Page 42 of The Perfect Illusion

As a result, she knew when Robert Hollinger was at out-of-town real estate conventions. She was aware of Kai Cody’s baseball schedule, including road games. She’d even got access to Frank Walters’s surgery schedule. And she didn’t need Sterling’s file on James to know that he was on location in Atlanta right now for his latest sequel, leaving poor Amanda alone in the mansion that Rachel used to call home.

That was where she’d finish the job. It was the culmination of the mission she’d begun planning months ago and finally brought to fruition this week. These scheming climbers, who had all married for money, getting their claws into older, deluded men, had it coming.

Rachel had made her decisions about who to eliminate based on the most objectionable pairings in combination with the most advantageous schedules for accessing homes. Those decisions had unfortunate consequences for Patricia Hollinger, Rebecca Martinez, and just a few hours ago, for Caroline Walters, as they would soon have for Amanda Calloway.

The first killing had been a challenge. She had to psyche herself up to use the huge chunk of broken, jagged glass from the picture frame. But once she found the sash and tiara, it was as if an extra level of clarity emerged. By posing the woman with the accessories from her beauty contestant days, she was silently mocking her. Hollinger’s good looks and wealth hadn’t helped her when the time for her judgement came.

She’d been delighted when she found that Rebecca Martinez had some of the same pageant trappings in her closet and happily decked her out in them. Her one regret was that she couldn’t do the same with Caroline Walters. Apparently that one hadn’t kept her pageant circuit accoutrement. Either that, or she’d never competed and was just a garden variety whore.

But all of that had just been prelude to the big event. Amanda was the final girl and she would suffer the worst consequences, because unlike the others, this one was personal. And it would be happening soon.

But not right now. Rachel had been gone long enough. She had to get back to the office so as not to arouse Victoria's ire. The woman liked her, but she was also unpredictable. Unless James took her back, Rachel would need this job after her work was done, so she couldn't afford to alienate her boss.

She took one last look at herself in the window to make sure she was presentable. She’d dumped the black clothes she’d worn while slicing Caroline Walters’s throat and gone home to change back into the outfit she’d worn to work today. She’d replaced the small bandage on her right palm that covered the cut she got when jamming a chunk of glass into Patricia Hollinger’s neck. Victoria would suspect nothing.

And neither would Amanda when Rachel visited her later today, bearing a most unwanted gift.

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

Jessie was relieved.

Luckily the Elite Introductions headquarters—coincidentally located in the same Wilshire Tower building in Westwood as Benjamin Moran’s legal practice—wasn’t that far from the Walters’s Santa Monica mansion. Unfortunately, Jessie had to impatiently wait twenty minutes before Brady could extricate himself from Frank Walters, who understandably had a small breakdown upon seeing his wife’s body.

Now, as they stepped out of the elevator on the building’s 33rd floor, Jessie glanced at her phone. It was approaching 5 P.M. She had been tempted to call ahead to make sure the place was still open but didn’t want to give Sterling a heads up. So they were just showing up unannounced.

When they pushed through the frosted glass doors of the office, they found they were in a space that felt more like the reception area for an upscale spa than a matchmaking service. The lights were low, the chairs were plush, and the music had a relaxing ambient vibe. They walked up to the desk, where an attractive but intense-looking thirty-something offered them a polite smile.

“Do you have an appointment?” she asked.

“No, we’re a walk-in,” Brady said, not sharing any more information than necessary.

“Oh dear,” the woman said, “I believe Victoria was wrapping up for the day. Let me check on her availability. Who may I say is here?”

Jessie was impressed with the woman’s unruffled demeanor, considering that Brady, in his jeans, stained Chico State sweatshirt, and blazer that he’d thrown on as an afterthought, didn’t fit the profile for an Elite Introductions client. She gave no indication that it mattered. Then again, rich guys wore whatever they wanted whenever they wanted.

“Detective Bowen of the LAPD,” Brady said, holding out his badge. “And this is Jessie Hunt. We’re not here looking for a romantic pairing. We just have a few questions for her.”

The woman tried to stay professional, but it was clear from her expression that she was shocked. Even with the plastic surgery she’d obviously had done, her face had gone from blandly placid to startled and confused.

“Um, okay,” she said. “Just give me a moment.”

She stood up, her hands clenched into nervous fists, and moved to the office’s inner door. Jessie noted that the receptionist, with her expensive skirt and top, her pinched, over-exercised body, and her entitled bearing, could have easily been mistaken for the matchmaker rather than her assistant.

She knocked on the inner door and when a female voice said to enter, poked her head in.

“Victoria,” she said in a respectfully hushed voice, “there are some folks from the police here. They’d like to speak with you.”

“What about?” Sterling’s disembodied voice demanded sharply.

“They wouldn’t say, but they’re right out front here. Should I send them in?”

In response to the question, she got a long, annoyed sigh. Jessie was on the verge of short-circuiting the pleasantries and just shoving her way into the inner office. After all, Sterling was as much a credible suspect as she was a potential source of information. She didn’t need to be handled with kid gloves. But before Jessie could move, Sterling answered.

“Go ahead and send them in,” she said reluctantly.

"Okay," the receptionist said. "By the way, I was planning to head out. I'm supposed to meet a friend at 5:15, and I'll be late if I don't leave soon."

“Rachel,” Sterling said, “you are really pushing it today. First taking off all afternoon for that doctor’s appointment and now this? Can I count on you to—you know—be in the office the rest of the week?”

---