Free Death Wears a Beauty Mask and Other Stories by Mary Higgins Clark Page A

thank God it isn’t Alexandra.”
    The detectives leading, Mike half led, half carried Janice to the medical examiner’s offices. There they waited while she managed to calm herself as she alternated between relief and panic that Alexandra might have been murdered as well.
    Twaddle did not try to soften what he needed to say. “Mrs. Broad, it seems almost certain that this young woman was murdered by mistake because the killer thought she was your sister. What we don’t know is whether the killer realized he had made a mistake before he left the apartment.
    â€œThe question is why would this woman, who dressed to appear like your sister, have gone to the airport, according to the cab driver, expecting to meet you.”
    Twaddle continued. “Would your sister, or for that matter any woman, be likely to have applied the Beauty Mask after she was fully dressed?”
    â€œOf course not,” Janice said. Alexandra is alive. Alexandra is alive, she wanted to shout out, but then became terrified as the conversation continued.
    â€œThen we must assume the killer applied it, probably to delay our investigation, if only for a short time,” Twaddle said, and then he continued.
    â€œAnd there is one other very disturbing aspect. What would be the killer’s next move if he realizes that the woman he killed was not your sister?” Twaddle paused.
    â€œSo you are suggesting that whoever murdered this woman, if he realized his mistake, since last night has been out there searching for Alexandra or—” Mike stopped before he said what they were all thinking: “Or may have already found Alexandra.”
    â€œThat is what I am telling you. Mrs. Broad, did your sister mention a close friend in any of her letters to you?”
    Janice shook her head. “No one whose name came up enough for me to really notice.”
    â€œThen we must talk immediately to the housekeeper again. Would she be at the apartment?”
    â€œShe was planning to stay until five.”
    The answering service picked up on the first ring. Twaddle instructed them to let the call ring through to the apartment. “If she doesn’t pick up, we’ll phone the building superintendent and get him to knock on the door.”
    But Emma Cooper answered the phone. When Twaddle identified himself, she asked anxiously, “How is Miss Janice, poor thing? I’ve been praying for her all afternoon. To think of her having to look down at Miss Alexandra’s dead body.”
    â€œMrs. Broad is doing very well under the circumstances,” he said, “but now it is important to our investigation to know where Miss Saunders was staying since Monday. We need you to give us the names of close friends of Miss Saunders, either male or female.”
    â€œMale, I’d say no one close. Sure, she has a lot of girlfriends. What with her being so nice and friendly and kind.”
    â€œMrs. Cooper, can you give us some names?”
    â€œLet me see. Her address book is here.”
    Ben knew that when Twaddle bit his lip he was wildly impatient. But then he began to write names on the pad he always carried, repeating them as he wrote, “Joan Nye—Lee Rush—Irene Brady—Alice Kohler—Lisa Markey.”
    â€œMrs. Cooper, this is very helpful. Which of these women most resembles Miss Saunders in appearance?”
    On the other end of the phone Emma Cooper frowned. “Well, let’s see. There’s Joan. She’s a television producer. She’s shorter than Miss Alexandra and her hair is real dark. Miss Rush—” Emma interrupted herself, “Oh, of all of them I’d say Miss Markey. She’s a model too. Sometimes she wears a blonde wig in her pictures. When she does, she sure looks like Miss Alexandra. Looks like her but not anything as gorgeous as Miss Alexandra—”
    Twaddle cut off the flow of words. “Mrs. Cooper, do you know if Miss Markey worked at