“I found this.” Pat did a quick look around, and then unwrapped a tissue exposing a single gold loop earring. “It’s not mine. I wear clip-ons. Marla’s ears are pierced, but I’ve never seen her wear anything like it, either.”
“Where did you find it?” Jack asked as, like a magician, he pulled another little plastic evidence bag from a jacket pocket. Pat dropped it into the bag, hanging onto the tissue in which she had wrapped it.
“On the floor near Dave’s desk. It was under papers that could have come from a box of stuff on his desk if it had been searched.”
“Are there items missing?”
“I don’t know because I’m not sure what was in it in the first place. Offhand, nothing I could see appeared to be very important. Old sheet music, notes about compositions he was planning to work on, and a hodgepodge of pictures and clippings, as well as programs from performances he gave or attended. Dave had written ‘sort and file’ on the side of the box with a black marker. There were a couple of file folders that needed to be refiled. Maybe he was going to pass it along to me.” Pat sipped her bottled water before speaking again. There was wariness in her voice when she spoke again, and she lowered her voice almost to a whisper.
“With all the activity in the house today, that earring could have come from almost anywhere.”
“That would explain why the CSI’s didn’t pick it up when they were in here yesterday. I’m glad you spotted it.”
“I wondered about that, Jack. Given how many hours they spent here, how did they miss it?”
“You’re not saying someone planted it?” I asked.
“I guess not. I’m just totally paranoid. The team that went through here could have dropped or dragged it from one place to another when they moved stuff or pulled it from walls or shelves to be packed for storage.”
“Can the lab get DNA from it?” I asked Jack, eying the gold band. It was a simple loop of gold like you could find in most any jewelry store.
“Who knows? Even if they can’t, you never know when a personal item like this might come in handy given where it was found.” Jack slipped the little bag into a pocket. Just then, Adam Middlemarch rejoined us.
“What a day, huh?” Pat asked. The quick shift to another topic caught me by surprise. Was Adam on the list of people she had in mind when she asked about someone planting that earring? Without waiting for a reply, she stood. “Unless you have something that can’t wait, I really need to get out of here and take care of a few errands. I can’t put my life on hold completely. Call me if you have questions, Jack. I’ll see you tomorrow at lunch, Georgie.” With that, she left. “I know I don’t have to remind you to lock up everything, Adam.”
“No, you don’t,” Adam replied as he took the seat Pat had occupied.
I would have liked a few more minutes with Pat to tell her Marla Broussard had family photos she wanted to contribute for Dave’s memorial. I also wanted to ask Pat if, as Marla suggested, she had a way to reach Dave’s brother Bill or his Aunt Meg. I’d take it up with her at lunch tomorrow instead. For some reason, I felt it might be better to have that conversation without Adam sitting at the table.
I listened attentively as Jack quizzed Adam about his whereabouts on Friday night and during the day today. He had what sounded like a plausible alibi, claiming he’d gone to a club in Santa Monica after the gala—if it checked out. On the surface he was affable enough, but I sensed an undercurrent of annoyance or reluctance to speak. He answered Jack’s questions quickly and politely, keeping his responses short as if he were being deposed by a lawyer.
That’s an interesting skill for a guy like Adam Middlemarch to have acquired, I thought. Jack agreed when I brought it up on our way home. A background check by the police was in Adam’s future. Who knew what that might reveal about the big man inclined to say so little? Or what Carol might dig up about him, for that matter.
9 Not a Rollins
“The first mention I can find of our Dave Rollins is in Chicago. He’s no classical violinist, though. See? That’s him playing the standup base in a jazz combo. A skinny kid in his twenties—a real cool cat!”
Monday morning, I peered over Carol’s shoulder and looked at the picture on her desktop computer. My Executive Assistant proved once again that she’s a whizz when it comes to mining the data we have about people who work at The Cat Factory. At least, anyone who was hired to work in the US or Canada. Some of the overseas operations in the far-flung Marvelous Marley World Enterprises were less penetrable by Carol’s inquiries.
“Is that something you dug up from the archive?” I asked.
“Yep. I’ve Googled him, too, though, and searched in all the nooks and crannies that cater to Hollywood gossip or the theater news. If the maestro had a past, he kept his secret well-hidden. There’s nothing I can find about a Dave or David Rollins getting into any trouble in Louisiana in the years before he shows up in Chicago.”
“Hmm, that’s too bad, isn’t it?”
“Or maybe Marla Broussard made it up! That’s a nasty thing to do.”
“I don’t believe Marla Broussard’s above being nasty. If she’s got dirty secrets about Dave Rollins, I bet they won’t be kept secret much longer now that he won’t be around to write checks for her.”
“Ooh! Writing checks as in blackmail or alimony?” Carol has a wicked sense of humor that borders on the macabre at times.
“Blackmail never crossed my mind. She brought up the check writing in the context of their divorce. Alimony or hush money, it probably felt about the same to Dave either way. If her story’s true about women causing him trouble in his youth, he never developed much sense. Marla’s a living testament to his lack of discretion.”
“Oh, there’s plenty of gossip about his relentless pursuit of women and how often his love life fell flat, hit a sour note, created disharmony or dis-chord. I could go on and on with the music-inspired, love-gone-wrong puns. You can’t pin them on me either. Tabloids, celebrity magazines, online journalists and bloggers can’t resist them.”
“Thanks for warning me,” I said. Carol has a penchant for punning. Mostly cat related puns given how often we refer to ourselves as working for The Cat at The Cat Factory. Catmmando Tom’s not the only cartoon character responsible for the success of Marvelous Marley World, but he’s the iconic figure that most often comes to mind when someone mentions the place. The cat superhero, Catmmando Tom, is our counterpart to Disney’s Mickey Mouse.
As if on cue, another of Max’s beloved cartoon characters, Lucky La Roo, strolled past Carol’s desk and on down the hall leading to the elevator. It was the start of a Lucky La Roo parade as several more associates in oversized kangaroo costumes followed. I didn’t particularly care for the name Max had chosen for his jaunty kangaroo explorer. To me it sounded more like a stripper or a gambler, but what do I know? Kids of all ages love the smart-mouthed, “ramblin’ roo” whose adventures place him in one bout of trouble after another.
“Character Casting must have held a training session already this morning with a new spiel or routine,” Carol commented as the herd of “La Roos” sauntered past the reception area. One of them caught her staring and called out, “G’day Mates, watch this!” After coming to a halt, Lucky La Roo rocked back on the tail that went with the kangaroo costume. Then the occupant must have hit a button or done something because in the next second he straightened up and bounded to the elevator as if on springs.
“Wow!” Carol stood and gave the character two thumbs up. Not to be outdone, Lucky’s companions followed suit. One even managed to add a fancy spin into the mix. By now half a dozen of us were watching the astonishing performance. When the elevator opened, the herd of La Roos waved and then stepped inside. We gave them a round of applause.
“Ah! I love this job!” Carol exclaimed. “You can ‘always expect the unexpected at Marvelous Marley World,’ can’t you?” she added in a sing-song voice, using one of Max’s favorite taglines for ads promoting his whacky world.
“That’s for sure, with Max at the helm anyway,” I agreed.
“It’s inspiring.”
“Here’s an inspiration for you. Why not see if you can track down one of the other guys in Dave’s band? Their names are listed in the caption below that picture. Maybe they’ll know more about Dave’s past than Marla knows or is willing to share with us. She couldn’t even tell us how to reach his brother Bill or his Aunt Meg after suggesting we speak to them.”
“If Dave Rollins’ death has disrupted Marla Broussard’s cash flow, why would she give the more lurid details to you?”
“I hear you. Not until she gets herself a deal for a tell-all anyway. We can’t afford to wait for the ghostwriter to finish penning her story if we want to find out what really happened in Louisiana. Let’s see if you can track down the other members of the Windy City Jazz Quartet.”
“Will do. Let me know what I can do to help Pat with the memorial service for the maestro. I can arrange orders for food and beverage once you all decide what’s on the menu. Figuring out when and where you want to hold the event’s important, too.”
“Anywhere but the pavilion where we just held his retirement gala. Marla was adamant about that and I agree with her. It’ll have to be held somewhere that musicians can perform. Pat’s probably the best person to make decisions about the music and we’ll need some sort of retrospective.”
“You have that wonderful piece put together for his retirement. I don’t see why you couldn’t rerun that in a private remembrance room. Once you pick a venue, I can arrange to have the video set up.”
“That’s a good idea. Marla has offered to send us family photos. We can put those on display, too, along with still photos from Dave’s career working for the cat. Let’s also include those pictures you’ve found from his days in the jazz band.”
“Will do. You and Pat know more about the VIPs who need to be on the guest list and whether they should get special seating. Flowers, too, but not too much like a funeral. Nothing as fancy or structured as the gala, either, I hope. A more casual, drop-in event would make it possible for Associates to show their respects during their breaks or lunch hour.”
“Great ideas, Carol. I’ll bet Max will love opening this event up to as many members of the Marvelous Marley World family as possible. Especially if he gets to preside over a kick off ceremony at the start of the day. We can do finger foods and beverages that are easy to eat on the run. Petit fours and little mini-cupcakes decorated with music notes and symbols. Now that we’re talking about food, I wonder if there is some truth to Marla’s claims that Dave’s roots were in Southern Louisiana. A French heritage, like the Broussard he married. I never asked him how a man from Chicago developed such a penchant for French food. Maybe his love of the cuisine came to him via the Mississippi Delta or the Louisiana Bayou. New Orleans makes sense, too, given his love of jazz.”
“Well, Rollins doesn’t sound French, bayou or otherwise. If that’s his real name.” When Carol said that, it’s as if a bolt of lightning struck me.
“You’re a genius. Of course, it’s not his real name. That explains why you can’t find anyone named Dave Rollins involved in a scandal in Louisiana before he shows up in Chicago.”
“I bet the guys in his band not only know more about what kind of trouble he was in when he arrived in Chicago and whether he changed his name. Maybe they know what his name was before he changed it,” Carol suggested.
“Go for it! I’ll ask Jack about following up on the prospect that Dave changed his name, if no one has come up with the idea already. I’m curious about how he pulled off a stunt like that when he came of age back in the 60s.”
“There’s a picture with him behind the wheel of a car, so he must have been issued a Driver’s License. I’ll bet it was easier to get one then without all the scrutiny you get today. Even now, though, once you’ve got a Driver’s License, it’s easier to get other forms of identification like a credit card, Musicians Union Membership Card, or a work permit.”
“I’m sure you’re right. If you keep poking around trying to find Dave’s old friends in Chicago, I’ll try to find out if he’s had any recent contact with his brother or his Aunt Meg. Marla’s convinced Pat knows how to reach them.”
“If Dave changed his name to Rollins, Bill probably has a different last name. How old must Aunt Meg be with a nephew in his seventies?”
“Good question. Meg’s not likely to be Rollins, either, is she? Even if she isn’t alive, she may have children or other family members who can tell us what went on in Dave’s past. The same goes for his brother Bill.”
“Dave must have trusted them if he stayed in touch after he left Louisiana. Why wasn’t he more concerned that they’d give away his secret somehow or lead him back into the trouble he’d left behind?”
“I wish I knew. That’s a great reason to track them down. Jack and I are meeting with Dave’s accountant and his estate lawyer today. Maybe they know something about his life before he turned up as a jazz musician in Chicago.”
“Accountants and lawyers are tough-nosed and tight-lipped.” I laughed at the image her colorful phrases conjured up.
“That could be why the lead investigator was more than happy to have Jack interview them about Dave’s finances and the settlement of his estate. I’m going along to encourage Jennifer and his attorney to share what they know about Dave’s beneficiaries, so we don’t miss anyone important to Dave as we plan his memorial.”
“Let’s hope they don’t go all lawyerly on you and refuse to share the information when you ask for it.”
“Better to share it with me than have Max have to ask them for it. This is a murder investigation, and the boss wants answers! He’s my ace in the hole if they want to do this the hard way.”
“That’ll work. No one wants to face the wrath of “Mad” Max Marley when he’s riled up. In fact, he’s probably already issued the command for them to cooperate or else!” As Carol said that, she stomped her feet and thrust her arms to her side, with her fists all balled up just as Max does when he’s in tantrum mode. With her sparkling eyes and pixie face, it was difficult for her to achieve Max’s troll-like demeanor.
“Who needs a bad cop when you’ve got Max in your back pocket?” I exclaimed.
“Exactly!”
“If anyone’s looking for me this afternoon, I’m hoping to be back at my office by four. Unless there’s a line of people waiting to see me, let’s plan to spend a few more minutes on the memorial event for Dave then. I’ll try to help move things along at lunch with Pat, so we can get the event scheduled at least. It’s no easy task to find a large venue around here at the last minute.”
“Boy, do I know it! Max can always pull rank and rearrange people and events any way he wants, but that could lead to a catfight or a hissy fit. Given the sad circumstances surrounding Dave’s passing, that would be appawling! Pawsitively embarrassing, too, if the media catches wind of the fact that the fur is flying around here!” She clawed the air. I rolled my eyes as Carol opened her mouth to continue.
“Oh, stop! You’ve made yourself purrfectly clear. I’ll do my best to sort this out before Max can have a catniption fit.” I made clawing signs back at her. “I’ve got to go, or I’ll be late.” As I stood up to leave, an image of Adam Middlemarch looming over Pat came to mind.
“There is one more person to put on your list of people to check up on. He worked here for a while before Dave hired him to assist Pat.” I passed along what little additional background I had about Adam Middlemarch. “He’s not a high priority, so don’t go to any trouble if nothing pops up right away. I’m not sure what it was, but something in the way he handled himself around Jack made me wonder if he’s had previous experience with lawyers or law enforcement.”
“If he’s been an associate with us, it’ll be a piece of cake to find out about his work history. That shouldn’t take long at all. Finding out if he’s had legal training or legal trouble might take a little
longer. Still, consider it done!”
I rushed off smiling. Carol’s always so upbeat. She has a real “can-do” spirit even when she’s doing the most mundane tasks. I can’t fathom how she’s so undaunted by the challenge of planning a project like our memorial event for the maestro. It’s big, last minute, and not a happy circumstance. As she pointed out, it’s fraught with the possibility Max will give in to his dark side and suddenly live up to his “Mad” Max nickname. I vowed to face the tasks ahead with the same gusto!
10 Who Gets What?
Jennifer Wainwright’s office door was open. She sat at a small round conference table near a row of windows in her spacious, well-appointed office. Her posture was perfect—like that you’d expect to see in a dancer. She was thin and willowy like one, too. The tailored suit she wore accentuated the angular set of her jaw and the clean crisp lines hid any trace of a woman who might give herself over to the movements of ballet or jazz dance. Not that she lacked grace when I’d seen her walk across a room. There was just an air of control about her in even her slightest movements.
The sort of control and precision you hope your accountant uses to monitor your money, I thought as Jack and I followed a receptionist down a short hallway.
Jennifer wasn’t alone. A well-dressed young man sat across from her. His demeanor was less controlled. Fidgety even. I could imagine him pacing back and forth like a caged lion if he were standing rather than sitting. Jack whispered in my ear as we approached the office.
“That baby-faced kid can’t be the maestro’s estate attorney, can he?”
“We’re getting old enough that anyone who’s thirty-something seems wet around the ears,” I whispered.
“I’m glad you said thirty-something because I definitely don’t trust anyone under thirty.” I nudged him because the young woman leading us to Jennifer’s office probably hadn’t yet reached the thirty-year mark.
Murder of the Maestro Page 8
