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Jackie shook her head. “Fucking weirdo,” she muttered, and then we were at last standing in front of the door labeled JACKIE FOREST. She paused for a minute, looking at her name, and then shook her head. “At least they almost spelled it right,” she said. She looked back along the hallway. “But they always put me last, farthest away.” She made a face. “And right next to Bob, too.”
“Robert,” I said automatically, and Jackie snorted.
“Come on in,” she said, and opened the door.
In most ways, Jackie’s dressing room was a smaller copy of the men’s and women’s. But there was only one chair, in front of a smaller mirror. A table stood next to it, laden with a huge bouquet of fresh-cut flowers, a fruit basket, and a large and gaudy box of very expensive chocolates. Under the table was a small refrigerator, and along the wall opposite there was a soft-looking sofa. A door at the far end of the room stood half open to reveal a bathroom, complete with shower.
“Well,” I said. “So this is how the one percent lives.”
“Squalid,” she said. “But you get used to it.”
Before I could settle onto the sofa with the box of chocolates, a knock sounded on the door and, a moment later, it swung open and Detective Anderson sidled in. He was carrying a large cardboard box and wearing a truly annoying smirk. “Hey, Miss Forrest,” he said.
Jackie raised an eyebrow and put on her smallest smile. “Yes?” she said.
Anderson put the box down on Jackie’s dressing table and stuck out his hand. “Detective Anderson,” he said, smiling at Jackie as if she was a jar of honey and he was a starving bear.
Jackie hesitated, and then shook his hand. “Oh, yes,” she said. “I think I’ve heard your name.”
“Yeah, listen,” Anderson said, still clutching Jackie’s hand. “I brought some stuff—um, your assistant? Miss Podrowski …”
The tiny smile left Jackie’s face, and she yanked her hand away from Anderson’s grip. “Yes,” she said.
Anderson shifted his weight uncertainly, and then nodded at the cardboard box. “I, uh … I brought you her effects. From her room.” He flicked the box with a finger. “Suitcase, purse, laptop. We been through it, and, uh, I was hoping you might take a look. See if you notice anything that we might miss?”
I said nothing, but I could not help thinking that what Anderson might miss would be a very long list. Jackie frowned and flicked her eyes toward me. “It might help,” I said.
She looked back to Anderson. “All right,” she said. “I’ll take a look.”
“Thank you, Miss Forrest,” Anderson said. “I know how busy you are, but I’d appreciate it if you could, you know. As soon as possible.”
“I’ll take a look,” Jackie repeated.
Anderson licked his lips and shifted his weight again. “And, uh,” he said. A funny little smile flicked on and off his face. “I wanted to give you my personal assurance. I’m gonna get this guy, and you got nothin’ to worry about.”
“Thank you, Officer,” Jackie said. She started to turn away from him, a clear dismissal, but Anderson touched her shoulder; she looked back at him, and he went on relentlessly.
“And, uh, you know,” he said. “If you’re feeling at all, you know. Like you’re worried? I want you to think of me like I’m a security blanket. Totally available, twenty-four/seven.” He held out a business card, nodded at her, and smiled as if he had just said something wonderful.
Jackie looked
at him with a very serious and thoughtful expression on her face, and gave him a head-to-toe scan before looking him in the eye. For a few long seconds she said nothing, and Anderson got very uncomfortable, shifted his weight from foot to foot, and actually began to blush. “A blanket,” Jackie said at last, deadpan. “Thank you.” She smiled wickedly. “But I already have a nice warm blanket,” she said, and she leaned over toward me and put a hand on the back of my neck, rubbing it lightly.
“I have to get to wardrobe,” she said. “Can you walk me over, Dexter?” And she gave me a smile warm enough to singe Anderson’s eyebrows.
“I’d be delighted,” I said. Jackie touched my cheek, then turned away. I glanced at Anderson. His face was mottled and his mouth hung open, and he watched Jackie saunter away until I moved to follow, forcing him to step back. “Excuse me,” I said. “I have to stay with Miss Forrest.” He looked at me and I smiled. “I’m her blanket.”
Anderson stared back at me with such pure hate that I wanted to stand there for a while and admire it, but after all, the work of a blanket is never done. “Bye now,” I said, and I followed Jackie out of the room.
TWENTY-EIGHT
I CAUGHT UP WITH JACKIE HALFWAY DOWN THE HALL, NOT AS easily as I should have, since she was practically sprinting away from Anderson. “Shit,” she said when I finally stepped up beside her, “I can’t deal with Kathy’s stuff, not so soon.” She shook her head. “And that odious dumbfuck Anderson,” she said.
“Odious dumbfuck,” I said, and I really was impressed with her colorful but accurate description. “You talk pretty.”
But for some reason, my sincere praise did not lighten her mood. She bit her lip, and then shook her head again. “I can’t— If I look at Kathy’s things right now, I’ll fall apart, and I can’t go in front of the cameras looking like I’ve been crying,” she said. She hesitated, then glanced at me. “Is it … Could there really be something important in her stuff?”
“With Anderson in charge?” I said. “The killer could be hiding in Kathy’s suitcase and he wouldn’t notice.”
