“He got involved with someone at March Homes,” I guessed.
“More than once,” Bonnie confirmed. “It seemed like he thought of the bull pen as his own personal happy hunting ground. Usually, he didn’t get in too much trouble. That boy had charm to spare when he needed it. But once or twice that kind of risky business came back and bit him in the butt.”
“How?” I asked. “Who are we talking about?”
Bonnie lowered her voice, even though there was no one within earshot. I leaned in closer across the small table to hear.
“Melissa McEvoy, for one.”
“As in Walt McEvoy?”
Bonnie nodded. “She’s his wife. Now, let me be clear. This is past history I’m talking about. Three or four years, at least. That boy, I don’t know what he was thinking. It’s one thing to dip your pen in the company inkwell, but to go after another senior officer’s wife? That’s just way out of bounds.”
“Then what happened?”
“Somehow Walt found out. I don’t even know how it all blew up, but when it did, it got ugly fast. Next thing, Andrew and Walt were threatening to come to blows in the conference room. A couple of the other guys had to pull them apart. And suddenly something that should have been a private matter had everybody in the whole building talking about it.”
“But they continued to work together?” I asked incredulously.
“Not easily. And not happily, either. Mr. March had to get himself back in the office and smooth things over personally. He told Walt he’d be foolish to throw away a career opportunity like the one he had here over something as meaningless as an affair.”
“That must have gone over well,” I said drily.
“Probably not, but it didn’t matter. One way or another, Mr. March got the job done. Eventually, Andrew and Walt shook hands and made up. At least publicly, anyway.”
“And in private?”
“If I had to guess, I’d say that there are still some bitter feelings there and they’ve been festering for a long time.”
Amazing, I thought, that March hadn’t deemed this fracas important enough to mention when he’d spoken so fondly of his son’s handpicked successor.
“You said there’d been a couple of times.... What else?”
“George,” said Bonnie. “Has anyone told you about him?”
“No. Who is he?”
“George Weiner. He worked for March Homes for five years. Then he was passed over for a promotion, which he thought he should have gotten. He quit his job and sued.”
“For what?”
“Sexual discrimination.”
“Did he have a valid complaint?”
“George thought so.”
“Did anybody else?”
Bonnie smiled. “You mean, besides his lawyer?”
“It sounds like you weren’t entirely convinced.”
“You got it.”
She picked up her second tart and bit into the flaky crust. It looked so good that I considered going back for seconds myself. Then I thought about the size of my pants versus that of my hips and asked another question instead.
“When did this take place?”
“George quit the company last fall. We got notice of the lawsuit right before Christmas. As far as I know, the legal department’s still deciding which way to go with it. But Andrew was adamant. He wasn’t going to settle under any circumstances. He wanted to take the case to court.”
That seemed like an unexpected position for him to take. Based on what I’d learned so far, Andrew’s decision would have been directly opposed to company policy.
“Do you know why he felt that way?” I asked.
“He said the suit had no merit, and he was sure that a judge would agree.”
“What do you think?”
Bonnie’s shoulders lifted in a small shrug. “To tell you the truth, I’m not sure. George’s claim is that Andrew favored women when it came time to make promotions—and that he especially favored women who were willing to trade sexual favors for advancement. George contended that, as a man and through no fault of his own, he had no possibility of fair treatment at March Homes.”
“Was he right?”
“Hard to tell, really. Maxine—she’s the woman who got the promotion George didn’t—she’s a real hard worker. But George had been with the company longer. I guess he figured he had seniority.”
I sipped my latte and thought about what she’d said.
“The fact that George had been at March Homes for a while means he probably knew about the company’s propensity to settle lawsuits rather than defend them,” I said after a minute. “It could be that he initiated his case under the assumption that it would never go to court—especially since what he was alleging could be seen as potentially embarrassing to the company.”
“That makes sense,” said Bonnie. “Do you think it matters?”
“It might, if the only thing standing between George and an easy settlement was Andrew’s determination to fight him to the bitter end.”
Bonnie smiled admiringly. “You have a devious mind. I like that in a woman.”
“It’s one of my better qualities,” I told her. “Thank God I have a couple.”
She saw me eyeing the last piece of hazelnut tart. Bonnie pushed the plate across the table. “Go ahead and finish it. I’ve had plenty.”
I was happy to comply. I washed it down with the last of my latte. I guessed we were about done.
“You’ve been pumping me for information,” said Bonnie. “Now it’s my turn.”
Or maybe not. I stared at her with interest.
“Andrew’s girlfriend, Julia? She used to come into the office sometimes. Now that he’s gone, what’s going to happen to her?”
That was a question I hadn’t expected. “You do know that she and Andrew had broken up, right?”
“Pffft!” Bonnie brushed a hand through the air. “Those two were always breaking up. And then they’d turn around two weeks later and get right back together again. It was just their way of doing things.”
“You and Julia must have been friends,” I said.
First Charlotte, then Sherm, and now Bonnie. It looked as though Andrew’s ex had supporters in all sorts of interesting places.
“That girl makes friends easily. We’d talk sometimes when she came to meet Andrew. Most people coming to see the boss, they didn’t even notice me. But Julia did. She cares about people.” Bonnie shook her head. “Probably more than anybody ever bothered to care about her.”
“Julia has moved into an apartment in Norwalk,” I said. “I got the impression things are a little difficult for her right now.”
“Because of the baby?”
“You know about that?”
Bonnie laughed. “I had three of my own. I think I probably knew before she did.” Then her smile faded. “Julia’s not as strong as she wants people to think. She needs someone to take care of her.”
“Unfortunately, that person won’t be Edward March,” I told her.
“Kind of a shame the way things turned out,” said Bonnie. “Somebody up and killed the son. They should have gone after the father.”
Chapter 19
I’d just turned out of the Starbucks parking lot when my cell phone rang. A glance at the screen revealed a number but no ID. I pulled off my glove, transferred the steering wheel to my other hand, and fitted the phone to my ear.
“Melanie?” said a breathless voice. “It’s Charlotte. Can you come right away?”
“I’m in Wilton,” I told her. Spurred by the urgency in Charlotte’s tone, I put on my turn signal and pulled into the fast lane. “Not too far north of the parkway. I can probably be there in fifteen minutes—”
“Please hurry. I didn’t know who else to call.”
“I’m on my way. What’s going on? What’s the matter?”
“Detective Wygod just called. Do you remember him?”
“Sure.”
“He’s coming here,” said
Charlotte. “I think he’s going to arrest Mr. March.”
Well, damn.
“March needs to call his lawyer,” I said quickly. “Legal representation will be a lot more useful to him than I will.”
“I told him that,” Charlotte wailed. “But he won’t do it. Mr. March thinks that having a lawyer here will make him look guilty. He said the detective just wants to talk to him, to go over some of his statements again.”
“Okay calm down for a minute,” I said. My foot eased up off the gas pedal. “That doesn’t sound so bad. Talking is a long way from making an arrest.”
“Maybe.” Charlotte didn’t sound convinced. “But Mr. March calls the police station constantly, looking for news. He’s always complaining that he can barely even get the detective on the phone. So why would Wygod suddenly decide to come here?”
“Maybe he’s coming to tell March to stop bugging him and let him do his job,” I said. I was only half kidding.
“Just come,” Charlotte said softly. “So he won’t have to meet with the detective alone. Please?”
“Now I’m ten minutes away,” I told her. “Don’t worry. I’ll see you soon.”
A plain, unmarked sedan was already parked in the driveway when I arrived. Charlotte had the front door open before I’d even parked my car. The moment I entered the house, she grabbed my coat and purse and pushed me down the hall.
“They’re in the library,” she said.
Of course. Where else would they be?
Not unexpectedly, the door was closed. “Do they know I’m coming?” I asked, pausing in front of it.
Charlotte hesitated, then shook her head. “I didn’t have a chance to tell Mr. March I’d called you.”
I didn’t believe that for a minute. So now, on top of being unsure why I’d been summoned with such urgency, it appeared that my presence might not even be welcome.
“I can’t just go barging in there,” I said.
“But somebody has to stand up for Mr. March!”
“From what I’ve seen, he does an excellent job of standing up for himself,” I muttered.
Charlotte didn’t reply. Her eyes were large and imploring.
I looked at her and sighed. Then I raised my hand and knocked.
“What?” March yelled from within, polite as ever. “We’re busy in here!”
I opened the door but didn’t enter the room. March was seated behind his desk. Wygod had taken my usual chair across from him. Both men turned to look in my direction.
“Is everything all right?” I asked.
“Of course,” said March, his voice full and firm. The image of strength he was trying to project seemed at odds with the frailness of his body. “Why wouldn’t it be? The detective is just catching me up on a few details of the investigation.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” I moved forward into the room. “Have there been any new developments?”
Wygod stood as I approached.
“You remember my friend Melanie Travis, right?” said March.
“We met the last time you were here,” I told him. “In the kitchen.”
The detective nodded. “You were the one who asked all the questions.”
Really? That wasn’t how I remembered my participation in the conversation. A little warning bell went off in my brain. Unfortunately, it was too late for me to retreat now.
“Melanie’s good at asking questions,” March was saying. “In fact, I sent her around to talk to some people for me. You know, in case maybe you didn’t have time to get to everyone.”
“Is that so?” This time the hostility in Wygod’s tone was hard to miss. “So you’ve been doing a little detecting on your own?”
“I was simply gathering some information for Mr. March,” I said. I found myself adopting the demeanor I’d have used with an aggressive dog. I moderated my voice to a soothing level and didn’t make direct eye contact.
“I hope that’s all it was. Because I would hate to think that you might be impeding an official police investigation.”
That brought my head up. I stared at Wygod.
“It’s been two weeks since Andrew died,” I pointed out. “How is the official investigation coming along?”
The detective lifted his shoulders in a small shrug. “Like I was telling Mr. March, we’ve been very busy. There are a lot of different avenues we need to explore before we begin to zero in on specifics. I think he agreed with me that it’s always better to have a job done well than done fast.”
March was nodding as Wygod spoke. I was not. All I heard was a string of cover-your-butt platitudes. In other words, it sounded as though the police had diddly.
If that was the case, Charlotte had been right to worry about the reason for Wygod’s visit. The longer the authorities went without settling on a primary suspect, the more appealing Edward March—with his motive and his proximity to the crime—was going to appear to them.
“I guess that means you must have a lot of potential suspects to sort through,” I said.
Detective Wygod wasn’t in a mood to share. His answering grunt was neither confirmation nor denial.
Briefly, I considered mentioning the things that I’d uncovered: Julia’s resentment at the way she’d been treated, Walt McEvoy’s lingering bitterness and dogged quest for promotion, George Weiner’s anger with the company and subsequent lawsuit. Then, just as quickly, I decided against it.
For one thing, I wasn’t sure March wanted me airing his company’s dirty laundry. For another, judging by the detective’s attitude, he wasn’t likely to take anything I said seriously. And since the police would probably have already discovered much of the same information, there was simply no point in my irritating the detective further.
“We’ll keep in touch,” Wygod was saying to March. “Please be assured that we’re doing everything we can to bring your son’s killer to justice.”
He spun on his heel and headed for the door. As the detective passed me, he nodded curtly. “Ms. Travis. Stay out of trouble.”
“I’ll certainly try,” I replied.
Charlotte appeared in the doorway to escort Detective Wygod out. March and I both watched him leave.
When we heard the outer door close, March waved me to a seat and said, “So I hear Rose is still guarding access to Walt McEvoy like she thinks he’s the Holy Grail and she’s the last line of defense.”
“That was fast,” I replied. “I was there only a couple of hours ago.”
March grinned, happy to have caught me out. “What? You think I don’t have my sources?”
“Did your sources also tell you that after twenty years on the job, Bonnie Raye has been demoted back down to the bull pen? Or that the entire office knows about your son’s affair with Walt McEvoy’s wife? Or that George Weiner’s lawsuit against March Homes alleges that Andrew had a history of promoting women who were willing to trade sexual favors for advancement?”
March’s smile faded. For several moments I had the satisfaction of seeing my information render him speechless.
“Where’d you get all that from?” he asked finally.
“What? You think you’re the only one with sources?”
I was only teasing, but March’s expression didn’t lighten. He sat back in his chair and blew out a windy breath.
“Melissa McEvoy,” he said. “That was a mess.”
“I’m sure it was. Why didn’t you tell me about it before?”
“Why would I? It’s over and done with. Everybody put it behind them.”
Or so he wanted to believe.
“Don’t waste your time worrying about George,” March said. He was already moving on. “George is small time. Weiner the Whiner, that’s what Andrew used to call him.”
“If anything, that makes me worry about him more. Aside from not promoting him and blocking the settlement of his lawsuit, your son apparently also exposed the guy to public ridicule.”
March gave a distracted nod. He didn’t appear to be listening
to what I was saying.
“Are you sure Bonnie’s been sent back downstairs?” he asked.
“That’s what she told me. Now that Andrew’s gone, her job has been made redundant.”
“That’s not fair.”
“I agree. Maybe you can do something about it.”
“I damn well can,” March snarled. “I may be old, but March Homes is still my company. Nobody’s going to tell me how to run things.”
He sat for a moment, staring off into space. “Jeez, Bonnie Raye. I haven’t seen her in a couple of years. How is the old girl, anyway?”
“Doing well, I believe. She asked after you.” I figured there was no point in mentioning how she felt about March’s treatment of Julia.
“She would. Bonnie was like a den mother. She wanted to take care of everybody. That was why I made her Andrew’s assistant when he moved up to a job at headquarters. I figured she’d be able to keep him from getting into too much trouble.”
“I’m sure she did her best.” I stood up to leave.
“You never did tell me,” said March. “Why are you here today?”
“Charlotte called me. She was worried about you. She thought you might like some support when you talked to Detective Wygod.”
“That one.” March shook his head. “She’s another mother hen.”
“She cares about you,” I said. “God knows why.”
He cackled at that. “Can’t be my looks anymore. Must be my sterling personality.”
“Must be,” I agreed, heading for the door.
Charlotte met me in the hallway as I was pulling on my coat. “Is everything all right?”
“As far as I know.” I dropped my voice. “Charlotte, what’s really going on?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why did you call and tell me I had to come?”
“I was afraid. . . .” She glanced toward the open library door, and her voice trailed away.
“Of what?” I pressed.
“Let’s go outside,” said Charlotte. “We can go grab Robin and take her for a walk. Do you have boots with you?”
I laughed at that. It was January in Connecticut. I was already wearing them. I had gloves tucked into my pocket, too.
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