All Sales Fatal (17 page)

“That man married some strange women,” Grandpa observed, watching Aggie climb into a pickup truck, skirt rucking up to show a muscled calf.

“Indeed.”

My hair had
dried, a hint of curl drawing it up along my jawline, and I was conferring with one of the officers about vacation schedules when Paula Woskowicz entered the office shortly after two.

“School out already?” I asked, smiling at her.

She shook her head. “I got a sub today. I couldn’t face the kids, not after Denny’s service.”

I couldn’t face a roomful of eighth-graders on my best day, so I didn’t blame her.

“Look, can we talk privately?” she asked, her eyes lingering on the totally uninterested guard watching the camera screens.

“Sure,” I said, leading her back to Woskowicz’s—my—office. Detective Helland and crew hadn’t been back since conducting the interviews, as far as I knew, and I’d personalized it to the extent of lobbing my swim bag under the desk.

Paula remained standing, looking around curiously. “I never visited Denny here,” she said. “He was always real serious about his work, made sure I knew I couldn’t just pop
in and interrupt. Well, I understood that; it’s not like he could’ve dropped by the classroom any time to take me to lunch. Did you box up his stuff already?”

“Nope,” I said, wondering where this was going. “This is all there was.” I swept my arm out to encompass the virtually barren office.

“No photos?” Paula looked miffed, as if she’d expected her ex would have her photo prominently displayed on his desk.

“The police took a couple of things.” She was welcome to assume they’d walked out with a crate of photos. “Look, Paula,” I started, impatient to move this along. “I don’t know—”

“It’s about his will,” she said.

Aha. I waited in silence.

“You know he was married to Nina first and then to me—we truly loved each other—and finally to Aggie,” she said. “Well, Nina’s got a copy of a will signed by Denny, and it names her as the sole beneficiary of his estate.” She puffed out her considerable chest with a deep, offended breath. “But it was signed
before
he married me, and I’m sure he made a will in my favor, so I’ve got to find it.”

“And you think it’s here?” I wrinkled my brow.

“It’s got to be,” she said, an edge of desperation in her voice. “I’ve been all through the house and it’s not there.”

“Isn’t it possible he…
forgot
to make a will in your favor after you got married? Lots of people don’t like thinking about wills.”

“No! We talked about it. I know he—let’s just look for it.” She surged forward as if she were going to ransack the desk, but I put a hand on her arm to stop her.

“Paula, slow down. Let’s be methodical about it. And I’ve got to be the one to go through any sensitive personnel files.”

She nodded, copper hair bobbing, and we set to work. Forty-five minutes later, even Paula had to admit that the document wasn’t there. Nothing remotely will-like had turned up. The woman looked near tears, and I wondered if it was because she was counting on the inheritance or because she was saddened that Woskowicz hadn’t “loved her enough” to redo his will in her favor. As I said good-bye to her, I forbore mentioning that even if he’d done a new will when he married her, he might have revoked it when he married Aggie. The thought didn’t seem to have occurred to her, and I didn’t want to be the one to burst her bubble.

When Aggie waltzed in an hour after Paula left, I was pretty sure I knew what she wanted. She’d dried off since the memorial, but her flame red hair frizzed past her shoulders, a victim of the humidity. Tight jeans encased chunky legs, and a black bomber jacket might have been a concession to her grief—or it might have been her usual fashion statement.

Joel had ducked out for a break and I was watching the cameras, but I stood when Aggie came in, watching the screens out of the corners of my eyes. “Let me guess,” I said after we exchanged greetings and she took in the office with a curious gaze. “You’re looking for a will.”

“A will?” Her brow puckered. “What about a will?”

Uh-oh. Me and my big mouth. “Uh…”

Dragging a hand through her wiry hair, she shrugged. “I’m not worried about a will. My lawyer’s handling that. And since I’m still legally Wosko’s wife—”

“What?”

She shot me a triumphant look. “Our divorce wasn’t going to be final until this Friday. So if Nina or Paula think they’re going to get a dime from Wosko’s estate, they’ve got another think coming!”

I fell silent, digesting this piece of news. If true, Aggie
was clearly going to be the one to benefit financially from Woskowicz’s death. And she was the one who’d announced early on that he was dead… I studied the short redhead, wondering if she’d had anything to do with his murder. Surely the police had looked into her whereabouts for Wednesday night?

“So what did you want to see me about?” I asked.

“I need to get into Wosko’s office,” she said airily.

“Why?”

Glaring at me, she hiked her purse higher on her shoulder. “Because.”

I stood unmoving, arms crossed over my chest.

“Oh, all right,” she grumbled. “I don’t see how it’s any of your business, but I need to find a key.”

“What kind of key?”

She answered me with an uncompromising stare, lips thinned into a straight line.

Shrugging, I said, “It doesn’t matter, because there are no keys in there.”

Joel returned and I motioned him to the monitors with a nod, then led Aggie down the short hall to the director of security’s office.

“How do you know it’s not here?” Aggie said, stopping inside the door to survey the small room.

“The police have searched it,” I said, “and I’ve spent a fair amount of time in here since…” I carefully didn’t mention that Paula and I had ransacked the room an hour earlier. “Maybe Captain Woskowicz kept whatever key you’re looking for on his key ring. In which case, the police probably have it.” Unless the murderer stole Woskowicz’s keys. My eyes widened. Of course he did. That’s how he got in to search Woskowicz’s house without leaving signs of a break-in. I reconsidered. Knowing that both Paula and Aggie were looking for something, and Nina, too, for all I knew,
made me wonder if it had been one of them who searched the house.

“Well, I’ll have a look-see, if you don’t—”

I stepped in front of Aggie as she prepared to tear the office apart, dismantling the desk and ripping up the flooring, if her expression was anything to go by. “You’re going to have to take my word for it, Aggie. The only key I found was to a file cabi—”

“How do you know it wasn’t for a safe-deposit box?” She looked ready to mug me on the spot and turn my pockets inside out.

“Because it fit the file cabinet drawer,” I said, pointing.

“Oh.”

“If I come across the key elsewhere”—I gestured to the outer office—“I’ll be sure to let you know.”

“Me,” she insisted. “Not Nina or Paula. Me. It’s mine.”

She sounded like one of the seagulls in
Finding Nemo
: “Mine. Mine. Mine-mine-mineminemine.”

“Or maybe I should turn it over to the police,” I said.

“You’d better not.” Her jaw thrust forward, and despite her shortness and her cute pug nose, she looked tough.

“What do you do?” I asked, curious.

She reared back slightly, startled by the question. “Do? I sell cars. At Dealin’ Dwight’s Used Car Supercenter. You’ve probably seen our ads on TV.”

Hadn’t everyone? They came on every fifteen minutes (or so it seemed) and featured Dealin’ Dwight himself—a hearty-looking man who bore more than a passing resemblance to former senator and actor Fred Thompson—and a herd of llamas. I’d never yet figured out the connection between the llamas and used cars.

“If you ever need a new—gently used—car, come on down and I can set you up. We’re between here and Richmond, just off I-95.” She handed me a card. It read “Delia
‘Aggie’ S. Woskowicz, Senior Sales Associate.” I saw that, like Paula, she had retained Woskowicz’s name; I guess it made sense if she was still legally married to him.

“Will do,” I said, ushering her back toward the front. She cast one longing look over her shoulder but allowed me to see her out with one more reminder about contacting her if I found any stray keys around the office.

“What was that all about?” Joel asked as soon as Aggie departed.

“I’m not sure,” I said, staring out the doors long after she was out of sight. I told him about Paula’s looking for a will and Aggie’s wanting to search for a safe-deposit key.

“Maybe the will is in the safe-deposit box,” he said reasonably.

“Could be,” I said, “but Aggie didn’t seem much interested in a will. She said she’s still legally married to Woskowicz, that their divorce wasn’t quite final.”

“Really?” Joel looked disapproving. “Woskowicz certainly carried on like he was single.”

“Yeah, well.” I suspected that was Woskowicz’s modus operandi, single or married. If what Paula said was true, he’d taken up with Aggie before divorcing her.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Joel said.

I smiled at him. “Of course not.”

Joel hid his pleasure by pretending to study the camera screens. “Do you think she killed him to get whatever’s in the safe-deposit box?”

“Maybe.”

“I’ll bet it’s cash. Lots and lots of cash.”

The odor of coffee sludge on the verge of burning wafted through the room. Crossing to the coffeemaker, I unplugged it. “It’s probably papers: birth certificate, will, other documents. Isn’t that mostly what people keep in safe-deposit boxes?”

“Maybe it’s jewels,” Joel said, ignoring my prosaic interjection.

I gave him a look.

“Okay,” he conceded, “Captain W wasn’t a jewelry kind of guy.”

“Although I bet the exes were jewelry kinds of gals.”

“Maybe it’s videos of him and her,” Joel said, nodding in the direction of the departed Aggie. “You know.” He waggled his brows.

“Joel!” Despite my surprise that Joel had suggested it—he came across as sweet and slightly naïve for a twenty-three-year-old—it wasn’t a bad thought. “You could be on to something there.”

My gaze had strayed idly to the screens as I talked, and now I leaned forward to study two girls exiting a teen clothing store. “It’s her!”

“Who?”

“See that girl?” I pointed to the Hispanic teen who’d been with Celio the day he got shot.

Joel peered at the screen. “Yeah?”

“Don’t lose her. I’ve got to talk to her.” I was halfway out the door on the words. “Keep me posted on where she goes.” I tapped my radio.

“Got it,” Joel said.

Luckily, she was on this level, so I didn’t have to waste time in the elevator. When I Segwayed to the store she’d been leaving, she was nowhere in sight. “Joel?” I clicked my radio.

“They went into FaceNook,” Joel said.

FaceNook sold cosmetics and hair products and was across the hall from where I stood. Zipping across the little bridge that spanned the gap between the two hallways, I paused outside FaceNook and peered through the window. Sure enough, the girl and her friend were experimenting
with eye shadows in front of a round magnifying mirror while a clerk hovered at their elbows. I watched them for a moment, unobserved. The girl who’d been with Celio was looking on as her friend, a tall teen who held herself with a confidence lacking in the shorter girl, smoothed eye shadow from lash line to brow. Each had a couple of shopping bags at her feet. Leaving the Segway outside, I walked in.

The clerk, a fortyish woman I’d chatted with before, called, “Hi, EJ.”

The two girls looked up and wariness settled on their faces, like fog on a pond.

“I just wanted to chat with these young ladies for a moment,” I said, aiming a friendly smile at the teens.

Apparently, they read my expression as something more sinister because the taller girl yelled, “Run, Eloísa!” The girl I’d seen with Celio snatched up her bags and darted around the end of a counter, knocking over a display of lipsticks, which clattered to the tiled floor and rolled in all directions. Clear of the counter, she bolted through the door. Her friend stooped to pick up some lipsticks but thought better of it, straightening to follow Eloísa. Leaving the sputtering clerk to corral the lipsticks, I dashed after the girls.

Hopping on the Segway, I sped after them, clicking on my radio. “A little help, please.”

“What?” Joel sounded confused. “Oh. Just passing Merlin’s Cave, looking like they’re trying to set an Olympic record. What’d you say to them?”

Ignoring the question, I leaned forward to get more speed out of the Segway.

“They split up,” Joel said over the radio. “One headed for the garage, and the other went into Nordstrom.”

“Who went where?” I really wanted to catch up with Celio’s friend; the other girl held less interest.

A moment of silence had me almost humming with
impatience. “I’m not sure,” Joel finally admitted. “They both had dark hair and were wearing jeans. It’s not like I’m working with high-def here.”

“I know,” I said, squelching my frustration. Eeny-meeny-miney-mo. I headed for Nordstrom.

Fourteen