The Trouble With Murder

by Catherine Nelson

  When I finally broke free, I knew I never wanted to go back. But after bouncing around from one minimum wage job to the next, I’d finally taken a position with a small, local company working for Mark White. I liked this job, and I did good work, but I couldn’t let myself get drawn in. Accepting White’s promotion would have put me a step closer to a life I didn’t want.

  Paige’s door was closed, but I could tell the windows were open; he was in. Paige rarely made appointments so early. Actually, Paige rarely made appointments. Appointments mean work. White is one of the only people Paige meets with.

  As I turned into my office, glancing at the messages, I wondered if White was meeting with Paige now.

  I had three messages. Two of them were from residents in Elizabeth Tower. They both expressed concern regarding the safety of the building.

  The building had been wired for exceptional security when it had been for senior living; the cameras and other security measures still in place. The only pieces of equipment currently being used were the three-dozen security cameras. The controlled access doors had been disabled, along with the rest. After Stacy was stabbed, it had crossed my mind the people living in the building would be upset. I’d even considered the idea of posting a security guard, if only for temporary measure. I didn’t foresee the attacker making a return visit, but there would be no explaining that to hysterical and terrified college kids. Or to their parents.

  I returned to my desk and scrolled through my address book until I found the number for a commercial security company we’d used in the past. I called and set an appointment for noon.

  I had accepted that my nine o’clock had stood me up when I heard the front door. Just in case it was him after all, I went and poked my head out of my office. A woman in her late twenties trailing two children under five spoke briefly to Sandra then another agent came to greet them, leading them down the hall into an office.

  Sandra saw me standing in the doorway.

  “She’s the first person to come in all morning,” she said.

  I nodded and turned away, then stopped.

  “You said there was a man in the lobby this morning,” I said. “When I called.”

  “Oh, that,” she said, waving a hand dismissively. “That was a cop. He doesn’t count.”

  The most frightening part of that statement was that I followed her logic.

  “What did the cop want?”

  She shrugged. “Asked to see Barry. He was here quite a while.”

  “Who? Did you get a name?”

  “Uh, something with an E I think . . . uh . . .”

  “Ellmann,” I said softly to myself.

  She snapped her fingers. “Yep, that’s it. Ellmann.”

  3

  After concluding a showing, I grabbed lunch and took it back to the office. My concentration had been divided all morning. I couldn’t stop thinking about Ellmann dropping by to see Paige.

  Why was Ellmann meeting with Paige? I assumed it had something to do with Stacy’s assault. Why wasn’t he addressing his needs with me? I was the site manager. It had been me she was meeting. I’d been something of a witness. Paige hadn’t been there. What could he know of it? He knows so little of anything at all.

  These thoughts continued to pester me as I munched a salad and sipped coffee. Then a face appeared in my open door.

  “There’s no one at the desk,” the man said apologetically.

  So typical for Sandra to walk away without telling anyone.

  “I’m sorry about that,” I said, standing and walking around the desk. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m here to see Zoe Grey.”

  “That’s me.”

  The man was around thirty, over six feet tall, and obviously fit. He was dressed in well-fitting blue jeans, black boots, and a black polo shirt with a company logo embroidered on it. His brown hair was neatly cut and carefully styled with gel. His blue eyes sparkled with a hint of amusement, as if he knew something the rest of us didn’t. He was clean-shaven, and his features indicated his Italian ancestry.

  He smiled as he offered me his hand.

  “Joe Pezzani. I’m from Wolf Security Concepts.”

  “Great, thanks for coming. Please, have a seat.”

  I thought I saw his nose twitch slightly, though he refrained from comment. Maybe I needed to ride around for a while without the helmet, let my hair air out some.

  I went back around the desk and set the salad aside. He lowered his long frame into a chair opposite me and smiled again. I picked up a pamphlet on Elizabeth Tower and passed it to him.

  “Last night there was an assault in the lobby of that building,” I began. “There have been concerns from the residents about their safety. I’d like to post a guard in the building after dark for a few days, maybe a week, to appease them. I don’t want them to be afraid in their own homes.”

  He was listening, nodding, glancing through the information on the pamphlet.

  “You sound like you think it’s a wasted gesture.”

  “I don’t think it’s a waste if it makes them feel safe.”

  “But you don’t think a threat exists.”

  I leaned back in my chair and re-crossed my legs. “No, I don’t. I believe last night’s assault was an isolated incident. I’d be very surprised if anything like it ever happened again. But that isn’t what’s important.”

  “It’s a big building,” he said. “Lots of people in and out. What sort of security do you have in place?”

  “The building is fully equipped. The only piece we’re currently using is the cameras. I don’t think it’s important to control traffic. I’d just like there to be a presence.”

  He nodded. “Okay, no problem.” He set the pamphlet on the desk and reached for the briefcase he carried, withdrawing a small packet. “It gets dark around eight these days, light around six. Would you like to start with two days? Three? The whole week?”

  “Let’s do a week, and make it six to six. There’s a high level of activity in the evenings, and it would be good for the guard to be noticed.”

  “Sure.” He was filling out the top form quickly, with familiarity.

  Through the open doorway, I heard another door open followed by two sets of footsteps: one purposeful, one hurried. Paige’s office door. He’d been in another meeting when I’d returned to the office. With two meetings, this was shaping up to be a busy day for him.

  “Let me take care of this,” Paige pleaded. “It’s been a long time coming anyway, and now this.”

  Mark White strode by, Paige on his heels like a yapping lap dog.

  Paige shook the paperwork clutched in his hand, but the CEO wasn’t looking at him or it.

  “I told you,” White said with a ring of finality, “I’ll handle it. I’ll let you know when I’ve made a decision.”

  White blew through the front door, slamming it shut behind him, probably before Paige could follow.

  Pezzani looked at me, eyebrows raised. “Someone’s not happy,” he said as he turned back to his writing.

  No, I thought, but Paige doesn’t handle it well when he doesn’t get his way.

  “All right,” Pezzani said, sitting forward. “I’ll set this up for three people to do twelve-hour shifts for seven days, starting tonight. One will work three nights; the other two will do two apiece. This will provide them some familiarity with the building and the residents. If you’d like to extend the service, I’ll assign the same guys, for that purpose. Sound about right?”

  “Sounds gr—”

  Paige stomped down the hall and into my office, oblivious to Pezzani. He shook the same documents he’d tried to show White at me then threw them down on my desk. I wasn’t having a real great day anyway, but fighting with Paige always makes for a shitty one.

  “Oh, come on,” I hissed as I pushed away from the desk, paper raining from my lap to the floor.

  Where was the professionalism? Professionalism seems to have died out with my mother’s generat
ion. Personally, I find this sad, and irritating.

  Paige is egotistical and pompous and belligerent on his best days, and in such a hurry to climb the ladder he doesn’t care who he steps on. He doesn’t care about doing good work or doing the right thing; he cares about how everyone else’s work makes him look. Naturally, we’d butted heads from the get-go. On top of it all, Paige is a jerk. But I believe it’s possible to be all of that and professional.

  I looked at Paige. He was practically vibrating he was so excited. That is always bad.

  “Know what that is?” he sang, as happy as a kid on Christmas morning.

  “Why don’t you tell me?”

  A disgusting, satisfied smile split Paige’s weasel-like face.

  Another bad sign.

  “I’ve been waiting for months for some reason, any reason, but this is better than anything I could have dreamed.” He smiled wider. “You’re fired.”

  Yep, bad.

  Probably this was a mess that could be sorted out. But I pretty much thought this would officially flush my day down the crapper. I could always count on Paige for that.

  “Excuse me?” I said.

  Pezzani slipped the documents he’d been holding into his briefcase and stood. He watched both Paige and me closely. I wondered what he saw.

  “You are a constant pain in my ass,” Paige said. “You always argue with me and think you know better than me. I know you’re after my job.”

  Pretty much everyone knows better than Paige, five-year-olds included. Case in point, I don’t want Paige’s job.

  “The good news is I finally got something on you! Not even White can turn his back on it.”

  “And that would be?” I asked.

  “You falsified documents and stole twenty thousand dollars from this company! I can finally fire you!”

  “Wait a minute!” I shot back. Now I seemed to forget Pezzani’s presence. Leaning over my desk, I pointed an angry index finger directly at Paige’s nose. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. I didn’t steal anything. Sure, I hate working for you, but I was perfectly content making you miserable by showing you up. What would I gain by stealing from White? Stealing isn’t my speed.” Not anymore.

  “What about the evidence that says otherwise? You gonna try to tell me it’s all a lie?” he demanded, waving an angry hand over the desk, indicating the papers he’d thrown at me.

  “Yeah!” I answered. “I haven’t stolen so much as a paperclip from this company.”

  Actually, that isn’t true. I’ve borrowed several items from the office, including paperclips, staples, sticky notes, the occasional highlighter, and once or twice I’ve used company resources to look up background on people I wasn’t planning to lease anything to. What I hadn’t done, however, was embezzle twenty thousand dollars. I can’t even remember what twenty thousand dollars looks like. Had it been me who’d figured out a way to embezzle money, I would never have made it to twenty thousand. I’d have stopped at five, maybe ten. That would have been more money than I’d had in years; it would have bought a lot of shoes. I would have taken it and split. The very fact I kept showing up everyday was evidence I had done nothing of the sort. Idiot.

  Paige walked around the desk and, at my height, came practically nose-to-nose with me. His pinched features were distorted with joy, a happy twinkle in his eyes.

  “I didn’t like you from the beginning,” he hissed. His breath was rancid and hot on my cheeks. It was hard to resist the urge to step away from him. “You’re nothing but a spoiled brat who throws a temper tantrum every time you don’t get your way.”

  I temporarily lost control of my thoughts, enjoying a moment of blissful insanity. I saw myself slug Paige. I saw his eyes roll back in his head and him drop to the floor like a sack of potatoes, out cold. Through a colossal exertion of will power, however, I managed to keep my hands to myself.

  Pezzani easily wedged himself between Paige and me.

  “Why don’t we take a walk?” he said.

  With unexpected speed and agility, he reached under the desk and grabbed my bag, then closed his huge hand around my upper arm. He began steering me around the desk and down the hall. I attempted twice to free myself, my attention still on Paige. Fire burned inside me as the look of satisfaction spread deeper into Paige’s face.

  “We’ll finish this later,” I said.

  Paige just laughed.

  Pezzani had me out of the building and in the parking lot before I even registered a change of scenery.

  “Let me go,” I snapped, jerking my arm. His grip held firm.

  “Not until I’m sure you won’t go—” The rest came out in an anguished whoosh.

  In a move similar to the one I’d used last night with the masked assailant, I applied a small amount of pressure to Pezzani’s diaphragm, doubling him over and causing him to immediately release his grip on me. I snatched up my bag and slung it over a shoulder. I was shaking with adrenaline and anger.

  Pezzani leaned forward, his hands on his knees, and sucked in air. After a long moment, he forced himself upright, rubbing at his diaphragm. There were tears in his eyes when he looked at me.

  “Your thank-yous suck,” he said.

  “Hilarious. You shouldn’t have interfered.”

  “Oh, yeah, sure. It would have been better to knock the guy out.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Please. I saw the way you were looking at him.”

  When had I become so transparent?

  “Still, it was none of your business.”

  “He would have jumped at the chance to press charges. Ever spent a night in jail?”

  Yes. I was not interested in a repeat stay. But that was not the point.

  I rolled my eyes and turned away from him. As I did, something caught my attention. Framed in one of the office windows, Sandra York was watching Pezzani and me outside. Our eyes met briefly, and a look very much like a sneer contorted her face. An instant later she turned away, looking pleased with herself.

  A thought occurred to me then, but it was so farfetched, so ridiculous, I dismissed it.

  “Let’s have those forms,” I said.

  “You just got fired.”

  “First, Paige doesn’t have the authority to fire me. Second, our deal was complete, aside from a signature, before he interrupted. I intend to sort this out, and I don’t want to lose a bunch of residents in the meantime.”

  “You’re asking me to lie,” he said, digging the documents out of his briefcase and handing them to me.

  “Oh, please. Don’t be so dramatic. I’m asking you to do the right thing.”

  I scribbled my name on the forms where indicated then handed them back. “I expect a guard in that building at six p.m. this evening.”

  “You’re bossy for being unemployed.”

  “You’re hysterical,” I said, digging the helmet out of my bag. “A word of advice: you shouldn’t manhandle people. It can be dangerous.” There was no sympathy or remorse in my voice.

  “You’re upset; I get it,” he said lightly, waving a dismissive hand in my direction. “You’ll thank me tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  _______________

  I sat at a table in the window of Dazbog Coffee on Harmony Road, sipping a frozen mocha. Dazbog is my favorite coffee place, and having been dragged out of my office before I’d finished my first cup, I could justify the indulgence.

  I’d calmed down considerably, but I was still plenty pissed. From the coffee shop, I’d called White. He hadn’t answered any of his numbers, and I’d left messages at all of them. More than my job status, my concern was White thinking I stole from him. I couldn’t imagine White would believe I’d embezzled from him, but I wanted to confirm.

  I took a drink then raised the phone. My mechanic should have gotten to the garage and seen my truck by now. But he hadn’t called me. I dialed his number and waited. I was irritated when the call dropped to voice
mail again. Obviously I didn’t quite have my temper under control just yet.

  Maybe it would be a good idea for me to burn off some steam. My thoughts returned instantly to the extra weight I’d criticized that morning. Briefly, I scowled at the perfectly blended coffee drink on the table in front of me, involuntarily envisioning it sliding down my throat and right to my backside. It seemed I could benefit from some physical activity in more than one way.

  I left the coffee shop and scooted over to 24 Hour Fitness. After the beefcake at the front desk gave me a detailed tour of the facility, I was set up with a woman in her thirties, who I guessed was blessed with natural slimness and was more concerned with her dyed blonde hair, tanned skin, and designer clothes than with exercise. And she’d definitely picked up on the Axe, which I could see didn’t help her opinion of me. We didn’t talk much while she took my information.

  Then I spent thirty terrible minutes sweating and panting on an elliptical machine. When I reached the point of either puking or crying, I hobbled back out to the scooter and decided to head home and finish packing. Tomorrow was moving day, and I still had quite a bit to box up. Sitting astride the Cushman, I used the collar of my new 24 Hour Fitness t-shirt to wipe away the sweat still running down my face and dialed Margaret Fischer, the leasing agent I was working with for my rental.

  “It’s Zoe Grey,” I said when she answered. “I wanted to make sure we’re still on for tomorrow.”

  I heard a couple pages shuffle, then she said, “Oh, yes. I’ve processed your application, so everything’s set as far as that goes. As we discussed, a security deposit of eight hundred dollars and the first and last month’s rent is all required up front.”

  “Or I could just sign over my first-born child,” I said.

  She didn’t reply.

  “How’s nine o’clock?” I asked.

  “Fine,” she said, a little coldly. “I’ll meet you at the property then.”

  I didn’t have keys yet. Fischer was unwilling to hand over the keys until I handed over a couple thousand dollars. I was unwilling to give her any money until I was sure the agreement would go through. We’d arranged to do the paperwork first and the key/money thing on the day of move-in.