Twist and Shout Murder (A Murder A-Go-Go Mystery Book 2)
Bebe Bennett's spent her bonus on glad rags straight from Carnaby Street -- all with miniskirts to show off her legs. But Bradley still calls her "kid", and worse, he's totally gone on the company's top model, Suzie Wexford. Suzie's beauty really is only skin-deep -- she's scratched her way to the top, making plenty of enemies along the way. So it's no surprise when she winds up dead, strangled with a Pucci scarf -- a gift from Bradley!
Bebe knows Bradley would never commit murder, but no one else seems to care. And if that weren't enough to stop a swinging chick in her tracks, she also has to contend with a visit from her parents, a photo shoot in the Virgin Islands, and dates with the Burma-Shave man. Despite it all, Bebe's determined to work it on out and find the real killer -- or the man of her dreams could wind up behind bars...
"Has romance, charm, originality and plenty of dippity-do."
--Harley Jane Kozak
Wide awake without benefit of coffee, I took a five minute shower with my hair in a plastic cap, put on my makeup in record time and threw on a bright yellow Jackie Kennedy suit.
I had trouble remembering numbers in general, so I resorted to the worn notebook I kept in my purse to retrieve Stu's phone number. I couldn't spare a thought for what he might think about my calling him. Stu was the most powerful man I knew--next to Bradley--in New York City. He would know the best criminal lawyer, and he would keep quiet about what I told him.
Stu picked up on the seventh ring. "Hello," he said groggily.
"Stu, this is Bebe Bennett. I'm awfully sorry to wake you, but this is an emergency."
"Is it Darlene?" he asked, alarmed.
"No, Stu, she’s fine, I didn't mean to scare you that way. It's my boss, Mr. Williams. He's in trouble, and I need you, well, not you exactly, but your connections, and I have to have them fast."
"Bebe, Bebe, slow down, you're not making any sense."
Tears burned at the back of my eyes. I took a deep breath. "Mr. Williams called me from jail. The model he's been dating, Suzie Wexford--"
"Yeah, I know who she is. What happened?"
"Someone murdered her last night with a scarf that Brad--I mean, Mr. Williams--had given her, and he was the one who found the body. The fuzz think he did it." My voice rose on the last few words.
Stu let out a low whistle. "How can I help?"
"I need you to get in touch with the best criminal lawyer in New York City and get him down to the jail and straighten out this mess!"
"Calm down, Bebe, okay? I'm going to help you. What precinct has Bradley been taken to?"
Oh, God, my trouble with numbers! Bradley had told me, but I forgot. But wait, he'd said he'd seen my "friend," Detective Finelli. "Stu, I don't know the number, but it's the one where Detective Finelli--you remember him--works."
"Yeah, I sure do remember him after what he put Darlene through a few weeks ago. I know just the lawyer to call, but before I get him, I want you to promise me to try to calm down. I'm sure there's an easy explanation as to how Bradley came to be found with the body."
My empty stomach lurched. "Hurry, Stu. I'm going down there now to see what I can do."
I hung up, grabbed my purse and gloves, and raced out of the apartment and down the stairs. I tripped on a child's red truck on a step and almost fell headlong to the ground. Telling myself I had no time to break my neck right now, I grabbed the rail, righted myself, and continued down.
Outside, the morning chill hit me, and a quick glance at my watch underneath the building's light said it was five forty-five. The streets were dark, and I imagined Harry asleep behind the Catholic high school across the way. A couple of young men stood loitering at the corner I had to pass.
I didn't care. I had to get to Bradley.
Walking briskly over to Lexington, catcalls greeted me, but I kept going at a no-nonsense pace. I paused long enough to hail a taxi, opting not to take the subway, and slid into the back seat.
"I don't know the exact street and number," I told the taxi driver, wishing I'd remembered to get them from Stu, "but I'll guide you there."
"Okay, lady. It's your dime."
We sped off, with the Four Seasons singing Big Girls Don't Cry on the cab's radio. By the time I arrived at the police station, dawn had turned the city pale lavender. Trucks were delivering goods to stores and restaurants, garbage trucks noisily took care of the city's trash, and lights dotted the windows of apartment buildings.
I ran up the steps and entered the police station.
The uniformed desk clerk, in his forties, a balding paunchy man, eyed me suspiciously. "Help you?"
I clunked my purse down on the desk. "Yes, please. You see, my boss, Mr. Williams, has been arrested, and I'm here to get him out of jail, because it's all simply a terrible misunderstanding. If you would show me to where he's being held, we can be on our way."
"You his lawyer?" he asked with heavy sarcasm, bushy eyebrows raised.
"Well, no, but I'm his executive secretary!"
He ruffled through some papers, then looked at me with total unconcern, head cocked. "Nobody but his lawyer allowed to see the Williams guy."
Anger rose up in me for this man who obviously cared nothing about Bradley. I read his name tag and said, "Listen, Mr. Lonegan--"
"That's Officer John Lonegan," he interrupted.
"Very well, Officer Lonegan, Mr. Williams is a very important man. He runs a company! His uncle owns a conglomeration of entities across the United States. Mr. Williams doesn't belong here in this rather unclean building."
"Does if he strangled a broad and left her naked except for a fur coat like this report says he did."
Naked? My voice rose. "Mr. Williams did not kill anyone! I give you my word on that."
Officer Lonegan had the nerve to chuckle. "Your word? Tell it to the judge."