Murder as a Second Language (38 page)

“No. Where's Rick?”

“On the phone to the fuzz. He slipped into Keiko's office as soon as Toby started blabbing. He went outside and got a description of Toby's car and the license number. You in the mood for a glass of wine now?”

I was.

*   *   *

Peter arrived home long after midnight and departed for his office at a ludicrous hour without bothering to wake me. By the time he dragged in late in the evening, his face was bristly and his eyes were glazed. After he took a shower, shaved, and put on jeans and a sweatshirt, we decided to share a chaise longue, a bottle of wine, and a bag of oatmeal cookies. They weren't nearly as tasty as
profiteroles au chocolat.

I waited for a few minutes before I said, “You are going to tell me what's happened, aren't you? I deserve something for resisting the urge to call you or Jorgeson all day.” Approximately a zillion urges. I'd come perilously close to polishing the silver.

“I wouldn't have had time to take a call from an astronaut,” Peter said with a snort. “Waterford felt the need to fill us in on every detail of his seven-year investigation of Leslie Barnes. It was his first assignment out of CIS boot camp, and he was determined to resolve it with a flurry of warrants, arrests, and indictments. A nice young man, if a trifle obsessive.”

“I envisioned him as a fat old flea-bitten bear with a cigar stub in his mouth. I presume he's a happy camper now.”

“Couldn't stop talking about his successful raid on Leslie and company. He acted as though he'd brought down an international conspiracy to destroy the CIS, the U.S., the UN, mom, and apple pie. He even called in the heavy artillery—the IRS. We had warrants for her office at the FLC, as well as her computers, home, and car. You won't believe what we found in her garage.”

“A make-shift greenhouse filled with marijuana plants?” I told him about my brief surveillance across the street from her house. “Leslie most likely had no idea about Charles's cottage industry. Too risky, since she already had a lucrative scheme. I was going to tell you about it when you weren't so busy.”

The poor dear sighed. “I'm sure you were. She kept meticulous files going back ten years. Waterford has a list of well over a hundred names of her so-called clients. Most of the women who married under false pretenses will probably get away with a fine and penalties from the IRS. Their pseudo-husbands will face deportation. I'd say Waterford was pleased with himself after all those years on this case.”

“He'd still be on it if we hadn't tipped him off.”

“Maybe,” he said without conviction. “The wheels of the bureaucracy may grind exceedingly slow, but they do grind. He had a helluva time tracking down Leslie because she changed her name and moved so often. Three years as Mrs. Somebody, followed by a quiet divorce and on to becoming the new Mrs. Somebody Else, four times in twelve years. She has more bank accounts than J. P. Morgan Chase, as well as an offshore account. Her wealthier clients paid her more than a hundred grand. The underachievers paid about half that.”

I had a minor epiphany. “That explains why Gregory was so alarmed when he realized Ludmilla had recognized him. He may not have any of the pharmaceutical company's stolen assets, but he's been raking in money under the table. If the Interpol investigators came sniffing, he'd be in deep trouble. He just didn't have the nerve to silence her.”

Another sigh ensued. “He realized what Leslie was doing when he saw the telephone bills, and demanded a cut. The two of them are in custody and facing prison. The program director—the Japanese woman—has decided to cooperate with the investigation in exchange for leniency. Her cut of the proceeds was enough to persuade her to overlook all the suspicious activity, but not enough to buy much loyalty. She said to tell you that she was very sorry about being rude to you, but she was afraid you might be snooping.”

“She said that?”

“Not in those exact words.”

I opted to overlook his editorial interpretation. “Is Hamdan as eager to cooperate?”

“Not at all. He's in custody, too, courtesy of the CIS. We may not be able to charge him with the vandalism to your car, but he has other worries. He was babbling about vandalism to
his
car, but Waterford wasn't interested. Any comments?”

“My foot slipped,” I said with impressive dignity, then opted to change the subject. “I hope the literacy council can survive after all this. The members of the board do care, despite all the squabbling. With Gregory gone, maybe Rick can get the finances straightened out well enough to satisfy future donors.”

“You and he seemed awfully cozy the last few days.” He'd heard the entire story from Jorgeson, who'd arrived with the Mounties and kept Rick, Austin, and me at the police department for several hours while he took our statements. At some point during my fourth or fifth mind-numbing reiteration, Jorgeson had been informed that Toby had been arrested at the high school football stadium. We'd toasted with tepid coffee.

I curled my arm around Peter's neck to tickle his earlobe. “Rick is a nice guy, but he lacks the charming ways of a slightly older man with a regal profile and some really good tricks in bed. Now that Gregory's facing prison, he may work through his bitterness and find a wife. That means we'll have to buy a wedding present and go to the wedding. I know you don't like these tuxedo events. It's odd, since the Rosens are high society on the East Coast. I'll bet you had a tuxedo that disguised your diaper bulge.”

“It was very uncomfortable, but I had to live up to the family name.” He refilled our glasses. “Okay, how did you know Toby was the culprit?”

“It was all about the lights inside the Literacy Council. If Gregory had killed Ludmila, the last thing he'd do is forget to turn off the lights. That would have been unusual and caused unwanted attention to his departure. So I assumed he turned off the lights shortly after eight o'clock. However, the lights were on at eight-thirty, when Bartek arrived to pick up Ludmila. I have backup from disinterested parties who happened to drive by.”

“Caron?”

I took a sip of wine and continued. “So who turned on the lights between eight-ten and eight-thirty? It couldn't have been Ludmila, because she would have unlocked the door for Bartek. The reason she didn't was that she was already unconscious in the copy room. Miao had fled to Miss Parchester's house. Bartek doesn't have a key. The board members who do have keys lacked any reason to return after the meeting. I tried to assign a motive to Leslie but couldn't come up with one. That left Toby. He had a key, but no apparent motive. It wasn't challenging to link Miao's disappearance to the crime, especially since her roommate behaved so suspiciously. Toby simply lied about the time he arrived. I don't know how much Drake knew, or suspected. He just couldn't tolerate the idea of not reliving his heroics on the field through his son.”

Peter harrumphed. “We didn't buy Toby's alibi, but we had to make an effort to confirm it. His parents socialize with the mayor and his wife. As the mayor pointed out to me in unsubtle terms, Toby was to be given the benefit of the doubt unless we uncovered evidence to the contrary. That, and Toby started dating the mayor's daughter.”

“I guess that covers everything,” I murmured as I gazed at the stars. I did, however, hold my breath while I waited to see if my trophy husband brought up a certain delicate issue involving promises.

“‘The woods are lovely, dark, and deep, but I have promises to keep,'” he said quietly. I was not prepared for poetry, but I knew where this was going. “‘And miles to go before I sleep.'”

I flipped on top of him and buried my hands in his curly hair. “Damn straight, Sherlock. Don't count on getting any sleep soon.”

 

ALSO BY JOAN HESS

THE CLAIRE MALLOY MYSTERIES

Strangled Prose

The Murder at the Murder at the Mimosa Inn

Dear Miss Demeanor

Roll Over and Play Dead

A Diet to Die For

A Really Cute Corpse

Death by the Light of the Moon

Poisoned Pins

Closely Akin to Murder

Busy Bodies

Tickled to Death

A Holly, Jolly Murder

A Conventional Corpse

Out on a Limb

The Goodbye Body

Damsels in Distress

Mummy Dearest

Deader Homes and Gardens

THE ARLY HANKS MYSTERIES

Malice in Maggody

Mischief in Maggody

Much Ado in Maggody

Madness in Maggody

Mortal Remains in Maggody

Maggody in Manhattan

O Little Town of Maggody

Martians in Maggody

Miracles in Maggody

The Maggody Militia

Misery Loves Maggody

[email protected]

Maggody and the Moonbeams

Muletrain to Maggody

Malpractice in Maggody

Merry Wives of Maggody

 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

JOAN HESS is the author of both the Claire Malloy and the Arly Hanks/Maggody mystery series. She is a winner of the American Mystery Award, a member of Sisters in Crime, and a former president of the American Crime Writers League. A longtime resident of Fayetteville, Arkansas, she now lives in Austin, Texas.

 

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

 

MURDER AS A SECOND LANGUAGE.
Copyright © 2013 by Joan Hess. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

 

www.minotaurbooks.com

 

Cover design by David Baldeosingh Rotstein

 

The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:

 

Hess, Joan.

        Murder as a Second Language: A Claire Malloy Mystery / Joan Hess.—First Edition.

            p. cm

        ISBN 978-1-250-01196-1 (hardcover)

        ISBN 978-1-250-03001-6 (e-book)

        1.  Malloy, Claire (Fictitious character)—Fiction.   2.  Booksellers and bookselling—Fiction.   3.  Women detectives—Fiction.   4.  Life change events—Fiction.   5.  Murder—Investigation—Fiction.   6.  Arkansas—Fiction.   I.  Title.

    PS3558.E79785M86 2013

    813'.54—dc23

2013024719

 

e-ISBN 9781250030016

 

First Edition: December 2013