Mystery man at Archie’s. I didn’t know who Dylan had met for coffee the day before his death but intended to find out.
I glanced around for my phone, then remembered that I’d left it in the living room. I set the paper and pen down on my nightstand and padded out of the bedroom and down the stairs in bare feet to the darkened front room. After I’d located my cell, I spotted the bright LED lights of a vehicle approaching through my front window. The car pulled up to the curb directly in front of my house, and then the headlights went out.
Suddenly uneasy, I snuck behind the silk curtain panels of my bay window and peered out into the street. The lamppost on my lawn cast a shadow over the vehicle, and I could tell that it was a dark sedan. My heart knocked against the wall of my chest as I waited. Five minutes must have gone by, and the car still remained, with no signs of movement.
Fear rose in my throat. I had just decided to call Gino when the car turned around in the street and drove away. I went to the front door and opened it, watching the car turn off my street, and then the headlights came back on. There was no way I could make out the license plate from this distance. I locked the door and leaned against it, waiting for my breathing to return to normal.
If someone was trying to scare me, they were doing a heck of a good job.
Eight
Traffic in Albany was light as I crossed Pearl to Green Avenue and proceeded down a one-way street to the fifteen-story office building where Dylan had worked. I found an empty spot at a meter across the road, nearly blinded by the morning sunlight reflecting off the full-length glass windows. I locked my car and walked briskly toward the entrance.
Dylan had never talked much about his job during the three years he’d been employed at We Care. He said it was boring, mundane, and assured me that better things were coming our way, namely our restaurant. We’d attended the annual Christmas party, and occasionally he’d go to happy hour with his coworkers but that had been the extent of his socialization.
Gino had left me a voicemail while I’d been in the shower, but there hadn’t been time to call him back yet. He wanted to know how my first night at Slice had gone. I definitely needed to fill him in on Izzy’s reaction to me, the powder substance I’d seen in the cooler, and the car that was parked in front of my house last night.
My brown, low-heeled leather boots clacked against the black-and-white linoleum floor of the pristine lobby. I pressed the button for the elevator and waited. Most of the floors in this building were dedicated to the health service corporation, but my destination, floor eight, was occupied solely by accountants, payroll clerks, and other administrative workers.
I opened the heavy glass door and spotted Olivia behind the receptionist counter in the middle of the floor. She rose to her feet when she saw me.
“Hi, Tessa!” She came around the counter to give me a hug. Olivia was tiny, only about five feet tall, and I felt like a giant next to her. Her shoulder-length, light-brown hair touched the side of my face during our embrace and smelled of lavender. Her hug was actually only a slight squeeze, since her protruding belly stood in the way. She had to be due in the next month or so. “It’s wonderful to see you.”
“You too, Olivia. How are you feeling?”
Olivia’s blue eyes shone as she patted her stomach. “I had terrible morning sickness for the first six months, but now I’m tired all the time. And running to the bathroom every five minutes.” She laughed. “I’m due at Christmas.”
“Congratulations. You and your husband must be very excited.” It bothered me that Olivia hadn’t come to Dylan’s wake or funeral. She’d sent a lovely card, but I’d thought it was a bit strange that Ned Reinhart, Dylan’s boss, never made an appearance either. As a matter of fact, I didn’t recall any of his coworkers showing up.
Olivia gestured for me to follow her down the long, plush-carpeted hallway. For a strange reason, my heart began to pound, and I was afraid I might hyperventilate. How ridiculous. It was only his office and some material things. It was almost like I still expected to find Dylan in there, smiling as he looked up from his calculator, waiting to go to lunch with me.
The nameplate was gone from the door of his office. I peeked inside, not sure at first what to expect, but the room was empty, save for the desk and a metal file cabinet in the corner. There was nothing on the surface of the desk except for a black office phone and large calculator. Even the framed wall photo I’d given him when he’d started was gone. It was a poster featuring a beagle with glasses using a calculator with the caption I’m auditing you but really have no idea what I’m doing underneath. Staring at the sterile office was more depressing than viewing his personal effects would have been. It was almost like Dylan had never existed.
Olivia opened the small closet next to the file cabinet and pointed at two banker’s boxes inside. “I can get a handcart for you if you like.”
“No, it’s fine. I’m parked right across the street.” I stared down at the boxes and thought again how sad it was that three years of my husband’s life had been relegated to this. “Are the boxes heavy?”
She shook her head. “Just files and a few pictures, I think. Of course, Mr. Reinhart had someone go through them first. You know, after everything that happened.”
Puzzled, I stared at her. “After what happened?”
Her cheeks became tinged with pink. “When Dylan was fired, of course.”
I blinked. No, I must have heard her wrong. This was some sort of mistake. “What are you talking about, Olivia? Dylan wasn’t fired.”
Olivia’s eyes widened slowly, and she started to stammer. “Um, if you’ll…ah, excuse me, I need to get back to my desk. I think I hear the phone ringing.” She headed for the hallway.
“Wait a minute!” I grabbed Olivia’s arm. “Please tell me what you’re talking about.”
Olivia stared down at the floor. “God, Tessa, I—”
“What makes you think Dylan might have been fired?” It was impossible. He’d deposited money faithfully in the bank every week. He never missed a day of work. She must have gotten it wrong.
She traced a pattern in the carpet with her low-heeled, black mules. “I don’t know exactly what happened. It was a few weeks before he died and seemed to come out of left field. Everyone was shocked when they found out. Dylan stormed out of here one day without a word to anyone. The next day I needed his signature on something, and Mr. Reinhart told me that he wouldn’t be coming back.”
Relief soared through me. “So maybe Dylan wasn’t fired. He might have quit instead.” Although I had no idea why he’d do something like that without consulting me first.
Olivia shook her head. “Judy, who works in the office next to Mr. Reinhart, said he was definitely fired.” She flinched under my gaze. “Please don’t say I told you. I don’t want to get into trouble.”
For a minute all I could do was stand there, dumbstruck. I placed my hand on the box to steady myself. “Why was he fired, Olivia? Did the company have to downsize? I don’t understand what happened.”
She gave a small shrug. “I’m not sure either.”
“Where is Mr. Reinhart?” I poked my head out Dylan’s door and peered into the hallway.
Olivia started inching away from me, down the hall toward her desk. “Um, he asked that he not be disturbed.”
“Forget it.” I dismissed her with a wave of my hand and started in the opposite direction. “I remember where his office is.”
Olivia hurried after me as fast as her bulging belly would allow. “No, you can’t!” Her voice was panicked. “He hates being disturbed when he’s in the middle of something.”
“Well, this can’t wait.” I strode to the office at the end of the hallway. Ned Reinhart’s door was partially open. He was on the phone and sitting behind a marble-topped desk with his leather swivel chair facing the window as he stared out at the busy streets of Alba
ny below.
“Yeah, that’s right,” he muttered into the receiver. “The woman’s threatening to sue because she claims the doctor came on to her. This would be extremely high profile, and we can’t have that. Get our legal department involved right away.”
He must have caught sight of my reflection in the window because he suddenly whirled around to face me. Recognition set in immediately, and the look on his face changed from one of irritation to shock. “I’ll call you right back.” He slammed the office phone down into its cradle and stared up at me. “Mrs. Esposito. I thought you weren’t coming till this afternoon.”
Olivia was standing to my left, a distressed look on her face. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Reinhart. I said that you asked not to be disturbed.”
He glowered at Olivia. “You can waddle back to your desk now, Mrs. Moore.”
His words horrified me, but Olivia merely bowed her head and backed out of the room in a hurry.
I’d met Ned before, but we’d never exchanged more than a “Nice to see you” or “Happy holidays.” He was the image of a professional with his immaculate gray suit, white oxford shirt, and black-and-gray-striped tie. I judged him to be in his midfifties.
Dylan had never liked his boss but in the last few months had stopped complaining about him, which I took as a sign they’d reached a truce. But as Ned stared at me now, he seemed anything but friendly. I paused, suddenly feeling foolish. “I promise not to take up much of your time.”
He grimaced. “I have a conference call in ten minutes, so let’s make this quick. What do you need?” Grudgingly, he gestured at a light-blue padded chair in front of his desk. “Sit down, if you wish.”
I accepted the chair and clutched my purse tightly in a useless effort to keep my hands from shaking.
Ned cleared his throat and looked uncomfortable. “Uh, I’m sorry about Dylan’s passing. It was a shock to all of us. Did you need any help with transporting his personal items to your car?”
In my opinion, he didn’t act sorry. Was this why no one at Dylan’s workplace had barely acknowledged his death—because he’d been terminated? My patience was wearing thin, so I cut right to the chase. “Why was Dylan fired, Ned?”
His eyes went wide with alarm, and he rose from his seat to shut the office door. “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to give you any information about that.”
Then it really was true. I bit my lower lip. “Please. I only recently found out. Dylan never mentioned it to me.”
Ned’s jaw went slack as he sat back down. “He never told you that he was fired?”
I shook my head.
He studied me for a second, doubt registering on his angular face. “How could you not have known? That was what—almost two months ago?” He ran a hand nervously through his disheveled gray hair. “Pardon me, Mrs. Esposito. Your private life is none of my concern.”
“Please.” I reached across the desk and touched his hand. “I won’t hold you accountable for anything. No one will ever find out that you told me. This is my husband we’re talking about, and I need to know what happened.” For my own sanity. “Was Dylan’s work not up to par? Did he call in sick or take long lunches?”
Ned rose from his chair and opened the door for me. “I’m very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Esposito, but it would be best if you left now.”
He wouldn’t look at me as I passed in front of him, his gaze fixed intently on the plush carpeting. The door closed quietly behind me.
My grief had turned to anger, vicious and bitter in my gut. Ned was only concerned with We Care’s reputation. He didn’t care about Dylan and probably never had. My husband was dead. What did it matter if Ned told me the real reason he’d been fired? Ned clearly didn’t know who he was dealing with, and I was determined to find answers.
My knees shook as I walked back to Dylan’s office and lifted the two boxes from his closet. I was tempted to remove the lids and start sifting through the items right there but forced myself not to. Maybe I should have taken Olivia up on her offer of a hand truck. The boxes were not heavy, but it would be difficult for me to carry both at the same time.
While I stood there debating what to do next, a young man with bleached-blond hair and a gold hoop in his left ear stuck his head in the doorway. “Hey, Mrs. Esposito. Olivia said you were in here. Need a hand?”
Chuck Saxton was a fresh-faced kid barely out of his teens who had recently graduated from a two-year community college. He performed various maintenance and administrative tasks for the firm along with other jobs that the more-seasoned employees threw at him. He’d once even gone out of his way to bring Dylan his cell phone when he’d left it at work. Dylan had said that Chuck was a faithful employee and a good guy to have around.
“Yes, please. If you have a couple of minutes to spare, that would be great. I have to transport these boxes down to my car.”
Chuck lifted both boxes effortlessly in his arms. “Sure, no problem. Where are you parked?”
“At a meter across the street.” We walked past Olivia’s reception counter, empty and silent except for the persistent ringing of her phone. I ran ahead of Chuck and held the door open for him. “Can I carry one of those?”
“Nah, I’ve got them.” He watched me with unabashed curiosity as I pushed the button for the elevator. When our gazes met, he lowered his eyes to the floor. “I was really sorry to hear about Dylan, Mrs. Esposito.”
“Thank you.” The elevator pinged, and I let Chuck enter first, then pressed L for the lobby. Mercifully, we were alone, because I didn’t want anyone else to overhear what I was about to ask him. “Actually, I was wondering if you could answer some questions for me about Dylan.”
He smiled, but I glimpsed a bit of uneasiness in his bright-blue eyes. “Uh, sure. I wish I could have come to the funeral. It was the same day as my cousin’s wedding and I—”
The elevator doors opened, and we walked past a couple of women chatting in the lobby. “No, that’s not what I meant. I was wondering if you knew anything about Dylan getting fired.”
He scanned the lobby with a nervous air, as if afraid someone was watching us. “Not much, but yeah, I think all the employees know he didn’t quit. Everyone here liked Dylan.”
Gingerly, I pushed open the door adjacent to the revolving door and held it for Chuck. He followed me across the street to my car, and I opened the trunk for him. “Are you sure? Was there anyone who didn’t like him? Ned, perhaps?”
Chuck’s fair complexion turned a deep shade of red as he set the boxes inside my trunk. “Mrs. Esposito, I don’t want to get involved.”
“Please, Chuck.” The urgency in my tone must have been palpable. “No one will tell me anything. Whatever you say will remain between the two of us. You have my word.”
He squirmed under my gaze. “I don’t know—”
I held up a hand. “Try to see this from my point of view. I only found out today that my husband was fired. He died in a senseless accident, which I recently discovered might not have been an accident at all.” Okay, maybe I shouldn’t have added that last part, but heck, with the way gossip spread around here, Chuck would probably find out anyway. “It’s not my intent to point fingers. I only want to know what happened, for my own peace of mind.”
Chuck blinked in surprise. “Oh wow. I didn’t realize. That’s awful.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Okay. He and Reinhart always did seem at odds. I kind of got the impression that Reinhart was happy about Mr. Franklin—his boss—firing Dylan.”
I racked my brain to remember the references Dylan had made to Ned when he first started working there—clueless, a micromanager, and not willing to promote from within. “Could Ned have had it in for Dylan? Was he jealous of him? Is that why he was fired?”
Maybe Ned had told Mr. Franklin lies about my husband. Dylan had mentioned that We Care’s budget was tight, and a few of the lower-level staff
had been let go. Perhaps Ned feared his job was next on the chopping block so he’d made up some lame story to get Dylan axed instead.
Chuck swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. Then he bent his head close to mine and spoke in a voice so low I could barely hear him over the oncoming traffic. “I don’t think so.”
“Please, Chuck,” I begged. “Tell me the truth.”
“I don’t know much,” he confessed. “One day, shortly after Dylan had left, I overheard Reinhart talking to someone on the phone. I was fixing the ceiling light in his office and had earbuds in, so he probably thought I couldn’t hear, but I always keep the music turned real low, in case someone hollers for me, you know?”
“Go on,” I urged.
“Reinhart mentioned Dylan’s name and said that he had recommended We Care not press charges about the embezzlement, so it didn’t leak out to the media. I figured he was talking to his boss, Mr. Franklin. Whoever it was, he assured the person on the other end that no one would ever know.”
The blood started to roar in my ears as I quickly added two and two together. “Wait a second. Are you implying that Dylan—” No, I couldn’t take it all in. “Are you saying that my husband was stealing money from his company—your employer?”
Chuck wouldn’t look at me. Instead, he pursed his lips tightly and nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah, I’m afraid so.”
Nine
This had to be a nightmare. There was simply no other explanation. My husband wouldn’t steal. Dylan had been a good man, and an honest one. The questions started to flood my brain. Dylan was still dressing up for work every day, probably so I wouldn’t be suspicious. Where had he gone instead? To Slice? How had he still been depositing money in the bank every week if he’d been fired? It must have been the money he’d embezzled from We Care. Unless he’d been doing something else deceptive as well? A shiver ran through me.
Penne Dreadful Page 8
