New Year's Eve Murder Read online

  Cathy was breezy and cheerful as ever as they made their way to the fashion department, and Lucy suspected her positive attitude was bolstered by the mink coat and five-carat diamond ring she was wearing, not to mention the Hermes Kelly bag she was carrying. Lucy didn’t believe you could buy happiness, but she figured a well-padded bank account could smooth a lot of bumps in the rocky road of life.

  She was also impressed that Cathy got along so well with her stepdaughter Tiffany, even though the two were close enough in age to be sisters. At least that was the impression she got from their body language and relaxed banter.

  “I wonder what they’re planning to dress us in?” mused Lucy as they stepped into the elevator that would take them up several floors to the fashion department. “I didn’t see anything at the fashion show that I could possibly wear.”

  “You better be ready for feathers and see-through net dresses, if that make-up session yesterday was any indication,” said Cathy. “That Nadine wanted to put a green stripe across my nose.”

  “And she wanted to give me blue lipstick,” added Tiffany, giggling.

  “I think she gave me the flu,” said Elizabeth, who looked as if she’d like to go back to bed.

  “That reminds me,” said Cathy, digging through the fabulous purse as if it were just a plastic number from Wal-Mart, “I’ve got vitamins for everybody.” She finally produced two bottles of vitamin C and gave them to Elizabeth and Lucy as the elevator doors slid open.

  Fashion editor Elise Frazier was in the hallway, ready to greet them, dressed again today in a mannish pantsuit. “Welcome, welcome to the fashion department,” she said in a flat voice as if she were reciting a tired refrain. “Here we believe we can make every woman look fabulous no matter what her shape or figure flaws.”

  “So much for all those hours at the gym,” joked Cathy.

  “Oh, you know what I mean,” replied Elise, who was shaped rather like an NFL fullback. “We can all use a little help. I wear heels to make my legs look longer, and I always dress in one color from head to toe because it makes me look slimmer.”

  “At least that’s the theory,” muttered Elizabeth, getting a giggle from Tiffany and a sharp look from her mother.

  “Oh, here’s our accessories editor, Deb Shertzer,” trilled Elise. “If you ask me, she’s got the best job at the magazine. Shoes, scarves, bags—her office is like Aladdin’s cave. You should see the jewelry.”

  Looking at Elise, Lucy thought her enthusiasm for accessories rang a bit hollow, considering she wasn’t wearing a single piece of jewelry and her shoes were simple black pumps with sturdy heels.

  “As jobs go, it’s not too hard to take,” replied Deb, with a sparkle in her eye. Unlike most of the women working at the magazine she was wearing flats, and her black slacks and colorful sweater looked both attractive and comfortable. She turned to Lucy and gave her a big smile. “You’re the one with the lobster watch, aren’t you?”

  Elizabeth looked as if she’d like to disappear.

  “It was just a joke present from my husband,” said Lucy, sliding up her sleeve to give a better view of the red plastic timepiece. “He got it free at the hardware store.”

  “Well I think it’s adorable,” said Deb. “A lot of designers are coming out with similar ideas for summer. There’s one that has a beach umbrella on the face and a smiley yellow sun on the hour hand. I’m going to feature it in the June accessories roundup.”

  Lucy gave Elizabeth rather a smug look.

  “Well, come along and we’ll get started,” said Elise, leading them into a large room filled with racks of clothes. A cluster of portable screens were arranged at one end to serve as changing rooms, along with a three-sided mirror. “If you ladies don’t mind, it would be a lot easier if you’d strip down to your undies, but we have arranged dressing rooms, if you’d prefer.”

  “Not a problem for me,” said Lucy, shrugging out of her coat. “I put on clean underpants this morning.”

  “Mom,” groaned Elizabeth, sinking into a chair.

  “It was just a joke,” said Lucy, bending down to unlace her duck boots.

  “Well, well, I see we don’t have to disguise anything,” said Elise, looking her up and down. “You have a very trim shape—not a saddlebag in sight.” She narrowed her eyes, and Lucy found herself tucking her bottom in and straightening her back. “I think we can try to give you a bit more height; black is good for that.”

  She turned to Deb, who was sitting on a folding chair with a notebook in her lap. “And heels, of course.”

  Deb nodded and wrote it down.

  Elise turned to Elizabeth, who was slowly divesting herself of her clothing as if it was a painful task. “Such a sweet face,” she crooned. “We can give you a bit more sophistication. Something with couture details, and I think black would really set off your lovely pale skin.”

  Tiffany was next to Elizabeth, slumping a bit to disguise her height. She didn’t fool Elise, however. “You’re so tall, you could carry a fuller skirt. I have just the thing in black net. We’ll top it with a silky turtleneck over a good padded bra.”

  Tiffany shot her a murderous look but Elise missed it, moving on to Cathy. “Those hours in the gym have certainly paid off for you!” she exclaimed. “Definitely something to show off those toned arms.” She stepped back, her hand on her chin. “Though with those boobs we have to be careful—definitely no turtlenecks; they’ll make you look like you’ve got three chins, and we need something fitted at the waist.” She clucked her tongue. “I really do think silicone is a bad idea. Those doctors tend to go overboard.”

  “Hey!” protested Cathy, pointing to her lacey black bra, “this is all me. I didn’t have surgery.”

  Elise looked doubtful. “Right. I’m so sorry. I certainly didn’t mean to insult you.”

  “I’m beginning to feel like a human pincushion,” complained Cathy. “First it was Camilla making that crack about trophy wives and now you’re knocking my boobs.”

  Elise drew herself up to her full height, a sight that reminded Lucy of a dragon in some animated Disney film. “I’ll thank you not to criticize Camilla. The woman’s a genius—and she happens to be one of my best friends.”

  Glancing at Deb, who was going through a box of scarves, Lucy thought she detected a smirk.

  “She may be your friend,” said Cathy, “but you have to admit she can be bitchy. Everyone knows that.”

  Elise was getting quite red in the face, and Lucy was afraid she’d begin breathing fire. “Friendship is a wonderful thing,” she said, hoping to defuse the situation. “I think women especially need friends, for a support system. I don’t know what I’d do without my friends.”

  “I met Camilla in college,” said Elise, flipping furiously through a rack of clothes. “We were in the same class at Barnard. Nadine, too, and we’ve been friends ever since.”

  “Like the Heathers,” said Cathy, with a wicked gleam in her eye.

  Lucy wished she’d let it drop, but Elise either didn’t hear the comment or decided to let it pass. “Now where is that pinstripe pantsuit?” she muttered, marching over to another rack.

  The rest of the morning passed without further fireworks between Elise and Cathy, and the women were soon outfitted and accessorized. Lucy had to admit she looked great in the pantsuit and high-heeled boots Elise chose for her, and she was thrilled to learn they would all be able to keep their outfits, even though she couldn’t quite imagine what sort of occasion in Tinker’s Cove would require such a dressy ensemble.

  Cathy, on the other hand, wasn’t impressed. “I always wear designer,” she said, with a sniff. “I haven’t worn anything off the rack since I can’t remember when.”

  “Oh, I can tell you,” snapped Elise, unable to resist getting in another dig. “I’ll bet it was when you married Mr. Montgomery.”

  Lucy expected Cathy to answer with a sharp retort but, instead, she smiled at Tiffany. “Mr. Montgomery is a generous husband, and father, isn�
��t he? He always says he’s got great-looking girls and he wants us to have pretty clothes.”

  Hearing this, Elise looked fit to be tied. “If you’ll be so kind as to take these things off so I can label them for tomorrow’s photo shoot I would appreciate it,” she said, speaking to the room in general and avoiding eye contact.

  Back in their own clothes, Lucy and Elizabeth made a break for the exit. They had to get dresses for tonight’s ball and were planning to use the lunch break to make a quick trip to the designer consignment shop. They were on their way when they encountered Fiona in the elevator.

  “Aren’t you coming to lunch?’ she asked, noticing they were wearing their coats. “They’ve got a top dermatologist talking about skin care.”

  “No lunch for us, we’re going shopping,” said Elizabeth.

  “Do you have anyplace particular in mind?”

  “Actually, we do,” said Lucy. “It’s a consignment shop on Sixty-sixth Street.”

  “Brilliant!” exclaimed Fiona. “Do you mind if I tag along?”

  “Please do. We can use your expert advice,” said Lucy.

  Since time was short Lucy splurged on a cab, and they all piled in together for the ride uptown.

  “So how do you like the makeover so far?” asked Fiona.

  “It’s pretty intense,” said Lucy. “Especially with this contest.”

  “It’s exhausting,” said Elizabeth.

  Lucy quickly added, “But we’re loving every minute.”

  “You don’t have to put on a brave face for me,” said Fiona. “I’m just the hired help, and if things work out I won’t be at Jolie much longer.”

  “Are you looking for another job?” asked Elizabeth.

  Fiona was looking out the window. “You could say that.”

  “I don’t blame you,” said Lucy. “It must be very stressful working there. It’s a very tense atmosphere, at least it seems that way to me. Maybe all fashion magazines are like that.”

  “Not the ones that are making money,” said Fiona.

  “Is Jolie in trouble?” asked Lucy.

  “You bet. And Camilla with it. The publisher gave her an ultimatum that she has to turn a profit in six months or else.”

  “Or else what?”

  “Heads will roll,” said Fiona, drawing a finger across her throat. “But I bet it won’t be hers.”

  “Why not?” asked Elizabeth. “She’s the boss, after all.”

  “She’s also a survivor. She’s very good at rising above the fray. I think she’ll fix it so that people she doesn’t like, like Pablo and Nancy, will be blamed. The ones who actually have good ideas and work hard will get the ax and she and her Barnard buddies will probably get raises.”

  “So much cynicism in one so young,” said Lucy.

  “Listen, I come from the land of Henry VIII and Richard III. Treachery is like mother’s milk to me.” She looked up as the taxi pulled to a halt in front of the pink and white striped awning of the New to You thrift boutique. “I also love a bargain. Did you ever hear how Henry VIII snagged Hampton Court?”

  That night, as she climbed up the steps to the Metropolitan Museum of Art on Fifth Avenue, Lucy could easily imagine that she was attending a royal ball. The museum’s classical stone façade was illuminated with floodlights, and strains of music could be heard as they joined the elegantly dressed throng gathered at the door. Once inside, Lucy was overwhelmed by the magnificent great hall, decorated with enormous Christmas trees and floral arrangements; the buzz of voices; and the conflicting scents of perfume.

  “Now that we’re here, what do we do?” asked Elizabeth. She sounded nervous, despite the fact that she looked lovely in a floaty blue Stella McCartney number.

  “Let’s cruise around and get something to drink,” said Lucy, catching a glimpse of Sam across the room, earnestly engaged in conversation with a photographer. “Maybe we’ll run into somebody we know.”

  “Mom, that’s Donald Trump.”

  “So it is,” said Lucy, who had to resist the impulse to gawk.

  “And that’s Ashton Kutcher.”

  “Who?” Lucy had spotted a waiter holding a tray of champagne flutes. “Oh my gosh, that’s Mikhail Baryshnikov helping himself to champagne.”

  “Who?”

  Lucy was looking for Sam but it was Norah who took them by surprise, engulfing them both in a lavender satin embrace.

  “You girls sure clean up nice,” she exclaimed. “Isn’t this amazing? I bet you’ve never seen anything like this in Tinker’s Cove.”

  “That’s for sure,” agreed Lucy.

  “If I’m not mistaken, you’re wearing Donna Karan. I’ve got that dress myself.”

  “It’s the first designer dress I’ve ever worn,” confessed Lucy, pleased to have her good taste confirmed. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I got it at a thrift shop.”

  “Good for you!”

  “Even so, it was awfully expensive. Bill would die if he knew how much I spent.”

  “Never you mind. You can take it back tomorrow. But tonight, you look like it was made for you.”

  “Thanks, Norah,” said Lucy, stepping aside as Camilla joined their little circle and exchanged air kisses with Norah. She was dressed in a black sheath that emphasized her slimness, with an oversized white ruffle at the neck; Lucy thought it made her look like Cruella De Vil.

  “Don’t you all look fabulous!” exclaimed Camilla. “I can see my staff has done wonders with, uh, you two girls.”

  Lucy wasn’t about to introduce herself yet again if Camilla couldn’t be bothered to remember her name. “What, this?” she said, indicating her dress. “I just pulled it out of my suitcase.”

  Norah winked and drifted off to chat with another friend.

  Camilla watched her go but could hardly run after her. Left with these nobodies, she fingered Elizabeth’s dress. “I do so love Stella McCartney. Such a bright talent. Did you get it here or in London?”

  “Here,” said Elizabeth. “She’s my favorite designer.”

  “I haven’t seen you at one of these affairs before,” said Camilla, her eyes darting around the room. “Do you get to the city often?”

  “To Boston,” said Lucy. “Not New York.”

  “Boston is such a quaint little town. Who do you know there?”

  “Lots of people,” said Elizabeth, thinking of her friends at Chamberlain College.

  Lucy knew that Camilla was probing purposefully, trying to ascertain Lucy’s social status, and she was willing to play the game. “Junior Read is a dear friend,” she said, referring to the Pioneer Press publisher who had a summer home in Tinker’s Cove. It wasn’t such a stretch; she’d helped him out of a tight spot a year or two ago.

  “Mom, I see Lance,” said Elizabeth, suddenly becoming quite perky.

  Lucy followed her gaze and saw Norah’s son consulting the seating chart. She tended to still think of him as the gangly middle-schooler who had been Elizabeth’s first boyfriend and was shocked to see how elegant he looked dressed in a tux. The garish dyed hair he sported as a kid was gone, replaced with a fashionable close buzz cut, and he looked relaxed and confident.

  “Run along,” said Lucy. “Have a good time.”

  Elizabeth departed in a flutter of fashionable blue tatters and was embraced enthusiastically by Lance.

  “That’s Norah’s son, isn’t it?” asked Camilla.

  “They’re old friends,” said Lucy.

  “From school? I believe Lance went to Exeter,” said Camilla, naming the prestigious prep school.

  “Right, from school,” said Lucy, not finding it necessary to mention that they’d met at Tinker’s Cove Middle School.

  “So what do you do?” asked Camilla, continuing her investigation.

  “I’m active in civic affairs,” said Lucy, telling herself it wasn’t a lie since she covered town events as a reporter for the local newspaper. “And I lunch with friends,” she added, thinking of the numerous peanut butter sandwiches
she’d enjoyed with Sue and Pam and Rachel. “You know the sort of thing: mostly fund-raising for local charities.” Lucy was a mainstay of the Hat and Mitten Fund committee, which provided warm clothing for the little town’s less fortunate children.

  “We really ought to do a feature on you country ladies,” mused Camilla. “We tend to forget that there’s life beyond the city.”

  “Ah, Camilla! Great to see you.”

  Lucy’s eyes widened as she recognized Arnold Nelson, who she’d seen on the Norah! show, and waited for Camilla to introduce her.

  “Arnold, this is uh, one of our makeover winners.”

  Lucy took his hand. “I’m Lucy Stone, from Maine.”

  “Nice to meet you. I hope you’ll do me the honor of dancing with me.”

  “I’d love to,” said Lucy, seizing the opportunity to avoid more of Camilla’s probing questions. She was irked that the woman couldn’t be bothered to remember her name but could easily recall which prep school Lance Hemmings attended. It just showed her priorities.

  Her irritation soon vanished, however, as Arnold spun her around the room in an elegant waltz. He was an excellent dancer, and it was a bit like being in a dream, dancing in the arms of this wealthy man who smelled so good, even if he was a bit thick in the middle and had a jowly chin.

  “I saw you yesterday, on the TV show,” began Lucy, intending to ask him about the City Gate Towers project he hoped to build on Governors Island.

  “You know, you don’t look at all like someone who needs a makeover,” said Arnold, promptly changing the subject. “You look pretty fine as you are.”

  “Oh, this is after. You should have seen me before,” joked Lucy.

  “I’d really like to see you after,” said Arnold, his voice deepening. “I’ve got a bottle of champagne on ice at my penthouse and a fresh delivery of caviar from my Russian friend Ivan. Have you ever tasted caviar?”

  “I have and I don’t like it,” said Lucy, wondering if this was a pass.