by Lois Winston
I powered down my computer and grabbed my purse. “I didn’t realize you were still here. I thought Mr. Gruenwald wanted you to bring him into the city earlier.”
“Already did. This is my second trip.”
“Why are you playing moving man?”
“Most of the contents of his office are going by truck. This is stuff of a more delicate nature he didn’t want to trust to movers.”
I supposed that meant the various framed items and expensive awards that had lined the shelves of Gruenwald’s ebony bookcases.
I headed down the hall, Tino at my side. “Did Mr. Gruenwald mention anything about the investigation?” I asked once we were alone in the elevator.
“I told him your latest theory. He thought you might be onto something.”
“Don’t you think the detectives would have looked into former employees who might have a grudge against the company? I’m probably several steps behind them.”
“Or you might uncover something they overlooked. You found the embezzlement, didn’t you?”
“Which turned out to have nothing to do with the murder,” I reminded him.
“Still, no one else in the company realized what was going on until you looked at those files.”
I tilted my head to eye him. “You mean until I stuck my nose where it didn’t belong?”
Tino blushed. “I didn’t mean for that to come out the way it did. I like you, Mrs. P. I don’t want to see anything bad happen to you.”
“I don’t want to see anything bad happen to me, either, Tino. Thanks for caring.”
Tino had parked next to my car. I waited while he popped the Lincoln’s trunk and carefully began loading the cartons. As he stooped to hoist the last one off the hand truck, something small and sparkly on the trunk lining caught my attention. I reached in, scooped it off the carpet, and slipped it into my skirt pocket before Tino turned around.
“Are you and Tessa dating?” I asked after he slammed the trunk shut.
His brow furrowed in puzzlement. “Who’s Tessa?”
“Our fashion editor.”
“Why do you ask?”
“She’s made a few comments.”
“About the two of us going out?”
“No, about having the hots for you.”
Tino’s face broke out in a wide grin. “Jealous, Mrs. P.?”
“You’re a little young for me, Tino.”
“Not the cougar type, huh?”
“Definitely not. And I see you’re avoiding answering my question. Should I read something into that?”
He shook his head in denial. “Nothing to read. I’m not even sure who she is, but if she’s got the hots for me, I hope you’ll introduce me to her.”
“Deal.” I headed for my car. Tino waited until I pulled out of my parking space before he slipped behind the wheel of the Lincoln.
When traffic on Rt. 287 slowed to its usual rush hour dead stop, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the item I’d pilfered from the trunk of the Lincoln. Just as I suspected, it was a small crystal, the same kind used in Vajazzling, the same kind Cloris and I had noticed wedged into the sole of Tino’s shoe. I reached for my phone and called Cloris.
“Are you suggesting Tino killed Philomena?” she asked after I filled her in on the events of the day.
Was I? “He’s not dating Tessa,” I said. “He didn’t even know who she is.”
“Doesn’t mean he’s not dating someone else with a sparkly hoo-ha. But even if he were, how would a Vajazzling crystal get into the trunk of the Lincoln?”
“You mean unless it fell off a dead body? It was only one crystal, though, and the interior of the trunk showed no evidence of having recently transported a body. No stains on the carpet. No odors. Besides, wouldn’t the police have searched the car if they suspected Gruenwald of killing Philomena?”
“Maybe they don’t have enough evidence for a search warrant yet. And Tino could have cleaned up the trunk after he dumped the body.”
“I don’t know. The trunk didn’t look recently cleaned; it just looked like the interior of a typical trunk belonging to someone who doesn’t cart around all sorts of kid paraphernalia and groceries.”
“Not particularly dirty but not pristine?”
“Exactly. Plus, even if Tino did clean the trunk, the police would still have ways to find evidence you couldn’t see with a naked eye.”
“If we can believe what we see on cop shows.”
“Maybe the crystal was wedged in the plush of Gruenwald’s carpet and stuck to one of the cartons Tino transported earlier in the day.”
“Sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself of something.”
“Maybe I am.” I didn’t want to think of Tino as a killer. Or even a transporter of dead bodies. I’d come to like the guy. “What if Gruenwald killed Philomena and tasked Tino with cleaning up the mess?”
“You think Tino would do that for Gruenwald?”
“Who knows how far his loyalty goes?” Or what he’d be willing to do for the right price. Tino had made that comment about rich people paying others to do their dirty work. Was he referring to his own relationship with Gruenwald?
“But if Gruenwald killed Philomena, why would he pay you to find her killer?”
“Maybe he paid me to keep me from finding her killer.”
“I don’t follow you.”
“What if Tino was assigned not to protect and help me but to keep me from learning the truth? Gruenwald thinks I’ve got this incredible Sherlocking ability. Hiring me might have been his answer to keeping tabs on me, making sure I didn’t go off on my own to ferret out the truth.”
“Okay,” said Cloris. “Let’s assume you’re right. Whether Gruenwald killed Philomena or paid Tino to do his dirty work, why would Tino dump the body back at Trimedia?”
“That’s the part of this scenario that makes no sense.” And the puzzle piece that I hoped proved Tino wasn’t involved in Philomena’s murder.
“Are you going to talk to Batswin about this?” asked Cloris.
“She’s my next call.” For one thing, I didn’t even know if Philomena had a Vajazzled vagina at the time of her death. The photos in Bling! had been taken months before the issue hit the newsstands.
I hung up from Cloris and dialed Detective Batswin, but my call went directly to her voicemail. I left a message, asking her to call me back as soon as possible.
I arrived home to find Zack’s Boxster parked in the driveway and the lights on in the apartment above my garage. Instead of heading into the house, I made my way up the steps on the side of the garage and knocked on the apartment door.
When Zack swung the door open, I gasped. “What happened to you?” His left eye sported a huge shiner. “And don’t you dare tell me you walked into a door.”
“All right, I won’t.”
“And?”
He stepped aside, and I entered the apartment. “What? You told me not to tell you.”
I studied his sheepish grin and knew I’d get nowhere. “You realize this just adds to my theory about you and one of the alphabet agencies.”
He shrugged. “If I told you what really happened, you’d still cling to your conspiracy theory.”
Two points for Zack. I gingerly touched the purple flesh under his swollen eye. “Maybe you need to take a refresher course in ducking. Does it hurt.”
“Only when I laugh.”
“That’s not helping.”
“It looks a lot worse than it feels.” Zack headed over to the fridge and removed a chilled bottle of Sauvignon Blanc.
“Mama is going to have a fit.”
“Why? It’ll heal.”
I grabbed two glasses from the cabinet and placed them on the counter while he uncorked the wine. “Not before Sunday.”
“What’s Sunday?”
“She expects you to walk her down the aisle.” I laid out Mama’s plans as he filled our glasses. “You’re going to spoil the wedding album,” I said.
“Album?” Zack set down the bottle and calculated on his fingers. “This is her sixth marriage, right?” When I nodded, he continued, “And she still plans to have a wedding album?”
“She’s got one for each of her other five weddings.”
“I’m sure between your artistic talents and my photographic talents, we can Photoshop out the shiner.”
“That may pacify her.”
“If not, she can always find someone else to give her away. I’m sure Lucille would be more than happy to do the honors.”
“Very funny.”
~*~
Detective Batswin didn’t return my call until the following morning. “You wanted to speak with me yesterday, Mrs. Pollack?” she asked when I answered my cell.
Unfortunately, Tino was taking up most of the available space in my cubicle. I could hardly discuss the purpose of my call when the possible suspect sat two feet away from me. “Yes, thanks for calling me back, Winnie.”
“I didn’t realize we’d moved on to a first name basis, Mrs. Pollack, but I much prefer Fred to Winnie.”
“Of course, you do, Winnie. I called because I’m doing a holiday teddy bear spread for the March issue and was wondering if you had any new fabrics I might feature. Possibly fake fur or a textured plush. Preferably washable.”
“I see. I take it you can’t talk right now?”
“Yes, an embossed velveteen might work, depending on the color and pattern.”
“Are you presently in danger, Mrs. Pollack?”
I chuckled. “Not at all. At Trimedia we’re always happy to showcase advertisers’ products in our editorial spreads.”
“I can be there in ten minutes.”
“Thank you. I’d love to come see the new collection.”
“You want to drive here? When?”
“A dozen new lines? Sounds like I’ll have a tough time deciding.”
“Noon?”
“Sounds great, Winnie.”
I flipped my phone closed. “I’ll be out for a few hours this afternoon,” I said to Tino.
“I’ll drive you.”
“No need. I’m only heading over to a vendor.”
“Mr. Gruenwald would want me to take you. What if someone follows you?”
“Who? The same someone who’s followed me home each night? Get real, Tino. I’m no threat to the killer. I have no clue who he is.”
“I’m getting paid to keep you safe.”
I rolled my eyes, wondering how much Tino had been paid for a week of babysitting duty. Probably more than I made in a month, given his bespoke suit, designer running shoes, and Bulgari shades. He’d done nothing other than shadow my every move. And for what? Why?
The more I thought about it, the more suspicious I became of Gruenwald’s motive in hiring me to play detective. Was Tino here to keep me safe or to keep an eye on me? The more I puzzled over the aspects of Philomena’s death and its aftermath, the more I believed ulterior motives came into play. If only I could figure out what they were....
“If you want to do something useful,” I said, “spend the time I’m gone perusing the Bear Essentials employee records. Marie emailed them to me a few minutes ago. I’ll forward the files to your phone. What’s your email address?”
Tino rattled off a G-mail account, then asked, “What am I looking for?”
“Start with anyone who’d been written up for any work-related infraction.”
“And then? What am I supposed to do, call to ask if they killed Philomena?”
“Very funny. If this bodyguard gig dries up, you should consider stand-up.”
“I wasn’t joking,” he deadpanned.
“Could have fooled me. I’d suggest something a bit less direct.”
“Like?”
I thought for a moment. “Pretend you’re an independent researcher doing a study on corporate layoffs. Ask if they’ve found another job yet, how they’re handling being out of work if they haven’t. Let them talk. See what they say.”
“You want me to record the conversations?”
“That would be illegal, wouldn’t it?”
“Not if I ask permission. For research purposes.”
“Great idea.”
“Except I think you’d do a much better job of it.”
“Why is that?”
“You know, the woman’s touch. Women are more sympathetic. They’ll open up to you more than they will me.”
“I don’t—” I stopped short. “Damn! This won’t work. We can’t call people and pretend we’re someone else.”
“Why not?”
“Trimedia will pop up on their Caller ID.”
“Not if you use my phone.” Tino waved his iPhone at me.
“Won’t your name appear on the display?”
“Thanks to a simple software program, my display reads Semper Fi.”
“The Marine’s motto?”
“Short for Semper Fidelis. Always faithful. You can be Semper Fi Research.”
“You make the initial calls. I’ll do follow-up. We’ll appear more legitimate that way.” Why, I didn’t know, but Tino bought my argument and grudgingly agreed. I still worried that he might follow me when I left Trimedia. The last thing I needed was for him to discover I’d driven to the Morris County police headquarters instead of some fictitious fabric manufacturer’s showroom.
Twenty minutes later I saved and closed the open file on my computer, grabbed my purse, and stood. “I’m heading to the ladies’ room.”
He grunted his acknowledgment, never looking up from his iPhone.
At the entrance to the ladies’ room, I glanced over my shoulder to make sure Tino hadn’t stepped out into the hall to watch me. When I didn’t see him, I continued down the corridor, rounded the corner, and headed for the stairwell.
Less than five minutes later I was on my way to meet Batswin at police headquarters. Throughout the short trip, I couldn’t help but keep glancing in the rearview mirror to make sure no black Lincolns tailed me.
TWENTY
Detective Batswin and her colleagues worked out of the Morris County Courthouse, a building reminiscent of colonial times and possibly as old. Every school kid growing up in New Jersey knows the significance of Morristown in the history of our country. Washington really did sleep here—on multiple occasions.
The courthouse facade offered a stark contrast to the high-tech facility housed within its red brick exterior. However, when I arrived, Detective Batswin ushered me into an interview room straight out of a Law & Order episode, the only nod to state-of-the-art being the cameras I noted mounted near the ceiling.
She motioned toward one of two metal chairs facing each other across a battered wooden table. I settled into one chair. Dispensing with any social chitchat, she took the seat across from me and asked, “What’s on your mind, Mrs. Pollack?”
I weighed my words carefully. From past experience I knew Batswin turned testy if she thought I was accusing her of not doing her job correctly, and the tight set of her mouth suggested a sour mood. “Can I assume you’re in the process of investigating former Trimedia employees?”
“Of course. Anyone in particular you think I should focus attention on?”
“Not that I know of, but are you aware that Mr. Gruenwald recently folded Bear Essentials, one of the company’s other magazines, to make room for Bling!?”
“We are, and we’ve been looking into those former employees.” She tapped a pen against a legal pad, signaling that I was wasting her time. “Anything more?”
“I suspect Gruenwald fudged the books to get board approval to fold Bear Essentials.”
Batswin halted the staccato tap-tap of her pen and raised both eyebrows. “Go on.”
I outlined why I didn’t believe Bear Essentials wasn’t making a profit. “The numbers don’t add up.”
I had asked Marie to check circulation figures and ad revenues for the past two years prior to the demise of Bear Essentials. All indicators pointed to a healthy annual profit. If
the board folded the magazine because they believed it was bleeding red ink, someone had fudged the books.
“You’re suggesting Mr. Gruenwald had some ulterior motive for shutting down the magazine?”
“I do. Of course, I’m not privy to the inner workings of the board, but I suspect they wouldn’t approve of adding another publication in this shaky economy. Magazine publishing isn’t a growth industry. In order to get approval for Bling!, Gruenwald had to argue for replacing one of the other magazines.” I suppose I should breathe a sigh of relief that he’d chosen Bear Essentials and not American Woman.
“Still, that probably has nothing to do with Philomena’s murder unless the killer was more motivated by a need to get back at Gruenwald. Kill Philomena, and you kill Bling!” And maybe that’s why her body was dumped at Trimedia rather than in the Hudson.
“But you don’t know of anyone in particular who might harbor a grudge against Gruenwald?”
I flipped my palms upward and shrugged. “I don’t even know the people who worked at Bear Essentials. Each magazine is fairly autonomous. We generally don’t interact with each other, especially magazines headquartered on different floors of our building.”
Batswin scowled. “So you really don’t have much of anything for me, do you, Mrs. Pollack?”
I hesitated. “There is one other thing. It could be nothing, but—”
“Yes?”
“Did Philomena have a Vajazzle?”
Batswin’s brows knit together in puzzlement. “A what?”
I provided a quickie summary of the art of Vajazzling. After which, Batswin muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like, “So that’s what it’s called.”
“Then she did?” I asked.
Batswin returned to cop mode. “I’m afraid I can’t divulge anything involving an ongoing investigation. Why are you asking?”
Instead of answering her, I asked another question. “Did you ever search Gruenwald’s Lincoln?”
“We don’t have enough probable cause for a search warrant. Why?”
“I found something. It’s probably nothing, but it seemed odd.”
