One Dangerous Lady by Jane Stanton Hitchcock Page A

with an aloof little smile, was familiar to readers throughout the world. In person, he was much more intense. His bushy eyebrows hung over his brown eyes like little black canopies. He had the impish charm of a leprechaun. I loved his company, his humor, and the interest that he took in everything. His fierce intelligence was amplified by intuition. In the twenty-odd years since his first book had appeared, Larry Locket had become more than a celebrity, he was a force to be reckoned with, loved and respected by his friends, feared by his enemies.
    There was a time when I had been afraid Larry might level his sharp, investigative gaze at me, and the prospect made me very worried, I can tell you. But that time passed and since then we had enjoyed many a jolly meal together, discussing the vicissitudes of New York—how it had changed over the years, the threat of terrorism, social and otherwise, how so many people had come and gone, reigned for a time, then gone broke or been indicted, and the fact that the new ante to play the game of social life in Manhattan had steadily increased to national deficit proportions.
    I fixed Larry his usual drink, a Diet Coke, and poured myself a white wine. We sat down and chitchatted about the wedding for a few moments. Of course, Larry already knew all about it from a variety of sources.
    â€œI hear it was rather moist,” he said.
    â€œIt was a monsoon. Poor Betty, I felt so sorry for her. She didn’t want to have it in Barbados in the first place. She wanted to have it in New York. But Missy insisted.”
    â€œWell, I want to hear about the bridal dinner on the Cole yacht and the morning Russell went missing. I’m going down there tomorrow for a couple of weeks. Tell me everything . Tell me who I should see. I’ve already lined up the head of the Coast Guard and the governor general.”
    I gave Larry a brief recap. He was particularly fascinated by the green monkey story. I debated whether or not to tell him what Carla had told me, namely, that Russell had disappeared before. Carla had sworn me to secrecy, but Larry was an old and dear friend, and we often told each other things we’d been sworn not to tell. Then he said, “Carla’s agreed to talk to me.”
    â€œDo you know her?”
    â€œNot well, no. But we’ve met a few times over the years. I’ve seen her in a few of her various incarnations. She’s made quite a transformation from the first time I ever laid eyes on her.”
    â€œOh, tell me, Larry,” I said.
    Larry leaned back in the burgundy velvet chair and lit his pipe. The aroma of sweet tobacco filled the room.
    â€œLet’s see,” he said, puffing away. “I first ran across Carla years ago when my wife and I were living in London. Carla was called Carla Corelli or Corallo—or something like that. Some Italian name. She was one of those jolly good-time, girls-about-town on the London party circuit. She was living with another woman, actually.”
    â€œLiving with, as in having an affair with?”
    â€œNo, I don’t think so. Maybe. Who knows? They were roommates. I remember she had long, blonde hair then and quite a voluptuous figure. She laughed a lot.”
    â€œLong, blonde hair? I can’t picture it.”
    â€œ Bright blonde hair,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “Nearly to her waist. Very sexy. My wife called her a ‘three-bottle blonde.’ She made no bones about wanting to marry money. Everyone knew she was looking for a good catch. Then, of course, she struck gold. She married Antonio Hernandez, as you know, and they went to live in Mexico. Now she’s thin and chic and very— propah ,” he said with a wry smile. “Last time I saw her, I hardly recognized her.”
    â€œDid you know Hernandez?”
    â€œI met him once at an an amazing party they gave in Acapulco. Hernandez had this huge villa down there and I was staying with a friend