4 Decoupage Can Be Deadly

by Lois Winston

  “Did you hear the news about Norma Gene?” he asked as we headed toward the building entrance.

  I nodded. “Do you have any details?”

  “Me? Why would I have details?”

  “I thought the police might have spoken with Mr. Gruenwald.”

  Tino stopped short and turned to face me. “You think Mr. G. killed her?”

  “No, of course not, but Philomena was murdered, and now Norma Gene is found dead. There’s got to be a connection, right?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.” He resumed walking.

  “The news report I heard said she was found in a Dumpster but didn’t say how she died. If she was severely beaten, it’s the same M.O. as Philomena.”

  Tino shrugged. “People wind up in the wrong place at the wrong time all the time. Shit happens. Especially in certain sections of South Philly.”

  “You know the area where they found her?”

  He opened the door, and we stepped inside. “Driven through it a few times. It’s got a seedy rep. Lots of gang activity. Not the sort of place you want to wander around on your own.”

  Since we were alone in the lobby, I continued the conversation but kept my voice low. “I thought perhaps she had an inkling as to who killed Philomena and decided to take matters into her own hands.”

  Tino glanced around. Assured that no one could overhear our conversation, he pressed the elevator button, then continued, “That would have been very foolish and totally out of character for Norma Gene.”

  “How so?” From what I’d observed of Norma Gene, plus our conversation in the ladies’ room, I could certainly see her heading down to Philly to confront Philomena’s killer, foolish though such an attempt might be.

  “The woman was a lover, not a fighter.”

  “I didn’t realize you knew her that well.” When he didn’t expound on his statement, I continued, “You have another theory?”

  “Sure. She went to Philadelphia to help her foster mother make arrangements for the funeral. She was either the victim of random violence or crossed the path of some homophobic thugs. Given the neighborhood, my money’s on the thugs. Especially if she was beaten to death.”

  I had to admit, Tino’s theory made perfect sense. “If she fought her attackers, the police might find DNA evidence that will lead to their capture.”

  “Certainly a possibility if the guy is in the system. If not, it’s a dead end.” When I raised an eyebrow, he added, “No pun intended.”

  “What’s the likelihood of a thug not being in the system?”

  Tino laughed. “Good point.”

  “Same for Philomena,” I continued as the elevator doors opened and we stepped inside. “Maybe the detectives are waiting for the DNA results to come back before they make an arrest. Even if the killer isn’t in the system, with DNA evidence they’d know if the same person killed both of them.”

  Tino stabbed at the button for the third floor. “You should be a detective, Mrs. Pollack.”

  “Your boss already thinks I am.”

  He grunted. “Yeah, I know. So where are you on figuring out who killed Philomena?”

  I sighed. “Absolutely nowhere as you well know. I’m totally stumped. Nothing makes sense, starting with why her body was dumped at Trimedia. Someone was making a statement, but what was it?”

  “The most logical answer would be to frame someone at Trimedia,” said Tino.

  “But that’s totally illogical.”

  “Why?”

  “People who commit murder want to get away with the crime, not lead the police to their doorstep. If the killer were someone connected to Trimedia, as Mr. Gruenwald believes, the last thing he’d do is transport the body here. Don’t you think he’d make it disappear? Dump it in the river or a landfill or bury it in the woods? Isn’t that what you’d do?”

  Tino raised his hands as if warding off an accusation. “Hey, I didn’t kill her!”

  “Of course not. I’m not suggesting you did, but think about it. If you were a killer, what would you do with the body?”

  Tino grew thoughtful. “I see your point. So you’re convinced the killer wasn’t connected to Trimedia?”

  “Except that doesn’t explain the disappearing security cameras. The killer had enough knowledge of the building to know to remove the cameras before bringing the body through the loading dock doors. Not to mention having access to those doors.”

  “So the killer is either a Trimedia employee, or he isn’t. That certainly helps narrow down suspects.”

  The elevator doors slid open, and we stepped out onto the third floor. “Exactly. And now you know why I’m essentially stumped.” And that’s when it hit me. I stopped so abruptly Tino’s massive chest collided with my back.

  I wobbled on my heels, losing my balance. Tino grabbed my arm just in time to yank me upright and keep me from landing face first onto the Terrazzo floor. “Hey! Sorry. You shouldn’t stop short like that.”

  But I hardly acknowledged his save. My mind whirled. Essentially. Essential. Bear Essentials.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  I waved away his concern and continued to roll the thought around in my mind.

  “Earth to Mrs. P.!” Tino waved his hand in front of my face. “What’s going on?”

  I had ruled out any Bling! employees as Philomena’s killer. Her death meant they all lost their jobs. But what about a disgruntled former employee? Someone who lost his job when Gruenwald folded one magazine to make room for another.

  There are millions of teddy bear collectors all over the world and only a handful of publications devoted to them. How could Bear Essentials not turn a profit, the reason corporate gave for shutting them down?

  “I need to speak with Marie,” I said and raced down the hall toward my cubicle.

  Unfortunately, Marie’s voicemail greeted me on the other end of the phone line. I left a message, asking her to call me back as soon as possible.

  “So what’s your brainstorm?” asked Tino after I hung up the phone.

  “Perhaps nothing but let’s wait until I talk with Marie. You’re welcome to join me.”

  “Fair enough. You want some coffee?”

  “Love some.” Tino headed for the break room. I booted up my computer and found a memo from corporate. Trimedia planned to host a memorial tribute to Philomena at Madison Square Garden Saturday. The event would be recorded and broadcast at a later date. All Trimedia employees were expected to attend.

  “Did you see this memo?” I called across the hall to Cloris.

  “Leave it to Trimedia to make a buck off Philomena’s death,” she answered. “I wonder how much they’re charging for tickets.”

  “Easy to find out,” I said, “but whatever the price of tickets, the real money is in the advertising. You can bet all of Philomena’s sponsors will be shelling out big bucks for those commercial slots. One final time to capitalize on her celebrity.”

  I heard the clickety-clack of computer keys, followed by a long whistle. “Holy guacamole! Tickets range from seventy-five dollars for the nosebleed section up to a thousand dollars for prime locations.”

  “And that’s before the scalpers snap them all up.”

  “Good thing we don’t have to pay for our tickets.”

  “If you want to bring a guest, you can have mine,” I offered.

  A moment later she was standing beside me, hands on hips. “Two questions: One—how do you plan on getting out of going? And Two—can I come with you?”

  “Ask Mama. She’s scheduled her latest trip down the altar for Sunday. I’ve got the rehearsal and rehearsal dinner Saturday night.”

  “That was quick. How long has she known this latest guy?”

  “Less than three months.”

  “Think it will last?”

  “With Mama’s track record?”

  Cloris shook her head and sighed. “Poor guy.” Then she added, “The concert is at two with the private Trimedia memorial service scheduled for eleven. What time i
s the rehearsal?”

  “Five.”

  “Plenty of time to put in an appearance. No one will notice if you sneak out early, but Gruenwald will notice if you don’t show up for the gathering ahead of the concert. He’ll expect you there.”

  “Why?”

  “Checking out suspects, Sherlock. Don’t the cops always show up at the funerals of murder victims?”

  “Damn, I hate when you’re right.”

  A few minutes later Cloris headed off for a meeting in the city. While I waited for Marie to call back, I turned my attention to the March issue where I was tasked with combining leprechauns and Easter bunnies. Craft-wise St. Patrick’s Day and Easter were two of my least favorite holidays. Coming up with ideas that didn’t scream kitsch and look like they came from the dollar store stretched even my creative brain cells.

  None of the other editors faced this problem. Both holidays featured traditional foods for Cloris to tap into. Jeanie would cover spring cleaning. Janice planned an article on dealing with spring allergies. Sheila’s column would cover tax tips, Serena would concentrate on planning summer getaways, and the duo of fashion and beauty would deal with spring trends.

  I alone struggled with the March issue and dragged my feet to the point that I had no suggestions to offer at yesterday’s planning meeting. I needed a proposal on Naomi’s desk before leaving the office today.

  However, instead of shamrocks and pastel colored eggs, all I could think about were teddy bears. “Why fight it?” I muttered.

  “Fight what?” asked Tino, returning with coffee minus any Cloris confections.

  I frowned as he handed me a cup. “No muffins?”

  “All gone. Fight what?”

  “Teddy bears. Soon to be teddy bear leprechauns and teddy bear Easter bunnies.”

  “You have an interesting job, Mrs. P.”

  “So that’s why you keep hanging around?”

  He studied me over the rim of his cup as he sipped his coffee. “It’s my job.”

  And a cushy one at that. But I kept my tongue firmly planted behind my sealed lips. Instead, I grabbed a sheet of paper and a Sharpie and began sketching out my idea.

  I could fill my additional editorial pages with full-size patterns. Readers loved full-sized patterns. Every time I included patterns that required enlarging, I received nasty-grams. Now, thanks to Naomi’s editorial changes, I could include full-size patterns, which in turn meant I wouldn’t have to come up with additional craft projects for each issue. I’d design one teddy bear with accessories that would morph the furry little dude from a St. Patty’s teddy into an Easter teddy. Genius!

  Two hours later Marie Luscy returned my call as I rooted through plastic tubs of fabric in the closet that housed models and my supplies. “I can spare you a few minutes during my coffee break,” she said. “That’s all. It’s unbelievably chaotic up here today.”

  “Does that mean you won’t be able to do any computer searches for me?”

  “Definitely not today.”

  Marie sounded harried. Or nervous. Maybe both. Something was going on, and I doubted I’d find out what by trekking upstairs. I heard too many voices in the background. The hushed quiet of Gruenwald’s inner sanctum was anything but hushed at the moment. “Why don’t you come down here for coffee?” I suggested.

  “Good idea. I need a break from this place. I’ll see you in ten.”

  With Tino close behind, I headed for the break room to brew a fresh pot of coffee and wait for Marie.

  The two previous times I’d met Marie Luscy, she’d given off a consummate executive assistant vibe—capable and businesslike, able to handle anything thrown at her without ever a hair out of place. Not this morning. Marie arrived with her blouse untucked and a leg-length run in her left stocking.

  She plopped into one of the molded plastic chairs, let loose a huge sigh, then asked, “Got anything stronger than coffee?”

  Tino and I both gaped at her. She of all people should know Trimedia’s strict policy against alcohol in the workplace. “What’s going on?” I finally asked after shutting the break room door.

  “Mr. Gruenwald announced this morning that we’re moving back into the city. Today.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “With Philomena gone and Bling! folding, he has no reason to be here.”

  Not that he ever did since Philomena rarely showed up at Bling! and when she did, she never stayed long.

  “Anyway,” continued Marie, “we’re vacating the corn field for a view of the greener pastures of Central Park. I’ve got the entire janitorial staff packing up his office.”

  She turned to Tino. “Did you know about this? Because I would have appreciated a bit of warning.”

  “This is the first I’m hearing about it,” he said.

  “He expects you to load up his car with cartons, then drive him back into Manhattan.”

  “When?”

  “Soon.”

  “And leave Mrs. P.?”

  “Apparently Anastasia’s safety comes second to carton and CEO delivery.”

  “So nice to know where I stand in the pecking order of Trimedia,” I said.

  “What did you want to discuss?” she asked me.

  I told her and Tino about my Bear Essentials light bulb moment. “I really don’t pay any attention to what goes on at the other magazines. Were there any threats made by members of the laid-off staff? Anyone with a grudge? Because that would explain the killer bringing Philomena’s body back here and knowing about the security cameras.”

  “No more than the usual,” she said. “There are always a few angry people making threats after a layoff. People are scared. They’ve had their paychecks and security yanked out from under them. They lash out, say things they’ll never act on.”

  “Except when some do,” said Tino. “Look at all the workplace shootings that have involved former employees.”

  “Anything’s possible,” said Marie. “I don’t have time today, but if I get a chance tomorrow, I’ll email you the personnel files of all those who were laid off.” She stood, coffee in hand. “I’d better get back upstairs.”

  She paused at the door. “For what it’s worth, though, I don’t think the police are eyeing Mr. Gruenwald as a suspect any longer. You could probably stop investigating.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Mr. Gruenwald said the police corroborated his alibi for the night Philomena was killed. They no longer suspect him.”

  “He could have hired someone to kill her,” said Tino.

  “Nothing like having your boss’s back,” I said.

  “Hey,” he once again held up his hands in that defensive gesture. “I don’t think he had anything to do with her murder. I’m just saying that’s the way cops think. After all, Mr. G.’s loaded. Rich guys don’t get their hands dirty; they hire out their dirty work.”

  “So why don’t the police think Gruenwald hired himself a hit man?” I asked Marie.

  “According to Mr. G., they have another suspect who looks good for the murder.”

  “He told me he was worried they might suspect Mrs. Gruenwald,” I said.

  “Why would he say that?” asked Tino.

  “A woman scorned is a woman capable of doing anything,” I said. “She might have hired someone to kill Philomena.”

  “What about the divorce?” asked Marie. “Why have Philomena killed if she was divorcing Mr. Gruenwald?”

  “The divorce filing may have been a ruse to avoid being considered a suspect. Even Mr. Gruenwald suggested the police might think so.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” said Tino. “When did he say that?”

  “When he asked me to investigate.”

  Tino turned to Marie. “Did the cops tell Mr. G. anything about this other suspect?”

  “He asked, but they refused to say.”

  “There’s another possibility,” I said. “They could just be saying he’s no longer a person of interest so that he lets his guard dow
n.”

  “She’s right,” said Tino. “Cops lie all the time to trip up suspects.”

  “How do you know that?” asked Marie.

  He offered us a sheepish grin. “TV cop shows.”

  “Which are so accurate when it comes to factual information,” I said. “I suppose you also believe medical examiners run around in four inch designer stilettos and DNA results arrive before the last commercial break.”

  He added a shrug to go along with his sheepish grin.

  “Mr. Gruenwald paid me to find Philomena’s killer,” I said. “That’s what I’ll continue to do unless the cops find him first or Mr. Gruenwald tells me to stop looking.”

  “That’s very honorable of you,” said Tino. “Just make sure you don’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

  “Is that a threat?” His eyes had narrowed, and his face took on a menacing hardness that turned the coffee in my stomach to acid.

  “Consider it a warning,” he said in dead seriousness. “I’m paid to protect you, and I can’t be by your side twenty-four/seven. You get yourself killed, I lose my job.”

  And once again Anastasia Pollack is shown where she stands in the universe. I inhaled a shaky breath. “Nice to know you care, Tino.”

  “I’m heading upstairs to see what’s going on with Mr. G.,” said Tino. “Stay out of trouble while I’m gone.”

  “I’m off to the closet in search of fake fur for Teddy the Lepre-Bunny-Bear. Unless the killer overheard this conversation and is lurking behind a plastic tub of fabric, you have nothing to worry about.”

  I didn’t mention that I’d previously confronted a killer in that same closet. What Tino didn’t know couldn’t hurt me.

  Before heading down the hall, though, another thought occurred to me. I sat back down at my computer and fired off a quick email to Marie.

  NINETEEN

  Shortly before the end of the day Tino, pushing a hand truck loaded with heavy-duty document storage boxes, appeared at the entrance to my cubicle. “I’ll walk you down to your car if you’re ready to leave,” he said.