Tote Bags and Toe Tags (22 page)

Read Tote Bags and Toe Tags Online

Authors: Dorothy Howell

BOOK: Tote Bags and Toe Tags
11.13Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
I'm really not good in these situations.
“And you know what?” Iris said quietly. “That day when I saw Violet and she was so upset? She was coming out of the Executive Unit.”
I gasped. Oh my God, this was a major clue.
The whole thing bloomed in my mind.
Maybe Violet had a confrontation with Ruth. Maybe their argument had continued until the next day, somehow, and they'd ended up in Constance's office, for some reason. Maybe Ruth had gotten so angry she'd attacked Violet and killed her.
Admittedly, there were still a lot of holes in this argument-turned-to-murder scenario, but the important thing was that I had a new murder suspect.
And it was Ruth.
Cool.
C
HAPTER
22
I
left the office a little before noon—it's never too early to leave, really—to have lunch with Erma Pomeroy. Dale had told me that Erma and Violet had been BFFs since back in the day, and that Erma could give me a list of Dempsey Rowland retirees who would want to attend Violet's memorial service.
I had another motive for talking to Erma when I called her and asked if she could meet me.
That's how we super-stealthy-wanna-be-private-detectives do things.
I headed up Figueroa Street toward Wilshire Boulevard, enjoying the gorgeous Southern California weather and feeling great about the brown business suit I'd worn today, and went inside the restaurant Erma had suggested.
The place was small, with booths along one wall, a full bar on the other, and table-chair combos filling the space in between. There were lots of dark wood, green plants, and numerous shades of brown.
The lunch crowd had already started to filter in, but I had no trouble spotting Erma—the only gray-haired woman dining alone. She had on white capris, red sandals—neon-pink toenail polish—a red print blouse with a matching scarf tied around her head, and she was drinking a beer from the bottle.
My kind of gal.
“Erma?” I asked, as I approached her table.
“That's me,” she declared as she pushed the facing chair back with her foot. “You must be Haley. Sit it down, honey.”
“Thanks for meeting me,” I said as I took a seat.
“I'm retired now. Not that many people want to have lunch with me these days. At least, not many people who can remember where we're meeting, get themselves there, and not wet their pants on the way.” Erma drained her beer, then called to the bartender, “Bring another one of these, George. And one for my young friend.”
The guy behind the bar nodded. He was young and kind of hot looking—not that I really noticed, or anything.
“You'd better eat something,” Erma said, and passed me a menu. “We girls from Dempsey Rowland used to eat here all the time. This place has changed hands more times than I want to count. Like everything else, change, change, change.”
I glanced over the menu as George approached the table with two beers balanced on a tray.
“I'll have a cheeseburger all the way,” I said, as he put the beers on our table. “Thanks, George.”
“My name's not George,” he said quietly, giving me a smile. “It's Jeremy.”
“I can still hear,” Erma announced. “You look like a fellow who worked here a few years ago. His name was George. Heck of a guy. Died of cancer. Sad. But, hell, it's better than wasting away in some nursing home, waiting for kids that are never going to show up and visit.”
Jeremy gave me a good-luck-getting-through-lunch-with-her smile and went back to the bar.
“So,” Erma said, tipping up her beer, “you're planning a memorial service for Violet, are you? Does Arthur know about it?”
It took me a minute to realize that Arthur was Mr. Dempsey's first name.
“The service is his idea,” I said.
“I doubt that,” Erma told me.
I'd wanted to talk with Erma to find out what she knew about Violet during her days at Dempsey Rowland, and had used the memorial service for cover. I figured I'd have to use my aren't-I-sly-and-clever-at-manipulating-a-conversation skills to get the info I wanted. But it seemed Erma was ready to dive right in.
I think the beer helped.
“Actually, that's what Ruth told me,” I said.
Erma made a grunting noise. “Ruth. That bitch.”
“I don't like Ruth,” I said.
“Smart girl,” Erma declared, and took another pull on her beer. “Violet never got along with Ruth. She was all over Arthur, screening his calls, his visitors, putting herself between him and most everybody else, especially Violet.”
“Isn't that what most executive secretaries do?” I asked.
“Not like Ruth,” Erma said. “She protected him, cleaned up after him, saw to his every need.”
My eyebrows bobbed as the vision of—ugh, gross!—Ruth and Mr. Dempsey doing the wild thing sprang into my mind.
Erma must have read my horrified expression because she said, “Nothing like that. Ruth was more like Arthur's mother, fussing over him the way she did. Hell, she probably thought—and still might think—she'll be the next Mrs. Arthur Dempsey. But even the current Mrs. Dempsey won't be Mrs. Dempsey much longer.”
“They're divorcing?” I asked, and did a quick calculation in my head. “They must have been married—forever.”
“Forty-some years,” Erma said. “So after putting up with that bastard all this time, she's being pushed aside for a younger version.”
“Oh my God. How do you know that?” I asked.
Erma shrugged. “I worked in payroll. I interacted with everyone in the company. I got the dirt on everybody.”
Wow, cool. Maybe I should get a job in payroll.
“Arthur is just waiting for his retirement,” Erma said. “He has to keep up appearances, make sure the company's reputation is unblemished. Any hint of impropriety and the government contracts that are the foundation of Dempsey Rowland would vanish in a heartbeat.”
“Does Ruth know about the new Mrs. Dempsey waiting in the wings?” I asked.
“If she suspected it, she wouldn't believe it,” Erma said. She took another swig of beer. “
That's
how obsessed she is with Arthur.”
Jeremy brought my cheeseburger and another beer for Erma, even though she hadn't asked for one, then retreated behind the bar again. More customers were in the restaurant now. The noise level amped up a bit.
“Violet started with the company alongside Arthur—but not as a partner, mind you. She had a big stake in it, emotionally, anyway. She resented Ruth always trying to keep her away from Arthur.” Erma shook her head. “Ah, hell, I told Violet she should leave that place years ago. I begged her to go. But she wouldn't.”
I bit into my cheeseburger. Delicious—especially since I doubted it had antioxidants or ancient grains like in the lunch Ty had packed for me today.
“Violet was loyal—too loyal,” Erma declared. “She thought the place needed her—and she was right about that. Arthur ... he's a real piece of work. Who knows what would have happened to the company if Violet hadn't been there.”
I ate a couple of fries while Erma worked on her beer. I could almost see the wheels turning in her mind, remembering everything that had happened at Dempsey Rowland before her retirement, probably thinking about what had gone on since she left.
“Violet was a good person, a good friend. She deserved better than to die the way she did,” Erma said, her voice softer. “Hell, after what I did, I should take responsibility for what happened to her.”
I gulped down a bite of cheeseburger, my senses shifting to high alert. Was Erma about to confess to something? Killing Violet, maybe?
Damn. I'd really hoped it would be Ruth.
I leaned in a little and shifted into I'm-your-friend-you-can-tell-me-anything mode, which was totally fake, but still.
“So what happened?” I asked.
Erma drained half her beer, then shook her head. “You talked to Dale, right? She told you about Violet trying to get her a job at Dempsey Rowland, right?”
“She said the company wouldn't hire her,” I said.
“That's a load, if I ever heard one,” Erma declared. “It was Arthur. He wouldn't sign off on hiring her.”
“Mr. Dempsey himself refused to hire Violet's granddaughter?” I asked, just to be sure I understood. “She was superqualified. Violet had worked there since the beginning. You couldn't ask for a better recommendation than that. Why wouldn't he hire her?”
“Because Arthur liked throwing his power around,” Erma said. “And because—”
Erma clamped her mouth closed.
I hate it when people do that.
“Because?” I asked, hoping to draw her out again.
Erma stewed for a minute or so, then said, “Because Arthur knew Violet and Dale would discuss her starting salary, and Arthur didn't want that happening.”
Okay, I was completely lost now.
“Why not?” I asked.
Erma puffed up a bit, as if she were mad—at what, I didn't know.
“I told Violet to quit the company,” she grumbled. “I told her years ago that she should leave, go someplace else. But she wouldn't. No matter how many times I said it, she refused. She had some ridiculous misplaced sense of loyalty, and she wouldn't leave.”
Something clicked into place—and I hadn't even had any chocolate with my lunch.
“You worked in payroll,” I said. “You knew how much everybody at the company was paid.”
Erma nodded. “Yes. And I knew that bastard Arthur Dempsey consistently paid Violet thirty percent less than her peers.”
“
Thirty
percent?”
Oh, yeah, that was crappy, all right.
“Just because she was a woman,” Erma said.
That was double crappy.
“Did Violet know?” I asked.
“Of course not. She thought Arthur paid her fairly because she started the company with him and worked like a dog to keep the place going,” Erma said.
Something else clicked into place.
“You told Violet that she was being underpaid?” I said.
“Hell, yes, I told her,” Erma declared.
She was fired up now—and I don't think it was from all the beer she'd been drinking.
“Violet knocked herself out for that company, year after year, decade after decade. There wouldn't have even been a company if that power-hungry, egotistical, self-centered, underhanded Arthur Dempsey had run it by himself,” Erma said. “Then, when he refused to hire Dale and Violet was so devastated, I told her about her salary. I thought it would make her—finally—see the truth and leave. Just take her retirement and go, enjoy her life and have some fun, for a change. But instead ...”
Neither of us said anything for a few minutes while the weight of Erma's words hung over us like a bad haircut.
“You want to hear something else?” Erma asked softly.
I wasn't sure if I did or not—which wasn't like me, but there it was.
“Arthur is retiring with a four million dollar bonus,” she said.
Okay, now I started to fume.
“He cut Violet's pay for years, and now he's getting a huge bonus?” I asked.
“You got it,” Erma said.
“Did Violet know about his retirement bonus?” I asked.
“I told her everything,” Erma said. She shrugged. “At that point, I figured what the hell, why not?”
Jeremy brought our check over and I presented the Dempsey Rowland corporate credit card. I figured if the company could give Arthur Dempsey a megabonus, it could pay for our lunches—along with a huge tip for Jeremy, of course.
“Here. I brought this for you,” Erma said. She dug into her tote bag and handed me a folded piece of paper. “It's the names you asked for. People who retired who'd want to come to Violet's memorial service. I added the names and contact information of people who worked for companies we did business with. Some government people, too. Violet knew everybody. They'd all like to be there for her.”
I put the list in my handbag.
“Thanks,” I said, and rose from my chair. “I'd better get back to the office.”
Erma nodded. “Sure thing, honey. I'll see you at the memorial service.”
As I turned to leave, I was surprised to see that the restaurant was full now, and that people were lined up for tables. I'd been so caught up in what Erma was saying, I hadn't noticed.
A face in the crowd caught my attention. One of the Volturi—I mean, Ruth—stared straight at me. She shifted her gaze to Erma, then back to me, giving me serious stink-eye. I glared right back and walked out of the restaurant without speaking to her.
I hit the street desperate for a breath of fresh air, some time to think about everything Erma had told me—and a mocha frappuccino, of course.
By the time I walked down the block to Starbucks, I decided the whole office could use a treat. Sipping my frappie, I went a few doors down to the bakery and ordered two hundred cupcakes to be delivered to Dempsey Rowland tomorrow. That should sure as heck give the employees a boost and improve office morale.
And maybe it would cut into Arthur Dempsey's bonus a little.

Other books

Angels & Sinners: The Motor City Edition by Ashley Suzanne, Bethany Lopez, Bethany Shaw, Breigh Forstner, Cori Williams, D.M. Earl, Jennifer Fisch-Ferguson, Melanie Harlow, Sara Mack, Shayne McClendon
Forbidden Quest by Alaina Stanford
Meeting the English by Kate Clanchy
Fire and Ice by J. A. Jance
Burying the Sun by Gloria Whelan
Unhappy Hooligan by Stuart Palmer