Steve nodded.
“Now come on, man,” said Martin, grabbing Steve’s shoulder. “This cold ain’t too good for an old man. Let’s get moving!”
“You’re not that old,” said Steve as they turned to go.
“I wasn’t talking about me!” Martin laughed.
They each took a last glance at the happy scene below, before leaving to head south down Fifth Avenue.
Chapter 25
The two men arrived at Veronica’s office at 1:10 in the afternoon. They had stopped and lingered over a lunch of warm falafels, putting a plan together that did not involve Veronica dismissing them again.
“Well,” said Steve, “this is the place.”
He stared up at the building. It was over 30 stories high, with the gray sheen and gargoyles common in many of the older buildings in Manhattan. Martin stared up as well.
“What does she do, again?” he asked.
“No idea. Her sister gave me her work address and phone number—didn’t think to ask about her career choices.”
They walked through the rotating glass door. The high walls of the lobby were cultured white marble. The massive art deco columns flanking those walls stretched more than 20 feet up, where they met a cream-colored ceiling. Ornate crown molding that looked to be at least a foot thick provided an elegant frame for it all. In the middle of the lobby, behind the security desk, were four gold-plated elevators.
“Wow,” said Martin.
“Yeah, nice place.”
They walked across the lobby toward the elevators. A yawning security guard greeted them before they reached the desk.
“May I help you, gentleman?” he asked, putting down the April issue of Maximum Handgunner magazine and straightening in his desk chair. His question was professional, but the tone was clearly annoyed.
“Yes,” said Steve. “We’re here to see Veronica Ryder.”
“’Kay. What company is she with?” he asked, reaching toward his phone.
“Umm, right, well—,”
Martin jumped in.
“We’re old friends of hers, from out of town.”
“That’s fine,” said the guard. “But I still gotta tell her you’re here. She can give me the green light to send you up, or she can come down to see you. What company?”
“We don’t know that. Can’t you use her name?”
The security guard shook his head, snorting.
“Look pal,” he said, jerking his thumb toward the elevators. “There are 22 companies in this building, with close to 900 people. I got their names and I got their numbers in here, but I gotta have a company name first.”
“Wait,” said Martin. “We have her phone number. Will that work?”
“If you’ve got her phone number, why aren’t you calling her yourself?”
“It’s complicated,” said Martin. “We want to surprise her—she’s not expecting us.”
“Well, I still gotta get her to vouch for you,” said the guard.
“Yeah, not a problem,” said Steve. He handed Veronica’s number to the guard. “Look, here’s her number. Can you just tell her Steve Connor is here to surprise her? Tell her I want to discuss the “Say Goodbye to Me” letter.”
The guard looked skeptical.
“What?” he asked, snickering. “She dump you or sumthin’?”
“Just help us out, please,” said Martin. “All we want to do is to get back in touch with an old friend.”
“And you are?” asked the guard.
“Martin Abingdon.”
The guard shook his head, but picked up the phone and dialed Veronica’s number. Steve slid closer, hoping to overhear.
“Hello, Ms. Ryder? Yes ma’am, this is Officer Roth, building security. Ma’am, I have two gentlemen here in the lobby who say they are old friends of yours — Steve Connor and Martin Abingdon. Mr. Connor says he wants to tell you about the “Say Goodbye to Me” letter?”
Officer Roth looked up at Steve. Steve nodded. He strained to listen in, but couldn’t hear anything from Veronica’s end of the phone.
“Yes ma’am,” said Officer Roth, nodding. He stared at Steve and Martin. “No ma’am, I don’t believe so.”
Another pause, and Roth listened intently to Veronica on the other end.
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.”
He hung up the phone.
Steve looked at Martin and shook his head.
“She said she’d be right down,” said Officer Roth, smiling. “And here’s a warning fellas. My old lady, she don’t like surprises. And judging by the tone, I am guessing Ms. Ryder is the same way.”
“Thank you, Officer Roth,” said Martin. “We’ll wait over here.” He pulled Steve away from the desk and toward the closest of the columns.
“Okay, brother. We made it through the first hurdle. Now, we gotta get her to believe we are legit long enough to hear us out.”
“What do you suggest?” Steve asked.
“I think we keep it short and simple,” said Martin. “Just tell her what we know, see what she knows. Oh, and I don’t think we should mention the preacher until we see how she reacts to the rest of our story. That stuff is all still a bit blurry, and I don’t think it’ll help our case.”
“Agreed,” Steve said.
They waited and watched. Several people came in and out of the lobby. Most flashed badges as they approached the security desk. Officer Roth waved or nodded them through. Several women came off the elevators, but most didn’t even glance in their direction. Officer Roth watched each one with interest as well, clearly not wanting to miss the “reunion.” Tense minutes passed.
“I guess we have no idea what she looks like,” muttered Martin.
“Well, we have her mother’s obit picture. Maybe there’s a family resemblance,” Steve offered.
“Probably. And judging from the phone calls we’ve made to her today, she’s gonna looked pissed,” said Martin.
“So, no worries,” said Steve. “How many pissed-off women can there be in one office building in New York City in one day?”
“Sounds like the set-up to a bad joke.”
When she got off the elevator, there was no question whether or not they were looking at Veronica. She strode into the lobby and made a beeline in their direction, staring at them the entire time. Short, spiky hair framed her face. A knee-length skirt and cream-colored blouse covered by an open suit jacket tastefully accentuated her compact, fit frame. Her skin was tan, and her face had the self-assurance of someone used to calling the shots. As she passed the guard station, heading directly for Martin and Steve, Officer Roth shot up.
“Ms. Ryder?” he said. “That’s them.” He pointed to Martin and Steve.
“Thank you, Officer,” she replied, without looking back. “I’ll handle it from here.”
Officer Roth moved out from behind the guard station, remaining a respectful distance away, but well within earshot. She sized them both up and addressed them both at once.
“Who the hell are you, and what the hell do you want?” she asked calmly, but with clear power.
“Veronica, I’m Steve. Steve Connor. We spoke on the phone.”
“Yes. And I believe I told you then to leave me alone.”
“Yes, you did,” said Martin. “But we need to talk to you.”
“And you are?”
“Martin Abingdon,” he replied, extending a hand in greeting. Veronica stared at him but she did not accept his hand.
“Look, Veronica,” said Steve, “we need to talk to you about your mother and how she died.”
“Why?”
“It’s a long story, but Martin’s daughter died, my wife died and these deaths are all related. We’ve got something in common. Someone is manipulating all of us through these letters.”
He waived the letter from Say Goodbye to Me in front of her. She took it and skimmed it.
“Ma’am,” interrupted Officer Roth from behind her. “Do I need to have these gentlemen removed from
the premises?”
She waived him off silently with a hand, already engrossed in Steve’s letter. She handed it back.
“Look, Steve, Martin, I wasn’t born yesterday. Hell, I wasn’t born last week! I’ve been in advertising long enough to know a scam when I see one. I don’t know if you are running it or were a victim of it, but either way I can’t help you. Good day.”
She turned on a heel and walked back toward the elevators. Steve and Martin followed.
“Wait, Veronica,” said Martin, “just give us 10 minutes to explain. You’ll understand. Did you send the letter? Didn’t your mother respond?”
Veronica continued walking until she reached the elevators. Steve followed her and made it to the security desk, before Officer Roth put his arm out in front of them.
“End of the line gentlemen. Please leave, now.” His tone left little room for debate.
Veronica stared at the gauge above the elevators, trying to guess which would arrive first.
“Veronica!” Steve yelled. “Have you seen a preacher yet?”
Veronica gave no response. But Officer Roth replied. “I said now, gentleman!”
Martin saw that Roth’s free hand was unbuckling the Taser on his belt.
“Steve,” said Martin urgently, “drop it. We’ll figure out something else.”
Veronica’s elevator arrived and she walked toward it. As she entered, Steve tried one last gamble.
“Your mother was SCUBA diving, not at some resort like you told your family and everybody else!”
The words came fast.
“You lied to Louise. She was SCUBA diving when she died, not at the hotel!”
“That’s it!” roared Roth. “Out now, before I zap your ass to the Jersey Shore!” Roth grabbed Steve’s shoulder roughly.
Veronica came back out of the elevator and looked at Steve.
“Wait!” she yelled. A surprised Roth turned and looked at her.
“How did you know that?” asked Veronica.
Martin thought she looked more than a little scared. “Because Veronica, the same kind of thing has happened to both of us. We’re trying to figure out why and we need your help.”
Hands on hips, she looked them both up and down once more. In her fierce gaze, they were bugs under a microscope.
“Come with me.” It wasn’t a request. She walked back to the elevators.
“Ma’am,” said Officer Roth. “With all due respect, I don’t think it’d be wise.”
“Thank you, Officer. I appreciate your concern, but this is no longer a security matter.”
“But ma’am. . .”
“Officer Roth, is it?” she asked, as Steve and Martin joined her.
“Yes ma’am.”
“I appreciate your assistance, but I’ll take it from here.”
“Yes ma’am.”
Veronica entered the elevator. Martin and Steve followed her.
Roth returned to the security desk.
“That’s bullshit.”
Chapter 26
The elevator ride up was silent. The three of them were alone, but Veronica refused to turn and engage them in conversation. For the duration of the ride, she stared straight ahead at the closed golden doors. Steve and Martin shared a mutual shrug, but otherwise kept to themselves.When the doors opened up on the 22nd floor, they saw a sign on the wall announcing that they were in the bustling lobby of Lippman Advertising.
“This way, please,” said Veronica, deftly crossing the lobby with purposeful strides and turning left into a hallway behind the receptionist’s desk. She did not turn to see if they followed.
Steve and Martin hurried to keep up with her quick strides. Deep purple carpet accentuated the cranberry- colored walls. Bright, white-trimmed open doorways led to large, airy workspaces. They passed workstations of bright polished-steel and glass furniture. Steve noted the stark contrast to the throwback art deco of the lobby and elevator. The building itself was stable, but old and tired. This office was vibrant, colorful and practically humming with radiant energy.
Veronica continued to lead them through the office and turned left again at a row of glass-front offices that bordered the outside wall of the building. They passed several until they came to hers. Veronica Ryder, Manager, New Media Division was etched on the glass next to her door. She opened that door and waited for them to pass through, gesturing to a small glass and wrought-iron conference table. As they sat, she closed and locked the door. Moving with deliberation to her desk, she set her phone to Do Not Disturb, then took her purse out of her bottom drawer. It held her HK45 compact semi-automatic, not her favorite gun, but it was accurate enough at close range and easy to fit in a handbag. She reached in and removed the gun, turning the safety off. Rather than joining them at the table, she leaned up against the front of the desk, crossed her arms and held the gun in an easy grip.
“Now,” she said, “forgive my abruptness, but I’ll have to ask you again. Who the hell are you two, how do you know me and how do you know about my mother? Do not move toward me in any manner that might cause me to act in self-defense.”
She wiggled the gun in her hand. “Are we clear?”
Steve and Martin nodded. “Do you want us to put our hands up on the table or something?” Martin asked.
“Jesus, no!” Veronica snapped. “I am not arresting you. Just answer my questions or be on your way!”
Martin looked at Steve. “May I?” he asked.
“Be my guest.”
“Veronica, my name is Martin Abingdon. I am a 54-year-old pharmacist from Suffolk, VA. My daughter, Maggie, died a little over two months ago. She was a college student. She overdosed, accidentally, and passed away. About six weeks ago, Steve’s wife died. She was killed in a car accident. And in January, your mother died while she was SCUBA diving in Mexico, right?”
Veronica nodded.
“Was the SCUBA diving a secret?” Steve interrupted.
“I knew it, the police and coroner in Cozumel knew it. But that wasn’t public knowledge here or at home. So, how did you know it?”
Martin deflected the question.
“Did you recently get a letter, or a message, from a place called Say Goodbye to Me?’
“Yes,” she replied. “I got an email. It looked like spam, so I deleted it.”
“Yeah,” Steve said, “we thought the same thing.”
“Only it wasn’t,” said Martin. “We both responded to it.”
“Why?” asked Veronica. “If you thought it was trash, why would you respond?”
Steve said nothing, but Martin replied for them both.
“Because we were lonely,” said Martin. “Like that letter said, we were robbed of a chance to even say goodbye. Didn’t you feel the same way?”
Veronica stared into his eyes, trying to gauge his honesty.
“Continue,” she said.
“Well, we both got a response. And not some generic response, either. This was heavy stuff. My daughter talked to me through my HAM radio. I swear to God it was her voice, and she spoke to me about the letter I sent, including things that no one else would know.”
He then recounted his story of the Snugglebug nickname. As he spoke, Steve studied Veronica. It was impossible for him to tell what she was thinking. Her body language and the easy grip she had on her gun told him that she was skeptical and agitated. Yet, she had brought them up to her office, so they were at least making progress.
Finished, Martin turned to Steve. “And Steve here has solid evidence. Show her Steve.”
“I don’t know about ‘solid,’ but this is a letter I got. It looks like Julie’s—my wife’s—handwriting.” He slowly slid the letter out of his pocket.
“Careful,” said Veronica.
Steve leaned smoothly across the table to hand her the letter. She leaned forward to take it and then moved back, popping it open. As she read, Steve explained.
“It’s similar to Martin’s experience; it’s like that letter is responding directly
to the one I sent. And do you see that part near the end about walking ‘hand in hand’?”
Veronica nodded. “Yeah, that’s from a song, isn’t it?”
“You got it. It’s a line from a Sex ‘N Cigs song, one that had a lot of meaning between my wife and me. Nobody else knew that, except Julie.”
On Tenterhooks Page 12