“I read the transcript of your interview this morning. You said that your name was Margo Posner and that you were framed…”
Margo laughed. “That was naughty of me. I just said that to upset Tyler. No. I’m Julia Stanford.”
He looked at her. “Can you prove that?”
This was the moment Margo had been waiting for. “Oh, yes!” she said triumphantly. “Tyler proved it himself. He hired a private detective named Frank Timmons, who matched my fingerprints with prints I had made for a driver’s license when I was younger. They’re the same. There’s no question about it.”
“Detective Frank Timmons, you say?”
“That’s right. He does work for the district attorney’s office here in Chicago.”
He studied her a moment. “Now, you’re certain of this? You’re not Margo Posner—you’re Julia Stanford?”
“Absolutely.”
“And this private detective, Frank Timmons, can verify that?”
She smiled. “He already has. All you have to do is call the district attorney’s office and get hold of him.”
Dr. Gifford nodded. “All right. I’ll do that.”
At ten o’clock the following morning, Dr. Gifford, accompanied by the matron, returned to Margo’s room.
“Good morning.”
“Good morning, Doctor.” She looked at him eagerly. “Did you talk to Frank Timmons?”
“Yes. I want to be sure that I understand this. Your story about Judge Stanford’s involving you in some kind of conspiracy was false?”
“Completely. I said that because I wanted to punish my brother. But everything is all right now. I’m ready to go home.”
“Frank Timmons can prove that you’re Julia Stanford?”
“Absolutely.”
Dr. Gifford turned to the matron and nodded. She signaled to someone. A tall, lean black man walked into the room.
He looked at Margo and said, “I’m Frank Timmons. Can I help you?”
He was a complete stranger.
Chapter Twenty-nine
The fashion show was going well. The models moved gracefully along the runway, and each new design received enthusiastic applause. The ballroom was packed. Every seat was occupied, and there were standees in the rear.
Backstage there was a stir, and Kendall turned to see what was happening. Two uniformed policemen were making their way toward her.
Kendall’s heart began to race.
One of the policemen said, “Are you Kendall Stanford Renaud?”
“Yes.”
“I’m placing you under arrest for the murder of Martha Ryan.”
“No!” she screamed. “I didn’t mean to do it! It was an accident! Please! Please! Please…!”
She woke up in a panic, her body trembling.
It was a recurring nightmare. I can’t go on like this, Kendall thought. I can’t! I have to do something.
She wanted desperately to talk to Marc. He had reluctantly returned to New York. “I have a job to do, darling. They won’t let me take any more time off.”
“I understand, Marc. I’ll be back there in a few days. I have to get a show ready.”
Kendall was leaving for New York that afternoon, but before she went, there was something she felt she had to do. The conversation with Woody had been very disturbing. He’s blaming his problems on Peggy.
Kendall found Peggy on the veranda.
“Good morning,” Kendall said.
“Good morning.”
Kendall took a seat opposite her. “I have to talk to you.”
“Yes?”
It was awkward. “I had a talk with Woody. He’s in bad shape. He…he thinks that you’re the one who’s been supplying him with heroin.”
“He told you that?”
“Yes.”
There was a long pause. “Well, it’s true.”
Kendall stared at her in disbelief. “What? I…I don’t understand. You told me you were trying to get him off drugs. Why would you want to keep him addicted?”
“You really don’t understand, do you?” Her tone was bitter. “You live in your own little goddamned world. Well, let me tell you something, Miss Famous Designer! I was a waitress when Woody got me pregnant. I never expected Wood-row Stanford to marry me. And do you know why he did? So he could feel he was better than his father. Well, Woody married me, all right. And everybody treated me like dirt. When my brother, Hoop, came down for the wedding, they acted like he was some kind of trash.”
“Peggy…”
“To tell you the truth, I was dumbfounded when your brother said he wanted to marry me. I didn’t even know if it was his baby. I could have been a good wife to Woody, but no one even gave me a chance. To them I was still a waitress. I didn’t lose the baby, I had an abortion. I thought maybe Woody would divorce me, but he didn’t. I was his token symbol of how democratic he was. Well, let me tell you something, lady. I don’t need that. I’m as good as you or anyone else.”