It was unlocked, and a glance in the cluttered top drawer proved it had never been cleaned out.
She went through every drawer. If anyone appeared and asked her what she was doing, she’d say she was looking for a book Dinah had lent Ellie. But no one turned up, and she removed everything from the desk except office supplies and stuffed all the papers and files into her big tapestry carryall. There was a lot of paper, but even stuffed, the carryall didn’t bulge. If someone saw her, she wouldn’t look suspicious. She tried to look casual while crossing the hall.
After locking herself in the tiny office, she glanced through Ellie’s papers. One thing was for sure: Ellie was Dinah’s Deep Throat. That tiny writing was unmistakable. She’d seen it on the “Look for the Horses” note that she and Bethany found the first day at DDD&W. But even if Ellie delivered helpful little messages to Dinah, she could still be a killer. Her disappearing act proved she was hiding something.
Most of Ellie’s papers looked like trash, but Loretta found one treasure: a pass card with Frances Johnson’s name on it. If no one had thought to cancel it, it would open any door at DDD&W. Wonder how the Ellie girl got it? Never mind. Loretta now had access to the managing director’s office to photograph the Stubbs paintings, even if she couldn’t get in officially. One big problem solved. She put the card in her wallet and looked at her watch. She could take everything to Coleman’s office and still be back in time to meet Bethany to hang a few more prints.
Coleman’s office phone rang while she was reading and answering her e-mails. She glanced at her watch. Not many people called her before eight. When she answered, she was surprised to hear Loretta’s voice.
“Coleman? Sorry to call so early, but I’m on the way to DDD&W to meet Bethany. We’re trying to hang prints early in the morning when there aren’t so many gawkers. But I need to drop some papers off for you—I’m near your office. I went through Ellie McPhee’s desk, and I’ve got everything that was in it. There’s some interesting stuff.”
“Good Lord!” Coleman exclaimed. “You mean nobody ever looked? I can’t believe it.”
“Since nobody here admits she existed, I guess no one bothered to search her desk. Anyway, may I bring them by?”
“Absolutely. Come ahead.”
Loretta arrived a few minutes later, and she and Coleman laid all the papers on the big table in the conference room. Coleman congratulated Loretta and complimented her on her ingenuity and enterprise. “You’re going to make a great investigative reporter, but please don’t go back to DDD&W alone,” Coleman said. She didn’t remember until much later that Loretta hadn’t answered. She’d just smiled, and waved goodbye.
Loretta saw Bethany in line at the Starbucks near the DDD&W building and hailed her. Seemed like a long time since she ate that bagel.
“How about buying me a small black coffee and a low-fat cranberry muffin?” she called.
“Sure will,” Bethany said. “Wait for me by the door and we’ll go up together.”
The elevator was crowded. She recognized some of the passengers who worked for DDD&W. She saw another vaguely familiar face, but she didn’t associate him with DDD&W. She’d probably seen him at Starbucks or on the subway. She nodded to him, but he ignored her. Maybe she’d seen him some time when he hadn’t seen her.
Should she tell Bethany about her early morning activities? She thought not. Bethany would rant about her being in the building on her own, and she didn’t feel like hearing it.
“Let’s hang prints,” she said.
After Loretta left, Coleman telephoned Dinah and described Loretta’s discovery of the files in Ellie’s desk. “I’m bursting to look at the papers, but I haven’t glanced at a single sheet—I’m saving them for you. One thing Loretta told me: Ellie was your Deep Throat. When you get here, come to the ArtSmart conference room, where we can spread it all out and organize everything. Remember how we figured out things in there last year? Maybe working in there will bring us luck.”
“Wow! I can’t wait—I’ll be there in half an hour.”
Fifty-Five
Dinah felt much better. She had something to do that might make a difference. True to her promise, Coleman hadn’t touched the papers. Ellie was Dinah’s mystery, not Coleman’s.
The material was already partially organized, because Ellie had kept groups of related papers in neatly labeled file folders. Loretta was right. Ellie was her anonymous correspondent—Dinah recognized the writing, too. Maybe the files would reveal her whereabouts and why she sent Dinah the notes. And why she disappeared. Dinah had a bone to pick with that girl—leaving her like that.
The file labeled “Publicity” contained the article with the photo of Coleman and Dinah with Crawdaddy, but nothing in the files touched on the problems at DDD&W or provided clues to the whereabouts of Ellie McPhee, until Dinah looked at a file entitled “House Cleaning.” Had Ellie given it that boring label to deter snoopers?
In it were sheets of paper covered in Ellie’s tiny writing: a diary. She had noted that a few weeks before Christmas, Frances Johnson had wrapped the Stubbs paintings in heavy brown paper, tied them with thick cord, and left the office carrying them to a car driven by Harrison. Ellie had heard Johnson tell someone the paintings were going out for cleaning but wrote that she didn’t believe it. She’d examined them when they were still on the wall, and they looked to be in superb condition. They definitely didn’t need cleaning. Could Johnson be stealing them? She’d followed the car in a taxi and watched Harrison drop Johnson at a narrow building on Broadway in the Twenties. The sign over the revolving glass doors read “Artists Only.” Johnson entered the building, and Ellie watched her take the elevator to the fourth floor.
Ellie couldn’t follow Johnson without being spotted, but when the woman emerged empty-handed from the building and got back in the car, now headed uptown, Ellie went into the lobby and looked at the directory on the wall. She made a list of the occupants of the six offices on the fourth floor, but she hadn’t recognized any of the names. Neither did Dinah. That was no surprise. If the artists weren’t famous and didn’t make prints, Dinah wouldn’t necessarily have heard of them. But Coleman probably would know him.
Sure enough, Coleman, who had finished looking through the “Publicity” file, leaned over her cousin’s shoulder and scanned the list of names of artists in the “Artists Only” building.
“James Turner, Daisy Kelling, Charles Krishner, Jasper Redding, Hester Peabody, and Newt Orleans,” she read aloud. “Everyone has a good reputation—except Newt Orleans. Not that his reputation is bad—he’s just a pushy creep, and I don’t like him. That’s one of Crawdaddy’s names. He’s a photorealist, so he definitely could have made the copies. I bet he’s the one who did it.”
“Ellie had that newspaper picture of him with us in the file, too,” Dinah reminded her.
“Right,” Coleman said. “Hey, here’s an idea. Maybe when Frances Johnson took the paintings to that building, she thought she was taking them to be cleaned, and that Newt Orleans was a professional conservator. Then she saw his picture in the paper with us. The paper described him as a well-known photorealist, with a different name, Crawdaddy. She’d realize he wasn’t a conservator and that something was wrong—”
“Yes!” Dinah interrupted. “Everyone thinks Parker, that horrible Boston lawyer, must have had an accomplice at DDD&W. Maybe it was Frances Johnson, and she called Parker to ask about Crawdaddy and why was he doing the cleaning. Parker told his partner in crime that Frances Johnson was snooping, and her questions got her killed. Or maybe Johnson knew the accomplice and called him directly.”
“And the killer figured out a way to throw suspicion on you by using your tools. I think we’ve figured out why Frances died. But why kill Patti Sue? And who is the killer?” Coleman said.
“Both thefts—the missing work from the Americana collection, and the Stubbs—had to be about money, didn’t they? Could the bad guy be one of those people downstairs? Like the disgusting
Oscar Danbury? Or that awful man Patti Sue was fighting over?” Dinah asked.
“I think it is about money, and your guess is as good as mine as to the identity of the murderer.” Coleman said. “I tell you what—let’s go downtown and see Crawdaddy. I’ll phone him and tell him I want to interview him. He’s always after me to write an article about him. I’m sure he’ll see us. We could go right now, if he’s available.”
But an assistant in Crawdaddy’s studio said he wouldn’t be in until after lunch. She could give Coleman an appointment at two. Would that work? Concealing her impatience, Coleman confirmed two o’clock and turned to Dinah. “What do you want to do now?”
“I want to make those phone calls we talked about. Is it okay if I make them here?”
“Sure. I’ll be in my office. Unless you need me?”
“No, I’ll be fine.”
Coleman disappeared down the corridor, and Dinah took a pen and a lined yellow pad out of her bag. Five minutes later, she was speaking to a friendly assistant in the headmistress’s office at Miss Mitford’s in Virginia, where the Davidson girls had gone to high school.
“My name is Dinah Greene. I own the Greene Gallery in New York City, and I’m helping the lawyers locate and evaluate art inherited by Elizabeth Davidson. As it turns out, there are lots of Elizabeth Davidsons. We’re sure the one we’re looking for went to Miss Mitford’s. Can you tell me what she looks like?”
“No problem,” the secretary said. “Elizabeth is nearly six feet tall, and beautiful. She played basketball here—she was a great player. She became a model after college. I wasn’t surprised. She looked like a model.”
Dinah couldn’t believe it was so easy. “Do you have a current address for her?”
“No. She had an apartment in New York, but we heard she gave it up after her sister died. Somebody said she moved abroad—to France? Or maybe England. We haven’t received a change of address from her.”
“One more question—do you know the church where Margaret’s funeral service was held? Or the name of the minister?” Dinah asked.
“Yes, of course. We sent the details of the service to Margaret’s classmates. It’s the New Salem Presbyterian Church in New Salem, Connecticut, and the minister is named Goodfriend. Unforgettable name, don’t you think, for someone doing the Lord’s work?”
“Uh, yes. Very suitable. Well, thank you so much. You’ve been most helpful.” Dinah ran down the corridor to Coleman’s office.
“Guess what! Ellie and Elizabeth are definitely different people. Elizabeth is very tall, and as I’ve told you, Ellie is a tiny little thing. So we’re looking for two people. The school people think Elizabeth is living abroad.”
Coleman looked up, smiling. “Go, girl! Keep calling! Find the girls’ mother!”
Mr. Goodfriend answered his own phone and was quick to respond when Dinah asked about Elizabeth’s mother.
“Oh, Barbara. We still miss her. She’s a lovely person. She remarried years ago. Her husband’s name is Lawrence Athos—they call him Larry. They live in London. Do you want her address and phone number? I’m sure it’s current because we’ve had some correspondence since Margaret died. You know about poor Margaret?”
Dinah was stunned by the flood of information. She’d braced herself to drag facts out of the man. She took notes as fast as she could, and when the minister paused to breathe, she leaped in.
“Yes, I heard about Margaret’s death. I am so sorry. I would like to have her mother’s address and phone number. Tell me, do you know where Elizabeth can be reached?”
“She lives with her mother and stepfather. She’s doing very well as a model in London.” He rattled off the London address and telephone number of the Athos family, while Dinah took it down.
“Thank you so much. I really appreciate your talking to me,” Dinah said.
She hung up and sat back in the chair, rubbing her forehead. She couldn’t believe it had been so easy. Why hadn’t Rob found Elizabeth and her mother? Too distracted by Coleman’s breaking off their relationship? Not paying attention to his business, and leaving too much to subordinates? Jonathan would be furious when he heard that Dinah had learned in minutes what Rob and his associates had failed to discover. So would Coleman. Come to think of it, she was angry. The cloud hanging over her might have disappeared days ago if Rob had been doing his job.
She dialed the number Mr. Goodfriend had given her and waited for what seemed a long time before a soft voice answered. “Athos Residence, Barbara Athos speaking.”
“Mrs. Athos, this is Dinah Greene calling from New York—”
“Oh, Dinah—I’ve heard so much about you from Ellie! You won’t mind if I call you Dinah, will you? I feel as if I already know you—please call me Barbara.”
Dinah shook her head, disbelieving. How did Ellie fit in?
“Uh—you know Ellie?”
“Of course. She’s my husband’s niece. Her last name is Athos, too. Eleanor Athos. She lives in Los Angeles, but she worked at DDD&W for a bit. I told her to get out when that woman died—I was afraid for her. The police would have discovered her identity, and what she was doing might have been illegal. She was spying, you know. She was supposed to have written you to explain. She said she would—I’ll send her an e-mail, and give her a nudge.”
“Uh—Barbara—I’m confused. Maybe you could give me some background?”
“I’m sure you are confused. Ellie was supposed to write or call you when she got back to LA and explain everything. Well—you know about Margaret’s tragic death?”
“Yes. I’m so sorry for your loss,” Dinah said.
“Thank you. I’ll never get over it, nor will Elizabeth. We blame that horrid Lucas Parker. I’m sure he prevented Margaret and Elizabeth from getting work at DDD&W as their father wanted. It was not getting the job that was the final blow—Margaret left a note saying so. She felt hopeless: her marriage didn’t work out, she didn’t have the money for law school, and then DDD&W turned her down. I’d have liked to go after Parker and DDD&W legally, but frankly, we don’t have the money for lawyers. Larry teaches, and I work three days a week at the library and give piano lessons at home. We don’t have much spare cash, although we tried to help the girls when they were younger. Goodness knows what became of their father’s money. I know he would have made sure they were taken care of. They never had anything. And they had to go to those awful schools. It was a shame.”
“You’re right to blame Lucas Parker—he’s a terrible person. But tell me more about Ellie. I’ve been so worried since she disappeared. I think she knew I didn’t hurt anyone, and I’m suspected by the police of murdering that poor woman,” Dinah said.
“Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry. We didn’t know the woman was murdered, or that they suspected you. Ellie didn’t know anything about her death. She called me right after you told her the woman was dead—what you told her was all she knew. She went to DDD&W after Margaret died, when Elizabeth was also turned down for a job at DDD&W. Elizabeth is a successful model, but she doesn’t enjoy it. She’s brilliant, and wants to go to business school. I wish you’d talk to her. Why don’t you call her? Anyway, Ellie took a job at DDD&W to try to find out what was going on. But you should get the story from her. It’s easiest to reach her in the evening between five and seven California time, or seven and nine in the morning, also Pacific time. She’ll want to tell you the story. If you’ll excuse me, my doorbell is ringing—my next pupil has arrived. I’m so sorry for your troubles. Ellie will help if she can, I know. Let’s talk again soon.”
Dinah could hardly wait to tell Coleman all she’d learned. As much as she wanted to talk to Ellie, she was glad she could rest for a while before speaking to the girl. Her head and her writing hand hurt, and she was tired of listening and taking notes. She looked at her watch—nearly noon. Maybe she and Coleman could go somewhere for lunch and discuss everything before their two o’clock appointment. But first she had to write up a report on her conversation and e-mail th
e information to Coleman, Jonathan, Rob, and Heyward. They always wanted everything in writing. She was glad she had something to report—even if nothing she’d learned would help clear her. The black cloud still hung over her head.
Fifty-Six
As soon as it was over, Blair Winthrop called Jonathan to describe Lucas Parker’s collapse. The Firm’s partners, irate at Parker’s plundering of the Davidson estate and abuse of the Davidson girls, had sent three of their best, including Blair, to confront him.
When his pompous façade was punctured, Parker burst into tears. After he managed to control his sobbing, he whined about his bad luck: he’d done poorly at the obscure college he’d attended and worse at his even more obscure law school. He’d failed the bar exam three times before he passed. Unable to find a job, he’d set up a practice on his own, attracted few clients, and was forced to live on handouts from his exasperated father. He’d hated his father. Why should the old man have success, money, respect, and admiration, and Lucas nothing? It wasn’t fair.
His father’s fatal heart attack had rescued him. Parker inherited his father’s money, and more importantly, he’d grabbed the Davidson estate. He’d looted it ever since, sharing his plunder with the girls’ aunt, Davidson’s weak younger sister, and the ne’er-do-well she married. After the girls’ aunt and uncle—their only relatives—died in the plane crash, the Davidson estate became Lucas’s private playground.
He educated the twins as cheaply as possible and gave them meager allowances. They’d wanted to go to graduate school—Margaret planned to be a lawyer, and Elizabeth had counted on going to business school—but he wouldn’t allow it: too expensive, and they’d learn too much. For the same reason, he wouldn’t permit the girls to work at DDD&W. He told them the estate couldn’t afford graduate school, and he’d blocked their employment at DDD&W.
How had he managed to prevent their being hired? He’d called Frances Johnson, DDD&W’s head of human resources, told her that the girls were unstable, spoiled, and lazy. If hired, they’d damage DDD&W’s reputation. Frances made Margaret’s application disappear and told the girl there was no job available. It wasn’t his fault the girl killed herself; she was always unstable. Later, Frances handled Elizabeth’s application the same way. When he gave Frances five thousand dollars for her help, she’d asked if she could do anything else for him. He was fairly certain she’d meant services of a personal kind, but he’d pretended not to understand and engaged her and her sister for the art projects.
Fatal Impressions Page 21
