4 Decoupage Can Be Deadly

by Lois Winston

  “I’m Anastasia Pollack, an American Woman editor, and I’ve been assigned here temporarily.”

  “What’s American Woman?”

  Really? I tamped down the urge to keep from spouting the comment itching to break free of my mouth. “One of the other Trimedia magazines. We were in the booth next to you at the consumer show.”

  She shrugged. “If you say so. You need to talk to Sue.”

  “Where do I find her?”

  Norma Gene pointed to a woman bending over a light table, then shouted, “Hey, Sue!” When the woman looked in our direction, Norma Gene waved her over. “She says she’s assigned here.”

  “Who assigned you?” asked Sue. “And why?”

  “Corporate assigned me. I haven’t a clue why.”

  “We don’t need you. We’re quite capable of running Bling! on our own.”

  Good. Because I wouldn’t know how to help them. They certainly didn’t need my input on fashion, lifestyle, or entertainment. I had none to offer. Or at least none of the kind they’d accept.

  “Look, I don’t want to be here anymore than you want me here. So how about if I simply wander around, pretending to give you advice? We act friendly, make small talk from time to time, and I let you do whatever it is that you all do. Hopefully, this won’t last long. I’d like nothing better than to return upstairs to my own magazine.”

  She thought about that for a moment, her arms folded across her chartreuse leopard print spandex-covered chest. She glanced at Norma Gene. “You okay with that?”

  “You won’t start ordering us around?” asked Norma Gene.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “Okay by me,” said Norma Gene.

  Sue nodded and offered her hand. “I’m Sue Evens. The Bling! editorial director. What did you say your name was again? Annabelle?”

  “Anastasia.”

  “Whatever.”

  As Sue introduced me to the other staff members, Tino followed us around but kept out of the way. Sue didn’t seem to notice him. I wondered if Tino had performed a similar task for Gruenwald before Philomena’s death, keeping an eye on her.

  “Just ignore Annabelle here,” Sue told the staff. “Gruenwald thinks we can’t function without Philomena. We know better.” She turned to me. “Philomena really didn’t do anything on Bling! We did all the work.”

  “I suspected as much,” I said.

  “She got all the credit, though.”

  And how did that make you feel, Sue Evens? “Isn’t that always the way with celebrities?”

  “You got that right, girlfriend.”

  Hmm...was Sue jealous enough of Philomena that she killed her? Maybe Gruenwald wasn’t as off-base as I thought.

  ~*~

  After observing the inner workings of Bling! for a couple of hours, I came to the conclusion that the staff definitely knew what they were doing. Except for Norma Gene. Unless her job assignment was to mope around all day doing nothing except cry every twenty minutes or so. When that happened the nearest Bling! staff member would console her until the last of her sniffles subsided.

  “You’ve all worked at magazines before, haven’t you?” I asked Sue at one point.

  “Of course. Except for Norma Gene. I have no idea where she’ll go or what she’ll do without Philomena. Those two were as tight as two peas in a Spanx pod.”

  Sue eyed me for a moment. “You thought we were all just Philomena groupies, didn’t you?”

  “I never had an opinion one way or the other. Even though I work a floor above you, I didn’t know much about Bling! or even Philomena before this past weekend.”

  “Hard to believe, given Philomena’s popularity.”

  “I’ve been living under a rock for nearly a year.”

  “Apparently.” She sighed. “It won’t last. Now that Philomena’s gone, the magazine will die. Just like George.”

  “Who’s George?”

  “Not a who. A what. The magazine JFK, Jr. ran?”

  Sue hardly looked old enough to remember that. She also didn’t fit the image of a typical George reader, but maybe she’d been forced to adopt a certain persona in order to work on Philomena’s baby. Magazine jobs were hard to come by in today’s economy, and image was everything for Philomena and Bling!

  “We’re putting together a memorial edition,” she said. “I expect it will be our last. You know if there are openings at any of the other Trimedia magazines?”

  Scratch Sue Evens as a suspect.

  I excused myself and headed for the ladies’ room. A howl of despair greeted me as I pushed open the door and stepped into the room. The sequin decorated turquoise patent leather stilettos I spied under one of the stalls confirmed the howler’s identity. “Norma Gene? It’s Anastasia. Is there anything I can do for you?”

  She blew her nose, then wailed, “It’s all my fault.”

  “What is?”

  “I let Mommy down. I promised her I’d always look out for Philomena.” A fresh onslaught of sobbing followed.

  “Philomena was your sister?”

  After a few minutes, the crying jag subsided. She blew her nose again, then hiccupped back one last sob before opening the stall and stepping out into the room.

  “Not by blood. We grew up in the same foster home. Mommy was worried about the rap crowd. Drugs and guns, that’s all they cared about. She didn’t want Philomena mixed up with them.

  “I promised I’d always take care of Philomena, and I did. I even convinced her to give up that life. Mommy was so happy and so proud of me. Now Philomena’s dead, and it’s all my fault. I should’ve protected her better.”

  Fresh tears streamed down her mascara-streaked face. I reached out to touch her arm, and she collapsed against me, nearly bowling me onto the tile floor. I patted her back until she collected herself again.

  “Do you have any idea who might have killed her?” I asked once this latest bout of tears subsided.

  Norma Gene slumped down on one of the vanity chairs and stared at her reflection in the mirror. A steely determination settled over her face. “No, but when I find out, he’s gonna wish he never crossed paths with Norma Gene Mortenson.”

  ~*~

  Shortly before the end of the workday, I left the Bling! offices and headed back upstairs to find Cloris. Tino followed. “I’m only heading upstairs to American Woman,” I said. “No need to follow me.”

  “Sorry, but I have my orders.”

  “How am I supposed to explain your presence to my co-workers when I’m not supposed to tell anyone what I’m doing for Mr. Gruenwald?”

  Tino shrugged. “You’ll think of something.”

  “Feel free to offer suggestions.”

  I wondered if he planned to follow me home and camp outside my front door all night. The one place he wouldn’t dare follow me, though, was into the ladies’ room. I texted Cloris to meet me there.

  “What in the world is going on?” she asked once she arrived.

  “How do you feel about ditching family responsibility for the evening and going out to dinner with me?”

  “I’m in.”

  “Good.” We made arrangements to meet at an Italian bistro at the Short Hills Mall. I grabbed my purse from my locked desk drawer and headed back downstairs. Tino followed me to the Jeep, but once I pulled out of my parking spot, he waved and headed back into the building.

  I called home while stopped at the first red light. Mama picked up on the third ring. “What do you mean you’re going to be late?” she asked. “How late?”

  “Late enough that you, the boys, and Lucille should eat without me. There’s a frozen lasagna defrosting in the refrigerator and plenty of salad fixings.”

  “You won’t be home for dinner?”

  “Not tonight.”

  “You have to!”

  “Why? What’s going on, Mama?”

  She hesitated, then sighed heavily into the phone. “I invited Ira and his family for dinner tonight.”

  “And when exa
ctly were you planning to tell me this? When I walked into the house this evening?”

  “You were never going to get around to inviting them, so I did it for you.”

  “Great. And what did you plan to serve them?” The lasagna certainly wouldn’t stretch far enough to include Ira, his three kids, and his father-in-law. I figured Cynthia for a no-show, given recent events.

  “I knew you wouldn’t have time to cook. So I phoned in an order to that catering place in downtown Westfield.”

  The one that charged twenty-five dollars per person? “Your treat, Mama?”

  “Don’t be silly, dear. Not at their prices. I’m sure Ira will cover the cost.”

  “You assume quite a bit sometimes, Mama.” Especially when it comes to other people’s money.

  “Anyway, that’s why you need to come home in time for dinner tonight.”

  “Not going to happen.”

  “But, Anastasia, you’re the hostess!”

  “No, Mama. You are.” With that I disconnected the call.

  ~*~

  Forty minutes later, as Cloris and I sat sipping frozen Bellinis, awaiting our dinners, I told her about Mama’s latest attempt at bonding between our family and Ira’s family.

  “What do you suppose will happen when the food delivery arrives and Flora has no money to pay the driver?”

  “She’d better hope Ira shows up before the food. I can’t believe my mother pulled a stunt like that.”

  “Really?”

  Who was I kidding? “You’re right. On second thought, I’m not at all surprised.” In her own way Mama was quite the manipulator. She’d proven so on more than one occasion.

  “When is she moving into her new apartment with her current fiancé?”

  “Not soon enough.” When Cloris raised her eyebrows, I added, “Don’t get me wrong; I love my mother.”

  “I know.”

  “I’d simply like a bit less chaos in my life.”

  “Which brings us to why we’re here. Why are we here? What the hell did Gruenwald want?”

  “First, you have to swear you won’t breathe a word of what I’m about to tell you to anyone.”

  “This sounds ominous.”

  “Swear?”

  Cloris shrugged. “Why not? Cross my heart.”

  “Gruenwald has it in his head that Philomena’s killer is one of us.”

  “Us? As in American Woman us? That’s crazy.” Cloris slammed her glass onto the table hard enough that some of the yellow slush spilled over the rim and onto her hand. “Why would any of us kill that self-centered bitch?” She paused for a moment to reach for her napkin, then added, “Besides Tessa. I could definitely see her knocking off Philomena. I swear that girl turned fifty shades of green with envy.”

  “Tessa didn’t kill Philomena. She’s not smart enough to plan a murder and get away with it.”

  “True. Besides, she might break a nail. She does have the money to hire someone to do her dirty work, though.”

  “Green with envy isn’t enough motive for murder. Killing Philomena wouldn’t give Tessa her own magazine, and that’s what she wants.”

  “I don’t know. She’s delusional enough to believe it might happen. After all, she does have her Uncle Chessie.”

  “Who hung her out to dry when we all got roped into those unpaid gigs at Morning Makeovers.” I shook my head. “No, I think Gruenwald meant someone at Trimedia in general. Specifically someone working at Bling!”

  “So that’s why he transferred you?”

  “I’m supposed to prove his theory for him by figuring out who killed Philomena. Right now he’s convinced he’s the prime suspect.”

  “He’s probably right. I’m assuming you told Batswin and Robbins about those conversations you overheard?”

  “Of course. Gruenwald’s also convinced the police won’t bother to investigate much further if they find enough evidence to indict him for her murder.”

  “Why you? Why doesn’t he hire a private detective?”

  “I asked him that. He wants someone who will blend in and not raise suspicions.”

  Cloris laughed. “I hate to tell you this, but you don’t exactly blend in with the Bling! crowd, either.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “And what do you get out of all this snooping around? Did Gruenwald blackmail you or something?”

  “In not so many words.” I told her about his veiled threat, which I interpreted as all the American Woman employees risked losing their jobs.

  “You should go to the police. Not to mention Human Resources. Look at all the money Trimedia will save by not paying his exorbitant salary. Better yet, you should sue the creep for harassment.”

  I reached into my skirt pocket and withdrew Gruenwald’s check. Handing it across the table to Cloris, I said, “He also gave me this.”

  Cloris frowned at the check for a moment before passing it back to me. “What if the police are right? What if Gruenwald is the killer, and he’s using you in the hope of diverting attention away from himself?”

  “That crossed my mind, especially after what I observed on Sunday. I don’t think he and Philomena had the smoothest of relationships.”

  “No kidding.”

  “But how would asking me to investigate have any impact on the police investigation?”

  “Unless you discovered someone else killed Philomena.”

  “Except Gruenwald does have motive. Philomena flipped out big time over that lawsuit Sylvia Gruenwald filed. I questioned him about the argument I overheard, and he filled in the blanks. As I suspected, Philomena’s threats involved contacting some of her old cronies from the ‘hood to have Sylvia permanently dispatched if Gruenwald didn’t handle the problem himself.”

  “Are you suggesting Philomena wanted Gruenwald to kill his wife?”

  “Sounds like it.”

  “And Gruenwald flipped out over Philomena’s threat against Sylvia?”

  “Exactly. He may have walked out on her for Philomena, but divorce is one thing, murder quite another.”

  “Yet you’re suggesting he killed Philomena because she wanted him or someone else to kill Sylvia. It’s okay for him to kill, but it’s not okay for someone else to kill?”

  “In his mind. I suppose if he’s charged, he’ll claim he was protecting his wife from a killer.”

  “If he’s the killer.”

  “If. There’s always the possibility that he’s innocent, and someone else killed Philomena for a completely different reason.”

  Our dinners arrived, and we ate in silence for a few minutes until Cloris finally asked, “If not Gruenwald, though, then who? Someone from her entourage? Norma Gene?”

  “Norma Gene, being a guy, certainly has the strength, but she’s wandering around like a teary-eyed lost puppy without Philomena.”

  I told Cloris about my conversation with Norma Gene. “I swear she’s on the verge of a nervous breakdown. She blames herself for letting her foster mother down and not preventing Philomena’s death.”

  “What about someone on the Bling! staff?”

  “Definitely not the Bling! staff unless someone acted without thinking. They’re all reluctantly polishing up their resumes. Bling! can’t survive without Philomena, and they know it. Even though they did all the work, she provided the big draw.”

  “Rumor has it Trimedia poured a boatload of money into the launch of Bling!”

  “And with only one issue in print so far, they’ll lose a bundle on their investment.”

  “Hence Gruenwald’s budget meeting?”

  “Probably. I’d say his job is on the line.”

  “Finding the killer isn’t going to save his job.”

  “No, but if the police charge him with murder, as he’s worried might happen, Trimedia executes the morals clause in his contract and won’t have to pay to get rid of him. If I can determine that someone else killed Philomena, Gruenwald still loses his job, but he walks away with an extremely large platinum parachute.�
�

  “And he’s paying you a measly five grand? You should hold out for ten times that. After all, he’s asking you to put yourself in possible danger.”

  “Except I don’t think anyone at Trimedia killed Philomena, and he never asked me to look elsewhere, even though he did say Tino Martinelli was at my disposal.”

  “For what?”

  “Protection.”

  “He has the brawn, but even if you wanted to, how would you insinuate yourself into Philomena’s inner circle? You’re certainly not insane enough to drive down to Philadelphia to question her gangbanger friends, are you?”

  “Definitely not.”

  “Looks like Gruenwald just bought you a new car.”

  A new used car but who’s quibbling? “The universe works in mysterious ways,” I said around a mouthful of vodka penne.

  NINE

  Cloris and I left the restaurant shortly after eight o’clock, and even though I first stopped at the bank to deposit Gruenwald’s check, I still arrived home to find Ira’s van parked at my curb. As I pulled into the driveway, I glanced up at Zack’s apartment and contemplated slipping upstairs to avoid Ira and his kids. The last thing in the world I wanted to do right now was deal with dinner guests I hadn’t invited.

  However, knowing Mama, she was monitoring the driveway every few minutes, awaiting my arrival. I parked the Jeep and reluctantly headed up the path to my back door. Taking a deep breath, I forced a smile onto my face before stepping into the house.

  My kitchen looked like the Tasmanian Devil had taken up residence. Dirty dishes covered nearly every square inch of the table and counters. Mephisto sniffed around the garbage that overflowed from the trash can onto the linoleum. Ralph pecked at a glop of something sticking to the seat of one of the kitchen chairs. How could Mama make such a mess when she’d ordered in a catered meal?

  From the dining room, over a series of bleeps, dings, and swooshing noises, I overheard Alex, Nick, and Ira discussing the Mets’ slim chances of clinching the National League pennant. Either everyone else listened in rapt silence, was bored to death, or was too busy stuffing their faces with the pricey meal I hoped Mama hadn’t charged to the one credit card I’d nearly paid off from moonlighting at Sunnyside over the summer.