didn’t have a clue as to the woman’s identity, but she tensed, anyway. “Who is this?”
“Who is this?” the woman asked incredulously. “It’s Olivia. Olivia D’Arby? You know, your roommate? The girl you left holding the bag when you skipped out on the rent?”
Roommate? What roommate? Celeste had said nothing about a roommate.
The whole situation was getting more complicated by the minute. And it had sounded so simple at first. Spend a month in a luxury hotel pretending to be her cousin, and in return she would be treated to a new wardrobe, a little cash and ample opportunity to decide what she wanted to do with the rest of her life.
But now, in addition to everything else, a mysterious roommate was calling, and if Cassie said or did anything the least bit suspicious, the whole scheme could unravel. And she had a bad feeling that if that happened, she would be the one left holding the bag.
“Well? Aren’t you even going to ask how I found you?” the woman demanded.
Cassie’s hand gripped the phone. “How?”
“You left your itinerary on the computer. Not too smart for someone in hiding. What if the press or Margo Fleming had somehow gotten hold of it? But don’t worry,” she rushed to assure Cassie. “I deleted everything.”
“Thanks.”
Olivia paused. “What’s wrong? You sound kind of strange.”
Cassie cleared her throat, then lowered her voice. “I think I’m coming down with something.”
“You’re sick? Well, that’s the least of your worries.” Cassie couldn’t detect even a drop of sympathy in the woman’s voice. “That’s why I’m calling. Some guy’s been around asking a lot of questions about you. He talked to some of the neighbors, and he managed to corner me in the parking lot yesterday when I got back from my interview. Since I didn’t get the part, I wasn’t exactly in a friendly mood. He got an earful, but I don’t think it was what he was after. Anyway, I thought you’d probably want to know what she’s up to now.”
“She?”
“Margo Fleming, of course. Who else would have sent that guy?” Olivia hesitated again. “Are you sure you’re okay? You seem kind of out there. Maybe you’re taking too much medication or something.”
“I’m fine,” Cassie rasped. “Thanks for the call.”
“Wait a minute, damn it. You can’t just blow me off like that. I went to all the trouble of tracking you down, the least you can do is give me the juicy details.”
Juicy details? What was she talking about?
“Oh, I get it.” Olivia’s tone dropped conspiratorially. “He’s there, isn’t he?”
“Who?”
“Oh, for the love of…Owen. Remember him? Your rich, married lover? The man who gave you that huge diamond and promised to make you a star?”
Was that resentment Cassie heard in the woman’s voice?
“Since I saw him first, the least you can do is be straight with me.”
Definitely resentment, Cassie decided.
“Is he there with you or not?” Olivia persisted.
“I’m alone.”
“I don’t believe you. You leave town in the middle of the night, and a few days later, Owen disappears. You can’t tell me that’s a coincidence.”
Cassie had no intention of telling her anything. All she wanted to do was get off the phone, pronto, before she said something to tip her hand. Honestly, what had Celeste been thinking when she left her itinerary on the computer? She must have known her roommate would find it.
Or…was that the point? Was this some sort of test? Maybe Olivia D’Arby was in on the ruse, and she was calling to make sure that Cassie didn’t cave under pressure.
“I appreciate the call, but I’m not feeling well.” Cassie lowered her voice to a hoarse whisper. “I really think I should get to bed.”
“You do that,” Olivia said coolly. “But if Margo Fleming shows up at your door, don’t say I didn’t warn you. I shudder to think what that woman is capable of.”
Was that a note of glee she detected in the roommate’s voice now? Cassie wondered.
* * *
WELL, SHE’D FLUNKED that little test, now hadn’t she? Evelyn thought gleefully.
It was just as she’d suspected. The woman was a complete fraud.
The whole story about their chance encounter in an elevator at the Beverly Hills Hotel had been a spur-of-the-moment fabrication. There had been no Chanel outfit and certainly no quip about the beginning of a beautiful friendship between Chablis and that…that horrid little dog she called Mr. Bogart.
“As if my princess would ever show the slightest interest in such a creature,” Evelyn crooned. Chablis’s responding sigh was one of pure bliss. Undoubtedly she was dreaming about Zoë von Hendenburg’s shih tzu or William Kendall’s Lhasa apso. But a Chihuahua?
Evelyn shuddered. Over her dead body!
Still, the next few days promised to be…interesting. It was possible, of course, that the woman who had been in her suite earlier was, indeed, Celeste Fortune. Perhaps she’d pretended to remember the meeting in the elevator to spare Evelyn’s feelings. After all, it was always awkward when one party remembered a brief encounter that the other did not.
And had that been the only incident, Evelyn might have been able to shrug it off in just that way.
But her suspicions had already been aroused before this evening, hence, the test.
Pleasantly buzzed from the vodka, Evelyn lay back against the sofa and smiled as she recalled the night she’d first seen Celeste Fortune in person. A little birdie had told her that the actress had booked herself into the Mirabelle, and so Evelyn had arrived ahead of her. She’d been waiting in the lobby behind a potted palm to get her first look.
Celeste had arrived in a cab, completely alone, wearing a cap pulled low over her face much as she had been tonight. She’d thought it a clever disguise, no doubt, but Evelyn, who was something of a movie buff, especially when it came to Owen’s productions, would have recognized her even without being tipped off. Even without that infamous diamond sparkling on the woman’s hand.
Evelyn had followed her up to the third floor and observed her from a discreet distance as the bellman let her into her room. A few minutes later, a maid carrying a stack of fresh towels got off the elevator and knocked on Celeste’s door.
Evelyn remembered the incident vividly because there had been something a little strange about the maid’s appearance. For one thing, she’d worn a really bad wig.
And she’d seemed nervous. She kept glancing over her shoulder until Celeste had let her in.
Evelyn had watched in amazement as the woman came out a few minutes later and headed straight for the elevator. Again, Evelyn’s attention was drawn to the wig. It looked slightly askew, as if she’d pulled it on in a hurry, but the real giveaway was the Boucheron diamond glittering on the woman’s finger. No maid owned a rock like that.
It was obvious to Evelyn that the two women had switched places, but why? And who was the imposter in Suite 3A pretending to be Celeste Fortune?
Where was the real Celeste? Off somewhere romantic and exotic with Owen?
It would be just like that bastard to plan such an elaborate scheme so that he could steal away for a few days with his mistress. And the real kick in the teeth? His devoted wife was probably picking up the tab for the whole affair.
Hands trembling in outrage, Evelyn carefully removed her own