by Lois Schmitt
Next, I researched the aquarium’s new development officer, Bradford Monroe. I wanted to learn as much as possible before my interview with him later today. His first fundraising job was for a small museum in Chicago where he started off as an aide and ended up as assistant development officer. After that, he served as director of development for the Throckbrush Academy, a small prep school for boys in Pennsylvania. I checked the sites for both the museum and the Throckbrush Academy, finally satisfied that I was armed with plenty of background data.
Lastly, I checked if there was any news on Jack Patterson’s murder. I found a small blurb stating the autopsy was expected to be completed tomorrow.
I was about to shut down my computer and head to my next appointment when an idea flashed through my mind. I hit the keyboard and searched for Paul Andre. I was curious about the man my mother planned to marry, but to my surprise, there was nothing about him online.
“I guess it’s not that unusual for his generation,” I mumbled.
“What’s not unusual?” A voice interrupted my thoughts. Clara Schultheis, office snoop and administrative assistant to the editor, stepped into my cubicle.
“What’s not unusual?” she repeated, while staring at me over her half moon glasses.
“People in their seventies who aren’t on the web. No social media presence.”
“But many are computer savvy, and many more want to be. Do you know that Olivia volunteers once a week as a computer teacher at a senior center?”
“Her students would be afraid not to learn.” I grinned as I envisioned our editor, Olivia Johnson, as a teacher. “Olivia sizes up people like a fox in a chicken pen. Whenever I’m called in to see her, I feel like a third grader being summoned to the principal’s office.”
“So,” Clara said, peering over my desk and attempting to read my notes upside down. “What have you been up to?”
“Research for my article.” I began logging out. “By the way, where is Olivia today? Her office is dark.”
Clara winced. “Manhattan. A budget meeting at corporate headquarters.”
“Uh, oh.”
“You said it. Know what I was doing this morning? Inventory. Counting paper clips and pens. Can you believe that I actually have to prepare a report on this?”
“Not a good sign. After rationing rubber bands, does eliminating jobs come next?” I switched off my computer and rose from my chair. “Hopefully, nothing will happen soon. But keep me posted. I have no doubt you’ll be among the first to know.” With Clara trailing me, I left my cubicle. She returned to her desk, and I went out the door.
As I drove to the aquarium, I sighed. Ever since watching Superman as a kid, I wanted to be Lois Lane but wound up teaching high school English for more than two decades. A few years ago, when I heard about an opening for a feature writer at Animal Advocate Magazine, I decided to go for it. Someone else got the position, but I was offered an editorial assistant spot with a future promotion held as the dangling carrot.
This past summer, I caught the carrot. I was promoted to feature writer. Now it appeared my new position might be snatched away because of corporate downsizing. I loved this job. And with the loans on Matt’s veterinary business, I couldn’t afford to be unemployed.
Chapter Seven
“Will you join me in a cup of espresso?” Bradford Monroe asked as he rose from his chair to greet me. He had the build of a runner, and his tanned complexion led me to believe he spent lots of time outdoors. According to my research he was thirty-five years old.
“Thanks. I’d love a cup.” Sharing a cup of coffee with the person I was interviewing usually created a relaxed atmosphere, allowing conversation to flow freely. Besides, I was a coffee addict.
Displayed on the back wall of Bradford’s office were more than a dozen awards, most of which were for athletic contests. According to these citations, Bradford had been a swimming champion, sailboat racer, marathon runner, college track star, and a successful participant in a recent triathlon. Just looking at these commendations made me tired.
“My espresso machine is state of the art. Cost nearly seven hundred dollars.” As he handed a cup to me, I noted the watch on his arm, recognizing it as a brand that sold for more than ten grand. Bradford Monroe apparently liked expensive things.
He sat down and leaned back in his chair. “So, you want to hear about our fundraising campaign.”
“I’m interested in how you plan to raise enough money for the land acquisition. I know the aquarium has one million dollars in reserve and that six million dollars comes from Alicia Wilcox-Chandler’s estate, but you still need to come up with—”
“Three million. I’m aware. It’s a high goal but I can reach it. I’ve been fundraising for more than a decade. My last position was at the Throckbrush Academy where I saved the school from bankruptcy.”
I smiled. My research had shown that during his time at Throckbrush, the nearly bankrupt academy had become solvent. But that was because of five million dollars bequeathed to the school by a wealthy alumnus. Although the alumnus passed away during Bradford’s tenure at the academy, the will was written five years before Bradford was employed by Throckbrush.
Deciding to let this go for the present time, I asked, “Specifically, how do you plan to raise this three million? The aquarium’s past development campaigns only realized modest amounts.” I glanced down at my notes. “I believe it took five years to raise the one million you have in—”
“Because those past campaigns were poorly run. Mine won’t be.”
“What will you do differently?”
“First, I’m initiating a facility naming project. Sponsorships. For a one hundred thousand dollar donation, you can have an exhibit named after you.”
“One hundred thousand dollars is a lot of money.”
“Not for some of our wealthy supporters. Think of it. Parker’s Penguin Rookery or Saperstein’s Seal Sanctuary. People love seeing their name in lights.”
“In lights?”
He waved his hand dismissively. “Figure of speech. I’m also coordinating four major fundraising events—a golf tournament, car raffle, arts and antique auction, and a kick-off cocktail party. The cocktail party is this Saturday.” He winked. “Tickets are twenty-five hundred dollars, but I think I can get you in.”
“Commander West invited me yesterday.”
“Good. While you’re there, you can talk to our supporters and hear why they feel the land acquisition is so important to the future of the aquarium.”
As I scribbled notes, he continued. “We also have our email and snail mail campaign for the little people.”
“Little people?”
“Yes.” He pushed a wisp of his dark blond hair away from this forehead. “Those individuals who want to support our cause but can only afford to give small amounts—fifty dollars, one hundred dollars—you get my drift. There are so many of those little donors that it adds up.”
Bradford and I talked until I gathered the facts and figures I needed for my story. Rising up to leave, I said, “By the way, I’m sorry about Jack Patterson.”
Bradford stared at me blankly.
“Jack Patterson,” I repeated. “The man whose body was found in the inlet. He was one of your fish keepers.”
“Of course. I didn’t recognize the name immediately. I don’t have much contact with aquarium staff outside of top administration.”
“Have the police determined if his death was an accident?”
“I’ve no idea.” He glanced at his watch and came around to the front of his desk. “I’m afraid I have to leave for a meeting in town. I’ll walk out with you.”
As we headed down the corridor, we passed an exhibit featuring sea life from the Great Barrier Reef. I was momentarily distracted, gazing at the brightly colored fish and pastel coral behind the glass walls.
&nb
sp; “You’re lucky,” I said. “You get to stroll by this all the time. It’s so relaxing.”
“Relaxing. I don’t have time for relaxing.”
“If I worked at the aquarium, I’d spend a few minutes here everyday.” I pointed to a jellyfish, floating through the water, its tentacles resembling delicate strings of lace. “What a peaceful scene.”
“Peaceful? Deadly is more like it. That’s the box jellyfish. It’s one of the most lethal creatures in the world. If you were stung by one of those tentacles…” He paused. “You’d be dead.”
*****
Outside the building, Bradford and I went our separate ways. I wandered to the sea lion exhibit to talk with Katie. Since the four o’clock show had just finished, throngs of visitors were leaving the amphitheater. Feeling a little like a lemming swimming upstream, I maneuvered through the departing crowds into the arena. Katie was still on stage, two sea lions on either side. A moat separated her from the seating area. Several sea lions were in the water.
“Katie,” I called.
“Come on up, Mrs. Farrell.” Katie unlatched a gate on a small bridge that spanned the furthest corner of the moat. I made my way across the bridge, noting a large sign that read, Employees Only.
“You’re sure this is okay?”
“I promise I won’t tell the insurance company.” Katie motioned toward the two sea lions. “Meet Bea and Barney. Bea, high five Mrs. Farrell.” The sea lion stood on her haunches, raised her right flipper, and we high fived. Barney clapped his flippers and barked, a sound similar to throaty burps.
“I don’t know what I’d do without these two. They’re all that’s keeping me going now.” Katie grabbed two small fish from a pail and palmed one to Bea and one to Barney.
“I’m worried sick about Sam, Mrs. Farrell.” She shook her head. “I can’t stop thinking about Jack’s death either. I wish they’d hurry up with his autopsy.”
“They only discovered Jack’s body yesterday. These things take time.”
“Speaking of time, it’s almost three days since my Sam disappeared.”
A thought flashed through my mind. “When you stopped at Sam’s house yesterday, did you go inside and look around?”
“I have a key, so I went inside to see if he had returned and was sick in bed or if he had hurt himself.” Katie furrowed her brow. “But I didn’t look around. What for?”
“I’m not sure, but maybe there are clues as to his disappearance. Something missing. Or something there that shouldn’t be.”
“I did check his mail, but it was only bills.” Katie glanced at her watch. “I’m due a break now. Why don’t we drive over and see what we can find?
*****
Sam Wong rented a house by the bay, about a ten minute drive from Clam Cove. We whizzed by homes ranging from small beach bungalows to mini mansions before reaching Sam’s sprawling contemporary ranch.
Katie unlatched the front door and we stepped into a huge living room with sliding glass doors opening unto a wooden deck overlooking the water.
“Katie, when you checked to see if Sam was home, did you switch on the lights?”
“No. I left everything the way it was. Why?”
“The lamp by the sofa is on. That’s an indication Sam left at night.”
Katie nodded. “What should we do first?”
“Let’s check if anything is out of place. Where’s the bedroom?”
“Down that hall. Second door on the left. You go there. I’ll search the living room and his study.”
I made my way to the bedroom. Clothes lay strewn across an unmade bed, making me wonder if Sam left in a hurry.
Or he may just be a slob. But judging by the neat appearance of the living room, I didn’t think this was the case.
I rummaged through Sam’s dresser drawers and found nothing out of the ordinary. But the way his clothes were neatly folded and put away confirmed my suspicions that the mess atop the bed was unusual.
Next, I looked in his closet, checking pants and jacket pockets for crumbled notes that might provide a clue. I came up empty.
I moved to the master bath. Sam’s toothbrush and shaving equipment were in plain sight. Not a good sign. If he went away of his own free will, those items should be with him. Still, he might have a separate overnight bag packed and ready to go.
I swung open the door to the medicine cabinet, immediately noticing an open box of prescription allergy capsules. Autumn on Long Island was accompanied by a high pollen count. If Sam had allergies he would need these pills.
Unless he was traveling to a climate where pollen allergies were uncommon.
Finally, I made my way to the kitchen and pulled open the refrigerator door. The only foods represented were diet soda, ketchup, and mustard. The garbage can was filled to the brim. On top was a half eaten pastrami on rye stuffed in a bag from a local deli. Judging by the smell, that meal must have been several days ago.
“Sam was the most factitious person I knew,” Katie said as she snaked around the kitchen island to join me. Her face was ashen. “He would never let garbage overflow.”
“It appears he left here in a hurry,” I said.
We continued looking in the kitchen cabinets and drawers.
“Oh, no,” Katie cried out. “His cell phone and charger are here.”
I took a deep breath. No one, especially of his generation, would leave willingly without their cell.
“Does he have a home phone?” I asked, aware that many folks didn’t bother with a land line, opting to save money by using only their cell.
“Yes, he does. It’s in the study. The cell reception on this part of the beach is pretty bad, so to contact him when he’s home, you need to use the land line. I’ve been calling both his cell and home phone.”
“Let’s see if there are any messages.”
We headed to the study and played back the voice mail. The last four calls, all from Katie, had gone unanswered. But when I heard the call preceding Katie’s first message, my blood froze.
“Sam, this is Lucien. We’ve got problems. I need to see you immediately. Meet me at—”
CLICK. “I’m here, Lucien.” CLICK.
Chapter Eight
“That was Sam.” Katie balled her hands into tight fists. “Moray’s responsible for Sam’s disappearance.”
“We don’t know that.”
“But it was the last call Sam answered. They obviously met someplace. After that, Sam vanished.”
My mind wandered back to my conversation with Moray. He claimed not to know Sam’s whereabouts. Did Sam disappear before rendezvousing with Moray? Or maybe they met and something happened afterwards? Instinct told me Lucien Moray knew more than he was saying.
“I’m going to Moray’s office now to confront him,” Katie said.
“Bad idea. You won’t get in to see him. But there’s a community meeting tonight at Village Hall on the land acquisition and—”
“I know.” Katie nodded. “I’ll be there. Proponents for the aquarium expansion will be out in force.”
“So will Moray and his people. That’s when we can find out more.”
Katie agreed. Since she needed to feed the sea lions before tonight’s meeting, I dropped her back at the aquarium then drove into town. Main street, lined with trees and dotted with boutiques, restaurants, and historic buildings looked like a Norman Rockwell painting. After wolfing down a slice of pizza and diet cola at the only fast food establishment I could find, I headed up the block to Village Hall, a large clapboard building dating back to the late nineteenth century.
Following the signs for the community room, I made my way down a narrow winding corridor with hospital-green walls. Although the meeting wouldn’t start for another thirty minutes, crowds had begun gathering.
I’d seen happier faces in my dentist’s office
. A few voices were raised in argument and about a dozen attendees sported signs reading: Support the Environment—Say Yes to the Aquarium and the opposing Create Jobs—People Before Fish.
Lucien Moray dominated the center of the room. He was deep in conversation with a large woman—both height and girth—who sported tortoise shell glasses and frizzy gray hair. She wore an ankle length floral designed skirt topped with an orange tee-shirt. Sandals and chunky silver jewelry completed the outfit.
“Sorry, Ruby. It’s not gonna happen,” Moray was saying as I approached.
“Don’t underestimate us. That’s a big mistake.” The woman spun around and headed toward the front of the room.
“Ah, Mrs. Farrell.” Moray spotted me. “Here to gather more information for your magazine story. I thought we gave you all you needed?”
“I’m primarily interested in hearing what members of the community have to say tonight. Was that Ruby Diamond?”
“Yes. She’s arguing now with Commander West and his development officer.” He shook his head.
I glanced toward the right side of the room. Ruby’s face was flush and her hands gesturing wildly as the two aquarium representatives stood passively, Bradford’s hands in his pockets and Commander West’s arms folded in front of his chest.
“By the way, is Sam Wong here?” I asked.
“No. He is not.”
“You may be the last person who had contact with him before he vanished.”
“Vanished? You’re a bit melodramatic.”
I wasn’t melodramatic. If Sam had gone away, he would have contacted Katie. Something happened. I decided to confront Moray head on. “Where did you meet with Sam on Sunday?” When he looked surprised, I added, “I know you phoned and said you had to see him.”
Moray frowned. I thought he wasn’t going to answer my question. “Sam came to my office. Now, excuse me. I need to touch base with my architect.” He turned and maneuvered through the crowd until he reached a woman in a beige suit holding what appeared to be a large set of blueprints.
