1 Assault with a Deadly Glue Gun

by Lois Winston

  "Vittorio's lawsuit"

  "How does that affect us?"

  "If Vittorio is successful, he'll bankrupt Trimedia. No Trimedia, no American Woman."

  "We'd lose our jobs!"

  "Exactly. And I can't afford to lose mine."

  "Just when everything was starting to go right in my life. I've worked so hard. He can't do this to me!"

  "Not much you or I or anyone else can do about it. The lawyers will fight it out. The shark with the most ferocious bite will win."

  Erica pounded her fist on the seat. "I feel so helpless. All these people controlling my fate. There's got to be something we can do."

  "First, we need to clear ourselves of any involvement in Marlys's murder. If we're locked up as killers, our jobs won't matter." I mulled over our options. Next on my list of suspects was Marlys's Monday night date.

  In her new position as fashion editor, Erica had entree to fashion's newest rising star. And if Emil Pachette were anything like his many counterparts on Seventh Avenue, he'd grovel and drool for exposure. American Woman might be a second-rate supermarket monthly, but it was a second-rate supermarket monthly read by millions of women.

  Erica sat silently for a moment, as if debating with herself. Finally, she asked, "Is there something I can ... uhm ... do to ... you know ... help?"

  "Absolutely. When we arrive back at the office, you need to set up an interview with Emil Pachette. The sooner the better. I'll come along as your assistant."

  "But don't you think the police have already questioned him?"

  "Probably. But if he is the killer, he would have been expecting the police and prepared for their questioning. Maybe we can catch him off guard."

  Erica rifled around in her purse and pulled out an iPhone. She waved it in the air like a kid who had just found the surprise in a box of Cracker Jacks. "Why wait until we get back to the office? I'll phone him now."

  "You have Emil Pachette's phone number programmed into your iPhone?"

  She smiled a guilty smile and patted the phone. "A gift from Dicky. I have Marlys's entire Rolodex and half her computer files programmed into this baby. Made playing slave a lot easier when information was this handy. Especially when she'd call me in the evenings or on weekends."

  Poor Erica. Yet another indication of her jellyfish backbone. Marlys demanded she jump, and Erica hoisted herself onto a trampoline, no matter the day or hour.

  Instead of commenting, though, I simply said, "Smart woman."

  Her face broke out in a self-satisfied grin. "And finally getting the credit for it. Dicky was right."

  "About what?"

  "He said all I needed was the chance to prove myself. It really made him mad that I was doing all of Marlys's work, and she was taking all the credit."

  "We all felt that way."

  "Did you?"

  "You didn't realize that?"

  Erica shook her head as she tapped her finger against the screen, then raised the cell to her cheek. "I guess I was too wrapped up in being angry and feeling sorry for myself to notice."

  After a moment, she spoke into the phone. "Hi, Gina. This is Erica. Is Emil available ... Oh? ... I see" Her brow furrowed. "When do you expect him back? ... Really? ... Yes, please leave him a message. I'd like to set up an interview ... Thank you."

  Erica disconnected the call. "You're not going to believe this. Emil Pachette didn't shown up for work today. Or yesterday. No one's seen or heard from him since before lunch on Monday."

  "ANGELA LANSBURY MADE IT look so easy on television," I told Cloris upon returning to the office. After a quick search, I had found her camped out in the test kitchen. "It took Jessica Fletcher all of an hour to catch the killer each Sunday night."

  "Less if you factor in the commercials," she said around a mouthful of mango macadamia muffin. "Like everything else, reality takes a bit longer."

  "And reality just got a lot more complicated."

  "What do you mean?"

  I told her about Vittorio's lawsuit, as well as Emil's disappearance.

  "Shit. I can't afford to lose my job. I've still got a kid in college."

  "And I can?" Leaning against the counter, I pulled apart a still warm muffin and popped a piece into my mouth. Once again I had missed lunch, having gone straight into the city with Erica after the photo shoot. Besides, stress made me crave sweets.

  "Hmm" I closed my eyes, hoping the combination of sweet and tangy flavors would expunge the thought of impending unemployment. "You're a spawn of the devil, tempting me like this."

  "Thanks. I think. I'm experimenting for an article on exotic combinations. If we have a magazine left to run such an article." She reached for another platter. "Here. Tell me what you think of these."

  "What are they?"

  "White chocolate and plum brownies."

  I hesitated. "How many calories per bite?"

  "What the hell are another thousand calories or so in the greater scheme of life?"

  Easy for her to say with her mach ten metabolism. I had a sneaking suspicion that Cloris exhaled calories and fat grams instead of carbon dioxide. On me, the calories and fat moved directly from my mouth to my hips, bypassing the entire digestive process.

  But that didn't stop me from caving in and grabbing a brownie. My willpower never stands a chance against my salivating taste buds. Besides, chocolate releases endorphins, and right now I needed all the endorphins my brain was capable of delivering into my blood stream.

  "I suppose if I spread those thousand calories out over the course of seventy or eighty years, you've got a point. Besides, who's going to notice the added poundage under one of those neon orange prison jumpsuit?" I took a bite and moaned around the mouthful.

  "Good?"

  "Are you kidding? Let's just say, white chocolate and plum put mango and macadamia to shame. If only I could catch a killer as easily as you kill my willpower."

  Cloris finished her muffin and helped herself to a brownie. "I'd think you'd be excited over Emil's disappearance. Doesn't this make him the prime suspect? You and Erica are off the hook."

  "And I'm so relieved," said Erica, strolling into the test kitchen. She pulled out a stool and sat down at the end of the counter that also served as a table. "No more looking over my shoulder, worrying that those detectives are lurking in the shadows waiting for me to slip up"

  Both Cloris and I stared at her, Cloris's expression mirroring the "uh-oh" feeling churning in my stomach.

  "Slip up about what?" I asked.

  Erica helped herself to a brownie and studied it, as if debating whether or not it was worth the calories and fat grams now that she had exchanged her shapeless jumpers for designer duds. "Nothing," she said, speaking to the brownie instead of me.

  She nibbled a corner and mumbled around the bite. "You know what I mean. Just having them snooping around and thinking I killed Marlys makes me feel guilty."

  She glanced up at me, then at Cloris. "Not that I have anything to feel guilty about but..."

  "Don't try to explain," I said. "You're not the only one those two detectives make nervous. But I don't see how Emil's disappearance gets either of us scratched off the suspects list."

  "People don't vanish without a trace unless they have something to hide, do they?"

  "And don't forget the diamonds," added Cloris. "All that ice could buy a brand new identity in a country where the police don't ask too many questions."

  Anything was possible, but I couldn't buy into the theory. I mulled over another possibility. What if someone wanted Emil out of the way because he knew too much or had seen something? "I don't think Emil took off because he killed Marlys. Maybe he's hiding because he's scared. Or maybe the killer is actually someone who was jealous of the publicity Marlys was going to give Emil."

  "There's another possibility," said Cloris.

  "What's that?" asked Erica.

  "We could be going about this backwards. What if Emil Pachette was the intended victim and Marlys got in the killer's
way?"

  "So you're thinking that Marlys may have met Emil as planned?"

  "Who knows?"

  "One flaw in that theory," I said. "Why would the killer bring Marlys back here to kill her?"

  "Right. Why wouldn't he have killed her where he killed Emil?" asked Erica.

  "Maybe he couldn't for some reason," said Cloris.

  "Doesn't make sense," I said. "Marlys's car was parked in the lot when I arrived back at Trimedia."

  Cloris reached for the coffeepot and poured three cups. "Maybe the killer followed her back here." She added a generous amount of half-and-half to her cup before taking a sip. "If the killer set things up to look like someone at Trimedia had killed her-"

  I finished her thought. "He'd divert suspicion from himself."

  "Why not? I'm just trying to look at this from all angles."

  Only as far as I could see, this particular angle was pockmarked with holes of flawed logic. "If Marlys saw someone kill Emil, why would she come back to the office? Why wouldn't she call the police?"

  Erica blew into her coffee. "With Vittorio eliminated as a suspect, my money's on Emil."

  "Marlys was about to give Emil tons of free publicity that would send his career soaring," I said. "Why would he kill her?"

  Cloris exhaled a frustration-laced sigh. "We're going around in circles, getting nowhere fast."

  "What if we search Emil's office and apartment," said Erica. "Maybe we could find some clues."

  "Good one," said Cloris. "Ever hear of breaking and entering?"

  Erica ignored the question as she pulled out her iPhone.

  An hour and a half later the three of us were bucking the tide of rush hour crowds as we fought our way up the steps from the subway. Once on the street, I glanced at my watch.

  "What time is it?" asked Cloris.

  "Nearly five."

  "We're probably too late. We should have waited until tomorrow morning."

  "Gina promised to wait for us," said Erica. "She'll be there."

  "Even if some stud with tight buns asks her out for drinks?" asked Cloris.

  Erica shook her head as the three of us jogged across the street, skirting slower pedestrians and dodging cabs turning in front of us. "Gina doesn't drink," she said.

  "Everyone in New York drinks," said Cloris. "It's practically a residency requirement. How else do you think they cope with all this." With a sneer, she swept her arm in front of her.

  Cloris despised the city. She was thrilled by our relocation to a meadow in Morris County. I was surprised when she'd volunteered to accompany us on our late afternoon field trip, but curiosity and an innate love of snooping had won out over hordes of humanity, bumper-to-bumper snarling SUVs, mind-numbing noise, and sidewalks filled with putrefied piles of trash.

  "Gina has very strong feelings about alcohol," said Erica. "Her father's a drunk. Besides, all the guys who work for Emil are gay."

  "Including Emil?" asked Cloris. "Maybe he killed Marlys because she called him a fag."

  "Except Emil," she said.

  Cloris and I stopped short and stared at her. "And you know this because ...?" I asked.

  Erica's cheeks, bright pink from the stinging cold wind whipping down the street, deepened to crimson. "Gina has a huge crush on him."

  "Another suspect," I said. "Gina could have killed Marlys."

  "You think she saw Marlys coming on to Emil and decided to eliminate her competition?" asked Cloris.

  "Possibly."

  "No," said Erica, her voice firm and defiant as she led us to a dilapidated tenement sandwiched between two high-rises. "Gina did not kill Emil."

  "How do you know so much about Emil Pachette's secretary?" I asked as we entered the miniscule lobby.

  Erica pushed the button for the elevator. "She's not his secretary. She's his assistant."

  "That still doesn't explain how you know so much about her," said Cloris.

  "She's my cousin."

  "The plot thickens," said Cloris.

  After a groan and a creak, the elevator doors opened, and the three of us stepped inside. "That doesn't mean she's not a killer," I said.

  Erica stabbed the button for the fifth floor. The elevator shuddered to life, jerking and rattling its way skyward. With mounting trepidation, I eyed the tiny graffiti-covered confines of the compartment.

  "Gina agreed to help us," said Erica, her voice now petulant. "That proves she didn't have anything to do with Marlys's death."

  "Maybe Emil was about to ditch Gina for Marlys," said Cloris. "You know what they say about hell having no fury like a woman scorned."

  The elevator lurched to a halt. My stomach caught up with the rest of me several seconds later, but it took an additional ten or fifteen seconds before the doors stuttered open. I glanced down. The elevator had come to a stop at least eight inches below the cracked and dirt-caked vinyl flooring.

  "We walk down," I said.

  "No complaint here," said Cloris.

  After we hoisted ourselves out of the elevator, Erica led us down the grimy, dimly lit hall to a frosted glass door at the end of the corridor. Half-hidden under a fine layer of soot, swirling black-rimmed gold letters spelled out House of Pachette.

  "I think we can rule Emil Pachette out as the murderer," I said.

  "How so?" asked Cloris.

  "If you worked in this dive, would you kill the goose offering you a platinum egg?"

  "Shh," said Erica, her hand poised on the doorknob. "Gina's very upset about Emil's disappearance. She thinks we're here to help her figure out what happened to him, not find evidence to convict him of murder."

  Cloris saluted her. "Lead on, Macduff."

  We entered into a cramped workroom overflowing with industrial sewing machines, steamers, mannequins in various states of dress and undress, dozens of bolts of fabric, and bins brimming with notions. An enormous cutting table took up most of the center of the room. Squeezed into one corner was a battered metal filing cabinet and an equally battered oak desk with a mismatched chair.

  A frazzled-looking, pudgy young woman with red-rimmed eyes rose from behind the desk. She stared at us for a moment, puzzlement settling across her face. Then with a gasp, she ran into Erica's arms. "Omigod! Erica, I almost didn't recognize you.

  Erica laughed. "You're not the only one. I look in the mirror and see a stranger."

  Gina stepped back. Holding Erica's hands in hers, she studied her cousin from head to toe. "But a drop-dead gorgeous stranger."

  She pulled one of her hands free and tucked a clump of straggly dishwater brown hair behind her ear. "I must look like something the cat wouldn't bother dragging in, but I'm so glad you're here. I can't stop crying."

  With that she collapsed sobbing into Erica's arms and wailed, "I don't know what to do. It's like he's vanished off the face of the earth. No one's seen or heard from him since late Monday morning.

  "WHERE WAS EMIL HEADED when he left?" I asked Gina after her sobbing had subsided to an occasional hiccup.

  She lifted her head from Erica's shoulder. Swiping at her cheek with her shoulder, she sniffed back her tears and directed a wary, watery brown gaze toward me. "Who are you?"

  Erica stepped out of Gina's embrace but kept her arm wrapped around her cousin's shoulders as she made introductions. "These are the friends from work I told you about. Anastasia and Cloris. They're here to help."

  Gina's expression remained cautious as her gaze darted between Cloris and me. "Emil had a meeting downtown."

  "With whom?"

  She fiddled with a button on her work smock. "He didn't tell me."

  "Nothing written in his appointment book?"

  "He doesn't keep one."

  Or keeps it from her. "So you don't know if he ever made it to his meeting?"

  She answered with a shake of her head, accompanied by a mournful sigh.

  "Do you know anything about his date with Marlys Vandenburg Monday night?"

  Gina's features hardened. Her body stiffen
ed under her billowy cobalt blue work smock. "It was a business meeting, not a date."

  "But you knew he was supposed to meet her?"

  She tugged on both ends of the yellow tape measure slung around her neck and scowled at a pair of scuffed black boots that peaked out beneath a frayed pair of stonewashed denim jeans. "I knew."

  Cloris cleared her throat. "You don't sound very happy about it."

  "Why would I? Marlys Vandenburg strutted around like she was Queen of the Fashion District, even though she only worked for some third-rate monthly."

  When Cloris arched her eyebrow, Gina quickly added, "No offense."

  "We prefer to think of ourselves as second-rate," I said, "but go on.

  Gina paced between the cutting table and the bank of sewing machines that lined the far wall of the room. Her fingers fidgeted with the ends of the tape measure. "Emil couldn't stand Marlys, the way she used and abused people. He used to mock her behind her back. But when she took an interest in his new line, he decided to milk her for as much publicity as he could get. Better to suck up, he figured, than wind up another victim of her poison pen"

  She stopped pacing and spun around to confront me. "Believe me, no way was he looking forward to spending Monday night with her." She gulped back a sob. "And now he's missing."

  Why did I get the feeling I was watching a scene from a Grade-B soap opera? Believe her? Gina's body language announced in ninetysix point extra-bold type that she was either laying on a whopper or holding back a huge chunk of truth. "Have you filed a missing persons report with the police?"

  She hesitated, darting a quick glance toward Erica. "Sort of."

  "Sort of?" asked Cloris.

  Gina paced over to the windows and slumped into one of the sewing machine chairs. She clenched her fists in her lap and lowered her head. "The police came looking for Emil yesterday. Said they wanted to ask him some questions. I figured it was about Marlys's murder. I got scared."

  "You didn't tell them he's missing?" I asked.

  "I said he was out of town, that he hadn't said where he was going, and I didn't know when he'd be back. I'm not sure they believed me"

  Since Gina's acting abilities were on a par with the late Anna Nicole Smith's, I'm sure they didn't. "Do you mind if we look through the computer and his files?" I asked.