Your Chariot Awaits (29 page)

Mr. Randolph just looked at his watch. I was grateful he didn't appear to be connecting me with the belly-buster attack in the hallway.

Then Mr. Findley apparently made a connection, because a lightbulb look came on in his eyes. “Is this the limousine in which Jerry Norton—”

“I'm afraid so.”

More connections apparently snapped into place. “You were a friend of his, weren't you?”

Unfortunately, connections snapped in Mr. Randolph's mind too. “You're the idiot who crashed into me a few days ago!”

Mr. Findley, bless his heart, ignored that. “A terrible thing, Jerry's death. An
incredible
thing. Could I speak to you privately after lunch, Mrs. McConnell?”

“Yes, of course.”

Lunch at The Log House was fantastic, shrimp scampi and grilled salmon, although I'd have enjoyed it more if I hadn't been nervous about meeting with Mr. Findley. Did he object to my temporary employment at F&N? Had he power to veto it? Could he think I had something to do with Jerry's death?

A few minutes after we were back at work, Mr. Findley called down and asked me to come up to his office. Once I was there, he motioned me to a sofa rather than the chair by his desk and perched on the arm of the couch himself.

“I hope you don't mind my asking to speak to you.”

Flimsy white lie. “Not at all.”

“I've been so upset ever since Jerry's . . . demise.
Baffled
by it, in fact. We were quite close, as you may know. Not as close as the two of you were, of course, but he was supposed to transfer to San Diego as my top assistant.”

“He'd told me about the transfer. I think he was quite excited about it.”

“I just can't imagine anyone doing such a terrible thing to Jerry. He was very well liked, you know. Competent, knowledgeable, a real go-getter. And then to have all his computer equipment at the condo stolen too. Very strange.”

I was surprised Mr. Findley knew about the burglary. “The sheriff's department has been rather closemouthed about what happened at the condo. Not many people know about it.”

“I heard about it from a detective. They were asking if any company information could have been on the computer, but I told them I doubted it. Jerry was very conscientious about company confidentiality. A man with the kind of character we could all admire.”

I might quibble about some details of Jerry's fine character, but I just said, “My own thought is that the theft may have had something to do with his computer Web site business.”

“I was never familiar with details of the business, although I understood it was quite successful. And something Jerry enjoyed doing.”

“I've mentioned it to Detective Sergeant Molino.”

“Do you think the murder may also have been connected with that business?”

“I think it's possible. Or perhaps something to do with a . . . former relationship.” I tossed that out hoping Mr. Findley might jump in with something about Elena, but he just looked puzzled.

“Have
you
any ideas about who could have murdered him?” I asked.

“No, not really.” He stood up and paced back and forth in front of his desk as if frustrated. “I've wondered if someone resented his getting the transfer when so many others here at F&N were let go. Although that hardly seems sufficient motive for murder
.
And then I've wondered . . .”

“Yes?”

“I don't know quite how to put this, but I had the impression Jerry may have gotten himself involved in something . . . troublesome. I have no idea what, but on that very Friday he was murdered, he'd asked to talk privately with me the following Monday. I had the feeling he was about to confide something of a very serious nature to me. But then, come Monday, he was . . . dead.”

Mr. Findley didn't tear up, but I had the impression he was about to, and I felt uncomfortable. Especially remembering that Jerry'd had a lot less nice things to say about Mr. Findley than Mr. Findley was saying about him.

“Yes, it was a terrible shock.”

“You found the body, didn't you? I remember reading that in the newspaper. Jerry was at your house that night, and then his body was found in the limousine.”

I swallowed. His saying it brought back all too clearly the appalling vision of Jerry's body lying there in the trunk. I hadn't been totally successful at blocking it before this, but I had managed to stuff it back where it wasn't sticking out in my mind like the tail of the limo in traffic. Now it was right up-front in vivid color again.

Mr. Findley unexpectedly seemed aware of my distress. He reached over and gave me an awkward pat on the shoulder. “I keep thinking about what losing Jerry means to me, and I know that's selfish. It must be much worse for you, losing someone you loved.”

“A friend and I have been asking around, trying to come up with any information that might help the police locate the murderer.”

“If I can do anything, will you let me know? The detectives asked me a lot of questions, but I don't think I was much help. But if there's anything I can do . . .”

“Thank you. I'll remember that.”

Mr. Findley stroked his chin, and then, as if he were making a deliberate effort to pull himself together, his shoulders straightened and his tone went brisk. “Well, Mrs. McConnell, we're glad to have you back with us here at F&N, even though it will be for only a short time. I'm wondering . . . this is off the subject, but is the limousine available for hire?”

“I'm taking a passenger up to Port Townsend after work today, but I understand that if I'm going to start a real limousine service, there are permits involved.”

Mr. Findley grimaced. “Red tape. It's a nightmare, isn't it? We added onto the house last year, and you wouldn't believe what we had to go through. But what I'm thinking is, if you could manage it, I have a meeting to attend with some of the executives of Friends & Neighbors Worldwide. That's the name of the new, merged company, you know.”

“You'll be going down to San Diego?” I asked, wondering what this had to do with me and my limo.

“No, Mr. Delgrade has a vacation home on a lake—a private lake—northwest of town. The meeting will be held there.” He frowned. “Making a tax deduction out of what is basically a vacation trip.” The frown reversed to a guilty smile. “Though you don't need to tell anyone I said that.”

A bit of friction between the F&N transferees from

Vigland and the executives already established in the other company?

“I'm not sure of the exact date yet. Sometime within the next couple weeks, I think. I guess I should just come right out and admit that what I'd like to do is impress these guys. Mr. Delgrade calls his place his ‘hard-times cabin' and acts as if it's just some shack in the woods, but I'll bet anything it's really a showplace fancy lodge. You know the kind.” He grimaced. “Fireplace big enough to roast a bull. Kitchen fit for a five-star restaurant. Ten bathrooms.”

“I'm not really familiar with expensive lodges.”

“They're looking on us up here as a bunch of unsophisticated country hicks, and arriving in a limousine might give me a bit of an advantage. If Jerry were alive, he'd be coming with me, of course. I really depended on him.” He moved his shoul-ders as if they were stiff. “Well, I shouldn't be laying all that on you. My problem, not yours.”

“I'll be glad to do it for you, Mr. Findley,” I said quickly. I found a vulnerable Mr. Findley a much more sympathetic figure than the stuffy jerk I'd always thought he was. “We hicks have to stick together.”

As soon as I said that, I thought maybe it was a mistake and he'd take offense, but he smiled.

“Right. No wonder Jerry was . . .” He hesitated as if uncertain how to put it. “Attracted to you. And remember, if there's anything I can do to help in bringing his killer to justice, just let me know.”

32

I
changed to my uniform in the ladies' room at F&N and arrived at the Vandervort place only five minutes late. The house topped a forested hill south of town, with spectacular views of the south end of Puget Sound and Olympic Mountains to the north. Trudy Vandervort herself, in pink shorts, diamond tennis bracelet, and dangling earrings with some pink gem I couldn't name, answered my ring of the doorbell.

“Oh, there you are! And don't you look spiffy! I'll write you a check for the balance, and then I'll get the Captain.”

I peered around. The house wasn't quite a mansion, but probably as close as I'd ever get to one. The foyer was bigger than my living room, a graceful staircase winding to the second floor; off to the left was a living room with an enormous fireplace and impressive oil paintings of what I assumed were rich ancestors.

A moment later she returned with the check in one hand and a huge brass cage in the other. In the cage I was astonished to see an enormous, brightly colored parrot.

“You're taking your parrot along?”

“Captain, this is Andi McConnell. She'll be your chauffer today.” She made a little kissy moue at the bird.

“You're not going?”

“No, of course not. I told you, I'm going on a cruise.” She clapped her fingertips over her mouth as she peered at the bird. “Oh, I didn't mean to say that in front of the Captain.” In a surreptitious aside she whispered, “I let him think I was doing this just as a vacation for him.”

I blinked. “You want . . . I mean, you've hired me to drive a
parrot
up to Port Townsend?”
A parrot you find it necessary to fib to?

Her eyes went a little flinty. “Is there a problem?”

I'd been picturing the Captain as a snowy-haired old salt, her father probably, maybe a retired naval officer. But on second thought, with substantial check in hand, what did I care if my passenger sported feathers instead of hair?

I shook my head hastily. “No, certainly not. No problem. Does he need any, uh, special care?”

“He likes company. Perhaps you could leave the partition open and talk to him occasionally.”

Lightbulb going on. “I could ask my assistant to come along. She can ride in back with him. It won't cost anything extra.”

She beamed. “That's very nice of you. I'd appreciate that.”

“Does he talk?” I asked as we trundled out to the limo.

“If he wants to.”

We set the cage on the floor of the limo, along with a box of food and toys, which included a Rubik's Cube. I decided he probably couldn't actually work it. But I wouldn't try to match wits with him, just in case. I drove off with Trudy standing there waving, tissue to her nose, as if she might be having second thoughts about all this.

“Okay, Captain, you want to talk?” I inquired as we headed back toward town, speaking loudly enough to be heard through the open partition. “What's your opinion on Einstein's theory of relativity?”

I didn't want to insult him with
Captain want a cracker?
For all I knew, maybe he could work that Rubik's Cube.

Silence. He probably figured I wouldn't know what he was talking about even if he explained it with equations. I tried another tack. “Can you say your name? Captain?”

More silence, but I had the feeling he was muttering to himself,
I know my name, dummy. And I could say it if I wanted to.
I just don't want to.

I made a detour by the Sweet Breeze and ran in to ask Joella if she'd like to come along. She was just getting off work, and I was surprised when she hesitated. Joella was usually so eager for any out-of-routine activity, but she did look a bit frazzled today. She stretched her shoulders and rubbed her lower back.

“Come on out and meet my passenger,” I suggested, thinking the drive might do her good. “I understand he likes company.”

Joella gave me a puzzled look, but when she saw the Captain, she clapped her hands delightedly. “My grandmother used to have a parrot. He liked to ride around on my head and yell, ‘Comin' through, comin' through.'”

For his part, the Captain looked at Joella in her long, flut-tery sundress, one of her Goodwill picks, and declared, “Bodacious babe!”

She laughed. “It isn't often I get a compliment like that. I have to come now, don't I?”

She checked out with Neil in the bakery, climbed into the limo with the Captain, and off we went. We'd pick up her car when we got back.

“Bodacious babe,” the Captain repeated as he strutted in his cage.

It was cute the first few times, but after about the twenty- ninth repetition, the cute had definitely paled. Then he abruptly switched to TV commercials, first a ditty from some local realestate company, then one about a detergent.

Joella and I both laughed when he did a lusty version of the Oscar Mayer wiener song. Maybe we shouldn't have, because he did it again. And again. All the way to Port Townsend, over and over, that cheerful, and eventually nervescraping, “Oh, I wish I were an Oscar Mayer wiener.”

I was ready to stuff him in a hot-dog bun by the time niece Elaine took him off our hands, although he was back in silent mode when I handed her the cage.

“It's so hard to get him to say anything, isn't it?” she complained.

Count your blessings,
was my silent advice “You want to sit up here with me?” I asked Joella.

“No, I think I'll lie down in back, if that's okay with you. I didn't sleep very well last night.”

The frazzled look hadn't gone away, I noticed. “Sure. Take a nap. Want to get a bite to eat first?”

“I'm not hungry right now. I had a big corned beef sandwich for lunch. But maybe later.”

I turned the radio to soothing music and enjoyed the peaceful drive back toward Vigland. Beautiful views of broad Hood Canal, which was actually a natural cut running from the sea deep into the Olympic Peninsula, water like ruffled pewter. The dense forests lining the road, with green underbrush thick as a tangled tapestry. All the interesting names. Quilcene. Dabob Bay. Duckabush. Hamma Hamma.