Outside of, maybe, pizza, a meal hadn’t been served in that room for a long time. It bespoke ordered chaos with surfaces and shelves full of large-format planning calendars, catering menus, three-ring binders with client last names on the spines, and event photos with socialites and celebrities. Rook said, “I take it you’re a party planner.”
“Planner, executor, part-time shrink to the wealthy dysfunctional. I’m also not above valet parking a few Bentleys, if it makes the host happy.” Alicia Delamater radiated a gameness for just about anything. Beyond energy and ambition, she gave off an up-front lustiness, like a skinny-dip or a margarita in a red cup was never out of the question. Nikki took her to be about her age, but showing some mileage that must have gone with the lifestyle. “I’m all yours,” she said, surrendering to the sluggish bit rate.
“Do you mind if I ask if you’ve been around here long?”
“About two years. Got sick of the corporate insanity and chose my own brand. Moved here, started my own business, and, Geronimo.”
“You must be doing all right,” said Rook.
“Not getting the call from Sean Combs to revive his White Party all right, but all right enough.” She let her gaze linger on the handsome journalist in frank assessment.
Heat broke that right up with the photo. “Sometime in the last few months would you have seen this man?”
The woman let out a throaty laugh. “Oh my God, are you kidding? Sure. That’s Fabian.” Then she gave Heat a worried glance. “This is a mug shot. Is he in some kind of trouble?”
Nikki remained nonchalant, but Rook moved closer in his excitement. “And do you know his last name?”
“It’s one of those French-Haitian ones. Not Bouvier but close.”
“Beauvais?” offered Heat. And Alicia affirmed with a nod. “How or where do you know him?”
“He worked here for me. I had a lot of high-water damage after Irene that I just lived with through the winter. I hired Fab in the summer to get the property in shape.”
Rook joined in. “When was the last time you saw him?”
“Exactly two weeks ago. He cut his leg on the power clipper. I offered to take him to the ER but he refused. Probably paranoid because he was illegal.” An idea struck her. “You’re not here because I hired an alien…?”
“No,” Nikki assured her. “We’re just trying to piece together his movements. “Did he have any other interaction around here, perhaps do some work for some of the neighbors?” She held her breath, waiting for the Keith Gilbert connection. But Alicia shook her head.
“No way. I kept him too busy here, believe me.”
“Did Beauvais tell you where he was going when he left?” asked Rook.
“Back to New York was all he said.”
Heat turned a page on her notebook. “And what about visitors, did anyone come by?” The woman wagged no again. “Did he ever mention any problems or conflicts with anyone?”
“No, I’m sorry, Detective. He was just a nice guy who worked on my property and left. Not much else to tell.”
They walked down her driveway in silence. Heat churned conflicted feelings. Not just the surface disappointment that Fabian Beauvais’s connection pointed to Alicia Delamater, not Keith Gilbert, but the wariness she felt that of all the places the Haitian could end up in an area the size of the Hamptons, it was with Gilbert’s neighbor. As he so often did, Rook voiced her thoughts. “Did that pass the smell test for you?”
“She never asked why we were interested in him.”
“But you never told her, either. Is that a holdback, Detective?”
“I want to knock on some more doors.”