So Pretty It Hurts

like Richard Parkin.”

“That’s not all that worries me. As I told Cap, I’m concerned about how Devon’s anorexia seemed to spiral downward so quickly.”

Whitney pinched her lips together for a moment before speaking.

“You asked about a possible eating disorder this weekend,” she said. “For obvious reasons I couldn’t be candid at the time. But now that it’s out in the open, there’s no need for me to beat around the bush. Devon’s anorexia had actually been rearing its head again for several months now, and Cap and I were doing our best to try to deal with it. The main reason I took her to the spa was to encourage her to eat. I thought if she knew the food was nutritional and low-fat, she’d be less resistant.”

“As a reporter, you did a story on anorexia, right?”

Her eyes widened slightly—in surprise, it seemed. Cap obviously hadn’t mentioned on the phone that I was aware of this.

“Actually, yes. And I knew from doing my story that many girls relapse. Cap and I were just hoping that we could nip it in the bud.”

“Why do you think it reared its head again?”

She sighed and leaned slightly back into a small herd of throw pillows behind her.

“They say stress triggers it,” she said, her clear blue eyes holding mine. “And Devon was stressed lately. She was . . . well, worried about what the future held for her.”

“What if I told you someone might have helped her anorexia along?”

“Helped it along?” Whitney said, irritably. “What are you talking about? How could someone help it along?”

“You did the story on the disease. You know as well as I do that certain things can exacerbate the problem.”

“The only thing exacerbating the problem was Devon herself. Like I told you, she was anxious about her career. She may have looked all nonchalant about things, but she wasn’t. With her modeling career winding down, she needed that album to be a success.”

“If she only had a few years left in her modeling career, why get pregnant?” I asked.

I saw her pull back ever so slightly, like Cap, clearly surprised I knew.

“Devon was impetuous,” Whitney said sharply. “She did what seemed right for her at the moment, without thinking about the consequences . . .”

Her voice trailed off, but I waited, hoping my silence would encourage her to continue. She looked away, gathering her thoughts, and then returned those nearly translucent eyes to me.

“And one day,” she added, “she decided a baby was what she wanted. To be honest, I think it had to do with her dog dying. She’d had this little Pomeranian for years, and she was crushed when it passed early last year. But rather than buy another dog, she developed a ferocious case of baby fever. She wanted a baby simply to have something love her unconditionally.”

“Do you think she would have tried again?”

She looked off again, as if thinking. “Possibly,” she replied.

“Of course, conceiving would have been tough with her eating disorder,” I said.

“I’d really prefer not to speculate,” Whitney said.

“What can you tell me about the other houseguests?” I said. “Do you think Devon had an issue with any of them?”

“Issues? They were her friends. That’s why she’d invited them.”

“But what about Christian? Cap said there were some problems with the modeling agency.”

“Nothing that couldn’t be addressed. You know what it seems like to me? That you’re tryin’ to get blood from a stone. Is that how you’ve made your mark as a so-called journalist?” She clenched her hands in her lap, and I could tell that the irritation she’d been mostly attempting to suppress was starting to shoot up to the surface. Time to cut my losses.

“No, like I said, I’m just hoping to learn the truth. Why don’t I say goodbye now? I appreciate how helpful you’ve been.”

She led me back through the apartment to the entrance gallery. She seemed distracted suddenly, rather than simply anxious for my departure. Was she jumping ahead mentally to the next thing she needed to whip up for her cookbook? Was she thinking about Cap and filling him in? I couldn’t tell what was tugging her attention away.

“Will there be a funeral for Devon?” I asked as we reached the door.

“Yes, on Saturday. It’s going to be very private—in that sad little town she grew up in out in Pennsylvania.”

“Did her mother plan it?”

“Yes. Sherrie supposedly sobered up just long enough to make a few decisions. Of course, there will be a big memorial service here sometime in the next couple of weeks. A chance for all her New York friends to honor her memory.”

“Speaking of her New York friends, do you have a number for Tory?” If Cap hadn’t been having an affair with Devon, I needed to focus on the other houseguests, and I had no direct way of reaching Tory.

“Why Tory?”

“I just want to follow up on a conversation I had with her this weekend.”

She sighed.

“Wait here. I do have a number for her, since she was pressuring Cap this weekend to represent her.”

She disappeared somewhere in the apartment. While she was gone, I glanced around, studying the place in a way I hadn’t been able to when we’d been talking. On the hall table were almost a dozen silver-framed photographs of Cap and Whitney—the two of them lounging on a boat deck, laughing at various black-tie events, sitting with a group of friends at a cafe.

There was no mistaking their connection. Buzz constantly analyzed celebrity body language, and though it occasionally seemed like a stretch, much of it made sense on a gut level. Anyone looking at those photos would attest to how tight Whitney and Cap’s bond seemed to be. They backed up Whitney’s insistence that Cap had been faithful to her. I was going to have to have another talk with Jane. She may have lied to me about Cap and Devon, and I needed to know why.

With Tory’s number in hand, I flagged a cab and headed for Buzz. I lay my head against the back seat and tried to wrestle my thoughts to the ground. If Cap and Whitney were telling the truth, it meant Cap hadn’t murdered Devon in a crime of passion and Whitney hadn’t done so out of sexual jealousy. But either one of them could have had another motive. Perhaps Cap had been embezzling money from Devon and was freaked he was about to be found out.

With Cap and Whitney off the hit list for now, though, there were others I needed to focus on. Tory, for one. It was interesting what Whitney had said about Tory wanting Cap as her manager. I wondered how much it bugged her that she hadn’t reached supermodel status the way Devon had. If she’d been the one who added the Lasix to Devon’s water, the reason actually may have been twofold: envy over Devon’s career and jealousy over Tommy’s renewed interest in her.

And speaking of Tommy, how much had Devon’s game-playing disturbed him? Maybe he’d made a move on Devon during the weekend, only to discover that Devon didn’t truly want him back—she’d just been playing with his head. That could make a man with a short fuse mad.

But once again I considered the wrinkle in the idea of Tommy as a killer, or Tory either. Whoever had put diuretic pills in Devon’s water must have devised the plan beforehand and brought Lasix with them. Unless, of course, they had it in their possession for medical reasons or had discovered it on the premises. I wondered if Ralph had high blood pressure.

There was also Jane to think about. If Jane had lied about Cap and Devon, then why? What was her reason for wanting to cast suspicion on Cap? Because she was the guilty one?

I also needed to explore Devon’s problem with her modeling agency. Did it involve Christian? Had Devon threatened to make trouble for him?

The Buzz office was quiet when I arrived. Jessie was out on a story, and Leo was