4 Decoupage Can Be Deadly (21 page)

~*~

“Batswin, Robbins, and I certainly have an interesting relationship,” I said a few minutes later while relating events to Cloris. We were in the conference room awaiting the start of our monthly planning meeting.

She poured two cups of coffee and handed one to me. “At least they don’t suspect you this time.”

When we first met, Batswin and Robbins zeroed in on me as the prime suspect in Marlys Vandenburg’s murder. Quite a bit of convincing on my part eventually set them straight. I think they now play nice because I’m privy to a secret regarding those illegally borrowed unmarked bills they used in the failed Ricardo sting.

I studied the platter of croissants on the credenza next to the coffee pot, finally settling on one with raspberry cream filling and chocolate drizzle. “No wonder I can’t lose weight. What are these, seven gazillion calories each?”

“Only six.”

“Diet croissants? Great! I’ll take two.” I have no willpower when it comes to Cloris confections.

She slapped my hand as I placed a second croissant on my plate. “That was six gazillion, not six calories. You want to give yourself a heart attack?”

I offered her a sheepish grin. “At least my sweet tooth will die satisfied.”

Cloris lifted the croissant from my plate and returned it to the tray. “Maybe I should stop sharing vendor samples. I don’t want to be charged with accessory to murder.”

“Someone else was murdered?” asked Tessa, coming up behind us. “Who? Someone from Trimedia?”

“Me. According to Cloris if I eat another croissant.”

Tessa cast a critical eye over my figure. “She has a point. You really should go on a diet, Anastasia. Especially if you hope to have any chance of finding another husband.”

The nerve of her!
Yes, I could stand to drop a few pounds, but I was by no means heavy. On a good day I could still squeeze into a size eight. Just your typical pear-shaped, middle-aged mother with a slowing metabolism. Hardly a candidate for the Plus Size department. “I’d like to see what you look like twenty years and two kids from now.”

Tessa poured herself a cup of coffee, adding neither sugar nor cream. “I’ll look exactly the way I look now. I don’t intend to let myself go after marriage the way some women do.” With that, she flounced her size zero butt over to the conference table and settled into her chair.

“Fashion editors, the bane of my existence,” I muttered. The longer Tessa worked at
American Woman
, the nastier she became, especially toward me. “What is it with me and fashion editors? I’m no threat to them.”

“You got along with Erica,” said Cloris.

“Erica doesn’t count. She inherited the position and didn’t last long.”

“Maybe you send off the wrong vibe, something only fashion editors pick up on.”

“You mean like a noise only dogs can hear?”

Cloris shrugged. “It’s a theory. You might have an anti-fashion aura.”

“Do I look like I have an anti-fashion aura?”

“Beats me. I don’t believe in that woo-woo stuff.”

“Woo-woo aside, for once I’d like to see someone put Tessa in her place.”

“Shall we get started, ladies?” Cloris and I turned to see that Naomi had entered the conference room and settled into her place at the head of the table. We all quickly took our seats.

“First order of business,” said Naomi, “as you can see, we have a couple of empty chairs this morning.”

I glanced across the table. Neither Tessa’s nor Nicole’s assistant was present.

“Trimedia has instituted some cost cutting measures,” continued Naomi. “From now on fashion, beauty, and decorating will be sharing an assistant.”

“What!” Tessa jumped out of her seat. “This is totally unacceptable. How do you expect us to get our work done with only a third of an assistant each?”

“Five of us on this side of the table share an assistant,” I said, “and we all manage.”

“You hardly count,” said Tessa. “Fashion and beauty carry this magazine.”

Naomi nodded to her assistant. “Not according to recent demographic surveys,” said Kim. “More people read
American Woman
for the recipes, followed by the health and finance articles, craft projects, and decorating ideas. Travel comes next, then beauty and fashion.”

“Which necessitates a change in editorial,” said Naomi. “We need to give our readers more of what they buy us for. As it turns out, that’s not fashion and beauty. We obviously can’t compete with the other monthlies in those areas, so we need to play to our strengths.”

“You can’t do this,” said Tessa.

Nicole said nothing. She obviously had prior knowledge of Naomi’s bombshell and had come to terms with it. Nicole was no prima donna.

I made eye contact with Jeanie. She offered me an easy-come/easy-go shrug. Jeanie had often shared her assistant with us bottom-feeders because she preferred the control of doing things on her own. She’d have no problem sharing her assistant with Tessa and Nicole.

“Take it up with Uncle Chessie,” suggested Janice.

“That’s exactly what I intend to do.” Tessa turned and headed for the door.

“Sit down, Tessa,” said Naomi. “I’m tired of you storming out of meetings whenever you don’t get your way. If you leave now, you can clear out your office.”

“You can’t fire me!”

“Can and will,” said Naomi. “Just try me.”

Tessa glared at Naomi. She looked like she was debating calling her bluff, but it was hard to tell, given the numerous Botox injections that had eliminated most of the expression from her face. She’d scored the position thanks to nepotism and had only worked at the magazine a few months. With little experience, the most she could hope for was a job as an assistant at another magazine and only if Naomi gave her a good recommendation—not something I’d stake my future on at the moment. Apparently, Tessa had enough smarts to realize this and finally returned to her seat.

Naomi had definitely put Tessa Lisbon in her place.

“How’d you do that?” Cloris whispered in my ear.

Damned if I knew, but I hardly had time to gloat. This change in editorial direction meant more work for me. Twice as much per issue, according to the new page distribution Naomi proceeded to lay out before us. Tessa might be out an assistant, but she now had half as much work to do each month. I, on the other hand, now had double the work to cram into my days.
Be careful what you wish for, Anastasia.

~*~

Tino stopped by my cubicle several hours later. “Has Mr. Gruenwald decided I don’t need further protection?” I asked.

He plopped his huge frame down into the spare chair. “No, but I can’t be in two places at once.”

Tino’s normally immaculate appearance looked a bit rough around the edges today. His bespoke suit needed a good pressing, his face a shave. “You look like you were up all night.”

He tried to stifle a yawn. “I was.”

“Oh?”

“Family matter. All taken care of now.”

“That’s good. Can I assume you didn’t hear what happened earlier this morning?”

Tino perked up. “What? Did the police make an arrest in Philomena’s murder?”

“They made
four
arrests but not for the murder. They led all four Human Resources employees away in handcuffs. The guy in the black Escalade was the husband of one of them.”

Tino whistled under his breath. “All of them?”

“All. The detectives don’t think there’s any connection between the embezzling and the murder, though.”

“Too bad. That would wrap things up very nicely.” Tino yawned again, no longer attempting to cover it up.

“Why don’t you go home? Get some sleep.”

“Can’t. I have a job to do.”

“Tino, this is ridiculous. If someone wanted to kill me, he’d make his move when I’m not in the office and protected by you. Nothing has happened. Nothing is going to happen. I’m no threat to Philomena’s killer because I don’t have a clue who he is. Go home.”

He shook his head.

I stood and placed my hands on my hips. “Why are men so stubborn?”

“I’m not stubborn. I take my responsibilities seriously.”

“Fine. Be responsible.” I stepped out of the office.

He jumped up to follow me. “Where are you going?”

“To get you a cup of coffee.”

He smiled and sat back down. “Thanks.”

When I returned a few minutes later, Tino was fast asleep, his feet propped up on my work table, his mouth open. I sat back down at my computer and drank his coffee.

“What’s that god-awful noise?” yelled Cloris from across the hall.

“Come take a look,” I yelled back.

A moment later Cloris stood at the entrance to my cubicle. “Wow! I didn’t think it was possible for anyone to snore louder than my husband. How can you concentrate with that noise?”

“It’s not easy.”

“How’s he protecting you if he’s sound asleep?”

“I’ll wake him if I see any Ninja assassins lurking in the hall.” I related the little I knew of Tino’s all-nighter. “He didn’t go into detail, but I’m guessing a parent was taken ill and hospitalized. Why else would he be up all night, right?”

“You should make him comfortable.”

“He looks pretty comfortable to me. I could never fall asleep in a desk chair.”

“At least take his shoes off.” Cloris began unlacing one of Tino’s shoes while I worked on the other.

The guy was dead to the world. He didn’t so much as stir when we removed his shoes. “You’d think someone who saw action in Iraq and Afghanistan would be an extremely light sleeper,” I said.

“Is that where he served?”

I thought for a minute. “I guess I just assumed that. Gruenwald said Tino was a former Marine, but he didn’t go into detail. For all I know, he never saw combat.”

“Which would explain why he didn’t jump up and try to kill us just now.”

“Yeah, maybe taking his shoes off wasn’t the brightest idea.”

Cloris examined the shoe in her hand. “Gruenwald must pay Tino well. I had no idea Gucci made sneakers.”

Sneakers that looked incredibly like shoes. Maybe they’re a special style designed exclusively for bodyguards, the Secret Service, and all the other men in black. Suitable for wearing with six hundred dollar suits, yet still allowing for chasing after crooks, assassins, and other assorted bad guys. I wondered if Zack had a pair. “According to Tino, Gruenwald pays him
extremely
well. Unlike us.”

“My, my!” Cloris held up the black leather sneaker to show me the sole. “You think Tino’s getting it on with Tessa?”

Several small crystals were lodged deep into the treads, the same type of crystals we’d seen on Tessa’s Vajazzled nether region. “I hardly think Tessa would lower herself enough to date a chauffeur and bodyguard. Besides, she said the crystals start falling off after a few days. Tino probably stepped in some. Along with something else.”

Cloris examined the sole more closely, then scrunched up her nose. “Euww!”

She dropped the sneaker. Tino didn’t flinch a muscle.

“It’s probably just caked mud.”

“Let’s hope so. Ever think about what’s on the bottom of your shoes?” she asked. “All those germs? And we track them onto our floors and carpets.”

“I file that under what-I-don’t-think-about-can’t-hurt me.”

“Maybe we should adopt the Japanese custom of removing our shoes before we enter our homes.”

I placed the other sneaker on the floor next to Tino’s chair. “That would only work if Mephisto wore paw covers. Do you think Japanese dogs wear booties?”

“Maybe their owners wash their paws after taking them for a walk. Anyway, now that we’re both totally grossed out, we’d better get back to work.”

“If I can work through all this racket.” I held my hands over my ears. “Man, he’s loud. I pity whomever he marries.”

“I’m popping in ear buds,” said Cloris. “I’ve got a spare pair you can borrow.”

~*~

Tino still snored away come quitting time. I shook his shoulder, trying to wake him but had no success. I even tried shouting at him, but I doubt he heard me over the sound of his own snoring. “Should I leave him?” I asked Cloris.

“Might as well. He’ll wake up eventually on his own.”

Before leaving, I sent Alex and Nick a text:
Pls put casserole sitting in fridge in 350 oven @5:30.

I left my desk lamp light on so Tino wouldn’t awaken in the dark and become disoriented. I didn’t need to arrive at work tomorrow to find him lying unconscious on the floor from having stumbled and hit his head.

Tessa passed us as Cloris and I stood waiting for the elevator. “Stairs are great exercise, Anastasia. You could walk off some of those calories you consumed today.” Before she pushed open the door to the stairwell, she tossed me a catty smile over her shoulder.

“Do you believe her?” I asked. “She’s getting as bad as Marlys was.”

“Comes with the territory,” said Cloris. “Ever meet a fashion editor who wasn’t all full of herself?”