If Looks Could Kill by Kate White Page A

sometimes say they hate me, but that’s—that comes with the territory.” I
     had thought for a split second that she was going to say, “But that’s always been the case.”
    He told her to think about it, that something might come to her over the next day. She should consider, he said, whether anyone
     had ever threatened her even in a veiled way, or if anyone at the party might have a grudge of some kind against her. He also
     said that since the apartment was most likely a crime scene, the police would come back and examine it again.
    “Don’t let the housekeeper go in and clean up,” he told Cat. “We need to keep it totally off limits.”
    I wanted to shoot Cat a look, but Farley would have caught it.
    He rose to leave and I thought Cat was going to dive to the floor and grab him around the ankle with both hands.
    “You’re going? What about my situation? Am I in danger?”
    He launched into his little mantra again about not jumping to conclusions, but he suggested that she keep a fairly low profile—and
     he promised that he would be in touch. He also handed each of us a business card with his phone and fax numbers and told us
     to contact him immediately if we had any thoughts, information, or concerns.
    Wondering if there was anything he’d say or ask me out of Cat’s earshot, I volunteered to see him to the door. The only tid-bit
     he offered was that since the case was starting to look like a homicide and he was a general precinct detective, he would
     now be working with detectives in the homicide division. I felt my blood curdle at the word
homicide
. As he stepped out onto the stoop, he reminded me to get the party list over to him as soon as possible. I didn’t dare tell
     him what I’d noticed in Heidi’s apartment. He’d kill me for having gone down there, and besides, if the police hadn’t yet
     done a thorough search, they would now.
    When I got back to the living room, Cat was lying on the couch, eyes closed, with a bag of frozen peas on her head, obviously
     riding the first wave of one of her legendary migraines. As much as Cat had angered people over the years with her abruptness
     and bitchiness, it was hard to believe she’d inspired someone to decide to kill her. I wanted to reassure her, to comfort
     her, but I felt at a loss. I was anxious and scared and just plain dumbfounded by the fact that a murderer had been at the
     party that night.
    “Cat, tell me,” I said, sitting at the end of the couch by her bare, pedicured feet and trying to keep my voice calm, “is
     there
anyone
you can think of who might want to harm you?”
    “Are you wondering why I didn’t offer up Dolores’s name on a silver platter?” she asked plaintively from under the picture
     of the Jolly Green Giant. “Because, after all, we both know how much she despises me.”
    “Well, she certainly jumps to
my
mind. Why didn’t you mention her to Farley?”
    She lifted the bag from her head. Her eye makeup had begun to smear and she looked both worried and wiped out. “Because the
     timing seems all wrong,” she said. “When I got the
Gloss
job, maybe, but why now, so many years later? Besides, it’s hard to picture her in an apron with a candy thermometer. The
     only reason Dolores ever goes into a kitchen is to find the martini olives.”
    “Well, I think you need to discuss the situation with Farley. Let him be the judge. Can you think of anything else? Is there
     anyone really pissed at you?”
    “People are always pissed at me, but there’s a difference between pissed and murderous rage. I don’t know anyone who feels
that
way toward me…You know what this means, Bailey? I’m the reason Heidi is dead.” Her eyes watered as she spoke, something you
     didn’t see every day.
    “That’s not your fault, Cat. There’s no possible way you could have prevented this. Look,” I said, switching gears, “we’ve
     got to be proactive about the situation.”
    “Please don’t say