And Death Goes to . . .

by Laura Bradford

  “I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time now, Tobi. I’ll be fine. Go.”

  ~Chapter Eleven~

  To say the next two hours were a blur would be an understatement. But somehow, despite the round of calls I made to my various clients, the check-in call with Mary Fran for an update on Gertie (there was none), and the planning session JoAnna and I had regarding prospective clients, I managed to eat (okay, inhale) my sandwich and pretzels.

  So while I wouldn’t say I was completely satiated yet, I wasn’t as grumpy as I could have been when Andy’s name showed up on my caller ID. Still, I took a deep breath, smiled at myself in the rearview mirror, and hoped the attempt infused itself into my voice as I accepted the call.

  “Hi, Andy!”

  “You sound mighty chipper this evening. Good day at work or just glad it’s quitting time?”

  I glanced into my side mirror and jumped into the left lane, my patience for highway buffoonery not exactly high. “Work was…fine. Gina and Dom are beside themselves with how well things are going out at Pizza Adventure. So much so, they’re getting serious about finishing off two more destination rooms.”

  “Oh? What do they have in mind this time?”

  “Gina said it was a surprise.”

  “How can you help them advertise the change if they don’t tell you what they’re adding?”

  I passed a trio of cars and then slid into the middle lane. “No, she just wants to tell me what they’re thinking during our next face to face meeting. On Thursday morning.”

  “I’m thrilled they’re doing so well, though it’s really no surprise. Not only is their concept incredible, but the pizza is the best I’ve ever had.”

  I let up on the gas just a little as I exited at Brentwood Boulevard and stopped at the traffic light at the bottom of the ramp. “I’ll be sure to tell Dom you said that. He’ll be pleased beyond belief.”

  “Oh, I know he will. He glows every time I tell him that when you and I are heading out the door and he comes out to say good-bye.”

  I drummed my fingers on top of the steering wheel as I waited for the light to change. “I’ve never heard you tell him that.”

  “That’s because while I am, Gina is pinching your cheeks and giving you the high sign about how perfect she thinks I am for you.”

  I laughed. Not because of what sounded like an inflated ego on Andy’s part, but rather because of the truth in his words. Gina did have a habit of pinching my cheeks and she was a huge proponent of my relationship with Andy.

  The light turned green and I turned right. I passed the mall on my left, a slew of shops and restaurants on my right, and continued north. “I also spoke to Esi at Salonquility and she’s thrilled with the increase in traffic they’ve been seeing since our campaign finally got started.”

  “Happy customers—always a good thing.”

  “Indeed.” The first of the three remaining traffic lights between me and my final destination turned red and I stopped once again. “You still at the office?”

  “I’m heading out the door as we speak, which is why I’m calling. Can I take you to dinner and a movie tonight? Or, better yet, I can pick you up and we can go back to my place and order in a pizza and watch a movie on TV. With popcorn and treats, of course.”

  “Actually, I have plans for dinner, but the rest sounds perfect.” The light turned green and I lurched forward with all the other commuters and shoppers only to stop at the second light. “I don’t know how you handle these lights on a daily basis, I really don’t. They’re maddening.”

  “Lights? What lights?”

  “On Brentwood.”

  “Wait. Where are you?”

  “One traffic light shy of your office. Which in some towns might mean I’m a few seconds away. But on this road, make it ten minutes.” I felt the grumpiness seeping back in and mentally chastised myself for it. “Sorry. It’s been a long day.”

  “What are you doing around here?”

  “Meeting Ben Gibbens for dinner at some place about a mile or so up the road. JoAnna says it’s good, but the fact it doesn’t have a name anywhere on the building gives me pause.”

  “You’re going to Vinny’s?”

  Traffic light number two turned green and again I moved forward only to stop for the third time. “You’ve heard of it?”

  “The food is amazing.” He cleared his throat quickly. “So who is Ben and should I be jealous?”

  “He was one of my fellow nominees for the award and no, you shouldn’t be jealous. Of him, or anyone else.”

  “Ahh, so that’s why the name rang a bell.”

  “That and the fact you may have heard his name or even met him when you and Gary were originally working with John Beckler. Ben works for John.”

  “Hmmm, the plot thickens.”

  The final light turned green and I happily stepped on the gas. “Meaning?”

  “You hate Beckler. Yet you’re having dinner with one of his people?”

  “I’m having dinner with Ben as my fellow nominee, not as one of John’s people.” Though even as I said it, I had to wonder if I was right. Because really, I had no idea why Ben had called me, why he acted so cagey on the phone, why he wanted to see me, and why it had to be in a restaurant that, despite glowing praise from both Andy and JoAnna, was rather out of the way compared to the half dozen or so popular eateries I’d already passed. “I don’t know why he wants to talk to me, but he was pretty insistent.”

  “Sounds weird.”

  “I know. But if nothing else, JoAnna said the Marsala is fantastic and—”

  “She’s right. And, I’ll be honest, I’m kind of kicking myself that I haven’t thought to take you there yet.”

  I glanced to my left and smiled at the edge of the office building where Zander Closet Company was housed, my mind filling in the visual with an image of Andy standing beside his car, phone in hand, talking to me. For a brief moment, I thought about making a U-turn at the next possible opportunity and stealing a quick hug, but if I did that, I’d be late. And the sooner I got to my meeting with Ben, the sooner I could find out what he wanted and be on my way to Andy’s.

  Instead, I continued north, passing under 170 before moving into the right lane and slowing as the landmarks JoAnna had described on my way out of the office began to appear exactly as she’d said—red brick building, alleyway, jewelry store, vacant storefront, and the red and white awning that was my signal to turn right into the next parking lot. “I’m here, I think.”

  “Red and white awning?” Andy asked.

  “Yup.”

  “There’s a lot just beyond it. Park in there.”

  “I know. I’m already in it.”

  “There’s an entrance to the restaurant in back, but the hostess stand is up front so it’s better to go in under the awning.”

  I parked, got out of my car, and tossed my keys into my bag. “It’s scary, sometimes, how much you and JoAnna sound alike.”

  It was Andy’s turn to laugh, the sound tickling my ear and making me wish I’d thrown caution to the wind on being late and actually made the U-turn. “I’ll take that as a compliment, since JoAnna is pretty much Super Woman.”

  I crossed to the top of the parking lot, stepped onto the sidewalk, and made my way over to the door beneath the awning—a door that truly had no name or marking, anywhere. “And you’re sure this is a restaurant?”

  “I’ll wait while you open the door.”

  Switching the phone to my left hand, I tugged on the door with my right, my nose immediately lifting to capture the glorious smell of sauce…and warm bread…and—

  “Oh. My. Gosh.”

  “Welcome to Vinny’s, Tobi.” His laugh was back. “Anyway, enjoy the food. Good luck with the meeting.”

  “Thanks.” I let the door close behind me and stepped over to the
empty hostess stand to wait. “Hey, before you go, can I ask you a favor?”

  “Of course.”

  “If you’re not too busy, is there any way you could stop by my place and check on my grandfather?”

  “Sure. Is he sick or something?”

  “He’s not sick, but something isn’t right.” I saw the hostess heading in my direction and gave her a no-rush wave. “I guess I’m hoping maybe you could cheer him up or, if not, figure out what’s going on?”

  “I’m on the case.”

  “Thank you, Andy.”

  I closed out of the call, slipped the phone into my bag, and smiled as the hostess welcomed me to Vinny’s and asked if I was dining alone. “Actually, I’m meeting him.” I pointed to Ben and, at the hostess’s nod, made my way back to the table.

  Ben looked up as I approached, and while I knew we weren’t necessarily friends per se, I was still surprised to see a lack of anything resembling a smile. Instead, his Adam’s apple moved with a swallow and his gaze darted forward toward the front door and then around at the handful of booths and tables scattered around the tiny dining area. When he was done with his once-over of our surroundings, he motioned for me to take the bench seat on the other side of the table.

  “Thanks.” I tossed my bag onto the bench first and then slid in behind it, breathing in the tantalizing aromas of my surroundings as I did. “This place smells amazing.”

  The words were no sooner out of my mouth when our waiter—a young twenty-something who introduced himself as Vinny Junior—placed a basket of what my nose knew was fresh bread from the oven even before my hands moved the red and white checked cloth out of the way for visual confirmation. Vinny Junior took our drink orders and said he’d be back for our dinner order in a moment.

  “I’m not eating anything,” Ben informed me as the waiter left. “I’ve gotta get home to my wife. But you should stay and eat something.”

  “Considering you picked a restaurant to meet in, maybe I should.” I heard the sarcasm lacing its way through my tone but really, who cares? It was the truth.

  “It’s the only place I could think to meet,” Ben said, splaying his hands after yet another quick inspection of the dining area.

  “You mean besides my office, your office, or one of the millions of establishments between the two?” Then, without waiting for an answer, I propped my elbows on the edge of the table and leaned forward. “Before we get started, I feel the need to get a few things on the record in the event John is behind this unexpected meeting somehow. I’m doing great. My agency is doing great. Signing New Town out from under John was really quite the coup. And now that I think about it, I never did get around to sending him a thank-you note for that.”

  Yes, I was moving from sarcasm to mildly bitchy, but I was starting to get irritated. And honestly, sending a seemingly nice guy like Ben in to do a little nosing around had John Beckler written all over it. The fact that I’d failed to really consider it as a reason behind this clandestine meeting spoke to how fried my brain was after Deidre’s fall.

  Ben leaned back against the booth, his lips twitching with the first semblance of a smile I’d seen since arriving. “Wow. He really got under your skin, didn’t he?”

  I don’t know what kind of response I was expecting, but that wasn’t it. Before I could come back with something, he was back at it again. “I’d heard through the grapevine how awful he was to you, but I figured it was a sort of office legend. But now, after”—he rolled his hands in the air—“that, I’m becoming a believer.”

  “People still talk about me at Beckler?” I asked while simultaneously plucking a piece of bread from the basket, slathering some butter on it, and moaning in pleasure over the first bite.

  “All the time. You’re the one they stupidly let get away.”

  “Stupidly? People really say that?”

  “All the time.” Ben, too, took a piece of bread. “In fact, there were a few reps who actually went out and celebrated your signing of New Town.”

  I stared at him over the remaining bite of my own piece. “You can’t be serious. Beckler losing that account could’ve meant layoffs for you guys.”

  “You’re right. But they still celebrated.”

  At a loss for what to say at that moment, I simply gave into the goofy grin I could no longer hold back and stuck my hand in the bread basket once again. “Wow.”

  Silence filled the space between us for a few moments before Ben pulled in an audible breath. “I didn’t ask you here to spy for John. I do my job, I get my paycheck, and I keep my eyes open for the first opportunity I have to work for someone else—heck, anyone else most days.”

  I took the glass Vinny Junior set in front of me, raised it in a makeshift toast, and then lowered it back down to the table as I placed my order for Marsala. As previously stated, Ben ordered nothing.

  When Vinny Junior returned to the kitchen, Ben leaned forward. “Look, I’ve been feeling really lousy since Saturday night. Like guilt, almost. And I know it makes no sense—heck, I should be thrilled I didn’t win, but yet I can’t shake this guilt that’s been pressing down on me since…well…you know.”

  “I know. I’m feeling it a little, too. JoAnna, my secretary, she calls it survivor’s guilt. And I’m guessing she’s right on account of the fact she’s always right. About everything.”

  Ben shrugged and then, with seemingly aimless hands, picked up his napkin-rolled utensils only to set them back down in their original spot. “Okay, so you get it.”

  “I do.”

  Nodding, he relaxed against the back of the booth. “So, what’s your read on Deidre having won, anyway?”

  “I thought her campaign was great.”

  He bobbed his head slightly to the left and then slightly to the right before lifting his gaze to mine. “But did you really think she was gonna win?”

  I wasn’t really sure what to make of his question so I didn’t say anything. I was well aware of the egos in my line of work, but something about those egos juxtaposed against what happened to Deidre made me uncomfortable.

  “Look, I’m not saying she didn’t deserve to be nominated, because she did. If you’ve read Bitch Pitch even a few times, you know she worked her tail off. I’m just—”

  “Bitch Pitch? As in that blog that exposes some of the behind-the-scenes crap that goes on at all the local agencies?”

  “You read it?” he asked.

  “Sometimes. When I’m bored.”

  Ben cracked the faintest hint of a smile. “Scintillating reading, wasn’t it? Gonna miss that start to my Monday morning each week.” He pitched forward, lowered his voice to its original near-whisper and added, “Can you imagine being on the other side of a bathroom stall and listening to Maggie Jenkins listing all her attributes to herself in the mirror? I’m not sure how Deidre kept from laughing.”

  The Greek he might as well have been speaking to that point, suddenly rescinded as my head caught up with his mouth. “Wait. You think the masked exec behind Bitch Pitch worked at Whitestone with Deidre?”

  “Uh, you could say that.”

  Something about his tone connected the final wire in my brain. “Nooooo.”

  He nodded and leaned back against the booth once again. “Yup. Deidre Ryan was Bitch Pitch.”

  “Noooo.” I knew I was repeating myself but I was still in shock.

  “I only know because a few weeks ago, Bitch Pitch mentioned being at a park the previous day when some unleashed dog started terrorizing the kids on the playground. And, it just so happens, I was running along a nearby trail at that same time. I spotted Deidre trying to shoo the dog away from the swing set where her kids were playing.”

  “Wow.”

  Ben took a sip of his soda and set the glass back down with a soft thud. “I know, right? I always pictured the person behind Bitch Pitch being more, well,
bitchy.”

  So had I.

  “Anyway, to get back to what I was asking before, were you as surprised as I was that she actually won.”

  I made a mental note to go back and read some of my favorite Bitch Pitch posts the next chance I had, but I wasn’t sure that would help. Never in a million years would I have thought that the quiet, unassuming woman I’d sat beside at a conference or two was the face behind one of the most biting, eye-opening, and occasionally entertaining exposé blogs I’d ever read.

  “Tobi?”

  I met Ben’s quizzical eyes and forced myself to focus on the change in conversation. “The only thing I was aware of when Deidre’s name was called was the momentary disappointment that it wasn’t me. I’m guessing you felt the same, yes?”

  Ben waved at my words. “Maybe for a split second, sure. But I knew I wasn’t going to win, just as I knew you weren’t going to win.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “I didn’t think Deidre was going to win, either.”

  “Meaning, what?” I asked. “You expected Lexa to get it?”

  “Didn’t you?”

  I settled back against my own side of the booth, my mind’s eye instantly filling in the TV, print, and radio spots Lexa had created. “I know her campaign was very well received by the public, but I don’t think it did much for MetroLink.”

  “It didn’t. The message got lost in the fluff.”

  “Which is why it makes sense that a panel of judges who are versed in the true reason behind advertising didn’t give Lexa the…” My mouth stopped moving as the memory of Deidre’s face, in the seconds before her death, mocked my words.

  If Ben noticed my veer off-point though, he didn’t let on. Instead, he broke off a piece of his bread and balled it between his fingers. “I didn’t say I thought Lexa’s was better, Tobi. I just said I expected her to win.”

  “Why?” I ran my index finger along the top edge of my water glass as I waited for him to explain his point and then get to the one that had me sitting across the table from him instead of being with Andy.