“I suggest you go home and try to calm down,” a man’s voice said in a stern tone.
“Oh God, I wish I’d never said anything!” a woman replied, her high-pitched voice shaky.
“But you did. Now go home and don’t contact me again. Understand?”
The rush of feet down an aisle told Anne the woman was leaving. She rose, but the configuration of the booth prevented her from seeing who spoke. By the time she made her way out into the next aisle the bell over the door jingled lightly. The woman was gone.
She rounded another corner in the maze of aisles. To her right was a partially open door with a plaque on it that said, “Office.” Anne stopped to listen as the man was now obviously talking on the phone.
“Yes, that’s right, I’ll be taking over the business. I’m sure you’ll find the transactions much smoother… What do you mean? It’ll be business as usual, of course. We can double the shipments and as soon as these leases run out we can add more merchandise that’s ours alone… I’ll hire someone I trust to deal with customers and our commodities. Don’t worry, I’ve got this all figured out. We’ll be making more money than ever before. Now, I’m going to start taking inventory. I’ll be in touch.”
Anne whipped back around the corner when conversation ended, and then turned as the man exited the office. He stopped to stare.
“Oh, Mr. Harrison, how are you?”
“Mrs. Jamieson,” he replied with a wary glance around the aisle. “What are you doing here?”
“Just having a look around. I had forgotten Fran ran an antique store until yesterday when your sister-in-law mentioned it. I must say, there are some lovely items here at very reasonable prices,” she chattered.
“Yes, there are.” His facial expression bordered on glacial.
Anne looked up and down the aisle. “I have to admit, though, I’m a bit lost. These aisles remind me of a maze.”
“That was Fran’s idea to keep customers in the store longer. The longer they’re here, the more likely they are to buy.”
Almost like holding them for ransom until they did.
“Yes, I can understand that. Could you possibly steer me in the right direction to the counter?”
“Follow me. I was just on my way out.”
Anne trailed him through twists and turns until finally coming out near the front door.
“Thank you so much,” she said in what she hoped was a calm tone. Getting caught eavesdropping made her nervous.
“Are you leaving now?” he asked.
“In a moment, I want to just look at the jewelry. Please, don’t let me keep you.”
He nodded, and then looked at the clerk. “I have some errands to run, Miriam. Should be back by two o’clock.”
“Yes, sir.” The woman turned her attention back to Anne. “What can I show you? We have some lovely filigree rings, bracelets, and brooches in sterling silver and eighteen carat gold.”
“I’ll just look through the glass if I may.” She peered at several items on the top shelf. “What a lovely ring. Is that a real diamond?”
Miriam removed the ring and set it on a black velvet pad. “Yes. It’s small—only about a quarter-carat, but the workmanship is exquisite.”
Anne asked to see several items, and while the prices were high, the merchandise was first class. She requested a price on an Art Deco silver cuff bracelet. Two hundred dollars was a lot, but the symmetrical design done in marcasite made it hard to refuse. She offered a hundred and fifty.
“Well, this is a store owned item, so I really shouldn’t, but Mr. Harrison told me this morning that he wanted to move items, so I guess it’s all right.”
They dickered for several minutes before settling on a hundred and seventy-five. Ann flipped out her credit card.
“It was so sad about Mrs. Harrison,” she said as the clerk rang up the sale, wrapped the bracelet in tissue paper, and put it in a small bag. “Had you worked for her long?”
“About three years. She was exacting, but always dealt fairly with me.”
“Well, Fran believed in speaking her mind.”
“That she did,” Miriam replied in a dry tone. “I take it you knew her.”
“Yes, she and I go way back. I suppose Mr. Harrison will be taking over now.”
“That’s the impression I got, although today was the first day since his wife’s death that he’s been in.”
“He always struck me as kind of a cold, standoffish person.”
“To be honest, he was rarely in here unless a shipment of new merchandise had arrived. He’d stay in the back with the items to make sure they hadn’t suffered any damage during transport. He didn’t often say much other than hello.”
Anne looked at her watch. “I must be going. Oh, a little while ago, I saw a lady hurry out. I only glimpsed her from the back, but she looked like a friend of mine. Do you know who she was?”
“Can’t say that I do. She was in a couple of times to talk privately with Mrs. Harrison. I don’t know what they talked about, but the woman always left in a huff or on the verge of tears. I think she may have been a former vendor who felt the store owed her money.”
“I see. Well, thank you for your time. I’ll be back.”
Anne walked slowly to her car. The woman’s voice had sounded vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t pin it down. Or maybe I just think it sounded that way.
And her encounter with George had been uncomfortable. She suspected he knew she’d overheard his phone conversation and wasn’t too happy about it. He certainly isn’t shedding any tears over Fran today. Or maybe just trying to move on.
She was just sliding behind the steering wheel when her phone rang. Caller ID showed it was Rose.
“Hey, girl, what’s up?”
“I know this is short notice, but Nancy’s here and we wondered if you’d like to come by for lunch—nothing fancy, just sandwiches.”
“I can do that. I’ve also got those correspondence files I picked up at Fran’s in the car. “
“Oh, good. We were talking about the chapter and have some ideas for future meetings.”
“Would you like me to bring anything?”
“No, that’s all right. Come on over.”
Anne hung up and headed for Rose’s. Ten minutes later she pulled into the driveway behind Nancy’s car.
Nancy answered the door. “Rose is in the kitchen. How was your morning?”
“Very interesting,” she replied heading for the back of the house. Once there, she told them of her experience at Fran’s shop.
“Doesn’t appear you learned much of anything,” Nancy commented.
“Other than the fact Fran’s husband is taking over the business. Sounds as if Fran had him relegated to a minor role—you know, buying merchandise, unpacking it, that sort of thing,” Rose said.
She also told them about the anonymous note and e-mail along with her suspicions of the sender.
Rose snorted. “I can see Susan doing something like that.”
Nancy shook her head. “I don’t know. If she was going to threaten you even in a minor way, she’d do it to your face. Anonymity isn’t her style.”
“You could be right, but I can’t think of anyone else who’d be so threatening. Typical passive aggressive behavior—manipulate from a distance,” Anne replied.
They discussed chapter business over lunch, coming away with some good ideas. Anne closed the small notebook she carried everywhere and shoved it into her purse.
“I’m glad we had this little get together. Rose, I like your idea of holding a workshop after meetings. A simple hour-long interactive session would help new writers tremendously.”
“And the extra ten dollars a person won’t do the treasury any harm either, considering the circumstances,” Nancy added.
Rose opened her mouth to reply when her phone rang. She answered as she walked into the dining room.
“My God, is she going to be all right?” Several long seconds went past as Rose listened. “We
had no idea she’d react like this. I mean nobody knows why she resigned… Yes, I’ll tell Anne. Thanks, Ellie.”
“What was that all about?” Nancy asked.
“That was Ellie Campion. It seems Jane Whittaker tried to commit suicide.”
“What!” Anne and Nancy exclaimed simultaneously.
“Ellie had called about an hour or so earlier asking Jane for some things regarding the chapter. Jane told her she was out, but would be back by eleven. When Ellie got there the front door was ajar, so she walked in and found Jane on the kitchen floor with a bottle of pills of some sort scattered all over the floor.”
“Good God, I hope this hasn’t got anything to do with her resignation,” Anne said.
“Me, too.”
“How do they know it was suicide? She could have had a reaction to medication or something,” Nancy commented with a frown.
“According to Ellie, she left a note. Ellie said she called 9-1-1 immediately.”
“Lord above! What did Jane have that Ellie would need?” Nancy asked.
“I have no idea,” Anne replied. “Is Jane going to be all right?”
Rose nodded. “Ellie apparently got there not long after she took them.”
Anne shook her head. She knew Jane had been upset over the resignation and the irregularities in the books, but suicide? No one outside of the board knew the truth.
She followed Rose and Nancy back to the kitchen when a thought struck her. The woman’s voice, even thought high-pitched and clogged with unshed tears, in Fran’s store had sounded familiar.
Good God, could it have been Jane? And what had she said that caused her to be so sorry now? And why was George so cold and almost angry?
Rose’s eyebrows drew together. “I can’t believe it. “She didn’t do anything bad enough to warrant this.”
“Guilty conscience, maybe?” Nancy said.
Anne shook her head. “I’ll swing by the hospital on my way home,” Anne replied. “I feel just awful that my demand she resign could have led to this.”
Nancy waved her hand in dismissal. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. It’s not your fault.”
“I think I’ll give Ellie a call. See if she has any more details.” Anne pulled out her cell, scrolled down her directory, and then dialed. It rang three times before Ellie answered.
“Ellie, it’s Anne. I just heard about Jane. What the hell happened?”
“Oh, God, it was awful. I’d gone over to pick up some information about critique groups. She used to be in charge of them, remember?” Ellie gave her the same info Rose has passed along. “I could see she was alive, so I called 9-1-1. Hope you’re not upset that I called Rose and not you, but her name pops up in my directory first. I was kind of rattled,”
Anne jumped in when Ellie paused for breath. “Good grief, don’t worry about that. Did Jane say anything?”
“Not really. She was mumbling between moans. Something about secrets always get out and humiliation. Didn’t make much sense to me. I followed the ambulance to the hospital. She’s up in ICU.”
“Rose said something about a note?”
“It was on the island. Just said she was sorry for everything.”
“Thanks, Ellie. Don’t say anything about this to anyone else, okay? I’m sure Jane wouldn’t want to be the object of speculation from other chapter members.”
“My lips are sealed. Promise.”
“Are you still at the hospital?”
“No. Her husband and a couple of other people were there, so I came home.”
“I think I’ll stop by and try to see her.”
Anne hung up and relayed more of the story as per Ellie.
“Lord, what a turn of events,” Rose said.
“Wonder what kind of pills they were,” Nancy asked. “If they’d been sleeping pills, she’d have most likely been in the bedroom.”
Anne shuddered. “Well, whatever they were, they didn’t have much time to act. She may have gotten dizzy and fallen. The hospital’s not far out of my way. I’ll drop by on my way home.”
“If she’s in ICU, visitors will be restricted,” Rose replied. “Assuming, of course, she’s still in ICU. This happened several hours ago, so they pumped her stomach immediately. She may be in the psych ward under suicide watch or something.”
“I can almost guarantee she is and will be for at least three or four days,” Nancy replied. “Maybe released to a mental health facility for a few weeks after that depending on her state of mind.”
“I’ll give it a shot,” Anne said slinging her bag over her shoulder. “See you all later.”
The hospital parking lot was almost full, but she finally found a spot not far from the main entrance. A ledger board in the central hallway showed the Intensive Care Unit was on the third floor. Anne made her way to the reception desk.
“Hello, I was wondering if I could see Jane Whittaker.”
The receptionist consulted her computer. “I’m sorry, but she’s not allowed any visitors except immediate family.”
“I see. Would you know if any of the family is here at the moment?”
“You might check in the waiting room.”
“Thank you.”
Anne made her was down a hallway to a large room with comfortable chairs. She glanced around at the dozen or so people present before seeing a man who fidgeted in his chair and kept glancing at his watch. She walked over.
“Excuse me, but are you here for Jane Whittaker?”
The man looked up from his book. “Yes, I am. I’m Bill Whittaker, Jane’s husband.”
“I’m Anne Jamieson, the chapter president of Southeast Florida Writers Association. I can’t begin to tell you how sorry and shocked I am at this.”
He indicated she should sit in the chair next to him. “Aren’t we all? Thank God her friend didn’t just walk away. I should have seen this coming. She was terribly upset at what happened with the chapter.”
Anne sat. “Yes, I know, and I feel badly.”
He shook his head. “No need. What she did was highly irregular. I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead, but that Fran woman was a tyrant. Bullied Jane. Jane didn’t have the expertise to be treasurer and relied on her way too much.”
“I suppose she thought the president would have more knowledge about how things worked,” Anne replies as diplomatically as possible. “Still, I didn’t expect something like this.”
“Neither did I. She was very upset last night by a phone call. Said she’d go see whoever had called in the morning.”
That coincides with what Ellie told Rose about Jane not being at home when she’d called.
“Have you talked to her since they brought her in?”
“Just a little. They pumped her stomach so she was pretty groggy. Said she was sorry, it was a stupid thing to do, but she didn’t think she could take the humiliation. Luckily, she only took about four or five anti-depressants before the effects made her dizzy and she hit the floor.”
Anne rose. “Well, please tell Jane the board is thinking of her and wishing her a speedy recovery. And tell her that neither this news nor the information regarding her resignation will be made public for any reason.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.”
Back in her car, she tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. So Jane had a call last night that upset her. She must have confronted the caller this morning, not gotten a good answer, and flipped out.
I wonder if her caller was George Harrison.
****
Anne was putting the finishing touches on her make-up for her dinner out with Gil when Rose called.
“Did you read the stuff in these files?” she asked.
“Some. Fran kept every scrap of paper that came her way and then some. I didn’t have time to go through it all. Why?”
“Most of it is pretty cut and dried, but then I got to the letters and e-mails concerning the conference.”
Anne stopped applying eye shadow. “Anything unusual?”
“Well, for starters, there are several e-mails from various agents and editors stating they would not be returning to another conference due to the lack of security at the hotel.”
“That’s not surprising. I’d heard those comments before the conference had even ended.”
“Then I came across more e-mails from attendees demanding a full refund, including expenses of getting there. Some claimed they were traumatized by the murders. Others said the deaths of two agents had robbed them—meaning the attendees—of a chance to submit their work, thereby suggesting the chapter was perpetrating a fraud. One even threatened legal action if she wasn’t repaid.”
“Any idea how Fran responded?”
“She apparently sent out a form e-mail saying the hotel was responsible for security, and that the chapter was sorry some attendees felt traumatized, but once again it was a situation beyond our control. Then she said that all material requested by Carmella and Alan was being forwarded to other agents within those agencies, so their work was being seen. No fraud was involved.”
“Sounds like she was covering the chapter’s ass pretty well,” Anne said returning to her make-up.
“There were also some personal things at the back of the folder.”
“Personal?”
“From what I can gather, she and Terry Whiting exchanged more than a few heated e-mails each blaming the other for a lousy conference.”
“That’s not fair. It wasn’t anybody’s fault two murders occurred—well, other than the murderer’s.”
“She also got e-mails from chapter members complaining of her tactics on running the chapter. I don’t know if she answered directly, but you should see some of the handwritten comments she made on the hard copies. Not nice at all. But there was one I found very interesting.”
“Interesting how?”
“It was from Wendy Travers, the person in charge of the editors and agents. It wasn’t addressed to Fran, but to Jane Whittaker. In it she suggests that Fran submitted fraudulent receipts and invoices for the conference and for chapter business. She asked Jane to verify if all those things were legit. I can only assume Jane either forwarded the message or printed it out and gave it to Fran. There’s no sign if Fran answered or not.”
“You think Fran may have been embezzling from the chapter?” she asked remembering Nancy’s comments about random checks made out to cash.
A Taste of Death Page 17