Wait a minute.
That was right, wasn't it? We had been running inside the mansion to find a private place where we could finish ripping off each other's clothes, when we had been interrupted by a scream. The scream of Geoffrey getting murdered! And then Roman had turned and run off to go see what had happened.
But if Roman had been with me when Geoffrey started screaming, he couldn't have been the one to commit the murder!
My eyes must have widened as I put these pieces together inside my head. And the man sitting in front of me, watching me so intently, couldn't have missed that sign. "Exactly," he said, once again showing off his uncanny ability to read my brain. "You know that I'm innocent!"
#
"I do," I agreed, still a little stunned by the realization. This insight was almost immediately followed by another on its heels, one which slipped out of my mouth. "But if I know you're innocent, why didn't you just tell the police that you were with me?"
Roman's eyes briefly broke away from me, and he reached up to run his fingers through his hair again. I felt a slight urge to reach forward and smooth his hair back down, to fix the mussed look he was inadvertently causing. "Because I can't let it get out what we were doing," he admitted.
What we were doing... he meant the kiss! And then, I suppose, also the dash inside to go find a place to do a lot more than just kiss. At the thought, I felt color creeping up into my cheeks, and probably flushing across my chest as well.
I didn't have to say anything. "That's the thing," Roman nodded, speaking as though my innermost thoughts were being broadcast out loud. "I can't let it get out that we were committing any sort of unprofessional act, or else I'll have a major scandal on my hands here."
"More of a scandal than getting sent to jail for murder?" The words slipped out of me.
Instead of being upset, however, the man just chuckled. "Pretty close," he replied in a light-hearted tone. But then his face grew serious again, and he leaned forward. His hands reached out and clasped mine, wrapping around the backs of my palms and pressing my fingers up against the coffee cup in my grasp. "But I know that I'm not the murderer - which means that the murderer had to be someone else at that party! Someone with a reason to want to kill Geoffrey. And I need your help to find the real killer."
I could feel his heart beating through his hands as they pressed against mine. When my eyes slowly crept up to his face, I could see naked need on his features. He really did need my help! But was there something else in his eyes? A spark of something?
For just an instant, his eyes dropped down to my lips, and then flicked back up. There was! He wanted to kiss me, I realized with a shock - at least as badly as I wanted to do the same to him!
"Yes." The word was so quiet, I wasn't even sure I had spoken it out loud.
"Yes?" Roman repeated it back to me, his eyes still on me. God, I could get lost in them forever. "Yes? You're willing to help?"
I nodded, just a tiny bit. "Yes. I'll help."
The man moved in a blur. I felt my coffee cup snatched from my hands, and he set it down on top of his desk. And then, an instant later, he was standing, pulling me up out of my chair and into a hug!
"Thank you," he whispered into my ear as he held me close. "Without you, I'm not sure how I'd be able to prove my innocence."
"Of course," I replied, not quite sure what to do. He was very warm. And he was holding me very closely...
The hug went on just a fraction of a second too long, switching over from professional into something that was definitely not so at all. Roman lessened his grip on me, but he didn't completely release, and I pulled back until I was once again gazing up at him. I could feel his hands on my back, their heat soaking in through my blouse into my hips. This time, my eyes were the ones to flit to his lips. They were there, slightly open, just begging for a kiss...
But alas, it wasn't to be! With a grunt of what must have been his libido fighting against him, Roman finally released me, stepping back. "Great," he said, his voice sounding slightly choked. "Then from now on, you're my personal assistant - you report only to me, and no one else has any authority over you. I'll get you a list of everyone who was at the party, and you can go talk to them and see how they felt about Geoffrey without arousing suspicion. I'll spread the word that you're helping me plan the revised corporate chain to rebalance after his passing, so that can be your cover."
"Great, sounds great," I said faintly. I was still thinking of this man pressed against me. A tiny little part of my brain was doing cartwheels inside my head. He likes me! it was screaming out in amazement. He really likes me!
Roman raised one hand to point towards the door of his office. "Go out and talk to Eleanor," he said, not looking directly up at me. "She'll have the list ready for you. We'll open up an office on this floor for you to use as your own."
That was clearly a dismissal. I picked up my coffee and left the office, heading back towards the receptionist slash model's front desk. My mind was already starting to turn over my new assignment. Had I bitten off more than I could chew?
But as I left Roman's office, I swore that I could feel his eyes running up and down my backside in a very unprofessional manner.
☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼
Back at the receptionist's giant glass monstrosity of a desk, Eleanor gave me another one of her classic sighs, but also handed over the guest list from Roman's party. "And here," she added, holding a small card out towards me between two fingers, as if she wanted to avoid making any contact with my bare hand. "It's an access card. Roman said that you need to get into anywhere, so he had IT muck it up."
I took the card from her extended slender fingers. "Thank you," I said, mainly because I was fairly sure that the words in my head were inappropriate for the workplace.
Eleanor just wiggled her fingers at me, and so after another minute of awkwardly standing there, I decided that I should probably get to work. The receptionist had pointed out a nearby office and told me that it was open, so I stepped inside, closed the door behind me, and then sank into the chair behind the desk.
This office was a little smaller than Roman's - although that wasn't saying much. I could still probably hold a tennis match in here and have room to show off my backhand. At least the chair behind the (glass, of course) desk was more comfortable. It was one of those newfangled models with the mesh and bars that looks like some sort of crazy insect. I nearly snapped my back while trying to figure out which bar lowered the seat.
With my chair adjusted, I spread out the list on the desk, and then stared down at it for a few minutes. I had no idea what to do next.
I had been up with Roman when Silvers was killed, so I knew that he wasn't at fault. But after Roman had gone running off, I had headed downstairs and been swept up into the charging crowd. It was totally possible that the killer had done the same thing - he might even have been running next to me as we hurried back upstairs - only he knew exactly what we would find!
This meant that I wouldn't be able to eliminate anyone on the list based on their position. So instead, I finally decided, I would have to resort to using my own preferred tool of choice.
Gossip.
Fortunately, the list of guests also included their position title and their office location. Quite a few of the big executives, most of whom had titles that included "Head of" in their description, had offices two floors below us, on the twenty-sixth floor.
I had visited the twenty-sixth floor on the occasional errand from Keith when he was too grumpy to leave his office. It was also much nicer than our floor, although it didn't hold a candle to this amazing top level. But it was definitely nice enough for me to loiter around a bit after dropping off my assignment, poking my head into the break room, grabbing a few complimentary snacks, and listening to the secretaries gossip around the coffee pot. The place was a breeding grounds of rumor.
And that would be the perfect place to get an idea of who was the prime suspect for killing Silvers. Aside from Ro
man, of course.
I folded the list over, tucking it into my purse, and finished off my coffee. Wouldn't do to walk into a break room with a cup of coffee already, I thought to myself, and then congratulated myself on such smart thinking. Why, I was a full-on detective already! No wonder Roman was trusting me with such an important mission!
I left floor twenty-eight, forcing myself to not look as I passed the desk of the far-too-attractive Eleanor, and headed downstairs. I even decided that I would take the stairs instead of the elevator. Positive life choices! Getting my daily exercise in! I steadfastly refused to admit that it might be because I was exceedingly jealous of Eleanor's long and slim legs. I didn't have a single jealous bone in my body. Besides, it was only two flights of stairs! How hard could that be?
When I arrived at the break room on floor twenty-six, I immediately sank into the nearest chair with a gasp of relief. How could two flights of stairs hurt my legs so much? I probably had some sort of bone spur, or a splint or something. I really shouldn't be taxing myself in such a physical manner.
As I tried to catch my breath, however, I was already hearing little snatches of conversation drifting over from the next table in the break room. I perked up my ears, leaning in to make out what the ladies were saying.
"...and can you believe that they just found him dead? I don't know why they didn't all go running out of the house screaming!" one rotund receptionist was excitedly telling her friend in a stage whisper.
"Oh, I know!" her friend replied. "And murdered! I know that some of the executives in this place are cutthroat, but I never thought that was literally true!"
Perfect. I scooted my chair over to the table. Both of the women looked up at me as I shuffled in, their expressions reverting instantly to professional blankness. I lowered my own voice, trying to look as conspiratorial as possible. "Want to hear something crazy?" I whispered to them. "I was at that party last night! I might have actually talked to the murderer!"
My words and tone instantly told the other two women that I was far more interested in gossip than in reporting them for slacking off. Their expressions immediately opened up. "No way," gasped one of them in shock.
I nodded. "Way. It's so scary to think about!"
This had been enough to prove my allegiance and willingness to share my story. I was one of the group, now, one of the gossiping circle. The other women clustered in around me, and I could see that they were just bursting with questions.
"I'm Diana," one of them told me, the name spilling out to get the formalities out of the way. "And this is Heather."
"Melinda," I replied. I didn't see any reason why I should try to conceal my name. I was working straight for Roman, now! I didn't have to worry about Keith getting angry that I was bragging about his party. I hoped.
"So who do you think killed Silvers?" Diana was clearly not going to beat around the bush. Her eyes widened as she imagined learning the killer's true identity before the police even knew.
Unfortunately, I couldn't answer. "I don't know," I confessed. "I was with all the other guests when we heard the scream, and we all went running upstairs in a big crowd. Anyone could have slipped into the rest of the group without being noticed." As I had done, I thought privately to myself.
Inside my head, I glowed with pride at how I had so easily covered up the fact that I hadn't actually technically been in the group with the other guests. No fraternizing with the boss here! Definitely not off with the CEO and host of the whole party, our hands running over each other's naughtiest areas and searching for a spot where we could strip off each other's clothes. Not a single mention of that.
"But they arrested the CEO, didn't they?" Heather insisted, leaning in like she was sharing a state secret that the Russians would kill to learn. "I heard that they hauled the man out in handcuffs! In front of everyone!"
"They did," I confirmed, and both women squealed with pernicious delight. "But do you two want to know something?"
"Sure," Heather said - the understatement of the century, that was.
"I don't think it was really him," I confided. "I mean, not that I think he was a double or something - I don't think that Roman murdered Silvers!"
Heather's eyes and mouth were both round with surprise, but Diana paused for a moment. "Roman?" she repeated.
Shit. I wasn't supposed to be on a first name basis with him. "The CEO," I clarified. "I bumped into him earlier and he wanted to be called by his first name. But he seemed really friendly with Silvers! I bet it was someone else!"
The seed was planted. And I didn't need to wait long before it bore fruit. This time, Diana was the one to look surprised as an idea hit her. "I bet it was Rube!" she exclaimed.
"Rube?" I asked. "Who's that?"
"Rubinch! Barry Rubinch, the Head of Operations!" My face was still confused. "He's a short guy, pretty squat, usually angry about something?"
An image suddenly popped into my mind. "Wait! The bulldog man!"
"Yes, that's exactly what he looks like!" Diana cheered. A second later, she remembered that she was supposed to be keeping quiet, and she lowered her voice back down an octave. "He's had it out for Wayland ever since he arrived here."
This was a lead! That was the word, wasn't it? I strained to remember the last time I'd read a detective novel. Maybe I could swing by the bookstore and pick up a few so that I could refresh myself on all the lingo. "Why does he hate Wayland so much?" I asked, being sure to use Roman's last name. No need to repeat my little slip-up.
"Oh, don't you know?" This was prime, juicy gossip, and Diana was milking it. "Rube has been here forever, ever since back when Panther wasn't even Worldwide yet. He's fought his way up to the top, that's why he always looks like he just chewed on a lemon - or almost to the top, at least. Heather, you know about this, don't you?"
"Yeah, yeah!" Heather chimed in, eager to show off her own gossip chops. "There were rumors that he was going to take over when the old CEO left, but the board ended up bringing in Wayland instead! He basically stole Rube's position, and they just gave him Operations because they didn't know where else to put him. He's always been upset at Wayland for swooping in and stealing his spot!"
"Wow!" I actually never knew this before. Was there some sort of Panther Worldwide history book that I had missed hearing about? "So you think that maybe he blamed Wayland for murder?"
Heather shrugged, but it was clear that this was exactly what she thought. "It makes sense, doesn't it?" she insisted, the certainty in her voice totally hiding the fact that her co-conspirator had only just come up with this idea. "I bet he's the guy! Oh my god, that means that there's a murderer on this floor!"
On this floor? Crap on a cracker. Rubinch had seen me at the party, and if he spotted me here, he might wonder what I was doing skulking around. And I didn't think that Heather or Diana would hide my secret.
What should I do next? I tried to think of my favorite detective, but I didn't really have one. Agatha Christie was one, wasn't she? No, she was just a writer who wrote detective stories. And I knew that she wrote really good detective stories, everyone said so, but I didn't remember the names of any of the heroes in them. Sherlock Holmes! He was a detective. He was the logic guy, right? With the weird hat! He would probably go put on that hat so that he could investigate, but there was no way I could pull off ear flaps. And I didn't even know where to buy a magnifying glass.
Rubinch, Barry Rubinch. Bulldog Barry. He was now my prime suspect. I remembered how my dad had made me watch Law and Order when I was younger. Usually, the detectives went and questioned their prime suspect. That should be my next move - go question Barry Rubinch!
Of course, the detectives also had badges. And guns. And police stations with those really bleak rooms and the two-way mirrors where they could leave their suspect for hours until he was ready to confess for a glass of water.
I didn't have any of that. But I did have a new job as Roman's personal secretary, and he would probably go along with any stor
y that I made up. And I had a card from Eleanor that supposedly gave me total access. I looked down at it now, rubbing a finger along the magnetic stripe.
It would probably work in the executive dining room, wouldn't it?
And even if Rubinch didn't want to be interrogated, the food there was supposed to be amazing. It was worth a try.
#
Twenty minutes later, I was sitting across a white cloth-covered table from Barry Rubinch, watching with some small amount of amazement as he shouted at me. Part of me was listening, sure; I was an ever-vigilant detective, just like Sherlock Holmes or whoever the guy was in those Agatha Christie stories. But another part of my brain was marveling at how easy this whole thing had been.
Heather and Diana had been happy to point me in the direction of Rubinch's office, although they sent little titters of "don't get murdered!" after me as I left. And that was a little off-putting, because what if the man actually turned out to be the real murderer? Maybe he would try and kill me to cover up his crime!
Fortunately, I didn't think that he would kill me in the middle of a crowded dining room. And now, as I listened to him rage on and on, I was starting to think that perhaps he wasn't the murderer at all.
I had knocked on his office door, a little part of my mind noticing that, while it was the biggest office on the floor, it didn't compare to Roman's office upstairs, or even to mine. That is, the empty office that had been loaned to me, but I was already starting to think of it as my own. I could bring in some plants, maybe a couple of little decorative pillows, to really brighten up the entire room.
A Billion Little Clues Page 7