Crime & Punctuation

by Kaitlyn Dunnett

  “The opening we have is in our publicity department.”

  “Did someone quit, or are you adding staff?” I wanted to ask her about the woman Ronnie had mentioned, but since I had no idea how long ago she’d left and didn’t know her name, that was a non-starter.

  She ignored my question to ask one of her own. “Your last job was as a teacher. Do you have any experience in writing speeches or press releases?”

  “A little.”

  “Any contacts with local media?”

  “I know one of the reporters on the local paper.” That was stretching the truth. I had been friends with her late mother when we were girls.

  “That could be useful,” Ms. Toothaker said, in the tone of one trying to encourage a slow learner. “What about video production skills? We are contemplating making our own commercials.”

  “Sorry, no, but I’m a quick learner, and I have incentive. The alternative to working here is to take a job as a bagger at the local supermarket. That’s not exactly stimulating work.”

  “You’re looking for something . . . stimulating?” The idea seemed to boggle her mind.

  “Stimulating. Creative.” I leaned forward and waited until I could look her straight in the eyes. “I work best in an environment that is congenial and supportive. Nothing good ever comes from a workplace dominated by bullies or prima donnas.”

  She stared back at me as if I’d grown horns. “I don’t know what you’ve heard, but Mongaup Valley Ventures would never allow anyone who works for us to be harassed or intimidated.”

  “Good to know.” I settled back in the chair. “What’s your ratio of male to female employees?”

  Instead of giving me an answer, she said, “We are interested in hiring more women.”

  “Do you pay women as much as you do men?”

  Her smile looked forced. “Of course, so long as they are in comparable positions with the company.”

  I didn’t smile back. Putting men in the top jobs provided a handy work-around to the equal pay problem.

  “Tell me, does Mr. Onslow take a personal interest in the staff, or does he leave that to the executive in charge of PR? That’s a Mr. Van Heusen, I believe. Will he be the one to interview me about the job?”

  My rapid-fire questions had Ms. Toothaker’s brows beetling. She stood abruptly to signal the end of our meeting. “I have your contact information, Ms. Lincoln. We’ll be in touch.”

  The subtext was don’t hold your breath.

  She walked me back toward the lobby, preventing me from talking to anyone else, but I couldn’t help but notice that the secretaries were all female and good looking and that the names on the office doors, except for Ms. Toothaker’s, were all male. We were just passing the one bearing Greg Onslow’s name when a harried-looking young man intercepted us. After a hushed exchange of words, Ms. Toothaker pointed me toward the exit.

  “The door to the lobby is right there. Have a good day.”

  I took a few steps in that direction but as soon as she was out of sight I backtracked. I had a sneaking suspicion that the personnel department had just received the unwelcome news that their head of security was being questioned by the police. It was perfect timing as far as I was concerned. I poked my head into Greg Onslow’s office. The door to the inner room was closed, but a real stunner—ginger hair down to her waist, blue eyes, a figure Barbie might envy—sat squinting at a computer monitor in the reception area.

  “Excuse me. Is Mr. Onslow available?”

  The redhead looked up, mouth opening in a startled, lipstick-circled O and heavily mascaraed eyes widening. I wondered if my question had been too complicated for her. Her nameplate identified her as Jenni—yes, with an i—Farquhar. That surname is an old one in these parts and pronounced “Forker.”

  “Mr. Onslow?” I repeated when she continued to goggle at me without speaking.

  “Oh. Sorry. No. He’s out at Wonderful World. Hey, do you know anything about computers. My screen just froze.”

  “Try alt plus control plus delete.”

  She did, and gave a little shriek at what came up on the monitor.

  Rolling my eyes, I eased the rest of the way into the office and stood behind her to read the pop-up. The need to make a decision had apparently thrust her straight into a state of paralysis. I’m no computer genius, but this was basic word processing. With a few clicks of the mouse, I made the required choices, fixed the problem, and earned myself a look of gratitude that would have been more suitable coming from a puppy than from a grown woman.

  Planting my rump on a corner of Jenni’s desk, I prepared to take shameful advantage of my new status as heroine who saved the day. “I just applied for a job,” I said. “Have you worked here long? Do you like it?”

  I should have known better than to hit her with more than one question at once. All I got was a blank stare. I switched gears.

  “So, what is it you do for Mr. Onslow, besides typing things into the computer?”

  “Oh, you know. The usual. I make coffee and answer the phone and run errands.”

  “Long hours?”

  “Sometimes. I’ve only been here a month, but from what I’ve seen, he works late two or three nights a week. He’s real nice about asking me to stay, though, and then he gives me little gifts to make up for the inconvenience.” She stumbled a little over the last word. Too many syllables, I suppose.

  “So long as he doesn’t take advantage of you.”

  “Oh, no. I never do anything I don’t want to do.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “He’s a widower, you know.”

  “I do know.” Given what appeared to be a 1950s mind-set, I suspected she was hoping to catch him on the rebound. Ordinarily, I’d never call another woman a bimbo, but Jenni Farquhar made me think Greg Onslow must have ordered her up from central casting.

  “You might want to keep in mind how his late wife died,” I said as I hopped down from my perch and headed for the door.

  The warning went right over her head.

  I’d hoped to explore a bit more, but Ms. Toothaker, having dealt with whatever urgent business had temporarily gotten her out of my way, apparently wanted to talk to the boss about it. She caught me coming out of his office. Her smile noticeably absent, she escorted me all the way to the parking lot. I had the distinct impression that I was not going to be called back for an interview.

  Chapter 37

  Shortly after I got home, I had a phone call from Officer Blume to tell me that she had interviewed Paul Klein. She had not arrested him. Since there had been no witnesses to the incident, it was my word against his that he’d tried to run me down.

  Nice, I thought. He’s free to try again.

  She assured me that she was still investigating, but that didn’t make me feel safer. As soon as I hung up, I headed for Darlene’s house. I wasn’t hiding. Not exactly. We’d already planned to compare notes on the information we’d gathered. But I did feel more secure there, right up until the moment when we heard thunderous knocking at her front door.

  “Hold your horses!” Darlene yelled, thumping her way toward the entry hall with her walker.

  I started to call her back, then told myself not to be such a ninny. It couldn’t possibly be Paul Klein. He’d have no way of knowing where I was.

  We’d been working in Darlene’s living room, so I had a clear view of the person who stepped inside. It still took a moment for me to believe my eyes. Alan Van Heusen was the last person I expected to see.

  Papers spread out on the coffee table scattered as I stood, my heart in my throat and my hands already curling into fists. At the sound, Van Heusen turned my way. His eyes glittered with malice when he caught sight of me. “Ms. Lincoln. There you are.”

  He gave Darlene a shove to get her out of his way and stalked across the room to reach me. Once again, he pointedly invaded my personal space. His face was only inches from mine, and it was not a pleasant sight. Anger never is. If he didn’t calm down, he was going to pop
a blood vessel.

  I could see that Van Heusen was having trouble controlling his temper, but even though I had so recently been in fear for my life, I was strangely unconcerned about my immediate safety. If he’d intended physical violence, I was pretty sure he’d already have hurt me. He loomed, but he didn’t touch.

  The man was a bully. He was undoubtedly expecting me to whimper and beg his forgiveness, even though I had no idea what I’d done to upset him. I reminded myself that most bullies are cowards at heart. When he failed to intimidate me, he would fold. He had not yet done so when Darlene, having regained her balance, waded into the fray.

  “You’ve got a lot of nerve barging in here like this.” Imitating Van Heusen’s technique for capturing attention, she pushed me aside, and none too gently either, and thrust herself into my place. Her walker was at just the right height to give him a painful smack in the abdomen.

  Van Heusen winced, but his gaze followed me. “I came to see her.”

  “Well, see her somewhere else. This is my house, and you aren’t welcome here.”

  “Why don’t we all sit down and discuss this calmly,” I suggested in what I hoped was a reasonable tone of voice.

  The two of them shot identical looks in my direction—the kind that silently asked if I’d lost my mind.

  “Let’s start slowly,” I persisted. “How did you know where to find me?” I couldn’t remember having told anyone where I’d be.

  “Your car is parked out front.”

  “Oh.”

  For some reason, that answer threw me for a loop. I hadn’t realized that Van Heusen knew what kind of car I drove. Why would he have troubled to find out? For a moment, I wished I’d parked in Darlene’s garage, in the space Frank had left empty. Then I straightened my spine. Why should I hide? I’d done nothing wrong.

  Van Heusen had retreated a few steps, but he showed no inclination to take a seat. Darlene and I also remained standing, since it would have put us at a disadvantage to have to look up at him. I hid my hands behind my back to conceal the fact that they were shaking.

  “Explain yourself, please, Mr. Van Heusen. I don’t understand why you were looking for me. What is so important that it can’t wait for a more convenient time?”

  His fulminating stare shifted briefly to Darlene, as if trying to decide which of us was the weaker link. Her hands gripped the sides of her walker so tightly that her knuckles showed white and the tension in her jaw offered further evidence that she was upset, but I felt certain she had no intention of letting herself be cowed by the man she called Onslow’s flunky.

  Van Heusen abruptly returned his attention to me. “You’ve been snooping around, asking questions. Why are you checking up on me?”

  “Is that a problem? Perhaps I’m just interested in investing in Mongaup Valley Ventures.”

  “Pull the other leg. You’re trying to pin something on me. This attack is personal.”

  “Paranoid much,” Darlene said, sotto voce.

  With his hands fisted, he swung her way. I spoke quickly to divert his attention. “If it offended you that I was asking about you this morning, I apologize. I was actually more interested in your boss, but since the position I applied for was in public relations—”

  I broke off when I recognized the expression on his face. It was one of bewilderment.

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Isn’t that why you’re ticked off at me?”

  “I am ticked off, as you put it, because you were talking in public about investigating me. You and Joe Ramirez at Harriet’s. Did you think that no one would overhear? Did you really believe the story wouldn’t get back to me?”

  “You’re in a snit because we’ve been looking into your past business dealings?” Darlene asked.

  I tried to signal her to keep quiet, but her flushed face and the stubborn jut of her chin warned me that she was almost as angry as he was.

  “Have you ever heard of freedom of information, Mr. Van Heusen? How about freedom of speech? Surely you’re familiar with that one. Mikki can say anything she wants in a private conversation. Furthermore, the last time I checked, there’s no law against Internet searches. I was a librarian before I retired. We’re big on the idea that everyone should have access to public records.”

  Van Heusen’s glare was venomous. He took a threatening step toward Darlene but pulled up short when Edmund the schnauzer, who had plodded into the room unnoticed, suddenly appeared beside him. Edmund stared up at him with bloodshot eyes and gave a half-hearted woof. Van Heusen reacted by drawing back his leg, aiming what would undoubtedly be a vicious kick at the old dog.

  “Don’t even think about it.” I meant my words as a warning, but they came out high-pitched and panic-stricken.

  Until that moment, I hadn’t truly been afraid. In a flash, I saw how stupid I was being to think I could reason with this man. It had been beyond foolish to taunt him. We were two women of a certain age and an elderly pooch alone with a potentially violent man who was considerably younger and stronger than we were, a man who might well be a murderer and who looked like he was about to explode.

  Van Heusen made an inarticulate sound of rage and struck out at Edmund’s head. Edmund evaded the foot, growled, and grabbed hold of Van Heusen’s pants leg with the few teeth he had left. When Darlene screamed, I fumbled in my pocket for my cell phone, but before I could retrieve it, the front door flew open and Frank rushed in.

  Darlene’s husband needed only one glance at the tableau in his living room to realize that drastic measures were needed. Tossing his golf clubs aside, he headed straight for Alan Van Heusen, who had just managed to free himself from Edmund’s jaws. Frank seized the younger man by the front of his shirt. He might have been twice Van Heusen’s age, but he was in good shape and he towered over him by at least six inches. If they came to blows, it would be a toss-up which one would win the bout.

  “You’re leaving,” Frank said. “Now.” To aid Van Heusen’s departure, he shifted his grip to the back of his collar and frog-marched him to the door.

  Van Heusen didn’t fight his eviction. He only picked on those who were smaller than he was. But he did lob a parting shot at me just as Frank shoved him outside. “If you don’t stop interfering in my business, you’ll be sorry!”

  Frank slammed the door and locked it, then made a production of dusting off his hands. “Good riddance to bad rubbish.”

  “My hero.” Darlene abandoned her walker to throw herself into her husband’s arms and reward him with a smacking kiss on the lips.

  Edmund, unhurt in the tussle with Van Heusen, tried to insinuate himself between them. I sank down into the nearest chair as my knees abruptly gave out on me.

  Frank seemed to enjoy the interlude with his wife, but eventually, about the same time my heart rate settled back to normal, he broke free and demanded an explanation.

  It took a while to bring him up to speed. What we told him did nothing to lessen his antipathy toward Van Heusen, and after he’d heard the whole story, he called the police.

  They took his complaint much more seriously than they had mine.

  Chapter 38

  After Van Heusen’s home invasion, for which he had to spend several uncomfortable hours at the police station but was not arrested, nothing unexpected happened for the rest of the week. I had manuscripts to edit, and since renovations on my house were finally finished, there was plenty of physical labor to keep me busy after working hours. In the evenings, with my new security system giving me peace of mind, I vacuumed up a ton of sawdust, stray bits of insulation, and other debris that the construction crew had missed. They tried. I’ll give them that. But their idea of clean and mine differed greatly. Then there was furniture to be arranged and rearranged. I hung pictures and curtains. I unpacked knickknacks that I’d carefully stashed out of harm’s way and put them on display.

  Calpurnia enjoyed the boxes and the packing paper.

  Before I knew it, it was Friday. Fri
day the thirteenth, in fact, but I decided to ignore that. I was in the middle of a client’s gripping story—her character was trapped in a fallen building after an earthquake—when Officer Blume knocked on my front door.

  She tried to turn down coffee, but when I insisted she didn’t put up much of a fight. A few minutes later, we were seated at the dinette table with steaming mugs and a package of miniature coffee cakes in front of us. It wasn’t exactly gourmet food, or particularly nutritious, but I rationalize that I’m old enough to indulge myself if I want. I also have a stash of Ring Dings in the cupboard.

  “So,” I said when she had had a sip and a nibble, “what’s up?”

  “I’ve come to tell you that we’ve arrested Alan Van Heusen.”

  “That’s great. And Ronnie North? Has she been freed?”

  Blume looked puzzled. “Why would she be?”

  “But you just said—”

  “Oh, I see.” She sent me a rueful smile. “No, we didn’t arrest Mr. Van Heusen for murder. Mrs. North is still being held on that charge.”

  “Then what did he do?” I already knew his behavior at Darlene’s hadn’t rated more than a slap on the wrist.

  “I can’t give you all the details, but the gist of it is that he has a criminal past as a con man under another name.”

  “I’m not surprised.” I took a long swallow of coffee. “So, you arrested Van Heusen for past crimes,” I ventured after a moment. “What about the present? What about here in Lenape Hollow?”

  “That’s why I came over, to let you know that when we put pressure on Paul Klein, he admitted that Van Heusen contacted him early Monday afternoon, while you were still having lunch, and sent him to watch for you to leave Harriet’s. His orders were to put a scare into you.”

  “Is Klein locked up, too?”

  Blume shook her head. “He made a deal to testify against Van Heusen. He isn’t in jail, but he’s no longer a threat to you.”

  “Did Klein also break into my house and steal my laptop?”

  “As to that, he claims he did not. But you were right about the two instances when you thought he was following you. Van Heusen didn’t order round-the-clock surveillance, but he wanted Klein to keep an eye on you. Apparently Van Heusen didn’t believe you when you told him Tiffany didn’t leave anything here except her manuscript.”