He stared, I said nothing. He drummed fingers into the wooden table, then stared some more. I wasn’t going to win the stand-off. The desire to talk took over, so I sketched Rick Luna. “The junior exec is ambitious, untested, but over-confident.”
“Okay. You got something for the other two?”
“The prof is self-centered and revengeful.” Gerry Keith was much more, but those words flew to mind first. “And his Girl Friday is devoted and desperate.”
“Girl Friday?”
Thinking of Sally Anastos that way spiked acid in my already sour stomach. But I stuck with the image. “She’s ride or die, like a loyal servant.”
“Okay. That’s a start.” Smoke pumped his chin twice. “You talked it over with Sabrina?”
“No.”
“That girl’s a damn good detective. Got a fine brain in her pretty little head. You ought to share with her. Bring her into it. She could help, you know.”
I had nothing to add. Silence was my best move. The man was primed to guess about my relationship with Brina, but I wasn’t going to spill.
A hound with a bone, Smoke wouldn’t let go. “Where’d you leave it with her?”
“Brina?” Playing dumb, or playing for time, I ducked his gaze. Guilt trickled through me, little drops of regret that my involvement with Annie was not a relic of the past, but a live concern plaguing my connection with Brina.
“Yeah, no clowning, kid. You know who I’m talking ‘bout. You in something deep with Sabrina, ain’t you?” He pinned me with a glare when I didn’t answer. “You stringing her along? Or you in it for real?”
“I’m not stringing her along. I don’t fool like that, Smoke.”
“Then you been together long enough to know what you got to do, don’t you?”
I shook my head, then sucked the ice into my mouth. “Marriage isn’t in my nature.” I cracked the cube and spit a shard into the glass. “Not anymore.”
“I ain’t said nothing about no marriage, kid. You hear me say anything about getting hitched?” Smoke’s dark lip curled with mockery. “I’m talking about letting her know the score. That’s what I mean. Take it from this old player. Sabrina’s no round-the-way girl. She’s a serious woman. And serious women like to know where they stand with a man. They want to know they been chosen. Picked from the bouquet, so to speak. Plain fact is a woman – if she’s worth anything – wants to be the one you choose. Dig me?”
Smoke’s call to action stirred me. I felt the push, for sure. But in what direction? Annie was gone, I couldn’t choose her. But was I ready to choose a deeper bond with Brina? Could we have something richer than anything I’d known with Annie?
“Got you,” I said. I studied the bourbon draping the slivers of ice in my glass. We were so quiet, I could hear rain tapping on the picture window at the front of the bar.
Smoke tipped his bottle and emptied the beer down his throat. “Trust. Old Smoke got this right, kid. You either choose her. Or you don’t. What’s it gonna be?”
Coarse buzzing in my pocket saved me from answering. Pearl Byrne returning my call. I jerked my eyebrows at Smoke. He planted both elbows on the table, refusing to move.
I greeted Pearl, speaking low so she wouldn’t detect the booze sloshing in my brain. She sounded tentative at first. After two minutes of generalities and poking to catch my mood, she asked how I was doing this week. I asked her the same. We agreed the shock was wearing off, but the sorrow remained.
A somber grimace curved Smoke’s mouth as he listened. Maybe our misery pushed him. Perhaps memories of South Side manners surfaced at last. He hauled his bulk from the tight booth, fished two twenties from his pocket and slid them into the moist ring under his beer bottle. The big man clapped a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. When I nodded, he bowled along the aisle and out the door.
I told Pearl the reason for my call: I wanted to learn more about the contents of Annie’s final presentation, the one she never got a chance to give at the business conference. “Were you two going to talk about the way you ran your companies? Your financing, strategic planning, expansion prospects, things like that?”
“Not exactly. I don’t know how comfortable I feel sharing our talk now that Anniesha’s gone.” Her voice quivered, shrinking to nothing in the electronic distance that separated us. This reluctance might stem from professional courtesy. Or some other source.
“You sound hesitant, like you don’t want to talk about this, Pearl. Is it because this information belongs to Anniesha and you don’t have a right to share it?”
“Something like that, Mr. Rook.”
She paused; I jumped to unblock the log jam. “You know, Anniesha always called me SJ. Everybody else just calls me Rook. I wish you’d pick one of those. The Mister makes me feel like I’m a hundred years old.”
We laughed and she agreed to skip the formalities. “Okay, I’ll go with SJ, if Anniesha did.”
“Good, Pearl. Now tell me more about what you and Anniesha had cooked up for your presentation.” I remembered Smoke’s advice: Pearl could own that jagged bit of the puzzle. Even if she didn’t realize she possessed the crucial piece.
We spoke for ten minutes. Not long, but enough for me recognize what Pearl knew was a bombshell. To detonate it with maximum effect, she had to deliver the message in person. And I needed to arrange a meeting for Pearl with the expert who’d best handle that fiery information: Dean Galaxy Pindar of Alexander University.
I knew why Annie had been murdered. I wanted to explode the puzzle to reveal who pulled the trigger.
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
At five-twenty-five the next day, Alexander University’s medieval towers dripped under damp skies. Low clouds dabbled mist over the Friday afternoon stillness as Pearl Byrne, Brina, and I crossed the campus. We had the gray puddles and gravel paths to ourselves. My usual police escorts had abandoned their posts, fled to dry barracks or coffee shops along with the student horde.
“It looks like a neutron bomb went off here.” Brina’s crack drew a wondering stare from Pearl. “You know, like a blast destroyed all the people, but left the buildings standing.” She huffed a weak laugh as Pearl squinted and swung her head.
I offered snark without facts: “Students start their weekend partying Thursday night. Profs refuse to schedule classes on Friday.” I shrugged. “Everybody wins.”
Randolph Hall’s glass doors were unlocked. Sour faces of the university’s founding fathers peered at us from gold frames as we tramped to the staircase. All the pasty nineteenth century donors in these oil paintings wore suits of black or charcoal. Where was the bold pioneer in Alexander University’s signature purple? My black trousers and jacket fit right in with this somber crowd. Almost. If I’d owned a lavender shirt, I’d have worn it. But I didn’t, so I chose a blue one in honor of Pearl.
The second-floor hall was dim and quiet, an uneasy corridor of beige walls and scuffed oak planks. More tight-lipped portraits guarded the door of the dean’s suite. I knocked, but no one answered, so I pushed in. Musty fumes rose from the old rugs in the outer office. No smiles from Nathalie Kwan greeted us when we entered. I was disappointed my favorite admin assistant had vanished, along with the rest of the Alexander staff. I’d hoped her warm welcome might calm Pearl’s jitters and ease what was sure to be a difficult meeting.
We crossed the empty office, past the plush violet lounge chairs and the dark mahogany secretary’s desk. The bookcase, with its bright show of academic power was still there, waiting for a new display to celebrate the winner of the Blackistone Prize. On the shelves, books by the nominated authors were mounded in three colorful pyramids. Above the bookcase hung the photos of the rival professors: Keith, Nakamura, and Pindar.
I glanced at the two women beside me. Pearl’s cheeks were sunken and chalky, her pale eyes bulging. She wheezed as if we’d been running. Brina’s n
ose and forehead glistened under a film of perspiration. A vein pulsed below her left ear. She licked her lips, gulped air, then licked again. Excitement drove them, mixed with a drop of fear. I wasn’t immune to the tension: my stomach shot toward my chest as I rapped on the dean’s private door.
Strong women turn me on. Mostly.
From an early age my mother, grandmother, and aunts taught me to respect their wise power. The older I got, the more I was drawn to strong women. But the sky-high energy of this meeting I’d arranged between Galaxy Pindar, Pearl Byrne, and Brina Ross set my nerves on edge. This was tinderbox territory. And I was flicking the matchhead with my fingernail.
After explaining my goal to Galaxy, we’d agreed to meet in her office Friday afternoon. She apologized for making the three of us travel to campus. She explained she needed to be near the conference room on the first floor of Randolph Hall. This was the location of the committee meeting which would decide the winner of the Blackistone Prize. As both the dean in charge and a nominee, Galaxy needed to be on stand-by for the announcement.
We shook hands and the women circled, like boxers in a ring. Shoulders tense, necks stiff, no smiles, all business. I watched Brina and Pearl take in the complicated colors, patterns, textures, and artifacts of Galaxy’s inner office. In Nathalie’s absence, the dean brought us coffee and water from the kitchenette beyond the display case. Folds of her red and purple tunic rustled around black pants as she ferried cups and bottles into the office. While Galaxy set the table, the newcomers canvassed the space, scanning books, skimming papers, admiring photographs.
Pearl wore the same boxy blue nun suit she’d worn the day I’d met her. Maybe it was the only formal outfit she owned. A visit to the big city university campus deserved her best. She carried a white canvas sack with long straps, its weight butted her calf as she moved around the room. She drew a finger over the threads of the yellow tapestry on the round table. Then she dabbed at a dusty book on a shelf near the window. Would she pull out a handkerchief to polish the glass? Cleaning ladies never take a holiday.
At the far side of the dean’s desk, Brina touched the forehead of the wooden mother-and-child statue Galaxy had wielded in my defense. She tipped it, looking for Reva Nakamura’s bloodstains. Then she winked at me and flipped the hem of her red jacket. A Beretta Nano 9mm nestled in the waistband of her dark jeans. If Reva returned, I was well protected.
We settled around the table. The dean pointed Pearl to a seat next to her and I took the chair beside Pearl. Brina sat opposite me. I shifted to touch shoulders with Pearl, a nudge of solidarity and comfort. Sweetness lifted from her earlobe and brushed my face: Annie’s perfume, Rêves de la Plage; tangy like cherries dipped in sugar. Pearl wanted Annie in the room with us.
I made the introductions, but urged Galaxy to lead the conversation. She didn’t waste words on formalities. “Pearl, thank you for taking time away from your office.” These were two professionals pressed to make the most of their short time together. Galaxy lifted a pad of yellow legal paper from a stack on the table. She ripped off the top page to reveal a clean sheet and parked her red eyeglasses on her nose. “For a business owner, every hour not at work means money lost, so I’m grateful for your visit today.”
Pearl’s smile faltered, but her words rang clear. “Not at all, Dean Pindar. The work is important. But Anniesha is more important. That’s how I see it. I’m glad SJ could steer me in the right direction and get me to someone like you.”
Brina’s eyebrows shot up at hearing a stranger use such an intimate name for me. My shrug wasn’t enough of a response; I’d owe her a fuller explanation later.
Galaxy’s sip of coffee softened her direct language. “Rook has told me some of it. But I want to hear about your company from you.”
Pearl leaned back in her chair, gripping a bottle of water. “I figure you don’t really care to know too much about the cleaning business. It’s pretty much what you’d expect.” She sputtered to a halt and looked at me.
“Tell the dean about the people you hire, Pearl.” I pushed confidence through a smile, hoping she’d relax into her story.
“I hire mostly women, provide them with equipment, uniforms, and cars and send them on assignments. The clients who contract with my company are homeowners, businesses, local government departments. Such like that.”
Galaxy took a black ball point pen and scratched a few words on her yellow pad.
Pearl turned her round face toward me and drew the parallel to Annie. “We were alike in so many ways. She got her start just like I did: scrubbing floors and windows in rich people’s homes for peanuts. She scraped and fought to turn that hard experience into a pretty fair business. Just like me.”
Sitting beyond Pearl, I couldn’t make out what the dean wrote, but I could see the capital A that punctuated her notes. Galaxy’s precise speech and careful questions made the interview feel like a legal deposition. “And did you know Anniesha before?”
“No, I had no reason to. And no way to know anything about her company down in Miami. Our getting together was all because of Professor Keith. He did the introductions.”
“So, Gerry Keith did his primary field research among the employees at your company. Just like he did at Anniesha’s company in Miami? Is that how you understand it?”
Pearl’s eyes narrowed and her voice contracted to a whisper. “Well, see that’s the funny thing. Professor Keith only visited me in my office in Poughkeepsie just that one time. The next time it was the person he brought with him, that young assistant.”
I filled in the name Pearl had forgotten. “Sarah Anastos? Sally. She’s the one who came to see you with Dr. Keith?”
“Yes, jumpy little red-head in a black pants suit. That one. First, Sally came up with the prof. Then she came back three more times on her own.”
“Three more times?” Galaxy was as puzzled as I’d been when I first heard that number. “Only three? I’ve read Dr. Keith’s book and it details data collected at the so-called ‘Blondie Cleaning Services’ in Poughkeepsie from at least fifty different women interviewed over many months.”
Pearl bit her lip at the challenge, but didn’t back down. “Maybe that’s in the book he wrote. But I was there. I can tell you for a fact Sally never came up to see me or my girls more than three times. And she worked slow. I know because I had to keep track of exactly how many hours she spent with each girl. So, I could pay them for the time, you see.”
“How many of your employees did Sally Anastos interview?”
At this point Pearl reached into the cloth satchel on the floor at her right ankle. She pulled out a stack of papers and shuffled through them until she found the information she wanted.
“These are time sheets for each of my girls who put in claims after they got interviewed by Sally. Seven girls in total. Four of them interviewed for two hours; two of them interviewed for just one hour each. And one, Janet MacNeil, spent three hours. Janet must have been a pretty good source. Maybe that’s why Sally spent so much time with her.”
Galaxy looked up from her writing to nail this assertion. “So, you’re saying, Sally Anastos interviewed only seven of your employees? And she spent a total of only thirteen hours doing it?”
“Yes, Dean. That’s how I added it up. And that’s how I paid out too. I sure wasn’t going to cheat my girls out of their due. Fair is fair. Talking is just as much work as cleaning out a shower stall or mopping a floor, you know.”
Behind her glasses, red threads popped in the corners of Galaxy Pindar’s eyes. She was bone-rattling mad. She clamped her lips tight to get control of her words.
Brina spoke into the scary silence. “So, Pearl, did you ask Anniesha if something similar had happened at her company in Miami?”
“Yes, I sure did. When I found out she was going to be the keynote speaker at the business conference, I reached out to her. I knew she was the “Brownie
Cleaning Services” company Professor Keith had talked about. But I’d never spoken to her direct. But when I saw she was going to be making a trip up here, I sent her an email.”
Pearl turned to me. After I nodded, her blue eyes glowed with unshed tears as she continued.
“I thought we could get together, maybe have coffee or lunch. But Anniesha called me on the phone and we got to chatting. We talked a lot. About how it was to be a woman in business. How we made a go of it, how we handled the girls on our payroll. Competition, advertising, bankers, things like that.”
Pearl twisted the straps of the cloth bag. Seeing the violence of her actions, she dropped the sack out of sight again and resumed.
“Anniesha was a real sharp professional and a first-class lady. But, you know, she was a regular gal too. She talked to me like a friend. I could tell she had education, maybe more than me. But she talked to me like I was worth something. I appreciated that. She was a real lady.”
I took Pearl’s hand and squeezed it twice. She was trembling, so I held her fingers as she gathered the threads of her story.
“When I described how the two professors did their work in my shop, Anniesha said they were the same at her place down in Miami.”
Pearl reached into the bag at her side and drew out a tablet. As she fired up the device, she explained her plan. “We spoke several times by video conference call. I recorded them. I thought you might want to see Anniesha explain things in her own voice.”
The screen flashed, Annie’s face filling its frame. A white turtleneck threw a spotlight on her dark brown skin. Her fine chain of braided rose, white, and yellow gold hung around the high collar. Long black hair draped past her bare shoulders; pink hoop earrings glinted through the strands. Under thick bangs, the slant of her eyelids was outlined in blue pencil. Shiny pink lacquered her lips. Annie looked commanding. Beautiful. The strongest of the four women in the room.
Galaxy craned to view Annie. Brina rose from her seat to stand behind the dean. A river of emotions washed over me as I watched them. Galaxy jutted her chin forward, her eyes narrowing behind thick lenses as she concentrated. With the tip of her tongue peeking between her lips, the dean jotted notes on her yellow pad. Brina’s breath clutched and rushed and caught again as the story unspooled. Tiny drops of perspiration dotted the frown line dividing her brow. Once she swiped at the sweat, then dabbed her fingers against her jeans. Brina kept her gaze on the screen, eyes wide, lips twisted as her teeth worried at the left corner of mouth. She wouldn’t meet my stare as she absorbed Annie’s account.
Murder My Past Page 26