“A father? How old was she?”
“That’s the thing. She sounded a lot older than me. Now the picture you faxed me was kind of fuzzy, but there is no way this guy could be my father, let alone hers. So I say that he’s awfully young-looking for his age. That’s when she says how everybody in the office was shocked when he turned fifty while he was working there.”
“Fifty? Michelle, he can’t be older than thirty-five.”
“That’s what I thought. So I said something about maybe a new haircut making him look younger, and she laughed and said he must have gotten a wig, because he was as bald as a billiard ball when he worked there. He didn’t have a beard, either.”
“I suppose he could be wearing a toupee,” I said slowly, though if he was, it was an awfully convincing one. “And he could have grown a beard.”
“Did he change colors, too?”
“What?”
“After the bit about the hair and beard, I said maybe we were talking about different guys and described the guy in the picture. She told me there must be some mistake, because her Max Wilder was African-American.”
“Are you serious?”
“I’m guessing he found out the real Max Wilder’s social security number, and from that he found out everything else he needed to know to impersonate the man, who anybody in his right mind would hire.”
I’d hoped that something was wrong about Max, but this was crazy. “Why would he go to so much trouble? Not to mention the money he’d need to spend to set up all those phone lines.”
“How do I know? It’s your case. But I was thinking that maybe the lines were already there. Maybe he had connections with a boiler room.”
“A what?”
“You know, for toner phoners and paper pirates.”
Richard sadly intoned, “ ‘O thou monster Ignorance.’ Love’s Labor’s Lost, Act IV, Scene 2.”
“You two are such innocents,” Michelle said, but I suspected she was relishing the opportunity to educate us. “A toner phoner calls businesses to find out what kind of copiers and printers they have. Then he sends out inferior toner cartridges and invoices the company at outrageous prices. If you’ve got a big enough company, or if people aren’t paying attention, everybody assumes that somebody else ordered the cartridges and accounts payable pays the invoice. Paper pirates work the same deal, only with lousy copy paper instead of lousy toner.”
I thought I heard a murmur of “Avast ye hearties” from downstairs. “Isn’t that illegal?” I asked.
“Of course it’s illegal. Why do you think they set up boiler rooms to do it?”
“You mean they call from the basements of buildings?”
Michelle sighed theatrically, and now I was sure she was enjoying her role as lecturer. “A boiler room is a temporary place of operation. They rent some old building, throw together some desks and chairs, and fill it up with telephone lines for calling all over the country. They hire people for cheap, maybe give them a commission for sales, and put them to work as toner phoners, paper pirates, phony charities—all kinds of scams. At the first hint that the authorities are on to them, they close up shop and move somewhere else.”
“How do you know this?”
“How can you not know this?” she replied. “The first week I was at GBS, a toner phoner tried to trick me, but I could tell something wasn’t right, so I checked with purchasing and found out that a couple of other people in the company had already fallen for it. That’s when we started sending all administrative people to seminars to learn what to watch out for. Don’t you remember us sending that memo around telling people not to give out information about our equipment over the phone?”
“I guess,” I said, trying to remember if I’d ever spilled the beans to an anonymous caller.
“I don’t know for sure that this Wilder guy used that kind of setup,” Michelle went on, “but it stands to reason that he did something like that. He’s not just padding his résumé—he’s got to be a full-fledged con artist, Laura.”
“Nobody would go to so much trouble just to get a lousy job at Walters Mill.” I remembered about how Max had worked shifts in every department, and how the mill had been plagued by equipment breakdowns. Then I thought about Max making himself indispensable in the union. “There are only two reasons I can think of for somebody to do all that: sabotage and industrial espionage.” After what Michelle had just told me, I was willing to bet that Max had been busy doing both.
Chapter 29
Before hanging up, I thanked Michelle profusely for her hard work, and again promised to tell her what it all meant as soon as I could. Then, when Richard came back upstairs, I said, “Max has to be in league with somebody.”
“The Saunders?”
“Who else would benefit from the problems at the mill, and who else would want inside information? But then who murdered Marshall? What reason would Max have had? And if he did, why stick around afterward?”
“Maybe somebody found out what Saunders was up to and killed him to put a stop to it.”
“Why kill him? If I worked at the mill and found out that Marshall was behind the problems, I’d just tell everybody about it, starting with Junior.”
“Maybe whoever it was didn’t have any proof.”
“That wouldn’t stop me,” I said. “I’d still tell what I suspected, and let somebody else find the proof. Even the appearance of wrongdoing would be enough to stop the buyout.”
“Caesar’s wife must be beyond reproach.”
“Julius Caesar?”
“Yes, but the man, not the play.”
“Whatever. Anyway, it still wouldn’t make sense to kill Marshall.”
Richard thought for a minute. “Okay, what if our arsonist is a mill worker, and he finds out Marshall is up to something? He gets angry, and in the heat of the moment, hits Marshall over the head and kills him.”
“The autopsy said Marshall died in the fire.”
“But our arsonist doesn’t realize that. The blow was enough to knock Marshall out, and maybe his breathing is shallow enough that whoever it was thinks he’s dead.”
“Okay,” I said, doubtfully.
“So he’s just killed a man, and is afraid people will think it was premeditated. Let’s assume this guy had been vocally against the buyout, so it’s going to look very bad for him. Maybe Marshall had realized he was the arsonist.”
“Are you talking about Linwood?”
“Not necessarily. Linwood wasn’t the only one yelling insults when Big Bill and Marshall spoke at the cookout.”
“True. So the arsonist thinks that he’s killed Marshall. Then what?”
“His first impulse is to hide the body, or at least destroy any evidence of his attack. He knows about the old warehouse, so he takes Marshall out there and burns the building and the body.”
“Why was Marshall tied up if the arsonist thought he was dead?”
“Camouflage.”
“How did the arsonist find out what Marshall was up to without Max being involved, and how did Marshall find out who the arsonist is when even Junior hasn’t been able to figure it out?”
“That I don’t know.”
“I was afraid you’d say that.” Then I cheered up. “You know what—it doesn’t matter. We’ve still got Max Wilder to give to Burt Walters. Between his lying about himself and his connection with the Saunders, that should be enough for Burt to stop the buyout. And with that much information, Junior should be able to figure out what happened to Marshall. Right?”
“Shall we call Burt and tell him?”
“You bet.” I was feeling pretty happy about it, too. We still had work to do where Linwood was concerned, but at least that much would be done.
Mindful of Burt’s wish for secrecy, we drove to a pay phone and Richard made the call to Burt’s office. Richard does have a Northern accent, but nothing like the South Boston one he used for the phone call, so I was sure even Miss Hunsucker wouldn’t know who was really calling. Ric
hard came up with the phony name himself: Fenway, because we’d talked about baseball when Burt was at our apartment.
Sure enough, Burt came to the phone, and said he’d meet “Mr. Fenway” at the same place as before.
We took that to mean the church parking lot where we’d met before going out to the mill, so as soon as Richard was off the phone, we hightailed it to the Methodist church and drove around to the back of the building, where nobody could see us from the road. Burt was already there in his Cadillac, and motioned for us to get in with him.
“Have you got something?” Burt asked eagerly.
“Yes, we do,” I said with more than a little satisfaction. “That file on Max Wilder turned out to be fascinating reading, if you like fiction. He’s been lying to you since day one.”
“About what?”
“About everything, from his name to his job experience to his social security number. Heck, if I hadn’t heard so much testimony to the contrary, I’d suspect him of lying about being a man.” I explained what Michelle had found out about the real Max Wilder, and what this told us about the phony one.
Burt waited until I was done, then said, “I’m not sure how this is going to help me. If Wilder has been acting as a saboteur, how do we know he’s not doing it on his own?”
“That’s the best part,” I said. “Max and Grace Saunders are in collusion.” I explained that I’d seen them together the night before.
“That’s it?” Burt asked. “You want me to go to my daddy and tell him to cancel a deal as important as this one because you saw two people talking?”
“It was the way they were talking,” I insisted. “It was suspicious.”
“Suspicious?” he said, rolling his eyes. “I can’t wait to hear what Daddy has to say about that.”
“Look, if you confront Grace the right way—”
“If I go to Grace Saunders with nothing more than this, she’s going to laugh right in my face, and Daddy will, too. Even if all you say about Wilder is true—”
“It is true!” I said.
“Fine, I believe you. But all it’s going to prove is that I hired somebody under false pretenses, and that I’ve let an impostor run loose in my mill. What good do you think that will do me?”
“What I think is that once Junior Norton hears about this, she’ll be able to find a connection between Wilder and the Saunders, and she’ll probably be able to solve Marshall’s murder.”
“Maybe, if she heard it, but she’s not going to.” I started to speak, but he said, “It’s not that I don’t appreciate the work you and Richard have done so far, Laurie Anne, but until I can get a connection between Wilder and Grace Saunders—a clear connection, mind you—y’all haven’t finished the job.”
“We’ve done as much as anybody could expect,” I said stubbornly.
“Y’all haven’t finished it,” he repeated, “and until it is finished, I still have your word that y’all will keep this information confidential. Right?”
“I suppose,” I said through gritted teeth.
“I sure don’t want to think about what would happen to your relatives at the mill if you broke your word.”
I had to take a deep breath to do it, but I kept my voice calm as I said, “Mr. Walters, I told you this in Boston, but I’ll tell you again. Don’t you ever threaten my family unless you want me to return the favor!”
At least he had enough sense to back down. “You’re right—I apologize. And I do admire all you two have done so far. I mean that sincerely.”
My mama always taught me to say ‘thank you’ when I was complimented, but I just couldn’t do it this time.
“When you can make that connection for me, you call me right away—day or night. All right?”
I still didn’t trust myself to answer.
“All right,” he said, answering himself. “Now I’ve got to get back to the mill. Daddy and Grace are still stuck on a couple of points, but they’re nearly ready to sign on the dotted line. Fortunately, our lawyer is out of town until Monday, so they can’t finalize anything until then, but as soon as he gets back, Daddy’s going to have him draw up the papers. That means Monday is our deadline. If you can’t find anything by then, you may as well not find it at all.”
Richard and I got out of the car without saying anything else, and watched as Burt drove away. Then I started kicking our rental car’s tires.
“That weasel! That idiot! That low-down scum-sucking snake! That—” Being in a church lot inhibited me from actual cussing, so I had problems coming up with words bad enough.
“That scurvy, old, filthy, scurvy lord?” Richard suggested. “As valiant as the wrathful dove, or most magnanimous mouse? A vicious mole of nature?”
“All of that and more! Who does he think he is?”
“A candle, the better part burnt out? A rank weed, and we must root him out? A very serpent in our way?”
Richard showed every sign of being able to continue indefinitely, and knowing just how many plays Shakespeare had written, I decided not to put it to the test. “Okay, that’s enough.”
“I’ve got more.”
“I’m sure you do, but it isn’t helping us finish the job, as Burt put it.”
“Does this mean that you want to keep going?”
“Do we have a choice?” I asked bitterly.
“Of course we have a choice. No matter what Burt Walters thinks, we don’t work for him.”
“That’s part of what infuriates me. I went all the way to Boston to make sure I’d never have to work for the Walters, and then I let myself get trapped this way.”
“You are not trapped. You are performing a one-time service to get something you want. That’s it. And if that service turns out to be too much, we’ll stop. So let me ask you again. Do you want to keep going?”
I opened the car, got behind the wheel, and leaned back to think. The thing was, I was sure that there was a link between Max and Grace Saunders. I’d said over and over again that I didn’t have an opinion about the mill buyout, but if Grace Saunders was the kind of person who’d hire a con man to do dirty work for her, then I didn’t want any Burnettes working for her. It wasn’t just a matter of doing a job for Burt Walters anymore. Now I had my family to protect.
“Do you mind driving?” I asked, getting back out of the car. “We’re going after Max Wilder, and I need some time to figure out how we’re going to do it.”
Chapter 30
By the time we got to Aunt Maggie’s, I had an idea for how we could get Max. I asked, “Richard, would you say I’m a reasonably attractive woman?”
“I would not.”
“You wouldn’t?”
“I’d quote Shakespeare’s ‘Sonnet 18’ and say, ‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate.’ Or perhaps I’d say, ‘Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white Nature’s own sweet and cunning hand laid on.’ Twelfth Night, Act I, Scene 5. But surely I’ve made my feelings for you obvious by now. If not, perhaps we should retire upstairs and—”
“You’ve made them perfectly clear,” I said. “I was just thinking that according to the triplets, Max has quite an eye for the ladies.”
“Not just an eye, apparently.”
“They also told me that he hangs out at Dusty’s. What if I go over there and see if he notices me?”
“Don’t you think he’ll recognize you? You have met him, after all.”
“Then it’s high time I got a makeover.” I reached for the phone and called Aunt Daphine at the beauty parlor, and asked her if she had time to give me a hand. She was awfully curious, especially when I described what I wanted, but either she’d heard Aunt Maggie’s directive about us or she was too polite to push.
Aunt Daphine said she didn’t have any more appointments that afternoon, so she could leave the shop early to come to the house and do the job in private. She showed up a little while later with a satchel full of supplies, and though Richard was dying to watch, she shoo
ed him off and we went upstairs for her to get to work. It took her right up until four-thirty to get everything fixed to her satisfaction. Of course, it might have gone faster if we hadn’t been laughing so much.
To test how successful Aunt Daphine had been, I had her go down to the den to distract Richard while I sneaked outside. Then I rang the doorbell and waited for him to open the door.
“Yes?” he said.
“Hey, there,” I said in my phoniest Southern accent. “Did you call for company?”
He blinked a few times, and started to stammer, “I’m afraid you’ve got—” Then he did a double take, followed by a triple take. “Laura?”
I heard Aunt Daphine coming upstairs, giggling like crazy. “What do you think of Laurie Anne’s new look?”
“It’s different,” was all he could say. Apparently the Bard didn’t provide an appropriate quote for this particular situation. Then again, I’m not sure if anybody in Elizabethan England used hair spray the way Aunt Daphine had on me.
My hair was so big that it looked as if I had twice as much as I really did, and she’d used some sort of tint, too, to change it from light brown to reddish brown. Then we’d layered on makeup twice as thick as I’d ever wear it, with bright colors that I never wear. Aunt Daphine said salespeople were always leaving her samples, and she was glad for an excuse to use them all up. The result was pure bimbo, if one could be said to be pure and a bimbo at the same time.
Aunt Daphine gathered up her supplies and left after that, lamenting the fact that she didn’t have a camera. I did ask her if there was anything special I should do to keep from smudging my makeup or messing up my hair, but she assured me that I’d have to work at it to destroy the effect she’d created. Then she giggled more, which made me wonder how I was going to get it all off.
“What do you really think?” I asked Richard once she was gone.
Toni L.P. Kelner - Laura Fleming 06 - Death of a Damn Yankee Page 17
