‘Yes, Mom,’ Amy said patiently. ‘It means that Lulu has lost her mother, so I’m looking after her because her nanny quit and—’
‘Amy!’ Nancy interrupted sternly. ‘We have to cancel the wedding.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘We have to cancel the wedding,’ Nancy repeated, enunciating every word.
‘Oh,’ Amy said, sitting down. ‘Are you saying we should postpone it?’
‘Postponing is not an option.’
‘Then maybe we should go ahead,’ Amy said. ‘I’ll talk to Max. I’m sure he’ll—’
‘Amy! Be silent. We are not barbarians. This man’s wife—’
‘Ex-wife, Mother.’
‘This man’s ex-wife has been brutally murdered in a most appalling way, and our family name cannot be connected to this scandal. I will not allow it. You have to give Max back the ring, break off the engagement, and leave town on an extended vacation.’
‘You’re not serious?’ Amy said, feeling dizzy and confused.
‘I am extremely serious,’ Nancy said. ‘You must distance yourself from the Diamond family before this appalling scandal besmirches our good name.’
‘Mother, Max is my fiancé. I am marrying him.’
‘No, Amy, you’re not.’
‘You can’t tell me who I’m going to marry,’ Amy said heatedly. ‘Besides, Max didn’t kill his wife, he had nothing to do with it.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Mother.’
‘Have you been watching the news on TV?’
‘No.’
‘They’re showing pictures of Max, and mentioning you. I shudder to imagine what the newspapers will say tomorrow.’
‘Max is an innocent victim here, Mother. He has no control over the press.’
‘He’s not a victim, Amy,’ Nancy said stiffly. ‘He’s an extremely affluent, well-connected man whose wife has been brutally murdered, and the suspicion lies on him.’
‘That’s nonsense, Mother.’
‘You have to cancel this wedding. I’ve discussed everything with our family lawyer and he agrees. I’m expecting you to obey me, Amy, and for God’s sake get that child and Max’s brother out of your apartment.’
‘You’re crazy, Mother.’
‘I’m merely telling you what has to be done for your own protection. And you’d better do it, young lady. Otherwise I will be forced to speak to your grandmother about your inheritance.’ And with that Nancy was on her feet. ‘I expect to hear from you later,’ she said, making a grand exit.
Max drove into the underground parking basement of Mariska’s building, buzzed up to the front desk and spoke to the desk clerk. ‘Mr Diamond here,’ he said. ‘Are the press still outside?’
‘Yes, sir, they’ve been around all day.’
‘How about the police?’
‘Most of them have left. I believe there’s one cop stationed outside the, uh…late Mrs Diamond’s apartment.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Yes, sir. Irena–Mrs Diamond’s personal maid–tried to get in earlier to fetch some of her things, but the cop wouldn’t allow her access.’
‘Right,’ Max said slowly. ‘Well, I do need to get in to collect my daughter’s clothes. See if you can offer the cop some refreshments.’
‘I shouldn’t think he’s allowed to leave his post, sir.’
‘Offer him something. I’m sure you can convince him to take a break.’
‘I’ll try.’
‘You do that, and I’ll make it worth your while.’
‘I’ll see what I can do.’
Max waited five minutes before taking the elevator up to the apartment. The doorman had done his job, there was no cop present, so he ducked under the yellow police tape and let himself in with the key he’d never relinquished.
He slipped inside the marble foyer, shut the door behind him and stood there for a moment, images of Mariska’s body flashing before his eyes. Then he realized he’d better move fast.
He recalled that Mariska had kept a locked box in the top of a closet in the guest room. ‘It is where I keep jewellery that’s not in the bank,’ she’d once informed him when he’d caught her hiding the box. He’d never bothered to check. He’d believed her–why wouldn’t he?
He went straight to the guest-room closet, moved a few things around and located the box. Then in case the cop was back, he hurried into Lulu’s room, scooped up an armful of clothes and a few stuffed animals, and let himself out.
The policeman was still not there. Chris had said it was going to be such a problem, but he’d found it an easy task.
Now he planned on spending the rest of the evening discovering whatever information he could about his deceased ex-wife, because he was convinced she’d had secrets, and he was determined to find out what they were.
Chapter Forty-Nine
T his is your shot, Liberty, do not blow it.
Bruce’s words kept swimming around in her head as she sat on a plane making its way to L.A. She’d taken a leap of faith and decided to go for it–a difficult decision because she hadn’t wanted to miss her meeting with Damon and the producer he’d promised to set her up with. She was into that more than anything, but how could she turn down the kind of money she’d make doing the modelling job? Not to mention a trip to L.A.–a place she’d only ever dreamed about.
This was a once-in-a-lifetime chance she couldn’t refuse. A huge break that could lead to so many other opportunities.
And yet…she’d been torn about blowing off the meeting with Damon’s producer because, above all else, singing was her passion.
She’d left a message on Damon’s private cell informing him of her situation and hoping he’d understand and reschedule. In the meantime she’d barely had time to throw some things into a bag and get herself to the airport.
This was her first plane ride and she was quite apprehensive. The sour-faced woman sitting next to her in the window seat did not seem inclined to talk, so Liberty buckled her seatbelt, and sat back, prepared to enjoy the ride.
She realized she hadn’t called her mom back, and then she started thinking about Cindi. How was she supposed to reach her? Cindi had promised to call her with a phone number, but she was obviously too busy settling in with Slick Jimmy. If the plane crashed the only person who would know she was on it was Bruce, a man she’d met only once. And Damon, because of the message she’d left him.
Suddenly she felt guilty. She should’ve called Diahann back, it was bad energy to hold grudges, and at least she now knew the truth about her father. She made up her mind that once she reached the hotel she’d call her mom, and then Manny and Golda at the coffee shop to inform them she wasn’t coming back, because if she could make this kind of money it was dumb not to take advantage of it. She felt bad about her Ragtags–they must be wondering what had happened to her. The moment she got paid she promised herself she’d drop them off some cash. That way they could buy their own food.
Once again, she started wondering what the shoot was for. Something fun, she hoped. She should’ve asked Bruce, but everything had happened so quickly, and he’d been in a rush so she hadn’t had a chance.
After a while she fell asleep, and didn’t wake until the plane landed.
Outside the gate she looked around until she spotted a middle-aged black man holding up a white card with her name on it. Hurrying over to him, she said, ‘Uh, I think you’re here for me?’ making it sound like a question.
‘Liberty?’
‘That’s right.’
‘I’m your driver, ma’am,’ he said politely. ‘The car’s parked outside. Do you have baggage?’
‘Only the bag I’m carrying.’
‘I’ll take that for you,’ he said, relieving her of the heavy bag filled with anything she’d been able to stuff in at such short notice.
A car and a driver, this was major cool! Cindi would have a jealous fit when she told her.
She followed t
he man outside to a white limo parked curbside. ‘Is this for me?’ she asked, unable to hide her surprise. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said, holding open the door. ‘I’m driving you to Shutters.’
‘That’s a hotel, right?’
‘Yes, ma’am. It’s in Santa Monica by the ocean.’
This was too much. The only time she’d visited the ocean was one Sunday she’d spent at Coney Island when she was fourteen. She hadn’t enjoyed the experience–the beach was packed with sweaty, half-naked people, a giant wave had nearly drowned her, and some annoying boy had got a sticky glob of cotton candy caught in her hair.
There was a phone in the car. She wondered if she was allowed to use it. No, best to wait until she got to the hotel. And how much would phone calls cost from a hotel? Probably a fortune, although Bruce had said all expenses were taken care of, so maybe they wouldn’t charge her.
The hotel was all white and quite glamorous. They were very welcoming to her at Reception, and showed her to an ocean-front room with a small balcony overlooking the beach.
She looked around in amazement. The room was nicer than the apartment she shared with Cindi. There was a mini-bar filled with miniature bottles of drinks and all kinds of delicious goodies, a flat-screen TV, a soft, luxurious bed, a bathroom with a walk-in shower and a huge tub, plus another TV, and she was sure no roaches or rats!
Kicking off her shoes she opened up the sliding doors, stepped out onto a small balcony and took a deep breath. It was past midnight, but the air was balmy and the sound of the ocean soothingly loud.
I’m dreaming, she told herself. This is all some whacked-out crazy dream. Is this really happening to me?
A knock on the door jolted her back to reality. ‘Who is it?’ she called out.
‘It’s Chip, your friendly neighbourhood photographer,’ a male voice replied.
‘Hold on a minute,’ she said, slipping on her shoes, then opening the door.
Standing there was the pizza boy from the elevator on her first go-see.
‘What the—’
Before she could finish, Pizza Boy gave her a lopsided grin. ‘Never trust a man eating pizza in an elevator,’ he said, with a jaunty wink. ‘Turned out you were the fresh face my camera’s gonna die for. You are gonna be on the cover of a major new magazine, so get a good night’s sleep and don’t let me down tomorrow, ’cause you’re my choice, an’ the suits’re all pissed they didn’t get to check you out. Six a.m. Hair, Make-up and Wardrobe will be on your doorstep. Put yourself in their hands, ’cause they really know their shit. Oh, yeah,’ he added, with another goofy grin. ‘Welcome to L.A.’
And as quickly as that he was gone, leaving her in a state of total flux.
It turned out that Pizza Boy was one of the hottest photographers around. Only twenty-six, he’d already scored important covers on all the major magazines with his sexy original style reminiscent of the early Annie Leibovitz.
At the present time he’d been hired to launch a new magazine, White Cool, aimed at the twenty to forty-five year-old male reader. He could’ve booked any one of the top models for the cover, but he’d been looking for someone totally new–and Liberty was that someone. Disillusioned with the familiar faces crowding his studio on the day Liberty had come in for her go-see, he’d grabbed a pizza and taken off to get some air, which was how he’d come to be sharing an elevator with her. He’d viewed her as incredibly beautiful and street smart with a streak of naïveté. He’d known immediately she was the one.
Now he had her posing on a beach in L.A., wearing a thong and a skimpy bra top in some kind of jungle print, leaning against a palm tree, her body oiled and glistening, wild exotic make-up and extensions in her hair.
She’d awoken way before six, and rushed to check out the view from her room. Miles of white sand leading to the ocean, clumps of exotic palm trees, an expanse of clear blue sky, a jogging and bike path–where people were already out and about. Wow! It was Paradise. She still couldn’t believe this was happening to her and so fast.
The ‘team’ stood around watching her every move as she posed for Chip’s camera. The ‘team’ consisted of Quinn, make-up artist supreme–a sleek black guy with shoulder length white-blond hair and bleached eyebrows–Teddy, one of the best hair stylists in L.A. and Uma, a butch celebrity stylist with an impeccable eye for detail. They were a friendly trio who’d worked on her for two hours before Chip was satisfied.
Chip’s ‘team’ consisted of two energetic young assistants and a runner. There was also a catering team setting up lunch under hooded canopies further down the beach.
Chip had thought of everything to create the right atmosphere–he’d even set up his iPod with speakers, and sexy Brazilian music filled the air.
At first she’d felt exposed and awkward, then slowly she’d begun to relax. Chip was so encouraging, and as soon as he felt she was ready he showed her a series of Polaroids he’d shot of her. She was secretly thrilled–she could hardly believe it was her.
After that everything was easy, and she fell into the rhythm of posing seductively as if she’d done it a hundred times before.
‘Bring it on!’ Chip kept yelling at her. ‘You look incredible. Yeah! Bring it on, Liberty. That’s it! Bring it on!’
By the time they broke for lunch she was on a major high. The ‘team’ swooped down on her. Uma slipped a white towelling robe round her shoulders, while Teddy informed her that for the next set-up everything would be entirely different, so she’d better eat fast as they had work to do.
Could it get any better?
She didn’t think so.
Her adrenaline was pumping at an alarming rate. Last night she’d fallen asleep with all her clothes on. She’d lain on top of the bed for a second, and that was it–total wipe-out. She hadn’t phoned anyone and now she felt guilty because, like Cindi, she’d let Golda and Manny down at the coffee shop. It wasn’t fair to leave them two waitresses short with no explanation.
But what could she do? It was as if she was on an express train and couldn’t get off. Didn’t want to get off. It was all such a trip.
Lunch under the softly swaying palm trees was another trip. Lobster and shrimp, mixed salads, an assortment of breads, wine and music. Aunt Aretha would be in heaven.
Chip’s runner brought him the L.A. edition of the New York Post, and he proceeded to sit back and read the sports pages. Liberty’s eye caught the garish headline on the front page.
MURDER IN MANHATTAN!
SOCIETY WIFE SLAIN!
MARISKA DIAMOND STABBED TO DEATH!
Oh, wow! So that was why Diahann was trying to reach her.
‘Can I use your phone?’ she asked Teddy. ‘I think I’d better speak to my mom.’
Chapter Fifty
Sitting in his kitchen scanning the newspapers, Max realized the headlines were even worse than he could have imagined. SOCIETY WIFE SLAIN! screamed the New York Post. SOCIETY BEAUTY STABBED SIX TIMES! was on the cover of the Daily News. Even the New York Times and the Wall Street Journal featured the story on their front pages. There were plenty of pictures too, mostly of Mariska at various events, and a few of her with Max. There was even one of her with Lulu at a tennis tournament in the Hamptons.
‘Jesus Christ!’ Max raged out loud. ‘Why do they have to put my daughter in the paper?’
Then he realized he had not called Amy. The night before, he’d been so busy going through the papers he’d found in Mariska’s locked box, that he’d forgotten all about Amy and Lulu.
He picked up the phone and called her. ‘I’m so sorry, sweetheart,’ he said apologetically. ‘I was exhausted–I must’ve passed out. Are you okay? Is Jett still there?’
‘No,’ Amy said. ‘He left as soon as Lulu fell asleep.’
‘How is she today?’
‘Unhappy. She wants to be with you, Max, and I can’t blame her. Yesterday she went through a traumatic experience and she needs to be with her daddy.’
‘Right now it’s difficult,’ he said, stalling, because he had no idea what he was supposed to do with Lulu.
‘Max, she hardly knows me,’ Amy persisted. ‘Surely you can persuade her nanny to come back.’
‘The woman flew to England,’ he said helplessly.
‘Well, she should be with someone she feels safe with.’
‘Do you think I don’t know that?’
‘Did Mariska have any close girlfriends who could take her?’
‘No,’ he said abruptly. ‘And I’d prefer not to go there.’
‘Then what do you want to do?’
‘I’ll come get her.’
‘I think that’s the best idea.’
‘Amy,’ he warned, ‘you cannot let her see the newspapers. It’s bad.’
‘I’ll make sure.’
‘I was thinking that maybe next weekend the three of us could go to your mother’s house in the Hamptons, you know, get out of the spotlight.’
‘Not a good plan,’ she said, imagining Nancy’s reaction to that.
‘Why not?’
‘Uh…we have to talk, Max. My mother’s in a state.’
‘What kind of state is she in?’
‘She wants us to…postpone the wedding.’
‘Jesus, I hadn’t even thought about it, but I suppose–in view of the circumstances–we should.’
‘It seems to be the right thing to do.’
‘Nancy must be driving you nuts.’
‘She is,’ Amy said, cradling the phone under her chin. ‘She, uh…she really wants more than that.’
‘More than what?’ Max asked suspiciously.
‘More than a postponement. She thinks I should give you back the ring.’
‘What?’
‘I know it’s ridiculous, and I wouldn’t even consider it, but that’s what she’s saying.’
‘Your mother is a bitch,’ he said harshly. ‘And I don’t use that word lightly.’