1 Assault with a Deadly Glue Gun

by Lois Winston

  He tried another tack. "We need the Internet for homework."

  "You can use the computers at school and the library when you have to go online."

  "But, Mom-"

  "No buts. Desperate times call for desperate measures. I got through school without an Internet connection in my home, and you can, too."

  "They didn't have Internet in the Stone Age," he said.

  "And I survived in spite of it." "

  I suppose this means no car, huh?" asked Alex.

  Karl had promised him one for his seventeenth birthday. Karl's company car was reclaimed from the airport parking garage the day after his death. We had one car and would have only one car for a very long time to come.

  "Definitely out of the question." I didn't add that he'd have to postpone getting his license because we couldn't even afford the additional auto insurance. One whammy at a time was my new mantra.

  "What about Grandmother Lucille?" asked Nick.

  "What about her?"

  Nick scrunched up his face. "Does this mean she's going to live with us forever?" He glanced at his brother. "No offense, bro, but sharing a room with you really sucks."

  "You're the slob," said Alex, jabbing his brother in the shoulder.

  "You snore," retaliated Nick.

  "She's the only family we have," I said, "and she has nowhere else to go"

  "There's no old age home for crotchety commies?" asked Alex.

  "Not that I know of."

  "So we're stuck with her?" asked Nick.

  "We're stuck with her."

  Both boys groaned. Of all the ugly truths of our new situation I'd just hit them with, I think that was the one hardest for them to accept.

  By eleven o'clock the next morning, I was on my fourth cup of coffee. Once again I had gotten far less than my suggested daily requirement of Zs, thanks to Mama's nocturnal aerobics and my eventual flight to the den sofa.

  It's not that I didn't have the courage of my convictions. I fully intended to lay down the law and make Lucille and Mama share Nick's bedroom last night. However, Lucille threw a monkey wrench into my plans when she locked herself and Mephisto inand Mama out-of the bedroom after Harley and Fogarty left.

  While we were all gone yesterday, that conniving commie hadn't been "out all day" as she'd claimed to Fogarty. For part of the day she'd been home having a lock installed on Nick's bedroom door. No wonder she got all defensive when Fogarty questioned her about her whereabouts.

  Anyway, repeated poundings on the door last night refused to budge the stubborn, sulking pinko. I figured she'd at least have to open up to let Mephisto do his doggy business at some point, but no such luck. The dog must have a bladder the size of Texas because neither Lucille nor Mephisto made an appearance until early this morning.

  As I headed for the break room and Caffeine Fix Number Five, I added one more item to my to-do list. As soon as I returned home this evening, I planned to remove the lock from Nick's door. One more night on the den sofa and I'd wind up a crippled zombie.

  I groaned as I entered the break room. Some inconsiderate bozo-most likely one of the chauvinists in sales who looked on coffee-making as woman's work-had finished the pot and hadn't started a fresh one.

  It's a good thing I didn't know who it was because I refuse to accept responsibility for my actions when I'm dealing with PMS as well as sleep and caffeine deprivation. I started the coffee and waited impatiently until it had finished brewing.

  "Mrs. Pollack."

  At the unwelcome sound of Detective Batswin's voice, I froze mid-pour. Pasting a smile on my face and still holding the coffeepot, I spun around to find the dynamic detecting duo hovering in the break room doorway. Dressed head-to-toe in black, except for the splotches of yellow and red on the Dick Tracy tie knotted around Robbins' neck, both looked as grim as twin Reapers.

  "Detectives. Making any headway in finding Marlys's killer?"

  "Possibly," said Batswin. "We'd like to take a look in your office if you don't mind."

  "Most of my office now resides at your headquarters," I reminded her as I finished pouring my caffeine fix, "but be my guest."

  A quick mental inventory of the contents of my cubicle revealed nothing that could be of interest to Batswin and Robbins. The police already had my computer and files. And my tools and supplies. Even my chair, since Marlys had been glued to it.

  Yesterday while I gallivanted around Manhattan, playing Jessica Fletcher, someone at Trimedia had removed the crime scene tape from the entrance to my cubicle, cleaned up the fingerprint powder, and installed a replacement computer and chair. The only other items in my cubicle were my coat and purse, a few family photos, a shelf of books, a spare sweater, and an umbrella.

  All the same, I had to force my hands not to tremble. I couldn't shake the feeling that these two were out to get me.

  Masking my nervousness with hospitality, I raised the pot toward them. "Java?"

  "Don't mind if I do," said Robbins. He turned to Batswin. "Fred?"

  Did I hear him correctly? "Fred?"

  "Short for Winifred," she said, her lips thinning to a tight line. "I'll take a cup."

  I poured two additional cups, passed them to the detectives, and waited while Robbins added two packets of sugar to his and Batswin lightened hers with a drop of half-and-half.

  After they had both taken a sip, I waved my hand for them to precede me into the hall. "After you"

  When we arrived back at my cubicle, Batswin reached for a framed photograph of Karl and the boys. She studied it for a moment. "I knew I'd seen him before." She passed the photo to Robbins.

  Robbins took one look at the photo and agreed. "That's him, all right."

  Batswin turned to me. "Mrs. Pollack, would you mind explaining why you failed to mention your husband was having an affair with Marlys Vandenburg?"

  AND TO THINK, ONLY last night I'd wondered if there were more unsavory details I had yet to learn about my husband. Extramarital affairs had not been one of them. In the bedroom and out of it, Karl had given every indication that after eighteen years I continued to light his fire. Even if I did fake my own conflagration more often than not.

  Karl and Marlys? Even if he were cheating on me, the very notion of him with Marlys bordered on the absurd. Marlys wouldn't give the time of day to a slightly overweight, middle-aged, folliclely challenged auto parts salesman. Even if he did bear a striking resemblance to a balding Harrison Ford.

  Come to think of it, given her track record, Marlys had probably spread her legs for the real Harrison Ford at some point. Or at least extended the offer.

  I laughed. "You're kidding, right?"

  The dead-serious expressions on the detectives' faces stated otherwise. "We don't kid when it comes to murder," said Batswin.

  "This morning we received an anonymous tip," said Robbins. "The caller asked if we'd bothered to check out the photos in Ms. Vandenburg's apartment."

  "She had quite a collection of herself with all sorts of celebrities," said Batswin.

  "Hanging on every wall and covering just about every horizontal surface," added Robbins.

  "So? Marlys was a publicity junkie."

  "Yeah, that's what we figured at first," he said. "We really didn't pay much attention to them when we searched the place for clues Tuesday. Figured they were all press shots from fashion shows and premiers and stuff."

  "So we went back this morning and took a closer look," said Batswin. She pulled a framed photograph out of her briefcase and passed it to me. "And we discovered this on her night table."

  My legs turned to overcooked rigatoni. I collapsed into my new chair and stared at the photograph. Karl and Marlys. Looking for all the world like lovers as they snuggled together for the camera. A row of slot machines and a neon casino sign filled the background.

  Every synapse in my brain backfired and sputtered to a halt at the sight of my husband making goo-goo eyes at Marlys Vandenburg.

  "You might want to consider hiring a law
yer, Mrs. Pollack," said Robbins.

  My head shot up. "Are you arresting me?"

  "Not yet," said Batswin.

  "I didn't kill Marlys," I said. "I had no idea she and my husband even knew each other."

  Batswin cocked an eyebrow.

  "I mean, they met once or twice at our annual office Christmas party, but they never said more than two words to each other. Karl wasn't Marlys's type. She dated minor celebrities and players. Guys who came with big bucks and business managers and publicists."

  For all I knew, she'd even dated Zachary Barnes. Maybe I should ask him.

  "Marlys wouldn't recognize Karl if they passed on the street."

  "Looks to me like they knew each other real well," said Robbins.

  At the thought of looming arrest, my brain kicked back into action. Enough whining. I took a deep breath and challenged Batswin and Robbins. "This photo doesn't prove Karl and Marlys were having an affair, and it certainly doesn't prove I killed Marlys. If it did, you'd arrest me now."

  Batswin tapped her index finger on the glass covering the photo. "We've already established you had the means and opportunity, Mrs. Pollack. Now we have the motive. We know your husband left you swimming in debt and at the mercy of a loan shark. Here's why. He was living the high life with his mistress."

  "You found out about the affair after his untimely death," said Robbins, "and killed Marlys for the diamonds to get yourself out of hock."

  The Dynamic Duo had me scared shitless, but they also had me angry, and I wasn't going to let them railroad me. I thrust the photograph back at Batswin and jumped to my feet. "That's a Swiss cheese theory. Full of holes and I think you both know it."

  "Really?"

  "Really." I raised my own index finger and waved it under Batswin's nose. "First, if I killed Marlys for the diamonds, which I didn't, why-as I've pointed out to you from the very beginningwould I bother to inform you of their existence? You're forgetting that I'm the one who gave you the killer's probable motive. If I planned to pawn the diamonds, don't you think I'd have enough intelligence to keep my mouth shut about them?"

  She said nothing. Neither did Robbins. Then I thought of something else. I plunged forward. "How tall are you, Detective Batswin?"

  "What does that have to do with anything?"

  "Humor me."

  "A tad shy of six feet," she said.

  "And your weight?"

  "About one sixty."

  I eyed her from head to toe. "Marlys Vandenburg was near your height but probably thirty-five or forty pounds lighter. I'm all of five feet, two inches."

  I pushed up my sweater sleeve and jiggled the flab under my upper arm. "As you can see, I don't work out. Do you seriously think I have the strength to lug six feet and a hundred twenty pounds of dead weight from Marlys's office to mine, let alone haul her up into my desk chair?"

  "We're thinking you probably had an accomplice," suggested Robbins.

  "Have you found any evidence of an accomplice? Were there rug burns or carpet fibers imbedded in her skin from this fictitious co-conspirator and me dragging her halfway across the building?"

  When they glanced at each other, I knew I'd struck a nerve. Marlys hadn't been dragged from her office, down the hall to my cubicle.

  I continued. "Or are you proposing that we carried her that distance? I've read my share of murder mysteries and watched enough cop shows to know you should have some evidence to indicate how she was moved, and I'm willing to bet she was carried by one person."

  "Maybe your accomplice was a man," said Robbins. "Someone capable of hoisting Marlys over his shoulder"

  These two had already tried and convicted me in their minds. They were too lazy to bother looking beyond the obvious, yet improbable. "Rein in the bait and tackle, Detective. You're on a fishing expedition."

  "Is that so?"

  "Yeah, and meanwhile, the real killer skipped town. Instead of trying to entrap me, you should be tracking down Emil Pachette. Are you aware that no one's seen or heard from him since Monday afternoon?"

  "We have a nationwide APB out for Emil Pachette," said Batswin.

  "Then get off my back, Detective. He's your killer. Not me."

  "We're exploring all leads, Mrs. Pollack. And we're thoroughly investigating all suspects. Including you," said Robbins.

  At that moment my cell phone rang. I fished it out of my purse and glanced at the display. Private Call. Every nerve in my body froze. Private Call had come up on Karl's cell phone when it rang Monday morning. I took a deep breath. "This could be Ricardo."

  "Answer it," said Batswin.

  I pushed a button. "Hello?"

  "You got the money, Sweet Cheeks?"

  "I have the money."

  I didn't bother to ask how he got my cell phone number. He'd already unearthed my direct office line, my e-mail address, and my unlisted home phone number. Chances were he even had my social security number and bank account numbers by now. Not that they'd do him any good, considering both my savings and checking accounts had balances hovering just shy of zero.

  Hell, he'd probably dug up my report cards going all the way back to elementary school. Ricardo was nothing if not resourceful. He'd be a real asset to the FBI and CIA if he wasn't such a sleazeball crook. Then again, for all I knew, he moonlighted as a CI for both.

  He snorted. "So, you had it all along, huh? I figured as much. Safe deposit box, right? A little advice, Sweet Cheeks-don't try to con a con. You're over your head and way out of your league."

  "No. I ... uhm ... I borrowed the money."

  "Not that I believe you, but I don't care if you had to kill for it. Just so's I get what's mine. Now listen carefully. You take a ride up to the Short Hills Mall. At exactly five o'clock tomorrow night you walk into Burberry and buy one of those oversized tote things they sell. The one that goes over the shoulder."

  "Burberry?" I couldn't afford Wal-Mart, let alone Burberry.

  "Yeah. The plaid crap."

  "Why Burberry?"

  "Cause my girl wants one."

  "So buy her one with the fifty thousand dollars I'm giving you. I can't afford a Burberry tote"

  His voice lowered to an ominous growl. "You can't not afford it, Sweet Cheeks. So you better do exactly like I say. Capisce?

  I shuddered. "Fine. Burberry."

  Maybe Batswin and Robbins could swing some additional cash for this sting operation of theirs. I certainly didn't have an extra four hundred dollars up my sleeve. Not after what I spent last night at Home Depot on my do-it-yourself home burglar-proofing kit.

  "Then what do I do?"

  "You go into the little girls' room on the first level. Last stall on the left. Place the fifty G's in the bag."

  "And?"

  "You wait for my call. And remember, Sweet Cheeks, you tell no one." He hung up.

  Ignoring his warning, I disconnected on my end and conveyed the conversation to Batswin and Robbins.

  "We'll bring the money here tomorrow afternoon," said Batswin. "Meanwhile, we'll check the LUDS on your phone. Although, I'm betting this guy uses pre-paid, disposable phones."

  She placed the photo of Karl and Marlys back in her briefcase and turned to Robbins. "Let's go."

  As soon as they left, I collapsed into my chair and buried my head in my hands.

  "What did those two want?" asked Cloris.

  I raised my head to find her standing in the entrance to my cubicle. Erica hovered behind her. "Just bringing more doom and gloom. But I don't buy it. Even with everything Karl hid from me, there's no way he could have been having an affair with Marlys."

  "What?" Cloris's eyes nearly popped out of her head. She and Erica crowded around me.

  "What do you mean?" asked Erica. "What did Karl hide from you?"

  Shit! Nothing like stress and sleep deprivation to induce diarrhea of the mouth. I had wanted to keep that unsavory chapter of my widowhood out of the office gossip mill. I looked to Cloris for help.

  "Cat's out of the bag now,"
she said. "You might as well tell her."

  So I did. Reluctantly. And only after swearing Erica to secrecy.

  "I promise," she said.

  I omitted all the gory details. "After my husband died, I discovered he had a gambling problem. He left behind quite a bit of debt."

  "That's terrible," she said. "I'm so sorry, Anastasia. I wish I could help."

  "You can help by keeping your mouth shut about it," said Cloris.

  Erica cringed as if Cloris had slapped her. "I already promised Anastasia I wouldn't say anything."

  "Just don't forget." Cloris turned back to me. "Now what's all this about Marlys and Karl?"

  "Batswin and Robbins found a photo of the two of them." I went on to explain the detectives' new theory. "Maybe Karl was cheating on me," I said. "He certainly deceived me about everything else. But not with Marlys. What would she see in him?"

  "It's not like he could help advance her career," said Erica.

  "And we all know that's the only reason Marlys put out for anyone," added Cloris. "Have you considered the possibility that the photo was doctored?"

  I had. "I suppose anyone with a little knowledge of Photoshop could have switched Karl for whomever was originally photographed with Marlys."

  "But where would that person get a photo of Karl?" she asked.

  The strobe light in my head flashed on, forcing my brain into overdrive. "He took it when he broke into my house last night."

  I slapped my hand on the table. "Batswin and Robbins didn't notice the photograph on Tuesday because whoever is trying to frame me didn't plant it in Marlys's apartment until sometime yesterday."

  "So who's trying to frame you?" asked Cloris. "Emil Pachette?"

  "Maybe"

  "Or someone trying to protect Emil Pachette." She stared pointedly at Erica.

  "You can't mean Gina!" Erica glared back at Cloris. "Gina wouldn't do something like that."

  "She was hiding something," said Cloris. "It doesn't take a rocket scientist to have figured that out yesterday."

  "No, you've got her all wrong," said Erica. "She's just worried about Emil. Gina would never harm anyone."

  "Not even to protect the man she loves?" asked Cloris.