I couldn’t hide my surprise: from what I’d seen so far of Michelle, I’d never expected that. Her words reminded me how deceptive appearances could be. “What happened?”
“I took a year off after I graduated, because all my friends were touring Europe and Asia. When I got back to New York, I decided I didn’t want to be a doctor, I wanted to do medical research.”
“That sounds interesting.”
“I thought so too. I tried to get a job in research, but I didn’t have papers out, and they wanted people with PhDs. I thought I’d apply to a PhD program, but my girlfriends thought I was being funny, and in between going out with them and doing all those charity dinner things, I never got a chance to apply to the programs.”
“But it’s not like you do nothing,” I said, trying to cheer her up. “You do lots of charity work. Organizing all those dinners, plus the fund-raising?”
Michelle shook her head. “It’s hardly any work. And it just makes me feel even worse. I mean, charity dinners? When I could be doing actual, hands-on medical research? You know, Esme had a career. I really admired that about her. I wish I had the guts to just start over – get a PhD and finally get that job. But I think I’ve wasted my chance.”
“No, you haven’t. It’s never too late.”
“You know, it’s easy to talk to you about this because we’re almost strangers. But if I told anyone who knows me, they’d just laugh. They think I’m not smart enough.”
“Then clearly they don’t know you well enough.” I found myself getting angry on her behalf. “If you were smart enough to do pre-med, you’re smart enough to get a PhD and get a job in research. I mean, have you seen some of those morons with PhDs?”
We giggled, and then Michelle clutched her head. “Ow. I probably shouldn’t laugh.”
“You probably shouldn’t drink so much. You should get yourself one of those GRE books and get into a PhD program.”
“You think so?”
I nodded. “I know so.”
The waiter arrived with our coffees, and after a snooty, “Are you sure you don’t want to order anything else?” (yes, we were sure) he disappeared again.
Michelle said, “But you didn’t come down here to listen to me complain about my privileged life. God, you must think I’m so spoiled.”
I shook my head. “No. It’s understandable to want a career. It doesn’t matter how much money you have, everyone needs something that gives their life meaning.”
Michelle smiled at me gratefully. “Thanks. Now what did you want to ask me about Esme?”
“Did she have a boyfriend?” I couldn’t see Michelle’s eyes behind her dark glasses, but I thought she paused for a moment. “I keep hearing that she had a secret boyfriend nobody knew about.”
“You know,” said Michelle slowly, “I never really asked her much about her personal life. She was so busy with her career – and I was a little bit jealous of it. I thought she didn’t have time for men.”
“But you must’ve asked her sometimes, if she had a boyfriend?”
“I did. But she always avoided the question. You know, I did suspect that she had a fuck-buddy or something on the side, and she just didn’t want to admit it.”
I nodded. “Ok. But do you know anyone who might know a bit more about this mysterious guy? Any of Esme’s friends?”
“Her friends might know. She’s got these two best friends, Kimberley and Stephanie.” Michelle scrolled through her phone contacts and texted me Kimberley’s number. She was about to text me Stephanie’s details, when she looked up, and went bug-eyed.
A slightly chubby woman with short, curly red hair was approaching our table.
“Michelle,” the woman said, embracing her in a half-hug. “It’s a small town, isn’t it?”
“Sure is.”
“I’m awfully sorry about Esme.”
Michelle nodded. “I know you miss her too. In fact, we were just talking about you. Valerie, this is Esme’s friend, Stephanie.”
Stephanie and I looked at each other. Before we could exchange polite greetings, Michelle said, “Valerie’s a PI who’s looking into Esme’s death.”
“Oh,” said Stephanie politely. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“You too.” I smiled and hoped she wasn’t in a rush. “Would you mind joining us for a minute or two? I really wanted to ask you some questions.”
Stephanie glanced around, but she couldn’t see whoever she was meeting, so she nodded. “I suppose I could. Just till my boyfriend gets here.”
“Right,” I said. “Speaking of boyfriends…”
I let my words trail off, and I watched Stephanie’s eyes carefully. She looked wary, like she was readying herself to come up with a lie or an excuse.
“I know Esme was seeing someone,” I said softly. “I just don’t know who.”
Stephanie looked at the table and took a deep breath. “I don’t want to betray her confidence. Especially now that she’s gone.”
“But it’s very important. Who he is might change the outcome of this case.”
“You don’t–” Stephanie looked at me carefully. “You don’t think he might have anything to do with this?”
“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “But I do think that he’s very important.”
Stephanie hesitated for a few seconds. I held my breath, hoping that she’d agree to talk.
“Ok,” she said finally. “Esme’s gone, so I can’t see what harm it would do.”
I tried not to exhale too loudly, and waited for her to tell me.
“His name’s Eddie. Edgar Martinez. He’s got some kind of imports business.”
“Were they together for long?”
“The last six months or so.”
I nodded, scrawling down the name in my notebook. “Why was it such a big secret?”
Stephanie shrugged. “I’m not really sure. I thought Esme was just being private.”
“Did you ever meet him?”
“No. We kept asking to, but Esme said they weren’t that serious. And she didn’t feel comfortable introducing us if they weren’t.”
“You know,” Michelle said slowly. “That name sounds pretty familiar. Maybe Esme mentioned him once or twice. But I thought she was just talking about a friend.”
I turned to Stephanie again. “Do you know anything else about him?”
She frowned. “I think he had a sister or something. Esme might’ve mentioned something about that.”
I made a note about it, and waited for Stephanie to think of anything else. When she didn’t, I handed her one of my cards. “I should get going,” I said, “But if you think of anything else, give me a call.”
She looked at the card and turned it over. “I don’t think I will – I don’t know much else. But good luck with the investigation. I hope you can get in touch with Eddie.”
She sounded skeptical, and I smiled politely. I hoped Eddie wouldn’t be too difficult to find.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Edgar Martinez was actually pretty easy to find online. There were quite a few business articles about him, and there was a company website with contact details. I decided that I’d call him first thing on Monday morning – but in the meantime, Jerry and I read up on everything we could find out about him online.
“It says here the guy’s a workaholic,” said Jerry. “He’s worth over $120 million, he employees fifty people in the New York office and another fifteen in his Shanghai office, he works late till about eight or nine every day because he takes meetings early in the morning, he loves driving vintage cars and he’s a native New Yorker.”
“Yeah, and on top of that, it says here that Weissman North does PR work for his company. I’ll bet that Lisa and Mellie know him, and maybe they even told him that I’m investigating this case.”
We looked at each other thoughtfully, over the tops of our laptops.
“For all we know,” said Jerry, “He could be the one sending the messages.”
�
��I don’t know. He sounds like a workaholic. When would he find time to send creepy messages?”
“And you know what,” said Jerry, looking at Edgar’s photo. “I’m pretty sure I saw this guy at the party on Friday night.”
“He does look familiar.”
“We can always check the guest list.”
“I’ll get in touch with Carly.”
“Anyway,” said Jerry. “Didn’t I tell you Esme was dating someone?”
“Yeah, sure, keep bringing that up. Nobody could ever turn you down if they were single.”
Jerry rolled his eyes. “You mock now, but that’s only because you don’t understand the charms of Jerryhood.”
“Does Jerryhood have anything to do with riding round in Sherwood Forest? Stealing from the rich and giving to the poor?”
“You mock now, b-”
There was a knock on the door, and Jerry and I froze and stared at each other.
“Expecting anyone?” I said.
“No. Maybe it’s your stalker.”
“Our stalker,” I corrected. Although I wasn’t feeling as brave as I sounded.
“I’ll go hide in the bedroom,” said Jerry. “Then I can do a surprise attack thing if needed.”
I looked at him sternly. “You’re opening the door, Jerry Hood. You and your band of merry men.”
Jerry made a face, picked up a large fry pan, and marched over to the front door.
“Who is it?” he called out.
“It’s me,” said a man’s voice from the other side. “Darren.”
Jerry looked back at me. “Did you invite him over?”
I shook my head.
“Ok,” he said. “Should I put the pan away?”
“I don’t know. What if he’s the stalker?”
“Do you really think he’s the stalker?”
“I don’t know what to think.”
There was another knock and Darren said, “Hello-o? Jerry? Is Valerie there?”
“Coming,” I called out. I turned to Jerry and snatched the fry pan from his hand. “I’ll take that. You can get yourself the butcher’s knife.”
He nodded, and I waited till he was armed with the knife, before I opened the door.
“Hey,” said Darren, smiling at me. His eyes crinkled in the light, and he had a hint of stubble on his square jaw. “It’s good to see you again.”
“You too.” The flutters in my chest drove away any suspicions I had about him – almost.
“What’re you doing with that fry pan?”
“Nothing. Nothing.”
Darren glanced behind me and smiled at Jerry. “Hey, Jerry!” He turned to me again and lowered his voice. “Why’s Jerry standing around with that big knife?”
“We’re making something.”
“What’re you making?” asked Darren.
“In this fry pan?” I tried to think fast. What do people make in fry pans? Omelets, pancakes and… “A steak.”
“I didn’t know you had to cook steak in fry pans,” said Darren.
I glanced at Jerry, who was giving me a funny look.
“Sure you do,” I said. “It’s a special kind of steak.”
“And you need a butcher’s knife?”
“Jerry thinks it’s cool to flip the steaks over with the knife. Anyway, what’re you doing here?”
“I had to see you. I thought we could,” – he glanced uncomfortably at Jerry – “maybe go for a walk, just the two of us.”
“I don’t think so,” I said, taking a small step backward. “I – what’s this about?”
“I kind of need a favor,” said Darren. “I’d rather not talk about it here.”
I shook my head. “I can’t really talk to you until the case is solved.”
“But I thought – I thought you’d have talked to that guard by now. And that I wouldn’t be a suspect anymore.”
“I have.” I looked at him with sad eyes. “The guy says he never saw you.”
“What!” Darren looked at me with wide, beautiful eyes. “That’s crazy! I was there that night till twelve, I told you.” He glanced from me to Jerry. “You believe me, right Jerry?”
“Sure I do,” said Jerry. “That’s why I’m standing here holding this great big knife.”
“Oh my god.” Darren stared at the fry pan in my hand and took a few steps away from me. “You really think I’m still a suspect. You think I might be dangerous.”
I twisted my lips apologetically. “We can’t help it, we’ve been getting some strange threats. You know where I live, you had motive, and now the guard says he never saw you.”
“He must’ve been asleep!” said Darren. “It was that lazy Terrance guy, wasn’t it? He’s always sleeping.”
“He told me he’s not lazy,” I said. “He was taking cold medication.”
“Oh sure,” said Darren. “He must have one heck of a really long cold.”
“Anyway,” said Jerry, “We can’t verify that you weren’t in the Hamptons that night.”
“Check the surveillance tapes,” said Darren. “I’m on tape, coming out at twelve.”
“Yeah.” Jerry sighed. “I don’t have access to them. The security company doesn’t let strangers see the tapes, and I don’t know anyone who works there.”
“You’re kidding, right?” said Darren. “First the guard falls asleep, then the security company won’t let you see a week-old tape?”
Jerry shrugged. “I tried. I called all my friends and all my friends-of-friends. Valerie even called the three friends that she’s got.”
I scowled at Jerry, and hoped my unpopularity wouldn’t make Darren like me any less. And then I remembered that Darren was a suspect.
“Ok,” said Darren, looking at me seriously. “I guess I should go, before you guys attack me with your steak-frying tools.”
“I guess you should,” I said sadly.
I watched him leave, and then I turned to Jerry. “That didn’t go well, did it?”
“No,” Jerry said. “Conversations don’t usually go so well when you’re about to hit someone over the head with a fry pan.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I called up Edgar Martinez’s office first thing on Monday morning.
“Hi,” I said to the lady who answered the “General Inquiries” number. “Could I speak to Edgar Martinez, please?”
“Uh – who is this?”
“It’s Valerie Inkerman. I’m a private investigator.”
“Well, I’ll put you through to his secretary.”
She didn’t sound all that enthusiastic, but I still put on a bright smile and chirped, “Thanks!”
After a few seconds of chamber music, a serious-sounding lady said, “Edgar Martinez’s office. Ruth speaking.”
“Hi, Ruth!” I tried to muster up all the enthusiasm I could summon. “Could I please speak to Mr. Martinez?”
“What’s this about?”
“I’m a private investigator, looking into Esme Lindl’s death.”
There was silence on the other end of the line and I wondered if Ruth had hung up on me, thinking this was a joke. But then she said, “Hold on, please.”
The same chamber music came through the phone, this time for almost two minutes. That meant Ruth must be talking to Edgar, I thought excitedly. He was probably checking to see what time he could meet me, and then we’d talk about Esme and I’d ask–
“Thanks for holding,” said Ruth’s humorless voice. “I’m afraid Mr. Martinez won’t be able to see you.”
“Oh.” I blinked in surprise. “Well, I could come by tomorrow if today’s a bad day.”
“No. He’s not going to be able to see you. Ever.”
The news sunk in slowly. “Why not?”
“Mr. Martinez is a busy man. He doesn’t have time for unnecessary appointments.”
“But this is very important – you don’t understand. He could help solve a murder. He could know things about – hello? Hello, are you still there? Hello?”
&nb
sp; The woman had hung up on me. I called back immediately.
“Hi,” I said to the general inquiries woman. “Could you please transfer me through to Edgar Martinez’s secretary? Thanks, I really appreciate it. Hi, Ruth? It’s me again, Valerie Inkerman. Look, it’s very important that I talk to Mr. Martinez, what he knows could make a big difference to – hello? Hello? Are you there?”
I called back again, and said to the general inquiries woman, “Hey, it’s me again! Funny, huh? I keep getting cut off. Could you just give me Ruth’s direct number please? Thanks.”
I called Ruth, and this time I got only two words in before she said, “If you call this number again, I will report you for harassment.”
This time, I was the one who hung up.
Chapter Thirty
I stared at the phone, feeling glum. “Well, that went well.”
Jerry shook his head. “The guy really does not want to meet you. I think he’s hiding something.”
“You think? I feel like I’m so close! But what can I do if he won’t talk to me?”
“Maybe we can kidnap his dog and hold it for ransom. Except the ransom’s that he’s gotta talk to us.”
“Oh great, we have to kidnap a dog to make this guy talk?”
“Maybe we could kidnap his cat instead.”
“We’re not meant to have pets in this building!”
“Fish don’t count – maybe he has fish?”
“Nobody cares when their fish gets kidnapped. Besides, I don’t want to be a kidnapper.”
“Ok, let’s think. Maybe there’s some other way of getting the guy talk to us.”
“Maybe you can call. Ruth doesn’t know you, so you can pretend to be a businessman from China or something, and we can trick Edgar into talking to us.”
Jerry looked skeptical. “I’m a pretty good actor, but I don’t know much about the imports business.”
“Well, we have to think of something.”
We sat silently, lost in thought for a few minutes, when the phone rang again.
“Hello!”
I smiled, hoping it would be Ruth. Maybe she was calling to apologize, maybe Edgar had changed his mind. Although I wasn’t sure how she’d found my number…
A.R. Winters - Valerie Inkerman 01 - Don't Be a Stranger Page 11
