Death Loves a Messy Desk

by Mary Jane Maffini

  “That’s right,” Sally said. “Todd Tyrell mentioned that there’s an epidemic of car thefts in Woodbridge.”

  I sniffed. “With Todd’s love of exaggeration, that probably means one.”

  “But that’s good news. If Barb is alive and hiding out because she got mixed up with dangerous people, then you don’t need to get involved. Right?”

  “Wrong. Someone killed her boyfriend and also killed Dyan.” I stopped talking and touched my head. “And they tried to kill me, too, for whatever reason. I guess that means I’m still very involved whether I want to be or not.”

  “And that’s why I’m not leaving you alone.”

  “I’m fine today, really. My head doesn’t hurt. I’m thinking clearly.” I protested. “I have the dogs. And you have your kids. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. Now get out of here.”

  Five minutes later, Sally headed out, yawning. I followed her downstairs and glanced at the open door of Jack’s apartment. Jack was fiddling with his bike in what passes for his living room. He rarely opens CYCotics before eleven in the morning, as he’s not the quickest person out the door at dawn. This morning he was still in his pajama bottoms, and he had a bad case of bed head. He blinked as he noticed my bandage.

  “You okay?”

  “Sure thing. You should see the other guy.” Of course, then I thought of Dyan and it didn’t seem funny.

  He turned his attention back to the bike. “Good. Call me if you need me.”

  Sally shot him a poisonous look, but he’d already vanished deeper into his apartment. “Can’t count on some people.”

  “Relax.” I grinned. “I’m much better and I have the best locks in town.”

  True enough. I put in extras for very good reasons. I have an alarm system. I even have locks on my windows. I am not taking any chances. But if someone really wants you dead, they can find a way to make that happen. Not necessarily when you’re sleeping with one eye open in your bed, but sooner or later you have to go out. You have a living to make, friends to see, places to go, dogs to walk.

  I wasn’t looking forward to nonstop worrying about it. That kind of fear is made even worse if you have no idea who you are supposed to be afraid of. I knew I had to face it sooner rather than later, because the minute I climbed the stairs again, the dogs decided it was time to go.

  Just to be on the safe side, I called into Jack’s apartment on the way out. “Pooch parade!”

  He stuck his head out of the bathroom and waved his toothbrush at me encouragingly.

  Thanks a lot, Jack, I thought.

  Never mind, I told myself. It’s like a vote of confidence. You don’t want to be a prisoner in your apartment for the rest of your life. Pull yourself together. I squared my shoulders and marched out to the curb in my froggie pajamas and pink fluffy slippers. It was a nippy morning. The dogs hate the cold, and they broke their current speed records. “That just earned you a treat,” I said.

  A shadow loomed behind me just as we hit the front steps on our way back. I squeaked in alarm. I paused mid-squeak because it wasn’t my worst fear. No armed thugs, no Barb Douglas ready to bash my head with a stapler, just the khaki-clad Robbie Van Zandt.

  “Oh, you frightened me for a second,” I said. But only a second, because, despite his outbursts, Robbie was one of the least intimidating people on the planet. Even Truffle and Sweet Marie didn’t bother to bark. They sniffed his shoes.

  “Why shouldn’t you be frightened? Look what you’ve done.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Duh. Barb Douglas. Things were fine until you showed up, and now everything in my life has fallen apart.”

  “It wasn’t my doing, Robbie. Not Barb and not Dyan.”

  He scowled at me. “Who cares about Dyan? She got what she deserved.”

  My mind was working fast. I had made, after all, a case against Robbie. I glanced at the window, but, big surprise, Jack wasn’t watching. Probably waxing his bike or something. I noticed a retired neighbor across the street potter ing around the garden. A bit too far away to attract attention, but close enough to get to.

  “Let’s go for a walk and talk about this,” I said, smiling brightly.

  “How stupid do you think I am?”

  Crap.

  “Actually, I don’t think you’re stupid at all.”

  “I was stupid, though, so that’s something else you don’t know.”

  “Not sure what you mean,” I said, wondering if there was anything I could use as a weapon to bean him if I had to defend myself. Somehow pallid, shy Robbie seemed very threatening.

  “We’re going inside,” he said.

  “It’s such a nice day. Why don’t we talk out here?”

  “Because there are witnesses.”

  “Oh. Well, I hope we’re not going to need witnesses.”

  “I don’t care what you hope. I have a gun. It’s pointed straight at you. Get in that door and keep moving. You are going to do what I want.”

  I’d heard that if someone threatens you with a firearm, the best thing to do is run in a zigzag uneven pattern because the chances that you’ll be hit are slight. The odds seemed somewhat higher with a weapon aimed at me, one foot away. No one was close enough to hear me, and even the neighbor across the street had gone inside.

  I could make enough noise to attract Jack’s attention, but then what? Would Robbie shoot Jack, too?

  “I’ll make you a coffee,” I said. “We can talk over that. You can tell me why you’re so angry.”

  “Well, now I think you’re stupid,” he said.

  “Maybe, but I could really use another cup of coffee this morning. You can have one or not, suit yourself.”

  The hardest part is to keep the fear out of your voice. Inside the apartment, Truffle and Sweet Marie launched themselves at Robbie’s legs, wanting to be picked up.

  “Shhh,” I said. “Try to be good. Go lie down.”

  As if.

  “I don’t mind them,” Robbie said, to my surprise. “I like dogs, especially little ones.”

  For a heart-stopping moment, I thought he was mocking me and threatening the tiny naughty creatures I loved so much. Then I realized he meant it.

  He bent down and scratched their necks, then rubbed their bellies. They fell for him hook, line, and sinker. The little rats. I should add that they are no judge of character.

  Lucky for me, I can practically make coffee in my sleep. I carried in two oversize Woodbridge Library mugs that Ramona had given me for an organizing talk I’d given. I loved the huge blue mugs. Could I heave one at the head of the man who was threatening me for whatever unfathomable reason? That might give me time to . . . no, not a good idea.

  Turned out he didn’t drink coffee. “Makes me jittery,” he said. His hands were definitely shaky already. For the first time, I understood that Robbie was as nervous as I was. Maybe more.

  “Have a seat. Here’s a nice selection of Mars bars,” I said. “They won’t make you too jittery, and we may as well be civilized.”

  I perched on the end of the sofa. He took the only chair. The dogs lay down at his feet. Little traitors. I took a sip of my coffee.

  “She’s dead,” he said.

  I blurted out, “Who?”

  He jumped to his feet. “Who do you think? What is the matter with you?”

  I gasped. “Barb? She’s dead? That’s horrible.”

  He nodded.

  “I am so sorry. I hadn’t heard. I tried to get the police to—”

  “They’re useless. They won’t listen. That’s why I’m here. You are partly responsible and you are going to help me find her.”

  My jaw dropped. I managed to speak. “But you just said she’s dead. You mean you don’t know where her . . . body is?” That sounded insensitive even to my own ears.

  I watched his pale anxious face. I could almost feel his misery. He said, “She must be. Why would she do this to me otherwise? But if she’s not, we have to find her. But I
don’t know what to do anymore. I’m not even making sense.”

  “Robbie, I really want to find her, too. Believe me. And I need to know that you won’t freak out over anything I say. I won’t put up with any more accusations or blame or threats.”

  His chin wobbled.

  I said, “So whatever we do from now on will be on my terms. Or we don’t work together. Your choice.”

  “All right. I don’t know where to start.”

  “Do you really have a gun, Robbie?”

  He shook his head. “I was just bluffing. I didn’t want you to run away. I needed to—” He pulled a Baby Ruth candy bar from his pocket.

  I felt like a doofus for being spooked into thinking a candy bar was the muzzle of a gun. But I wasn’t frightened anymore. “Okay, listen and don’t get upset. The problem is that Barb Douglas knew the man who was found dead in the blue Impala on the edge of town on Sunday. Did you hear about that in the news?”

  “She knew him?”

  “Yes. I don’t know in what capacity, but he had driven her home a few times. The people who own her building saw them. I think that news is what sent her running from the office.”

  “But what does this mean?”

  “I don’t know. They could have been colleagues. Could have been friends. I haven’t been able to find out anything more. Except that they saw each other a lot.”

  To my horror, tears welled up in Robbie’s eyes. “Maybe they were related.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that. The police haven’t given out his name. They’re playing their cards close to their chests on this one. Maybe if we knew where she was from—”

  “I thought she loved me. I think she did. Does. I believe it. I believe in her. I won’t let this change that.” He stopped and glared at me. “If we can find her, I know she’ll have a good reason for having disappeared.”

  “You’re right. She doesn’t want the people who killed this man to kill her. She has panicked and gone into hiding. Let’s hope she can keep a step ahead of them.”

  “Maybe she’s gone home to her family.”

  I almost spilled my coffee. Of course. Her family. “Excellent idea. Do you know anything about them?”

  “She never talked about them.” He looked at me sheepishly and glanced away. “I tried to Google her, but there were so many people with that name. None of them her.”

  “Listen, Robbie. I have some ideas to follow up on. I’ll check car rental agencies, for instance, but I’ll need a photo of her, because I’m sure she wouldn’t use her real name. Do you have one?” I knew he did, but I didn’t want him to know that I knew that. I didn’t figure I’d get my stolen copy back from Pepper without a hair-pulling session.

  “I have one, on my phone. We were clowning around in the office and I snapped a picture of her. I can send it to you. Do you have a printer here?” Robbie did his best to look casual, but his deep flush gave him away.

  “I have a mini-printer for photos,” I said, pointing toward my office. “E-mail me the photo, and I’ll print it for you.”

  “I’ll just use my memory stick,” he said.

  Minutes later, as the photo of Barb slid from the printer, Robbie said, “I can come with you to the rental companies.”

  The last thing I needed was Robbie threatening a car rental employee and having the strategic response team show up.

  “I have a better idea. You can get her personnel file from Quovadicon.”

  “That won’t take any time. We can just ask Fredelle.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t want Fredelle to know that I’m involved in any way.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because she lied to me, Robbie, when she asked me to come to try to help about Barb’s desk. I find that suspicious. And later she told me I wasn’t welcome at Quovadicon.”

  He flushed and looked away. “I think all that was my fault, because I was upset about Barb. I told my father you were making trouble.”

  “Even so. I don’t want to deal with Fredelle. I don’t know what she’s really up to. And anyway, I can’t go back to Quovadicon because some people believe I tricked the staff into leaving and then killed Dyan.”

  “So we’re stuck again.”

  “Not really, Robbie. You have the run of the place. Nobody finds you suspicious.”

  “What can I do?”

  He sure wasn’t one to pick up on an idea quickly. “You can get your mitts on Barb’s personnel file without anyone knowing, not even Fredelle. It’s underhanded, but we need to find out where she comes from. She might be hiding with a relative or former co-worker. Remember, we don’t want anyone to know that we’re doing it. Or that you have any connection with me. And don’t get caught. Remember what happened to Dyan.”

  He nodded. “I’ll do it. The office staff is all in by nine. Fredelle will be at her desk. But maybe I should wait until tonight. I like it better when no one’s around, just a few guys in the warehouse and the truckers.”

  “Did you say the warehouse guys and truckers are there in the night?”

  “Depends on what’s coming in and going out, but I don’t usually see them.”

  “That reminds me. Two guys in a truck helped me after . . . the situation with Barb. I thought their names were Mel and Del, but Fredelle said no one with those names works for your company. Do they sound familiar?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t mix with those guys. I might recognize their faces.”

  “Oh well. Try to get the file in the daytime without attracting attention.”

  “I know where the keys are kept. You really think this file might help?”

  “Let’s hope.”

  Robbie looked bleak. “We have to hope that things don’t get any worse.”

  16

  Reserve one outfit for disaster mornings:

  no hot water, slept in, sick pet—you know the scenario.

  Make sure it’s professional and comfortable

  and looks good on you.

  It will help you stay confident as your day wears on.

  By eleven, my head felt much clearer and I decided to make the rounds of the car rental companies. It was time to shower, shampoo, ditch the pajamas, and dress like big people. I reached for my disaster-morning outfit. I slipped on the raspberry sleeveless turtleneck and matching cardigan, enjoying the feel of soft cotton cashmere. September days can freeze or fry, so I could always slip off the cardigan if the temperature soared. I kept this favorite, two-year-old outfit ready for rough days: the chunky dark necklace would keep it on the right side of snazzy. The plain chocolate lightweight wool trousers had a comfortable stretch, and my glossy short boots were butter soft and easy on the feet. I was ready to go.

  As I was leaving home, I got a call from a woman who was desperate to deal with her teenage daughter’s disastrous bedroom. “Emergency,” she said. “Can you come tonight?” I explained that I’d had a head injury and there was a small chance I might have to cancel, but I would do my best. I wrote down her phone number and address. I felt good doing something so normal.

  Luckily, there were only three car rental offices in Woodbridge, and by noon I’d been through them all. No one had recognized Barb from her photo, although one customer had noticed Barb on television.

  So the car rental was a dead end. That left stolen cars. Maybe even harder to get information on those. Unless . . . I got into the Miata and cruised by the police station. I kept going and pulled in front of Doug’s Donuts, a favorite spot of the Woodbridge constabulary. Sure enough, parked at the counter, leering at a glazed chocolate number with white chocolate filling, was Nick Monahan.

  “Hey, Charlie. You look good enough to—”

  “Don’t go there,” I snapped. I then moderated my tone quickly. “So, Nick. I need to know something, and you’re the one person who probably knows the answer.”

  His chest puffed up. Predictably. “Yeah, what is it?”

  “Stolen cars.”

  He frowned. “Your car get stolen
?”

  “No.”

  “But—”

  “Long story. It’s a bit of research I’m doing.”

  He nodded knowingly. “You taking a course?”

  “In a way. I was wondering if the type of cars that are stolen on a typical afternoon would be different from the type of cars stolen in the morning.”

  “Boy, it would take a while to go back over the year and figure that out.”

  “Sorry,” I said, “my research just focuses on this week.”

  “Just this week?” Nick was losing interest in me and eyeing the doughnut lustfully.

  “Yes.”

  He nodded, eyes still on the doughnut case.

  “Let me get you another couple of those, Nick.”

  “Thanks, Charlie, but it’s not much work. We only had one car stolen here this week and it was, hey—”

  “Hey!” I echoed. “I bet that means Monday? Late afternoon?”

  “Yeah, how did you know?”

  “I’m a good guesser. Was it near Lilac Lane by any chance?” I gestured to the man behind the counter. “Half dozen chocolate glazed for my friend here.” I slapped Nick on the back.

  He frowned in concentration. “You know, it was maybe two blocks from there. Iris Street. You’re good.”

  “No one knows cars like you do, Nick. What make of car, by the way?” I said.

  “Well, that’s true. I do know cars.” He chuckled a bit at his own cleverness. “It was a black Civic, ’99, new paint job, though. Mint condition.”

  “A black Civic.”

  “But you could have guessed that.”

  “Why?”

  “Thieves love the older Honda Civics. Pop the locks like that.” He snapped his fingers. “And if they don’t have an alarm system or keyless entry, they’re gone, looking like half the other cars on the road. Ten minutes later, they’re in a chop shop. Thought you’d have picked that up in your research.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “That’s impressive, Nick.”

  I had a feeling this was one Civic that wouldn’t end up in the chop shop. Black would be good for Barb. Why rent and be identified when you could pop the lock and off you go? Black would be pretty well invisible at night. I had a feeling the plates would have been switched with some other vehicle’s, something with a bit of dust on it. I was smiling as I said good-bye to Nick.