Death Loves a Messy Desk

by Mary Jane Maffini

  “Me neither. Maybe you’re right.”

  A connection was beginning to flicker in my mind. “By the way, Fredelle, were you aware that Barb was going out with Robbie Van Zandt?”

  She stared, her hand hovering at her throat. “No. I mean, she never let on and neither did he. I knew he had a huge crush, but who would ever imagine that they . . .”

  I understood Fredelle’s reaction. That sardine can would have been a powerful deterrent for me if I’d been Robbie. On the other hand, Robbie’s personality would have been an equally daunting prospect if I’d been in Barb’s sneakers. Still, wedding magazines can make people unpredictable.

  “I think it’s true, and I want to ask him if he has any idea of where she might have gone.”

  “Oh, dear. Do you think you should? He’s so angry about everything.”

  “I have to ask, and I prefer to do it here.”

  She stood up and clutched the edge of her desk. “But you don’t think that Robbie would have anything to do with the fact she’s missing?”

  “He probably doesn’t.”

  “What if he . . . ?” Her hand was back in front of her rosebud mouth again.

  “Not too likely, but just in case, I wanted to talk to him here where there are lots of—”

  “Witnesses?” she blurted.

  “Is he back?”

  She stared at me and then at her phone, which had started to ring. Mr. Van Zee, I imagined.

  I left while she took the call and practically knocked over Dyan, who once again was pretending to water the peace lilies outside the door. At this rate, both plants would be washed away before the end of the week. I said hello and headed toward the IT office from hell.

  Robbie whirled in his chair as I walked into the space. “What the hell do you want?” he said.

  “I want to talk to you about Barb Douglas.”

  “Haven’t you done enough harm?”

  “I don’t believe I’ve done any harm.”

  “That’s your story. Of course, you’d say that. You drove her away. They put you up to it. They’re horrible, always cackling and whispering. They put things on her desk to make it worse. It’s like a coven in here. Witches as far as the eye can see.”

  “You’re dating Barb,” I said.

  He snapped his mouth closed, practically cracking a molar. He stared at me through thick lenses. Up close I could see that the left arm of the frame was held together with duct tape. Not a good look for him, but also probably the least of Robbie Van Zandt’s problems.

  “Yes?”

  He shook his head.

  “You’ve been seen.”

  A flush crawled up his neck and began a slow ascent up his cheeks. “So what? There’s no law against dating.”

  “True. And no problem with it, either. So why didn’t you just tell the truth?”

  “Haven’t you ever heard about that rule you can’t date your co-workers? Where else are you going to meet people you have something in common with? Why is everyone so determined to make people miserable? Barb is such a nice person. So calm and smart and levelheaded. She’s got a sense of humor, even about the desk situation. She’s the nic est person I’ve ever worked with.”

  I couldn’t imagine that Robbie Van Zandt was too hung up on the rules. I had no idea why he’d wanted to keep their dating a secret, but decided to let that go. For one thing, it wasn’t my business, although I felt her whereabouts was. “Do you have any idea where Barb could be?”

  “Why should I tell you? Do you feel guilty?”

  This time I told the truth. “I do, in a way. I don’t want to be responsible. If she’s upset, I want to talk to her and explain that I was not part of a conspiracy to diminish her. Fredelle regards her as an excellent employee.”

  He glanced past me. “I don’t see what the fuss is about the stupid desk. She gets her job done.”

  “That’s what I think, too. I was going to offer a few approaches and suggest that in the end, maybe a screen might be the best solution.”

  “But you singled her out. No wonder she’s not here.”

  “I didn’t single her out. I have advice for everyone in the office. And anyway, Barb took off before I even got here. We both know that’s true.”

  He nodded and frowned absently.

  “I know it’s true because she almost ran me off the road.”

  He jumped to his feet. “I don’t believe that. She wouldn’t do that. She’s a really nice, kind person and . . .”

  “She did. Trust me. She may not have meant to, but she did. Right outside Quovadicon.”

  He slumped back in the chair and unbuttoned his collar. His color still hadn’t returned to normal and was now somewhere between putty and cold oatmeal. I watched him squirm and resisted the urge to tap my foot. I also fought off the equally strong urge to straighten the files on his desk and empty the trash.

  He said, “There must be some kind of explanation, but I don’t know what it is yet.”

  “Did something happen to upset her? Do you think someone talked about my visit?”

  “No, Dyan and Autumn were just outside whispering and giggling as usual. Barb and I knew you were coming in, and we knew that you’d be looking at her desk and then something would happen. Dyan used to plant things there. Like old food and things like that. The sardine can, this time.” He picked it up and tossed it in the wastebasket. “Barb didn’t even eat at her desk. Anyway, she was prepared for a bit of ritual humiliation. We planned to have a laugh about it afterward.”

  “She tore out of here. Something must have triggered that. Something they said?”

  “She got a phone call.”

  “You mean, just before she left?”

  He bit his lip so hard it must have hurt. I waited until he unleashed a torrent of words. “I should have stopped her. I should have asked her what was going on. I should have told her I’d take care of it. Anything, anything at all, but instead I just sat here like a dumb, useless, stupid—”

  I actually felt sorry for him. “It’s not your fault.”

  “Of course it is.”

  “I doubt that very much.”

  “Yeah, well, you don’t know much about me. I’ve never been able to get anything right.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true.”

  When I arrived, I’d been convinced he was involved in Barb’s disappearance, and now I was practically patting his hand and saying, There, there, don’t cry.

  “Let’s pull ourselves together and try to find her,” I said. “What was the phone call about?”

  He looked down at his feet as if the answer might be written there. “She didn’t say.”

  “Did she say anything?”

  He shook his head. Sad puppy.

  “Was there anything in the conversation that might give us a clue about what upset her?”

  “Do you think I haven’t asked myself that a thousand times?”

  “Maybe some small thing that could help. A word. A phrase?”

  “She gave a little cry, and then she jumped up and raced out the door. I ran after her trying to find out what was wrong, but she just pushed me away like she didn’t even know it was me. Didn’t see me. Then she kept going.”

  That fit in with the woman who drove as if she didn’t see me or my car.

  “And you have not a single clue who or what?”

  “None. It was like she was too upset to talk. I didn’t take it personally when she pushed me away. I knew she had to get out of here. You could tell she was hurting.” He looked up miserably.

  “So the prospect of me didn’t send her over the deep end. It was the call.”

  “Yes.”

  “We need to find out who called her.”

  “I love her,” he said. “Go ahead, and laugh.”

  “I’m not laughing. You may have some horrible co-workers here, but not everybody in the world is a total jerk.”

  Robbie had obviously met more than his share of total jerks. He looked suspicious.


  I added, “Why shouldn’t you love her?”

  “She accepted me for what I am. Now she’s gone. I don’t know what to do.”

  “Well, first of all, she hasn’t been gone long. So let’s work together to find out what happened. Perhaps she got a message about a family member. Maybe it has nothing to do with you or me.”

  “I’m sorry; I kind of lashed out at you. I feel helpless.”

  “Well, let’s start by checking her phone to see who called.”

  “Won’t help. The call came on her cell phone.”

  “And, of course, that went with her?”

  “She had it in her hand when she left.”

  And I hadn’t seen it at her apartment, although I chose not to mention that.

  I said, “Wherever she’s gone.”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. Let’s think. She must have said something when she answered the phone. Hello? Hi? Can you recall the moments before?”

  “She was in a good mood. We were talking about new movies that were coming to town. Stuff we might like to see. We’d been to a couple together. Just like friends, you know. And there’s a new Coen brothers picture in town. She’s a big, big fan.”

  “Go on.”

  “She said we should go to see it and then she’d make dinner for me at her place. Just simple, she said, but we’d have fun. That was great. I was looking forward to seeing where she lived.”

  “You’d never been inside her place?”

  He shook his head.

  “You just drove her home and said good-bye?”

  He stared at me. “I didn’t drive her home. She had her own car. We used to meet at the movies.”

  “Oh. Did you pick her up?”

  Sad puppy eyes again. “I don’t even know where she lives. I could have found out easily I guess if I wanted, but it seemed wrong, like a stalker. Creepy. Anyway, now I had an invitation.”

  I felt a lump in my throat. “Were you nervous?”

  “I was pretty revved about the dinner offer, but yeah, I was nervous. She was relaxed. She probably didn’t know how much . . . I can’t believe I’m telling you these things. I feel like such a loser.”

  “You’re not a loser, Robbie, and you’re the best chance we have of finding out what happened to Barb. So after the dinner offer . . .”

  “We were laughing about popcorn or caviar. Menu choices. Beans or boeuf bourguignon. And her cell phone rang.”

  “Well, did she say anything at all?”

  He closed his eyes, thinking back. “No. She just stood there listening and then that little cry of distress.”

  “She didn’t mention anyone’s name?”

  He shook his head.

  “But she recognized the voice?”

  He blinked behind the thick glasses. “Yes. She must have.”

  “Have you tried calling her cell phone?”

  He actually hung his head.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “I don’t have her number.”

  Now that was unusual, no question about it. I kept my mouth shut. From the look on Robbie’s face, he knew it was weird, too.

  “Well,” I said, at last. “You did work side by side, so you probably never needed to call her.”

  He managed a weak smile. “I suggested it a couple of times. I gave her my number. She just forgot, I thought. When I’d remind her, she’d say, ‘Oh right, gotta do that.’ ”

  For some reason, I felt the need to comfort him. “Well, you could just wave at each other. Probably didn’t seem pressing to her at the time.”

  “I think she didn’t want people calling her. She was very private. But I thought we had something special.”

  “Right.”

  Someone had called her, though. Figuring out who that had been through Robbie wasn’t going to be easy. I tried anyway. “Did she have any other friends or colleagues in Woodbridge?”

  “Not that I knew of.”

  “Family? Maybe someone—”

  He paused, thought a moment. “No. She never mentioned anyone. She never got calls. You know what? In four months, that was the first time I ever heard her cell phone ring.”

  “Really? The first time?”

  He shot me a reproachful look. “Mine never rings, either.”

  “Hmm. We don’t have much to go on.”

  “No.”

  “What did you do after she left?”

  “I didn’t know what to do. I just paced around here and then you arrived, and I figured that you were the cause of the problem.”

  “If you didn’t have her cell phone number, then I can’t imagine any of the Quovadicon staff would. It seems unlikely that someone outside this office would call her and say that I was coming in to check out her desk.” I looked him straight in the eye. “Admit it, Robbie. That’s not what happened.”

  “I realize that now. I guess I was trying to find a reason for it. I wanted someone to blame.”

  “How would you describe her reaction? That cry. What emotion do you think caused it?”

  He stared back at me without speaking. He no longer saw me as the enemy, but I thought I saw panic lurking behind the thick glasses.

  He said at last, “I don’t know how to explain it. I would have to say it was a cry of anguish.”

  9

  Keep the office items and supplies that you use every day

  within easy reach of your desk.

  I had squeezed no more useful information out of Robbie by the time I left, even though I felt he was holding back something. Of course, I was hardly in the position to browbeat him any more than I already had.

  On the way out, I ran into Fredelle, still looking peaked. I followed her into her office, glancing back at Dyan, who was keeping a heavily made-up eye on the two of us.

  “Hi, Fredelle.” I had the contract in my briefcase, but clearly this wasn’t the time to talk about it. “I just had a long talk with Robbie.”

  “He didn’t do anything to her. He wouldn’t. Not Robbie. He just wouldn’t.” She twisted her hands as she spoke. I figured she was on the verge of tears. It struck me—and not for the first time—that for a practical business like shipping and logistics, everyone in Quovadicon seemed overwrought all the time.

  “I didn’t suggest that Robbie did anything to harm Barb, Fredelle,” I said. “Why would you even mention that?”

  She pulled a tissue from her periwinkle pocket and honked. I waited.

  Eventually she said, “Some people are talking.”

  “ ‘Some people.’ You mean Dyan?” I turned back and closed the door. “Don’t give her the satisfaction of getting under your skin. The situation will only get worse if you do.”

  “It’s just that I’m so worried about Barb and now about Robbie and you’ve been dragged into it.”

  “For sure, this is an upsetting day, but . . .”

  “And then she called me a stereotypical interfering mother hen. Said I’m the cause of everything wrong in this office.”

  “What?”

  “She—”

  I held up my hand. “Sorry, I actually heard you, but I couldn’t quite believe it. That’s ridiculous. How could she call anyone a stereotype?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She does dress almost like a cartoon character.”

  I found it hard to imagine that Fredelle wouldn’t have noticed this. Of course, she might almost have been a cartoon character herself. If only she’d worn a long skirt and a blouse with a cameo and kept a canary.

  Fredelle’s jaw dropped. “Overly glamorous, you mean. Do you really see her as a cartoon character?”

  “Never mind, Fredelle. I shouldn’t have said that. But you are certainly not a stereotype. You are warm and caring and kind and obviously committed to your job.”

  She went back to twisting her hands. “We’re all types, I suppose. Robbie’s the sad little boy who could never get out from under his father’s thumb to have a relationship with a woman. Dyan
George, well. And even little Autumn Halliday: pretty face, empty head—oh, I shouldn’t say that. You know what? Barb Douglas is the only one who’s unusual.”

  “In what way?”

  “She’s tough but warm, effective but messy. Friendly, but private. She’s a whole lot of contradictions.” She gri maced. “Maybe that’s why I like her. She’s the only one of us who seems real.”

  “I suppose I’m a bit of a stereotype myself.” I grinned.

  “I suppose you are,” she said.

  That wasn’t the answer I was expecting.

  Fredelle said, “I know what you mean: a bit bossy, a bit uptight, kind of vain about your appearance. Maybe shallow.”

  Ouch.

  “Back to Robbie. Is there something to worry about?” If she’d been pale before, she was bleached white by my comment.

  “I said there wasn’t.”

  Now I was worried. I’d had the feeling there was something wrong in Robbie’s behavior and Fredelle was confirming it.

  I looked her straight in the eye. “I know what you said, but you’re acting as though there is, so please tell me what it is.”

  She straightened up. “I think that this arrangement is not working out. I’m going to terminate it. Right now.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll pay you for your time, and extra, of course.”

  “Fredelle. What’s going on here? I rearranged my schedule to make room for your project.”

  This had been no big deal, a small switch here and there, but never mind.

  She raised her small round chins. “And as I have not signed a contract, that’s even easier. I want you to leave the premises.”

  “No problem. I don’t know what you’re trying to hide, but I’m going to head straight for the police and tell them that you threw me out of the building because you didn’t want me to ask questions about Robbie Van Zandt and the missing employee that you claim to care so much about.”

  I whirled and whipped open the office door.

  “Wait!”

  “Too late,” I said. “I don’t know what you’re trying to hide, and I don’t like being treated like this.”

  Autumn was standing by the filing cabinet, wide eyes even wider. “Awesome,” she said.