Threads of suspicion—a net. But nothing that told me why Lauren and the others had died. Nothing to tell Milo.
As I drove back home I wondered how I’d recount the day to Robin.
Hey, hon, I played frogman and spent most of the afternoon flirting with a much younger woman. Cheryl’s private number was wedged in my wallet. There was no reason for her aroma to linger in my nose, but I kept catching whiffs of suntan lotion and good perfume.
I arrived just before five. Spike greeted me at the door with a dismissive snort, but no sign of Robin. He led me into the kitchen and groused until I fed him some leftover brisket, and that’s where I found the note: “Taking a nap, alarm set for six-thirty.” I checked the answering machine. Four messages, none from Milo. Booting up the computer, I plugged in “Anita Duke,” came across the personal website of another woman with the same name—a computer programmer in Nashville—offering the universe a peek into her private life. Why do people do that?
The Anita I was looking for merited a dozen hits, almost all of them citations I’d already pulled up—the transfer of executive power from father to daughter. But down at the bottom of the list, a two-year-old citation from Entertainment News caught my eye:
Duke Magazine Exec Weds: Magazine heavy Anita Duke ties the knot with boyfriend in Malibu ceremony . . .
I downloaded and printed.
In a star-studded, ocean-view ceremony this past weekend, the only daughter of magazine tycoon Marc Anthony Duke was married to her companion of several years. Anita Catherine Duke, 33, a graduate of Wellesley College and Columbia University Business School and newly appointed CEO of Duke Enterprises, was given away this past Saturday by her father and stepmother, Sylvana, as she tied the knot with Kent Irving, 31, former president of M’Lady’s Couture, an LA. garment manufacturer, and now Projects Manager for Duke Enterprises. The nuptials took place under a veil of secrecy at the posh Shadowridge Lodge in the hills of Malibu, but sources cite the attendance of several showbiz heavies including
The rest was all famous names and catering details. No mention of a honeymoon. Or of Brother Ben’s presence at the happy event.
M’Lady’s Couture.
The rag trade. Lauren’s turf before Kent Irving had married himself into the Duke family.
Now I did need to talk to my friend the detective.
I got hold of him at the robbery-homicide room.
“Oh, happy days,” he said. “Despite my express instructions, Andy Salander has split. I was trying to reach him to see if he knew more than he originally told us about Lauren’s schmatte connections—I’ve spent the bulk of the past two days downtown, dead-ending on that. No one at the Fashion Mart remembers her doing runway work, and none of the modeling agencies ever signed her up. Which probably means another lie—her real gig was hooking, and who’s going to admit being involved with that? I did find a couple shirts at discount, but that’s about it for productivity.”
“Funny thing you should mention the rag trade. Ben Dugger’s brother-in-law used to be involved in that. Outfit called M’Lady’s Couture.”
“Oh,” he said. “Well, how about you just borrow my badge and give me a few days off in Palm Springs?”
“You hate the desert.”
“I hate this case more. . . . M’Lady’s Couture . . . I’ve got the Mart directory right here, hold on. … Nope, no listing, let’s try the phone book. . . . Uh-uh—zilch.”
“No surprise,” I said “The story said ‘former president.’ Irving’s moved on to brighter prospects.”
“How’d you find this out?”
I thought about telling him of my day at the beach. Said, “Hurtling through cyberspace. The M’Lady connection was cited in Anita Duke’s wedding story. It makes me wonder. Irving married Anita two years ago, but they probably dated for a while before that—let’s say six months to a year. That’s part of the time period Lauren claimed to be working the Mart. I agree, modeling was a cover, she was hooking. But the garment-biz part of it might have been true. If Irving was one of her clients—a big-time regular, throwing around big money—his marrying megamillions would make that an embarrassing bit of biography. What if Lauren tried to profit from that—told Michelle, et cetera, et cetera, and Michelle did the same. Or someone thought she was going to. As in Gretchen Stengel. Who also knew Irving from the good old days and told him. And he had the problem taken care of.”