Murder in the Marketplace

by Lora Roberts

  Drake wasn’t in his office. I left a message on his office answering machine and put the paper bag in my file drawer

  Then I phoned Mrs. Rainey, my usual temp wrangler. I didn’t say who I was, and she, poor dear, didn’t recognize my voice when I asked for a temp.

  “Would you need someone who speaks English?”

  “The phones are heavy,” I said, taken aback.

  “Sorry, then. There’s a terrible flu going through the offices. I’m shorthanded myself.”

  Two other temp agencies said the same thing. I was stuck, unless I wanted to leave the phones to fend for themselves. Gradually, I began to smile. If I was stuck, so was SoftWrite.

  The phone started ringing, and I didn’t get more than five minutes after that to think about anything except that while I answered the phone, I didn’t have to be harangued by my sister-in-law.

  That alone was enough to make me stay.

  Chapter 19

  Ed Garfield breezed in around ten that morning, accompanied by a positive United Nations of suits—a couple speaking German to each other, an impatient Frenchman who kept asking for “ze pissoir,” two Asians who bowed to me, to Suzanne when she came out of her office, to anyone who moved. If Ed had been grilled by detectives the previous evening, he didn’t show it. He herded his companions into his office, although the Frenchman looked positively agonized. Before closing the door, Ed stuck his head out and looked at me.

  “Could you manage coffee? There’s a vacuum carafe back there, and a lot of cups. Sweet rolls if we have them. I should have thought about this, but I didn’t.”

  Suzanne had avoided being herded. She still looked nervy, and not all glossed up like the veep for software development probably should look. “Potential investors,” she said, meeting my inquiring gaze, her lips drawn down in disapproval. The phone rang, again. “Don’t worry about the coffee. I’ll ask Mindy to bring it up.”

  I nodded my thanks to Suzanne and answered another call. Judging from the phones, SoftWrite had really stirred things up with their new product. When Mindy dashed in with a tray of coffee and cups, and a box of hastily purchased doughnuts from the Golden Crescent, I asked her about it.

  “David and Goliath stuff,” she said breathlessly. “Our personal assistant software puts together a lot of features that were only available on spreadsheets before, to let people use their computers with these little carry-around things.” She pulled one out of her jacket pocket—a small black case about the size of a calculator that flipped open to reveal a tiny screen and tinier keyboard. She punched some of the keys to demonstrate its uses to me. It was the high-tech version of those daily planner notebooks. “We’ve got an interface that connects them, so you can dump things back and forth between your computer and this little manager. One of the big software companies is coming out with something like this—we’ve scooped them.” She took the tray off my desk, where she’d put it. “I’ll take this in, if you want.”

  “Thanks.” I went back to the phones.

  Mindy came out of Ed’s office empty-handed and picked up the stack of messages I’d written for callers who didn’t want to use the voice mail. “My, we’re busy.” She sorted through them. “I’ll deliver these if you want. Are they all for marketing?”

  “A couple of them are for personnel—human relations, whatever. People wondering if you need to hire someone here, now that you’re big and successful.”

  Mindy separated the messages and stuck them together in destination-oriented clumps. “Software engineers—right.” She grimaced. “We’ve already got too many of those, if you ask me. Most of the real work is done by Suzanne and Jenifer—” She gulped a little. “Actually, maybe we’ll need someone after all. Jenifer was really involved in this new product.”

  Once more the console lighted up. Mindy hustled off and I adjusted the headset I’d been wearing that day, to avoid the hand cramps I’d gotten from gripping the receiver the day before.

  Time flew by. I never even got my notebook out of my tote bag, because I spent all my time answering the phone and shuffling messages.

  Around eleven-thirty Angel and Clarice came out to the front, their purses slung across their shoulders. “We’re out to lunch,” Angel said. Clarice didn’t speak, just stared with a look that would have curdled milk. She kept a safe distance away, as if I might throw vitriol or something.

  “Great. Have fun.” My own head was ringing from the phones, and I realized I was ravenous. No one had offered to spell me while I ate, so I took out my yogurt and spooned it up between calls.

  Drake caught me slurping a particularly gooey spoonful. “Hey,” he said, pushing through the doors. “Are you eating the evidence?”

  “That’s a horrible thought.” I opened my file drawer and took out the shopping bag. “Her lunch is in here, untouched by human hands—or at least my hands.”

  He put on a pair of thin plastic gloves from his pocket and pulled the Velcro apart. “Hmm.”

  “See the note?”

  “How do you know it’s a note?”

  “I don’t know, because of course I didn’t touch it or look at it, as Mindy will tell you. It’s a wadded-up piece of paper.”

  “What’s it doing in her lunch bag?” Drake pulled the wad out gingerly. “Don’t want to smear any fingerprints,” he said under his breath. “I’ll just give this to the crime lab folks.”

  “Can’t we have a peek at it?” I felt proprietary about evidence I’d found. “I’m dying of curiosity.”

  Drake shook his head and opened the case he’d brought. It was big and clunky, more like a salesman’s sample case than a briefcase. He took out a plastic bag and stuck the crumpled paper into it. “If someone put this in her lunch bag, it was probably done on the day she died—she wouldn’t have left trash in there from a previous day. Anything that has a bearing on her death has to be treated carefully.”

  He put her lunch bag into the case as well and shut it. “I’m going to go back to Jenifer’s cube and give her desk a thorough going-over. We didn’t really do that yesterday, but now—” He didn’t finish. I knew he was thinking that Jenifer’s death looked less and less like a suicide. “It’ll take a while. See you later.”

  Mindy came up to the front while I was still eating my apple. “That policeman is here again,” she said, keeping her voice low as if Drake could hear her. “Did you give him—you know?”

  “Yes, he’s got it. He’s searching Jenifer’s desk.”

  She looked troubled. “What’s he looking for? I don’t like this.”

  The double doors flew open, and Jason Paston strode in.

  “I’ve come to clean out Jenifer’s desk,” he announced.

  Mindy and I exchanged looks. “Um, Jason,” she said. “Would you—like a sandwich?” She was talking fast. “I’ve got extra. We can sit on the back porch in the sun and have a bite before you have to tackle that job.”

  “Thanks.” Jason passed a hand over his head. “I haven’t had lunch yet.” He looked tired. “That sounds nice.”

  Mindy led him away.

  They were hardly gone when Ed looked out of his office. From behind him came multinational chatter and laughing. Ed crossed the room, nodding absently at me, and stuck his head in Suzanne’s office.

  “We’re leaving for lunch soon.” He made the announcement baldly.

  I couldn’t hear Suzanne’s reply, but Ed’s face tightened. “Well, as soon as you can, then.” He shut her door with a snap and went back into his office, saying something that brought on a gust of laughter before he closed the door.

  A moment later he popped out of his office again, holding the coffeepot. “Would you bring us some more coffee? Sorry to ask you, but there’s no one else.”

  There was him. He could get his own damned coffee. “Sure,” I said, manufacturing a smile. He didn’t even stick around to see it.

  The pots were empty when I got back to the coffee area. Mindy was taking her lunch out of the little refrigerator.
I looked thirstily at the bottles that crowded it, wondering what they were—exotic cola? Tea? Prune juice?

  “That’s Ed’s tonic,” Mindy said, noticing what I was staring at. “Some kind of foul Chinese stuff he swears by. There’s some soda in there somewhere, though, if you want one.”

  “I’ll stick with tea.” The back door was open, leading out to the sunny landing. I could see Jason through the open door, sitting at a table wearily holding his head in his hands.

  “I’ll do the coffee,” Mindy said, after watching me fumble with the filters and spill the grounds. She darted an anxious look at Jason’s back. “He could use a little time alone. It’s rough on him, coming here. He’s really broken up.”

  “Thanks for the help.” The phone was doing its buzz-buzz. I ran up to the front to put a series of callers on hold. When I ran back, Mindy was filling the vacuum bottle. Jason stood next to her, fiddling moodily with a saltshaker. I thanked her again, seized the carafe, and dashed back to my desk..

  Suzanne came out of her office just as I got there. Gone were the faded corduroys and baggy Tshirts. She wore a perfectly fitted linen suit in a pearly gray-green with a teal silk blouse. Her hair was still pulled back from her face, but she’d put on some eye makeup and clipped a bow to her ponytail. She was even wearing stockings and expensive-looking heels. The clothes looked as comfortable on her long, lean body as the grubbies she usually wore.

  She pulled a face for me while I stared at her. “Behold the corporate honcho.”

  “You look the part. Watch out—he’s got a Frenchman in there.”

  “I know.” She took a deep breath.

  I followed her into Ed’s office, carrying the coffee carafe. His room was very different from Suzanne’s. The decorator had been all over it, from the beautiful Oriental rug on the floor to the softly draped valance at the window. His furniture was heavy, dark wood. A door in one corner opened into a white-tiled bathroom. I was glad, for the Frenchman’s sake.

  The same Frenchman had seized Suzanne’s hand, bowing and grinning. I set the carafe on Ed’s desk. He was watching Suzanne, but he noticed the coffee.

  “More java, anyone?”

  One of the Germans glanced at his watch. “Is it not lunchtime?”

  I turned to leave, and they started crowding after me. First the Frenchman, leading Suzanne, with the Asians and Germans on their heels. Ed brought up the rear.

  After they left, the phones took a lunch break, too. I got out a rough draft and did some editing while I finished my yogurt. It was quiet behind me, where people crouched in their cubicles eating sack lunches, or faded out the back door to get something downtown. I had time to go to the bathroom and get myself some more hot water. There was no sign of Drake. Mindy and Jason still sat on the back landing, talking earnestly.

  The phones started up again around one, but less heavily. At one-thirty Ed and Suzanne came back, without all the other suits. They went into Ed’s office and shut the door. A few minutes later, after the intercom light had flashed, Larry ambled past, leered at me, and went into the office.

  Jason Paston came out to the front, escorted by Mindy, whose eyes were soft behind her big-lensed glasses. “I guess I’ll come back Monday to get Jenifer’s stuff,” he told her, taking her hand. “Thanks so much for listening. I—I’d better get going now.”

  They were still standing there when the door to Ed’s office burst open.

  Suzanne ran out, awkward in her high heels. From the office behind her came a terrible sound of retching and gagging, accompanied by thumps and crashes.

  “Get the paramedics, quick!” Suzanne’s face was white. “Get Poison Control. Get help!”

  I dialed 911 while Mindy ran for the phone in Suzanne’s office. Jason sank into the client chair, looking pale. Suzanne rooted around in the lower drawers of my desk, finally finding the first-aid kit she wanted. The 911 operator was asking me questions I couldn’t answer. I shoved the phone at Suzanne, but she was no help. “Get someone here right away,” she yelled. “They’re dying!” She flung the receiver back at me and ran back into Ed’s office.

  “Some kind of poison, she thinks,” I told the operator. “All I know is someone’s retching like his guts are coming out.” I could hear that much.

  Sirens sounded outside—University Avenue is close to Stanford Hospital and a fire station, but the traffic often makes the ambulances slow in the streets. This one sounded like it was puffing up on the sidewalk right under the windows. If they hadn’t been so high, we probably could have seen flashing lights.

  Mindy came back as the paramedics charged up the stairs. Drake ran into the room, his big case banging against his leg. He dropped it beside my desk and disappeared into Ed’s office without a word. I held the glass doors open, pointing the paramedics’ way.

  Jason grabbed Mindy’s hand. “What happened?” His skin glistened pallidly. “Who’s ill?”

  “Ed and Larry, I guess.” Mindy nibbled at her lower lip. She took off her glasses to wipe her eyes. “I don’t know what’s going on.” She turned to me, but I shook my head.

  There was a lot of seething action in Ed’s office. Suzanne stood against the wall just outside the door, her hands clutched tightly in front of her, the tendons standing out like a weightlifter’s. Her eyes were closed, her whole face tight with agony.

  EMTs rushed in and out; the sounds of frenetic activity came from the office. The retching noises had been succeeded by groaning. Then the paramedics charged into the reception room with their burdens.

  Larry was strapped onto a stretcher, his pudgy body arched despite the restraint around his chest. His eyes looked glazed and dull; his face was fixed in a horrible kind of grin. Ed was also strapped on; he quivered with convulsions and his mouth, too, was open in a wide grimace. Only his eyes looked human, and they were horribly frightened. Suzanne ran beside the stretcher, but she got left behind at the glass doors. As the stretcher passed, Ed saw me, and his eyes changed. His tongue pawed desperately at the air, trying to make contact with his widely stretched lips, trying to say something.

  Then the glass doors swung shut, and Suzanne collapsed onto the edge of my desk, weeping into her hands. “He’s going to die,” she moaned. “I know he’s going to die.”

  Chapter 20

  The reception area was crowded with exclaiming, anxious people. Suzanne made an effort to pull herself together. “We have to do something—tell someone. The police.”

  A few of the engineers melted discreetly away when they heard that.

  “Yes, we should.” Jason glanced at me and looked away.

  Suzanne looked at me, too. “Can you—”

  “The police are here.” I nodded at Ed’s office. Drake stood there; his face was blank, but I could see that his mouth was held tight.

  Everyone stopped milling around and looked at Drake. He came over to my desk and picked up his case. “Call Bruno,” he said.

  I started dialing.

  “We’ll be taking statements from everyone. It may take a while. If you were in here when it happened, stay. If not, go back to your desks. Nobody leaves.” He sized up Suzanne, whose white face was streaked with tears, and turned to Mindy. “Lock the back door. Nobody goes in or out.”

  “Here’s Detective Morales.” I held the receiver out to Drake.

  “I’ll take it in the other office.” He put his case under my desk. “Keep an eye on that for me, will you? And Liz? The same thing up here, okay? Nobody gets past you, in or out.”

  People left to go back to their cubicles, except for Angel and a few others who clustered around Suzanne. Jason stood uneasily beside the double door.

  Drake came back out of Suzanne’s office just as a crew of people bustled in through the entrance doors. Bruno Morales was in front.

  He greeted me gravely. “So, Miss Sully. Another death you’re involved in.”

  “Not really, Detective Morales. I’m just answering the phone here.”

  He lifted an eyebrow at D
rake. “You’ll get Paolo all worked up.”

  Drake snorted at that, but let it pass. He turned to Suzanne. “We’re going to be busy in Ed’s office for a while, and when we’re done it will be sealed. The other fellow’s office, too—what’s his name?”

  “Larry Dortmunder.” Suzanne’s voice was dull. “What do you want me to do?”

  Morales gestured to one of the people who’d followed him up the stairs. “Ms. Horton will be interviewing everyone who was in the office at the time of the occurrence. If it’s convenient, we’d like them to leave after their interview. Can you close down early?”

  “I guess so.” Suzanne looked at the policewoman without interest. “You can start with the programmers if you want. I’ll take you back.”

  They went out together. The rest of the police team vanished into Ed’s office. Angel followed Suzanne.

  Jason shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. “What about me?” He looked from Morales to Drake. “I was here, but I spent the whole time with Mindy.”

  “Why were you here?” Drake fired the question briskly. Jason reddened. “Well, I—I really came to get Jenifer’s stuff, but—Mindy had an extra sandwich and we got talking—”

  Morales and Drake looked at each other in the kind of silent communion married people sometimes have. “You can go, then,” Bruno said in his gentle voice. “We shall call you if we want to talk to you, Mr. Paston.”

  Jason left. Bruno disappeared into Ed’s office. Drake and I were alone in the room.

  He stood where he was, staring into nothing. I took a couple of calls. One of them asked for Ed. I said he was out of the office.

  “I can’t get over it.” Drake perched on the edge of my desk. He rubbed his eyes and put his glasses back on. “Right under my nose. I was right here, and someone slips two people a mickey.”

  “Whoever did it probably didn’t even know you were here.” I switched the phones onto the automatic answerer and took off my headset. “Did anyone see you back there in Jenifer’s cube?”