Death Wears a Beauty Mask and Other Stories Read Free Page B

same.”
    â€œAgreed.”
    They turned to go. For the first time Janice noticed that a large portrait of Alexandra was hanging on the wall by the door. She was wearing a pale green Grecian-style gown. Her long, blonde hair was hanging loosely to her waist. She looked enchantingly lovely. Grant studied it with them. “Alexandra posed for that several years ago. Larry Thompson took the pictures. He’s a great photographer and a very good artist and drew this portrait from the stills he’d taken. He did one for himself. I saw it, and at my request, he did one for me.”
    Larry Thompson, the photographer. He was the next name on the list of people Mike and Janice had decided to see. He was the director who had filmed all the Beauty Mask commercials.
    They said good-bye to Grant, walked down the long corridor and made a right turn toward the elevators. Mike stopped just as he was about to push the down button. “Honey, wait a minute. I just want to check something.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œNothing much. Be right back.” He hurried back to the office they’d just left; the door was slightly ajar.
    He could see Grant Wilson standing in front of Alexandra’s portrait. With both hands he was grasping the frame. He was staring at Alexandra’s face. Then with a gesture of futility he clenched one hand into a fist and slammed it against the wall.
    Mike hurried back and rejoined Janice at the elevators. “What did you want to check?” she asked.
    â€œI wanted to ask what exactly is the last date they have to reshoot the Venice commercial. But I decided not to ask him now.”
    As he took Janice’s hand with a reassuring smile, he wondered what impression was seared most on his mind . . . the beautiful smiling face of Alexandra in the portrait . . . the face so like Janice’s . . .or the despair-ridden eyes of Alexandra’s would-be fiancé as he stared at it.
    Outside the building Janice expected Mike to signal for a cab. Instead he steered her across the street to The Plaza Hotel. “We haven’t had any lunch. That pre-landing breakfast was pretty small,” he said firmly.
    â€¢Â Â â€¢Â Â â€¢
    An hour later they were reading the very small nameplate above the bell of Lawrence Thompson’s 48th Street town house. Together they studied the exterior of the brownstone, noticing the graceful latticework around the windows and the small upstairs balcony which was bordered with geraniums.
    â€œThis is the Turtle Bay section,” Mike told her. “One of the lawyers who lectures at Columbia has a place here. Only he’s on the next block. Calls it mock Turtle Bay. This house would probably sell for twenty or thirty thousand dollars.”
    â€œI wouldn’t be the buyer,” Janice said. “I think it looks gloomy.” She pushed the buzzer hesitantly. No one answered. After a moment she looked at Mike. He shrugged, turned the handle and opened the door. They went into a small, stark, untidy reception room. A rickety desk strewn with models’ pictures was at an ungainly angle in one corner. Camp chairs stood folded against a wall. A few others had been opened haphazardly and were the only available seats. A large sign announced: MODELS ARE SEEN ONLY BY APPOINTMENT. PLEASE DO NOT RING THE BUZZER. LEAVE YOUR COMPOSITE. WE’LL CALL YOU .
    Janice said, “I can tell you already I won’t like Larry Thompson.” Leaning over the desk she pressed the buzzer firmly. From inside somewhere she heard the faint sound that assured them it was working. Through thick double doors that led to the next room they could hear children shouting and a dog barking.
    Minutes passed. No one came. “If at first you don’t succeed,”Mike murmured. He reached past her and firmly thumped the buzzer again.
    One of the double doors opened slightly and a distracted-looking fortyish woman with large