do for you?”
Des took off her hat and sat in an armchair across the coffee table from her. “You can tell me where you’ve been the past couple of nights.”
“Sure, I can do that,” Abby said easily, chomping on her cereal. “Only let me ask you something first-why do you want to know this?”
“Because we’re trying to ascertain the whereabouts of anyone and everyone who was involved with Tito Molina.”
“Oh, sure, I get it,” she said, nodding her head of hair. “You found out that I had a little, a-a thing with Tito. Did Chrissie tell you? No, wait, it was your boyfriend, wasn’t it? It was Mitch.”
Des didn’t bother to answer her.
“It’s okay, Crissie’s told me all about Mitch and you. And now that I’ve met you both I must say you are the last two people in the world I’d guess would ever end up in the feathers together. I mean, talk about an odd couple. You’re black, he’s Jewish. He’s a critic, you’re a cop. You’re skinny, he’s… not.” Abby wagged a manicured finger at Des, her big blue eyes gleaming. “You know, you two would make a terrific pair of fish.”
Des let out a laugh. “I’ll make sure to pass that one along to him.”
“No, no, I’m serious. I’ve been wanting to get more racial for sometime. The inner city kids need role models. And you’re so tall and gorgeous and self-assured. Seriously, I am adoring this. May I use you?”
“I can’t imagine anything more flattering-just as long as you don’t name me something like Hallie Butts.”
“Cookie, I am stealing that!” Abby squealed with delight. “You are so lucky, you know that? Mitch is one you’ll never, ever have to worry about. Trust me, I personally road tested him.”
“Road tested him?”
“I came on to him like gangbusters yesterday,” she confided, girl to girl. “Did everything but dive under the table and go for his zipper with my teeth. See, when I’m tour I can get a little, you know, horny. But I could not generate so much as a mild whiff of interest out of him. That one is a keeper, believe me.”
“Oh, I believe you,” Des said, wondering what America’s parents would think if they found out that their kids’ favorite author was a little bit nutty and a whole lot slutty. “So about your activities these past couple of nights…”
“Okay, sure.” Abby folded her little hands in her lap and took a deep breath, collecting herself. “I got home to New York from my tour the day Tito died. I was on the six p.m. flight from Los Angeles.” She gave Des the name of the airline and what time it had left L.A.
“Was Frankie with you?”
“He sure was. I can’t travel alone anymore. Too many kids want to talk to me and touch me. Puh-leeze…” Abby shivered, fanning herself with fluttering fingers. “A limo met us at the airport to bring me home. Frankie helped me shlep all of my stuff upstairs-I had to take a ton of clothes.”
“Where do you live?”
She gave Des her address on Riverside Drive. It was a doorman building on the corner of West Ninety-first Street.
“What time did you get settled in?”
“Maybe eight.”
“Did Frankie stick around?”
“No, he took the limo on home.”
“And how did you spend your evening?”
Abby got up suddenly and padded over to the window in her stocking feet, silent as a kitten on the plush carpet. “I realize this is going to sound terrible, but I can’t lie to you because I happen to be the soul of honesty- except for when I’m not. You do believe me, don’t you?”
“I really couldn’t say. So far, you’ve told me jack.”
“You’re absolutely right,” Abby admitted, letting out a nervous laugh. “The truth is, I was in Dorset. I-I’ve been in Dorset a lot lately.”
Des leaned forward in her chair, watching Abby closely. “Doing what?”
Abby went over to the minibar and pulled out a small bottle of Perrier and opened it. “Sitting parked outside of Jeffrey’s condo in my car,” she replied, taking a dainty sip.
“What are you, stalking him?”
“God, no. I’m not parked out there with an Uzi or anything. Just a box of Cocoa Pebbles and a pair of b- binoculars.” She paused, reddening. “Okay, maybe I’d better explain myself.”
“Maybe you’d better.”
“I just… I wanted to see for myself who he’s sleeping with. I need to know. And I am so humiliated to admit this out loud to you that I could just about crawl under that sofa. I mean, how pathetic am I? But it’s the truth. I’ve been sitting in my damned car every night, watching that little weasel entertain one gorgeous woman after another and crying my poor baby blues out.”
“Have you been in direct contact with him?” Des asked, shoving her horn-rimmed glasses up her nose.
Abby returned to the sofa and sat back down. “Define direct contact.”
“Well, does he know you’ve been watching him?”
“God, he’d better not. I would just die if he found out.”
“You haven’t spoken to him?”
“Of course not. Why would I?”
“Because you still love him, that’s why.”
“I do not still love him,” Abby said angrily.
“Tie that bull outside, as my good friend Bella Tillis likes to say. A girl does not sit in her car all night with a pair of binoculars unless she feels the love.”
“Okay, so maybe I feel it a little,” Abby admitted reluctantly. “That’s really beside the point.”
“And the point is?…”
“That I’m telling you the truth. Check with my garage on Broadway and Ninety-second. They’ll tell you what time I took my car out and when I brought it back. It’s a black Mercedes station wagon. I’ve practically been living in it since I got back. Night after night I sit there-until dawn, when I drive back. What a rotten drive that is, too.”
“Have you been making it alone?”
“Of course. Who else would sit there with me all night like some nut?”
“Frankie would.”
“I am not involved with Frankie. We were, very briefly. But not anymore. I’ve been alone. Just little me.”
Which meant that Abby Kaminsky had no one to vouch for her, Des reflected. No one who could say she hadn’t pushed Tito Molina off that cliff. True, she was a tiny thing. But the element of surprise can add a good deal of muscle. And that granite ledge was plenty slick. Only, what about Donna Durslag? Why would Abby want to see her dead?
“You do believe me, don’t you?” Abby asked, watching her uncertainly.
“I don’t disbelieve you,” Des responded. “How about you tell me what you saw while you were parked out there?”
“Sure, okay, I can do that. I saw, let’s see, I saw Esme Crockett show up there the first night.”
“This is the night Tito died?”
“Correct. She got there at around midnight. I could see her andJeffrey sucking face through the kitchen window-until he turned the lights out and they did God knows what unspeakable things to each other in the dark. She left at about four in the morning.”
Which backed up what Esme and Jeff had said. “And the next night?”
“Her mother showed up at around eleven.”
“Did Martine stay the night?”
“She was there less than ten minutes,” Abby said gleefully. “Tossed a major hissy fit on the front porch. She even threw a flower pot at Jeffrey.”
“She’d found out he was two-timing her with Esme,” Des ventured.
“You got that right, cookie. And what a mouth that bitch has on her. She’s standing out there screaming at
