The Sleeping Beauty Killer

58

Thanks to traffic on the Brooklyn Bridge, it took Charlotte’s taxi nearly an hour to make the six-mile drive from Laurie’s Rockefeller Center office to the Brooklyn warehouse where Ladyform would host its fall show in four days. As she swiped her credit card for the enormous fare, the cabdriver seemed to read her mind. “This time of day, it’s better to take the subway over the bridge.” Taking the hint, she left an extra tip to get him back into Manhattan, where business would be better.

She found a one-foot gap beneath the warehouse’s steel roll-up door. She gave the handle a hard pull until the door rolled up enough for her to slip inside, then pushed it back to its starting place behind her. She’d been here three times previously, enough to know the basic layout of the building. What had been a distribution center for a commercial linen company had been overhauled into a three-story building with huge, arched windows and soaring ceilings. Eventually, the floors would be split into individual condo units, but for now the developer was bringing in revenue by renting out the largely unfinished space for photo shoots and corporate events. After Angela found the listing, Charlotte had immediately agreed that it was perfect for their fall show. They could “bring their vision” and “make the place their own,” as the leasing agent said. Plus, it was dirt-cheap.

The first floor would be set up like a cross-fitness gym to feature the workout clothes and bodywear that Ladyform was already famous for. The second floor would be staged like a typical workplace with office cubicles, starring Ladyform’s new expansion into business-casual attire for the working woman. And the third floor would have a homey feel to highlight pajamas and weekend loungewear.

“Angela?” she called out. Charlotte’s voice echoed through the warehouse. “Angela-where are you?”

The only overhead lighting came from the dim, fluorescent ceiling boxes that buzzed above Charlotte as she worked her way through the first floor. Portable construction floodlights cast shadows as she passed. The stage lights wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow, but the set was coming along nicely. A row of treadmills faced a series of Pilates equipment. Visitors would walk between the two as if moving through a gym, with models “exercising” on either side.

Charlotte recognized three large bins of sporting equipment and a box with their soon-to-be-released, long-sleeve workout tops that had been in the hallway outside Angela’s office earlier that morning. She used the light from the screen of her cell phone to read a note that had been taped to the side of one of the open bins. For first floor gym set.

Having completed a loop through the first floor, she made her way to the elevator at the front of the warehouse. The doors opened, but when she stepped inside and pushed the button for the second floor, nothing happened. She tried hitting 3, but that didn’t work either. Spotting the stairwell door in the corner, she took the steps instead. She was disappointed to see that the second floor seemed barely touched, other than more notes that Angela had taped throughout the space.

She was nearly out of breath when she reached the third floor, which seemed slightly more put together than the second. Two faux “rooms”-a living room and bedroom-had been constructed like the soundstage of a television show. A few pieces of furniture were in place. More notes evidenced Angela’s presence. Charlotte could only read the one closest to her: Accent wall. Paint gray.

“There you are,” Charlotte said, spotting her friend sitting cross-legged on an area rug in the fake bedroom. “I may need to work less and work out more. Two flights of stairs were a killer.”

“They’re high ceilings, so it’s probably more like four or five.” Angela looked up momentarily from the sketch pad she was writing on. “Can you believe what a wreck this is? And, as you probably discovered, the elevator’s on the fritz. That’s why the second floor’s barely touched. It got stuck downstairs in the middle of the day. The agent promised it’ll be fixed tomorrow, but trust me, I’m getting a price concession. I should have been here all day riding herd on the crew.”

“Your family needed you. That comes first.” Charlotte had spent five years in a frenzy of worry about a family member. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to find out that someone you loved like a sister-the way Angela loved Casey-was probably a murderer. “I spoke to Laurie. No luck, I’m afraid.”

“Well, maybe it won’t be up to her. Paula was talking about hiring a lawyer.”

“I doubt it will do any good. I hate to say it, but is it possible your cousin is actually guilty?”

Angela’s marker stopped moving. “I honestly don’t know what to think anymore,” she said quietly. “I’m so sorry I got you involved.”

Charlotte was walking through what they were calling the “at home” set, impressed by the details outlined on Angela’s notes. Place light here in one spot. And also here in another. This chair is too low. And also it looks like it’s meant for the second-floor set.

Charlotte did a double take as she read the note on the chair. “You wrote all these?” she asked.

“Of course, I did. Who else was going to do it?”