Plateful of Murder (2 page)

Poor guy.
I patted his forearm. “Maybe not tomorrow, but they will.”

“I suppose you’ll want to drop the case now that she’s dead?”

“Michael, I told you when you hired me this might be a matter for the police. Now with Constance murdered, it definitely is.”

“You’re saying this case is too dangerous and I agree.”

I opened my mouth to resign, but my relentless sense of justice wouldn’t stay out of it. I found myself saying, “I’d still like to remain involved.” That was my heart, the ole softy, speaking. It remembered Michael was alone.

He frowned. “I’d rather you didn’t.” He added, “Don’t misunderstand. You seem like a nice lady. Not a hardboiled private investigator. If something catastrophic happened, having your life on my conscience would be too much."

A nice lady?
If I couldn’t hold my own as an effective PI, Gino should have given the agency to his gambling, big-talking nephew, Little Gino. Eager to dispel that impression, I sat up tall. “Making people see only sweetness is why I’m so good at my job.” Still, my insides clenched, and the way things were going maybe it’d be wise for me to write my obituary. “Let’s talk about it tomorrow, after you’ve slept.”

I sighed, thinking there would be no sleep for me tonight.

I was right. I said goodnight to Michael, but when I got home, even after two drinks, instead of sleeping like Rip Van Winkle, my night consisted of tossing and turning. Frustrated, I pulled out my notes on Constance’s life, what there was of them. She spent most of her time working as the manager in the Research and Development department at Triton Pharmaceuticals. Rose up pretty fast from a pharmacy technician position. Until her demise, four employees reported to her. Three women and one man. Guys don’t always cotton to taking orders from a woman, so he required investigation. But what about her tossed office? Was someone looking for something or taking out their rage even further?

The next morning, I called Detective Corrigan to inform him Michael Adler was still my client on this case. 

“Miss DeNardo, are you sure you want to do this?” His tone of voice made it clear he’d be happier if I ran the other way.

“Perfectly.”

“I can’t stop you, but make sure you share any information with the police. Anything less could be construed as obstruction of justice.”

My voice went up an octave. “Of course. But you must understand my job is to do what’s best for my client.” I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing myself for his comeback. To my relief, it was anticlimactic.

“As long as you don’t get in our way.”

I poured on the honey. “Understood.” I was in it now up to my trembling knees.

While showering and dressing, I planned my day. First stop, Triton Pharmaceuticals to talk to Constance’s staff.

My quest took longer than anticipated. The receptionist handed me a visitor pass and instructed me to wait for the human resources manager. Upon his arrival, Mr. Human Resources pushed his glasses up on his nose and cleared his throat. “You know, Ms. Adler’s staff talked with the police earlier. Can’t you just confer with the detective who came here and not bother our employees? Ms. Adler’s death and all these subsequent questions are affecting everyone’s productivity.” 

I wanted to bonk him on the head with his stapler. “Someone was murdered here and productivity is your main concern?” Continuing to lay it on thick, “Don’t you feel just a little ashamed?” I planted my hands on my hips to emphasize the scolding.

He looked a little embarrassed so I went for the gold. “You allowed Detective Corrigan to ask questions, but you won’t let me. Is it because I’m a woman and the detective was a man?” I picked the right way to go. No one in Human Resources wants to hear a cry of discrimination.

The first person he took me to see was Tara Hamilton, the business development team leader whose career at Triton spanned almost twenty years. Longer than Constance’s ten.

Maybe some jealousy?
“Thank you for meeting with me, Ms. Hamilton.”

She sniffed. “It’s Mrs. and did I have a choice? Besides, I told everything I knew to the real police who were here before you.”

I bristled at her comment but was determined not to be put off. “Yes, but perhaps, from one woman to another, you might now recall something you didn’t mention.”

It was like trying to get milk from a cactus. “No, there isn’t. But I did leave out how loud the fight between Constance and Brody Eagleton from Research was that evening before she died. Not that I listened in. I’m not the kind of person who eavesdrops.”

“You didn’t overhear anything by accident?”

She didn’t even consider the possibility. “No, of course not.”

“How did Constance seem the next day?”

Mrs. Hamilton wrinkled her nose as if changing a nasty diaper. “Like always. As if the world belonged to her and she deserved it.”

“Are you saying she was full of herself?”

“She never gave anyone else credit for their hard work. Plus, she could do no wrong. Nothing bad ever stuck to her.”

It was clear Mrs. Hamilton resented Constance, but she didn’t fit my idea of someone who’d commit this murder. “She acted like everything was fine?”

“As a matter of fact, she behaved downright cheerful. Knowing her, she had won whatever fight they had.”

Did Eagleton come back the next night to claim his own victory?
“Anything else, Mrs. Hamilton?”

Since she didn’t add to that, I thanked her and she went on her way, no doubt believing she carried the fate of Triton on her shoulders.

The police began their investigation with Brody Eagleton, no doubt now a ‘person of interest’; another name for ‘Don’t leave town or you’re busted.’ Since they had already interviewed him, it was tempting to postpone my meeting. Instead, I steeled myself for battle.

Talking to Eagleton was easier said than done. First, his administrative assistant had to be persuaded to give me an appointment. She eventually agreed to squeeze me in at 4:30, which gave me enough time to interview Constance’s other staff members.

Nothing useful there except for a tidbit from the late Constance’s last hire, Mallorie, who reminded me of one of those too-much-makeup mean girls featured on reality TV. The kind in high school who used to scare me whenever I spotted more than one of them together. Not only can packs be vicious, but I lived in fear of going blind from the combined fumes of their hair spray.

Mallorie claimed Constance and Brody Eagleton had something going on. Asked for details, though, she admitted she just felt a lot of ‘chemistry’ between them. I’d plug into Mallorie’s supposed vibes in my meeting with Eagleton.

At 4:30 sharp, I stood outside his office while Eagleton talked with a younger duplicate of himself. Same meticulous, expensive clothing and same coiffed hair. Together, their ties probably cost the same as my living room sofa.

Eagleton wagged his finger at the other man, as if emphasizing his own words. I imagined he was ordering the destruction of all evidence. Eagleton’s briefcase sat open on top of his desk and while he continued to talk, he began stuffing it with papers. Not wanting this bird to fly away before we talked, I cleared my throat and stepped inside his office. “Mr. Eagleton, Claire DeNardo. I’m working with the police.” Afraid he’d blow me off, I rushed my next words. “Just a few questions for you.”

“I’ll leave you two alone.” The younger man retreated, looking relieved.

Eagleton turned on me, his brown eyes dark, his face twisted by rage. Without thinking, I retreated one step. So he couldn’t see my hands trembling, I clasped them behind my back.

He slammed down the top of his briefcase.

I begged my legs not to collapse and held my breath, hoping he wouldn’t leap over the desk and throttle me. 

Instead, he ground his teeth. “Miss Whoever-the-Hell-You-Are...” I opened my mouth, but he waved my attempted response away. “You’re misrepresenting yourself. You’re a private investigator, and I have nothing to say to you.”

My voice came back. “Mr. Eagleton.” Gino told me to call someone by their name to help calm them. “I understand you’ve talked to the police. But sometimes, later on you remember a detail that clears everything up. That’s why I’m here.”

A vein in his temple throbbed. “You want something fresh? I’ll tell you something. My wife just called. She wants a divorce. You see, the cops talked to her too.”

My mouth went dry and my tongue felt like it would stick to the roof of my mouth, but I’d waited too long for this opportunity, so I continued treading on dangerous ground. “You were having an affair with Constance.” My already racing heart sped up even more. I was scared of fainting before he replied.

He snorted. “That’s ridiculous. Anyone would say she was an attractive woman. Powerful women often are. We worked together, sometimes long hours. But that was it.” He growled. “Your associates, the cops, convinced my wife otherwise.”

I didn’t buy it, but there was no sense in riling him any further. “Okay, so what were you arguing about the evening before her death?”

He looked at me like he was a bull and I was a red cape. “I don’t have to answer any more of your questions. If you’re working with the police like you claim, they can fill you in.” He grabbed his briefcase and reached for the door knob. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to try to put my life back together.”

He left me standing alone in his office. My knees felt weak enough to buckle and I considered sitting in Eagleton’s chair until they recovered. Then a better idea hit me, making me smile like my mother’s old cat we called Shreddy.

I played with one of my earrings until it popped out and landed on Brody’s desk. Then in a loud voice announced, “Oh my, my earring fell off.” I rifled through the papers on his desk, hoping there’d be something of interest. Nothing.

If someone walks by, I’ll claim my earring fell into one of his desk drawers.
My ears tuned in for Brody’s return while my brain screamed about my insanity. By the last drawer, my breaths were as ragged as if I’d run a marathon. Getting ready to zip out of there, I spotted a card with Constance’s name preceded by “You amaze me.”
Yes!
Footsteps growing closer stopped me from pulling it out of the drawer.

The exact truth was my whole body froze and didn’t relax until the steps went in the opposite direction. I licked my lips, snatched the card, slipped it into my purse and slowly closed the drawer. Then as casually as possible took my leave from Eagleton’s office.

I walked right into a well-dressed woman. Through clenched teeth she asked, “Where’s my cheating, no-good husband? And who are you?”

My mind went blank with panic. “Oh, uh…” I stuck out my shaking hand. “Claire DeNardo, Mrs. Eagleton. I’m working with the police on—”

“That slut’s murder.” She spat. “The police have already asked me about my husband’s involvement.” She placed her hands on her hips. “I had no idea she was the reason for all his late nights.” Her eyes narrowed. “Who did you say you were?”

“Claire DeNardo.” She reminded me of my Uncle Carl’s first wife, the mean-spirited Aunt Tina. I used to beg my mother not to leave me alone with her. I was sure the flying monkeys did her bidding. “My condolences you had to find out this way.” Maybe I could get on her good side, if there was one.
“Sometimes men who have it all still stray.”

She waved off my comment. “Did he say where he was going?”

“Home.”

“Probably to take my jewelry and hock it.” She snarled and spun around on her expensive heels, probably to head him off at the pass.

As soon as Mrs. Eagleton was out of sight, I fled and didn’t look back until reaching my car. I skimmed the card after smoothing it out on my leg, going through it once, then again, forcing myself to slow down to make sure something important didn’t get past me.

I frowned and slapped my hand against the steering wheel. I’d risked my safety for nothing more incriminating than a note from Constance thanking Eagleton for the flowers he’d sent her. No mentioned appreciation of his sexual prowess or even having a ‘wonderful night together.’ Only a thank you for his thoughtfulness. Despite the note being a big disappointment, I decided to keep it. Maybe it would be a link to something more incriminating.

Preoccupied with the possibilities and paying no attention to my driving, I almost backed into a security guard on a Triton go-cart. The guard laid on his clown horn at the last minute. I mouthed an apology, thankful my car hadn’t plowed into the guy.

I hadn’t even driven to the end of the lot when an idea struck me hard, and I did a u-turn. That guard might have seen something last night. It was worth a chance, not that the cops wouldn’t have already questioned him.

The cart was where it’d been, but no guard stood near. Maybe he’d be in the smoking area. Most security guards of my acquaintance killed time, smoking. This one may have seen who killed Constance.

Sure enough, I found him at the back of the building near a trashcan/ashtray. The name tag sewed on his uniform read, ‘Ed’. He looked like one of the high school hoods-in-training who, if you were smart, you avoided at all costs. A wiry guy with slicked-back hair and tattoos on both of his sinewy arms, his face became even gaunter as he sucked a final draw on his cigarette, which he then flicked into the ashtray. “Hey, you’re the one almost ran me over.”

Without thinking, the sheepish, little-girl grin I always gave my father rolled across my face. “Sorry about that. Really. It’s just I’m so preoccupied with poor Constance’s death. Did you know her?” I held my breath, worried he’d tell me to get lost.

“Yeah. Who didn’t?”

My tensed-up shoulders lowered. “She was friendly?”

He pulled a toothpick out of his pocket. “Not to the likes of me. Don’t want to talk bad about the dead, but I seen her buttering up the bigwigs.” He waved his toothpick around for emphasis. “After hours, know what I mean?”

“Besides Brody Eagleton?”

He snorted. “He was just a stepping stone.”

“Have you talked to the police about what you’ve seen?”

The toothpick made it into the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, sure. Fat lotta difference it’ll make.”