Time of Death (6 page)

“Oh, Arlan had the usual assortment of business rivalries. Nothing serious. Nothing worth killing a man for. I can make you a list of the main people, but I’m sure they had nothing to do with it. In this business, Detective, people who are rivals end up collaborating on some project another time. It’s the way this game is played.”

“I have to ask, Ms. Chase,” Schultz said. “Where were you yesterday evening, say between six and nine?”

“Let’s see. I got my hair cut around three, then came home and worked all evening on plans and estimates for completing the remodeling of this building. You may have noticed the hallway isn’t in prime shape to take clients through. It’s going to be a lobby area with a marble floor, and just two lofts up here. We’re blocking off some space and making it into a couple of offices. Residents can have a home office but not have it intrude on the living space. It’s one of the signatures of Green Vista, and it’s going to be very popular. Portable, too.”

“What do you mean portable?” Schultz said.

“Adaptable. I’m already looking into suburban applications. You know those multi-building apartment complexes, with pools and playgrounds and workout rooms? Why not convert a few of the apartments to subdivided office space? Reclaim your living space by getting that cluttered desk out of your dining room and put it into a sleek space with all the business conveniences.”

“Sounds like you’ve got the sales brochure already written,” Schultz said.

“Oh, we’re pretty far along,” she said. “Local zoning boards can be so picky, though. I’ve been dividing my time between this project,” she waved her arm, vaguely taking in the entire building, “and a couple of complexes in North County. I’ve got an apartment out there as a convenient base.”

“Big plans.”

“Like I said, Green Vista is moving to a whole new level of success.”

“Getting back to your activities yesterday evening. Make any phone calls? Order food delivered, that kind of thing?” Schultz said.

She shook her head. “No, sorry, I didn’t realize I’d have to account for my time. I went to bed around one in the morning, I think. Alone. I slept in this morning, didn’t get up until a little after eight.”

“Did you know that Arlan left you his share of Green Vista?”

“Of course. It was written into the partnership agreement. He said his wife was well taken care of otherwise, life insurance I guess. He thought I’d contributed enough to our success that I deserved it.”

“I take it that means your half would have gone to him if you’d died first,” Schultz said.

A little color showed in her cheeks. “No, I have a brother who needs long-term care, round-the-clock care. My share would have gone to my estate to pay for that. Arlan was okay with it.”

“In other words, you benefit whether Arlan dies first or you do.”

“You could think of it that way. We weren’t quite so mercenary about it.”

Dave spoke up. “When’s the last time you saw your partner?”

Fredericka’s head swiveled toward him, as though discovering his presence for the first time. The movement reminded Schultz of a praying mantis swiveling its triangular head, eyes locking onto lunch.

“On Wednesday,” she said. “We had lunch at Jake’s Steaks, in the Landing. I remember it because Arlan had a margarita, and he usually doesn’t drink until evening. In fact, I don’t think he drinks often at all. Too many empty calories.” She patted her perfectly flat abdomen as though to protect it from the very phrase.

“So did he seem worried about something and that’s why he was drinking at lunch?” Dave asked.

“He
was
worried, I think. Probably because of the clients he was driving to Chicago to meet. He gave me the impression the clients were going to be disappointed about something. I’m sure it wasn’t our designs.”

“He was planning to drive after drinking?”

“He only had one drink, silly.” She had a musical laugh that floated up to the high ceiling like a brightly colored balloon. “We split up about two o’clock, and I came back here to work. I assume he took off for Chicago.”

Schultz noticed that Fredericka’s attitude had changed when Dave started doing the questioning. A lilt in her voice. A tilt of her head. A jaunty toss of her ponytail. The weakness she’d suffered a few minutes ago had dissipated. She rocked herself sideways on her bottom so that she ended up close enough to Dave’s knee that a spark could cross the distance.

Fredericka rested her hand lightly and familiarly on Dave’s thigh. Beads of sweat began erupting on Dave’s forehead like pimples on a teenager. No doubt he was wondering where the wandering hand would go next. Cutting off speculation, Fredericka got to her feet in a smooth motion that looked like a flower unfolding. She was clearly trying to draw the interview to a close.

“Arlan was a wonderful man,” she said. “A good businessman and a good husband. An old-fashioned gentleman. I hope you find whoever did this awful thing.”

Dave got up, limbs flailing around for balance. “We’re doing our best,” he said. “Any problem if we look around a bit?”

A fleeting frown passed over her face, a cloud blocking the sun. She hesitated.

“Arlan didn’t spend much time here, and I have work to do, Detective. I have a contractor coming in first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Just for a little while, Freddy,” Dave said. “For our reports, you know.”

Schultz didn’t know that Dave could come up with such a disarming smile. Dave had certainly never used it on him.

“Well, okay. I’m getting back to work, though,” Fredericka said. “Say, don’t you need a warrant?”

The wattage of Dave’s smile doubled. “Not if we have your consent. We won’t take anything, though.”

She pursed her lips into a kissable circle before saying yes.

Any more of this and I’ll puke.

She retreated to one of the kitchen stools and set up a laptop on the counter. Like a pair of hungry lions scouring the savannah, Schultz and Dave roamed the space, taking note of everything. They discovered a pocket door that practically disappeared into the wall, and it led to an expansive room with a toilet, sink, shower, and dressing area.

“I knew she had to shit somewhere,” Schultz said, once inside with the door closed. “This place is just a little too perfect, isn’t it?”

Dave wasn’t paying attention. He was looking at the U-shaped dressing area with one of those three-way mirrors surrounded by open shelving, hanger rods, and built-in drawers with glass fronts. All of them neatly filled. There was one small section of men’s clothing, some casual outfits and a few suits. The nearby open shelving held folded men’s dress shirts, socks, and boxers. Tucked below were four pairs of men’s shoes, two dress and two casual. Schultz’s eyebrows rose.

“Unless the lady’s a cross-dresser, there’s a man around the house.” Dave said.

Schultz drifted over to that section and casually checked the items, which were in plain sight. “Size eighteen shirts, thirty-five inch sleeve. Arlan was a big guy, wasn’t he?”

As they were leaving, Schultz asked about the presence of men’s clothing. Fredericka was prepared with an answer, having seen them go into the room.

“Arlan stopped in to shower and change sometimes. Work sites can be awfully dirty.”

No doubt he needed someone to scrub his back, too. In an old-fashioned way, of course.

DEAR DIARY,

These are things that happened to me, cross my heart and hope to die.

“Lazy bones, crazy bones,” my sister chants. I press my fingers into my ears and pretend not to hear. She sees that our parents are busy in the dining room getting ready for Christmas dinner. She comes over and punches me in the stomach.

“Ow! I’m gonna tell!” I say, and my face screws up with pain. The punch is not quite hard enough to leave a bruise. Oh, no, she never leaves a bruise.

“Go ahead, crazy bones,” she says. “You know they’ll believe me over you. You might as well not even try. They’ll punish you for telling lies again.” She pinches my shoulder, hard. “You better save me your dessert and all of your cookies from the farm, or you know what will happen to you tonight.”

I shiver thinking about it. I’m eight-years-old and skinny. Spaghetti legs, Mom says, spaghetti arms, all I need is some tomato sauce to make a good dinner. Mom must think that’s really funny because she says it a lot.

My older sister is very strong. She can hold me down and pour salt water in my mouth, or cover my face with a pillow until I absolutely can’t last another second without dying.

I hate Christmas dinner because my jerky relatives from Chicago are here. Grandpa Marshall, who gives me the creeps with his cold hands and beady eyes and I never want to be alone with him in a room again, is sick and can’t travel. Maybe he’ll die.

A good part about Christmas is the farm cookies. Dad picks them up every year. They come in a cardboard box tied with red string. Butter cookies shaped like reindeer, round cookies with cherries or nuts in the middle, cookies that are half-chocolate, cookies that look like half moons, gingerbread men. Mom never makes anything like that. Some old farm woman bakes them. If I’m fast enough, I can get some in my pockets before my sister sees me.

“Where’s your new doll?” my sister says in her bully voice.

I close my eyes. Mom and Dad finally gave me something I want for Christmas, probably by mistake. My sister saw the happy look on my face. I wasn’t fast enough hiding it. Big mistake.

“I don’t know. I guess I lost it,” I say, trying to keep my voice from showing that I still have it. “You don’t like dolls anyway.”

“You little shit!” She talks like that when Mom and Dad can’t hear. “Gimme that doll!”

“No! You have presents of your own. You don’t need mine. You don’t even like dolls!”

She comes right up next to me, so I have to look up to see her face. I look right up her nostrils. They don’t look any better than mine, I’ll bet.

“Listen, you freak,” she says, “Don’t you ever talk to me like that. I’ll have to tell Mom and Dad how bad you are. Maybe they’ll send you off to live with Grandpa Marshall!”

She sees the fear shining in my eyes and knows she’s got another thing to tease me with. So far I’d hid that from her real good, that I was scared of him and his big, scratchy hands. He wouldn’t think of putting those hands on her, no, of course not. He’d get in trouble if she said anything. With me, he knows everybody will think I’m making things up again.

“Hah, hah, hah, you’ll go live with Grandpa Marshall,” she sang. “Then I’ll have everything to myself the way I did before you were born. Everything was so much better before you came along, crazy bones.”

I’ve heard that a thousand times. A thousand times a thousand. What makes it so bad is that maybe she is right. I might be a freak. When I look in the mirror, I’m not sure what I see, me or a freak. Mom and Dad think I’m a liar because of all the things I’ve said about my older sister. “What are you talking about? Your sister’s sweet as pie. Everybody knows that.”

Hating myself for every step I take, I go into the bedroom. I pull the new doll out of my most secret hiding place, the one she hasn’t found yet.

I walk back into the dining room, my feet dragging but pulled along like she’s tugging on my leash. Which she actually does, sometimes. Puts Jingles’ collar and leash on me and takes me for a walk, outside, where everybody except Mom and Dad can see.

Her hands are mean to my doll, and then she throws it on the floor.

I kneel down next to the doll, with her head hanging sideways and her new outfit torn. I wrap her in a washcloth to keep people, especially my jerky relatives, from seeing her bare front.

If only other people could see how mean my sister is. But they only see her shiny hair and her pretty face and her woman’s body and that she moves like a cat, real smooth.

They don’t see what’s inside her the way I do. Her black, black heart. If I could, I’d rip it out of her and feed it to Jingles. Whenever nobody’s looking, she pulls Jingles’ ears or tail and then shoves him at me, like I did it. I would never hurt him. Jingles is nervous around me, and it’s not my fault.

But she’s my sister, and I’m supposed to love her. I guess I do, kind of. She’s a lot easier to love when she’s not around.

She didn’t have to do that to my doll, though.

A
LONE IN HER OFFICE,
PJ dialed her home number. Thomas picked up on the second ring. He must be waiting for a phone call, and chances were excellent that it wasn’t from her.

“Oh, it’s you,” her son said. “When can I have a cellphone like the rest of the universe?”

“When the rest of the universe pays the bill,” PJ said. “You could at least ask me how my day’s going.”

“Hi, Mom, how’s your day going?”

“Rotten, thank you. I left some meatloaf in the refrigerator for your lunch.” PJ glanced at the time. It was nearly one in the afternoon.

“I just finished breakfast,” Thomas said. “We need more eggs.”

Again?

“Orange juice, too.”

“I’ll make your grocery needs a priority,” PJ said. “They’ll come right after winning a car on
The Price is Right
.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind. I wanted to make sure you finish your homework before you start on that RPG stuff.”

Thomas had discovered MMORPG—Massive Multi-player Online Role Playing Games. One in particular,
The Gem Sword of Seryth,
had captivated him. He’d gotten so wrapped up in it that his intermediate grade report included a couple of D’s. The private school he was attending, Jamison Academy, was piling on the homework as the first semester came to an end. The workload was high, and the expectations even higher. She knew Thomas was up to it, though, and getting him into the academy gave her peace of mind.

After an incident in which Thomas was threatened with a knife outside his public school, PJ’d had enough. Paying the tuition made money tight in other areas, but both of them would rather eat macaroni and cheese and Ramen noodles than have Thomas try to cope. Her brilliant, gentle, sensitive son was thriving at Jamison.