Murder Ink

by Betty Hechtman

  ‘You know Camille Parker better than I do. I made up a story about the wedding shower she put on for Rachel, as she’d told me to do. But I wanted to run it by you before I show her, and I need the names of Camille’s daughters and something about them.’ I pushed the papers across the bar. ‘Here, this is still just a draft, but you’ll get an idea how the whole thing will look.’

  I watched him as he started to look them over. The booklet opened with pictures of Rachel as she grew up. I’d created the copy out of the biographical information I’d gotten about where she was born, went to school and college, and placed photographs that illustrated key moments.

  ‘I’ve never seen any of these pictures,’ he said. His expression dimmed as he moved on to the more current pictures and copy. I’d included a picture one of the teachers had sent me of Rachel and her students. I had used that along with the picture of the three teachers that I’d taken. The copy told the story about her generosity to the kids and the staff. I’d made sure to mention how important the job was to her and how beloved she was by the kids.

  I heard his breath catch when he skipped ahead to the wedding picture and the story he’d told me about how they’d met. He looked up at me. ‘Good job. You made it sweet and a little funny.’

  I pointed to the copy that preceded it. ‘Here’s the story about the shower.’ He read it over and handed me back the sheets. ‘Camille will love the story. You make her sound like a saint. The rest of it looks good too.’

  He gave me Camille’s daughters’ names and made sure to spell them for me because both of them had a weird spelling. Kyrs and Haillee. ‘As for what they’re like – think about Cinderella’s stepsisters,’ he said with a laugh. Then he gave me something real to use. Kyrs had found the location and Haillee had arranged the food.

  ‘That’s where it ends for now. I was thinking about something from Mr Parker.’

  ‘Didn’t Camille tell you to leave him out of it?’

  I nodded. ‘But maybe it’s a mistake. Maybe you could say something to her.’ He let out a little laugh as if what I’d said was totally absurd and put his hands up defensively.

  ‘No way am I getting involved.’

  ‘I just thought that if they’re so concerned about optics, it would look bad if there was nothing from him in the book. And then the Parkers will blame me. I guess if I heard it from him that he didn’t want to be included …’ I trailed off.

  ‘I can probably come up with another story you can use. We went to Door County in Wisconsin over the summer and stopped in Green Bay. Rachel knew nothing about football or that the rabid Green Bay Packers fans were known to wear cheesehead hats. When she saw the hats shaped like a piece of cheese, she thought they were about Wisconsin being so known for their cheese and was surprised they were so popular. I have a picture of Rachel wearing one of them.’ I scribbled down the cheesehead hat story and he said he’d email me the photograph. Customers had started to come in and it seemed like we were done. Once again, he refused to let me pay for the drink.

  I was glad that Luke had been OK with my imagined story, but I was still concerned about Mr Parker. He was the only blood family Rachel had. The book wouldn’t seem complete without something from her father and I wondered if Camille had even brought it up to him. I intended to at least give him the opportunity, but wasn’t sure how best to arrange a meeting with Mr Parker. I doubted calling and attempting to set up an appointment would work. It was too easy to turn me down. It was early afternoon when I left the hotel and I decided to simply go to his office and see if I could talk my way in.

  I found the address on my phone and as soon as I’d crossed the Michigan Avenue Bridge, I turned on Wacker Drive and continued on as it followed the river to where it split into the north and south branches.

  The elegant building was tucked into the southward curve of the river. It was made of green glass and reflected the water. Parker Shipping occupied the top two floors and the elevator opened onto sort of a lobby. The spacious area had a nautical theme. The walls were painted blue and decorated with photographs of ships and the floor was a dark wood. It was furnished with some wooden captain’s chairs and several couches with wood frames that seemed like what you would find on a ship.

  The receptionist looked up from her wooden enclosure shaped like the bow of a boat and asked if she could help me.

  ‘I’d like to see Mr Parker,’ I said. I’d been considering what to say the whole way there. I could say I was writing a piece on the shipping business in Chicago and since Mr Parker was a major player, I wanted to talk with him, but then there’d be questions who I was writing it for and one lie would become a whole string of them. I might omit some information, like not telling Luke about what I was doing for Evan, but actually telling a bunch of lies didn’t work for me.

  ‘Do you have an appointment?’ she said, glancing down at something I assumed was a schedule.

  ‘No,’ I said, girding for her response.

  She was polite, but dismissive when she said that it was impossible then.

  ‘It’s about his daughter,’ I began. I’d remembered that Camille had worked there before becoming the second Mrs Parker and, just a guess, but I bet the staff wasn’t fond of her then or now. ‘I’m putting together a celebration of life book for her service.’ I explained the idea of using anecdotes and personal memories to capture her spirit. ‘Mrs Parker has been my only contact and didn’t want me to talk to Mr Parker directly. If I didn’t offer him the chance to add something, he might be very regretful.’ I glanced at the woman hopefully. As expected, her expression dimmed at the mention of Camille. Now the responsibility for keeping him from having the opportunity was on her. It was just the kind of thing I’d had Derek Streeter do.

  She smiled weakly as she picked up the phone. ‘Let me get his assistant.’

  Inside I gave myself a high five. It had worked and I’d gotten me past the first gatekeeper. A few moments later, a well-dressed man came through an interior doorway. It figured that Camille had made sure that her husband had a male assistant so there was no chance Mr Parker would find another work-wife.

  ‘I’m Andrew Carlson, Mr Parker’s assistant. What can I do for you?’

  He seemed very formal and I’m sure a good part of his job was protecting his boss from people Mr Parker didn’t want to be bothered with. In other words, people like me. My only chance to get any further was by making the point that if Mr Parker regretted not being part of the memory book and found out that his assistant had run interference and kept me away, he’d get the blame. The receptionist had thrown in the towel relatively easily, but I knew he’d be a harder sell.

  I explained what I was doing and again mentioned that all my dealing had been with Mrs Parker. I paused for a breath and saw that he like the receptionist gave a hint that he wasn’t a big fan of Camille’s. This time I put more emotion into my appeal.

  ‘Despite what Mrs Parker said, I didn’t feel what I’m putting together would be complete without some input from Mr Parker. She was his only child. At the very least, I wanted to make sure that he had the opportunity to add something.’

  Andrew grimaced slightly and I knew I’d succeeded. Much as he wanted to turn me away, he didn’t want to take the responsibility to do it on the chance that Mr Parker would later regret not adding something to the booklet and look for someone to blame.

  ‘Let me check,’ the assistant said. ‘He might have a few minutes right now.’

  He went back through the interior doorway and returned moments later inviting me to follow.

  He led me to a private elevator that let us off into another reception area. He knocked briefly at a door and then brought me into the office.

  A wall of windows had a glorious view of the river below. The bridge was just going up to let a barge pass through. Richard Parker glanced up from his desk. He was heavyset and not particularly attractive, but there was an aura of power about him. He was formally dressed in a suit and white shirt alo
ng with a dark tie.

  There were two captain’s chairs in front of the desk, and he invited me to sit.

  ‘What exactly can I do for you?’ he said. His tone seemed distant. ‘I understood that my wife was dealing with all the preparations for the memorial service,’ he said.

  I knew I only had a short time, so I quickly explained what I was doing and showed him what I had.

  ‘I know you’re very busy and Mrs Parker suggested I not bother you, but I thought you ought to have the opportunity to add something personal to what I’m doing.’

  He thumbed through the pages. When he looked up, he seemed uncomfortable. ‘My daughter was a disappointment,’ he began. ‘I’d hoped that she would come into the family business. When she said she wanted to be a teacher, I’d thought she would work in a prestigious private school instead of that inner city school she chose. When she was getting married, I made her fiancé an offer to work in our business I thought he wouldn’t refuse. But he decided it was better to make drinks for a bunch of high-end alcoholics than work for me.’ He leaned forward and hammered the desk. ‘You better believe I insisted he sign a prenup about everything relating to Rachel’s share of my business.’ He shook his head with consternation.

  ‘But I couldn’t do anything about the money that came from her mother’s side.’ He realized I might not understand what he was talking about. ‘Her mother’s family owned the Bellingham Hotels. When they sold, she was given a trust fund with her share of the proceeds. Now it’s his trust fund,’ he finished with disgust.

  ‘I don’t know what happened to her to push her to the edge, but I blame him. He was there with her every day. He should have done something.’ He let out a heavy sigh. ‘We managed to keep her mother’s death quiet. And we’ll manage to keep Rachel’s as accidental, but people will still put two and two together. It’s not my fault. This business is my life. Times are changing and I’ve been finding ways to change with it. We’ve started a whole new division of small cruise ships going through the Great Lakes. Why should people go to foreign countries when they can have the experience here?’ I noticed photographs of the type of ships he was talking about behind him.

  I’d let him talk. He rambled a bit and then went back to Luke and how angry he was that Luke had been at the bar when it happened. ‘He should have seen what was going on and not left her alone.’

  I nodded to show I was listening. So far there wasn’t anything I could include and I was expecting any moment he was going to end our meeting. But then he took a framed photograph that was facing him and turned it around to show me. He was standing with a little girl, holding her hand, and they were on the deck of a ship as a crane was loading something on it. Both of them were smiling.

  ‘She used to come to work with me on Saturdays. We’d go to a diner down the street and have pancakes. She loved going on the ships. She told me that boats were in her blood.’

  I tried to keep my professional distance, but talking to him reminded me of my own losses. I’d never really faced it, but his anger had touched a sensitive spot and I realized I was angry at my mother for dying. It wasn’t rational or as if she had a choice, just the upset of a little girl losing her mother. I swallowed back my emotions before asking him if I could use both the photograph and the story. He nodded with a solemn, sad face. ‘She was my dear little girl,’ he said.

  ‘Thank you for your time,’ I said, as he handed me the picture.

  ‘Thank you for persisting,’ he said. His expression had softened with understanding. He didn’t explain, but I knew what he meant. I’d ignored his wife’s orders and talked my way past his gatekeepers and in the process gotten him to open up his heart.

  TWENTY-ONE

  As I walked back to the train, my mind was spinning from what I’d just heard. Mr Parker not liking his daughter’s choice of a husband wasn’t that strange. My father hadn’t been too pleased with mine either. Now I wish I’d listened to him. But what jumped out at me was what Mr Parker had said about the money from his first wife’s side. Luke had mentioned the prenup, but said nothing about the wealth not covered by it that he stood to inherit. I wondered if that was intentional. Mr Parker hadn’t given any figures but it had to be sizeable fortune for him to be concerned.

  Luke had portrayed himself as someone who didn’t care about money and who was content to stay on managing the bar in the hotel. What if that was an act? What if he hadn’t been so hot for her as much as for what she came with? These thoughts made me uncomfortable and I pushed them away, instead thinking about where I’d place the photo and the story from Mr Parker in the celebration of life book. Maybe when Camille realized that her husband wanted to be included, she wouldn’t be upset that I’d gone around her.

  I was on autopilot when I got off the train and followed some other passengers to the stairway down to the street level. But as soon as I walked out from under the viaduct my thoughts came back to the present and I remembered that it was Thursday and that I’d arranged an extra session with the writing group at a neighborhood restaurant.

  My thoughts were on the assignment I’d give them as I went up the stairs to my building. Collecting my mail from the box in the vestibule, I noticed a package on the ground. I grabbed it, intending to leave it at the base of the stairs as we all did. After unlocking the glass door that led to the inner portion of the building, I was about to set the box on the newel post when I checked for the addressee. I was surprised to see my name. Unlike the padded envelope I’d received the other day, this had a return address. It was a familiar online store.

  Had someone sent me a gift?

  I dropped my jacket and bag as soon as I got inside my place and took the box into my office. After cutting it open, I found a black merino wool sweater inside. I pulled open the packing slip to see who’d sent it, but all I saw was my information. It made no sense. I’d admired the sweater and even put it in my wish list. But ordered it? No. I found a customer service number and called. What I found out shocked me. The sweater had been charged to my credit card and had been ordered the day before with one-day shipping. I might have gotten a little heated as I insisted that I hadn’t ordered the sweater. The customer service woman was probably used to crazies and didn’t react.

  ‘However you got the sweater, if you’re not happy with it you can return it and we’ll credit the charge,’ she said in a deliberately pleasant voice. ‘It does happen that some customers have ordered items and not remembered,’ she said in a more personal voice. ‘You know, by accident, or even under the influence.’

  The whole thing made me so uneasy, I wanted her to cancel my online account, but she insisted that I leave it open until the return was complete. ‘The best I can do is to put a freeze on them taking any orders in the meantime.’

  I didn’t want to say anything to anybody about it. After the business with the DVD and then the TV last night, it would sound like I was losing it. Something popped into the back of my mind that made me even more uneasy. These occurrences were reminiscent of what I’d heard that Rachel had claimed had happened to her.

  I left it on my desk and flopped into the burgundy wing chair. It was almost dark, and I needed to turn on the lights, but for the moment I needed to sit there and collect myself. I was feeling a little creeped out by everything.

  I heard something fall in the other room and immediately tensed up. The frosted glass French door had closed behind me when I came into the room and now it shook as if someone had pushed on it. And then the door began to open, and someone came into the semi-dark room. My heart thudded and then I let my nerves out in a laugh as I saw the black-and-white cat swirl across the room.

  ‘You’re going to have to learn to announce yourself with a meow,’ I said. I was also going to have to learn that I wasn’t living alone anymore. I went over and gave him some strokes before turning on the lights. As I left my office, I forced myself to put all thoughts of the package and other occurrences out of my mind.

  ‘You’re pr
obably looking for dinner,’ I said, going back to the kitchen with the cat in close pursuit. I’d been told that cats self-regulated when it came to food unlike dogs who would chow down on everything in their bowl without thinking if they really wanted it or not. Because of that I had been leaving him a full bowl of dry cat food every morning. It was also insurance in the event, like now, I forgot that I had a pet. ‘It’ll kick in, I promise,’ I said to the cat, as I added some more kibble and then put a dab of wet food on a plate for him. The last touch was to top off his big bowl of water, so he wouldn’t go thirsty.

  And now it was time to get ready for the writers’ group which amounted to freshening up a little and grabbing my notebook. I’d chosen the Mezze because it was down the street and the coffee house restaurant had a good vibe for the writers’ group.

  The place was full of atmosphere. The brick walls were covered with artwork and the wood table had initials and sayings carved into them by patrons over the years. The crowd it attracted was interesting, made up of students, locals, and tourists visiting the university campus or wanting to see the neighborhood that had been home to President Obama and his wife, Michelle.

  I found Ed waiting in the entrance when I came in. It was only going to be three of us since Ben and Daryl couldn’t make it. I requested a table in the middle where we’d have a good view of the whole place.

  As soon as Tizzy joined us, we ordered one of their fabulous pan pizzas to share. These events were part writing and part social. After all this time of sharing their writing, we’d all become friends of a sort. We talked while we ate the pizza and then got down to business.