The Driving Passion Murders

by Gene Epstein

  Minutes later Robert drove his Buick sedan following right behind Amanda. She had a new Mercedes Benz S Class 500 sedan which was jet black with tan interior.

  A doorman stood at attention wearing maroon livery, while an elderly porter opened the driver’s side door and took her keys. There was ample space beneath the portico for Robert to be protected from the rain, which had picked up in intensity. All of a sudden a black Mercedes limousine pulled up with the license plate “ROY O” on the front. A crowd of people rushed around the automobile. Getting out of the automobile was a man dressed in black and wearing black sunglasses. Three people accompanied him as they all walked to the elevators. Robert thought, Roy Orbison?

  He then asked the Porter if that was Roy Orbison and all the porter would say “It is his car,” without ever confirming it.

  Robert offered to park his car himself but the porter just stood there waiting for him to hand over the keys. He wasn’t prepared for the luxury of having one’s own porter and definitely wasn’t prepared for what was to come.

  The doorman greeted Amanda with a smile and bent his head down while reaching for the brim of his hat acknowledging her appearance. He opened the door and also tipped his hat for Robert.

  Once through the doorway, he could not stop looking in every direction of the lobby as he soaked in the majestic tall walls covered with deep walnut raised panels. They appeared to be thirty feet tall. In the center of a coffered ceiling hung massive crystal chandeliers, each nearly ten feet in diameter and nearly as tall. Arranged in an orderly fashion, were kid glove-soft leather sofas and club chairs in deep maroon. People were being served tea and pastries by butlers, while several were absorbed in reading, others seemed to be enjoying tête-à-tête conversations. Directly opposite the entrance were multiple elevators whose doors were works of art. They appeared to be brass with stainless steel appliqué. Bob was in awe of the craftsmanship of the metal vines intertwined from the bottom of each door to the top with flowers on both ends.

  Amanda knew it would be a shock for Robert to see her opulent surroundings as she noticed him gazing in every direction as if he were young boy first attending his major league baseball game.

  Once inside the elevator, Amanda told him, “This is what happened when I married the third generation of Dillingtons. Not really my cup of tea to be honest with you, but I have grown accustomed to it.”

  The next sound Bob heard was, “Penthouse, Mrs. Dillington,” which came out of nowhere. Robert had no idea what to expect.

  As Robert and Amanda exited the elevator to her Penthouse, he was picturing what Dorothy must have felt when she entered OZ. Robert couldn’t speak. He was lost for words gazing through the skylight of the most spacious surroundings he could envision anyone living it. He was glad that the weather prediction for a sunny clear day was wrong as the rains continued to bounce off the skylight panels.

  “Can I give you a tour?” Amanda asked.

  Robert replied, “Yes, please. Please do.”

  “The flooring here in the foyer and living room is Jerusalem tile but a pain for the housekeeper to keep spotless. Off to either side leading into the dining room are ¾-inch walnut planks from the excess flooring from Joseph Napoleon Bonaparte’s home in Bordentown, New Jersey.”

  “Whew!” Robert exclaimed.

  “I still don’t really care for the old furniture in the dining room,” Amanda pointed out. “They are from Clarkson’s grandparents. All Chippendale, that’s why I mixed in other odds and ends. I didn’t want this to be a museum so Clarkson agreed and had presented me with various photographs by modernists furniture makers for my approval.”

  “I really love that dining room table and chairs myself. I could really handle everything that is here,” Robert said.

  “Some Bucks County artist that built JFK’s desk, built that years ago for Clarkson. I think his name was Whitley or Whitaker or something like that,” she remarked. “I’m trying to remember, but it’s slipped my mind. The ten cherry chairs are Philadelphia Chippendale.”

  “These gold chairs,” she added as she caressed one of them, “are from Salvatore Dali’s designs that I love. They break up the boredom of the old furniture.”

  Yet on the walls surrounding the dining room set were pop art works done by none other than Andy Warhol. Not reproductions mind you, but by his own hand. Like a child in a candy store, Robert was astonished at the luxury. No matter in which direction he looked, there was beauty that he never envisioned before. Magnificent artworks and gorgeous furniture in an enormous apartment with five bedrooms even though they had no children. All that Robert could think was that they must've entertained plenty of people who had either too much to drink or too many drugs to safely go home.

  Every room that Robert walked into had some type of significance to Amanda's deceased husband or from generations that preceded him. He could sense that Mandy was trying to put her touches to this gorgeous apartment to make her feel comfortable. But no matter how she tried, she was still living in the Dillingtons’ presence.

  Flashing through Robert’s mind numerous times was seeing how Amanda is living now and what he had done wrong all the years of his life to be nearly destitute.

  After floundering for many years with low paying acting roles and getting minimal advances to pay his rental, he received a call from Bill Spaulding, his agent, friend, confidant, and a prominent attorney.

  “What do you have for me, Bill? A good part, finally? Is it Les Miserable? Theater? Movies? Commercials? What?”

  William Aaron Spaulding from the Law firm of Calhoun, Spaulding, and Finegold replied, “No, nothing like that. But I might be able to get you out of this deep rut that you are in. Do you know how much I have advanced you over the past few years? It's payback time. Can you meet me at the Palm restaurant on Broad Street this afternoon for lunch?” Bill asked. “Sure. Give me directions and I’ll be there,” stated Robert.

  “Now sit down while I explain,” said Bill. “I’ve been branching out into other fields since this Broadway crap and movies is for the birds. My clients seldom do well, as you perfectly know. You are not alone. Everybody wants to make it big in theater and movies and there are a million dreamers out there like you waiting for the big break. Then, there is the reality when you finally have to wake up and say to yourself that you've been lying to yourself. I've been handling some choice estates and I thought with your education and acting experience you might want to get a fresh start and a place for yourself in life.”

  “What in the world are you talking about?” Bob inquired.

  “Simply this. I represent an elderly widow who is childless and in need of someone to help her with her day-to-day responsibilities. Someone to bring her the newspaper. Someone to hire a groundskeeper for her luxurious estate. Someone to watch over her. She is a lovely lady, however, life's daily tasks are getting too much for her. She needs someone to write out her checks and see that her house is kept up. Someone like the son that she never had. Is that clear? “

  “You want me to be a babysitter?” Bob said.

  “Yes, if necessary, and a companion. If you get the job it will pay you $750.00 a week clear plus a beautiful apartment on the property and the use of a car. All your food and clothing will be provided for you by the estate and all of your utilities included. Now tell me what have you been offered that is better in the past ten years?”

  Bob was speechless. For one thing, he did not have any money at all. For the past several months he's been sleeping in a friend's filthy apartment. He owed his friend. He owed all his friends. But more than anyone he owed Bill. Bill had represented Bob for nearly ten years, getting him worthless parts where there were none at all for one whose ability was at the lower part of the scale as was Bob’s. He knew it and Bill’s reality check struck home.

  “OK, I'll take the job.” Bob responded.

  Bill stopped him in his footsteps. "Not so quick. There's more to it than just accepting this position. I have a fiduciary
responsibility to my client to advertise for the position and thoroughly check out those that apply to be certain that person has impeccable credentials and has proven to be responsible and caring. I am positive that there will be many applicants for such a sought-after position. I will interview those that apply and I will advise her on the one that I think is the most qualified, however, since I’ve known you so well for decades, I may recommend to my client that she place you in her employ.”

  “What do you mean you may recommend your client to hire me? I thought that's what you wanted me to do to start with.” Bob was now raising his voice.

  “Well Bob, there is still this: Mrs. Moore has been diagnosed with a brain tumor. She might not last too long. A close friend is important to her now, especially one who looks after her every need. She has an estate worth millions of dollars which includes rare furnishings, artworks and a few antique automobiles. I believe that with my orchestration and you playing the role of your lifetime, I may be able to get you placed in the estate leaving you a sizable sum whenever she passes on. As I told you she has no children and very few relatives, none of whom have ever offered her any acts of kindness or compassion,” he continued. “You owe me quite a tidy sum if I added up all those years helping you financially through one trying time after another. Years ago when I originally signed to represent you we had agreed that all sums advanced to you and all costs that I incurred were not only due back in full but additionally giving me a one-third percentage of your future income. I will request now that you sign a personal contract with me reaffirming everything and giving me one-third of your net worth in cash to pay me back when you are in a financial position to do so. This way whenever Mrs. Moore expires, whether it is next year or several years from now, should you be the beneficiary, whether partial or sole, you will owe me one third in cash immediately. No hesitations! No excuses. Do you realize what that can amount to for you? By the way, if she approves of you, I want you to give me the antique cars as a bonus for all that I have and am doing for you. Is it a deal?”

  Bob sat there absorbing everything that his dearest friend Bill was saying and then he queried, “How long might she live and would I be assured of a job if she lives many years? How would I know if I was placed in her will?”

  Bill assured him that if he does his job well, he would do everything to influence Mrs. Moore to agree. Then Bill reached into his pocket and handed Bob $500.00 in hundred- dollar bills with the instructions to buy a new suit, shirts, and shoes.

  “Look clean and respectable and shave that 5-day growth. Get a close haircut.”

  That was enough for Bob to shake hands with his agent-attorney and to confirm, “Yes, we have a deal.”

  Chapter 2

  Walking through Center City, Robert passed a few boutique eateries that had recently opened but would probably close within three years. He came across an impressive men’s clothing store that was housed beautifully within the confines of an early twentieth century bank. As he entered the hallowed halls of yesteryear’s luxurious bank his eyes immediately focused on a magnificent center hall marble staircase reminiscent of the staircase from Gone With the Wind’, replete with intricately designed balusters and handrails leading to a second-floor shop.

  “Can I help you, sir?” a cordial diminutive salesman asked Bob, who replied that he wished to find a nice suit and shirt. “Please walk with me.” As they ascended the staircase, Bob was wondering how much the clothes cost here. He was soon to find out.

  The salesman showed him several suits. “You look to be a size 42 regular. Am I correct?”

  “I've been 175 pounds for most of my adult life and my last suit was a size 42.” Bob looked for the price on the reverse side of the tag attached to the end of the sleeve. “Honestly, I cannot afford this. I have $500.00 to purchase a suit, tie, shirt and shoes.”

  The salesman seemed surprised at Bob’s honesty. He was probably used to hearing other excuses. “We can get you a line of credit if you so desire since it seems like you like this suit.” The salesman held the jacket open for Bob to try on. Looking in the mirror Bob smiled.

  “Let me try on the pants to see how everything looks.”

  The salesman looked pleased.

  Standing at 6’ 1” with his black hair pulled back into a short ponytail that would soon disappear, his brown eyes opened wide, Robert liked the vision of his new self, dressed in a dark blue suit with a white shirt with blue pinstripes and a button-down collar with a red tie. “Let's do it!”

  “Not until our finest tailor makes sure that this fit is perfect. No one is better than Charles. He has been with our company for 35 years.”

  “I was going to ask you which side you dress on, Mr. Snyder, however, I can see quite well that it is on your left,” Charles, the baldheaded master tailor stated.

  The salesman escorted Bob to the first floor to fill out a basic bank credit application. Since Bob never had a loan nor had any steady income to show, it proved fruitless to get the bank to approve it. However, since he had nearly 50% to put down, the company agreed to approve the loan in-house with a repayment plan over six months. Bob was told that his suit would be ready to pick up the following morning as a special favor to him by his salesman. Next, to get a haircut from a barber and not at his own hand.

  The weather was bright and sunny so Bob leisurely walked around Center City looking for a franchise hair cutting establishment since their prices were usually lower than most. He stopped by a vendor’s cart and got a hot dog with sauerkraut that he covered heavily in mustard. As everyone does, he kept enjoying his sandwich while entering ‘Cutz for U’. Less than 25 minutes later Bob’s hair was professionally styled eliminating his ponytail and giving him a clean looking appearance. Bob actually liked what was happening.

  The following day Bob tried on his new suit, shirt and tie and everything fit to his delight. He handed over the remainder of his $500.00 after signing the loan documents and was bid farewell by both the salesman and Charles the tailor.

  ***

  “Get today’s Inquirer and open up the classified section. Then call the phone number in the advertisement immediately and state that you are applying for the job that is advertised,” were Bill Spaulding’s instructions. “This has to appear totally proper. My new secretary has already received four inquiries.”

  ***

  “Good afternoon. This is Robert Snyder. I'm applying for the position that you are offering in the Philadelphia Inquirer. I certainly have the credentials for such a position and I would like to make an appointment with whoever is handling this position.”

  “Mr. Spaulding is interviewing this week for the position. When would you like to come in Mr. Snyder? I can see if Mr. Spaulding has an opening,” Darlene the secretary spoke.

  “Please tell me the most convenient time for Mr. Spaulding, as my schedule is totally flexible,” Bob responded.

  “Tomorrow at 2 o’clock is definitely open if that works for you, Mr. Snyder?”

  “Count on me being there promptly at 2 pm.” She gave him the directions to the building and his office suite number not realizing that he had been there previously.

  ***

  Bill Spaulding sat at his desk with his feet up, reclining in his high-back leather chair as Robert entered. “Sit down,” he commanded and without hesitation, Robert pulled up one of the three chairs in front of Bill’s spacious mahogany desk with each leg emblazoned with gold appearing appliqués.

  “Is the job mine?”

  “You certainly look like a different person. Not the one that I remember in our decades of friendship.” Bill continued, “You are the fourth person to apply in person for the position and I'm glad to tell you that I wholeheartedly have recommended you to Mrs. J.P. Moore. I will personally drive you to her estate in the Gladwyne suburbs this Saturday be here at my office at 10 a.m. since I've arranged a personal interview at 11 AM. Any questions?”

  “Thank you, Bill. I will be early. Should I follow you with my
car so that I can leave from there?” Robert asked.

  “No, we will take my car since we will have to discuss things further or our return if she likes you,” replied Bill.

  ***

  Saturday came and Bill pressed a button and told his secretary to have his car brought to the front door of the building.”

  “Which car Mr. Spaulding?”

  “The sedan,” he quipped. “I wish that Selma was still here. I can’t deal with breaking in a new secretary.” Bill appeared upset that his former secretary had been diagnosed with her second bout of breast cancer and was receiving multiple treatments which weakened her too much to come into work.

  Bill’s desk phone rang from the garage. “Which black sedan Mr. Spaulding?”

  “My Goddam Mercedes!” he screamed.

  Both Bill Spaulding and Robert took the elevator down to the ground floor and his car was waiting with the porter holding open the driver’s door for Attorney William Spaulding.

  “Good afternoon, Henry,” Bill acknowledged the porter.

  “Good afternoon to you, Mr. Spaulding. I hope that you have a wonderful day.” As Bill seated himself, the porter closed the door.

  “Take this,” Bill handed Robert the printout directions from Center City. “These are AAA directions to Mrs. Moore’s for the future if she approves of you. Take Benjamin Parkway, Kelly Drive and I-76 West to Harrow Lane in Upper Kellington Township. Take exit 337 from Interstate 76 West. Take exit 337 towards Gladwyne. Twenty-six minutes and 11.9 miles.”

  On the way there, Bill gave Robert some background information on Mrs. Jacquelin Phyllis Moore. “She was the hostess of hostesses constantly having parities at their estate ‘Hampton Court’ until her husband died three years ago. She had a fall and broke her right hip which never healed properly even after two operations. She is 80 years old, mentally bright and mobile most of the time but when she gets stressed or tired she uses a cane or even her wheelchair. For several months after her surgery, I arranged to have a retired nurse there to help her continue to do the physical therapy that her orthopedic surgeon had recommended since she was lax in doing it herself. She has a housekeeper, Stasha, who barely speaks English but comes in a several days a week to keep the house neat and also will take care of your apartment. The nurse is no longer there since Mrs. Moore wasn’t improving and refused any additional P.T. Any questions?”