Kill the Competition (35 page)

"Hi, Clancy. I heard about the money—did it turn up?"

He shook his head. "I collected your payment last. I don't suppose you saw me drop it as I was leaving?"

"No."

He looked forlorn. "Oh, well, I guess the money is pretty small potatoes considering everything else that's going on. Listen, Belinda—" His face reddened. "All those things I said about Margo... you know I was just kidding, right?"

Ah. "Everyone says things they don't mean."

He leaned forward. "Do the police think that Jim Newberry came back to off Margo and stuff her in your trunk?"

"Um, I believe that's the general consensus."

"Do you know who's going to take over for Margo?"

"No. I'm going to meet with Mr. Archer as soon as he comes in to talk about transitioning things."

He tugged at his psychedelic tie. "Do you know if Margo had a chance to sign the performance evaluations before she... checked out?"

Belinda's eyebrows rose. "No, I don't."

His expression was sheepish. "Well, I thought maybe you could suggest to Mr. Archer that evaluations be, um, revisited."

"I can't make any promises, but I'll mention it to Mr. Archer."

Wade appeared with a brown paper bag and two coffees, and Clancy perked up.

She bit back a smile. "Clancy Edmunds, this is Lieutenant Alexander."

Wade inclined his head. "Mr. Edmunds."

Clancy crossed his fidgety arms. "Will the police be here all day?"

"Looks like it, sir. We'll be getting prints from everyone. And between the theft and the murder, the CEO has requested that all employees submit to a polygraph exam."

"A lie detector test?"

Wade nodded. "Considering that two employees have died, we agree it's a good idea. Examiners are setting up in the conference room."

Belinda's throat constricted. Would pervasive ethical guilt skew the results?

"That's against my civil rights," Clancy sputtered, then he squinted. "Isn't it?"

Wade gave a little shrug. "No one can force you to take the test, sir."

"Ah-hah—but if I don't, I'll look guilty!"

The man's melodrama might have been comical if Belinda hadn't been thinking the same thoughts.

Wade set the coffees and the food on Belinda's desk. "I suppose an unwillingness to take the polygraph could be perceived as having something to hide. The money that's missing—wasn't it stolen from your desk?"

Clancy's Adam's apple bobbed. "Yes."

"Was it common knowledge that you kept cash there?"

He shrugged. "If there was something going on, a pool, or a collection for flowers, I typically took care of it."

"Would Jim Newberry know there was money in your desk?"

"I suppose so."

"We'll need a list of people who had access to the drawer where you kept the money bag to match against the prints that were lifted yesterday."

"That's easy—I have a key, Brita Wheeling, and Carole Marchand."

Belinda frowned. "Carole?"

"In case she has checks or anything valuable to deliver and no one is here to take it."

Wade withdrew a notebook and made notes. "The money bag was taken?"

"No, just the cash. I told all of this to another officer yesterday. Tom, I think was his name—blond, nice eyes."

Wade looked up, then returned the notebook to his pocket. "I'll get with Tom for all the details."

"Anything else, Officer?"

"Not now."

Clancy started to turn, then snapped his fingers. "Belinda, I came by to remind you that your sofa will be delivered this evening. Sorry about the timing, but the truck gets loaded for a week's worth of deliveries. Will you be home?"

"I plan to be."

"Good. I need to check with Rosemary, too." The man gave Wade an appreciative once-over, waved toodle-loo, then disappeared around the corner.

She smiled at Wade. "I think he likes you."

One dark eyebrow went up. "He's not my type."

The words "but you are" hung in the air between them. Her smile froze.

"Your eye looks better," he said.

"Thanks, it feels better."

He opened the bag and withdrew a bagel. "Cream cheese okay?"

She reached for the food. "Perfect. Thank you."

He sat in her pea green visitor's chair, pulled a lid off the other coffee, and drank from the steaming cup. His big frame took up most of the available space in the cubicle, pressing on her breathing room. His gray eyes were clear and alert, framed with dark lashes and expressive eyebrows. His profile was jutting and imperfect, his skin ruddy from razor burn. The man emanated a physical intensity that set her on edge. He seemed unbridled and... hazardous.

Hazardous in a "reorder a woman's life" kind of way.

"You okay?" he asked. "You look like you just had a scary thought."

She blinked. "Any updates on Jim Newberry?"

"No. But he has family in Columbus, Georgia, and Gainesville, Florida, so we have a lot of places to look."

She bit into the bagel and chewed slowly. Her jaws ached at first, reminding her how long it had been since she'd eaten anything solid. The women's magazines were missing out on the Find-a-Dead-Body Diet. "What now, Lieutenant?"

"Now the investigation keeps moving forward. It'll take a long time to question everyone, and even longer to assimilate all the information. By the way, I had a chat with your neighbor last night."

"Perry?"

"Yeah. I can see now why you were hiding from him. You said he pestered you, but did you ever feel threatened?"

"No, but I've only talked to the man in the yard in broad daylight."

"He has a record."

She stopped mid-chew. "For what?"

"One count of Peeping Tom a year ago. He got off with a fine. You should consider blinds for the bay window in your living room."

She laughed. "The most racy thing he's likely to see is my cat cleaning herself."

One eyebrow lifted. "Really?"

Belinda swallowed carefully to keep from drowning on her mouthful of coffee. "You said I was needed back at Margo's office?"

He checked his watch and stood. "Actually, I should leave to look into some other matters. Detectives Salyers and Truett are back there, they'll handle everything."

A foul day was suddenly looking even less palatable. "You're leaving?"

He nodded, then a casual smile curved his mouth. "Actually, since you're going to be home tonight, I thought I'd stop by to install a security alarm."

The day improved a smidgen. "Do you think that's necessary?"

"Humor me," he said.

Who was she to withhold humor from a man who so rarely smiled? Belinda pursed her mouth and nodded. "I suppose that would be acceptable."

Chapter 25

"How do they expect us to get this ink off our fingers?" Libby asked, frowning at her ruined manicure as she slid into the backseat.

"I don't think they care," Rosemary offered from the driver's seat.

"Well," Carole said, turning in her seat, "after being fingerprinted and being given a lie detector test, I'll never complain again about going to the gynecologist."

Belinda fastened her seat belt in silence. She had been spared the fingerprinting, but the polygraph exam had been plenty unnerving. Nearly every question they'd asked her, she could have answered, "It depends." Throughout, the examiner had prompted her many times to reply with a simple yes or no. She was relatively sure she had failed even the part where they had asked for her name. She had hesitated because she was expecting to be Belinda Whittaker by now.

Detectives Salyers and Truett had made her walk through her last meeting with Margo in excruciating detail, exchanging cop looks when she'd admitted she had pushed her way past Brita, although she was sure the woman had already informed them of her insistence. But she'd stubbornly refused to discuss the details of their meeting until she could talk to Mr. Archer in private—she owed the man that much. "It's confidential company business," she'd told them. "For now, I can only promise you it has nothing to do with Margo's murder."

Their expressions had been dubious and dubiouser.

Meanwhile, coworkers had cast suspicious glances her way and whispered behind her back. Some people had actually appeared to be frightened of her. When she'd gone to the copier room to make duplicates of quarterly corporate tax forms (she was attempting to get
some
work done), Martin Derlinger would look only as high as her elbows.

The presence of the police had set everyone on edge. Employees had stood in clusters around their cubicles, making predictions about their jobs, the murder, the theft. Wild rumors had surfaced—the most bizarre being that Margo had been dismembered in her office and transported to Belinda's car trunk limb by limb.

Yilk.

It was surreal, and the frenzied atmosphere in the office had reached a fever pitch by quitting time. If ever Mr. Archer needed to step up to resume the leadership role, it was now. In his father's absence, Tal Archer had made the rounds, presumably to calm fears about the future of the company, but his green pallor and skittish body language had only served to push concerns higher. Belinda figured his behavior had had something to do with what Rosemary had said about his drug use and the proximity of so many uniforms.

The tense mood, Belinda noted, seemed to have followed them from the office to the car. They all kept to their respective corners. Nail nibbling and sigh heaving prevailed. She herself had chewed her thumbnail down to the nub after Carole had called that afternoon to tell her the Payton contracts were missing.

"How can they be missing?" she'd asked.

"Hank doesn't know where they are, but he's pretty sure they weren't delivered."

"Pretty sure? I'm from Ohio, Carole—how sure is 'pretty sure'?"

"You don't have to get testy."

"I'm sorry. If Hank says they weren't delivered, I'll take his word for it. But does he have any idea where the envelope could be?"

"Um, no. But he's working on it," Carole had assured her cheerfully, then she'd lowered her voice. "Is this still top secret?"

"Yes."

Belinda now closed her eyes. Not only did she have to confess her unethical behavior to Mr. Archer but she also might have to explain the absence of the contracts.

"The memorial service for Margo will be held Friday," Rosemary said, breaking the silence.

"Who on earth arranged it?" Libby asked.

"I did." Rosemary shifted in her seat but kept her gaze on the traffic ahead.

Libby glanced sideways at Belinda and raised her eyebrows.

"Did the police find her relatives?" Belinda asked.

"There's only an ex-husband in Alaska, who didn't want anything to do with the burial, and a great-niece in New Mexico who's never met her."

"An ex-husband?" Carole asked. "Wow, Margo was married once."

"Briefly, when she was young," Rosemary said.

"Are you all going to the memorial service?" Carole asked over her shoulder.

A guilty silence descended.

"Margo didn't go to Jeanie's service," Libby muttered.

"I'll bet Margo would've been more generous with time off for Jeanie's memorial service if she'd known the next one would be hers," Carole said matter-of-factly.

Sympathy barbed through Belinda for her boss, who seemed to have been alone in the world. She swallowed—was it a glimpse into her own future? Margo alienated people with her abrasive personality. According to Vince and Libby,
she
alienated people through detachment. If loneliness was the end, wasn't the means insignificant?

They were a morose lot during the remainder of the ride home. There was no mention of the book, of Rosemary's secret appointments, of Libby's shopping withdrawal, or of Carole's psychic. Everyone seemed to turn inward with their own thoughts and problems. Belinda certainly had ample torment for the long drive. By the time they pulled up to her townhouse, she was battling a thumping headache and a hearty cry. She said good-bye and climbed out. When she lifted her hand for a wave, she frowned at their turned heads. Was it her paranoia, or had the women engaged in conversation the minute her door closed?