“She had a bad heart, like your mom did. A young woman can look healthy, and then, just like that.” He snaps his fingers.
“She’d lost a lot of weight.”
“That was for the wedding. She had this crazy goal. I told her she looked great, that she’d be a beautiful bride.”
“A lot of weight, Pete.”
He glances away, as if he can visualize her, standing there in the space between us. “That wasn’t what killed her. You just need to believe it. You have to blame something.”
“She idolized Julie Larimore.”
“That’s a pretty strong word for it.”
“She wore her hair like Julie’s. Streaked it blond. Bought that black dress with the low-slung belt. Even the locket.”
He pulls out a chair from the conference table and sits stiffly. “A lot of women admire Julie Larimore. I caught her on some of the talk shows. She sounded okay to me.”
“Discipline and accountability.” I sit to his right, forcing him to look at me when I speak. “Those and a Killer Body membership can fix anything, right?”
The doubt registers in his eyes. Then the lawyer in him comes back, fighting. “Rikki, tell me. Would Lisa want you asking all this?”
I’ve wondered the same thing myself. Maybe it isn’t the lawyer in him that’s making him resist my questions. Maybe it’s just the man who lost his woman and who doesn’t want to endure one more second of pain. I tell him what I know. “She’d want me to if it would help find out what happened to Julie Larimore.”
“You really think it will?”
No point in lying to him. “I don’t know, but it’s all I’ve got. Someone had Julie’s dress, or one that looks like it, delivered to Bobby Warren Friday night. I was there. It was torn to shreds. The police have it right now.”
“God.”
“Something else happened last night.” I decide not to mention Tania Marie by name, knowing how he’ll react. “Someone else connected with Killer Body could have been hurt, maybe killed. I need to know how involved Lisa was with the organization.”
“It was her thing. You know that. She’d go down there every day, to weigh in or whatever they do. A few times, she went to L. A. to consult regarding some television spots. They never happened, though.”
“Did she ever meet Julie Larimore?”
“Are you kidding? You would have been the first one she told. She worked with people who did.” He pauses as if trying to decide how much to say. “Like I said, she went down south a few times to audition or whatever.”
“For whom?”
“Somebody down there told her she had Julie’s look. That if she lost a few more pounds she might be able to be in some of their ads. I didn’t think it was important, or I would have told you sooner.” His eyes darken, and he gnaws his lower lip. “She was going to be my wife, damn it. I trusted her.”
In his eyes, I see something else that connects with my own, still-nameless emotions. And all I know before I turn away is that he’s not telling me the whole truth.
NINE
Rochelle
She met Blond Elvis late that day at the club. She hadn’t been able to schedule him in earlier, and Lord knows, she needed him.
He was in the posing room, doing a back double biceps, staring intently at his back through the mirror in front of him. She knew how it felt after a good workout, to make that mind-muscle connection so that you could really isolate and flex.
“Am I early?”
“I’m just finishing.” He turned away from both mirrors. “Now you’re going to think I’m one of those stereotypical narcissistic assholes.”
“I already know you are,” she said. “Because I’m one, too.”
“Well, just take me out and shoot me if I ever get fat.” He took a final, lingering look at his back. “I mean, Christ, if your belly is so big that you can’t even see your own dick, what’s the point?”
