Murder as a Second Language (32 page)

“Then we have nothing to talk about, do we?”

“We have many things to talk about, including what happened to Willie on Friday. I need your help.”

“Austin said you have a theory but no evidence. This should be left to the police, Claire. They can run tests and interview her. I went by the hospital yesterday, but I wasn't allowed to enter her room. She looked good and thanked me for coming by.”

“Will you be home if I come by in an hour?” I immediately wished I could retract the question. It needed to be a statement: “I will come and you'd better be there.” All it lacked was an ominous “or else,” but nothing remotely plausible came to mind. I was pleased when he suggested meeting at Mucha Mocha.

I needed to come up with an explanation for my departure, but by the time I'd showered and prepped, Peter was sound asleep. I turned down the volume, put his glass on a coaster, and tiptoed out the front door.

The Mucha Mocha parking lot had only a few open spaces. I went inside and continued to the patio. Rick sat at a table, texting. He'd already purchased coffee and a pastry. I sat down across from him. “Updating the president on an outburst of terrorism in Farberville?”

“I got dozens of texts and e-mails that made no sense. Idiotic rumors, mass hysteria, evacuate before we're all blown to pieces. I waited for one to claim that aliens had landed in the football field and were beaming up our best players.” He put down his cell phone. “I was sending my grandmother a birthday card. Dancing polar bears with candles on their heads. Before you sniff disdainfully, I sent real flowers yesterday.”

I produced a small smile to reward him for his thoughtfulness, then said, “I was curious about Gregory's wife and her so-called accident. Once I learned the truth, an odd idea crossed my mind. I may be wrong. The easiest way to find out is for you to tell me your cousin's name and where she lived. I'll get online and search the local newspaper for her obituary. If that doesn't work, my husband can speak to the police department there.”

He stirred his coffee, staring at the swirls. “Okay, she didn't die in Oregon. Her name was Rosalind McBrindell until she married that bastard Gregory. She sent me wedding pictures. I wanted to puke. I sensed from her earlier letters that he was controlling and abusive—not physically, but emotionally. He insisted on knowing everywhere she went and with whom, even when they were dating. Rosie refused to see it that way, since her father had been the same way throughout her childhood. She thought it showed how much he loved her.”

“So what happened after they were married?”

“He became worse. He manipulated her, eroded her self-confidence with insidious little jabs, made her feel incompetent. He was careful when other people were around, but he had sly ways to belittle her. ‘Rosie, honey, you always get that wrong. That's why I love you.' She stopped going to parties. If she went out to lunch with women friends, he'd call her cell and demand to know if she was drinking too much. She was embarrassed to let anyone know what he said.”

I felt a chill as I imagined myself in her miserable situation. “Why didn't she divorce him?”

“I asked her that, too. I offered to fly in and hold her hand through the entire ordeal. She said that she could take care of herself and didn't want me to get involved. She may have thought I might attack Gregory, which I would have. After that, she tried to write me cheerful letters. I didn't believe half of what she wrote, and she wasn't adept at lying. Then she killed herself.” He picked up a napkin and blotted his eyes. “I didn't know until another cousin told me three months later. He was in Afghanistan, and his parents didn't want to burden him until he came home.”

“Your parents must have heard.”

“They rented a house on one of the Hebrides islands. Very remote, no Internet, no cell service. My mother had decided to write a mystery novel, and my father's into birds and photography. They sent me a letter when they finally found out about Rosie, but I'd been transferred to Hong Kong, so I never received it.”

“You said you'd been in Hong Kong since you graduated from college.”

“I may not have been truthful. I've lived in several countries over the last ten years. I was in Bolivia at the time. It didn't seem prudent to mention it.”

I nodded. “Because Rosie might have said something about her cousin in Bolivia, and Gregory could make the connection.”

“Everybody in the family calls me Paddy or Pat. I decided to go by Rick and hope she hadn't mentioned my last name.” He was calmer now, but far from relaxed. Each time the word “Gregory” was spoken, his jaw tightened. It was too bad he hadn't ignored Rosie's plea to stay away. Gregory might have landed in the emergency room, too mangled to produce his insurance card.

“So now you're here to make him suffer. You haven't made much headway that I can tell. If he's found guilty of embezzlement, he'll get off with making restitution, probation, and maybe a fine. There are too many billionaires competing for beds in the federal prisons.”

“What can I say? I'm not into torture and murder. I might kidnap his cat and demand a million dollars, but he doesn't have one because of his allergies. Rosie found that out when she brought home a kitten. He threatened to dispose of it unless she gave it back immediately.” He paused, on the edge of a smile. “I hadn't remembered that until now. Some of my friends have cats. A sprinkle of dander in his office and his car could lead to sneezing and asthma. Rosie mentioned once that they kept a key hidden under a flowerpot on the patio. If it's still there, Gregory won't sleep well at night.” He leaned forward and took my hand. “Thank you, Claire. I knew there was a reason I agreed to meet you. Austin will love this.”

I was not inclined to scold him for such a juvenile prank, and almost offered to help. However, the wife of the deputy chief has to hold herself to certain standards. “All I can say is don't get caught. Let's go back to your scheme to have Gregory nailed for embezzlement. Any progress?”

“Some. Gregory was at a conference when … Rosie's accident occurred. He turned in an expense account voucher for four nights at the hotel, but he only stayed three nights. The conference had told him that they would pay all his expenses. He booked the flights himself and paid cash when he checked out of the hotel. The conference reimbursed him, as did we. That cost almost three thousand dollars. Gregory swears he has to fly first class so that he can work during the flights. He's pulled that stunt several times in the last four years, but it's difficult to find the receipts and expense accounts in the hodgepodge of boxes and stacks of paperwork.”

“It may have something to do with the telephone bills. Willie tried to bring up the subject at the executive board meeting Thursday evening, but nobody would pay attention. Frances implied that she thought Willie was drunk.”

“I paid attention to her at the potluck,” Rick said slowly. “She was onto something, and I told her so. Maybe I should have ignored her, too. Look what happened.”

 

17

“Okay,” I said slowly, “but before you go any further, have you told me the truth, the whole truth, and no surprises.”

Rick grinned. “Everything I've told you today is absolutely true. Now, if you want the whole truth, I have to tell you about the escort in Bolivia and the drug dealers in Manila. In fact, maybe we ought to start with the blond cheerleader my senior year of high school. She drove a blue Mustang convertible that matched her eyes, and—”

“I get the point. What did Willie say to you Friday about the phone bills?”

“She needed the books before Frances's meeting, so she went into Gregory's office while he was gone and rooted through the mess. She stumbled across the phone bills, and they seemed too high. She's been the treasurer since Moses came down from the mountain, and her memory's not as bad as she lets everyone believe.” He stopped to chuckle. “She says it prevents people from asking her stupid questions. Anyway, she had a clerk get copies of the phone bills for the last ten years.”

“They shot up when Gregory was hired four years ago?”

“Not until about a year later. The board of directors voted to put an extension in the second office, although the teacher is part-time. It was a onetime charge of a little more than a hundred dollars plus the phone itself. Mysteriously, the phone bill doubled the next month.”

I rubbed my nicely shaped chin. “Did Gregory have an explanation?”

“No one knew about it. He wrote the checks every month and hid the amount under the supplies and incidentals, like the water-bottle charges, carpet-cleaning service, and another outdoor light for the parking lot. If anyone on the board had been sharp, he couldn't have gotten away with it for the last three years.”

“Did Willie figure out why the bill is so high?”

“At the potluck, we were pinned in a corner and it was loud. What I gathered was there have been lots and lots of overseas calls. The long-distance plan doesn't cover those.” His shoulders rose, and he made a face. “There shouldn't be any overseas calls. Keiko used the phone once to call her family in Japan, but she told Willie and tried to pay for the call. Willie told her not to worry about it. That's as far as we got before Willie realized the food was disappearing and jumped in line.”

“There was no place to sit and eat in the classroom. Leslie invited her to her office, where, according to Leslie, they engaged in an inconsequential conversation about the students. That seems to be the last anyone saw of Willie.”

“Someone doped her food or drink,” Rick said. “Leslie?”

“I don't know, but I suspect she's involved in something that might have to do with the overseas calls.”

“Please elaborate.”

“I will, I promise,” I said, “but I need proof. Besides, why should I tell you everything when I had to pry your story out of you?”

He popped the last bite of pastry into his mouth. “Perhaps we should have a look around her office.”

“Are we going to break a window or go down the nonexistent chimney?”

“I have a key. How could I prowl around Gregory's office without one?”

I needed to stall while I made a decision. I'd promised Peter not to go to the Literacy Council, although I hadn't specified for how long. I hadn't been there since Friday afternoon, so I'd lasted forty-eight hours thus far. “How did you get it?” I asked, feigning interest. Peter wouldn't necessarily find out that I'd revised my promise to mean “not in the next forty-eight hours.” Well, maybe forty-six hours, but I wasn't going to quibble over details.

“I asked Willie to let me make a copy of hers. She's had doubts about Gregory for a long while, but she didn't know what to do. Drake said he was too busy running his department. Frances abhors the scent of scandal; she'd rather bury her head in the sandbox. Sonya refused to listen, and Austin's not the most reliable guy in the county. She was pleased when I promised to investigate.”

I could delay hedging my promise for a while, but we had to search Leslie's office before the next morning when she showed up to teach. I told him about Rosie's friend Lilac Benjamin and suggested we visit her first.

He didn't fall for it. “Yeah, I'd really like to talk to her, but the Literacy Council's five minutes from here. Leslie could be there now, shredding her files and erasing damning evidence on her computer. Is that what you're worried about, Claire? I assure you I can fend her off if she attacks us with a letter opener.”

“No,” I said, unwilling to explain. “We can't stay more than fifteen minutes, though. The police may be keeping an eye on it, and I don't want to be dragged off to jail.”

“We're members of the board of directors, and I have the key. I think we're safe from doing hard time for breaking and entering.”

“Yes, but we need to be quick. I'll leave my car here and ride with you.” If a patrol car drove by, the officers might note Rick's license plate. If they came to the door, he could wave his key at them to his heart's content. I'd be in a dark corner, listening to my heart thud.

The parking lot was empty. I suggested to Rick that he park across the street, but he didn't bother to respond. The lights were off, and the interior was dim. Rick stuck his all-powerful key in the lock, and we went inside. I trailed after him as he went down the narrow space and tried to unlock the door of Leslie's office. His key wasn't all that powerful, it seemed. “I have access to Gregory's office,” he said, irritated. “This key is supposed to unlock all the doors.”

“She may have had the lock rekeyed without telling anyone. Keiko's the only person who might need to get inside when Leslie's not here. The storage room is so small that Leslie keeps some of the boxes of workbooks and copy paper in a corner of her office.”

This time he trailed me as I went into Keiko's unlocked office and sat behind her desk. Some of the drawers were neat; others had free-range paper clips, rubber bands, a large assortment of makeup, pads of sticky notes, and keys attached to white ID circles bound in aluminum. I sorted through them and found one marked LB. “This should be it,” I said as I handed it to Rick. “Go try it.” I remained seated, looking at the scraps of papers with scrawled notes, some written in Japanese letters. I closed the drawers and studied her desk. Unlike in her drawers, everything was neatly aligned and in its proper place. She had a large monthly calendar stained with coffee rings and what appeared to be mustard. She'd jotted down phone numbers, the dates of the board meeting and of the potluck, my name (ahem), and rather elegant doodles. Nothing appeared to be worth a second look. On little more than a whim, I lifted up one corner of the calendar and saw a folded note. I pulled it out, hoping it wasn't highly personal. It read, “Waterford keeps calling. Tell him I resigned and went to Canada.” Although it was unsigned, I knew it was from Leslie.