Death in Advertising

by Laura Bradford

  For a brief moment during the night, I’d actually entertained the notion that Gary had been defending Blake against Deserey’s wild accusations regarding an affair between the Zander cousin and Mitzi. But then I remembered the bad blood between Gary and Blake and discarded that theory. Yet nothing else made sense. At the moment, anyway.

  When I got to the house, I’d simply ask Deserey about the incident outright. After all, it’s not like I’d been eavesdropping or sneaking around trying to see what she was doing. The Village People and I had simply driven by and witnessed the argument. It would be more strange not to inquire, right?

  “Right,” I muttered to myself as I turned into the Hohlbrooks’ driveway. A half dozen cars were parked along the right hand side of the circular drive, their occupants filing toward the front door with their heads bent low. If I had to guess, based on their attire and posture, I’d say that most of them were seated on the board of Hohlbrook Motors.

  Preston’s death brought more than just sorrow to those who knew and loved him. It also brought financial uncertainty to the hundreds of people who worked for him. There were the salesmen, the mechanics, the secretaries, the higher-ups—all folks who counted on their job as a source of income. And now, the owner of their company was dead, a victim of foul play.

  I passed the line of cars and headed toward the parking area in back where I’d seen a Zander work truck just three days earlier. I wasn’t there for the reading of the will, so it seemed inappropriate to enter the home as if I were.

  The early morning sun felt good against my face as I stepped out of the car and headed down the stone walkway toward the Hohlbrooks’ back door. Cardinals, finches, and blue jays flittered about while a small robin splashed happily in a nearby bath. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think all was well in the world, that no one was hurting and no one was sad. But I did know better.

  When I reached the back door, I peered inside. Deserey was mechanically scooping muffins out of tins and transferring them to a wide serving plate with a lace cloth. Her shoulders drooped as she worked, her hand stopping to wipe her brow a few times.

  I knew there was very little I could do to ease her pain, but still, I hoped my presence would make the morning more bearable. At the very least, I could roll up my sleeves and help ready the house for tomorrow’s reception.

  I was just about to knock when Deserey suddenly looked up, our eyes meeting through the glass. The momentary surprise that flashed across her face was quickly replaced by a small smile as she waved me in. Considering the stress the woman was under, I’d take any iota of happiness she could muster. It was a start anyway. Baby steps . . .

  “Hi, Deserey.”

  “Hi, Tobi.” She gestured toward the archway that led to the front section of the house. “I’ve got to set these out for the guests; I’ll be right back. Make yourself at home.”

  I peeled off my jacket and hung it on the brass rack beside the door. “Can I help carry anything?”

  “That would be great—” Deserey cut herself short and shook her head. “No, I can’t ask you to do that.”

  Grabbing the silver tea pot and tray of cups from the island, I met her tired eyes with a smile. “You didn’t ask. I offered.”

  I shrugged off the gratitude that crossed her face and followed her through the archway and down the massive front foyer. A smattering of hushed voices came from the living room where people were obviously still in shock over the passing of Preston Hohlbrook. You could hear it in the pockets of conversation that emanated into the hall and in the tone of people’s voices.

  Deserey led the way into the living room and set her platter of muffins on the buffet table that she’d erected in the far corner. Her hands expertly removed the cups from my tray and set them out next to the tea pot. The muffins were placed nearby with a tiny rack of assorted spreads.

  “Ms. Tobias? Is that you?”

  I turned from the table and recognized Charlotte West immediately.

  “Hello Ms. West. It’s nice to see you again.” I reached out and squeezed her hand. The stress of the past few days was evident in the many grooves and lines around the secretary’s unsmiling eyes.

  As I stood there and looked at her and Deserey, I couldn’t help but recall something my grandfather once told me. He’d said it at a time when I was struggling with finding my place in high school: You are known by the company you keep.

  And he’d been right, of course. I’d resisted the urge to change myself in favor of a higher rung on the popularity ladder. Instead, I’d chosen to enjoy my four-year high school career with the people who valued the things I did. When senior year came and it was time to cast votes for class superlatives, there had been one common theme in the way I’d been received by everyone. I wasn’t voted most popular, or best chess player, or greatest athlete, or most likely to succeed in business. The superlative I’d received had been simple: most caring.

  Deserey was a nice woman—loyal, true, hard working. Charlotte West demonstrated the same basic attributes. They both believed in Preston Hohlbrook and mourned his loss. Their decency and values had surely been shared by the CEO of Hohlbrook Motors.

  “Are you here to help Deserey?” Charlotte West asked softly.

  “I’m here to support her. She’s struggling.” I saw Charlotte nod in response, then watched the way she looked around the room and motion to a gentleman seated on the floral couch near the front window. The man stood and crossed the room toward us. His shoulders were broad, his posture strong and assured. His salt-and-pepper hair was cut short; his clothes were impeccable.

  “Tobi Tobias, this is Tom Riker, vice president of Hohlbrook Motors.” Charlotte stepped back so the man could extend his hand to me.

  I grasped it and smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Riker.”

  He cocked his head to the side and studied me for a long moment, but oddly enough, I didn’t find the silence to be awkward. “So you’re Tobi Tobias.” His mouth crept upward, his eyes sparkled. “I was expecting a—oh forget it. Just one more indication he’s flipped his lid.”

  I was about to inquire about his odd statement when the tap-tap of stiletto heels made everyone turn and not a few eyes roll. Mitzi Hohlbrook.

  Preston’s widow stood in the archway, her hands clasped in front of her. This was a Mitzi I’d not seen before. A woman wearing a black suit that managed to hide her implants (how, I had no idea). Her long mane was pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck. I shuddered. There was something truly unnerving about a person who could transform their image so severely, so suddenly, and make it look effortless.

  “Preston’s attorney is settled in the library, and he is ready to begin the reading. He’s asked that you all come in now.” Mitzi tugged at her suit jacket and then nervously pushed a strand of hair off her face. Her discomfort in this life, with these people, was palpable and I couldn’t help but feel as if, by changing her clothes and hair to fit the day’s crowd, a little part of Mitzi had died along with Preston. Though, if I really thought about it, I knew it had died the day they got married.

  I waited with Deserey as the mourners filed out of the living room and moved toward the library. Her shoulders drooped low.

  “You okay, Deserey?” I asked quietly.

  She busied herself by straightening the buffet table, her voice cracking when she finally answered. “All of this—the will, the memorial service tomorrow—it’s just making it all real. It’s not just a bad dream.”

  I draped my arm across the housekeeper’s shoulders and pulled her close. Her pain was so real, so raw.

  “You too, Deserey.” Our heads both snapped up at the sound of Mitzi’s voice—a voice that was no longer hesitant and humble as it had been when she addressed the room of Hohlbrook Motors’ personnel just moments earlier. This tone was reserved for the help, and I found it nauseating.

  “Excuse me, ma’am?” Deserey asked.

  “The attorney wants you in there too.” Mitzi turned and marched away,
her chin pointed upward, her stiletto heels tapping firmly across the foyer.

  Deserey’s eyes were wide and confused as she looked at me. “Why on earth would they want me in there?”

  I dropped my arm from her shoulder and took hold of her hand. “Because you were part of Preston’s family. Now get in there. I’ll be waiting when you come out.”

  She went. Nervously. I could see it in her tentative steps, the way she wiped her hands repeatedly on her straight black skirt, the way she’d stop every few feet and look back at me.

  When she was finally out of sight, I finished straightening up the table and looked around the room, my gaze falling on the couch where Andy and I had sat less than a week earlier. I could still sense his hand draped behind me on the back of the couch, feel the warmth of his skin when he’d patted my shoulder.

  I closed my eyes quickly and willed myself to think of something, anything, else. My thoughts had gone to Andy Zander too often lately. I needed to remember that even if my heart had fully recovered from Nick, Andy was my client. And he had a live-in female friend. Hanging my thoughts on an impossible relationship would be nothing short of stupid. And stupid, I wasn’t.

  Still, my mind replayed the events of that morning, including the way Mitzi had shed her sequined gown for the hot-pink cocktail dress. I smirked as I recalled her explanation for the change: A few of my, sequins rip—popped off. I think I was just too much woman for those little threads.

  Too much woman? Or too much silicone?

  I headed aimlessly out into the hall. It was weird to be on my own in a house like this with nothing to do except wander.

  Without thinking, I found my way down the paneled hallway that had caught my breath just last weekend. The picturesque view of the bird sanctuary was peaceful and calming. I strolled over to one of the cushioned window seats, sat down, and pressed my head against the glass.

  I’d so wanted to talk to Deserey, to ask her about the argument I’d witnessed in the parking lot. Instead, I was killing time in the hallway while chunks of her beloved employer’s life were divvied up. Everyone waiting for their share of his fortune, while Deserey waited for someone to tell her that news of Preston’s death had been a horrible mistake.

  Only it wasn’t. Not by a long shot. I grabbed the fringed throw pillow on the other end of the window seat and hugged it to my body. Life just wasn’t fair sometimes. Especially when good people got caught in the crosshairs.

  The morning sun streamed through the plate glass window, and I lifted my face to its warmth. Somehow, no matter how grim things seemed, the sun had a way of making me feel like anything was possible. Whether it was finding a client, paying bills, creating a slogan, or trying to find my way through a murder maze. I opened my eyes slowly and looked out at the birds as they flew from their feeder, to the tree, and back again. Happy, peaceful. The way everything should be.

  Leaning back against the post, I pulled my legs up onto the cushion. I wasn’t above basking in front of a window if that was the only place to get my recommended daily allowance of UV rays. The sun glistened across the strap of my ankle boot and reflected off a small shiny circle I hadn’t noticed at first. I sat up, reached across the cushion, scooped the object up, and stared at the small, round silver sequin between my thumb and index finger.

  And then it clicked. All of it.

  Deserey and Gary arguing . . . The housekeeper’s hatred of the Zander with the “hots” for Preston’s wife . . . Mitzi’s need to change clothes the morning of the shoot—the comment about her sequins being ripped off . . . The sparkly fleck that Gary had pushed out of his hair not more than ten minutes later . . . I’d seen that speck skip across the window seat, disappear under the same fringed pillow that I now held.

  It wasn’t Blake who was fooling around with Mitzi Hohlbrook, it was Gary!

  I dropped my legs to the floor and jumped off the seat, my thoughts racing a mile a minute. It all fit, every last piece. Except one.

  I’d been right next to Gary when Mr. Hohlbrook had called to complain about Blake. Why would he finger the wrong man?

  Unless . . .

  It wasn’t Mr. Hohlbrook who called.

  After all, it was that phone call that gave Gary the role of temporary closet installer, gaining him more frequent access to the Hohlbrook home and Mitzi. Not to mention the fact that it also resulted in a sidelining of his cousin and archenemy, Blake.

  My stomach churned as I thought of the implications for Andy and his company, the inevitable hit to its reputation. Never mind the destruction that would be caused if Gary’s misdeeds went beyond canoodling with the homeowner . . .

  I shuddered.

  Gary Zander was a playboy, plain and simple. But just because he couldn’t keep his eyes and hands to himself, didn’t mean he was capable of strangling someone and stuffing him in a closet, right?

  God, I hoped not.

  I wandered down the hallway and into the kitchen looking for what, I didn’t know. A clue? An answer? Probably both. Just something, anything, that would point me in a direction other than Andy’s brother.

  A car door slammed out back and I jumped. My nerves were shot, my mind reeling with questions for which I had no definitive answers (at least not ones I liked). I glanced at the clock and prayed Deserey would finish up in the library and be able to deal with whoever was here. I simply wasn’t in a place conducive for idle chitchat.

  But the house remained quiet. The door to the library remained closed. Which meant one thing: I was on deck to answer the knock at the back door.

  I walked across the hardwood floor and yanked open the door, my mouth falling open at the sight of the man who turned to face me.

  Gary.

  The shock I felt at seeing him was reflected in the eyes that peered back.

  “Tobi. What are you doing here?” Gary shifted his weight from one leg to the other, his bottled tan doing little to mask the sudden whiteness in his face.

  “Deserey asked me to come.” I supposed that was a slight distortion of the truth, since I was the one who’d suggested it, but those were semantics I didn’t feel the need to pick through for Gary. Instead, I focused my attention on the way he gulped when I said the housekeeper’s name.

  “You friends with Deserey or something?” Gary brought a clamped fist to his mouth and cleared his throat, once, twice, three times while he waited for my response.

  I let him sweat for a few seconds. When I did respond, I kept my answer short. “Yes.”

  “Oh.”

  Scintillating conversation, sure. But it wasn’t getting us anywhere. Nor was it answering the parade of questions marching through my head. So I took a gamble. A huge gamble.

  “I saw you two last night.”

  “Who?” Gary asked.

  “You and Deserey. In the parking lot. Arguing.” I folded my arms across my chest and waited.

  He raked his hand through his hair (no sequins this time) and dropped his shoulders. “Crap.”

  I waited.

  He shifted. He coughed. He shifted again. Finally, he met my gaze head-on. “I did something stupid. Really stupid.”

  “Let me guess. Blake wasn’t ogling Mitzi Hohlbrook, was he? You and Mitzi staged that call so you could install the system and have access to her.” I saw his eyes widen, his mouth drop open, his cheeks redden ever so slightly. But I kept going. I mean, why not? If he was going to grab me and stuff me in the back of his truck for a quick trip to the river’s bottom I might as well know everything before I sunk. Right? “Did you kill him?”

  The genuine shock that splashed over his face caused a ripple of relief in me. My body sagged in response.

  “What? Are you crazy? How could you think that?” Gary asked, his voice rising with each new word. “Why? Why would I kill him?”

  I leaned against the doorjamb and sighed. “I’m sorry, Gary. I didn’t know what to think. I just knew that everything pointed to you in terms of who was fooling around with Mitzi, and I guess the r
est started stacking up.”

  Gary gestured me towards the three small steps that led to the stone walkway and sat down. I pulled the door shut and followed suit. He dropped his head into his hands and exhaled loudly.

  “You’re right. Mitzi and I were—are—attracted to each other. I know we went about it the wrong way, but having me install the closet gave us a chance to spend time together.” He picked his head up and wiped a hand across his mouth. “Mitzi called me that day in your office. I pretended it was her husband. And as you know, it worked.”

  I wrapped my arms around my knees and linked my fingers. I had so many questions I wanted to ask, but didn’t. This was Gary’s turn to explain. And at the rate he was going, I figured he’d answer all my questions anyway. So I kept my mouth shut and listened.

  “We thought we were being discreet, that her husband hadn’t caught on. But he had.”

  And that’s when I caved on the shut-mouth thing. The question flew out of my mouth before I even knew it was there. “Did he say something to you? Catch you two together?”

  Gary shook his head. “Friday night, around nine o’clock, I picked Mitzi up. She told her husband she was going out with a friend. Only I think the tiger-print plunge-neck top and black mini skirt probably tipped him off.”

  “Why do you say that?” I asked.

  “Because when Mitzi was leaving, he told her he knew. That it was time they both faced facts.”

  “Did he elaborate?” I prodded.

  “No. But Mitzi was hysterical when she got in the car. Kept saying over and over that she was going to lose everything. I tried to calm her down, get her mind off it, but she was distracted all night long.”

  “Wait.” I held up my index finger briefly and ran through the last few things Gary had said. “Did Mitzi ask him to elaborate?”