“She was in on the hiring?” I asked.
Charlotte West nodded, a sarcastic set to her face. “To make sure no one was hired that would threaten her reign.”
“Did the employees like Mitzi?”
“Good Lord, no. They despised her.”
“Yet everyone adored Alana, right?”
The secretary’s eyes clouded over, her mouth dipped. “You couldn’t not love Alana. She was the epitome of grace and class.”
Everything Charlotte said so far had been confirmation of what Deserey had told me the day before. But one statement she’d made kept tugging at me.
“You said earlier, before the phone rang, that Mr. Hohlbrook had been dealing with a lot both personally and professionally. Was his marriage one of those issues?”
The woman nodded, her gaze fixed on Mr. Hohlbrook’s door. “Yes. I think he’d finally realized that marrying someone as different from Alana as possible wasn’t the way to move on and forget. It’s been—I mean, it was heartbreaking to watch him accept that, but we all felt he’d be better off in the long run. Losing a loved one is not something you ever get over. It’s something you learn to live with.”
My Grandpa Stu had said the very same thing after we lost Grandma. Even now, five years later, he still shed tears when he recalled certain memories. But he said the tears were good tears. Because as painful as it was to lose her, having had her in his life had been an honor and a blessing.
I backed away from the desk, sat down, and grabbed the water bottle beside my feet. A few short gulps later, I lowered it down to my lap. I wanted to know what the professional issues were but wasn’t sure when Charlotte might see my questions as what they were—pure grilling. So I took a different tactic.
“I’m sorry that I’m just now getting back to you. I was busy on Friday when you called and then after finding Mr. Hohlbrook’s body on Saturday I wasn’t able to think of anything else all weekend. I planned to call you this afternoon but decided to stop by since I was in the area anyway.”
She shot a confused look at me. “Getting back to me?”
“Yes. You left a message on my voicemail Friday. You said Mr. Hohlbrook had wanted to set up a meeting.”
I saw the light bulb go off behind her eyes a split second before the slow nod. “Of course. I’m sorry. I think I was just so focused on the fact that you found his body.” The woman pushed her hands upward as if trying to ward off an invisible weight. “He asked me to contact you—which I did—but then he must have changed his mind based on the note he left on my desk.”
“A note from Mr. Hohlbrook?”
“Yes. It was written at—let me see.” Charlotte reached into a small inbox beside her phone and rifled through a pile of pink notes. “Here it is. It simply says to hold up on talking to Tobias Ad Agency until next week. He wrote it Friday night at eight o’clock.”
“Did he often stay that late?” My curiosity was in overdrive. I tightened my hold on my water bottle and tried to steady my breathing.
“It was happening more and more lately.”
“Business picking up?” I asked.
“No. Business is always good. I think it was more a case of a safe refuge.”
“But I thought you said his new wife came in all the time. Didn’t she just track him down here?”
“Her visits had dropped off. She was . . . rather busy getting ready for the Showcase.” I didn’t miss the sarcastic laugh that accompanied the busy tag. But I let it go. I was more intrigued by the fact that Preston Hohlbrook had expressed an interest in talking to me and then later changed his mind.
“So he didn’t realize that you’d already called me?”
Charlotte West shook her head. “No. Though, if he had given it much thought, he should have. I didn’t sit on his requests.”
That didn’t surprise me. It fit the efficiency aura that had screamed at me from the first moment I saw her. “May I ask why he had wanted to see me?”
“I don’t see why not. He was impressed by your slogan for that closet company. He found it energetic and intelligent, fun and creative. All the things that he wanted in an ad campaign but hadn’t had in a while.”
Despite the fact that my water bottle was now empty, I still gulped. Loudly. Yes, I knew I was talented, but Preston Hohlbrook had noticed? Wow. Just wow.
I might have said that wow thing out loud because Charlotte leaned toward me. “Have you seen his ads? He hated them.”
I tried to focus on the conversation at hand, tried to keep myself from visiting Slogan Land right there in the middle of Charlotte West’s office, but it was a struggle. Her last sentence finally filtered its way through my ego trip and got me back on track. “If he hated his ads so much, why’d he keep running them?”
“Because Preston Hohlbrook was a good man. He took his wedding vows seriously and tried hard to include Mitzi in his life. She thought the camels were funny. Encouraged him to try it. To liven up his conservative image. And for some unexplainable reason, Tom Riker agreed.” Charlotte West picked up her pen and started doodling on her empty pad. “But the camels and the robes and the crown never suited Mr. Hohlbrook and he knew it.”
Everything she said made sense, and I listened (I really did), but the name she mentioned grabbed my attention immediately. It was the same name I’d heard her say during the phone conversation with Mr. Stanley—Mr. Gonna-Give-Me-a-Run-for-My-Money Mike Stanley.
Curiosity got the best of me, and I asked the million-dollar question. “Who is Tom Riker?”
“The vice president.”
“Of Hohlbrook Motors?”
Charlotte West nodded sadly. “A nice man. But no Preston Hohlbrook.”
I fiddled with my sash belt and considered a shift in questions until I glanced at my watch and realized how late it had gotten. I still had to check in at the office and look in on Mary Fran and Baboo. Grabbing my backpack, I stood and walked to her desk.
“If I could ask one more question before I go: Why do you think he decided to hold off on talking to me? What changed?”
Preston Hohlbrook’s secretary shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. I wish I could answer that. But, unfortunately, your guess is as good as mine. Nothing in this awful mess makes sense to me.”
I thanked her for her time and expressed my sympathy once more. But it was what she said as I left that made me shiver.
“The biggest consolation for everyone here is that Mr. Hohlbrook is finally at peace in the arms of the only woman who truly loved him in return.”
17
I was relieved to see JoAnna’s empty space when I pulled into the parking lot behind the office. Although I adored her, JoAnna wasn’t big on letting me decompress.
She’d start with the look—the one that hovered somewhere between worry and curiosity. The questions would follow, pointed and probing. If I got the slightest bit misty-eyed as I had over a number of things the past six months—my failing agency, the mounting bill pile, my broken engagement, you get the point—she’d move in with a hug. And then I was a goner, reduced to a blubbering ninny incapable of stringing together a coherent sentence let alone a list of viable murder suspects.
I suppose I should have welcomed her questions now as I always had, view them as an opportunity to organize my thoughts into some sort of cohesive order, but what I really wanted—needed, in fact—was to be alone. Tracking a killer was taking a toll I never expected.
Preston Hohlbrook was dead. I’d never met the man, never saw him anywhere other than atop a camel in one of John Beckler’s idiotic commercials. I had assumed he was shallow simply because of the way he was portrayed in the ads. His quick speech, in-your-face delivery, and ridiculous royal attire had created an image in my mind that was both wrong and unfair. A staged image, I now realized.
In fact, I’d allowed that commercial persona to color many of my observations. I’d assumed he had married Mitzi because he was an attention seeker. I was wrong. He’d married her because he’d bee
n desperately lonely, yet so in love with his late wife that he couldn’t take the chance of eclipsing her memory. I’d assumed he liked his name on park benches and other visible places purely for self-promotion. Yet, I never knew his money was behind the Loving Hands and Helping Hearts Foundation.
The saddest part? Preston Hohlbrook wasn’t the only person I’d misjudged. I’d also made an assumption about Blake and Peggy Zander based on the neighborhood they lived in and a one-sided cellphone conversation between Gary Zander and Preston Hohlbrook. Pathetic, huh?
What I needed to do more than anything else was stop assuming. I needed to look at the facts and come up with viable motives. It was the only way to save my company. And, more importantly, it was the only way to right an egregious wrong.
I deliberately ignored the light switch in my office (a reflection of my blahness, no doubt) and tossed my backpack onto the draft table under the window. JoAnna had put my stack of mail where she always did, a hairbreadth left of the phone. A quick check of the phone itself showed a numeral one next to the message indicator.
It’s funny how things can change so quickly. A month ago—heck, five days ago—I would have jumped across the desk to see who’d called. And while jumping, I’d be praying that it was a call from a potential client—someone wanting my creative genius who would, in turn, pay me. Today, I simply stared at the light and contemplated the many benefits of turning a blind eye.
But I was Tobi Tobias, owner and president of Tobias Ad Agency. This company was my responsibility, my livelihood, my dream. Ignoring the message was really not an option. Not a smart one, anyway.
I grabbed the phone, punched in my code, and waited for the caller’s voice in my ear as I poked at the stack of bills.
“Hey, Tobi. It’s Andy. Andy Zander.” I tightened my grip on the phone, forgetting all about the money I didn’t have. “Sorry I missed you at the office this morning. Gary said you stopped by. Anyway, I want to proceed with the color brochure right away. I know we can’t use the shots from the Hohlbrooks’ closet—but I’m sure you noticed the closet demos I have in the office. I was wondering if you think those would work for the brochure pictures? We can bring in shoes and clothes to make it more real.”
Nodding into the phone, I jotted a few quick impressions based on the demos I’d seen from the waiting room that morning. The idea might actually be better than simply using a single customer’s closet. This way the brochure could depict several models that would appeal to a broader segment of the population.
Andy continued. “If you think it would work, could we get Sam in here on Saturday? If we did it first thing, before we open, we wouldn’t have to worry about shooting around customers.”
I made a note in the upper right corner of my paper to call Sam. If I was able to reach him at the pet shop, I could kill two birds at the same time. As busy as I’d been all day, my mind still wandered to Baboo.
Andy yawned into my ear and I laughed. Maybe I wasn’t the only one who didn’t sleep last night.
“Excuse me. I’ve been yawning all day. Just when I thought my new roommate was getting used to things, she started waking me up again. She craves attention like you wouldn’t believe.”
I rolled my eyes upward. Yeah, I liked Andy. He seemed like a nice guy (okay, he seemed like a really, really nice—and extremely cute—guy). But I had no desire to hear about the attention-starved maniac he was shacking up with. I mean, really, can we not keep some things to ourselves? Men.
“Anyway, give me a call when you can. I’ll be around until seven or eight tonight. Or you can call me at home. That number is 555-4232.”
I pulled my gaze off the ceiling and deliberately kept my pen-holding hand still. There was no way I was going to call Andy at home. I simply had no desire to talk to his nocturnal roommate. Glancing at the clock, I realized I had at least a full hour to reach him at the office. That would give me time to sketch out some ideas and talk to Sam . . .
“Well, that’s about it, I guess. I look forward to hearing from you, Tobi.”
My grip on the phone loosened and my shoulders sagged. The sudden loss of any remaining energy had nothing to do with the end of the message. At least that’s what the little voice in my head kept saying. It was 5:45 in the evening. My food intake for the day had consisted of an old granola bar and a McDonald’s hamburger. That was it. I was hungry, that’s—
“Oh, and Tobi? Before I forget, you’re a good dancer. Wish I could have heard the words.”
I barely heard the automated voice that announced the end of the message and the various options (replay, save, delete) available to me. The only thing I was aware of was my body sinking down into my seat, my cheeks warming to near-tropical temps, and the overwhelming gratitude I felt toward JoAnna’s dentist for the follow-up appointment that had left me in the office alone.
Somehow between my visit to Blake’s house, the stop at New Town, lunch with Mike, and the talk with Charlotte West, I’d completely forgotten about the way my morning had started. In particular, dancing and singing at a traffic light on Brentwood Boulevard with my one-and-only client looking on.
I allowed myself a moment to pout, a moment to squirm, and a moment to berate myself before sitting up tall and reaching for the phone book. I didn’t need to look up the number for the pet shop; I had that committed to memory. But I did need to look up the number for Joe’s Chinese Food.
After I placed my order, I pressed the button on the top of the phone and punched in the number for the To Know Them Is To Love Them pet shop. Mary Fran answered.
“Hi, Mary Fran. How’s Baboo doing today?” I leaned back in my chair and looked out at the streetlamp and the shadows it created against the neighboring buildings.
“Hey, Tobi. Baboo is doing better. Still hasn’t uttered a word yet, but he seems more settled. Less stressed. Sam and I are actually going to sleep at home tonight so they can have a chance to bond without us bothering them.”
“Them? Who’s them?”
“Baboo and Rudder.”
I pulled my gaze back into the office and fixed it on the phone. “Rudder’s behaving himself, right?”
Mary Fran’s smile was audible through the phone. “Rudder’s been the perfect host. He’s been telling Baboo all of the same things he’s heard me say over the past twenty-four hours. Anytime I leave the room and then walk back in, there’s a strange hush that falls over the shop. Like I’m interrupting some private discussion between the two of them. It’s a hoot.”
It’s funny how you can picture certain scenes without being present yourself. I could actually see Rudder in his bandana-of-the-day teaching Baboo the ways of the shop. You know—where the kiwi was kept, when feeding time was, how best to ignore the yappy dogs, and which employee snorted.
“So you think there will be a party going on at the shop tonight?” I switched the phone to my left hand and then froze. “Wait. We do know they’re both males, right?”
“Yes, Tobi, they’re both males.”
I mouthed a thank you into the air. The last thing this world needed was for Rudder to sire a child. “And you’re positive?”
“Positive.” Mary Fran made a few crunching noises and then swallowed. “He came in again today. Around noon.”
I grabbed the stack of mail and rifled through to the bottom. Yup, all bills. Save, of course, the advertisement for breast implants. Mitzi must have added my name to some list in the hopes a referral would gain her a free nip or a half-price tuck. “He? He who?”
“The guy. The cute one.”
“You mean the grungy one?”
“That’s right.”
“And? Is he still grungy?”
“Actually, no. He was stylin’ and profilin’ today.”
Stylin’ and profilin’? Mary Fran had truly lost it. Inhaling all those animal scents had finally done her in.
“Okay . . .”
“He came in to get some food for Sadie.”
It’s a good thing my envelo
pe-slicer opener-thingy was in the process of being used because I’m fairly sure it would have ended up being thrown across the room. A temper is one thing I don’t have. I rarely raise my voice and have virtually no thoughts of inflicting bodily harm on anyone (Nick doesn’t count) but losing Sadie had upset me so much more than I ever thought it would.
“How is she? He treating her well?” The words were spoken so softly that I had to repeat them in order for Mary Fran to hear.
“She’s fine. Stop worrying. Why don’t you focus that energy on getting yourself all dolled up and letting me fix you up on a date with this guy?”
My dear friend Mary Fran was akin to a pit bull with its teeth clamped onto some poor defenseless kid’s pants. She simply wouldn’t give up. Which was kind of funny when you stopped to consider the way she’d sworn off men in her own life.
“Hey, is Sam around?” I asked.
“You can change the subject all you want, Tobi. But one of these days you’ll be working in here when he shows up, and you’ll be begging me to introduce you.”
I laughed. “And if that day comes, you’ll introduce me anyway.”
“You’re right, I will.” Mary Fran’s voice muffled momentarily, only to return to its normal volume in short order. “Sorry. Rudder was being inappropriate.”
I didn’t ask. Didn’t want to know. Instead, I repeated my earlier question. “Sam working today?”
“Yes he is. You want to talk to him?”
“For a minute, if you can spare him.”
“Sam!” I held the phone away from my ear and cringed. Why she was yelling, I didn’t know. The shop was small. Real small. Then again, if Rudder was talking, you could barely hear yourself think let alone hear someone calling your name from across the room. “Here he is.”
“Thanks, Mary Fran. For everything.”
“My pleasure. Baboo is great.”
“Hey there, Tobes. What’s going on?”
Death in Advertising Page 15
