The Little Death

Chapter Eighteen

They were gathered on Margery’s loggia. Louis and Mel were sitting on the rattan sofa. Swann was perched on an ottoman in the corner. Margery was ensconced on the lounge with the four pug dogs on her lap.

“I feel like Susan Hayward in I Want to Live,” she said.

Louis stifled a sigh. Mel didn’t bother.

Swann cleared his throat. “Mrs. Laroche,” he said, “we’re not interrogating you. We’re just asking for your help.”

She eyed them all and pulled the dogs closer. “Well, it feels like you’re ganging up on me, and I don’t like it,” she said.

Mel rose suddenly and went to one of the arched windows, his back to them. Swann looked pained. They had been there for a half hour, trying to get Margery to divulge the name of the woman Emilio Labastide had allegedly bedded, but Margery refused to tell them. Louis knew that Mel was about one minute away from scaring Margery with an obstruction-of-justice charge, even though he had no authority.

And Swann? Louis glanced over at the guy. He looked miserable, like someone was beating up on his mother.

“Margery,” Louis said firmly, “I want you to listen to me very carefully.”

“You, too, Louis?” she asked. There it was again, “Loo-EE.”

“Margery, you hired us to help Reggie Kent,” Louis said.

“But I already told you that he was at my birthday party that night,” she said. “That’s an alibi, right?”

“It’s not enough,” Louis said. “We can’t help him unless we can prove someone else killed Mark Durand. You saw that jail. If Reggie is convicted, he will be sent away to prison. I’ve been to Starke, and it makes the Palm Beach County jail look like, like…”

“The Bath and Tennis Club,” Swann said.

Louis glanced at him, then looked back at Margery. Her wide red mouth was still a hard line.

“You have to tell us the name of the woman Emilio Labastide was seeing,” Louis said.

“Louis, dear,” Margery said softly, “this is not like the real world. People here don’t have jobs, so they have to find ways to keep busy. They shop, drink, do drugs, eat lunch, screw around, and gossip.”

“Margery-”

“Let me finish,” Margery said. “Everyone loves to hear the dirt. But they’re afraid to death of being ostracized. If you talk too much, you’re out. I told you before, this is a very small island.”

She looked at Swann. “You know this,” she said. “Just last week, one of your men had to go down to the docks and pick up a certain gentleman who was sitting there naked, zozzled on coke, wearing handcuffs and a purple bra. Your man didn’t blink an eye, just put him in the backseat and drove him home.”

Swann pursed his lips, his face reddening slightly. Mel had turned around and was listening.

Louis knew he had to try another tactic. “Margery, you said that everyone has affairs but that people here don’t sleep down,” he said. “So, why would this woman bother with a man like Emilio Labastide?”

Margery glanced at the other men before coming back to Louis. “Power is everything here,” she said. “Men get their power from money. Women have to get it through their looks and who they marry. Well, that makes the women really jitzy-you know, anxious?”

“I need the name, Margery,” Louis said.

She ignored him. “See, there are always young women coming here to find rich men,” she said. “Every season, they swoop in like swallows, all these pretty-baby vamps with their fake blond hair and silicone boobs. It’s quite a ridiculous spectacle, really, these horny old coots chasing after them and then ditching their wives for younger models. Quel triste.”

Louis slumped back on the sofa.

“You see, status is everything to women here,” Margery said. “Where you sit at a ball, how big your jewels are, if you live north or south of Sloan’s Curve, whether you get into the B and T or not. Women here will do anything to preserve their place, to avoid becoming substrata.”

“Sub what?” Mel said.

“Not quite A-list,” Swann interjected from his ottoman.

Margery nodded vigorously. “I mean, look what happened to Bunny Norris. Her husband, Hap, took up with that Samantha woman and gave Bunny the icy mitt. Well, Bunny had no choice but to endure a sordid divorce, take her money, and hightail back it to Newport.”

Samantha?

Margery was prattling on. It took Louis a moment to catch up. Something about Samantha being “basically Boca” but that everyone accepted her as Hap’s new wife only because he was “core people” and they adored him.

“And that weasel who’s always on her arm,” Margery said. “She tells people he’s one of Hap’s lawyers, but, well, really. How many lawyers ‘live in’ for days at a time?”

Margery sipped her drink. “Trash,” she whispered. “You can dress it up in Dior, but it’s still trash.”

Louis was silent. He could feel Mel’s eyes on him, waiting for him to press Margery further. He ran a hand over his face and leaned forward so he was only a few feet from Margery.

“I’ll ask you again. Why would a woman bother with a man like Labastide?” he asked.

Margery’s gray eyes held his. “It’s the old double standard, ducky. The men can just set their little honeys up in a suite at The Breakers and hide it by charging it to the company. The women… well, they have to be creative.”

She dropped dramatically back against the chaise cushions, sending the dogs into a frenzy of snorting and shuffling. “Are you sure you boys wouldn’t like a little shampoo?” she asked.

“No, thanks,” Louis said quietly.

He rose and walked over to Mel. They stood, staring out at the ocean.

“Time to take off the gloves, Rocky,” Mel said.

Louis was silent, his mind on Sam.

“Louis?”

He looked at Mel.

“You want me to do it?” Mel asked.

“No, I’ll do it,” Louis said.

Louis went back to the sofa, but he didn’t sit down. He picked up a manila folder from the table and stood over Margery.

“Margery, you knew Mark Durand, right?”

Margery stared up at him. “Not well. Reggie brought him to dinner once. He drank a little too-”

Louis pulled out an eight-by-ten photograph and tossed it onto the table.

Margery’s eyes widened.

He tossed a second crime-scene photograph onto the table. “This is Emilio. What they found of him, at least. He was tortured with a whip and then beheaded. He has a sister who’s been looking for him.”

Margery’s face had gone gray. She sat motionless, looking at the top photograph. Then she leaned over and picked it up. She stared at it for a long time.

Then she slowly set it, facedown, on the table. When she looked up, her eyes were brimming. “I think I need a drink,” she said.

She brushed the dogs from her lap, rose, and walked stiffly to the door.

“Franklin!” she yelled. “Bring me the Hendrick’s!”

She came back to the lounge and sat on its edge, her long, bony hands clasped in her lap. The four dogs sat at her feet, looking up at her.

She pulled in a deep breath. “The woman is Carolyn Osborn.”

Louis heard a gasp and looked over at Swann. His mouth was hanging open as his eyes swiveled from Margery to Louis.

“Senator Carolyn Osborn,” he said.

Franklin appeared and placed a silver tray on the table in front of Margery. She pulled a bottle from the ice bucket and picked up one of the glasses.

“Now, does anyone need a drink?” she asked.