CHAPTER TWELVE #2
At the top of the stairs, Diane unlocked a door and ushered them into her apartment.
Here, every surface held memorabilia—signed photographs, small props, vintage movie magazines carefully preserved in plastic sleeves.
The furniture was an eclectic mix of periods and styles, creating the impression that various film sets had been dismantled and reassembled in this single room.
“Please, sit,” Diane urged, indicating a velvet settee that might have been lifted directly from a 1930s drawing room comedy. “Would you like tea? I was just about to make some.”
“That would be lovely,” Ann Marie replied with a warm smile—the gentle manner she used to put people at ease.
Diane disappeared into what Riley presumed was the kitchen, leaving them alone to absorb their surroundings. Ann Marie leaned closer to Riley, keeping her voice low.
“She’s exactly as Gillian described—eccentric but seemingly harmless.”
Riley nodded, her gaze drawn to a collection of photographs arranged on a side table. Most featured Diane herself, decades younger, posed with various Hollywood figures. In one, she stood beside Roberta Rimes, both women laughing, their arms around each other’s waists.
“Look at this,” Riley murmured, picking up the framed photo for a closer inspection. “This must be from the 1970s. Roberta looks to be in her fifties here, and Diane appears to be in her twenties.”
“Quite the age difference for close friends,” Ann Marie observed.
“Roberta was more than a friend,” Diane said from the doorway, startling them both.
She carried a tray with a teapot and cups, which she set on a coffee table before them.
“She was my mentor. My savior, really. I was just a wardrobe assistant when we met—a nobody with dreams of acting. Roberta saw something in me that no one else did.”
Riley returned the photograph to its place. “You worked together on films?”
“Three of them,” Diane confirmed, pouring tea into delicate china cups that didn’t quite match. Her hands trembled slightly, causing the spout to clink against the rim. “Roberta insisted I be cast in small roles. That’s how I got my start. She believed in me when the studios didn’t.”
She handed them each a cup, then settled into an armchair opposite the settee. “But you’re not here to talk about my modest career. You’re here about Veronica.”
“Yes,” Riley acknowledged. “We’re investigating her murder. First I have to ask—where were you last night when she was poisoned?”
Diane didn’t seem perturbed by the question. “Oh, I was right here. I’m always right here. I never go out if I can possibly help it. The world is much too dangerous.”
“We understand you were close to both Veronica and her mother,” Ann Marie said.
Diane nodded. “Roberta was my dearest friend for many years. After she retired and moved back to Atlanta, I visited whenever I could. I was there the day Veronica was born. Helped care for her when Roberta was busy with her charity work.”
“Ms. Kingsley,” Ann Marie began gently, “we’re exploring a possible connection between Veronica’s murder and something from Roberta’s past—specifically, her testimony before the House Un-American Activities Committee in the 1950s.”
The teacup in Diane’s hand stilled halfway to her lips. For a moment, she appeared frozen, like one of her own mannequins. Then, deliberately, she set the cup back in its saucer.
“So it’s come full circle,” she whispered. “After all these years.”
Riley leaned forward. “What do you mean by that?”
“Roberta’s secret shame.” Diane’s eyes refocused on Riley with unexpected clarity.
“Her testimony before HUAC. She named names—colleagues, friends. People who trusted her. She betrayed them to save her own career. The guilt ate at her for decades.” Diane’s gaze drifted toward the window.
“Whenever the subject came up, she would say, ‘Some ghosts can never be exorcised, only accommodated.’“
The phrase caught Riley’s attention. “Ghosts,” she repeated. “Do you believe Veronica’s murder might be related to someone seeking vengeance for Roberta’s testimony?”
Diane’s eyes suddenly widened, her expression shifting to alarm. “Veronica,” she gasped, rising from her chair so abruptly that her teacup clattered to the floor, spilling its contents across the ornate carpet.
Riley and Ann Marie exchanged concerned glances as Diane moved to the window, pressing her palms against the glass as if reaching for something beyond.
“Ms. Kingsley?” Ann Marie ventured, setting down her own cup. “Are you all right?”
“She’s here,” Diane whispered, her breath fogging the glass. “She’s been trying to tell me something.”
She turned back to face them, her voice steadier than it had been since their arrival.
“I knew she was gone even before Gillian called. Veronica came to me the night she died. Standing right there.” She pointed to a space near the doorway.
“She didn’t speak. Couldn’t, I suppose. But I knew she was saying goodbye. ”
Riley felt the disappointment of realizing that a potential witness might be too detached from reality to provide reliable information.
“Ms. Kingsley,” she began cautiously, “when you say Veronica ‘came to you’...”
“I’m not delusional, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Diane interrupted with unexpected sharpness. “I’m quite aware that most people don’t believe in visitations from the departed. But I’ve experienced them all my life—my grandmother, my father, several friends. And now Veronica.”
She returned to her chair, straightening her caftan with dignity. “You don’t need to believe me. But it might be best if you do. I want to help you. I really do.”
Riley studied the woman before her—the theatrical makeup, the elaborate hairstyle, the grand gestures that belonged to another era of performance. How much of what Diane might tell them would be factual, and how much embellished by decades of isolation and possible mental fragility?
Nevertheless, she encouraged Diane to continue, “We’d like to hear everything you know, Ms. Kingsley. About Roberta’s testimony, about who might have wanted revenge after all these years, and about anything Veronica might have told you recently.”
Diane’s smile was bittersweet. “Roberta always said the past never stays buried. How right she was.” She leaned forward, lowering her voice conspiratorially.
“But before I tell you what I know, you should understand something. Veronica didn’t just come to say goodbye.
She came to warn me. And perhaps to warn you too, now that you’re involved. ”