Death Wears a Beauty Mask and Other Stories

Death Wears a Beauty Mask and Other Stories by Mary Higgins Clark

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Authors: Mary Higgins Clark
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minutes, with step-by-step clarity, Mike told Twaddle the events of the day, starting with Alexandra not meeting them, the answering service giving them the name of the three associates who had been frantically calling her, and the cab driver who claimed he had driven her home.
    Finally Twaddle asked Mike how long he and his wife had been planning to stay in New York.
    â€œWe were to stay here with Alexandra for the next week,” Mike said quietly.
    â€œAre there any other relatives?” Twaddle asked.
    â€œMy family—by that I mean my parents, two brothers and two sisters in Brentwood, California. Janice’s only relative was her sister.”
    â€œIn that case, we will need you to stay here for at least a week. There will necessarily be an autopsy and we will need to question your wife in depth to learn anything her sister might have said to her that would have meaning to us.”
    Twaddle paused, then added, “The body will be moved in the next few minutes. My team will be finished processing the scene in about an hour. Do you plan to stay in the apartment tonight?”
    â€œI hadn’t thought about it,” Mike said. “Our luggage is here.” Unconsciously he blinked and rubbed his eyes. “We have just been in an automobile accident. It will be easier for my wife if we stay here.”
    â€œMr. Broad, I won’t trouble you anymore tonight. You are obviously very tired.”
    He turned and, Ben behind him, left the room. As he had expected, the body was in the process of being removed.
    â€¢Â Â â€¢Â Â â€¢
    Ben had been making notes, as Twaddle, in a gentle voice continued to zero in on the sequence of events as dictated by Michael Broad.
    Ben was a faithful follower of the New York Post , which not only had an excellent business section but also kept him au courant of the news on current celebrities, some of whom his playboy cousin knew intimately, though Ben avoided personal publicity like the plague.
    The minute he heard the name Alexandra Saunders, he rememberedthat about five years ago, his cousin had dated her briefly and had a serious crush on her, but she had given him the brush-off.
    Ben remembered he had thought that she was one smart lady.
    â€¢Â Â â€¢Â Â â€¢
    Emma Cooper arrived at the apartment, her face already settled in lines of grief. She realized she had inadvertently reached into her pocketbook for her key.
    â€œI’m the housekeeper,” she told the patrolman at the door. “They sent for me.”
    Bracing herself, she was about to go in when she had to step aside. A gurney with a body bag on it was being rolled out of the apartment.
    Her mind filled with visions of beautiful Alexandra and the three years she had worked for her. It had started when Alexandra bought this apartment.
    Alexandra had been twenty-five then and had just signed her first major modeling contract, to be the spokesperson for a perfume company. Her old agent had retired and she had gone with the Wilson Agency. That Wilson fellow had been around all the time, meeting here with the decorator, telling Alexandra that he’d make the final decision on the décor—that she had no experience with choosing furniture and wall covering and carpeting.
    Alexandra had clearly been in awe of him. But after he left, she had asked the decorator to stay. “Tell me where you think he’s wrong,” she had asked him.
    â€œI think that you would want some antique accessories but a comfortable couch and chairs.”
    â€œYou’re absolutely right,” Alexandra had said.
    Emma knew that day that, mingled with her insecurity, Alexandra could be bossed around only to a certain point. Was that what had happened here?
    Why am I thinking that? she asked herself. Unable to resist the temptation, she touched her hand to the body bag, ignoring the disapproving expressions of the cops pushing the gurney.
    The living room seemed filled with

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