Black and White and Dead All Over: A Midlife Crisis Mystery (Midlife Crisis Mysteries)

by Marlo Hollinger

  My heart lifted. Vitamins! Bob didn’t know about ‘Fat Off’! My scoop was safe!

  We got to Kutrate Kemicals and Bob parked his truck in a visitor’s slot. “Let’s get this over with,” he said. “Keep your mouth shut and your eyes open and you’ll do just fine.”

  That was exactly what I planned on doing.

  Dog trotting behind Bob, I followed him to the entrance. It was on the tip of my tongue to remark that my daughter worked there but I managed not to share that information with Bob. Mainly because I was positive that he wouldn’t be interested. Bob walked inside ahead of me, not bothering to hold the door open for me. If there was a Mrs. Bob Meredith, I pitied her. The moment he spotted the receptionist, he turned on the charm that had been invisible up to that point. “How’s that back?” he asked. I hung behind, hoping the receptionist wouldn’t remember me from my visit with Jane or my visit with Fritz. The woman looked up, a sour look on her face. The sour look vanished when she saw Bob Meredith standing in front of her.

  “Well, hello, Bob! It’s been too long!”

  “I don’t get up here nearly as much as I’d like,” Bob said. “Kutrate doesn’t seem to be doing anything newsworthy lately.”

  Wanna bet? I thought.

  “No, it’s been business as usual,” the receptionist said. “And my back is much better. Those exercises you gave me did the trick!”

  “Glad to hear it! If I come across any more, I’ll be sure to send them on to you.”

  “Thanks, Bob!”

  “I’m here to see Bernard about the new vitamin product you guys are putting out,” Bob said.

  “Mr. Morton is expecting you,” the receptionist is. She glanced over at me. “Is this your assistant?” She still didn’t recognize me which was just dandy with me. There’s a lot to be said about being extremely average looking.

  “Yeah,” Bob didn’t introduce me.

  “You can go up to Mr. Morton’s office. See you later, Bob.”

  “You know it,” Bob said, winking at her.

  I didn’t get it at all but apparently the Bob Meredith charm was lost on me. Then again, he hadn’t used his charm on me so far. Bob led the way to a bank of elevators.

  “I did a story on back pain and she was one of my subjects,” Bob explained to me over one shoulder. “Dynamite gal but really in agony over a slipped disc. I was able to find some exercises for her that apparently helped her out.”

  “That was nice of you,” I said. “To go out of your way like that.” Nice and completely shocking. Maybe I’d been wrong about my rapid fire assessment of Bob Meredith. He’d seemed so self-centered and more than a touch of a jerk but here he was helping someone with their back problems and researching exercises for her. I obviously didn’t know Bob as well as I thought I did, which, to be fair, was not at all.

  “One of the best parts of being a reporter, DeeDee,” Bob informed me. “I like to help people. That and I wouldn’t mind getting her between the sheets, if you know what I mean. I wash her hand, she washes mine, so to speak.” This time he winked at me as he pressed the floor button in the elevator. What a pig.

  We rode up in silence until the elevator doors opened on the tenth floor. Bob stepped out and walked along the hallway. “Now you just sit and observe the master at work,” he said as he knocked on the door. “We’ll be in and out of here in fifteen minutes. That’s how it’s done, DeeDee.”

  “Come in,” a deep voice called. Bob and I stepped into the office. A large man with a florid face was seated behind an enormous desk. He rose and with difficulty made his way around the desk to where we were standing, his hand outstretched like a politician greeting potential voters. “Bob! Great to see you!”

  They shook hands and then the man looked at me. “And who is this?”

  Bob glanced in my direction. “DeeDee….uh, DeeDee,” he finished lamely having obviously forgotten my last name.

  “DeeDee Pearson,” I said as I extended my own hand. “How do you do?”

  Bernard Morton took my hand and gave me a handshake that was firm to the point of painful. Narrowing his bloodshot eyes, he looked at me quizzically. “Pearson? Are you related to Jane Pearson?”

  “I’m her mother,” I said proudly.

  “Wonderful young lady,” Bernard said. “We’re very happy to have her as part of the Kutrate family.”

  “Why don’t we get on with the interview,” Bob interrupted, looking a tad irritated. “I know what a busy man you are, Bernard.”

  “Never too busy for a journalist, Bob. I don’t know what this town would do without you.”

  Bob chuckled. “That’s a question I ask myself every single morning, Bernard.”

  “And it’s a good question. Young people today don’t seem to realize that without freedom of the press, this country would be in deep doo doo. Now shall we begin?”

  I perched on the edge of my chair and grabbed the moment to try and objectively study the CEO of Kutrate Kemicals. Bernard Morton was short and heavy with dark curly hair that was balding in a not too attractive pattern that left a large whorl in the dead center of his crown. He also had a five o’clock shadow à la Richard Nixon and arms that were hairier than an ape’s. His physical attributes all adding up to someone who looked like he’d be more comfortable as a butcher or a longshoreman instead of the CEO of a successful company. All in all, he was very simian.

  Bernard caught me staring at him and gave me the slightest wink. Blushing, I turned my attention to one of his degrees that was hanging on the wall about ten inches from my head. According to the framed diploma, he’d graduated from the University of Chicago in 1978. The University of Chicago was a top notch school. Somehow I couldn’t picture Bernard Morton going there. He had much more of a community college air to him.

  “I take it you’re Bob’s assistant, DeeDee?” Bernard asked.

  “In a way,” I replied demurely, not thrilled to be seen as Bob’s assistant but not wanting to shout from the rooftops the real reason why I was tagging along.

  “Let’s sit at the conference table,” Bernard suggested. “I can’t wait to tell you about ‘Vita Vapors.’ We know it’s going to be a huge seller.”

  On the table were several plastic containers. “That’s our newest baby,” Bernard said proudly. “It goes in one of those e-cigarettes. People will be able to inhale their vitamins and look cool as heck while they do it.”

  Bob pulled a reporter’s notebook out of his back pocket and made a production of flipping through the pages until he reached a blank one. “Okay, let’s see. When will ‘Vita Vapors’ be available in stores?”

  “We’re launching the line next month,” Bernard replied. “I have a press kit for you that should answer all of your questions.”

  “Who thought up the ‘Vita Vapor’?” The question popped out of my own mouth before I could stop it. I knew that I wasn’t supposed to talk and I didn’t mean to but I was curious to know if Fritz had anything to do with it which he probably didn’t. Fritz had his hands full with ‘Fat Off’ but I still thought it was a legitimate question.

  “That doesn’t matter, DeeDee,” Bob informed me. “It doesn’t matter who came up with the product; what matters is that Kutrate Kemicals is marketing it.”

  “He’s right, little lady,” Bernard agreed. “It’s our policy not to credit the little people with their big ideas. We’re all part of one big happy family here and everyone is treated equally.”

  It didn’t sound that way to me if Bernard Thornton was taking all of the credit for every new product Kutrate Kemicals produced. No wonder Fritz was in such a snit over ‘Fat Off.’ It sounded like he wasn’t going to get any credit for his product at all. “I don’t know,” I ventured. “I’ve always thought that it’s a good idea to give credit where credit is due. Doesn’t that help keep people motivated?”

  Bob moved his foot out and kicked me not very gently in the shins. “Excuse DeeDee,” he said smoothly to Bernard. “She just started at the newspaper and d
oesn’t quite know her place yet. DeeDee’s a reporter in training but for now she’s acting as my right hand woman.”

  Bernard’s eyebrows rose and I could almost hear him thinking Isn’t she kind of long in the tooth for that? Squaring my shoulders, I primed myself to remind Mr. Morton about age discrimination lawsuits but fortunately Bernard didn’t say anything. Or maybe not so fortunately. An age discrimination lawsuit had to pay better than the newspaper. “I suppose asking questions is one way for people to learn.”

  “So is keeping your mouth shut and your eyes open,” Bob said snippily. “Let’s get back to our interview. Do you have any other exciting new products up your corporate sleeve?”

  Leaning back in his chair, Bernard steepled his fingers and smiled much like a cat who not only ate the canary but doused it with barbecue sauce first. “As a matter of fact, yes, we do. We’re working on a product that I guarantee will knock not only your socks off but all of the socks in the United States of America.”

  ‘Fat Off.’ It had to be ‘Fat Off’! I held my breath and hoped that Bernard Morton would clam up. I so didn’t want Bob Meredith to get my scoop!

  “Care to elaborate?”

  Bernard pursed his lips and suddenly looked like an old woman who’d just discovered her married minister out on a date with a hot twenty year old. “Sorry,” he said after several long, agonizing moments, “No can do. When the product is ready you’ll be the first newsman I call, Bob. I promise you that. First you and then the New York Times.”

  “Well,” Bob slapped his notebook together and got to his feet. I rose too. “I can’t ask for anything more than that. Thanks, Bernard. Always good to see you. I’m going to snap a photo of you holding your new product and then we’ll be off. DeeDee,” he barked, “take a picture of Mr. Morton holding the Vita Vapor.”

  Wonderful. Almost every picture I’ve ever taken has looked like it’s been shot from the back seat of a moving car by a very short five-year old. “I don’t take the best pictures,” I began. Bob interrupted me.

  “You’ll never learn if you don’t practice,” he said while rolling his eyes with a look-what-I’m-stuck-with expression on his face. “I’ll meet you downstairs.” After shaking hands again with Bernard, Bob left the office. I was glad to see him go since I was sure my hands would shake even more if I had to try and take a picture with him hurrying me along.

  I tried to look professional. “Why don’t you hold the Vita Vapor?” I suggested. Bernard willingly picked one of the vials up and put it in the palm of his hand.

  “Like this?”

  “Perfect,” I said and it would be a good shot—in the hands of a professional photographer. In my shaky hands it was more than likely going to look like a picture taken by someone coming off a three day bender.

  Bernard didn’t seem to notice my nervousness or if he did he was too polite to say anything. He willingly sat while I took approximately fifty pictures with my cell phone—I was going with the belief that if I took enough snapshots surely one of them would turn out. As I circled him he asked me a few questions about Jane.

  “Your daughter is such a good worker,” he remarked. “Smart, professional, trustworthy—is she dating anyone?”

  That was a strange segue. “I’m not sure,” I said. “You know how it is with kids—they never tell you anything.” I began doing a crab walk toward the door. “Thank you and if none of the pictures turn out I’m sure you’ll hear from Bob to set up another photo session.”

  “One of them will be fine,” Bernard said confidently. He walked to the door with me. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you, DeeDee, and tell that talented daughter of yours to keep her nose to the grindstone and not to let herself be derailed by falling in love or any other such foolishness. We have big plans for her. I’d hate to see our plans not come to fruition.” With that oddly ominous statement, he showed me out the door.

  Now what on earth was that all about? I asked myself as I headed for the elevator. It sounded as if Bernard Morton was trying to warn me to warn Jane to do something but what that something was I couldn’t tell. Did Bernard know Jane was interested in Fritz? I pondered that thought as I rode back down to the lobby. That had to be it. Jane and Fritz were obviously the topic of some water cooler gossip and it had drifted up to Bernard Morton’s office. Maybe Bernard planned on getting rid of Fritz so that Fritz couldn’t make any claims on ‘Fat Off.’ This day was turning out to be too much for me with my being foisted on Bob for some on the job training and Jane’s boss hinting that she was about to get herself into some kind of trouble if she dated the wrong man and my new shoes just about killing me. I couldn’t wait to get home and tell Steve everything.

  Chapter Ten

  “Bob Meredith brought me along on an interview with Bernard Morton over at Kutrate Kemicals,” I told Steve as I dished out tuna casserole that smelled positively delicious but that I had absolutely no desire to eat. I poured myself a glass of ice water and sat down next to Steve. “He wanted to show me how a real interview is done.”

  “He actually said that?” Steve questioned.

  “Yep.” I shrugged. “It didn’t really hurt my feelings. I am a rookie at all of this and the more I can learn, the better.”

  “So what was the interview like?”

  “It was fine. Bernard Morton complimented Jane and said she’s a wonderful employee.” I didn’t add all of the borderline creepy stuff he’d said about her. Steve tends to be very protective of his only daughter.

  “What did Bob Meredith ask him about?”

  “Kutrate Kemicals is introducing a new product. A vitamin that you inhale from one of those e-cigarettes.”

  “Did he say anything about the weight loss spray?”

  I shook my head. “Not a word.”

  “Well, at least he likes Jane. It’s good to have your boss like you.”

  “I imagine it would be,” I agreed, thinking of Kate and how she glared at me every time I saw her. Jeff seemed neutral when it came to how he felt about me.

  “Your bosses will love you once they get to know you,” Steve assured me. “It would be impossible for them to do anything else. Hey, aren’t you having any dinner?”

  “I’m not hungry,” I said truthfully.

  Steve set down his fork and stared at me. “Are you all right?”

  “No, I feel great. Why?”

  “You always have an appetite. I can’t remember the last time you didn’t have dinner. Are you sure you’re okay?” Steve’s eyes suddenly narrowed. “DeeDee, you didn’t have any dinner last night either. You picked at your food. And this morning you had black coffee without the English muffin slathered in butter that you’ve had every morning for the past thirty years. What have you been up to?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I began but then stopped. I can’t lie to Steve. “All right, Steve, I had a whiff of ‘Fat Off’ yesterday and it killed my appetite completely. I’ve lost two pounds already.”

  “What?” Steve shouted. “Are you insane? You smelled a chemical that hasn’t been tested yet? Have you lost your mind?”

  “Of course I haven’t. Would you calm down please? Fritz assured me that ‘Fat Off’ is perfectly safe and he said I’ll get my appetite back after our next session only—get this—I’ll be able to eat anything I want. Isn’t that fabulous?”

  “Impossible is what it is,” Steve corrected me. “I think we should go straight to the ER.”

  “What for? I told you, I’m fine. Don’t make a production out of this, Steve. I’m perfectly all right.”

  Steve wasn’t convinced. “Why on earth would you take a risk like that, DeeDee? You did something very foolhardy and dangerous.”

  While I knew why Steve was upset, I wasn’t in the mood to listen to it. I was actually feeling a touch cranky which was unusual for me. “I’ll be fine,” I repeated. “I am fine. Eat your dinner and tell me about your day. I think we’ve talked this topic to death.”

  R
eluctantly, Steve picked up his fork and began eating his tuna casserole. As I sipped my ice water and watched him eat, I thought how odd it was not to be hungry. Odd and a little bit boring. Food has always been one of the greatest pleasures of my life. It was going to be very nice when I entered the next phase of ‘Fat Off.’

  “How’s the diary coming?” Kate asked me the moment I stepped into the newsroom the following morning. She stared at me. “You know, you do look a little smaller. What are you doing? Atkins?”

  “No, something new and the diary is coming along. I’m almost done with my first entry.”

  “I want it before you leave today. But first I want you to go check out this graffiti artist and write up a story on him. He uses the walls at the train station as his canvas.”

  “How is that not just vandalism, plain and simple? Why hasn’t he been arrested or ticketed?”

  “Art is subjective, DeeDee. Everyone knows that. Now get me five hundred words before you leave today. And a picture—you take it. We don’t have a photographer available.” Kate returned to her computer, her body language telling me that our conversation was over. I was getting slightly better at figuring out how she related to people and my conclusion was that she didn’t relate to anyone very well. “And puh-leez let me see with your finished product that you learned something when you went with Bob the other day. I want to read professionalism in every single word of what you write. Now are you going to get to work or stand there all day long?”

  I left without saying a word.

  An hour and a half later, I was on my way back to the newspaper, my interview with Gilbert the graffiti artist—just Gilbert, no last name––completed. There was no doubt in my mind that not only was Gilbert a very strange young man, he was also a criminal. He saw nothing wrong with vandalism and had proudly informed me that he’d just been awarded a grant from some art league to continue his life of crime in train stations around the Midwest. Shaking my head over the confused state of the world, I slammed on my brakes. At least five police cars were parked in front of the newspaper building with their lights on. A small crowd of people were gathered in the empty lot next to the Kemper Times.