Page 62 of Killer Body

“I’d rather talk to you in person.”

“I have an appointment.”

“This won’t take long.” I launch into my questions without negotiating further. “What was Bobby’s reaction to what happened last night?”

“He’s fine with it.” Her voice is huskier than usual, as if she’s been doing a lot of talking since Crosby’s show last night. Or a lot of smoking. “You know how I feel about Mr. Warren. I—”

“Love, love, love him,” I say.

“Whatever.” She’s not at her best today, ready to snap. “Mr. Warren respects my ethics, because, as I’m sure you know, he is also an ethical person.”

“And your husband? How ethical is he?”

“Hold on a minute, lady.” I’d heard she was a bitch in her heyday, and I see it flashing in her eyes right now. “Who the hell are you to insult my husband?”

“I’m just trying to understand how he could have made offers to both Tania Marie and Gabriella Paquette in order to help you land the spokesmodel job.”

“We don’t know that he did.” She reaches into her purse, shoves her sunglasses into her disarray of hair. “If you want to talk, we can do it on the phone.” She darts past me toward the elevator.

I take off after her.

She’s inside, slamming her finger against the lobby button when I pull the doors apart and scoot inside.

“I’ll tell Bobby Warren,” she says.

“And I’ll tell him you didn’t cooperate with his marketing director’s request.”

“Somebody should have notified me. I made another appointment.”

“There’s just one thing I want to know,” I say. “Then we can finish up on the phone, if you like.”

“What’s that?”

“About Julie Larimore. You introduced her to Mr. Warren, right?”

“How’d you know that?”

“You told me the night of his party.”

“It’s no secret.” She shrugs. “Basically, I got her the job.” The elevator doors open. She strides out, into the lobby. Its glass windows reflect a jacaranda-studded street and buildings with adobe tile and exteriors so white they could have just been painted yesterday, a place stuck in a time warp, as perhaps is the man who owns the view.

At the door, she turns to me, and I feel, more than think,lioness.Her mass of brittle blond hair is almost that fierce, and even with the fake contacts, the rage in her eyes makes me wonder which of us is the stalker and which the stalked. “Is that all you wanted? Am I free to go now?”

As if I or anyone could keep her anyplace she didn’t want to be.

“All I need to know is whether you and Julie Larimore were friends.”

“I told you I as much as got her the job.”

“But you didn’t tell me if you liked her.”

She presses her lips together, fighting a smile but not successfully. “Do you really think I can answer that, when you probably have a tape recorder in your purse?”

I lift my bag from my shoulder, unzip and open it, showing her the contents. I need to make a decision, fast, and I wish Hamilton were here to advise me of the wisdom of what I’m going to say. Or maybe I’m glad he’s not here. Maybe what I’m after isn’t about the newspaper or my story, at all. But it’s too late to consider my motives now, the magic words on my lips.

“Off the record.”

“Are you serious?”