Current Affairs (Tiara Investigations Mysteries) (12 page)

“Life-sized?
Have you ever seen a peach that big?” Then I heard a swish. Maybe it was time to be punished for something, or maybe it was a warning, but right then, the sprinkler system came on. We jumped and ran toward the nearest door.

The guard looked at our splotchy, see-through attire as we approached the security desk. To avoid his beady little eyes, we lined up and signed the
visitors
book without waiting to be asked. We jostled to avoid being first, but I lost. "We have an appointment with Mr. Valentine.” Saying this a second time, I almost believed it myself. Appointment might have been a smidge of an exaggeration. We had asked Beatrice to leave a message before office hours saying that we would be stopping by to see him later that morning. Let’s call it a unilateral appointment. He handed us stick-on ID badges and recited directions to the executive office.

We got in the elevator and slowly looked at ourselves in the mirrored door. We were still dressed almost exactly alike. All three of us were wearing the black skirts or pants to our funeral outfits and white blouses. This seemed like a good idea, because we didn’t know if we would have time to change in between this meeting and David’s memorial service.
 

I reached to press a button for the executive floor, but it was already lit by the security folks. “We look like IRS agents.”

Tara shook her head. “I was thinking Secret Service.”

“Only one thing to do,” Victoria said, and we put our sunglasses back on.

Two men wearing khakis and holding smart phones joined us. They lifted their eyes off their e-mails long enough to look at us.
“Shower?”

“No thanks, we don’t even know you.” He pressed the button for the next floor. They took off so fast they left skid marks.

“Leigh, why did you do that?”

“Yeah, you know I usually make those comments.” Tara had started giggling.

“I didn’t like their looks. Those handheld email-getters are the new pocket protectors.”

The elevator doors parted on the third floor at a quiet, controlled place. We hesitated and looked out at the thick carpet. Then Tiara Investigations walked toward the tinted double doors.

I couldn’t hear my footsteps, and I panicked. My mind should have been on business, but the scenes from the last few days flashed in front of me. I stopped midway down the hall, overcome and undone. Victoria and Tara were waiting for me and exchanging looks.
 
All I could say was, “It’s easy to get lost when you can’t hear your footsteps.”

Saying this out loud was all it took. I got hold of myself and came to the realization that this was about the last few years of my life. From the outside it looked like a transition, when a restoration was what it had been. For years I didn’t hear my own footsteps, and so I ended up where I didn’t mean to be.
 
I didn’t believe in fear? Maybe not of anything exterior, but I was terrified of ever again being that outsider, dear to no one and without the comfort of a home. I would do anything to save our agency.

“That was disorienting.” Victoria reached for me. “But Leigh, we’re not lost.”

“What are we doing? Who do we think we are?”

 
“We’re just trying to help people.” Tara reached up and tucked a strand of my hair behind an ear.

When we started walking again I could hear something, a low crackle, but not continuous like fluorescent lighting. The sound was a succession of slight popping noises, and the sounds were in time with our footsteps. I turned and saw that the spots where my feet had touched the carpet glowed faintly and then disappeared. I motioned to Victoria and Tara to look back.

“That’s hot. That’s plastic beach chair hot.”

Being the professionals we were, we resisted the urge to back up, then stop, then start, start, stop, start, sideways, start, backup, walk crossing our legs over each others, stop, start, stop, stand on one foot, stop, for much more than five minutes. Ten minutes, tops.

 
“You’re going to do the talking, right?” I guess my mini-breakdown was the reason behind Tara’s question.

“I’m good.”

“What are you going to say to Valentine?” Victoria wanted reassurance that I was on my game.
 

“I’ll ask about the status of their contract with David Taylor’s company, Flow Network Design. Then I’ll say, ‘Oh, and by the way, did you murder him?’ Just kidding, you guys. Here we are.”

“Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition.” Tara tried the door.

A receptionist pressed a button, and the doors opened for us. Then I felt, as much as heard, them close, and she semi-welcomed us. Valentine’s secretary was called.
 
He would be free shortly, and then we were escorted to the other end of the lobby.
 
I smiled as the executive secretary discreetly checked us out. I was as accustomed to this reaction from women as I was to men holding their stomachs in when I entered a room. We sat down and removed our sunglasses. Looking around I could see two conference rooms and one office besides Valentine’s. We could see into this smaller office, and there were stacks of papers on every surface.
Hey, how’s that paperless office concept working out for you?

A dark-haired man in a black suit sat behind the desk with his back to us, talking on the phone. Next to the computer there was a trophy of a cross country skier with a rod or a pole or something long slung over his shoulder. He held the receiver in one hand, and with the other he reached over for the tiny statue. From where I was sitting it looked like he tipped his head to it. Then he tossed it and caught it mid-air. The familiarity of the bronze trophy made me stare until Victoria spoke and brought me out of it. I knew I had seen one of those before.

I noticed something else. “Look at the way he’s dressed. He’s wearing a black suit. They knew about Taylor’s death before they came to work this morning.”

“It was in the
Atlanta Journal Constitution
obituary section yesterday,” Tara whispered in response.

“What are you, eighty? Do you read that section? You know who reads that section?” I went back to looking at the guy in the office to our right. “I wish I could hear what he’s saying on the phone.”

Tara cleared her throat, and we looked at her. She looked straight ahead rather than at either of us and tapped her earlobe.

“We are not getting hearing aids.”

“Sound amplifiers.”

“I can see Randall Valentine through the side of the glass and he’s wearing black, too.” Sister Victoria Eagle Eye was on the other end of the sofa and could see into the next office. “It’s suspicious.”

“Our little business plan took a detour to murder. That’s what feels strange to you,” Tara said.

I was afraid the receptionist was going to hear, and I needed to call this to a screeching halt. “I agree with Victoria, this place has got murder juju on it, but let’s talk about it later.”

With that I picked up a copy of The Peachtree Group’s annual report which sported the logo with the peach substituted for the letter A. The company was only two years old. I had assumed it was more established, though I wasn’t sure why I thought that. The slick publication told a familiar story. High technology firms were incubators for ideas from research wunderkinds, but what good is research without development? Then there was testing and evaluation. While no phase was more important than another, it was the “D” part of RDT&E that was most costly.
 

“Connecting and protecting the world, what a load of crap.”
  

“I would use the term hyperbole.” Victoria was looking over my shoulder.

“I would say twaddle, what with me being eighty.”

“Hey, Tara, can I ask you something?”
This from Victoria.

“Oh, sure, Victoria, why not?
Go ahead.”

“How do you feel about Lawrence
Welk
?”
 

“Which do you have in your car, a tissue box or stuffed animals?” I wanted to know.

“Okay,” Tara refused to look at us. She picked up a magazine and pretended to read it.

“How many miles do you drive with your left turn signal on?”

“Do you yell at squirrels?” I couldn’t help myself even though I just hate it when we start laughing while we’re on a case. I went back to reading about the company being involved in high-end computing and biometrics.

Tara put her magazine down. “This place feels cold.”

I reached over and rubbed her arm like I was trying to start a fire. “Oh, sweetie, you forgot your shawl. I agree it does feel cold. It’s the modern interior design.”

“If I’d wanted modern, I would have been born later.” Tara looked at her diamond watch. “We’ve been sitting here ten minutes. Who does he think he is?”

That reminded me of something. “Actually, who does he think we are? What did Bea say in her message? Do you think she told him we’re detectives?”

Victoria leaned in and kept her voice low. “I suggested she describe us as friends.”

“If someone here was the guy from Friday night that ran down the street, he’ll know we’re detectives.” I really wished this hadn’t occurred to Tara right at that moment.

“Or stalkers since we were sitting in front of a house.” Then I saw Santa Claus approaching.

“Ladies?”
We had been summoned, so we followed old Saint Nick, I mean Randall Valentine, down a side hallway.

“Your office is shaped like home plate,” I said to break the ice.

As if seeing them for the first time, he turned away from me and scanned each of the five walls, two
glass
and three cherry paneling. I looked with him. From the window that would be facing third base, I could see two men and one woman crossing the glass walkway one floor above us.

“So it is.” Rather than sitting behind the massive oak desk, he moved to a Louis XIV chair and motioned for us to sit on an eggplant, linen sofa.
“
Soooo
.”
He drew out the word, which I believe translates to “get cracking.”

So I did. “You’re aware that David Taylor was killed on Friday evening?”

“Yes, it’s quite a loss. He was a friend as well as a small business owner who was making a meaningful contribution to the war on terror. His software is being used in Afghanistan, as we speak, and was used heavily in Iraq.”

“I thought you said ‘the war on terror’.” I couldn’t stop myself.

“I beg your pardon.” He leaned in. He leaned in!
Hey,
fella
, don’t you know eye contact is just a figure of speech? I thought.
You’re not supposed to try to touch me with your eyes.

“The war on terror and the war in Iraq are two different things.” I said this because of my abhorrence of the war. I saw the beginnings of a smile. Not a happy smile, but rather an I-just-heard-the-craziest-thing smile.

Victoria stepped in. “Since Mr. Taylor was a one-man operation, Mrs. Taylor will be going through his current contracts. Did he have any outstanding commitments with The Peachtree Group?”

Randall Valentine pried his eyes off me. “Just supporting already delivered products and developing upgrades.”

Of course, I had absolutely no response to that. We needed to keep this going, and I had no idea how to do it. This time Tara stepped up to the figurative plate. “Now that we’ve settled that, we have another matter to talk about. The three of us are always on the lookout for a lucrative investment. Could you give us more information on your company?”

“We have a Board of Funders. These are investors at the five million dollar level." Tara didn’t blink, so he continued. "In order to become a funder, my COO informs me, an investor must have a security clearance. If you would care to return in the morning I’ll give you an overview of The Peachtree Group’s history and goals. If you feel this opportunity is right for you, and you care to pursue it, we’ll give you a packet to take to your financial advisors."
 

I don’t know if his attitude change was because he saw the diamond bracelet on her arm, which was carrying a two thousand dollar handbag, or what, but this was going remarkably well, even for us. His last line sounded paternalistic but if it got us back into the building, what
the hey
.

Nine

C
ontinuation of statement by Leigh Reed.
The size of the First Baptist Church made it appear at first glance that the service was not well attended. Tiara’s job would have been easier if that was the fact. The majestic sanctuary was three-quarters filled for David Taylor’s funeral. We parked in the middle of the rear parking lot but walked in separately so that it would not look odd for us to sit apart. Unfortunately, we looked like middle-aged triplets dressed in black suits, black hose and black heels.

Since it was a work day we figured some people would attend only the service and not the luncheon. That being the case, the service was our only chance to get a look at some of the mourners.

We eavesdropped on neighbors, his relatives, her relatives, his business acquaintances, and their friends, half white and half African American. Fifteen minutes into the service Victoria caught my eye and nodded toward the two men dressed in dark suits in the pew in front of her.
  
The man with Randall Valentine was shorter, younger and Asian. He was the guy tossing the trophy in the side office. Even if I had not already known who the CEO was, I would have guessed who signed whose paycheck by his deferential manner. Victoria was mouthing something, but I couldn’t make it out. Then she started pointing at the younger man. Next, from a few pews back Tara started pointing at him and then me.

Had we been paying attention to the minister, we would have heard him asking if anyone wanted to say a few words about the deceased. Said minister was, however, paying attention, and seeing two white ladies near the back waving their arms and pointing, called on the closer of the two. I could hardly breathe. Victoria, shaking, lifted herself up.

“Did anyone here know Eve Wood?” her trembling lips asked. Most of the congregation looked puzzled,
then
they slowly started to shake their heads no. At first I thought she was going to give a eulogy, but then I could tell she was calling for help from the rest of Tiara. That had to be it. After all, it would have been highly inappropriate to tell these good people how she knew the deceased.
Oh, his wife hired us to follow him.

She didn’t want to go on but she had to while I hatched a plan to help her. Tara was looking up at her patiently, expectantly waiting to hear more about this Eve Wood individual.

“Well, neither did Adam till he tried.”
 
Half the church was mortified, and half started chuckling, and then everyone was really laughing. “That’s what David Taylor would have wanted us to do, laugh and remember him that way.”

Finally, an idea came to me, and when it did I felt like a St. Bernard with whiskey in a little cask tied to my collar. I began sobbing loudly. Tara realized what was up and pulled Victoria with her over to me. They put their arms around me and comforted me as we ambled out of the church.

Victoria whispered, “Leigh, we were pointing at you because that’s him. That’s Kerry Lee.”

We made our way to the back of the parking lot to Tara’s Hummer and stood around waiting for the funeral to be over, when we would follow the other cars to the Taylor house. While everyone likes to think his or her funeral will be the social event of the year, here there were rows and rows of cars.

Victoria was visibly shaken but trying to stay professional. “I wonder how many of these people are here for Beatrice. Most of the people looked closer to her age than David’s and Kelly’s.”

“From the conversations I listened in on, I would have to say a lot of these people are her friends.” People began filing out of the church. “Tara, when you are behind the wheel it looks like Barbie’s been deployed.”

She knew I was trying to lighten the mood for Victoria’s benefit. “What’s the difference in this and what soldiers drive?”

“Well, having ridden in an Army
High Mobility Multipurpose Wheeled Vehicle and now a civilian Hummer, I would have to say
the main difference is
Humvees
are rarely strawberry red. And when you see one coming, you don’t think it’s a huge rolling machine wearing braces.” It wasn’t working. It was going to take more than joking around to un-upset Vic.

“I will never again suggest changing the password.”

Tara patted her back. “Oh, come on. How about,
if loving you is wrong, I don’t want to be followed.”

 
Victoria still wasn’t ready to relax. “Tara, how does this thing drive?”
 

“Try it,” Tara tossed her the keys, and Victoria climbed, I mean climbed, up behind the steering wheel.

“Hurry and get in the procession.” I hoisted myself up.

Tara got in back. “I think this guy’s going to let you in, hon.”

Victoria entered the line of cars a little jerkily, but we were in and on our way. “Let’s talk business. That’ll be the best remedy for my nerves.”

I obliged. “Kerry Lee is a man, so David Taylor wasn’t leaving the house to see a mistress on Friday night.”

 
“Mistress?”
Tara either hadn’t heard or wasn’t ready to talk business. “Why is there a word for a woman having an affair, but not one for a man? You can’t call him a mister.”

Victoria considered this. “And why is there a word for a man whose wife is fooling around and not one for a woman whose husband is having an affair.”

“There is?” Tara asked.

“Cuckold.”

“Cuckold.
Mistress.
Hmm, the words sound nice.”

“Ladies,” I called out, “If we are through building our word power, can we discuss Kerry Lee? What was his reaction when he saw us? Did he remember us from Friday night?”
 

Victoria was relaxing as she got comfortable with the car.
 
“Tara, do you think he was the man you saw?”

“He’s the right size.”

We heard a perky little chime. “Victoria, would you press the button to the left of the radio?”

“Ms. Brown?”

“Yes.”

“This is Derek from the dealership. I’m returning your phone call.
Howyadoin
?”

“Fine.
I called you this morning because I have a quick question. Are my windows bulletproof?”

“I … don’t think so.”

“Then would you find out how I would go about getting them changed? Thank you.”

“Yes,
m’am
.
I’ll call you back.” Tara motioned for me to press the button again, and Derek was gone.

“Leigh, you should complain to your husband about this.”

“Tara, I don’t think … Victoria! Where are you going?” She had pulled away from the rest of the funeral procession and off the highway.

“We have to drive through here.”

“This is a weigh station. It’s for trucks.”

“Well, isn’t that what this is?
Sort of?”

Tara looked in the side mirror. “It gets worse.”

I slowly turned around in the back seat, though Lord knows I didn’t want to. The remainder of the funeral procession had followed us off of I-985. That was when Detective Kent pulled up beside us. He slowed just long enough for us to see the disgust on his face before moving up to the state trooper on duty at the weigh station. He said something to him from the open window and then got out of his car. Then he waved everyone back onto the highway.

“You’re sure I wasn’t supposed to go through there?”

I looked in the rear view mirror and saw Detective Kent shaking his head. “Oh, I’m pretty sure.”

“This really isn’t a truck?”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure. Do you think it’s too conspicuous?”

“Are you kidding?” With this Victoria started laughing out loud. “Could we discuss buying scooters?”

“Where would we put
Stephie
, Mr. Benz and Abby?” I could tell Tara liked hearing Vic laugh.

“Seriously, how often do we need them? We would get
Vespas
.”

“I don’t know. I can’t see Leigh on a scooter.”

“Why not?”

“Since you’ve got that whole Grace Kelly thing going on.”

“I do not.”

“Yes, you do,” they said in unison.

Vic merged back into the intestate traffic. “Listen to yourself. Your voice is cultured. You practically channel her.”

 
“My only requirement for a scooter is that my ass not look like it needs its own zip code. There. Did that sound cultured?’

Since we had pretty much lost the procession, Tara said the Taylor address to the GPS unit. “Can we discuss night vision goggles?”
 

“We would need a head mount, and I have no idea how to get either.”

“Do they make bifocal night vision goggles?”

“No idea. Let’s talk about the case.”

“Leigh, this morning, uh, at Cracker Barrel, uh …?”

Tara finished for her, “You mean, when she opened a big
ol
’ can of
whup
ass on that guy?”

“Yeah.
Were you able to do that because of our kick boxing DVD, or was it your gymnastics training?”

“Gymnastics?
I’ve never trained in gymnastics.” I was more than a little surprised.

“Sure you have. That was your talent, wasn’t it? Wait, are you blanking on another aspect of the pageant?” Victoria asked.

“That was modern dance.”

“That was dancing?” Tara was incredulous.

“Maybe audiences were a little less than keen on my efforts, but that’s what it was, or at least was intended to be.”

“Hmm.”

“Hmm.”

“Victoria, you’re the dancer. How many years did you study ballet?”

“By the time we were in the pageant, sixteen years. Yep, these kids of today could go to school on my moves.”

“And they could go to pre-school on mine.”

 
By the time we arrived at the house, I had miraculously recovered from my outburst at the funeral. We tried to sit near Mr. Lee, but he changed seats just as we sat down. Then we tried again, and again he moved. A coincidence, I’m sure.

The three of us turned our backs to the room to strategize, and I noticed photos on the mantel of Mr. and Mrs. Taylor. In two of the photos they were dressed alike. Victoria read my mind, “He doesn’t look like a philanderer, does he?”

“Let’s find Kelly.”

She was sitting with her mother on the sofa in the living room. Her mother was perched on the edge as if protecting her daughter in a fierce, powerful way. We had planned to ask for a few words alone with Kelly for another go at information gathering, but we thought better of it after seeing Mommy Dearest. They noticed us and walked over.

 
“We were looking at the photos of the two of you. Were you in the Alps?”

“Oh, no.
Neither David nor myself has ever traveled outside the country.”

“We’re going to be leaving now. We’ll give you a call tomorrow.”
 
Kelly thanked us for coming and told us good-bye.

Her mother gave Victoria a hug. “By the way, that fried okra appetizer was fabulous. You rarely see okra served as an appetizer in the South.”

“I know! Randall Valentine’s wife brought it. They’re from New York. ‘
Nuff
said?”

The she and Tara hugged. “Bless their hearts.”

Bea reached out to shake my hand, but as she took it she leaned in to kiss me on the cheek and whisper, “That photo’s ridiculous, isn’t it? Everybody knows black couples don’t dress alike.”