“I’m sure you’re as busy as I am,” she added. “But I did feel I should share what I know with you.”
“I’m anxious to hear it,” I said.
She lifted her hands, flipping over the palms slightly, and turned her head a quarter to the side, as if she was just now considering how we should proceed.
“Well, why don’t you come on into the living room?” she said. As I followed her there, the chattering receded; the only sound in the living room was from wind whipping along the wraparound terrace. She gestured for me to take a seat on one of the plush, mint-colored sofas. I perched on the edge, and Whitney lowered herself gracefully into an armchair.
“How have you been, by the way?” she asked. “Cap and I went to the funeral, of course, on Saturday, and we’re still decompressing from that. Were you out there, covering it? I didn’t see you.”
No, I was getting my ass baked in a local barn, I almost said, just to catch her expression. But I needed to stick to my game plan: stay neutral and not provoke.
“No, some other reporters were assigned to cover the funeral,” I said.
She took a deep breath, raising her breasts up like an offering to the gods. “As I made clear before, I’m not in the habit of talking to the tabloid press,” she said. “Cap may represent famous people, but we’re very private ourselves. And I don’t like gossip. It’s evil. But I’ve been thinking about what you said—that Devon might have been murdered. And I don’t want to stand in the way of the truth.”
“I’m happy to hear that,” I said. “You indicated on the phone that this has something to do with Christian.”
She lowered her head and pursed her lips briefly.
“Yes, I’m afraid it does,” she said, looking back at me. “Since you and I spoke, I’ve asked myself again and again if anyone had a motive to kill Devon. And I’m afraid Christian had one.”
I waited, saying nothing. From far off I heard a muted burst of laughter in the kitchen.
“You may not have been aware of it,” Whitney continued, “but Devon completely ignored Christian last weekend. She didn’t say a word to the man.”
“But according to Scott, she was the one who’d invited him there.”
“Yes, that’s true. But, you see, she did that to toy with him. Devon had discovered something Christian had done, something unethical at the agency, and she wanted Cap to tell his boss, Barbara Dern. But before she made certain he was exposed, it seemed she wanted to see Christian twist a little in the wind. Perhaps she was even hoping to use it to her advantage, that he’d become so worried that he’d work even harder for her.”
“What had he done?”
“I’m not sure of the exact details—I’m getting this secondhand from Cap. But it has to do with clients from Asia that the agency does business with. The Asians, especially the Japanese, use a lot of Caucasian girls in their ads and magazines. Some models even move over there to kick-start their careers. It’s very much a cash business—the Japanese arrive here with suitcases of money and turn it over to the modeling agencies. Apparently Christian has been negotiating certain rates with Asian clients, collecting the cash, but then indicating lower amounts on the books. He keeps the difference for himself.”
She laid a hand on her chest and looked off, taking a breath.
“Forgive me,” she said. “This is so upsetting for me—and it makes my asthma want to rear its head.”
“How did Devon find out?”
“I’m not sure. She was always a snoop. She may have overheard something.”
“And what would happen to Christian if the agency learned the truth?”
“Oh, more than a slap on the wrist—that’s for sure. Barbara Dern takes no prisoners. She would have fired him, probably even had him arrested.”
“Is that why Cap seemed to be dragging his heels? He didn’t want to see Christian go to jail?”
“To be honest, he was thinking more of Devon. If Christian was arrested in the next few weeks and it came out that he was Devon’s booker, it might reflect poorly on her album. And of course now I feel sick that he waited. Because it may have given Christian the opportunity to kill Devon.”
“Possibly,” I said, mulling it over. Was this legit, I wondered, or all some kind of setup? “I suggest you tell Detective Collinson this right away. Initially he seemed doubtful that Devon had been murdered, but some details have emerged to change his thinking. I’m sure he’ll find what you told me interesting.”
“Interesting?” Whitney said, sounding miffed. “That’s all you have to say? Isn’t it a motive for murder?”
“Sure, it could be,” I said. “The police will look into it. But there are other details for them to consider as well.”
“Oh, really?” she said, snidely. “You’re not back to pointing the finger at me and Cap, are you?”
“I didn’t say that. Just loose ends to tie up.”
“Such as?”
“There’s actually one matter I’d like to ask you about. Something regarding Devon’s pregnancy.”
Whitney’s face froze. She lifted a hand upward and touched the corner of her mouth with one of her long slim fingers and then wiped at something that wasn’t there.
“And what would that be?” she asked after a beat.
“Were you aware that Devon had an abortion?”
Even from where I was sitting, I could see the subtle but shocking changes in her face. Her nostrils flared, the rims of her eyes reddened. It was like a rage grenade had gone off inside her, but she was doing her best to contain the explosion. Instinctively I strained to hear the kitchen sounds. With relief I realized I could still detect faint voices in the distance.
“Who in the world told you that?” she said between clenched teeth.
“Someone who would definitely know,” I replied. “I have to admit I was taken aback when I heard it. Here she’d gone to all that trouble to conceive, and then, poof, she decides to make it go away. Was it because of Tommy?”
Whitney snickered in disgust.
“But of course,” she said, her voice tight with anger. “She was besotted by that pathetic man from the moment she met him.”
“Did he say something to her about not wanting kids?” I asked.
“I assume so,” Whitney replied. “He’d hardly want a groupie showing up backstage wearing a damn Snugli. Or maybe Devon just thought it would get in the way of all the hot sex they were going to have. God, the mere thought of sex with him is enough to make me gag.”
“Did she tell you about the abortion?”
“What do you think?” Whitney snapped.
My mind was racing. I needed to get the answers right so she’d keep talking.
“I bet she didn’t,” I said after a moment. “Because you and Cap must have been there for her through the fertility treatments, right? Cap was always there for her. It would have troubled you to learn she’d just callously ended her pregnancy. And”—a thought suddenly snagged my brain—“you’re a conservative Christian, right, and against abortion? You would have been very upset for that reason, too.”
“Abortion is a sin,” Whitney said fiercely, nearly spitting out the words. “The worst of all sins. The victims are the most innocent creatures in the world. It wasn’t even Devon’s baby. Not any part of it.”
“Was the sperm from anyone she knew?” I asked, barely above a whisper. I was afraid of the testers overhearing us and of Whitney suddenly clamming up.
“Yes, an ex-boyfriend,” she said. “I think he only agreed to donate his sperm because was he was too stupid to know it would actually produce a baby.”
“But are you saying she used an egg donor, too?”
“Unfortunately Devon’s eggs weren’t nearly as pretty as her face. She was in the throes of early menopause.”