Death Loves a Messy Desk (34 page)

“This is just a guess, Charlotte, but he showed up because you left him a message. And maybe he doesn’t listen and tell you much because when there’s something to investigate, you barge in and next thing there’s trouble. Bang bang guns. Dead people.”

I scowled at her. “Well,
I
didn’t kill them.”

A few of the library regulars shot me dirty looks.

“There you go again,” Ramona said. “Bellowing in the reference department.”

“They have to be connected with Barb. They were on the road behind her when she almost ran me off the road. If they worked at Quovadicon, they’d have access to the building. Maybe they made the call, got in there, and killed Dyan. And knocked me out.”

“But why?”

“I don’t know why. You have to admit, it’s too coincidental to have these things happen. They must be connected. The police, or at least Pepper and Nick and now this new guy . . .”

“Tierney,” Ramona said helpfully. “The police don’t want civilians involved in something like this, especially you, Charlotte, with your tendency to make waves.”

“But I
am
involved. Not that I want to be. You’d think they’d want to talk to me when I have something to say. They always drag me in when I don’t want to go, and when I tried to tell Tierney about Barb, all of a sudden he had to leave.”

“Makes for good TV, though, you have to admit that. Especially when you’re in your pajamas.”

“Yoga gear. There’s something weird about the police behavior. I’m convinced Pepper Monahan recognized Barb Douglas. And knows something about what happened to her.”

She said, “I hear the green-eyed monster is under control with impending motherhood. I suppose Nick is still fooling around.”

“He is. Not much I can do about that. I have to take my chances and visit Pepper again.”

“Well, good luck with that, and remember, I’ll be here to help you pick up the pieces. And you have other friends, too. You might need ’em.”

“By the way, speaking of friends, you told me that you knew Robbie. You didn’t seem too fond of his father, the great hero. In fact, you seemed quite ambivalent about Reg Van Zandt every time we talked about him.”

“Yeah, well,” Ramona said. “I’ve known Robbie since he was a kid.”

“And?”

“And he was a sweet guy. Very shy, very sensitive.”

“Let me guess. Bullied.”

“For sure. It was like he was born with a
KICK ME
sign. I had to stand up for him more than once or he would have been beaten to a pulp outside the community pool.”

Robbie Van Zandt would have been lucky to have the young Ramona in his corner when he was a kid. I sure liked having her fortysomething self in mine. “So weren’t these bullies afraid of his father the war hero?”

She snorted. “No way. He would have cut his tongue out before he ever told his father he was being picked on. Imagine how hard it must have been to be the geeky smart kid with the glasses and a little stutter and arms and legs like twigs. He idolized his father, and the father overprotected him, I think. Robbie always felt he was such a disappointment. And he takes life so seriously. That’s how it seemed to me. I was just a teenager myself, but I really liked Robbie and, of course, I was a lot bigger and tougher than he was.”

“I guess he’s still under his father’s wing, working for Quovadicon.”

“He’d be an asset. Give him a number or a theorem or a law and he was first-rate. He might have been able to flourish somewhere else, but . . .” She shrugged. “We don’t see that much of each other any more, maybe that’s my fault, but I always felt he had a tragic story.”

“Why would he have stayed?”

“He tried to get off on his own. He had some great opportunities in California in the tech boom, but Mrs. Newhouse talked him out of it. She convinced him it would kill his father.”

“What? Why would it kill Mr. Van Zandt?”

“Well, not having Robbie there to take over the family company if something happened to the great war hero. The strain on his father’s heart worrying about him. So Robbie did his degree and tech training in the area.”

“You mean he’s been groomed as a successor? Really? I can’t see him in the boardroom or the bank.”

“Exactly. It was all bull hooey. Some people think they’ll live forever, and they want to keep other people under their thumb. No wonder he had a breakdown.”

“Breakdown?”

Ramona caught herself. “I shouldn’t have said that. It’s no one’s business, and I was out of line.”

“What kind of breakdown?”

“As I just said, Charlotte, no one’s business but Robbie’s.”

I felt a surge of anger on behalf of poor trapped Robbie, even though I still wouldn’t choose to walk down a dark alley with him. I knew Ramona wouldn’t give me any more information. But I could tell by her reaction that whatever had happened, she didn’t think Robbie was a danger to anyone. I backtracked. “Agreed. He sure doesn’t seem like the CEO type.”

She relaxed. “And he doesn’t want to be a CEO. His father just can’t let up on the control. I wonder what he thought about the relationship with Barb.”

Well, now, I wondered that, too.

When I settled in at home, I asked myself: Had Reg Van Zandt discovered that Barb was a fraud? Or had he known it all along? Had the game changed when she became involved with Robbie? Did he think the relationship would lead to another breakdown? Had he decided to kill her to keep her from luring his son into a relationship or even a marriage? Was Fredelle in on whatever he might have done?

I shook my head at this. How did the man in the trunk of the blue Impala fit in? What about the truck drivers? Did they work for him? Did they pursue Barb and try to kill me on his orders? What did I really know about that anyway? It was just circumstantial. Whatever was going on, Barb Douglas seemed to be at the heart of it.

The dogs lay on my feet as I read her obit. A list of accomplishments and volunteer commitments: Big Sisters. UNICEF. Predeceased by her parents. No siblings identified. Fondly remembered by her friends Hugo Speigl and Jim Smith and many others, unfortunately not named.

If I remembered correctly, there were so many Jim Smiths in the country that they had their own society. I pinned my hopes on Hugo Speigl and Googled him.

Jackpot.

Within a couple of minutes, I had a phone number, but no e-mail. Of course, the phone call got me voice mail. When doesn’t it?

I left a pleasant and upbeat message for Hugo, saying I had an inquiry about the late Barb Douglas, and I understood he’d been a friend and could help me. I left my number if he wanted to call back, but also said I’d try again later on my own dime.

Well, that left one more thing I had to do, and I didn’t plan to do it on my own. I called for reinforcements: Sally claimed her neighbor owed her big-time because Benjamin had treated her sprained ankle. She planned to call in the favor. Margaret succumbed to a serious guilt trip focusing on the nature of friendship. She asked if by any chance I’d been hanging out with her parents. Naturally, Jack didn’t answer his phone.

The Van Zandt place was situated on a multiacre spread that ran down to the Hudson. The property was surrounded by a wrought-iron fence, with a phalanx of security cameras at the entrance. I figured he had plenty to protect. It might not have been convenient to Woodbridge, but this home and surroundings seemed pretty close to paradise. I gazed around as the gates opened and our three cars drove through. The lawn swept up to woods at the crest of a long gently sloping hill. It rolled down to the water and the rocky beach below. The home was sprawling and modern, with various additions and outbuildings in tasteful materials, blending into the surroundings.

“That’s nice,” Sally said, pointing to the wildflower garden meandering by the side of the long drive. I sniffed to show that I wasn’t fooled by a few purple coneflowers.

I also refused to be charmed by the idyllic pond near the side of the house.

“Look at the ducks!” Sally said.

I ignored the comments and the ducks. I was here to confront a man about actions that had led to death, disappearance, and disaster.

At the front of the house, I was faced with a wheelchair ramp with switchbacks up to the house. Window boxes with late-season marigolds lit up the long rails. I gave the thumbs-up to Sally and to Margaret, who had followed in her car.

Sally called out, “Say the word and we’ll be there in a second.”

Margaret said, “This is such a bad idea, I can’t believe I let you blackmail me into it.”

“Try to live a life above reproach, Margaret, and I’ll have nothing to hang over your head.”

“Yeah, you wait until you meet someone. I’ll have fun then.”

“What are you two talking about?” Sally called.

“Surprise endings,” I said.

“Don’t ask,” Margaret said.

“Why isn’t Jack here?” Sally asked.

“He has more important stuff to do,” I said.

Reg Van Zandt opened the door himself. I had been expecting a team of servants. Instead, I gazed down at an aging man in a wheelchair. If you formed your opinion of him based on the silver hair, the weathered face, or the twinkling dark eyes, you might think this was a gentle man, easily deceived. I thought the truth might be different.

“Welcome,” he said. “You must be Charlotte Adams. Come in. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

He pivoted, obviously expert in handling the wheelchair, and I followed him into the interior. It was simple and comfortable. More about hobbies and comfort than making the trend magazines.

No point in beating around the bush. “You need to—”

“Is that fudge?” he said, pointing to the gift-wrapped package in my hand.

I nodded. “Black-and-white fudge from Kristee’s Kandees. I’m intruding and I thought you might like some.”

“I’m willing to share,” he said. “What about your friends?”

“My friends?”

“The two who are parked outside.” He gestured toward the front window.

“They’re just waiting to see that everything’s all right,” I said.

He swiveled back to me. “Why wouldn’t everything be all right?”

“Well, because people are dead or missing. I’ve been attacked and pursued, and all that makes a person cautious. Don’t you think all that should stop?”

He chuckled, a low pleasant boom. “So you brought reinforcements. Full marks for resourcefulness. All right. Go ahead. You’ve got the floor.”

“I’ll cut to the chase. What happened to Barb Douglas?”

“I have no idea. Why are you asking me?”

“Because I think you know what’s going on. You hired Barb, no one is really sure why. You did the reference checks, I heard. You’re an astute businessman and I think you would have thoroughly vetted a new hire. In which case you’d have discovered that Barb Douglas died a few years ago.”

I had dropped Fredelle and perhaps Missy into the deep end, but what choice did I have?

“Is that so?” he said, frowning.

“That’s where it started. Then someone killed a friend of hers and she panicked and fled. I thought she was running for her life, but now I don’t know.”

“I really have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Sure you do. You knew about her friend and his death. You didn’t even blink when I mentioned him.”

“Well, it
has
been all over the news.”

“The connection with Barb and the dead man wasn’t. It wasn’t anywhere. Not at the office.”

“Surely Fredelle wouldn’t breach confidences.”

“She didn’t. There are ways of checking things out.”

“Legal ways to get the information, I hope, Miss Adams.”

I continued on the offense. “You went over everyone’s head and caused bad feelings in the office to bring in a woman who wasn’t who she claimed to be.”

He shrugged. “She’s an exceptional woman.”

“What did you have her doing? Were you running some kind of scam and she was part of it?”