White Colander Crime (18 page)

Jaymie entered and read the business list in the front lobby. There was a chiropractor, a dentist, two law offices, a call center and Delaney Meadows' headhunting agency, Meadows Employment Agency. There was also a café called the Bean & Leaf. She descended the terrazzo tile stairs to the basement and followed signs past the chiropractor and one law office.

The café was tiny and filled to bursting with folks at that time, midmorning. By the door there was a divider with a cafeteria-style counter where sandwiches, soups, coffee and tea were doled out. A plastic Christmas tree was taped to the top of the glass divider and foil streamers were draped from ceiling duct to ceiling duct. She turned and surveyed the room, which was jammed with small tables and iron chairs; at the far end natural light drifted in through a large plate glass window overlooking a small enclosed terrace.

This was likely exactly where Shelby had spoken to Lynnsey from that day. If she was speaking of confidential matters it was not the best place, since the tables and chairs were crammed together with very little room in between. Perhaps someone overheard her speaking of her investigation of Natalie Roth's disappearance. Would that matter? Not unless that someone was involved in said disappearance, or talked to someone who was.

As one of the servers looked at her and was about to speak, Jaymie smiled, turned and left. She found Queensville Direct Call Center upstairs on the main floor. She pushed through the nondescript steel door. There was a long reception desk, beyond which were six-foot-high fabric dividers. She could hear a steady murmur of voices and ringing phones. She approached the reception desk, got the attention of the receptionist, who was hunched over her computer keyboard, and asked if she might have a moment of Austin Calhoun's time. The young woman stared at her with an assessing gaze.

“You wanna complain about a call from the call center? Or service from one of our clients?” she asked.

“No, not at all. I just have a question to ask Austin.”

“You a friend? Family?”

“No, he doesn't know me. This is about a mutual friend of ours,” she said, skating perilously close to blatant lies. “Could he speak with me for five minutes?”

“Your name?”

She gave it and the receptionist made a call, eyeing Jaymie as she did so. She hung up. “He'll be out in a minute. Have a seat,” she said, waving toward three plastic chairs lined up against a wall under a giant poster reminding folks to smile, since a smile came across in your voice.

Jaymie smiled. “Thank you.” It did actually come through in her voice, she thought.

Moments later a young man came out from beyond the dividers. He was plump and fair-haired, wearing a pale-blue shirt and argyle sweater with tan pants. She stood and introduced herself.

His eyes widened. “I know who you are,” he said, pointing one finger at her. “You're the one who finds the dead bodies. You found
Shelby
!” He covered his mouth with one plump beringed hand and his eyes watered. “Oh, my,” he muttered. “Do you want to talk to me about Shelby?”

She nodded, not sure what to say to the effusive fellow.

He turned to the receptionist and said, “Tell Rudy that I'm taking an early lunch. I'll be half an hour, but if I'm more, then he can just dock my pay, the old Grinch.” He whirled back, ducked around the open end of the reception desk and grabbed Jaymie's arm. “Come with me.” He led her out of the office.

“Are we going to the Bean & Leaf? It's pretty crowded.”

“Somewhere more private.” He led her down the hallway to a door labeled “Conference Room,” and pushed through. It was dark and cold. He flicked a bank of switches that created a pool of light at one end, where there were two black leather retro-looking pod chairs by a wall of faux cherrywood polished cabinetry. He led her past a long scarred black conference table and pushed her into one of the chairs, then turned to a counter on the wall of cabinets, switching on a single-serve coffee machine. It gurgled and heated up. “Tea okay?” he said over his shoulder. When she said yes, he pulled some pods out of a little drawer under the machine and grabbed some mugs. He made two cups. “Hope you like it black.”

“Black is fine,” she said, bemused, as he handed her the mug and plunked down into the other chair. It was clear that this was a conference room for the joint use of the companies in the building, but probably not for the casual use of employees. She felt faintly guilty even though this wasn't her workplace, and then reflected that it certainly indicated the difference between her and Austin. She was the kind of person who felt the need to ask consent, and he seemed to be the kind who believed it was easier to apologize than ask permission.

“How did you know Shelby?” she asked.

He curled up in the chair, his hands wrapped around the black mug, regarding her avidly over the rim. “How horrible was it for you, finding her? I can't imagine. It breaks my heart, you know. Did you ever meet Shelby?”

Jaymie thought of her one brief meeting. “Uh, kind of.”

“She was just one of a kind.” His eyes teared up. “She was like my best girlfriend, you know? We always took lunch together, and gossiped like crazy. I kind of felt like I was living my life through her, sometimes, all the boyfriends and parties, and she was
so
ambitious. She was amazing!”

“I'm so sorry, Austin. I didn't know you were so close.”

He slurped a long drink of tea and took in a deep shuddering breath. “I guess I kind of hero-worshipped her. When I came to work for Delaney—”

“So that's how you knew her? You worked for Delaney Meadows, too?”

“I didn't say that, did I? Sure, that's how we met. I worked for him for a few months.”

“Doing what?”

He waved one hand. “Data entry, filing . . . whatever! Anyway, Shelby and I got so close during that time, like this,” he said, crossing one finger over the other. “Not everyone was so fond of her though, you know?”

Jaymie had questions she wanted to ask, but if there was anything she had learned it was to not shut down a free-flowing tap of information when it was in mid gush. “Why?”

He cocked his head to one side. “She was . . . brash. Yeah, that's the word . . . brash. She'd tell you the truth, no varnish, and if you didn't like it, then, buh-bye!” he said, waving one hand.

“Sounds like the type who would make enemies.”

“I guess.” He examined her. “I never did ask . . . What do you want with
me
? I guess I just ran off my mouth and didn't even think.”

“I'm looking into it, informally.” She explained her work for Nan Goodenough. “She, of course, doesn't think her son did it. I'm investigating just to see if there are viable alternatives, and maybe get at the truth. I was reading online postings and I saw your name. You were defending her, and seemed to know her. I thought I'd talk to you.”

Austin's blue eyes widened. He looked remarkably like a baby, with a round cherubic face and a lick of pale hair that curled on his forehead. He was only about twenty, Jaymie judged.

“People are awful! But she could get a gal's back up. She was not afraid to tell you where to get off.”

“You hinted online that she was investigating something dangerous, that she was into something dark and she was gotten rid of. What did you mean?”

He shifted uncomfortably and his cheeks pinked as he rolled his eyes. “I may have been just . . . you know, exaggerating. I can be the teensiest bit dramatic at times. She was very mysterious, was Shelby, but when I think back I wonder if she may have been teasing me, you know, about being into something dangerous.”

“You said you talked about her boyfriends. I've heard she was dating more than one guy.” This was part test; did Austin really know Shelby, or was he a publicity hound attaching himself to a sensational murder case?

“She liked Cody, but thought he was way too attached, like . . .
scary
attached. She was afraid of him.”

Jaymie recalled how passionate Cody was in his defense of Shelby to his mom. Yes, that may have been too attached given their actual relationship. It didn't bode well that a friend knew she was afraid of him; it sure wouldn't look good in court if Austin was called as a witness. “Did she talk about that, about being afraid of him?”

He nodded. “Said he was the kind who flew off the handle too quick. She said she never knew what would set him off, that he was unpredictable. She had a bruise on her cheek one day, and said he'd done that. She told me one of these days he would hit her hard, and she'd never know it was coming.”

Jaymie shut her eyes. That sounded scarily close to what probably happened. But was it not odd that she would put up with it, given what Lynnsey had to say about her being angry at those who beat women?

“She was going to break it off with Cody,” Austin said. “She was seeing some other dude, too, though, some pharma representative. I remember that because I joked that there was this new weight-loss drug out, and could she get me some.”

That had to be Glenn Brennan. “What did she think of him?”

He shuddered. “She said he was creepy . . . handsy. I asked was he sexy, and she said no, he was a jerk. I asked why she kept seeing him, but she wouldn't say.”

Interesting. “Anyone else?”

“Maybe.” He took another sip of tea and watched her. “Look, if I tell you something in confidence, will you tell your boss or the police?”

This was one of
those
moments, the ones you look back on and wish you'd handled differently, Jaymie thought. What could she say? “I probably won't unless it exonerates Cody, how about that? That's the only thing I'm interested in, ultimately.”

He was silent. “This has been bugging me, and I have to tell someone. Maybe you can tell me what to do about it.”

“What's up?”

“It's true, what I said online; I
do
think that Shelby Fretter was involved in some deep stuff, and I
think
that she was writing it all down. She was always reading a novel—she liked thrillers—or writing. She wrote in some kind of journal or diary every single day, and she always hid what she was writing when I joined her. And sometimes . . .
sometimes
she had this smile on her face. It was haunting. Like she was enjoying something shady
waaay
too much.”

Eighteen

H
E COULDN'T EXPLAIN
more, just that there must be a diary or journal somewhere with something written in it. Jaymie made a note of that. She had a sense that it could be the one thing that would crack the investigation wide open, so . . . to tell the police about it or not? Not at this point, she decided, since she didn't actually know it held anything more than shopping lists for Christmas.

“Austin, what was Shelby and Delaney Meadows' relationship like?”

His hand jerked and he spilled some tea on his sweater. “Crap!” He jumped up, went to the wet bar and got a paper towel and blotted the tea stain. “That surprised me. I didn't know anyone else suspected. I had a feeling they were involved, but she told me no way, that she didn't like him that way.” He shrugged and sat back down, picking up his mug. “I don't know. I just saw them together outside of work way too much, and him with that vindictive cat of a wife of his.”

Vindictive cat? Didn't sound like the same saintly book-deliverer-to-shut-ins that Mrs. Stubbs spoke of. “I've heard of Lily Meadows,” Jaymie admitted. “What makes you say she was vindictive?”

He paused, eyeing her, then said, “She's the one got me fired. She looks like the kind who wouldn't hurt a fly, but she heard some joke I made, and that was it. Delaney fired me. Shelby tried to stick up for me, but little miss wife-of-the-boss wasn't having it.”

“What was the joke?”

He hung his head in mock shame, then looked up at Jaymie, his blue eyes sparkling with malicious humor. “She had a new dress, Chanel couture, and all I said was, Matthew six, twenty-eight. A meadow is a field, right? Who knew she'd know her Good Book so well?”

It took Jaymie a moment, as she did not know the Bible nearly as well as she supposed she ought, but she finally clued in. “Oh, wait . . . something about the lilies of the field, neither do they sow, nor . . . uh, I'm not sure of the rest.”

“Good Lord, you're practically Bible illiterate,” he said, with an eye roll. “King James version is, ‘consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin.' Though Lily does spin; I've seen her at spin class. She's Queen B at the gym.”

What a different perspective one got speaking about someone to two different people. She'd have to remember that. The truth was likely somewhere in between Mrs. Stubb's saintly version of Lily and Austin's venomous view. “You got fired because of that?”

“She made a big deal out of it. I guess she doesn't like that anyone would think she doesn't earn her way. But I mean, they don't have kids. Why should the woman not work? Everyone else does. She does all these little volunteer things that make her feel worthwhile, and she's on every board and in every volunteer group, but
really
!”

“Don't you think that's between them?” It all sounded fishy, she wasn't sure why. Had that been all there was to his being fired from Delaney Meadows' business?

He shrugged and finished his tea, then got up and took his mug over to the sink, sitting it down in the small stainless steel basin. “Speaking of . . . I have to get back to work or Rudy will have my butt on a platter. I sure do hate the call center, but I don't want to get fired this close to Christmas.”

“Just one more question,” she said, and he turned back toward her. “Did you know anything about Shelby looking into the disappearance of a young woman?”

His expression blanked. “I don't know what you mean,” he said. “I have to go. Toodles!” He waved his fingers and headed out at a brisk pace.

Jaymie sat a minute longer, looking at the door. Why was Austin Calhoun lying about that? She was convinced that he did know about Shelby's investigation into Natalie Roth's disappearance. She took her mug to the sink and washed the ones they had used, turned off the coffee machine and dried the mugs. She heard footsteps and turned just in time to see a fellow enter; she recognized him right away, even only having seen him from a distance. He had a stooped stance that was familiar. It was Delaney Meadows.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” he said. “I didn't know the conference room was in use.”

“It's not. I'm just . . . tidying up after a private interview,” she said, realizing he wouldn't know if she was an employee of one of the firms in the building. “Do you need it?”

“I'm setting up some interviews for an executive assistant and I don't have anywhere to do it but here.” He seemed at a loss, staring around as if he didn't know where to start.

“Let me help. You're Mr. Meadows, right?” She got a paper towel and wiped out the sink, then tossed the balled-up paper into the garbage.

“Do I know you?” He was tall, slim and nicely dressed, with glasses and sandy thinning hair brushed carefully over his domed head. But the stoop, from rounded shoulders, appeared to be habitual.

“No. I'm sorry about Shelby Fretter. Is that whose position you're interviewing for?” Her mind was tumbling at full speed, but this was a unique opportunity to ask questions without him having his defense shields in place, so to speak.

“It's a terrible thing. I feel so bad for her family,” he said vaguely, still standing at the door and staring.

He did
not
sound sincere. “So, if you're interviewing . . . will anyone be interviewing with you?”

“No.”

“Then the long table is too formal,” she said decisively. “How about over here?” she said, sweeping her hand toward the chairs she and Austin had just vacated. She moved back to them and pulled a small round table between them. “How many do you have coming to be interviewed? And are these folks your own agency has already interviewed for other positions?” She eyed him.

His gaze sharpened. “You know what my company does; I'm surprised.”

“Why wouldn't I?” she said.

He shrugged. “I've got three girls coming.”

“Staggered by how much time?”

“Uh, half an hour between each.”

“And you've got someone in your office sending them here?”

“Yes. I just didn't . . . The police have been wandering in and out of my office and I don't want to have that interrupt me. Or . . . or scare the girls off.”

She turned one of the chairs and shifted the table a few inches. “Understandable. I imagine they've searched her desk. Did they take stuff away?” she asked, wondering about the journal Shelby was writing in. It was possible she kept it with her, possible that she left it in her work desk and possible it was somewhere else entirely.

“I think so. I didn't pay attention. I mean, it was her boyfriend who killed her, right? Nothing to do with me or her work.”

“What was her job?”

“My assistant.” He set his sheaf of papers down on the conference table and started looking through cupboards. “Should I ask them if they want coffee? Or . . . I don't know. I'm a little perplexed. Shelby had been with me awhile and I guess I got to rely on her. Maybe too much.” He stopped and turned, eyeing her. “You're not looking for a job, are you?”

“Me? No. Not right now, anyway. I have a few jobs.”

“Sounds like the kind of gal I'm looking for, eager to work. I have one girl working for me who wants the job. I've got her on reception and phones right now, but there is no way I could rely on her.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged and his gaze slid away from Jaymie. “She's just not . . . That isn't her forte, I guess you'd say. She's more interested in taking the easy way out of things.”

Interesting. “What were Shelby's job responsibilities? I can't say I'd rule out her job without knowing.”

“She kept my schedule straight. I have a couple of companies and the needs are very
very
different.”

“I know one is a white-collar headhunting agency, but what is the other?”

He eyed her and squinted. “Well, I, uh, supply models to companies that want a spokesperson for their auto show, or, you know, a booth model for a tech show. A pretty girl to stand around, hand out pamphlets and attract attention.”

“Around here?”

“Anywhere. Here. Canada and other countries.”

“There is actually a call for that?” Jaymie asked, thinking of Natalie Roth. This was getting interesting. Clutch had already told her that Natalie was excited about her new job working for a company that sent models to other countries, and this was the confirmation that she was indeed working for Delaney Meadows' modeling agency. Was Shelby investigating her boss in connection to Natalie's disappearance?

“Sure. The world loves a pretty girl.”

She suddenly remembered what Glenn Brennan had said the evening before. “I thought I heard you ran a dating agency or something? Some guy I met said he found someone on there.”

He licked his lips. “It's . . . Well, yes, I do run a dating website, but a classy kind, you know, for professional men to find suitable girls. But that's not a profitable business, at least not, ah . . . not yet.”

“So the dating website and the modeling agency aren't the same thing?”

He stared at her. Clutch had called him a pissant piece of crap; she wasn't sure what to think yet of Delaney Meadows.

“What'd you say your name was?”

“I didn't.”

“Who do you work for?”

“A lot of people.”

“What's your name?”

“Jaymie Leighton.”

His lips firmed and he pointed an accusatory finger at her. “You're that snoopy girl, the one who found Shelby's body. Why are you here? Are you following me?”

“No, of course not, I—”

“Yes, you are. You're following me. I don't like that. I think you ought to go.”

She remembered how he had had Clutch thrown out and obtained a protection order against him. He was more than a little paranoid. “This is just a chance meeting, Mr. Meadows. I'm so sorry about Shelby. It sounds like you relied on her a lot.”

There was a tap at the door and a young woman stood in the doorway. “Am I early?”

He glanced down at his clipboard. “No, you're right on time. This girl was just leaving.” He turned and glared at her. “Weren't you?”

She knew when she was beat. “Yes, I was. I'm sorry, Mr. Meadows. Maybe we can talk another time.”

“I doubt it.”

She hastened from the room, but didn't leave the building. This was the perfect time to do a little snooping at the Meadows agency. It was just down the hall, a rather nondescript office, with a partial glass door and a sign with the company's name on a plaque beside it. She pushed open the door and went up to the reception desk.

“Hi. Uh . . . Lizzie Bennet to see Mr. Delaney Meadows,” she said to the girl at the desk, who was doodling on a notepad while twirling her hair and chewing gum, the trifecta of reception duty. This must be the unsuitable replacement for Shelby.

She stared at Jaymie a moment in mid hair twirl. “You have to go to the conference room, that's where he's interviewing, you know. Not here.”

“I'm not here for the assistant job. I'm here to interview him for the
Wolverhampton Weekly Howler
business section,” she said, fishing out her press pass. She realized belatedly it was in her real name, flashed it and stuffed it back in her purse. “I have an appointment at . . .” She checked her watch. “Right now, actually.”

The girl looked like a deer caught in the headlights, confused and unsure. She had a strand of hair pulled out to the side of her head like a long piece of blond cotton candy. “But . . . he's in the conference room.”

Jaymie sighed and moved from foot to foot. “I hate to have come all this way and then not be able to get the interview. It's going to do his business so much good, but we're coming down to the wire. Were you the one I spoke to last week about the article?”

“Oh, no, that would have been Shelby. I'm surprised she didn't write it down for him. She was so efficient.”