4 Decoupage Can Be Deadly (16 page)

“That’s rough,” said Cloris. “And expensive.”

“A husband with Alzheimer’s doesn’t excuse stealing,” I said. “What about the others?”

“Gwendolyn Keene’s son has cancer,” said Kim.

As much as I felt sorry for both women, family health issues didn’t give them a pass to commit fraud. “What about Sandy Sechrest?”

“Her husband lost his job over a year ago and hasn’t found a new one yet. They’ve got a kid in college and one graduating high school next year.”

“Any one of these women could have masterminded the payroll plot,” said Cloris.

“I just don’t see any of them viscously beating Philomena and dumping her body in the models case,” I said.

“Unless one of them had help,” said Kim. “Or maybe all four were in on it. They all need money. The four of them together could have killed Philomena and dumped her body.”

“You’re forgetting the missing security cameras,” I said. “Do you honestly see any of these women rappelling off the roof and down the side of the building to disconnect and steal those cameras?”

“I can,” said Kim. “Holzer has a photo on her desk of her and her husband mountain biking in the Rockies. Maybe she also rock climbs.”

“She’s brawny enough,” said Cloris.
 

“What are you going to do now?” asked Kim.

“Wait to see who picks up the checks today,” I said.
 

“And then?” asked Cloris.

“Place a call to Detective Batswin.” I’d had my fill of tangling with killers.

~*~

Tino arrived back at my cubicle two hours later. “None of those women showed up at the post office,” he said.

I glanced at my watch. “It’s only two-thirty. Someone might take a late lunch. You should have stayed.”

“No need. Some guy emptied the box a few minutes ago.”

“An accomplice?” Perhaps Nita’s husband? “Did he look familiar?”

“Not to me.”

“I don’t suppose you snapped a picture with your phone.”

“I tried, but given where I parked, I couldn’t get a clear shot.”

“If you were in your car, how do you know he emptied the box?”

“High powered binoculars. When I arrived, I first checked the location of the box. I realized if I hung around in the post office lobby for too long, some employee would get suspicious. So I parked at an angle that gave me a sight line of the box just in case someone other than any of those women picked up the checks.”

“Brilliant.” Why didn’t I think of that possibility? Maybe because I’m not an ex-Marine. “Did you get the guy’s license plate?”

“MAN-TOY.”

“You’re kidding!”

“On a late model black Escalade. Shouldn’t be hard for the cops to track down.”

With all the money she’d embezzled, Nita could afford to pay off her mortgage
and
buy a luxury SUV. I picked up my phone. “I think it’s time to give Detective Batswin a call.”

She answered on the first ring. “Staying out of trouble, Mrs. Pollack?”

Damn, sometimes I really hated Caller ID. “Trying my best, detective.”

“Why do I sense a
but
coming on?”

“I’ve uncovered information about Philomena’s death.”

“Didn’t I tell you to leave the investigating to the professionals?”

“Have the professionals discovered embezzlement linked to the victim?”

“Embezzlement?”

“Nearly three-quarters of a million dollars so far and counting.”

Batswin sputtered, letting loose a barrage of quite colorful expletives, then asked, “Where are you?”

“In my cubicle.”

“Don’t leave. I’m on my way.”

~*~

Less than ten minutes later both Batswin and Robbins arrived, apparently breaking all local speed laws along the way. Neither showed any sign of surprise upon finding Tino filling up a good percentage of my cubicle floor space, but emotion rarely registered on the faces of those two. They definitely aced Blank Stare 101 at the police academy.

“Let’s go somewhere private to talk.” I grabbed the personnel files and led the way to the conference room.

“If you’re heading for the conference room,” said Cloris as we passed her in the hall, “it’s occupied.”

“That leaves the break room,” I said, turning in the opposite direction.

Tino closed the door after the four of us entered. Batswin, Robbins, and I took seats around the table. Tino remained standing, his back to the door, posed in his usual don’t-mess-with-me bodyguard stance.

As she helped herself to a cup of coffee, Batswin asked, “What’s this about embezzlement?”

“When I came across something puzzling in the employment files of the
Bling!
staff, I—”

“What were you doing nosing around employment files?” asked Robbins, speaking for the first time since the dynamic duo’s arrival. “Aren’t you a crafts editor?”

“I was asked to check something, and in the course—”

“By whom?” asked Batswin.

“A superior.”

“Which one?”

When I hesitated, Robbins stated matter-of-factly, “Withholding evidence in an ongoing investigation is a criminal act, Mrs. Pollack.”

Subtle, isn’t he? The Dick Tracy tie dangling from his neck did little to diffuse the implied threat. I took a deep breath and glanced at Tino as I slowly emptied the air from my lungs. Did he know Gruenwald had ordered me not to tell anyone about our arrangement? Would he rat me out to the CEO if I answered truthfully? I wasn’t under oath; I hadn’t sworn on a Bible. Still, I didn’t think lying to the police worked to my benefit.

Thankfully, Tino let me off the hook by answering for me. “Mr. Gruenwald gave her the assignment.”

Batswin raised an eyebrow ever so slightly. “Exactly what is your role in this?” she asked Tino.

“He’s assigned to help me,” I said.

Batswin studied Tino. “Aren’t you Gruenwald’s driver?”

“Among other things.”

“Apparently so,” she muttered, then turned her attention back to me. “Why did the CEO ask you to check personnel files? Isn’t that something his secretary would do? Or someone in Human Resources?”

“Normally.”

“But?”

“He asked me to help prove his innocence.”

“I see. And exactly what did you find in those personnel files, Mrs. Pollack?”

Over the course of the next fifteen minutes, I told Batswin and Robbins everything I’d discovered. When I finished, Robbins asked Tino, “Did you get a good look at the driver?”

“I did.”

“Enough to recognize him from a mug shot or pick him out in a line-up?”

“Maybe.”

Batswin and Robbins exchanged looks, then both stood. “Let’s go,” said Batswin.

“Go where?” I asked.

“Not you, Mrs. Pollack.” She nodded in Tino’s direction. “Him.”

“What for?” asked Tino.

“To sit down with a sketch artist,” said Robbins.

“Can’t,” said Tino. “I’m needed here.”

“That wasn’t a request,” said Batswin. She and Tino engaged in a stare-down, neither blinking. Finally she said, “We can do this the hard way or the easy way.” She removed a pair of handcuffs from her belt and jingled them in front of Tino’s nose. “Your choice.”

Tino grudgingly acquiesced, and the three of them headed for the elevators.

My phone rang as I left the break room to return to my cubicle. “Hello?”

“I’ve got good news and bad news,” said Ira. “Which do you want first.”

I groaned. “I’m assuming the Hyundai is beyond repair, so what’s the good news?”

“I found you a sweetheart of a deal on a low mileage Jetta.”

“How sweet?”

“Under five grand.”

“Not in this century. What’s the catch, Ira?”

“No catch. The car is ten years old—”

“Ten years? My Hyundai is only eight years old.”

“As Indiana Jones said, ‘It’s not the years; it’s the miles.’”

“He wasn’t referring to cars.”

Ira chuckled. “I know, but I love that line.”

“Seriously?”

“Okay, in all seriousness, the Hyundai has nearly a hundred thousand miles on it. This Jetta has half the mileage and is in excellent condition.”

Spoken like a true car salesman. Next he’d be telling me it was owned by a little old lady who only drove it on Sundays to and from church. “Then why is it so cheap?”

“I’m offering you the car for the exact amount I gave the former owner this morning on a trade-in.”

“Meaning you could turn around and sell that Jetta for twice what it cost you.”

“Anastasia, you’re my brother’s wife. I’m not going to make a profit off you.”

So much for stereotypes about the honesty of car salesmen. Too bad Karl hadn’t inherited some of the integrity swimming around Ira’s gene pool. I sighed through the phone line. “I don’t know what to say, Ira.”

“Thank you will do.”

“Thank you, Ira.”

“You’re welcome, Anastasia.”

Back before my middleclass life imploded, Karl and I attended the theater at least once a month. As I hung up from Ira, a line from a song in
Wicked
popped into my head. Maybe—

“Earth to Anastasia. Hello? Anyone in there?”

“Huh?” I looked up to find Cloris waving a hand across my face.

“What planet were you visiting?” she asked.

“I was just wondering, do you believe people come into our lives for a reason?”

“Why? Who are we talking about? Gruenwald’s hunk? The dead Blinganista? Zack?”

“Karl’s half-brother.” I told her about the phone call. “If Ira hadn’t been on a quest to connect with his father’s first love, I’d now be stuck with a dead Hyundai and no way to get to work.”

“So you think some celestial force or divine intervention sent Ira your way?”

“Possibly.”

She shook her head. “I’m more a proponent of the random chaos theory of life.”

“Personally, I could do with a little less chaos in my life, random or otherwise.”

She shrugged. “Shit happens. The universe works in mysterious ways. Take your pick. Both mean the same in the end. And speaking of one or the other, where’s your hunky shadow?”

I caught her up on events. “Tino’s reluctantly sitting down with a sketch artist. Batswin and Robbins are probably investigating who owns the post office box and the Cadillac Escalade.”

“Why reluctantly?”

I’d wondered the same thing. “Not sure. Except he’s a guy trained to follow orders, and his orders are to keep me safe. He can’t do that if he’s discussing the width of a nose or the slant of someone’s eyes down at police headquarters.”
 

“Unless…”

“Unless what?”

“What if Tino is in on the embezzlement? Maybe he collected the checks from the post office box.”

“No, Tino brought me the bogus employee files. Why would he do that if he was in on the scam?”

Cloris smacked her forehead. “This is why you’re the sleuth, and I’m only the trusty sidekick.”

“Reluctant sleuth,” I reminded her.

THIRTEEN

Shortly before the end of the work week, we all received an inter-office email memo stating a private funeral service for Philomena would take place once the coroner released her body. A public memorial would be scheduled afterwards. Details of both to follow.

“Command performance?” asked Cloris, calling to me from across the hall.

“Most likely.”

“Which means we can’t use a comp day to get out of going. The only thing worse than attending a funeral, is attending one for someone you didn’t like.”

“Ditto.” I’d attended far too many funerals and memorial services this year, and other than the one for my husband, most of them involved Trimedia employees.

A few minutes later Cloris stood at the entrance to my cubicle. “I’m cutting out. Are you ready to leave?”

Tino hadn’t returned from the police station. After being escorted to and from my car the last two days, it seemed strange to leave the building without his protection. Not that I expected a sniper perched on the roof. Why would anyone want to kill me? I’m no threat. Besides, if there were a sniper on the roof, unless he was a lousy shot and missed with the first bullet, what kind of protection would Tino provide me?

I shut down my computer, grabbed my purse, and joined Cloris for a TGIF exit of Trimedia. I looked forward to my first weekend off since the end of June and planned to celebrate by doing absolutely nothing. Or possibly a little bit more than nothing if Zack returned from wherever he had traipsed off to at the crack of dawn yesterday morning.

~*~

Unfortunately, Mama had other plans, and they involved me. I arrived home to find my living room and dining room set up to resemble an evacuation staging ground, minus the disaster victims, Red Cross volunteers, and medical supplies. Cartons and suitcases, some empty and some in the process of being filled, covered nearly every square inch of floor space except for a narrow path leading from the entry hallway to the kitchen. Every piece of furniture held haphazard piles of clothing, shoes, accessories, and the assorted trappings of Mama’s life.