18
When they returned to the office, Laurie invited Grace to join her and Jerry in her office for lunch, wanting to reward her for the work she’d done that morning at Wakeling Development. Grace offered to stay if she was needed, but said that otherwise she had taken Ivan Gray up on his offer for a free training session at PUNCH.
Laurie wasn’t sure how to feel about Grace spending time outside of work with Ivan. On the one hand, the entire reason they had this case was because of Ryan’s personal connection to Ivan, so Laurie felt like a hypocrite for telling Grace she couldn’t go. On the other hand, she was protective of Grace, and Ivan was still the most likely suspect in the murder of Ginny Wakeling.
Laurie was still trying to figure out what to say when Jerry blurted out a response. “Are you crazy, Grace? That man’s probably a murderer.”
“Laurie thinks the nephew, Tom, did it.”
“I think no such thing, Grace.”
“I know,” she said. “I’m just so impatient. Whenever we start a new special, all I want is to know who did it. Dealing day by day with this long list of people, not knowing who’s dangerous—” She shuddered. “It gives me the creeps.”
She was tucking a water bottle into the gym bag that had been stashed beneath her desk. “Rest assured, I won’t be working out with Ivan. I told him that to avoid any appearance of a conflict of interest, I needed to train with someone other than him. A nice woman named Tanya is meeting me in ten minutes. I’m told she knocked out a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound man cold last year when he tried to grab her purse on the F train. I think we’ll be fast friends.”
As they watched Grace walk away, Laurie said to Jerry, “If Grace becomes best friends with her boxing instructor, I bet she’ll find out what Tanya thinks of Mr. Ivan Gray.”
• • •
Now the take-out containers from their lunch had been cleared—an egg salad sandwich for Laurie and grilled salmon and asparagus for Jerry, who was torturing himself with a thirty-day “cleanse” consisting of nothing but vegetables and lean protein. They were at her office conference table, poring over the book that Charlotte had given Laurie from the “Fashion of First Ladies” exhibit. They had already marked at least fifty photographs with Post-it notes, making a point to draw equally from Democratic and Republican first ladies.
“I’m worried we won’t be able to re-create the excitement of the Met Gala from still photographs,” Laurie said. “But obviously it’s impossible to go back and replicate the exhibit.”
The museum had agreed to let them film on the rooftop, in the main hall, and in the temple room where the banquet tables had been set up, but they did not have free rein of the building, let alone access to all of the pieces that had been lent to the museum by the various presidential estates and libraries to create the exhibit.
“Are you kidding?” Jerry exploded. “These photos are stunning, and I’m sure the publisher still has high-res versions. We can also license video footage from the red carpet. I already cut two great clips of Mrs. Wakeling hugging Barbra Streisand and exchanging cheek kisses with Beyoncé. She looked so happy, and then she was dead a few hours later. I know we try not to let emotion affect us, but this one really gets under my skin. I look at Virginia and I think of my own mom, the way she finally got to focus on herself after the kids all flew the coop. It’s like she spent her whole life as a moth and then became a butterfly.”
Jerry had a point. They had dealt with cases involving much younger victims than Virginia Wakeling, but hers was also a life cut way too short. She had just started her life over again.
Laurie heard a tap on her open office door and turned to see Brett Young.
“Brett, I barely recognized you out of your natural habitat.” Brett was the type who beckoned others to his turf. He did not roam the hallways.
He shot a glance at a band on his right wrist. “Julie has me wired up to this contraption. If I don’t make my goal of ten thousand steps a day, I’ll never hear the end of it.”
If anyone stood a chance of altering Brett Young’s behavior, it was his wife, Julie.
“Where do things stand on your next special?”
For once, Laurie had an answer that would please even her difficult boss. “We’re all set. The entire Wakeling family’s on board. Jerry’s working out details about filming at the museum, but we’ll be fine on that front. I’m meeting with the detective in charge of the homicide investigation once I finish up here with Jerry. And Ivan’s coming in this afternoon to sign his participation agreement.”
Brett rubbed his palms together. “Now, that’s what I’m talking about. I hate to say it, Laurie, but I think your little rivalry with Ryan has put a perk in your step. I should have hired someone to get on your nerves years ago.”
“There’s absolutely no need to hire anyone else for that, Brett,” she said.
“Okay, Ms. Moran, I get it. Start putting together a schedule.”
Once Brett was out of earshot, Jerry impersonated Brett’s impenetrable scowl. “Can’t you tell how happy I am, Laurie? Hope you can stick to your schedule this time.”
“Be careful. I wouldn’t be surprised if he has hidden cameras in every room. We’ll see how long we can keep him happy. Notice I didn’t mention Penny Rawling.” They still hadn’t found contact information for Virginia’s former personal assistant. “I only gave him the good news.”
“Well, Carter mentioned she may have registered for classes at Hunter College. I have a call in to a friend who works in their computer department.”
“It’s illegal for him to disclose information from academic records.”
“Well, forget I said anything, then,” Jerry said innocently, flipping to another page of the fashion book. “Isn’t this picture amazing? There will probably never be a first lady as graceful as Jacqueline Kennedy.”
On display for the exhibit was a crisp white cotton dress with cap sleeves and a full, pleated skirt. The dress was draped on a mannequin, paired with a single strand of pearls, a silver charm bracelet, and nude ballet flats.
“The dress is awfully simple for an art exhibit,” Laurie noted. “I could find something like it in a department store today.”
“That’s the point: classic. Plus, look at her in it. She was so beautiful.” Behind the mannequin was a wall-sized, black-and-white photograph of President and Mrs. Kennedy on a front porch, a young Caroline on the President’s lap, holding a small stuffed giraffe. According to the book’s text, the photograph was taken the summer of 1960 at the Kennedy compound in Hyannis Port, Massachusetts, just after the couple had announced Jacqueline’s pregnancy with John Junior. “What an iconic photograph. Can we please use this one for production? My grandmother used to have pictures of JFK and Jackie in her den, and said how different the course of history could have been. It would be like a little tribute to her.”
“Of course, Jerry. That’s a wonderful idea.”
Smiling, he marked with a star the Post-it note that had already been tacked to the page. “You know what else would be a good idea?”
“Hmm?”
“If you left for your meeting with Detective Hon. You and your father are supposed to be in Harlem in thirty minutes.”