madison pointed to the body. “He may as well be a mannequin in a Macy's storefront window. He's practically headless! There's blood everywhere!”

“Right now,” Park said evenly, “we're going to handle this calmly and have a look-see. And because I know a Krispy Kreme shop opened yesterday on Third Avenue, it'll take at least three more minutes for the cops to get here. Besides, we're good when it comes to homicides.”

“Homicide?” Madison blinked furiously.

Park nodded.

“What…how do you know it's a…” Madison closed her eyes, shook her head, and took a deep breath. “Maybe he fell…or jumped on purpose! We don't know that it's a homicide!”

“I think I saw something on Elijah's body I don't like,” Park said. “And I'm pretty sure we're looking at a homicide.”

“Oh,
great,
” Lex whispered. “I guess I'm not going to get any work done tonight.”

“Ignore the crowds and follow me,” Park instructed them. She led the way to the body. She mentally blocked out the people who had gathered all over the avenue and sidestepped three separate pools of blood. From this vantage point, she could see the blue-tinged pallor of Elijah Traymore's neck, as well as the way the back of his head had literally flattened against the concrete. “Well, it's obvious that he changed clothes after meeting us and leaving the luncheon,” she said. “He's not in the biker outfit.”

Madison cupped a hand over her mouth. Tears streamed along her fingers. “The poor guy,” she whispered. “He probably died of fear before he even hit the ground. The adrenaline must've shot through him and totally wrecked his heart.”

Lex nodded. “I know. He might've been sleazy, but this is a horrible way to go. But I don't think he died in midair, Madison. The fall was too quick. He died instantly from the blunt trauma of hitting concrete at a million miles an hour.”

“Right,” Park said. “But the cause of death is from internal hemorrhaging. Every organ in his body is oozing right now, not just his brain.”

“And look at his right ankle,” Madison said. “It's all blue and broken. Isn't that multiple combustion?”

“Multiple
contusions,
” Park corrected her. She pointed down to the front of the body. “But look very closely. Do you see what I'm seeing?”

“All I see is white T-shirt and blood,” Madison said.

“Me too,” Lex agreed.

“Look closer,” Park urged them. “Pretend the bloodstains aren't there. Look right in the middle of the shirt. Do you see it?”

Lex leaned forward, cradling the magic purse against her chest. She squinted and cupped her hand over her eyes. “Oh, shit!” she said a few seconds later. “It's a handprint.”

Park smiled. “Bingo.”

“Move over,” Madison said. She pushed Lex to the side and assumed the same position. Then she righted herself, and her eyes went wide.

The faint outline was there, darker in certain spots than others. At first glance it looked like a simple, light water stain pressed into the white fabric. But on closer examination, it totally resembled a handprint. Or the first three fingers of a handprint.

“I see it,” Madison said quietly. “But…couldn't
he
have made that himself? What if it's
his
handprint we're staring at?”

Park shot her a suspicious look. “What if it isn't?”

“It's definitely not a simple stain,” Lex said. “Look at how dark the upper tip of the imprint is. If it was water, it would have dried by now.”

“I have to agree with you there.” Park reached for her cell, flipped it open, and snapped three pics.

“So you're saying that he was pushed just because of that little mark?” Madison asked incredulously. “That handprint could be anything. Maybe it's not water, but what if it's something that just dried there?”

“Like what?” Park asked in return.

“Like…” Madison's voice trailed off.

“Like an oil-based moisturizer?” Lex said suddenly. “I hate them—they always leave stains.”

“Both of you are taking this too far,” Madison countered. “You can't make that kind of assessment until his shirt has been examined forensically.”

Park dropped the cell into her purse. She examined the body more closely. She noted its position, its slackness. Then her eyes caught something suspicious, and she felt her pulse quicken. “Look at his hands.”

Madison blinked. “His hands?”

“Yep,” Park said firmly. “I don't like what I'm seeing here.”

Lex squatted down beside the body, her heels just missing pools of blood. She looked at Elijah's right hand, then his left. She gasped. “His palms are
scraped,
” she said fiercely. “And two of the fingernails on his left hand are broken.”

“Evidence that he tried desperately to hold on to the ledge after he was pushed,” Park deduced.

“Or evidence that he got scared and tried to hang on to the ledge in the last moments before he committed suicide.” Madison folded her arms across her chest. “Like maybe he changed his mind.”

Park walked around to examine the other side of the body. “We saw him less than two hours ago, Madison. He didn't strike me as the suicidal type.”

“Maybe not outwardly,” Madison replied. “But who knows what was going on in his head?”

“That's true.” Lex stood up. “We really didn't know him at all.” She cupped a hand over her eyes and stared up. “But if he plunged from that penthouse balcony, he knew it would do the trick. That's totally high. I think it's forty-two stories.”

“Tallula,” Madison whispered suddenly. “Oh my God. What happened to her? What's going on up in that penthouse suite?”

Lex slipped an arm around her sister's shoulder. “Just stay strong. Everything will be fine. I'm sure Tallula is…”

“Is what?”

Lex gulped uncomfortably as she looked up at the tower. “I'm sure she's just…hanging out somewhere.”

“Hanging?”
Madison's voice broke. “Oh my God! Oh—no!”

Lex bit down on her lip. She probably shouldn't have used that word.

In the distance, sirens wailed.

Park circled the body completely. She stopped when she was directly beside Elijah's waist. She swept her eyes across the ground and trained her gaze in an outward circular motion, scanning the concrete for clues. The spatter of blood spiraled off to the left; several drops had sprayed Madison, so that was the trajectory that followed the impact. She had read all about body splats in one of her forensic textbooks. The cause of death would ultimately be hemorrhaging of the internal organs caused by blunt trauma, but when a body hit hard ground after a lengthy fall, what it left in its wake was an ugly, Spin Art mess.

Splat.

Without standing exactly where Elijah had been standing just before he took the plunge, Park couldn't deduce all that much. There wasn't anything too telling about the rivers of blood—except that they were plentiful. Crimson stained the sidewalk in ugly, jagged slats.

She raised her gaze and scanned the crowds. Too much commotion for her and Madison and Lex to
really
be noticed. A monkey wearing Victoria's Secret could have been hopping around out here, but all eyes would
still
be locked on the blood and gore.

She was about to walk away when something caught her eye.

Right there against the wall of the hotel, a good ten feet from the street and maybe four feet from the body, sunlight glinted off a metal object.

Park walked over to it as casually as possible and bent down. Her lips parted in surprise when she saw a skeleton key lying beside the wall. It was silver and scratched…as if it had bounced off the ground and skidded across the concrete.

A key; its stem was silver, its square top blue.
WTF?

She knew leaving it there would be the right thing to do, but she gave in to impulse and picked it up, closing her fingers around it. She stood and threw a glance over her shoulder just as a long line of uniformed men poured out of the front doors of the hotel. Security.

And careening down the avenue, the cops. Lights and sirens flashed everywhere as several cruisers screeched to a halt.

“Get over here!” Madison ordered her, instinctively backing up, wanting to join the crowd of onlookers.

Standing close together, they watched as security guards tried to fend off photographers, as uniformed cops dropped blue barricades into place, sealing off the street. A white sheet was immediately draped over Elijah Traymore's body.

“Hey!” one of the onlookers said. “Isn't that the famous sculptor kid? The one who was on
Entertainment Tonight
last week?”

“I read about him in
Vanity Fair,
” another person said. “Oh, God—did he kill himself?”

“You see?” Madison whispered. “There's no reason to suspect Elijah was pushed.”

The word
pushed
grated against Park's brain again. That was when she remembered something else she had read in one of her forensic books, and the mathematical equation of suicide by jumping didn't compute here. “People who jump from high floors usually land facedown,” she said. “Elijah landed on his back.”

Madison swallowed hard again. “Well, maybe he decided to do a few flips on the way down? Like maybe he wanted to go out feeling like an acrobat?”

“Hey, Brooklyn!” Lex's voice suddenly echoed above the din of the crowd.

Madison, shocked and horrified, grabbed Lex's arm and gave it a tug. “What the hell are you screaming about? We're in Manhattan, you birdbrain.”

“Brooklyn!” she called out again.

“Is your dress cutting off the blood to your head?” Madison snapped. “People are staring at us.”

“Don't people generally stare at us?” Park tossed that out nonchalantly as she studied the skeleton key in her hand.

Then all eyes fell on the tall, incredibly good-looking guy racing toward Lex. There was a hint of a smile on his face.