2

       I thought about this for a second, feeling it was more proof that Darlene had made up the whole story of her and Philip doing that. “We’d better take the towel off his face to be sure, Darlene.”
       “I guess so.”
       “You do it. He was your boyfriend.”
       “What a crummy thing to have to do. I’ve only known him a day.” Darlene hesitated. Then, “All right, Bebe.”
       Darlene inched across the bathroom tile and reached in gingerly with thumb and forefinger extended to the very tip of the washcloth covering the dead man’s face. With the flash of a magician, she whipped it off and let out a shriek. “It’s him.” She began to cry. “What a horrible accident.”
       Standing in the bathroom, I held her while she sobbed, trembling myself. I had never seen a dead body before except for my great aunt. And she’d been dressed in her casket, not naked in a tub full of water with a guitar in her hands.
       Since I was averting my eyes from the naked dead man in the tub, I finally noticed the bathroom wall. We’d been so shaken up with the horror of finding Philip, we hadn’t taken in our surroundings.
       On the wall, written in something black, were the words:

3

       Starvin’ for the good life, baby, with-out any ooofff you
       Starvin’ for the real thing, on my own, be-in’ true
       Here it is on my plate, if only I could reach it
       Oh, it’s so sweet, I can almost taste it--------man
       Get out of my waaaaayyyy
       Get out of my waaaaayyyy

       I said, “Look, Darlene, someone’s written lyrics to a song on the wall.”
       “Why would Philip write lyrics to a song on the wall in”—Darlene picked up a black eyeliner pencil from the white-tiled floor—“black eyeliner, then get in the tub and play his guitar?” Darlene gasped. “You don’t think he deliberately killed himself, do you?”
       “No, Darlene. I don’t think Philip did this to himself. Surely there are easier ways to kill yourself. It’s worse than that.”
       Darlene’s blue eyes rounded. “What are you saying, Bebe?”
       “If Philip plugged his guitar into the electrical outlet and then stepped into the tub of water, he would have been electrocuted immediately and fallen in the tub. Instead he’s lying down with a towel over his face.”
       “Bebe! Clue me in here.”

4

       “Someone did this.”
       Darlene’s eyes almost popped out of her head. “Are you saying Philip was murdered?”
       “It looks that way. Maybe he was in the bath, playing his guitar without plugging it in. Someone came in meaning to kill him, saw the opportunity with the guitar, and took it. Then whoever did it wrote those song lyrics on the wall. Why, I don’t know.” I paused for a thoughtful moment. “I didn’t know pop stars wore eyeliner. Do you think John Lennon does?”
       “Bebe, you’re way off base, and you’ve got quite an imagination. Who would want to kill Philip? He just came to the United States for the first time. We got in this morning. Hardly anyone here even knows him. It must have been an accident.”
       “We better call the police, Darlene.” I moved away from her out of the bathroom, into the bedroom, past empty pizza boxes and beer bottles, and picked up the phone next to the rumpled bed.
       Somehow I managed to speak calmly into the receiver and give my name and location. The dispatcher on the other end of the line instructed me to stay where I was, and not to let anyone into the room under any circumstances until the police arrived. I agreed and hung up.
       Almost immediately there was a knock on the door.

5

       “Come on, Philip, we’re late meeting up with those American birds,” a voice with a thick English accent called from the other side of the door.
       Keith.
       And we hadn’t closed the door all the way.
       Darlene rushed from where she’d plunked down in a chair and slammed the door in the lead guitarist’s face. “Ouch!” she cried, grabbing her right foot.
       “Blimey, Darlene, was that you?” came a muffled voice through the door. “Why’d you slam the door in my face?”
       Darlene looked wildly at me, her body guarding the door, hands splayed against it, injured foot forgotten for the moment.
       “Tell him there’s been an accident and you can’t let him in until the police get here. It’s the truth,” I stage-whispered.
       Darlene shook her red curls in the negative. Instead, she looked through the peephole and said, “Philip and I can’t be disturbed right now, Keith. Come back in an hour.”
       “Got the other bird in there with you?” was the response.
       I felt the heat rise to my cheeks, my mouth open in shock.
       “Yes,” Darlene said unforgivably.

6

       I stood to my five feet, seven inches (I do have decent long legs, God’s way of making up for my lack of chest) and placed both hands on my hips, glaring at petite Darlene.
       She put a finger to her lips in a shushing motion.
       The sounds of fading laughter came from the hall. “Philip and the birds. Always has a flock.”
       Darlene checked the peephole again and turned back to where I was sitting. “He split.”
       “How could you tell him that about me?”
       “Bebe, we’ve got a dead body in the bathroom. Keith’s thinking we’re doing a threesome is the least of our problems.”
       “But my reputation!”
       “Bebe, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
       “I’d better not. Mama always says a girl’s reputation is priceless. What’s wrong with your foot?”
       Darlene balanced on one high heel and looked at the bottom of her right foot. “I stepped on something sharp. It looks like a tack or something.”
       A brisk knock on the door halted the conversation.
       Darlene pocketed the tack.
       “Police! Open up!”

7

       The room suddenly filled with men wearing blue NYPD uniforms and a plainclothes detective who took Darlene aside and questioned her while a police officer stood guard over me. Another officer was busy talking to the hotel detective, who showed up demanding to know what was going on. More officers were doing God only knows what in the bathroom where Philip lay. An ambulance crew arrived, and a man I think was the coroner. Flashbulbs went off, over and over. All of a sudden I realized I was shaking.
       “Miss Bennett?”
       I looked up from where I was sitting at a small round table near the window. The plainclothes man loomed over me, notebook in hand. He wore a gray suit, white shirt, and navy tie. His hair was dark and styled in a crew cut. I figured him for about thirty. As he sat down in a chair opposite, a feeling that I had done something terribly wrong came over me. His brown eyes were condemning. I had been the one to electrocute Philip Royal, those eyes said. I had wanted to see Philip dead. Never mind that I’d never met him. I swallowed with an effort.
       “Yes, I’m Miss Bennett.”
       “I’m Detective Finelli, in charge of this case.”
       “Pleased to meet you.”
       His face didn’t change. If anything, it grew more stern.

8

       “You live with Miss Darlene Roland at 138-140 East Sixty-fifth Street, apartment three-B?”
       “Yes. It’s a walk up, but very comfortable. Well, we don’t have much furniture now because Darlene’s ex-roommate took it all, but I plan to surprise Darlene with some new things because she’s not charging me much rent.”
       Detective Finelli remained blank-faced at all this information. “And where do you work?”
       I sat up taller. “I’m secretary to Bradley Williams. He’s vice president of talent at Rip-City Records, and very good at his job. He’s the one who discovered Philip Royal and the Beefeaters in London and brought them over here to launch their first album in a few weeks. Mr. Williams is a well-known man-about-town.”
       Detective Finelli began to look strained. “I’ll take your word for it. Now, Miss Bennett, why don’t you tell me how it came to be that you are at the Legends Hotel today.”
       I began twisting my fingers together under the table, where I hoped the detective wouldn’t see, but somehow I felt he could. “I’m here because my friend Darlene set me up on a double date.”
       “With who?”
       “With Keith.”
       “Keith who?”
       

9

       “Gee, I don’t know his last name. He’s the lead guitarist for Philip Royal and the Beefeaters.” Then it struck me that there was no longer any such band. “I mean he was until—”
       “Until what, Miss Bennett?”
       “You know,” I said, nodding toward the bathroom.
       Detective Finelli took notes. “So you came here expecting a date. How did you end up in Philip Royal’s room?”
       “What do you mean?”
       “Was that the plan all along? Were you two girls just coming up to the guys’ rooms?”
       “No! We were supposed to meet them in the lobby and then all go to the Peppermint Lounge, but the guys hadn’t shown up yet and Darlene went to call, and Philip didn’t answer, so the nice elevator man, who had a cough and is hard of hearing, brought us up here, and the door was open, and that’s when we found Philip!”
       I took a deep breath.
       Detective Finelli blinked and jotted down a few words. I didn’t think I liked him even though he wore a wedding ring and was probably a nice family man with several young children.
       “Were you with Miss Roland when she went to call Philip Royal?”
       “No, the house phone was down the hall. I stayed behind and helped the elevator operator, Mr. Duncan, with his cough.”
       “With his cough?”

10

       “Yes. It’s only right to be helpful. You know that, being a policeman.”
       “I’m a detective. Now, how long was Miss Roland gone?”
       “I don’t know. A few minutes.”
       “Ten minutes? Twenty?”
       I tilted my head and stared at the ceiling. Finally I looked back at him. “Maybe fifteen minutes.”
       “Then the two of you came up here and discovered the body?”
       “Yes. Darlene thought it was an accident, but I didn’t think so.”
       “Why did Miss Roland think it was an accident?”
       “I don’t know. Didn’t you ask her?"
       Detective Finelli removed his handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped his brow. “You thought it was a murder?”
       “Yes, and before you ask me how I knew, I’ll tell you. Because if he’d tried to do away with himself, he wouldn’t have been lying down with a towel over his head after he’d plugged in his guitar.”
       “Very astute of you, Miss Bennett.”
       “Thank you. Is that all?”
       “For now. We’re taking fingerprints and doing our job here. There will be an autopsy to determine the time of death. I must tell you that you cannot leave town until this matter has been investigated and resolved.”

11

       “Then it really was a murder!”
       “Don’t leave town, Miss Bennett.”
       He got up, but one of his underlings brought over Mr. Duncan. I gave a tiny wave at the elevator operator, and he twisted his lips in a weak smile. He obviously didn’t want to be involved in any of this.
       “This is Mr. Duncan, sir. He brought the girls up.”
       Detective Finelli introduced himself while I sat there shaking. I felt out of breath, like I had back in gym class when the teacher made us run around the football field.
       Darlene was being questioned between sneezes by yet another police officer. I could just hear the conversation between Detective Finelli and Mr. Duncan.
       “So Miss Roland was gone from the lobby of the hotel for at least fifteen minutes, maybe longer?”
       “Yes, sir, that’s right. I hope I won’t get into any trouble. All I did was give those two girls a ride up to this floor. I don’t know anything about any murder. I’ve been with the hotel goin’ on eighteen years now.”
       Detective Finelli interrupted him. “You’ll need to come down to the station and sign a statement saying what you just told me, that’s all. You may have to testify in court. But I don’t see where your job would be in jeopardy.”

12

       Mr. Duncan was allowed to leave the room. He did so with a glum look on his face. Detective Finelli walked over to Darlene and the police officer, and words were exchanged. Darlene started to cry. I fought the urge to go to her.
       Finally she was free from questioning, and she ran straight into my arms. We stood there shivering.
       “Let’s get out of here,” I said.
       Tears streamed down Darlene’s face. “Bebe, they say I can’t leave town. They think I did it because I admitted Philip and I were, er, close on the plane.”
       “You did it? That’s ridiculous! Don’t worry. They told me not to leave town, either.”
       “But don’t you see, I can’t account for that fifteen minutes.”
       “What fifteen minutes?”
       “The ones Detective Finelli told me both you and elevator operator said I was gone. No one saw me at the house phone except the lady who was ahead of me, and we’ll never track her down.”
       “Oh, no, Darlene, I feel responsible.” Guilt curled in my stomach.
       “It’s not just you; it’s Mr. Duncan, too.”
       “I’m so sorry. Truly.”
       “Not only am I under suspicion for murder, Bebe, but if I can’t leave town, I can’t fly! Don’t you see what this means? How can I be a stewardess if I’m grounded?”