Free Faces of Fear by John Saul Page A

the Beverly Hilton Hotel, she couldn't get the vision of Margot Dunn's body out of her head, and was certain that from now on her face would haunt her dreams. Even now, in broad daylight, she could imagine the woman waking up in her coffin, desperate, gasping for air, screaming for help and clawing at the satin lining of her coffin with her perfectly manicured fingernails. Alison shivered yet again, and once more wished she hadn't agreed to come along.
    Following the crowd moving through the hotel, they made their way to the International Terrace, where servers wearing white shirts and black bow ties strolled by with trays of hors d'oeuvres and glasses of champagne, as if it were a wedding instead of a funeral.
    At least a dozen poster-sized photographs of Margot stood on easels that dotted the perimeter of the ballroom. Wherever Alison looked, the image of the woman in the coffin gazed back at her, and it occurred to her that Margot Dunn had looked as perfect in her coffin as she did in all these pictures. She tried to pay attention as her mother introduced her to people, but her eyes kept straying toward the photographs, particularly one near the bar. Finally, she went over to get a closer look. It was a larger-than-life black-and-white photograph of Margot looking directly at the camera, chin on her hands.
    But she wasn't just looking directly into the camera. Margot was also looking directly into her eyes.
    Alison stood as if transfixed, gazing at the clear eyes, perfect skin, exquisite features, and thick, luxurious hair. How was it possible that someone could ever have been this beautiful? Or that anyone this beautiful could have been so unhappy over anything that she killed herself?
    She was still staring at the photograph when she sensed someone standing beside her. "Magnificent, wasn't she?" Lexie Montrose said.
    An unexpected sadness flowed through Alison. "Why would she kill herself?"
    Lexie squeezed her shoulder. "She was afraid she was never going to look like that again, sweetheart. When she first got here, Margot couldn't even get an agent. Then she met Conrad, and the rest was—shall we say—the stuff of plastic-surgery legend."
    Alison finally tore her eyes away from the photograph. "Where's Mom?"
    "Waiting in the reception line to meet Conrad and his sister. C'mon."
    With one more glance at the photograph, Alison followed Lexie back to the other side of the terrace, where the crowd had gathered, and wished she didn't have to stay to meet Conrad Dunn or anyone else.
    All she wanted to do was go home.
    * * *
    RISA HAD a moment of déjà vu when she approached Conrad Dunn, who stood with his sister Corinne, quietly receiving the murmured condolences of his guests. Was it possible that it hadn't even been a week since she had stood in line to greet him in a different hotel at the Dunn Foundation banquet with his wife at his side instead of his sister?
    "Risa!" A wan Conrad took her hand warmly and kissed her cheek. "So good of you to come."
    "I'm so terribly sorry about Margot," Risa said.
    He nodded. "Thank you."
    "You remember Lexie Montrose, don't you?"
    "Of course." Conrad nodded to Lexie, then his eyes shifted to Alison. "And who is this?"
    "My daughter, Alison. Alison, this is Conrad Dunn."
    Conrad took Alison's hand. "I'm very pleased to meet you."
    "It—It's nice to meet you, too," Alison stammered, instantly certain she'd said the wrong thing, but having no idea what the right thing might have been. She felt herself blushing, then breaking into a cold sweat of embarrassment.
    "Is your husband here?" Conrad asked Risa.
    Now it was Risa who blushed. "I'm afraid not," she began. "We're—well, we—"
    "They're separated," Lexie Montrose said softly when it became clear that Risa was just going to go on stumbling.
    "Oh," Conrad said, his voice shifting from the impersonal tone of social platitudes to something much warmer. "I'm so sorry. I hope it won't be permanent."
    Risa bit her lip. What was she