Johanna Rawls, a young member of the small reporting staff of The Erin Observer & News-Ledger, was working on the paper’s story about the body in the freezer. She must have wrestled news editor and former crime reporter Ben Silverstein for the honor. Although Lynda was no longer on Observer masthead, having moved up the corporate ladder, Tall Rawls looked up to her as a role model and kept in close contact.
“Hi, Johanna. Great idea! I should have thought of checking that myself. And what did you find? What? Well, yes, that is interesting, and good to know. Thanks for calling.”
Lynda had the strangest look on her face, as if she didn’t know what to think. “Johanna checked the county auditor’s online records to find out who owns the house with the body. The names on the deed are Ralph and Grace Pendergast.”
III
“April is the cruelest month.” T.S. Eliot wrote that. He must have known Ralph Pendergast.
On Monday morning, the day after discovering Olivia Wanamaker’s brutal murder, I was stewing in my office about Ralph’s most shameful move yet, and I don’t mean owning the murder house: He wanted me to fire Popcorn, my indispensable administrative assistant.
I should have seen it coming. We’d gone through round after round of budget cuts since Ralph arrived at St. Benignus College two years earlier as provost and academic vice president. He had been brought in by the board of trustees to get the college’s fiscal house in order. Ralph is an economist by academic training. (No wonder they call it “the dismal science.”) He’s also an economizer, with the accent on the “miser.” Everybody loved our long-time president, “Father Joe” Pirelli, but even I had to admit that he’d always run a rather loose ship. Eventually the trustees had forced him to turn over the day-to-day operations of that ship to Captain Bligh.
Anyway, the belt-tightening had gotten down to the administrative assistant level. First, retirees weren’t replaced. That worked out quite well. For the most part their middle-management bosses took on the extra work without complaint, just happy to have a job in this bad economy. The next step was to offer an anemic early-retirement package. That didn’t get as many takers as hoped, so now the Administration (AKA Ralph) was looking at layoffs. Ralph hadn’t actually told me that Popcorn’s head was on the chopping block, but a sightless person could read between the lines.
He had dropped into my office and closed the door on the previous Friday afternoon, just before the start of the weekend. Nothing good can come of this, I thought. Oh, there was a time when Ralph thought I was well meaning and at least semi-intelligent, salvageable if only I could be pulled away from the influence of my brother-in-law. But that time was long since in my rear-view mirror.
“Hello, Cody.” He helped himself to a seat. Since it was Casual Day, he was wearing a blue blazer instead of his gray suit. I had on khaki pants and a St. Benignus polo shirt, pushing the brand. “I’ve been looking at the numbers for your office.” Ralph shook his head mournfully, causing the light to glint off of his rimless glasses. “It seems to me that we’re spending a lot of money for what we get out of it.”
I stifled a laugh.
“You must have the decimal points in the wrong place, Ralph. This is a shoestring operation. You do realize that the Office of Public Relations and Marketing is just Popcorn and me? And that we handle media relations, marketing, branding, the website, and social media?”
Ralph seemed to study the pencil that he held between his two hands. “Oh, yes, you’re in charge of that weeter, or whatever it’s called.”
I could feel my face turning the same shade of red as my hair.
“Well, I’m sure you’re a busy fellow,” he went on, “although I’ve never kept it a secret from you that I feel you could do a better job of media relations given your connections.” Low blow. I’ve never been able to convince Ralph that Lynda’s position as editorial director for Grier Ohio NewsGroup, immediate parent company of The Erin Observer & News-Ledger, doesn’t give me the ability to kill stories that spoil his breakfast. I mean, how in the heck was I supposed to suppress the one about the tenured finance professor who was arrested for passing more than a hundred bad checks? (She’s now undergoing therapy for a gambling problem.)
“At any rate, Cody, a lot of people around here have learned to answer their own phones and type their own letters.”
But not you, Ralph.
“I already do that!” I exploded. “I can see where this is going and you’d better not go there.” Sometimes I descend into clichés under pressure. “Popcorn runs the Facebook Fan Page and posts about half of our tweets. Plus she keeps track of everything so we know what to tweet about.” Women’s basketball, for example, a major program about which I am clueless. “It would be physically impossible for me to do everything I do without her.”
That was all true, but it wasn’t the whole truth. I didn’t have the nerve to say that Aneliese Pokorny also covers me when I’m out of the office in the middle of the day on some madcap assignment for Sebastian McCabe, and that she could - truly, no exaggeration - run the office much better without me than I ever could without her. In fact, maybe I should resign and become a full-time househusband, a stay-at-home dad to those kids who would appear once we had the house. Surely Ralph would see that Popcorn was my natural replacement.
Lynda makes more money than I do anyway. Popcorn, on the other hand, is a self-supporting widow, though how she does it on her meager salary I’ll never know.
“Well, perhaps you need to set priorities.” I noticed that the point on Ralph’s pencil was almost as sharp as his nose. I felt like yanking it away from him and drawing a mustache on his face. Okay, that’s pretty weak, but I’m not a violent man. I don’t even write two-fisted private eye novels anymore. “Perhaps not everything that you’re doing needs to be done,” Ralph forged on. Yeah, try being a college, even one as small as ours, without a Facebook page. “I haven’t made up my mind yet, I’m still looking at the budget, but I didn’t want you to be surprised when I do.”
That means he’s made up his mind, I reflected gloomily on Monday morning. Well, maybe the murder in his empty house would keep him too busy to move forward with the plan. Fat chance, Jeff.
“A penny for your thoughts, Boss,” Popcorn said as she set a mug of decaffeinated coffee in front of me.
“You’d demand your money back.”
“I know what you’re thinking about.”
“You do?” I looked at her carefully. Almost fifty-one years old, dyed blond hair, just under five feet tall and just this side of plump, Popcorn didn’t look worried.
“Sure. It’s in the paper.”
She sat on the chair in front of my desk and handed me the day’s edition of The Erin Observer & News-Ledger, with the seventy-two-point headline: A COLD CASE and the more informative subhead: Councilwoman’s Body Found in Freezer. The story carried Johanna Rawls’s byline. I call her Tall Rawls because she’s very Nordic, at least six feet tall even without her three-inch heels.
“The fully clothed body of controversial Erin City Councilwoman Olivia Wanamaker, bludgeoned to death by a frozen fish, was found Sunday by a real estate agent and her two clients in the freezer of a home for sale,” the article began.
“According to county records, the home belongs to...”
The color photo accompanying the story showed a woman in her late twenties, with dark hair and a self-assured look. Although not beautiful, she was certainly attractive. The photo looked more like the woman I’d met once or twice at social functions than did the body in the freezer.
I only glanced at the paper, having seen it at home and having read the online version of the story late last night. Tall Rawls quoted me as being “shocked” and Lynda as “saddened,” while carefully noting that Ms. Teal (retained as her professional name) was employed by the parent company of the Observer. Most of the quotes were from Oscar, how
ever, and he hadn’t held back much.
“It’s accurate enough,” I said, “and she spelled our names right.”
Popcorn laughed right on cue, knowing full well that Lynda is Tall Rawls’s hero and mentor. “So what do you think - did old Ralph do it?”
I had no opinion about that. I didn’t even know what I wanted to believe. On the one hand, it was tempting to wish that he’d done the deed. Ralph Pendergast has been a pain in the posterior ever since he became provost. A murder rap would take care of the Ralph problem for good. On the other hand...
“That would be horrible publicity for the college,” I said, not really answering her question.
“But at least you might get a good price on the house.”
“Popcorn, you’ve been around me too long.” But I’m afraid that might be just a short-term problem.
Before she could offer a loyal reply, the sound of “You’re So Vain” exploded in my pocket. I took out my smartphone and answered Mac’s call.
“Cody’s Circus, ringmaster speaking,” I answered.
“Good morning, Jefferson. I have someone in my office with me who would like very much to speak to both of us.”
I knew it wasn’t Ralph because the “Jaws” theme wasn’t playing in my head. I have something of a sixth sense about him.
“Do I have to guess?”
“I doubt that you could.”
“I’m on my way.” I disconnected. “Popcorn - ”
She stood up to her full four-foot-eleven. “Your calendar is as empty as my checkbook. If anything comes up, I’ll put it off or deal with it. For the record, I’m guessing the mystery guest has two X chromosomes.”
“How do you figure that?”
She shrugged. “That’s the way I’d write it.”
Popcorn is addicted to the racy romance novels of one Rosamund DeLacey, with titles like Love’s Dying Ember. It’s a mild vice and the only one she has, but I fear that it does rather color her outlook on life.
Racked with guilt that I was once again deserting my post and leaving my job-endangered administrative assistant to handle whatever came in the door, I nevertheless ducked out and hoofed it over to Mac’s office in Herbert Hall.
Well, he calls it an office. I call it a disaster area - an overflowing ashtray here, a set of bagpipes there, and books everywhere (not a small number of which he wrote). Mac’s gargoyle of an administrative assistant, the humorless Heidi Guildenstern, was absent from her guard post, so I barged right in.
Mac was at his desk, behind the little sign that says “Thank You For Not Breathing While I Smoke.” (Yes, the whole campus is non-smoking.) Compared to him, the desk looks small. Popcorn was right that it was a woman sitting in one of his two visitor chairs, and Mac was right that I never would have guessed who. When I entered the room, she stood up and faced me. She was about a head shorter than my six-one.
“I believe you know Mrs. Pendergast,” Mac said grandly.
She was a trim, attractive woman in her mid-fifties, with chin-length frosted hair and clear gray eyes behind her glasses. I decided that Lynda would have approved of the red scarf she had chosen for a splash of color to accent her white blouse and tan slacks.
“Grace,” she said, putting her hand out. “We met once.”
“I remember.” And I was quite sure I’d never forget. It was during one jazz night at Beans & Books, our locally owned coffee house. That was the first time I’d ever seen her, and the only time until she accompanied Ralph to my wedding and the reception afterward last May. I’d been surprised that first time because when I saw the two of them sitting together across the room she didn’t look like my idea of Mrs. Ralph Pendergast. In fact, I’d had the unworthy thought that perhaps Ralph was stepping out on his wife.[***] Possibly the fact that I was there with a young female who was not Lynda planted the idea in my head. But that’s ancient history. I’ve completely forgotten the whole business.
“Grace has a problem,” Mac said.
“And I think you two can help,” she added quickly.
Have you ever been in a situation where you could see the lights of the metaphorical freight train that was bearing down on you at, well, freight train speed but you just couldn’t get off the tracks? I sat down. Mac and Grace followed suit.
“I’m sure you know that Ralph and I own the house where that horrible murder took place - or at least where the body was found. I don’t know why we ever bought such a large place, other than Ralph thought our children would visit more often than they have. We put the place up for sale four months ago and moved into a new condo in the River Heights development.” This was all fascinating intel, no doubt, but I was stuck on her highly perceptive first sentence. It had never occurred to me until now that the murder might have taken place somewhere else. How clever of Grace to spot that. But of course Ralph would marry someone with a logical mind. I seemed to recall that she was a high school teacher by training.
“This has put us in a very embarrassing position.” Hands in her lap, Grace Pendergast looked embarrassed.
“Well, embarrassment isn’t fatal,” I pointed out.
She didn’t return my smile. “As I told Professor McCabe, Chief Hummel already called Ralph early this morning. I’m concerned that he may jump to the silly conclusion that my husband has something to do with this awful thing.”
“And you are convinced that he did not,” Mac said, making it sound like a statement. But it was a question.
“Of course he didn’t! Ralph wouldn’t hurt a fly.” But he might lay it off.
“Would Ralph have any reason for killing this woman?” Mac pressed it. “Did he even know her?”
She made a show of thinking about it. “I believe that in her capacity as a City Councilwoman she was quite critical of some of the landlords who own homes and apartment buildings rented by students. That would include us. We have a small building, eight units, that I inherited from my parents.”
“They lived in Erin?” I’d always thought of Ralph as a recent carpetbagger. Although I’m not a native myself, I’ve been in Erin since I came to St. Benignus as a student more than twenty years ago.
Grace nodded. “I was born here. I’m a Shayne.” That was a prominent family in Erin - not particularly wealthy or influential, but plentiful. I’d had no idea that Grace Pendergast was one of them. Now that I knew, I immediately began to worry that I might have said something true about Ralph to one of his in-laws. Oh, well, they already knew. “When Ralph was approached to take the position here, I knew I wanted to come home.”
“No doubt you used your wiles to convince Ralph that was a good idea,” Mac said.
Now she did smile. “I can talk Ralph into anything. He’s such a softy.” Ralph - a softy? Ralph Waldo Pendergast? What is this, Bizarro World?
Somebody had to bring this conversation back to real life, so I nominated myself. “Let me summarize the situation, then: Ralph had a conflict with Olivia Wanamaker in her City Councilwoman role over tenant-landlord issues. He’s afraid this looks bad for him, since her body was found in a home you two own, so Ralph sent you to get our help because he couldn’t bring himself to ask.”
“Oh, no!” Her gray eyes popped wide with horror. “Well, it’s true that he’d never ask for your help. I mean, that’s just not Ralph. But he wouldn’t approve of me asking you for it, either. So, will you help?”
It would be uncharitable to say that her tone was wheedling, so I won’t say it. But it was. I liked her anyway, I have to admit. She was standing by her man, in spite of him.
“By ‘help,’” Mac said, “I assume you want us to convince Oscar that Ralph is guiltless?”
She stood up. “That’s the outcome, of course, but I assume that to get there you’ll have to find out who did commit the murder. If I’m not mistaken, you just agreed to do that. I�
�m very grateful, Professor McCabe, Mr. Cody.”
“Jeff,” I said numbly. Wait a minute. How did he agree to what? What did I miss?
“Just don’t tell Ralph I put you up to it. He’d be upset with me.”
She gave us her cell phone number on the way out.
IV
“This is priceless,” I said acidly. “We not only have to save Ralph’s bacon, but we have to do it without telling him we’re doing it, which means we don’t even get brownie points for the effort!” As if Ralph Pendergast ever gives out brownie points.
Mac pulled an unlit cigar out of his mouth. “Hell and damnation, Jefferson, how was I supposed to say no to someone who expressed such utter confidence in our abilities?”
“The technical term for that is ‘stroking the immense McCabe ego.’”
He ignored my observation. “There is also the small matter of justice. However much you might relish the removal of Ralph as our bête-noir, you do not in your heart of hearts credit the convenient notion that he killed Mrs. Wanamaker - and you know that it is all too likely that Oscar will.”
I was saved from answering that by the Indiana Jones ringtone of my smartphone. When I looked at it, the cheerful face of Cecily Almond stared back at me - Cleopatra with golden hair and light brown skin. I hadn’t talked to her since we had gone our separate ways on Sunday afternoon, leaving Oscar’s crew and a dead body behind us. I tapped “Answer.”
“Hi, Cecily. How are you doing with all of this?”
“Thanks for asking, Jeff. I’m still kind of shaken up. Finding a dead body is a once-in-a-lifetime experience, thank goodness.” Speak for yourself, Cecily. “The reason I’m calling is to see whether you and Lynda are still interested in the house.”
Mac drummed his fingers on the paper-strewn desk. I paid no attention.
“I won’t kid you, Cecily, we’d be very interested at the right price. I know you have a exceptionally motivated seller” - Grace said they’d moved into a condo four months ago; plus, Ralph would have lawyer’s fees to pay if he got arrested - “but it might be harder now to find a motivated buyer. Not everybody likes the idea of living in a house where a murder took place. There could be, you know, ghosties and ghoulies, and things that go bump in the night. Lynda might be scared.”
Rogues Gallery Page 11