Sketch Me If You Can

by Sharon Pape

  The agent asked them to sign the guest book before leaving. Then, with an unmistakable look of relief, he turned his attention to Rory.

  “Hi, I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting.” He offered his hand and a flash of white teeth. “I’m Don Stuart.”

  “Susan Porter,” Rory said, shaking his hand. She’d thought up the name on the drive there when she realized she probably shouldn’t use the same name as her parents.

  “Great to meet you, Susan. May I show you around?”

  “Thanks, but I already did the grand tour while you were with those other folks.”

  “Oh,” Don said, his smile vanishing. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  To Rory he sounded more perturbed than the situation warranted. “I didn’t mind showing myself around,” she assured him.

  “That’s fine, it’s just that I can point out things along the way that you might not notice on your own.”

  “I have a pretty good eye for detail,” she said. The agent seemed so unsettled that she was beginning to feel a little guilty about circumventing his usual routine.

  Having signed the guest book, Rory’s family headed to the door. Her father risked a little wink in her direction as he passed. Rory pretended not to notice.

  Don produced another brilliant smile and thanked them for coming. Then he turned back to Rory. “So, if I can’t show you around, can I at least answer any questions you might have?” He seemed to have regained his composure. “I feel like I’m not earning my keep.”

  “Actually I do have a question,” she said. “I noticed that some of the wallpaper in the master bath was missing.”

  “Someone probably miscalculated. You know how that is.” He laughed. “Anything that can go wrong, will. Not to worry, though, we’re taking care of it.” He paused to consult his watch. “In fact, our wallpaper guy should be here anytime now to figure out how much more to order.”

  Then a young couple with a little boy came in, and Rory was spared any further conversation. When she walked outside, her parents’ car was gone, replaced by a beige SUV that had presumably brought the new arrivals.

  As she was about to get into her own car, she spotted her parent’s car turning onto the street again. Rory couldn’t imagine why they’d returned. Had they left something behind? She watched as they parked close to the corner. This was getting stranger and stranger. Then her father flashed his headlights. Was he signaling her? She started walking toward their car. As she came up alongside it, the back door flew open.

  “Get in,” her aunt Helene whispered urgently, scooting over to leave room for her.

  “What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

  Her father rolled down his window. “It’ll be easier if you just get in the car, Rory,” he said in the tone of one whose patience was being sorely tested.

  “Okay then,” she said, sliding into the backseat.

  “Close the door. Close the door,” Helene ordered as soon as she was inside. “You don’t want the real estate agent to see us together, do you?”

  Rory pulled the door shut. “He’s in the house. Besides, it doesn’t really matter anymore.”

  “Well, it might if you need us in the future,” Helene said, looking hopeful. “How did we do?”

  “You did fine. You did great. Thank you all. But why did you come back?”

  “Debriefing,” she said, “although I’m not sure if you should be debriefing us or we should be debriefing you.” Rory was having a hard time keeping a straight face. Helene had always been a little out there in a sweet and loveable sort of way, but this was over-the-top even for her.

  “Your aunt has really gotten into the whole cloak-and-dagger bit,” Rory’s mom said from the front passenger seat. Her father just shook his head in silence.

  “I think I may have missed my true calling,” Helene announced. “If I were twenty years younger, I’d sign up at Langley first thing in the morning.”

  “Well, I’ll be sure to keep you in mind the next time I need someone to run cover for me,” Rory promised, trying to sound sincere.

  “If these two are in, you can count me out,” her dad grumbled good-naturedly. “Between James Bond back there and your mother’s pointy elbows, once was enough.”

  Rory thanked them again, doing her best not to laugh until she was back in her own car.

  She was driving out of the development when she passed a white commercial van with blue lettering on its side that read, “Paper Mates, Your Wallpaper Experts.” Beneath it was a picture of a kangaroo with rolls of wallpaper sticking out of its pouch. There was a good chance this was the wallpaper guy the real estate agent was expecting. If so, he might have a definitive explanation for the missing paper. In deference to Zeke, Rory decided to stop and see what she could find out, even though the day was feeling more and more like a wild-goose chase without the goose.

  When she stepped out of the car, she saw that the side panel of the van was open and a man was leaning inside.

  “Hi there,” Rory said as she came up behind him. He made a point of carefully stepping back from the van before straightening to his full height, no doubt a reaction to some painful encounters with low ceilings and roofs in the past. He was thin as well as tall, with ears that protruded through fine brown hair, and a prominent Adam’s apple, all of which reminded Rory of the cartoon about Ichabod Crane she remembered from childhood.

  “G’day,” he said with an unmistakably Australian accent. He was wearing jeans and a tee shirt with the same kangaroo logo that was painted on the van.

  Rory introduced herself.

  “Gordon Weatherbee,” he said, offering his hand. “What can I do for you?”

  She explained that she’d just been to the open house on Pheasant Lane and was wondering if his company had also done the wallpaper there.

  “That we did. In fact, I’m on my way there next. It seems we came up a roll short in the master bath. The order was for eight, but only seven were delivered, don’t you know.”

  “That happened to me,” Rory sighed sympathetically, “but the manufacturer swore up and down that they’d sent the right amount. Unfortunately I didn’t count the rolls when I signed for them, so I had to eat the cost of ordering another roll.”

  Gordon was nodding. “More than likely what happened here, except it was the decorator who placed the order, may she rest in peace. I suppose she’s past worrying about such things in any case,” he added soberly.

  “Oh my God, was she the one who fell down the stairs?” Rory gasped as if she’d just made the connection. “I read about that, but I didn’t realize that was the house where it happened.”

  “A terrible thing. Just tragic.” Gordon appeared genuinely upset.

  Apparently Jeremy wasn’t the only one on the planet who had not taken joy in Gail Oberlin’s sudden demise.

  “May I have your card?” she asked. “You never know when the wallpapering bug will bite, and my one attempt to do it myself convinced me that I shouldn’t.”

  “That’s what we count on.” Gordon smiled, plucking a business card from the front pocket of his jeans.

  Rory thanked him and was about to walk away when another question occurred to her. “Would you happen to know the name of the store where the bathroom paper was purchased? It’s so pretty.”

  “That I do. Gail always worked with Anderson and Shor over in Huntington.”

  On her drive home, Rory tried to decide if there was any point in pursuing the trail of the missing wallpaper. Either the wrong amount had been ordered, or the wrong amount had been shipped. It seemed more the wrong amount had been shipped. It seemed more like a job for an accountant than for a private investigator. And even if she did resolve the issue, there was no reason to believe that it had any connection to the case.

  Still, with no other, more pressing clues to track down, it was probably worth a phone call or two. For starters she needed to see a copy of the original order form. Although Gail was sure to have had one, it was now th
e property of her almost ex and his fiancée, along with everything else from Gail’s estate. The easier route would be through the store where she’d placed the order.

  Chapter 19

  The black Jeep was several cars behind Rory on the expressway. It had been behind her since she left the gas station near police headquarters. If she was being followed again, her stalker had chosen a strange vehicle for his mission. Having a higher profile than a car, the Jeep was easier to spot in her rearview mirror.a car, the Jeep was easier to spot in her rearview mirror. On the other hand, the driver of the SUV had a more elevated seat and could keep tabs on his prey from a greater distance.

  “Okay, McCain,” she chastised herself out loud. “If that Jeep is following you, maybe the silver Acura on your right flank is too. Or how about the little Smart Car over there? Even a thug might be economy minded or worried about the melting of the polar ice caps.” Her mouth tilted up in a crooked little smile. She was letting Zeke mess with her brain. While it was true that she’d probably been followed once before and that Mac’s office had been ransacked, she couldn’t reasonably believe that every car on the road and every person she passed in the office building was after her. She simply wasn’t that important or that interesting, which was just fine. She had no intentions of crying wolf to her colleagues. In spite of all the crime in the headlines, in reality “wolves” made up a very small segment of the population.

  Distraction was what her renegade brain needed. She tugged her thoughts back to the meeting she’d had earlier in the week with Bonnie Anderson of Anderson and Shor Textiles. Rory had presented herself as a family friend of the late Gail Oberlin who was checking out some matters for the heirs of the estate.

  “Of course I remember the order,” Bonnie had bristled with indignation. “I worked with Gail forever. She was my best customer. I don’t think it’s even sunk in yet that she’s really gone. She was such a presence.”

  Although Bonnie seemed to be at least superficially saddened by the designer’s death, Rory had the impression that “inconvenienced” might be a better description. Words like “best customer” and “a presence” hardly spoke of a fond or intimate relationship.

  Rory murmured a few generic words of understanding about how painful the loss of Gail was to family and friends.

  Having exhibited what she apparently considered the proper amount of grief, Bonnie quickly slipped back into full business mode.

  “I’ll pull that order up for you,” she said, swiveling her chair so that she was facing the computer on the side of her wraparound desk. Her fingers flew over the keyboard.

  “Ah, here it is.” She turned the monitor so that Rory could see the screen. “The order was clearly for eight rolls.”

  “May I have a copy of that for our files?”

  “Not a problem.” The printer was spitting out the page before she finished speaking. She handed it to Rory, who squinted at it. One of these days she was going to have to suck it up and have her eyes checked before she turned into Mr. Magoo. In any case, the number eight was written boldly in the column marked “quantity.” It certainly looked as though the mistake had been made by the manufacturer.

  “So,” Rory remarked casually as she folded the sheet and slid it into her handbag, “I guess you never had any problems dealing with Gail.”

  Bonnie turned in her chair so that she was facing Rory again. “Look, I know she had a hell of a temper and she didn’t always treat people right, but from my perspective she was a dream customer. She knew exactly what she wanted. After she placed an order, she never called back to change it; she never second-guessed herself. She was efficient, punctual, and she had a fabulous eye for interior design.”

  At least Gail seemed to have had some successful relationships in her career, with the notable exception of Elaine Stein, her former employer. But for all Rory knew, there were dozens of other disgruntled people in the decorating field whose experiences with Gail were less than wonderful.

  The next morning Rory had called the manufacturer in North Carolina, using the phone number that was printed on the top of the order sheet. After being transferred from one department to another and back again, she’d finally spoken to a man who was willing and able to bring the invoice up on his computer. He told her that eight rolls of Flower Fields wallpaper had been shipped as per the original order and he would be more than happy to fax her said invoice.

  Rory thanked him but declined the offer. Either someone had tampered with their records to cover up the mistake, or a roll of wallpaper had simply vanished into the ether. Maybe she should ask Zeke to look around for it in whatever dimension it was that he inhabited. In any case, that path of her investigation had run smack into a dead end.

  When Rory approached the Deer Park Avenue exit, the black Jeep moved into the right lane as if the driver intended to get off there or was gambling that she would. In order to test her theory, Rory stayed on the expressway for another two exits. The Jeep stayed too. A few minutes later, it followed her off at Route 110 North. Coincidence? Leah insisted there were no coincidences in life. Rory hoped she was wrong. But she didn’t feel threatened or nervous. It would be light out for hours yet, and the roads were congested with traffic. Had she been on some lonely rural road she might have felt differently. In any event, she wasn’t planning to go straight home. It was the last day of the lease on Mac’s office, and there was one more carton of files that she had to take home.

  The Jeep stayed with her as she made her way north into the town of Huntington, but when she was a block away from the office, it passed her. Curious to see where it would go, Rory pulled over to the curb at a fire hydrant. A few blocks ahead of her, she watched the Jeep take the right fork that led through Cold Spring Harbor to Laurel Hollow and points west.

  With a lighter heart, Rory continued around the corner to the office. She spent a few minutes making sure that she hadn’t overlooked anything in the desk drawers and filing cabinets, since the furniture had come with the office. With Mac’s posters and diplomas gone from the walls, the suite seemed to brood with abandonment. Rory bid it a silent farewell, slung her pocketbook over her shoulder, picked up the remaining carton and headed for the door. She nearly walked straight into Casey Landis, who was coming in.

  “Ms. McCain,” Casey said, glancing around the reception area. “It looks as if I’ve come at a bad time. Are you in the process of moving?”

  “Just clearing out my uncle’s things,” Rory said, surprised to see the future Mrs. Oberlin there. She’d expected to have a difficult, if not impossible, time trying to set up an appointment to speak with her again and here she was.

  “I have some information for you,” Casey said with a cool smile that bordered on smugness, “and I’m sure you’re going to want to hear it.” She was wearing skin-tight yellow capris that would have shown off every bump and bulge, had there been any to show.

  Rory walked the few feet back to the reception desk and set the carton down there along with her purse. “Okay. As long as we’re out of here by midnight. Otherwise I have to pay for another month, or I turn into a pumpkin. I never remember which.”

  Casey ignored the attempt at humor. She was looking at the single chair behind the desk. “Is there someplace we could sit down?”

  Rory ushered her into the main office and took a seat behind the desk, leaving Casey to choose between the two smaller chairs in front of it. She’d briefly considered sitting next to her, but decided she needed whatever advantage being in the catbird seat offered. Casey was already one up on her, since she knew why she was there.

  “My fiancé is a wonderful man,” Casey said without preamble, “but he’s as naïve as men come.”

  How fortunate for you, Rory thought.

  “He bought your little story without question. I, on the other hand, am not so gullible. You’re not typing up notes from your uncle’s case files so that you can send them to his clients. You’re investigating Gail Oberlin’s death. And you’re doing
it for Jeremy.”

  “And how exactly did you come to that conclusion?” Rory asked, trying for a bewildered expression.

  Casey shook her head, causing her blonde hair to swing across her shoulders in a way that no doubt hypnotized men. “Are you really going to try to keep up that charade?” she asked wearily.

  Rory leaned forward and locked eyes with her. “If you have something to tell me, Ms. Landis, spit it out. If not, this meeting is over; I’m way too busy to play games with you.”

  Casey pursed her full, coral-coated lips and considered her options. “Well, here it is then,” she said, pausing a moment for dramatic effect. “You need to put Jeremy right at the top of your list of suspects.” She settled back in her seat with a satisfied little smile and watched for Rory’s reaction.

  “That doesn’t make any sense. Why would he have hired Mac to find out who killed his sister if he’s the one who did it? It’s not as if he needs to appear innocent. As far as the police are concerned, the case is closed. He’s not a suspect.”

  “Now that’s where you’re wrong.”

  “Okay,” Rory said, intrigued in spite of herself. “You have my attention.”

  Casey took her time crossing one slender, yellow-clad leg over the other. “To his mother he is still very much a suspect.”

  Rory waited for her to elaborate, but Casey was not in any hurry. She was thoroughly enjoying the theatrics of the situation.

  “And his mother thinks he killed Gail because . . . ?” Rory prompted finally, wondering if she was going to have to coax every sentence out of her.

  “Well, there’s a bit of a backstory to it.”

  “Like I said, I have until midnight.”

  “I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but Jeremy has a gambling problem, a big one.”

  “It never came up in conversation.”

  “I’m not surprised. He probably didn’t mention that his family is rich either. I don’t mean a condo in Florida and a new Mercedes every other year rich. I mean major real estate holdings in Manhattan rich. I mean Lear Jet and sports franchises rich.”