4 Decoupage Can Be Deadly (10 page)

He had no answer for that. I continued. “People hold grudges. They fester and grow. At some point they seek revenge. If Philomena reached out to some of her old associates—”

Gruenwald jumped up and began pacing once again. With his back to me, he said, “No. You’re wrong. Someone connected with Trimedia killed Philomena.”

“How can you be so sure?”

He spun around and pierced me with a determined look. “I just know. I feel it in my gut.”

Gruenwald the Clairvoyant?
What wasn’t he telling me? “When was the last time you saw Philomena?”

“Monday. Late afternoon. We had another fight over Sylvia. Philomena left for a Zumba class but never came home that night. I figured she was still fuming and spent the night either at her apartment or with Norma Gene.”

“Have you spoken with Norma Gene?”

He nodded. “She didn’t spend the night with her.”

“You do know that Norma Gene is a guy, right?”

“I wasn’t born yesterday, Mrs. Pollack. I’m well aware of Norma Gene’s situation. If you’re inferring what I think you’re inferring, you’re way off base. Philomena and Norman never had that kind of relationship.”

“Norman?”

“Norman Eugene Mortenson, his birth name.”

Weird. If I remembered correctly, Mortenson was Marilyn Monroe’s real last name. Norma Jeane Mortenson. Norman Eugene Mortenson. I half expected to hear the theme music from
The Twilight Zone
playing in the background.

I pushed the coincidence from my mind and asked, “Did this happen often, that you’d fight over something, and Philomena would leave for the night?”

“Sometimes. Philomena was a very passionate woman.”

I resisted the urge to squirm. I so didn’t want this conversation veering into TMI territory.

“Passionate people often have control issues,” he added.

I raised my eyebrows.

“My therapist explained that to me.”

His therapist?
I didn’t want to go there, either. “Your driver mentioned a list of errands Philomena left him yesterday.”

That caught Gruenwald by surprise. “When did you speak with Tino?”

“My car died. He stopped to help me yesterday afternoon and asked about the police activity in the parking lot.”

“How did the list come up in conversation?”

“It’s not important. What matters is how he got the list and when.”

“She left it for him Monday afternoon.”

“You’re sure of that?”

“Positive. I handed it to him myself yesterday when he picked me up.”

“I can understand why the police consider you a suspect, Mr. Gruenwald, but why do you think they’re also looking at Mrs. Gruenwald?”

“Because I left her for Philomena.”

Through the Trimedia grapevine I knew Gruenwald had walked out on his first wife of nearly twenty years for the much younger Sylvia two decades earlier. Did philanderers come in different varieties with cycles similar to cicadas?

“Sylvia was suing Philomena. Why kill her when she’d gone to the trouble of filing a lawsuit?”

“That’s the obvious question, isn’t it? Maybe the police think Sylvia used the lawsuit to deflect suspicion away from herself.”

“I saw your wife, sir. She’s hardly capable of beating another woman to death. Even though Philomena was short, she was much younger and quite fit.”

“The police must think Sylvia hired the killer.”

“Is that what you think?”

“I told you, Sylvia had nothing to do with this. I know my wife.”

“If that’s the case, the police won’t find any evidence linking her to the crime.”

Gruenwald checked his watch. “I have a budget meeting, Mrs. Pollack. We may have to make some cuts in the magazine group. Will you be accepting my offer or not?”

Budget cuts?
Was that a veiled threat? Was Gruenwald blackmailing me into investigating for him? I glanced down at the check, still in my hand. Five thousand dollars. Mine. And all I had to do to earn it was snoop around Trimedia in search of a killer that was anywhere but at Trimedia. I was certain no one here had any motive for killing Philomena, even if none of us particularly liked her.

“You still want me to investigate?” Didn’t he just threaten to fire me?

“From what you’ve told me, you’re not the only one who told the police about that argument. As much as I wish otherwise, I can’t expect anyone to withhold evidence during a murder investigation, and as you pointed out, the police would suspect me anyway.”

I guess that meant I wasn’t fired. I slipped the check into my skirt pocket and stuck out my hand. “Then you have a deal, Mr. Gruenwald.”

“One other thing,” he said, gripping my hand so hard I winced.

“Yes?”

“No one can know about our agreement.”

“And if someone happens to figure things out?”

“Make certain they don’t.”

EIGHT

“Why all the cloak and dagger, Mr. Gruenwald?”

“I have my reasons.”

“None of which you’ve shared with me. How can I investigate for you if I don’t have all the facts? I requested full disclosure, remember?”

“You have all the facts you need.” He strode across the room and opened his door. “Now if you’ll excuse me, Mrs. Pollack, I’m late for that budget meeting.”

In other words, shut up and do the job I’ve asked you to do, or find yourself on the unemployment line.

And what if that veiled threat encompassed not only my job but all the
American Woman
employees? Laying off a crafts editor wouldn’t solve any budget problems, but folding an entire magazine might. If I refused Gruenwald’s offer, would I take the fall for all my friends and co-workers losing their jobs?

I headed for the elevator, my mind made up. Gruenwald had me over the proverbial barrel. I slipped my hand into my skirt pocket and fingered the check. Could be worse. At least he was paying me.

“So what did he want?” asked Cloris when I returned to our floor.

We stood in the corridor between our cubicles. “Not here,” I mumbled, afraid someone might overhear. If Gruenwald had paid me to investigate, he may have paid someone else to make sure I kept to the terms of that agreement—even though I hadn’t actually agreed not to tell anyone about working undercover for him.

Cloris’s brows knit together. “Where?” she whispered.

Before I could answer, Naomi rounded the corner and headed toward us. “Anastasia, I’ve had the oddest request. You’re on temporary assignment to
Bling!
”

I quickly turned to Cloris and mouthed, “Shh,” then responded to Naomi, “Me?”

Obviously Gruenwald’s doing. Actually having a reason to nose around the
Bling!
staff would make ferreting out Philomena’s killer far easier—if I believed I’d find Philomena’s killer among the
Bling!
staff. “I don’t know the first thing about twenty-something fashions, lifestyles, and entertainment,” I reminded Naomi.

“That’s exactly what I told Gruenwald’s secretary. I thought maybe someone had confused you with Tessa.”

Cloris laughed. “Probably the only time that will ever happen.”

“Still, it’s damned odd,” said Naomi.

“What am I supposed to do down there?” I asked.

Naomi shrugged. “Beats me. I guess you’ll find out once you arrive.”

“And what about my work here?”

“Daphne will fill in for you as best she can. How caught up are you?”

Daphne Jervis, the one assistant shared by the four bottom feeder editors, already juggled far too much. “Right now I’m ahead of schedule, but how long do they want me downstairs? Daphne can handle editorial copy but not the actual craft projects or writing the directions.”

“Gruenwald’s secretary didn’t say.”

But I already knew the answer to my question. I was exiled to
Bling!
for as long as it took me to discover Philomena’s killer.

~*~

Stepping into the
Bling!
editorial department, was the equivalent of tumbling down Alice’s rabbit hole. Rap music blared from ceiling speakers, the thump-thump-thump of the bass rattling through my entire body. The staff all dressed in outfits that paid homage to Philomena’s unique sense of style. In my khaki pencil skirt and pinstripe oxford shirt, I stood out like a nun at a rave.

But I wasn’t the only one. Standing off in a corner, I noticed Tino Martinelli, looking every bit the part of a Secret Service agent. Or perhaps an extra in the next
Men In Black
movie.

Except for a twelve hundred dollar pair of Bulgari shades (which I only recognized because Tessa had recently showed off the pair she bought for her boyfriend’s birthday,) Tino’s obviously custom made black suit, conservative tie, white shirt, and buzz cut certainly didn’t fit in at
Bling!
any more than I did. He nodded in recognition but remained at his corner observation post.

I marched up to him. “Gruenwald give you orders to keep an eye on me?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You know why?”

“I do.”

“You okay with that?”

“I get paid to do what Mr. Gruenwald requests.”

And obviously paid very well, judging from his attire. Maybe I should quit my job and become a chauffeur to a corporate CEO.

The
Bling!
editorial department had moved into the space vacated by the now defunct
Bear Essentials
, a magazine dedicated to the collection of teddy bears. However, the space was the only thing
Bling!
had inherited. An open concept floor plan now took the place of the former rabbit warren of cubicles. All the tables, desks, and chairs looked brand new and expensive, unlike the battered furniture that moved with us from our old headquarters in Manhattan to our current cornfield location.

“Who are you, and what are you doing here?”

I spun around to find Norma Gene towering over me, her hands on her hips, a glare on her face that didn’t mask her red-rimmed puffy eyes or mascara streaked cheeks.

Funny how she didn’t recognize me. Or maybe not. I thought about Cloris’s comment regarding the
Me
generation. Norma Gene often stood feet from me all last weekend but never once bothered to make eye contact. I wasn’t even worthy of an occasional glance, let alone acknowledgment of my existence.

“I’m Anastasia Pollack, an
American Woman
editor, and I’ve been assigned here temporarily.”

“What’s
American Woman
?”

Really?
I tamped down the urge to keep from spouting the comment itching to break free of my mouth. “One of the other Trimedia magazines. We were in the booth next to you at the consumer show.”

She shrugged. “If you say so. You need to talk to Sue.”

“Where do I find her?”

Norma Gene pointed to a woman bending over a light table, then shouted, “Hey, Sue!” When the woman looked in our direction, Norma Gene waved her over. “She says she’s assigned here.”

“Who assigned you?” asked Sue. “And why?”

“Corporate assigned me. I haven’t a clue why.”

“We don’t need you. We’re quite capable of running
Bling!
on our own.”

Good. Because I wouldn’t know how to help them. They certainly didn’t need my input on fashion, lifestyle, or entertainment. I had none to offer. Or at least none of the kind they’d accept.

“Look, I don’t want to be here anymore than you want me here. So how about if I simply wander around, pretending to give you advice? We act friendly, make small talk from time to time, and I let you do whatever it is that you all do. Hopefully, this won’t last long. I’d like nothing better than to return upstairs to my own magazine.”

She thought about that for a moment, her arms folded across her chartreuse leopard print spandex-covered chest. She glanced at Norma Gene. “You okay with that?”

“You won’t start ordering us around?” asked Norma Gene.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Okay by me,” said Norma Gene.

Sue nodded and offered her hand. “I’m Sue Evens. The
Bling!
editorial director. What did you say your name was again? Annabelle?”

“Anastasia.”

“Whatever.”

As Sue introduced me to the other staff members, Tino followed us around but kept out of the way. Sue didn’t seem to notice him. I wondered if Tino had performed a similar task for Gruenwald before Philomena’s death, keeping an eye on her.

“Just ignore Annabelle here,” Sue told the staff. “Gruenwald thinks we can’t function without Philomena. We know better.” She turned to me. “Philomena really didn’t do anything on
Bling!
We did all the work.”

“I suspected as much,” I said.

“She got all the credit, though.”

And how did that make you feel, Sue Evens?
“Isn’t that always the way with celebrities?”

“You got that right, girlfriend.”