Killer Heels by Sheryl J Anderson

Author:Sheryl J Anderson [Anderson, Sheryl J]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2012-04-19T22:00:00+00:00

10

I love the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Of course, I grew up with the Smithsonian Institution in Washington, DC, so it always strikes me as odd to have to pay to go to a museum, but I love the Met. I’m even a member. But still, it would never occur to me to shoot a perfume ad there.

I guess that’s why I advise people about their personal lives and not about advertising. If anything, advertising makes my job harder. It’s bad enough that we jack up our own expectations of what success should look like, what love should feel like, what happiness should sound like. When you add the tsunami of daily advertising with all its secrets for instant bliss, it’s a little hard for real life to measure up. And the realization that life is not a Ralph Lauren ad can be difficult to embrace, especially when you don’t have an appealing alternative in mind.

The travails of Western existence aside, I just needed a few minutes with Camille to get the break-up story from her and find out where she and Teddy got together to … get together. Not exactly something you can just drop into a conversation with a total stranger. But Teddy had always been a man of set habits, so maybe he took all his mistresses to the same hotel. Cuts down on the number of bellboys you have to bribe and that sort of economical thinking was Teddy’s stock in trade. If I could figure out where he and Yvonne spent their time as a couple, I might be able to find someone who knew them as a couple, and that person might be able to shine the spotlight on Yvonne as a killer. And that’s where it belonged.

It wasn’t hard to find the gallery where they were shooting: There were tourists and security guards and policemen twelve deep in every available doorway. Camille, a breathtaking blonde whose perfection was a freak of biology, sat on a bench in front of Boucher’s The Toilet of Venus, which features nude cherubim helping a similarly nude Venus primp. I could tell there were at least a dozen men among the onlookers who clung to the desperate hope that Camille was also going to strip down. Probably a couple of the women did, too.

The hairdresser was trying to get Camille’s hair to fan perfectly across her shoulders and back as Camille looked up at the painting and wasn’t having much luck. There were several suits sweating and watching their watches, but the photographer seemed cool with the delay. Or maybe he was stoned. Whichever, he was doing some yoga position on the floor in front of Camille that involved torque-ing his hips in a way I can’t imagine men are supposed to be able to bend, while his assistants scrambled to get all his equipment ready.

When I’d called the number Gretchen had given me, I’d spoken to Camille’s assistant, Peggy, who didn’t want to even confirm I had the right number until I said it was about Teddy Reynolds.

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