Despite the fact that the Evangeline Residence had the benefit of being practically around the corner from her new job, Isobel couldn't wait to get her own apartment. She knew it probably meant sharing an illegal sublet with a stranger, but that was all part of the romance of being a struggling actor in New York, and she was one hundred percent committed to that romance, hardships and all. As she reclined on a sofa in the parlor, partially hidden by a potted palm, she scoured apartment rentals on her laptop, while one of the other residents tinkered with a Chopin étude on the grand piano.
After bookmarking a few possibilities to inspect on the weekend, Isobel closed her computer. The Guys and Dolls audition had been a bust, but she was glad she'd gone back. Sunil really had a gorgeous voice, and he seemed like a sweet guy. Delphi was offbeat, but Isobel liked her. She was genuinely touched by their concern. Of course, she hadn't told them that her prints were on the murder weapon. That was worrying. Coupled with the fact that she'd been the one to find Doreen, it didn't look good. Perhaps if she could come up with some tidbit of information that pointed to someone else, she'd be able to convince the police she was innocent.
Then again, if going back to the bank was a bad idea, nosing around into this Doreen business was a worse one. She didn't want to wind up with her head stapled to a desk. But how much harm was there in asking a few questions?
Her cell phone rang, and she picked it up from the side of the settee.
"Hello?"
"It's James. I need to talk to you."
"Was I supposed to call you again? Everything's fine. I mean, they officially asked me to stay on, so—"
"You didn't tell me you found Doreen's body and your fingerprints were on the scissors!"
Isobel inhaled sharply. "How do you know that?"
"How do you think? I had a little visit from the cops today. Do you realize you put my ass on the line? I wasn't supposed to send you out in the first place!"
Isobel sat up. "Now, wait a minute. It's not my fault that cow got herself killed."
"If Ginger finds out that I broke the rules and you're involved in this mess, I'm history!"
"As the person working alongside a cold-blooded murderer, I'd say I'm the one with my ass on the line!" The girl playing Chopin stopped mid-phrase and gaped at her. "Sorry," Isobel whispered.
"At least you could have warned me before the cops showed up!"
"You didn't give me a chance! Besides, when I talked to you, they hadn't found the scissors."
"But you must have known your prints were on them!"
"If I stopped to think about everything I happened to touch my first day rummaging through that stupid desk drawer, I might have thought of it. But since I'm not the one who plunged the fucking scissors into her chest, it wasn't exactly top of mind!" Isobel shouted.
The Chopin girl got up from the piano bench and hurried out of the room, glancing furtively at Isobel over her shoulder.
"Did you have anything at all to do with Doreen's murder?"
Isobel was so shocked, it took her a minute to reply. Then she let him have it.
"Well, what the hell took you so long? Were you just too chickenshit to ask? Of course I didn't! I'd never met that woman before—I'd never been in an office before, as you well know—and any idiot knows that it's poor form to kill your co-workers, especially on the first day!"
Isobel was standing now, and she kicked the potted palm with her foot to punctuate her anger. The effect, of course, was lost on James. Too bad, because it hurt like hell.
There was silence on the other end of the phone. "It's just hard to know. And, I mean..."
"What? What exactly do you mean?"
"You're an actress. You could be totally bullshitting me," James said, finally.
"You don't really believe that," she said, although as she spoke, she found herself perversely wishing she were that good an actress.
"No," James said. He spoke so softly she wasn't sure she had heard him properly.
"What was that?" she pressed.
"No, I don't think you killed her. Damn cops! They get in your head and mess with you. I'm sorry."
"And here I thought you were worried about me."
"I am."
"Fine way to show it!"
Isobel caught a movement by the door of the parlor and saw the Chopin girl enter with the director of the residence.
"I have to go," she whispered.
Before James could answer, she hung up and sat down again on the settee.
"Excuse me," said the director, a prim, unsmiling woman with her hair in a tight, black bun. "I understand you were using your cell phone in a public room and screaming obscenities into it. We can't have that here, as I'm sure you understand. I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
"The room or the residence?" Isobel asked, her blood still boiling.
"The room for now, the residence if your behavior is repeated."
Isobel snatched up her things and stalked across the well-worn carpet. "That's fine with me," she called out haughtily as she left. "I don't intend to stay in this dump any longer than I have to!"
It was unfortunate, she realized later, that the person for whom she had really intended her dramatic exit hadn't seen or heard her make it.