The Death of a Much Travelled Woman by Barbara Wilson Read Free Book Online

Feminist Chimpanzee Stories , and its companion volume Women and Parakeets: An Anthology .
    The fifth suspect, as yet unprofiled in Trash Out , was Simone Jefferson.
    “I’d say she’s the most likely,” I said, “because she hasn’t been trashed yet.”
    “But we don’t know for sure that Lulu was planning to trash her,” Dee said.
    I looked at my watch. “It’s only half past ten. Why don’t we pay a visit to Lulu?”
    There were voices in Lulu’s room, but they stopped when we knocked. “Come in,” said Lulu, a little unsteadily.
    She and Felicity Horsey-Smythe were sitting rather close together on the single bed with glasses in their hands. A half-empty bottle of vodka stood on the night table beside them.
    Dee and I perched on the armchair and declined to share the vodka.
    Felicity said, “Lulu and I were just talking about what happened today.”
    “It was a real shock,” Lulu said. She sounded pretty drunk. Her topknot was slightly askew, and her scarves twisted and jumbled around her neck. “Olga was a nice kid. She was going to write an article on Raisa Gorbachev for the next issue of Trash Out .”
    “I told Lulu it would be more understandable if somebody had maybe been trying to kill her .” Felicity laughed shrilly and took another gulp of vodka.
    “Why do you say that?” I asked innocently. “To me it would seem just the opposite. If someone killed Lulu, it would mean they were probably on the cover of Trash Out . Then it would be purely a question of narrowing the suspects down. Why would anyone famous take a chance like that?”
    “They probably would if they thought they could get away with it,” Lulu muttered, pouring herself another drink. “I’ve had death threats, you know.”
    “Who here would you think most likely?” Dee asked. “I mean, if we pretended it was you, not Olga, who was the target.”
    A strange look passed over Lulu’s face. “I’ve been wondering that myself. I have lots of enemies here.”
    “You should have thought about this when you started your journal,” Felicity giggled. She’d taken off her hat, and her streaked blonde hair stood up wildly.
    “I did think about it.” Lulu’s moroseness seemed to be growing in direct proportion to Felicity’s vodka-induced gaiety. “But I wanted to go ahead. It was something I’d thought for a long time: investigating the fault lines in certain women’s strength, exposing the pretensions and predilections behind the famous masks. A lot of people have said that wasn’t fair, that these women didn’t become famous on purpose, that it was their work that was important, not their personalities. I say that’s garbage. No one becomes famous without wanting on some level to be famous. None of the women who’ve been on the cover is famous for her ideas alone. She’s partly famous because she’s got charisma or a beautiful face or because she’s got ins with the right people or she’s outrageous. She’s famous precisely because she’s a hypocrite, espousing one thing publicly, another privately, writing books or making speeches about feminism and sisterhood and screwing over any individual woman who stands in her way. To me that’s not feminism, and women deserve to know what their heroines are really like.”
    “But what about Simone Jefferson?” Dee broke in, perhaps unwisely. “I’ve met her, and she’s really nice.”
    “What about Simone?” Lulu said. “She’s never been on the cover.”
    Felicity leapt in. “Well then, according to your theory, Cassandra, she’d be a good suspect, just because she wouldn’t be suspected.”
    “She’d only be a good suspect if Lulu was planning to put her on the cover. But you’re not, are you, Lulu?”
    Lulu said nothing. She emptied her glass and stared very hard at the opposite wall. Finally she muttered, “I’ve got to get some sleep.”
    Dee and I stood up obediently. Felicity stayed right where she was.
    “Well,” said Dee, when we were back