Death Loves a Messy Desk

by Mary Jane Maffini

  “What kind of breakdown?”

  “As I just said, Charlotte, no one’s business but Robbie’s.”

  I felt a surge of anger on behalf of poor trapped Robbie, even though I still wouldn’t choose to walk down a dark alley with him. I knew Ramona wouldn’t give me any more information. But I could tell by her reaction that whatever had happened, she didn’t think Robbie was a danger to anyone. I backtracked. “Agreed. He sure doesn’t seem like the CEO type.”

  She relaxed. “And he doesn’t want to be a CEO. His father just can’t let up on the control. I wonder what he thought about the relationship with Barb.”

  Well, now, I wondered that, too.

  When I settled in at home, I asked myself: Had Reg Van Zandt discovered that Barb was a fraud? Or had he known it all along? Had the game changed when she became involved with Robbie? Did he think the relationship would lead to another breakdown? Had he decided to kill her to keep her from luring his son into a relationship or even a marriage? Was Fredelle in on whatever he might have done?

  I shook my head at this. How did the man in the trunk of the blue Impala fit in? What about the truck drivers? Did they work for him? Did they pursue Barb and try to kill me on his orders? What did I really know about that anyway? It was just circumstantial. Whatever was going on, Barb Douglas seemed to be at the heart of it.

  The dogs lay on my feet as I read her obit. A list of accomplishments and volunteer commitments: Big Sisters. UNICEF. Predeceased by her parents. No siblings identified. Fondly remembered by her friends Hugo Speigl and Jim Smith and many others, unfortunately not named.

  If I remembered correctly, there were so many Jim Smiths in the country that they had their own society. I pinned my hopes on Hugo Speigl and Googled him.

  Jackpot.

  Within a couple of minutes, I had a phone number, but no e-mail. Of course, the phone call got me voice mail. When doesn’t it?

  I left a pleasant and upbeat message for Hugo, saying I had an inquiry about the late Barb Douglas, and I understood he’d been a friend and could help me. I left my number if he wanted to call back, but also said I’d try again later on my own dime.

  Well, that left one more thing I had to do, and I didn’t plan to do it on my own. I called for reinforcements: Sally claimed her neighbor owed her big-time because Benjamin had treated her sprained ankle. She planned to call in the favor. Margaret succumbed to a serious guilt trip focusing on the nature of friendship. She asked if by any chance I’d been hanging out with her parents. Naturally, Jack didn’t answer his phone.

  The Van Zandt place was situated on a multiacre spread that ran down to the Hudson. The property was surrounded by a wrought-iron fence, with a phalanx of security cameras at the entrance. I figured he had plenty to protect. It might not have been convenient to Woodbridge, but this home and surroundings seemed pretty close to paradise. I gazed around as the gates opened and our three cars drove through. The lawn swept up to woods at the crest of a long gently sloping hill. It rolled down to the water and the rocky beach below. The home was sprawling and modern, with various additions and outbuildings in tasteful materials, blending into the surroundings.

  “That’s nice,” Sally said, pointing to the wildflower garden meandering by the side of the long drive. I sniffed to show that I wasn’t fooled by a few purple coneflowers.

  I also refused to be charmed by the idyllic pond near the side of the house.

  “Look at the ducks!” Sally said.

  I ignored the comments and the ducks. I was here to confront a man about actions that had led to death, disappearance, and disaster.

  At the front of the house, I was faced with a wheelchair ramp with switchbacks up to the house. Window boxes with late-season marigolds lit up the long rails. I gave the thumbs-up to Sally and to Margaret, who had followed in her car.

  Sally called out, “Say the word and we’ll be there in a second.”

  Margaret said, “This is such a bad idea, I can’t believe I let you blackmail me into it.”

  “Try to live a life above reproach, Margaret, and I’ll have nothing to hang over your head.”

  “Yeah, you wait until you meet someone. I’ll have fun then.”

  “What are you two talking about?” Sally called.

  “Surprise endings,” I said.

  “Don’t ask,” Margaret said.

  “Why isn’t Jack here?” Sally asked.

  “He has more important stuff to do,” I said.

  Reg Van Zandt opened the door himself. I had been expecting a team of servants. Instead, I gazed down at an aging man in a wheelchair. If you formed your opinion of him based on the silver hair, the weathered face, or the twinkling dark eyes, you might think this was a gentle man, easily deceived. I thought the truth might be different.

  “Welcome,” he said. “You must be Charlotte Adams. Come in. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  He pivoted, obviously expert in handling the wheelchair, and I followed him into the interior. It was simple and comfortable. More about hobbies and comfort than making the trend magazines.

  No point in beating around the bush. “You need to—”

  “Is that fudge?” he said, pointing to the gift-wrapped package in my hand.

  I nodded. “Black-and-white fudge from Kristee’s Kandees. I’m intruding and I thought you might like some.”

  “I’m willing to share,” he said. “What about your friends?”

  “My friends?”

  “The two who are parked outside.” He gestured toward the front window.

  “They’re just waiting to see that everything’s all right,” I said.

  He swiveled back to me. “Why wouldn’t everything be all right?”

  “Well, because people are dead or missing. I’ve been attacked and pursued, and all that makes a person cautious. Don’t you think all that should stop?”

  He chuckled, a low pleasant boom. “So you brought reinforcements. Full marks for resourcefulness. All right. Go ahead. You’ve got the floor.”

  “I’ll cut to the chase. What happened to Barb Douglas?”

  “I have no idea. Why are you asking me?”

  “Because I think you know what’s going on. You hired Barb, no one is really sure why. You did the reference checks, I heard. You’re an astute businessman and I think you would have thoroughly vetted a new hire. In which case you’d have discovered that Barb Douglas died a few years ago.”

  I had dropped Fredelle and perhaps Missy into the deep end, but what choice did I have?

  “Is that so?” he said, frowning.

  “That’s where it started. Then someone killed a friend of hers and she panicked and fled. I thought she was running for her life, but now I don’t know.”

  “I really have no idea what you are talking about.”

  “Sure you do. You knew about her friend and his death. You didn’t even blink when I mentioned him.”

  “Well, it has been all over the news.”

  “The connection with Barb and the dead man wasn’t. It wasn’t anywhere. Not at the office.”

  “Surely Fredelle wouldn’t breach confidences.”

  “She didn’t. There are ways of checking things out.”

  “Legal ways to get the information, I hope, Miss Adams.”

  I continued on the offense. “You went over everyone’s head and caused bad feelings in the office to bring in a woman who wasn’t who she claimed to be.”

  He shrugged. “She’s an exceptional woman.”

  “What did you have her doing? Were you running some kind of scam and she was part of it?”

  “That’s nonsense. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Here’s what I do know. I know that the guy’s dead in the trunk. I know that Barb is gone, dead, hiding, kidnapped, or otherwise connected with the killers. I don’t know which. But I do know she has to be at the center of this. I know that Dyan is dead because of something she found out. I’m lucky I looked like a good person to fr
ame for her death, or I would be dead, too. I also know that two truckers who seem to have a connection to you tried to kill me last night. And I know that they’re in the morgue now. Everything comes back to Quovadicon.”

  The dark, intelligent eyes lit up with amusement. “You think I created all this death and destruction from the vantage point of this wheelchair?”

  Is that what Robbie believed? “You’re involved somehow. And you must be aware that your son is devastated. He cares deeply for Barb Douglas or whoever she really is. Fredelle is having some kind of breakdown. One of your employees is dead, killed in your offices. Three other men are dead. It’s time to come clean.”

  He met my eyes, and I felt a chill down my bones. “Perhaps you’re right, Miss Adams. Some people may need to know. But you’re not one of them.”

  “I think I have a right to know. Dyan died because she wanted to meet with me to tell me something.”

  “You were in the wrong place at the wrong time meddling in things you have no knowledge of. That does not convey rights. You are lucky you weren’t killed. As you said, the men who chased you in the truck are now dead. You don’t need to worry about them anymore, but I suggest you stick to what you do best. What is it? Yes, closets. So turn your talents to helping the ladies keep their shoes in good order and keep away from my business.”

  “I think you made the call to clear out the office the day Dyan was killed.”

  “That I did not do. Why would I? Do you think I got where I am by wasting time and money?”

  “Maybe it was worth it to frame me.”

  “I don’t need to frame you, Miss Adams. You seem to be on a self-destruct course all on your own. People can get caught in your wreckage. Please stay away from my family. Robbie doesn’t need anyone to push him further over the edge.”

  “Just tell me what’s going on.”

  He smiled. “Thank you for bringing the fudge, Miss Adams. If you have concerns about what has been happening, I suggest you take your intrusive questions and bizarre accusations to the police.”

  My phone vibrated. I answered.

  “Chill. I’ll be right out. Don’t dial 911 yet,” I said and snapped it shut before making the best of a bad situation and leaving with my head high. “Keep in mind that several people know I was here to talk to you, and we’ll make sure others learn about it, too, including the police, as you suggested. And I don’t want to be followed, threatened, or otherwise bothered again.”

  “Now you have your own black-and-white fudge,” I said, as my team of bodyguards settled back in my living room. “It’s your bribe for being there.”

  Sally said, “Excellent choice of bribe. There’s nothing a box of black-and-white fudge can’t fix.” Sally has her goals in life, and they are unwavering. She added, “The fudge is fantastic, but I do feel let down in the drama department. After all, no desperate rescues were required.”

  “That was fine by me,” I said. “I had been thinking more along the lines of a 911 call rather than having you storm the castle.”

  “The biggest problem,” Margaret said, “was that we all looked like gold-plated wingnuts.”

  I was glad she hadn’t mentioned the lost billable hours from her law practice.

  “I know you both dropped everything to come out there and it turned out to be for nothing, but it might have been serious and it means a lot to have my friends with me when I need them.”

  Sally and Margaret exchanged glances.

  Sally said, “That reminds me, where exactly was Jack?”

  More glances. Did they think I’d lost my sight?

  I said, “Jack’s busy with the race fund-raiser for WAG’D. You know that.”

  Sally said, “Right. All meetings, all the time. What’s that about? No wonder you’re upset.”

  “I am not upset. I know there are lots and lots of organizational activities to make sure it runs smoothly. So it can be hard to reach him.” I lifted my chin. Who wants to be cast in the role of the dumped friend?

  Sally’s right eyebrow was raised, and Margaret was looking even more inscrutable than usual. However, they did take the time to exchange glances once more.

  “Will you two stop doing that? He has a life, that’s all. He doesn’t owe any of us attendance twenty-four-seven, last I looked.”

  I thought that sounded credible for a complete and utter lie. Maybe I fooled some of the people this one time.

  Sally said, “Oh, well. A bigger problem is Reg Van Zandt.”

  “That’s the thing. I saw his face. He wasn’t surprised by my information. I’m convinced he already knew Barb wasn’t who she said she was. But I don’t believe he knows where she is now and I think he’s worried.”

  Sally got to her feet. “But where does that leave us? Or I should say leave you, because I have to get home.”

  Margaret stood up, too. “I’d better hit the road, too.”

  As she opened the door, Sally called out. “Watch the news. Todd Tyrell might be on to something.”

  I said, “Oh, don’t be ridic—”

  But Margaret had already clicked the remote. “Todd gives me the creeps, but he always seems to be ahead of the cops. Can’t argue with that.”

  I blinked to avoid the flash of teeth. Todd was on location, on a grassy stretch near a ravine. Although the trees behind him were swaying in the wind, his gelled hair remained unmoved. Naturally, he was in full verbal flight.

  The citizens of Woodbridge are on high alert today after the confirmation of two more murders in our formerly peaceful town.

  Margaret said, “Whoa.”

  I crossed my arms and glowered at the screen. “Two more murders? Look at him. He can scarcely contain his glee.”

  Sally delayed her departure and stepped back into the room and said, “Shhh.”

  An anonymous source close to the Woodbridge police force has revealed that both truck drivers killed in yesterday’s fiery crash in a lonely ravine on the outskirts of the city had been shot at close range prior to the crash. Police have not confirmed that these latest murders are connected with the death of a still unidentified man found in the trunk of a car on Sunday.

  A shot of the blue Impala flashed across the screen before the camera returned to Todd.

  The dead truckers are the third and fourth victims of what appears to be a murderous crime wave in Woodbridge. On Wednesday, forty-nine-year-old Dyan George was found battered to death in the offices of Quovadicon, in Patterson Business Park.

  The Quovadicon office appeared behind Todd’s head this time. Like magic. While the very photogenic Autumn stared teary-eyed and Mr. Halliday scowled at the cameras, poor Fredelle could be seen gesturing for the camera crew to leave. Her neat silvery hair stood on end, and she had the look of a small, trapped pet. The image behind Todd switched. Of course it did. WINY no longer had to rely on last year’s stock footage of me being hauled into the cop shop wearing my pajamas and pink fuzzy slippers. Now they had new material: I was being hauled out on a stretcher, but it certainly looked like I was being grilled by Nick. He looked like an action adventure hero. I managed to convey the impression that I was drug-addled and possibly inebriated. My head was bleeding, but I figured most people watching this clip would assume it was splatter from one of my many victims.

  Further unconfirmed reports indicate that Charlotte Adams, shown here following the murder of Dyan George, was involved in an altercation with the dead truckers in the Vineland Estates last night.

  “What?” I squeaked.

  Stay tuned to WINY for updates on this breaking news. This is Todd Tyrell keeping an eye out for you.

  “An altercation?” I shouted at the television. “I was pursued, you pointy-headed orange mutant. I thought they were going to kill me.”

  I stared at the television, ignoring the blatant character trashing that Todd usually generated. The shot of Fredelle brought to mind another apparent fact that had been bothering me. Fredelle knew Reg Van Zandt’s voice. They talked all the time. Ye
t she hadn’t recognized that the call was a prank. So which was it? Had Reg really made that call, or had Fredelle lied about that to implicate me?

  21

  Leave your prioritized To Do list on your desk

  when you finish work at the end of the day.

  Have the number-one-priority file ready

  to tackle first thing in the morning.

  Sally and Margaret left me stewing over that problem and the broadcast as a whole. When the phone rang, I was pacing irritably, trying to figure out a way to interrogate Fredelle. I considered letting it go to message. Todd’s broadcasts often lead to a flurry of bizarre calls. But there was no point in procrastinating. Just get it over with. I snatched up the phone and said, “Charlotte Adams.”

  “Hello. This is Hugo Speigl returning your call. You wanted to talk about Barbara?” He had a nice voice, slightly formal and elegant, European perhaps.

  I inhaled. “I did.”

  “May I ask why?”

  “This will sound very strange, but someone seems to have assumed her identity, and that person is involved in some dangerous business.”

  “Heavens,” he said. “Really? Who would do such a thing?”

  “That’s just it. I don’t know. But there’s a chance it was someone who knew her. If I e-mailed you a photo, could you tell me if you know this person?”

  He paused. “I suppose that would be all right.”

  “It’s just a name. Probably it’s no one you know. But this woman is in grave danger, so if you do have information, you may help save her life.”

  Another pause, longer this time. “Yes, I will do that.”

  I thanked him, jotted down his e-mail address and told him I’d get it to him as soon as possible.

  “I am just going out for a few hours,” he said. “I will look for it when I return.”

  Robbie answered his phone on the first ring. Maybe he didn’t get that many calls. Maybe he was hoping it was Barb.