Only recently had a familiar, maniacal spark reappeared in our founder’s eyes. A new project rekindled his zest for life, perhaps fueled by the hope that he might, at last, outdo his greatest rival: the even more famous “Imagineer,” Walt Disney. Max Marley vowed to do what Disney had failed to do—create a fully-functioning, utopian community. New Arcadia, already on the drawing boards, would be much more than the theme parks bearing the Arcadia name, it would be the creation of an entire city. It was an enormous project that reinvigorated Max.
“Max, are you okay?”
“Yes, but our company—our good name--is not. There’s been a break-in and shooting. Georgie, I know public relations is no longer your role, but I want you here to help handle the fallout from this mess. Stacy Peterson’s good at her job, but she’s still new at it and she doesn’t have your history with the company. She might not fully grasp how to address this travesty.” Max’s voice grew raspy, wavered, and then broke.
Was he crying? I wondered. My concern for his well-being was growing by the moment. Had this new murder rekindled the trauma provoked by the loss of his daughter, Mallory, in such a despicable manner less than a year ago? Having survived a similar tragedy in my youth, I understood what he might be feeling.
“I’ll be right there. Are you in your office?”
“No, I’m in the Gallery where the devastation occurred. Security is here, and the police are on their way. I’m not going anywhere until they arrive. I will insist they put a full forensic team on this now.”
Uh-oh. I thought. Jack was going to have his hands full. Max had gone from weepy to furious, with a hint of hysteria seeping into his tone. The imperious side to his nature was likely to affect a complete takeover by the time Jack and I arrived at the scene.
“I’m on my way. I’m going to call Stacy and get her to join us, too, okay? We’ll figure out how to handle this.”
“Sure, sure. She and her team will need to get on top of this ASAP. Get her down here.” Conversation over. The call ended.
“Could you make sense of that, Jack?”
“Mad Max is good and mad, right?” Jack knew that our nickname for the genius behind Marvelous Marley World Enterprises was “Mad Max.” It was a moniker that suited Max Marley all too well when his emperor persona took over.
“Oh, yes. He’s not only angry but frantic and loose. I’m afraid for the guy. I don’t mean to suggest that he’s an uncaring man, but it’s not like him to get this upset about the loss of an associate. Even in such a horrible way. I don’t get it unless this is also about Mallory.”
“It could be. You’ve taught me enough about your experience of trauma to believe that. The idea that his beloved corporation has become a murder scene for the second time within a year can’t be easy to bear either.”
“True. He’s also under a lot of pressure now that he’s launched his plans to build New Arcadia. He can’t afford for company stock to take a big hit if bad news gets out.”
“Let’s take my car. I can use my lights and siren. We’ll get there much faster that way. You'd better grab a jacket. It’s likely to be chilly by the time we get out of there.”
“Okay. Riding along with you will give me a chance to explain why Max wants me in the middle of this.”
“No explanation needed. I’d want you at my side in a crisis. You’ve got experience from your stint in PR. I’m sure it’s more than that. He trusts you. That's no small feat given the crock of nonsense his lovely daughter must have fed him about you before her untimely demise.” Jack had a point. Mallory Marley-Marston had not been my biggest fan, one reason why I had come under suspicion for her murder.
“I hope Stacy Peterson is as understanding about Max's reasoning. It’s not easy to do your job with the person who turned it down still in the room. She might feel threatened even though I took the Food and Beverage Management director position instead. On more than one occasion, Max has asked me what I think about something she’s proposed, right in front of everyone. Max was still out of the loop when we hired her, so it could be he’s still trying to figure out whether he can trust her or not.”
“Well, it's a shame for Marvelous Marley World that you couldn’t have taken both jobs. You’re an argument for cloning, Georgie Shaw.”
Incredibly, I found myself smiling. Jack is as resilient as Max is brittle. All the years Jack’s logged as a cop would have worn me down, but he finds strength in holding the line against villainy.
“Miles, you’re in charge while we’re gone, buddy. Don’t let any bad guys in here while we’re out, okay? No running around here like a party animal either, right?”
Miles stretched and yawned, before sidling over to Jack for a goodbye, man-to-man. The agile cat leaped effortlessly up to the table near the door. Miles loved that spot because it’s at “petting-level.” Jack got the message and did his duty.
No matter what Jack said, however, Miles would have his way with the house while we were gone. Miles demonstrates his feline prowess as part of a ritual greeting when I return home from work at dinner time, and again at bedtime.
I dashed down the hall to my room to grab a blazer to wear with the sweater and slacks I had on. The bathroom mirror revealed nothing in my teeth, no hair standing on end, or makeup in need of a touch-up. A splash of red in the jacket helped brighten my mood and added a touch of color to my cheeks. It also happens that red is Jack Wheeler’s favorite color.
“You look great. Let’s go. I hope this teaches you a lesson, though.”
“What?”
“Eat dessert first.”
3 Cel Theory
On our way to Marley World Headquarters, I had another chance to wish I’d eaten dessert first since at the speeds Jack drove, it might have been my last. I hung onto the door handle for dear life, even after checking that I had securely fastened my seat belt. We made the commute from my home overlooking Crystal Cove to the corporate headquarters near Arcadia Theme Park in record time. On a good day, my commute takes 45 minutes. With no traffic slowing us down and Jack’s heavy foot on the gas, we arrived in twenty.
I remained silent as Jack navigated the roadway, lights flashing and siren blaring. I didn’t want to distract him. While we were still winding our way out of my gated enclave and down to the Pacific Coast Highway, I filled him in on the details of my conversation with Max. It wasn’t until Jack exited onto Catmmando Tom Drive, the main avenue that runs through the Marvelous Marley World Headquarters office complex, that I felt it was safe to speak again. I gave him directions to the Gallery.
“Max is talking about the large open area that joins the main administrative building, where my offices are, to the Communications Pavilion. There’s parking just outside, opposite the lot in which I usually park.”
“I know where you’re talking about. The Gallery's not on the ground floor but on a level you get to by using the elevator or an escalator. It exits to a walkway that runs between the buildings, as I recall."
“Yes, that’s it. There’s plenty of exhibition space, so we call it the Gallery.”
“I ended up there more than once while wandering around the administrative building to interview folks about Mallory’s murder. No wonder the thieves got away. It’s a maze.”
“That’s true, but it’s odd. Under normal circumstances when there’s an incident in the Gallery, bulletproof acrylic partitions slide down and close off various sections. Those should have trapped the intruders. You have to wait until security resets the controls to raise the partitions again, unless you have a keycard and know where to insert it.”
I gulped, thinking this might mean the incident involved an insider. It had taken me months to feel at ease at work again after learning what some of my former colleagues had done. Another death, with or without the involvement of Marley World staff, would be an enormous challenge.
The murder at Catmmando Mountain had created a stir that lasted weeks. I had been second-in-command in the PR department at the time of Mallory's
murder. That had put me on the front lines, trying to explain what was going on without interfering with the police investigation or allowing rumors to run wild. It had also been challenging not to let the awful tale of murder and mayhem become the only story out there about Marvelous Marley World. I dreaded the thought of a new fight ahead to keep the All Hallows' Eve Heist from becoming headline news. This would be trial by fire for our new Director of PR.
“Here we go again,” I muttered aloud as Jack pulled the car into a spot close to the door. An ambulance was already in the lot, along with a squad car and a couple of SUVs bearing our corporate logo.
“Chin up, Georgie. This crime scene won’t be as bad as the one involving Mallory. You can hang back and let me go in first if you’d like.”
“No, that's okay. I’m not looking forward to seeing another murdered associate. But what I dread even more is the prospect that someone employed by Marley World was in on this, using a corporate keycard to get away. My skin is crawling already and we haven’t even entered the building. Maybe that’s what sent Max into overdrive. The betrayal by a family member and his colleagues has to be doubly disturbing for him.”
“The Gallery is a public area that could have been targeted by outsiders, but I hear what you're saying about that keycard. Let's see what's going on before we jump to any conclusions.”
A security guard posted at the side entrance took a look at Jack’s badge and my I.D. card before letting us in. I did a double-take at him as I entered the building. The guy had red smudges on his face. He must have noticed me staring.
“Sorry, Ms. Shaw. Do I still have makeup on my face?”
“Is that what it is? Thank goodness it's not blood."
“Not real blood, for sure. I was decked out as a zombie. You know, in the spirit of the celebration going on in the park? I was assigned to patrol the guest parking lots tonight, and we like to get into the party spirit. It didn’t seem right to wear it here under the circumstances with one of our guys down and all. I ditched the costume, but the makeup’s harder to wipe off than I thought it would be.” He had a handkerchief out now and was rubbing away at his face. The streaks on that handkerchief made it clear he had tried that already and failed
“That’s thoughtful of you. Most of the red is gone. Good job,” I said, trying to sound cheerier than I felt.
Through floor-to-ceiling windows, I could see folks milling about in the brightly lit area above us. Once inside, it was apparent that Maintenance Associates were working to raise one of the transparent sliders. A malfunction would explain how the bad guys got away. The escalator was not running, so Jack and I rode up to the gallery level on the elevator. As soon as we stepped out, Max hurried toward us.
“Georgie, at last.”
I fought the desire to harrumph in response to his remark. At last? Jack must have hit 90 on the highway and hadn't reduced speed by much on the city streets. But I resisted the temptation to argue the point with Max, because he did not look well.
“Detective Wheeler, I wish I could say I’m glad to see you again, but I’m not.” Max glanced quickly from me to Jack and back again, perhaps realizing it was more than a coincidence we had arrived together.
“Homicide detectives get used to the idea that we're not going to brighten anyone’s day when we show up. Were you here in the building when all this happened?” So much for the amenities, Detective Wheeler was on the job.
I wanted to get Max off his feet before he fell over. “Let’s get out of the way of the elevator, if that’s okay with you two?” I didn’t wait for a reply but walked over to a set of club chairs off to one side. I tried not to look too closely at the red spots on the gleaming white Gallery walls or the man prone and unmoving on the floor. I sat down in a chair and tugged at Max’s sleeve to get him to do the same.
Shattered glass was on the ground, too. Some of that must have come from the special glass used to shield the artwork from exposure to light. All that remained now were empty frames. The thieves had also smashed a large rectangular display case. Most of its contents were gone, although a few items rested on the ground.
Dozens of articles that had been on display were now missing, damaged, or destroyed. The stolen wall art included valuable animation celluloids, called cels, from Max’s art department days. Many of the oldest were hand-painted back in the 60s and 70s before the switch to reliance on computer-generated animation.
The magnitude of the disaster sank in, and I felt myself growing angry. I flashed for a moment on the image of a guitar smashed to bits in a similarly senseless act years ago. Even worse than the damaged guitar was the fact that two men lost their lives, and had nearly taken mine.
I had been doing much better since the truth of that loss was revealed to me in June. Still, it bothers me that so much damage can be done in a matter of moments, ending a life or undoing years and even decades of hard work.
“Are you okay to answer a few questions, Mr. Marley?’
“Yes, yes. Please call me Max. Everybody else does. I'm sure I've told you that before, haven't I?” Like Walt Disney, Max had adopted a practice that associates at Marvelous Marley World address one another on a first-name basis.
“Will do, Max. What happened?”
“I was upstairs working in my office when I got an alert on my laptop and phone. I called security to find out what was going on. That’s when I learned there was an armed intruder in the building. I did as I was told and remained in my office. It wasn’t more than a few minutes before a security team came to check on me. They wanted me to stay put until they were sure teams had finished sweeping all the floors in the building. When they told me what had happened, I had to see it.” Max stopped speaking and shook his head from side to side, as though trying to clear his mind or free it from an unwelcome image. “I can’t believe they killed Barry. He was close to retirement. I liked him. I used to joke that if he retired, I would too.”
“So, who were the first people on the scene? Do you know?”
“I’m sure it must have been Barry Hall and his partner, Bill Miller. The head of security, Ralph Emerson, is over there talking to the uniformed officers that arrived before you two. Ralph keeps the schedule and knows who was assigned where and when. He can tell you more.”
“Okay, thanks, Max. I’m going to do that next. Did you hear gunshots or anything else?”
“No, my office is on the twelfth floor and soundproof. I wanted it that way since confidential meetings go on in there with discussions about proprietary ideas and products. Like I said, I did get one of those alerts. Did that go out to you, Georgie?”
“Yes, Max. The system worked as it was intended to do. Stacy got an alert, too. By the time I called and spoke to her, she was already heading this way.”
“So where the heck is she?”
“She didn’t have a police escort as I did. I’m sure she’ll be here any time now.” As if on cue, an elevator pinged, and Stacy stepped from a door that slid open and then closed behind her. “Here she is now, Max.”
“Good, good. We’ve got to get a handle on this situation, quick. All we need is more bad press, so soon after…” Max did not finish that sentence. Speaking about the murder of his daughter was still not easy for him to do.
“I’m going to let you all get on with the conversation about how to handle the public,” Jack said. “I know I don’t have to ask you not to give out details about what went on tonight.”
“We understand, Detective,” Stacy said. “It’s our job to manage the public’s desire for information while protecting the Marvelous Marley World brand and not compromising an ongoing investigation. It’s Detective Wheeler, isn't it? I’m Stacy Peterson.”
“Yes,” Jack replied, shaking the woman’s outstretched hand.
“I’m sorry you’re back here on police business,” she said. “Our first meeting was a much more pleasant one.”
I jumped in, uncertain that Jack remembered the occasion to which Stacy referred. “The rec
eption to welcome you as Director of Public Relations was a lovely evening, wasn’t it?” I saw a flicker of recognition in Jack’s eyes. Mission accomplished.
He said, “You’re right about that, Georgie. I wish we were meeting here in the Gallery for a better reason, too, Stacy. I know Georgie and Max are glad you’ve joined them. When you can, Max, will you please get me a list of all the items that are missing? Whoever did this may try to find buyers for the items so we should get on top of that as soon as possible.” Max nodded wearily, as though he understood.
“We’ll make it a priority,” I said. “I’ll call someone from the corporate archives right now. They’ll have all the information related to identification at their fingertips.”
“Any idea what the going rate is for the stolen items?” Jack inquired.
“It varies, but the entire collection is worth millions. One of the cels on exhibit is a rare one, recently appraised at close to half-million dollars,” Max said.
Jack emitted the low whistle he uses to register surprise. “Really?”
“Yes. I hand-painted it myself. It’s one of the earliest cels I created forty years ago for Catmmando Tom. That makes it valuable.”
“More like priceless,” I muttered. Jack still seemed a bit stunned. Mention outsized prices for big-ticket items or sky-high compensation paid to CEOs like our company founder, and Jack experiences something akin to vertigo. Frugal by nature, spending that much money on anything probably seems unreasonable even though Jack appreciates art.
“Why is something that valuable on display?”
“So people can view it.” Max had taken on an exasperated tone that sounded haughty as he continued. “Clara Hendricks has assured me our Gallery is museum quality in every way, including security. Art is meant to be shared, Detective. Hand-painted cels are a part of our history as animators and my personal contribution to that history.” Max did not wait for a rebuttal from Jack but turned to me.
All Hallows' Eve Heist, Georgie Shaw Cozy Mystery #2 (Georgie Shaw Cozy Mystery Series Book 3) Page 2
