by Lois Winston
We didn’t finish unpacking, assembling, storing, and hanging Mama’s possessions until dinnertime. Ira clapped his hands together and said, “Let’s all go out for burgers. My treat.”
“With them?” asked Melody/Harmony, an expression of disgust directed toward me and my family.
“Do we have to?” asked Isaac.
I’m a non-violent person by nature. I had never spanked my kids when they were little. However, I now found myself fighting an uncontrollable urge to smack the smirks off those kids’ faces.
I balled my fists behind my back and bit down on my tongue until the urge passed. After this weekend, I had no desire to spend any more time than necessary with Ira and his kids. Ever. I pasted a smile on my face and lied, “Another time, Ira. I still need to do laundry and run to the supermarket tonight.”
Ira turned to Alex and Nick. “Boys? Why don’t you come with us?”
“Can’t,” said Alex. “I still have homework to finish.”
“Me, too,” said Nick.
“Flora? Dad?”
“Sorry, son,” said Lawrence, “Flora and I are bushed. We’ll take a rain check.”
Poor Ira looked like he’d just been picked last for the team. Again. With a resigned sigh, he told his kids, “I guess it’s just the four of us.”
“Good,” said Harmony/Melody. “Let’s go.”
“I want a milkshake with my burger,” said Melody/Harmony.
“Can we stop at Toys R Us on the way home?” asked Isaac.
“Sure,” said Ira.
The rest of us rolled our eyes at his departing back.
SIXTEEN
Monday morning I almost didn’t mind the bumper-to-bumper traffic on Route 287. Thanks to Ira and his need to please, my new (well, new to me) silver Jetta came not only certified for a year but with twenty-four hour roadside assistance, compliments of Pollack Motors. I no longer had to worry about breaking down in my old rust bucket Hyundai.
Best of all, the air-conditioning hummed along, enveloping me in a cool breeze. Although the calendar claimed we were more than a week into autumn, Mother Nature had apparently missed the memo.
The weekend news made no mention of either progress in Philomena’s murder investigation or the discovery of embezzlement at Trimedia. Same for 1010, the all news radio station I tuned to in the car. However, when I turned down the access road that led to the Trimedia parking lot, I noticed Batswin’s unmarked Crown Vic and two Morris County patrol cars parked in front of the walkway leading to the main entrance. I pulled into the parking lot expecting to find Tino waiting for me in his usual spot. He wasn’t.
Two Morris County patrolmen blocked the doors of the main entrance. I recognized them at once. Officers Simmons and Garfinkle had responded to my panicked phone call the night I discovered Marlys Vandenburg’s body glue-gunned to my office chair and keyboard.
“Sorry, ma’am, but you can’t go inside right now,” said Garfinkle. The nearly seven foot officer had shaved his walrus mustache and gained a few pounds since our last encounter.
I don’t think he recognized me. I craned my neck in an attempt to make eye contact. “Why not?”
“Police business, ma’am.”
“Did something happen?”
“We’re not at liberty to say,” said Officer Simmons.
I turned my attention to him. At less than half a foot taller than I am, he didn’t cause me neck spasms during a face-to-face conversation. “How long before I can go inside? I have work to do.”
Simmons shrugged. “Shouldn’t be too long. Step aside, please.”
I whipped out my phone and called Cloris as I walked back to my car. She always beat me into work unless she had a morning meeting. With a maximum of six officers, judging from the three county vehicles present, no one stood guard at the other doors. They only opened from the inside outward, but Cloris could open one for me.
When she answered, I explained the situation.
“If something’s up, it’s very hush-hush,” she said. “And definitely not on our floor.”
I leaned against my car, keeping an eye on the front door. “I wonder if it has to do with the embezzlement.”
“Could be. Are there any reporters milling around?”
“None.”
“If this is breaking news, someone forgot to break it to the media.”
The front door opened. “Wait a minute. Something’s happening.” I inched closer to the building. “Two patrolmen are exiting. They each have a handcuffed suspect.”
“Who?”
“Hold on. Batswin and Robbins are now coming out, and they’re also each leading a suspect. Damn. You’re not going to believe this.”
“What? What’s going on?”
“They’ve got the entire Human Resources department in handcuffs!”
The first two officers led Catherine Chenko and Sandy Sechrest to one of the patrol cars and settled them into the backseat. Batswin and Robbins ushered Nita Holzer and Gwendolyn Keene into the backseat of the second patrol car. The four patrolmen drove off with their suspects.
“Gotta go,” I said to Cloris. “Batswin and Robbins are headed my way.”
“Mrs. Pollack,” said Batswin, “I want to thank you for the tip.”
I smiled. “Happy to help, detective. And it appears your day is off to a busy start. All four of them were in on the embezzlement?”
“The evidence we’ve uncovered so far suggests so. We’ll know more after a forensic accountant audits the books.”
“Who was the guy in the black Escalade?”
“Holtzer’s husband,” said Robbins.
For someone who was such a stickler for rules, the Human Resources Nazi certainly didn’t practice what she preached, writing us up for coming to work ten minutes late while she plunged her greedy fists into the corporate till.
“Are they responsible for Philomena’s death?”
“My gut tells me no,” said Batswin, “but one of them might surprise us during interrogation, assuming they don’t lawyer up before we have a chance to question them.”
“My gut agrees with your gut.”
She raised her bushy eyebrows. “What else does your gut tell you?”
“Nothing but common sense. Killing Philomena would kill the scam. They’d have nothing to gain and everything to lose. I thought at first maybe Philomena found out about the embezzlement and confronted one of them, but that seems unlikely.”
“Why?” asked Robbins.
“Philomena had nothing to do with anyone at Trimedia other than Gruenwald and her staff. Bling!’s editorial director didn’t know about the bogus employees. So how would Philomena find out? According to the other members of the Bling! staff, Philomena rarely showed up at the office, and when she did, she didn’t stay long.”
“They did all the work, and she got all the credit?” said Batswin.
“Exactly. Which is probably why Gruenwald is convinced the killer is someone at Trimedia. The motive might be jealousy.”
“Why do I get the feeling you disagree?” she asked.
“I’ve spoken to those people. They’re all really upset about losing their jobs.”
“Why are they losing their jobs?” asked Robbins.
“The magazine is folding. Philomena was Bling! Without her, there’s no magazine. They knew that. None of those people would kill her for the same reason none of the HR women killed her. No Philomena means no money.”
Batswin chuckled. “Very good, Mrs. Pollack. We’ll make a detective out of you yet.”
With that she and Robbins headed for her Crown Vic, leaving me staring at their retreating backs.
~*~
“Batswin, Robbins, and I certainly have an interesting relationship,” I said a few minutes later while relating events to Cloris. We were in the conference room awaiting the start of our monthly planning meeting.
She poured two cups of coffee and handed one to me. “At least they don’t suspect you this time.”
When we first met, Batswin and Robbins zeroed in on me as the prime suspect in Marlys Vandenburg’s murder. Quite a bit of convincing on my part eventually set them straight. I think they now play nice because I’m privy to a secret regarding those illegally borrowed unmarked bills they used in the failed Ricardo sting.
I studied the platter of croissants on the credenza next to the coffee pot, finally settling on one with raspberry cream filling and chocolate drizzle. “No wonder I can’t lose weight. What are these, seven gazillion calories each?”
“Only six.”
“Diet croissants? Great! I’ll take two.” I have no willpower when it comes to Cloris confections.
She slapped my hand as I placed a second croissant on my plate. “That was six gazillion, not six calories. You want to give yourself a heart attack?”
I offered her a sheepish grin. “At least my sweet tooth will die satisfied.”
Cloris lifted the croissant from my plate and returned it to the tray. “Maybe I should stop sharing vendor samples. I don’t want to be charged with accessory to murder.”
“Someone else was murdered?” asked Tessa, coming up behind us. “Who? Someone from Trimedia?”
“Me. According to Cloris if I eat another croissant.”
Tessa cast a critical eye over my figure. “She has a point. You really should go on a diet, Anastasia. Especially if you hope to have any chance of finding another husband.”
The nerve of her! Yes, I could stand to drop a few pounds, but I was by no means heavy. On a good day I could still squeeze into a size eight. Just your typical pear-shaped, middle-aged mother with a slowing metabolism. Hardly a candidate for the Plus Size department. “I’d like to see what you look like twenty years and two kids from now.”
Tessa poured herself a cup of coffee, adding neither sugar nor cream. “I’ll look exactly the way I look now. I don’t intend to let myself go after marriage the way some women do.” With that, she flounced her size zero butt over to the conference table and settled into her chair.
“Fashion editors, the bane of my existence,” I muttered. The longer Tessa worked at American Woman, the nastier she became, especially toward me. “What is it with me and fashion editors? I’m no threat to them.”
“You got along with Erica,” said Cloris.
“Erica doesn’t count. She inherited the position and didn’t last long.”
“Maybe you send off the wrong vibe, something only fashion editors pick up on.”
“You mean like a noise only dogs can hear?”
Cloris shrugged. “It’s a theory. You might have an anti-fashion aura.”
“Do I look like I have an anti-fashion aura?”
“Beats me. I don’t believe in that woo-woo stuff.”
“Woo-woo aside, for once I’d like to see someone put Tessa in her place.”
“Shall we get started, ladies?” Cloris and I turned to see that Naomi had entered the conference room and settled into her place at the head of the table. We all quickly took our seats.
“First order of business,” said Naomi, “as you can see, we have a couple of empty chairs this morning.”
I glanced across the table. Neither Tessa’s nor Nicole’s assistant was present.
“Trimedia has instituted some cost cutting measures,” continued Naomi. “From now on fashion, beauty, and decorating will be sharing an assistant.”
“What!” Tessa jumped out of her seat. “This is totally unacceptable. How do you expect us to get our work done with only a third of an assistant each?”
“Five of us on this side of the table share an assistant,” I said, “and we all manage.”
“You hardly count,” said Tessa. “Fashion and beauty carry this magazine.”
Naomi nodded to her assistant. “Not according to recent demographic surveys,” said Kim. “More people read American Woman for the recipes, followed by the health and finance articles, craft projects, and decorating ideas. Travel comes next, then beauty and fashion.”
“Which necessitates a change in editorial,” said Naomi. “We need to give our readers more of what they buy us for. As it turns out, that’s not fashion and beauty. We obviously can’t compete with the other monthlies in those areas, so we need to play to our strengths.”
“You can’t do this,” said Tessa.
Nicole said nothing. She obviously had prior knowledge of Naomi’s bombshell and had come to terms with it. Nicole was no prima donna.
I made eye contact with Jeanie. She offered me an easy-come/easy-go shrug. Jeanie had often shared her assistant with us bottom-feeders because she preferred the control of doing things on her own. She’d have no problem sharing her assistant with Tessa and Nicole.
“Take it up with Uncle Chessie,” suggested Janice.
“That’s exactly what I intend to do.” Tessa turned and headed for the door.
“Sit down, Tessa,” said Naomi. “I’m tired of you storming out of meetings whenever you don’t get your way. If you leave now, you can clear out your office.”
“You can’t fire me!”
“Can and will,” said Naomi. “Just try me.”
Tessa glared at Naomi. She looked like she was debating calling her bluff, but it was hard to tell, given the numerous Botox injections that had eliminated most of the expression from her face. She’d scored the position thanks to nepotism and had only worked at the magazine a few months. With little experience, the most she could hope for was a job as an assistant at another magazine and only if Naomi gave her a good recommendation—not something I’d stake my future on at the moment. Apparently, Tessa had enough smarts to realize this and finally returned to her seat.
Naomi had definitely put Tessa Lisbon in her place.
“How’d you do that?” Cloris whispered in my ear.
Damned if I knew, but I hardly had time to gloat. This change in editorial direction meant more work for me. Twice as much per issue, according to the new page distribution Naomi proceeded to lay out before us. Tessa might be out an assistant, but she now had half as much work to do each month. I, on the other hand, now had double the work to cram into my days. Be careful what you wish for, Anastasia.
~*~
Tino stopped by my cubicle several hours later. “Has Mr. Gruenwald decided I don’t need further protection?” I asked.
He plopped his huge frame down into the spare chair. “No, but I can’t be in two places at once.”
Tino’s normally immaculate appearance looked a bit rough around the edges today. His bespoke suit needed a good pressing, his face a shave. “You look like you were up all night.”
He tried to stifle a yawn. “I was.”
“Oh?”
“Family matter. All taken care of now.”
“That’s good. Can I assume you didn’t hear what happened earlier this morning?”
Tino perked up. “What? Did the police make an arrest in Philomena’s murder?”
“They made four arrests but not for the murder. They led all four Human Resources employees away in handcuffs. The guy in the black Escalade was the husband of one of them.”
Tino whistled under his breath. “All of them?”
“All. The detectives don’t think there’s any connection between the embezzling and the murder, though.”
“Too bad. That would wrap things up very nicely.” Tino yawned again, no longer attempting to cover it up.
“Why don’t you go home? Get some sleep.”
“Can’t. I have a job to do.”
“Tino, this is ridiculous. If someone wanted to kill me, he’d make his move when I’m not in the office and protected by you. Nothing has happened. Nothing is going to happen. I’m no threat to Philomena’s killer because I don’t have a clue who he is. Go home.”
He shook his head.
I stood and placed my hands on my hips. “Why are men so stubborn?”
“I’m not stubborn. I take my responsibilities seriously.”
“Fine. Be responsible.” I stepped
out of the office.
He jumped up to follow me. “Where are you going?”
“To get you a cup of coffee.”
He smiled and sat back down. “Thanks.”
When I returned a few minutes later, Tino was fast asleep, his feet propped up on my work table, his mouth open. I sat back down at my computer and drank his coffee.
“What’s that god-awful noise?” yelled Cloris from across the hall.
“Come take a look,” I yelled back.
A moment later Cloris stood at the entrance to my cubicle. “Wow! I didn’t think it was possible for anyone to snore louder than my husband. How can you concentrate with that noise?”
“It’s not easy.”
“How’s he protecting you if he’s sound asleep?”
“I’ll wake him if I see any Ninja assassins lurking in the hall.” I related the little I knew of Tino’s all-nighter. “He didn’t go into detail, but I’m guessing a parent was taken ill and hospitalized. Why else would he be up all night, right?”
“You should make him comfortable.”
“He looks pretty comfortable to me. I could never fall asleep in a desk chair.”
“At least take his shoes off.” Cloris began unlacing one of Tino’s shoes while I worked on the other.
The guy was dead to the world. He didn’t so much as stir when we removed his shoes. “You’d think someone who saw action in Iraq and Afghanistan would be an extremely light sleeper,” I said.
“Is that where he served?”
I thought for a minute. “I guess I just assumed that. Gruenwald said Tino was a former Marine, but he didn’t go into detail. For all I know, he never saw combat.”
“Which would explain why he didn’t jump up and try to kill us just now.”
“Yeah, maybe taking his shoes off wasn’t the brightest idea.”
Cloris examined the shoe in her hand. “Gruenwald must pay Tino well. I had no idea Gucci made sneakers.”
Sneakers that looked incredibly like shoes. Maybe they’re a special style designed exclusively for bodyguards, the Secret Service, and all the other men in black. Suitable for wearing with six hundred dollar suits, yet still allowing for chasing after crooks, assassins, and other assorted bad guys. I wondered if Zack had a pair. “According to Tino, Gruenwald pays him extremely well. Unlike us.”
