There was no longer any serious doubt in her mind that Howard was the owner of the house, but the issue was too important to rest solely on a monogram. If Howard was indeed the HB in question, she would know three things with certainty: the house was still his, he was cheating on Kris, and he was the owner of the mysterious Trendline. And if Trendline could be tied to Western Regional Resources-well, she would have all her ducks neatly in a row.
She almost hoped it didn't work out that way. Kris had been hurt badly enough already. It would be better for her if neither Trendline nor Amanda Gilbert had any connection with her husband. But Abby wasn't betting on it. The world was not kind.
The production meeting for the six o'clock news broke up shortly after 5 p.m. Kris left in a rush, stuffing her yellow legal pad into her carrying case, and boarded the elevator with Amanda Gilbert. The two of them rode to ground level together.
"Another day, another nightmare," Amanda observed.
Kris smiled.
"At least no more pint-size pachyderms came into the world at the last minute."
"Still a madhouse. Looks like we won't have time for that heart-to-heart we talked about."
Kris was surprised Amanda even remembered their conversation.
Surprised-and touched. She had never imagined Amanda as the type to worry about feelings and personal crises.
"Maybe after the show," Kris offered, just to have something to say.
Amanda shook her head.
"No can do. I've got a… an engagement."
"A date? Is that what you started to say?"
Amanda looked away, embarrassed. This was Kris's second surprise. She had never imagined that Amanda could be capable of embarrassment on any topic.
"You do have a date, don't you? You, the workaholic?"
Kris gave her a playful punch on the arm.
"Who is he?"
"I'd rather not talk about it."
"You'll talk. This is big stuff. I want to hear all the details."
The elevator doors opened. Amanda got out first, in a hurry to leave.
"Can't oblige you now. I've got a show to get on the air."
"Tomorrow, then." Kris stopped her at the door to the newsroom.
"You tell me the secrets of your love life, and I'll tell you mine, okay?" She shrugged.
"Who knows, maybe we have more in common than we know."
Amanda pushed open the door.
"Stranger things have happened."
"Is it a deal?"
"Sure. Deal. Now I've gotta run." She vanished through the doorway.
Kris headed down the hall to her office, smiling. Her marriage was falling apart, but her executive producer had found.a boyfriend. Maybe there was a cosmic balance to the universe, as her New Age friends said.
Her office was a large sun-streaked room cluttered with award certificates and statuettes, mementos from other stations where she'd worked, and framed snapshots of herself and Howard in happier times.
Ellen, her personal assistant, was typing at her desktop computer.
She glanced up when Kris entered.
"Hey, boss lady"
"Hey. Stopped by to pick up my outfit."
"Linda dropped it off an hour ago." Ellen nodded toward the door to Kris's dressing room, adjacent to the office.
"It's a new one, very snazzy."
Kris found her outfit hanging in the closet. It was a periwinkle blue suit with a cream-colored blouse, a good choice. That particular shade of blue always looked good on camera. Having been in the business for years, Kris knew what worked and what didn't.
Solid colors were good; patterns, especially small, complicated patterns, were bad. Off-white tones were good; solid whites were bad.
She changed into the suit, checked herself out in the full-length mirror, and decided she looked quite elegant except for her flat-soled sneakers. Since she was always behind a desk while on the air, no viewer would ever see her footwear.
To complement her outfit, she selected a pair of earrings and a pearl necklace-costume baubles, large and ridiculously ostentatious. Small items of jewelry were distracting on camera; outsized items photographed better. With the jewelry stowed in a plastic bag for later use, she headed out of the office, then paused in the doorway.
"How many calls?" she asked.
"Got a stack of message slips, but nothing urgent-"
"No, I mean voice mails… from him."
"Oh. Actually, none."
"No calls?"
"Not today." Ellen shrugged.
"Maybe he's losing interest."
"I should live so long."
Kris proceeded to the makeup room down the hall.
It was strange that Hickle hadn't called. Ordinarily by this time of day he would have left a couple of messages on her voice mail and one or two others with the switchboard. She should have been relieved by his silence.
Instead she found it unsettling.
Julia, her makeup artist, and Edward, her hair stylist, were waiting by the barber's chair with impatient expressions. Edward went first. On Mondays he gave her a complete styling. For the rest of the week, a touch-up was all that was required. He did the job quickly, trimming and fluffing and spraying.
"Done," he pronounced.
"Though, you know, with a shorter'do-"
"I'm not cutting my hair short."
"All I'm pointing out, Kris dear, is that after a certain age, long hair becomes unfashionable."
"I haven't reached that age." She picked up his scissors and clicked them menacingly.
"Tell me that I have, and I'll cut you shorter-and I don't mean your hair."
Edward quailed.
"I entirely see your point." He departed in haste.
Then it was makeup time. Kris sat patiently, reviewing script changes, as Julia applied a thick coat of Shiseido foundation to every exposed inch of her skin, even the insides of her ears. The blush followed. It seemed that the reworking of her face became more elaborate every month.
Soon she would do the news from behind an inch-thick mask of cosmetics, looking as stylized as a geisha. No one would recognize her.
She could change her name, move to another city, continue doing the news-and Hickle would never find her.
She tried to smile at this fantasy, but there was nothing funny about Hickle. He hadn't called her at work.
Strange… "Julia."
"Mmm hmmm."
"Bring the phone over here, would you? I need to make a call."
Julia obeyed, sulking; like any artist, she resented interruptions.
Kris called her home number. When the machine answered, she asked one of the TPS agents to pick up.
"This is Pfeiffer," one of them said.
"Hi, it's me. I wanted to know what the tally is. You know, his phone calls to the house."
"It's zero, ma'am."
"Zero?"
"He hasn't made a peep."
"He hasn't called my work number either. Does that strike you as peculiar?"
"You can never tell with these guys. Tomorrow he could call twenty times."
"I suppose you're right. Okay, thank you." She switched off. Julia asked what that was all about.
"My stalker seems to have varied his routine," Kris said.
"Is that bad?"
"I'm not sure."
Julia applied the last cosmetic touches.
"You know, I used to think it would be cool to be famous," she said.
"Now I have to wonder."
"It has its ups and downs."
Even after her makeup was complete and Julia was gone, Kris remained seated in the chair, thinking about Hickle and his unnatural silence.
"Kris." The floor manager was at the door.
"Ten minutes."
"Thanks." She hadn't realized airtime was so near.
She almost left the room, then changed her mind.
She picked up the phone and called Travis.