Star-rett Fine Jewelry, and he could not risk her displeasure.
As for Helene, he could not see her rejecting him even if he was old enough to be her father. In addition to her physical attractions, she had a sharp mind, a real bottom-line mentality. He knew of no other lovers she had, and while he was no Adonis, he offered enough in the way of financial security to convince her to disregard his age. And, of course, Turner Pierce was dependent on Starrett Jewelry for a large hunk of his income. He could count on Turner's endorsement.
Eleanor would be saddened. Naturally. But there were many women in Manhattan, in their circle, who had endured the same experience. There was nothing like a generous cash settlement to cushion the shock.
Clayton finished the brandy, rose and stretched. The matter would demand heavy deliberation and prudent judgment. But he thought it was doable and needed only a clever game plan to make it a reality.
He went to bed, thought more of his decision and how it might be implemented. And never once, in all his speculation, did he put a name to what he planned. Just as, not too long ago, people spoke of cancer as the Big C, because naming the tragedy was too shocking. So Clayton Starrett never said, even to himself, 'Divorce.' Or even the Big D.
Chapter 9
The Company's Hartford office opened officially at 9:00 A.M., but Dora knew Mike Trevalyan arrived every morning at eight to get his day's work organized. She called him early on his private line and grinned to hear his surly growl.
'Tough night, Mike?' she asked.
'No tougher than usual. I had to go to a testimonial dinner for a cop who's retiring. A very wet party. What's up?'
She told him what she wanted: Run Brian Callaway through the computer and see if there was anything on him. And get her some inside poop on Starrett Fine Jewelry: who owned it, their assets, revenues, profits, and so forth.
'Callaway will be easy,' Trevalyan said. 'I should have an answer for you later today. Starrett will take some time. It's a privately held company, so there won't be much public disclosure. But I have some contacts in the jewelry trade, and I'll see what I can dig up.'
'Thanks, Mike,' Dora said. One of the things she liked about her boss was that he never asked unnecessary questions, like, 'What do you need this stuff for?' She couldn't have answered that.
She had an appointment at noon with Helene and Turner Pierce. It gave her enough time to have a leisurely New York breakfast (lox and cream cheese on bagel) and then wander about the selling floors of Starrett's store on Park Avenue. Miniature Christmas trees were everywhere, decorated with gold tinsel, and muted carols were coming from concealed speakers. There were few customers, but not a single clerk came forward to ask, 'May I help you?'
Dora spent almost an hour inspecting jewelry in showcases and silver, crystal, and china on open display. All price tags were turned facedown or tucked discreetly beneath the items. But Dora knew she could never afford the things she liked-except, perhaps, a sterling silver barrette in the shape of a dolphin.
She arrived at Helene Pierce's apartment house a little before noon. It was a shiny new high-rise on Second Avenue, all glass and rosy brick with a gourmet food shop and a designer's boutique on the street level. The doorman wore a plumed shako and military cape of crimson wool. Inside, the concierge behind a marble counter wore a swallowtail of white silk. Dora was impressed and wondered what kind of rent Helene Pierce was paying. Even if the apartments were co-ops or condos, she figured the maintenance would be stiff; plumed shakos and silk swallowtails cost. And so do elevators lined with ebony panels and antiqued mirrors.
The woman who opened the door of the 16th-floor apartment looked to be ten years younger than Dora, six inches taller, and thirty pounds lighter. She had the masklike features of a high-fashion model, her smile distant. She was wearing a cognac-colored jumpsuit belted with what seemed to be a silver bicycle chain. Her long feet were bare.
'Dora Conti?' she asked, voice flat and drawly.
'Yes, Miss Pierce. Thank you for seeing me. I promise not to take too much of your time.'
'Come on in. My brother should be along any minute.'
The apartment was not as lavish as Dora expected. The rugs and furnishings were attractive, but hardly luxurious. The living room had a curiously unlived-in look, as if it might be a model room in a department store. Dora got the feeling of impermanence, the occupant a transient just passing through.
They sat at opposite ends of a couch covered with beige linen and both half-turned to face each other.
'What a lovely building,' Dora said. 'The lobby is quite unusual.'
Helene's smile was mocking. 'A little garish,' she said. 'I would have preferred something a bit more subdued, a bit more elegant. But apparently people like it; all the apartments have been sold.'
'It's a co-op?'
'That's correct.'
'How long have you lived here, Miss Pierce?'
'Oh… let me see… It's been a little over a year now.'
'I hope you don't mind my saying, but you don't talk like a New Yorker. The Midwest, I'd guess.'
Helene stared at her, then reached for a pack of cigarettes on the end table. 'Would you like one?' she asked.
'No, thank you.'
'Do you mind if I smoke?'
'Not at all.'
Dora watched her light up slowly, wondering if this lovely, self-possessed young woman was stalling.
'Yes, you're quite right,' Helene said with a short laugh. 'The Midwest it is.'
'Oh?' Dora said, trying to keep her prying light and casual. 'Where?'
'Kansas City.'
'Which one? Missouri or Kansas?'
'Missouri. Does it show?'
'Only in your voice,' Dora said. 'Believe me, your looks are pure Manhattan.'
'I hope that's a compliment.'
'It is. Have you ever modeled, Miss Pierce?'
'No. I've been asked to, but-' There was a knock at the hallway door. 'That must be my brother. Excuse me a moment.'
The man who followed Helene back into the living room was wearing a mink-collared cashmere topcoat slung carelessly over his shoulders like a cape. There was a hint of swagger in his walk, and when he leaned down to shake Dora's hand, she caught a whiff of something else. Cigar smoke, she guessed. Or perhaps brandy.
'Miss Conti,' he said, smiling. 'A pleasure. What's this? My sister didn't offer you a drink?'
'Sorry about that,' Helene said. 'Would you like something-hard or soft?'
'Nothing, thank you,' Dora said. 'I'll just ask a few questions and then be on my way.'
The Pierces agreed they had attended a small cocktail party at the Starrett apartment the night Lewis had been killed. And no, neither knew of any enemies who might have wished the older Starrett dead. It was true he was sometimes a difficult man to get along with, but his occasional nastiness was hardly a reason for murder.
'How long have you known the Starretts?' Dora asked, addressing Turner.
'Oh… perhaps two years,' he replied. 'Maybe a little longer. It began as a business relationship when I landed Starrett Jewelry as a client. Then Helene and I met the entire family, and we became friends.'
'What kind of business are you in, Mr. Pierce?'
'I'm a management consultant. It's really a one-man operation. I specialize in computer systems, analyzing a client's needs and devising the most efficient setup to meet those needs. Or sometimes I recommend changing or upgrading a client's existing hardware.'
