Friends & Fauxs Page 11

  “So tell me about this book,” Mildred said.

  “Well, as you know, the press and fans have been fascinated with Gillian Tillman-Russell. In fact, many in the industry expect her to be the next Grace Kelly, you know, an acclaimed movie star who is equally capable of transforming style…” Lydia rattled off more nonsense about Gillian, all in an effort to assure Mildred that the book she was working on was a positive cultural exploration rather than the tell-all, tabloidesque tome it was destined to be.

  James arrived shortly, serving their drinks from an ornate ebony and platinum tray.

  “So, what can I tell you?” Mildred asked, getting right to the point.

  “You’ve known Gillian for years now, so what was she like, before becoming the Gillian Tillman-Russell?” Lydia asked, after taking a notepad and pen from her bag.

  As Mildred talked, Lydia pretended to take detailed notes.

  “Well, you know that she and my daughter, Lauren, are best friends,” Mildred bragged.

  “Yes, and I’m hoping to speak with Lauren when she returns to the States. Do you know when that might be?” Lydia’s investigator told her that Lauren was in Cape Town, South Africa, with her boyfriend, a photographer named Gideon Gimble.

  Mildred flushed a bit. She had no idea where Lauren was, nor when she might return. Lauren’s late-found independent streak was quite unsettling to Mildred, who’d successfully manipulated every aspect of Lauren’s entire life, including selecting her colleges, her majors, and, most notably, her hunky ex-hubby. And for her part, Lauren had been the dutiful daughter up until she met that bohemian photographer boyfriend of hers. It was like Lauren had an orgasm and lost her mind at the same time. Though Mildred certainly understood the power of great sex, she was also unwaveringly shrewd and calculatingly strategic when it came to self-preservation.

  “Well, her plans keep changing, so I’m not sure exactly when Lauren will be stateside,” Mildred answered coyly.

  Lydia noted the hesitation. “So, tell me your impressions of Gillian?” she asked, changing the subject in an attempt to get Mildred comfortable and hopefully loose-lipped.

  “She was quite a lovely girl,” Mildred lied. Just as she didn’t particularly care for Gillian, she didn’t feel as if Gillian had ever shown her the deference to which she was entitled, either.

  Lydia recognized a lukewarm endorsement when she heard one. “What about her husband, Brandon Russell?”

  It was all Mildred could do not to turn up her nose this time. Even though the man certainly had tons of money, he was as nouveau and tacky as they came, perhaps surpassing dear deceased Paulette. “Seems to be a nice man,” was her curt reply. Lovely and nice were both society code for “tolerable” and “barely tolerable.”

  “Though I’d rather not, in order to tell the complete story of Gillian’s astronomical rise in Hollywood my publisher feels it’s necessary to address the rumors that he might somehow have been involved in your niece’s murder.” Though detectives weren’t able to tie their investigation of Brandon’s money laundering to Paulette or her murder, there were rumblings in the PR world that Paulette might have found proof of Brandon’s crimes.

  Lydia also knew that Mildred had no lost love for Paulette, but she nonetheless screwed her face into a sad expression and said, “I know that you loved your niece and that this might be painful for you, but do you think Brandon could have had anything to do with her death?”

  Mildred’s equally phony expression conveyed deep concern and thoughtfulness. “I’d certainly hate to think that Gillian’s husband would have had anything to do with Paulette’s tragic death, but he is from the rap business,” she said, as though this were irrefutable proof of latent murderous tendencies.

  “That’s a good point,” Lydia said. Then she waited for more, realizing that Mildred was warming nicely to the topic at hand.

  She didn’t have to wait long.

  “And from what I hear, he is the only person to have had access to the car to be able to cut the brake line. It would have been much harder for anyone else to sneak on to that guarded property and sabotage that car without being noticed,” she pointed out. “And of course, Paulette was a very pushy … I mean persistent person, so assuming it’s true that she had any incriminating evidence about Brandon’s money laundering, she’d most certainly have blackmailed him, which would definitely be a compelling motive for murder.” Mildred raised her immaculately coiffed eyebrows, hinting at her increasing level of suspicion. In one minute flat, Brandon had gone from a “nice man” to a derelict murderer. “Would you care for another glass of wine?” Mildred asked, mentally toasting a job very well done.

  Chapter 25

  Chris kept his prayer vigil at Rowe’s side. Unlike Reese, he’d been praying all of his life and many of those prayers had been answered. He was a star athlete playing a sport he’d loved since he was Rowe’s age and he made a lot of money doing it. Now if God could just bless him with one more answered prayer and do it quickly.

  It seemed that every day Rowe was paler than the day before. He looked like a hollowed-out version of himself.

  Kelly, one of the morning nurses, entered the room with the bright smile she always wore, irrespective of the often-gloomy tasks that her job demanded. “Good morning, Chris,” she said, as she went about reading Rowe’s chart.

  “Not so sure about that,” Chris answered.

  “You’ve gotta have faith,” she insisted, placing a hand on his arm.

  “At this point, it seems that it may take a little more than faith to help my boy. He’s not looking so good.”

  “Dr. Young has ordered a blood transfusion today. His red blood cells are pretty low, which is why he is so pale.”

  “When will he get it?” Chris asked, happy that at least something was happening to treat his son. The waiting game was getting old.

  “As soon as we’re sure that we have enough of his blood type.”

  Chris rolled up his sleeve. “No problem with that. Take mine. That’s the least I can do since my bone marrow wasn’t a match.”

  “No problem, I’ll call the clinic to make arrangements,” she said, absently picking up Rowe’s chart again. She flipped a few pages, and asked, “What’s your blood type?”

  “It’s O,” Chris answered.

  A frown appeared on her face. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. The team doctor drilled it into all of the players to know our types in the event of an accident. Why, is there a problem?”

  A look of apprehension settled on Kelly’s features and she put the chart back in the slot at the foot of Rowe’s bed. “Umm, no, it’s just that, uuhhm, you should speak to Dr. Young.” She replaced the chart and was turning to leave, in a hurry.

  Alarmed, Chris grabbed her arm. “What is wrong? Was there something in the chart? Is there a problem with my son?” he demanded.

  The look of fear and concern on his face touched Kelly. She did not want to be the bearer of the information that she’d learned reading Rowe’s charts, but neither could she leave him thinking that her concern was over his son’s tenuous health. She lowered her head and her voice. “Rowe is AB, so there is no way that you could be a donor,” she said.

  “What do you mean? I’m his father,” he said.

  “Which means that you’d be either type A or B. Not O.”

  She saw the color drain from Chris’s face, matching the sick pallor of the small child lying in the bed before him.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  He wasn’t sure how long he stood there wearing that blank, uncomprehending expression.

  At some point, Kelly said, “You should sit down.” After Chris sank into the chair, she walked quietly out of the room, deeply regretting that she’d told him such devastating news. But, given this process, it was likely that he would have found out eventually anyway, she only wished that it hadn’t been on her watch.

  Of all people, Chris knew what Reese was capable of; he’d experienced it fir
sthand. But he liked to think that that was the old Reese, before her brush with death.

  He felt like such a sucker, because it had never even occurred to him—even when it became obvious to him and the whole world that she was an accomplished gold digger—that Reese would lie about Rowe’s paternity. And now, with Rowe’s life at stake, it sickened him to know that she would continue playing games that could cost her own son his life. What kind of person would do that, and more to the point, what kind of mother would do that?

  Chapter 26

  “You poor thing,” Lauren said, as she hugged Gillian close and patted her back. “I am so sorry.” She’d come over straight from the airport to comfort her best friend.

  Gillian’s tears kept coming. Lauren’s comforting words and genuine concern allowed her to release the pent up angst over the state of her life. It was so ironic that just when she should have been on top of the world, she was in fact at her lowest point ever. She hadn’t had anyone to lean on while her marriage was falling apart and her career was imploding during a public crucifixion. Her mother, who was too busy worrying about herself, was, of course, no comfort at all. And with Rowe’s dire illness, Reese wasn’t in the position to be concerned about much else, and the one person whom she should have been able to count on, her husband, was emotionally absent. They barely spoke to each other, only communicating about business through CoAnne.

  “Why would anyone want to do this to me?” she asked.

  Luckily Brandon was on a business trip in New York, and Imelda had checked herself into a medical center for a face-lift, so they had the whole house to themselves. They chose to have their pity party in Gillian’s boudoir, her sanctuary. It was the only place in the house that she felt was truly her own.

  “Unfortunately, sometimes it’s the price you have to pay for fame.”

  “But it feels so personal, like someone deliberately wants to hurt me, rather than it being just a media ploy.”

  Lauren shrugged and added, “I know it’s easier said than done but don’t focus on it. The truth will come out and until then you just have to hold your head up high and keep moving forward, otherwise they win.”

  “I don’t even want to be seen in public, I can’t imagine doing the next round of media for the Oscar campaign. You know, every single reporter will ask me about those shots.”

  “Just follow the script that CoAnne gave you and never get off message.”

  “You know they’ve even thrown Paulette into this.”

  “What does Paulette have to do with nude pictures of you?’ Lauren asked.

  “Remember after the accident, when they were fishing for suspects everywhere? Since I had lived with Paulette, a rumor got out that we were lesbian lovers, and that after I became famous she blackmailed me, because I left her for Brandon. Because some of the photos show me—though it’s not me—with another woman, people are now saying that it proves that I am a lesbian, and probably was Paulette’s lover, and therefore, I must have killed her.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding!” Lauren said.

  “I wish I were,” Gillian said.

  “There were some pretty flimsy motives tossed out back then—they accused just about everyone who’d ever known Paulette of killing her—but that one is ridiculous.”

  “I believe you were the only one of us that wasn’t accused.”

  “Funny, huh, since I had more motive than anybody.”

  “Yeah, but you’d just found out about the affair and the baby minutes before the accident, so you wouldn’t have had time to plan it. Speaking of suspects, where is Max?”

  Lauren smirked and shook her head. “Last I heard he was down in Atlanta. Who knows what he’s doing there since he can’t practice law. You know he was disbarred after he and Paulette forged my grandmother’s will.”

  “All of that seems like such a lifetime away,” Gillian mused, and it was, she thought, Paulette’s lifetime.

  “How are things with Gideon?” she asked, finding a smile beneath her misery. It truly warmed her heart to see Lauren finally find herself and escape that manipulative mother of hers.

  Lauren’s face lit up despite the gloom of the evening. “Awesome!” Her smile spread from cheek to cheek. “He is so amazing. He’s thoughtful, insightful, caring, smart, and so sexy …”

  “Okay, okay,” Gillian teased, holding up both hands in surrender. “I get it, he’s perfect.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” Lauren laughed. “No man is, but he’s as close to it as I can imagine.”

  “I am so happy for you.” A pall came across Gillian’s face as she remembered her and Brandon’s engagement and wedding. She twisted the huge ring that sat like a giant boulder atop her finger.

  Lauren grabbed her hand, knowing where her thoughts must have wandered.

  “I should never have married Brandon,” Gillian finally said.

  “Don’t beat yourself up. I could say the same thing about Max. You live and you learn.”

  Gillian looked up at Lauren and took a cleansing breath; she was finally ready to make a confession about something that had been weighing on her heart and soul since right after Paulette’s death. “Lauren, I have something to tell you that I’m not proud of, and that I’ve never told anyone else.”

  Her serious tone scared Lauren, who couldn’t imagine anything worse than what had already happened to her. “What is it, honey?”

  Gillian lowered her head in shame as she took another deep breath, steeling herself to say the words she thought she never could. “I have proof that Paulette discovered that Brandon had been laundering money just as the feds suspected, and that she was blackmailing him. In other words, he really did have a serious motive for killing her.”

  Lauren was stunned. “What? Are you kidding?”

  “No. Remember, I met Brandon after our luggage was mixed up on my flight from JFK to LAX. I was living with Paulette at the time, and she must have gone through his things and found the flash drive with evidence on it and decided to keep it. After Brandon and I started dating, he asked me several times if I had seen it in his luggage, and I told him that I hadn’t. He then asked if Paulette had been alone with his bag and of course she had, so I asked her about it and she denied knowing anything about it, and I told him that.”

  “What was on the drive?”

  “Brandon told me that the drive proved that he didn’t do it, and he was worried that the feds would get their hands on it and destroy it, but it actually contained a double set of accounting records, proving that he had laundered money, which is why he was so desperate to get it back.”

  “How did you get it?”

  “Remember after Reese got out of the hospital, when we took her back to Paulette’s apartment in New York to get her things? She found an envelope with Brandon’s name on it in Paulette’s safe deposit box and gave it to me. I was so excited when I saw it, thinking that it would clear his name, but when I looked at it, I realized that it would actually incriminate him. I should have never accepted his proposal and given it to the police, especially since they’d questioned him about her murder, but I didn’t. I realized that if he went to jail, Gold Diggers wouldn’t be finished and my career would be over before it started. I’m so sorry.” Her eyes pleaded with Lauren for forgiveness and understanding. “Even though I had proof that he was a money launderer, I didn’t want to believe that he could actually be a murderer.”

  “Just because Paulette had the drive still doesn’t mean that he had anything to do with her death.” Lauren was struggling to understand all of this. After Paulette’s death, she’d left the country with Gideon and had been traveling the world ever since, anxious to put all of it—Paulette, Max, her mother, and the murder—behind her.

  “That’s not all that was in the envelope,” Gillian said. “There was also a copy of a letter written by Paulette to Brandon blackmailing him.”

  Lauren hung her head. “Oh, no!”

  “You know that Paulette was fixated on power, an
d holding something over someone like Brandon gave her more of it.”

  “Do you really think he killed her?” Now Lauren was concerned. She was concerned for Gillian’s safety. If Brandon killed once to protect a secret, there was no reason he wouldn’t do it again.

  “When I first read the note and saw what was on the drive, my impulse was that he must have killed her, but I quickly talked myself out of believing it.” She remembered standing in the office and hearing Brandon enter the house. She had only seconds to decide what to do with the drive she was holding, to decide whether to give it to him and pretend not to know what was on it, or to confront him about what he’d done and let the chips fall where they may. In the end, she froze and did neither.

  That same night he proposed to her. She slipped the disk in her pants pocket, buried her head in the sand, and said, ‘Yes.” Gillian desperately wished that she could go back to that moment and make a different decision.

  “He was offering me the world, not to mention the career that I’d always dreamed of, so I didn’t even tell him that I had it. I’d like to think that fame and fortune wouldn’t have made me turn my back on finding Paulette’s killer, if I’d really known he’d done it, but honestly, based on how I behaved, I’m not so sure.” Again, tears rolled down her cheeks. Gillian had carried that shame with her every day and it made the brightest moments dark, and the darkest moments unbearable. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed, for Paulette and for herself.

  After Gillian managed to compose herself, Lauren asked, “Where is the drive now?”

  “It’s hidden in a pair of Manolo boots; the last place that Brandon would ever have cause to look.”

  “Did you make a copy?”

  “No.”

  “We need to do that right now,” Lauren insisted.

  Gillian nodded. “You’re right.” She immediately got up and walked over to her wall of shoes, wondering why she hadn’t thought to do this herself. She climbed up the stepladder and reached for a box at the very top. After sitting back down with the box between them, she opened it and felt in the toe of one of the black suede boots. When she didn’t feel anything, she reached into the other one, but, to her shock and dismay, nothing was there either. Someone had stolen the flash drive along with the blackmail note. “Oh, my God!” Gillian exclaimed.