But after a long moment, Fitz leaned back, a thoughtful look on his face. “The Daisy Detectives,” he mused. Then he smiled. “I like it! There we have it, Andi, a ready-made name for our private investigative business when we add it to your limousine service.”
Matt made no further comment, just made a noise that sounded something like aarrghh, threw up his hands in disgust, and stalked off into the cabin.
I looked at Fitz. “A detective business and a limousine service? Not for me, thank you. All I want is to find Jerry’s murderer, and then I’m out of the murder business.”
Fitz smiled. “I just like to rattle his cage now and then. Matt can be a fussbudget at times.” He hesitated. “Although he made a pretty good point there about the killer thinking you may know more than you do.”
Right.
Now my cage felt a little rattled too.
31
With the sliding door not yet fixed, and with both Fitz and Joella nagging at me about safety, I spent another night on Joella’s sofa. Next day, JoAnne’s niece’s wedding went off without a hitch. I wore my snappy uniform, picked Tanya up at her parents’ home, and afterwards ferried the newlyweds to Sea-Tac. JoAnne had invited me into the reception, where I glommed onto some spectacular crab hors d’oeuvres and a hunk of wedding cake, picked up a nice check for a few hours’ enjoyable work . . . and landed another limo job!
An elegantly coiffed and dressed older woman named Trudy Vandervort, someone JoAnne knew from a library fund-raising thing, said she’d like to hire the limo for a trip up to the Port Townsend area the following Tuesday. It was a considerable distance up to the north end of the Olympic Peninsula, so I quoted her a fairly hefty price, to which she responded, “Fine,” and wrote out a check for half the amount on the spot. She gave me her home address, and I agreed to be there at two thirty on Tuesday.
Hey, maybe I was in the limousine business!
I INTENDED TO go into the DMV on Monday morning to get the title on the limo transferred and check on that ominous permit business Matt had mentioned, but Letty Bishop called before I got out of the house. She said the higher-ups in San Diego had just approved her request for an assistant. Could I come in right away, this morning, in fact? There wouldn’t be any benefits with the job, but the hourly rate sounded good.
Oh, yes! With no steady job in sight, I needed this.
A complication, however. I was already scheduled for the limo trip up to Port Townsend Tuesday afternoon. I called the woman, explained my problem, and asked if starting the trip later in the day, about five thirty, would be okay.
“That’s fine. Just so you get there before dark. The Captain doesn’t like to travel at night.”
“There’ll be two of you for the trip, then?”
“No, dear, just the Captain. He’ll be staying with my niece while I go on a cruise.”
That settled, I rushed to the F&N offices. Letty immediately put me to work on some client computer files that had been corrupted and on which information had to be resurrected from their original insurance applications.
On my lunch hour I tried to call Elena, but someone in the publicity department at the pet food company said she was out for a few days. I didn’t have a home phone number for her, so that temporarily ended that.
Fitz had better luck. He called that evening from near Port Orchard, where the Miss Nora was anchored for the night, to say he’d talked with Ben Sutherland’s offices in Georgia. A woman there had told him Mr. Sutherland was “out of the office for a few days,” but she wouldn’t give any further information.
“So,” Fitz said, “he could be off trying to add some other unfortunate creature to the trophies on his wall—”
“Or he could have been here in Vigland when my house was broken into!”
“He could still be here, trying to decide how big a danger you pose to him,” Fitz warned. “Is the door fixed yet?”
“No. The repairman called and said he had the new door, but his back went out, and he has to see a chiropractor before he can do anything.”
“Andi, I don’t like you being there alone with the door broken.”
“The repairman fixed a metal rod to brace it, but I’ll stay with Joella again, okay?”
He hesitated, as if doubtful about our joint competence to hold off a burglar. Finally he said, “Just don’t take any chances, okay? Call 911 if you hear anything. ”
I DECIDED TO drive the limo to work the following morning. That would enable me to go directly to Trudy Vandervort’s house after work. When Letty found out the limo was right there in the parking lot, she got excited and begged for a ride on our lunch hour. I’d have taken her anyway, but when she offered lunch at The Log House, one of Vigland’s nicer establishments, as an inducement, I gave her my best bow and sweep of hand. “Your chariot awaits, madam.”
When we went out at noon, she was chattering gaily about the only other time she’d ever ridden in a limousine. When she saw the car, she slapped her palms to her plump cheeks. “Oh, Andi, it’s so elegant! How can you even think of selling it?”
I was just ushering her into the rear door when Mr. Findley and Mr. Randolph started across the parking lot. I’d angled the limo behind a tree, because it was too long for the parking spaces, so they didn’t see it until they were almost behind it. Mr. Findley stopped short. His gaze went from limo to me and back to limo.
“What’s this doing here?” he demanded as if I’d appropriated his private parking space, though I’d been careful not to do that.
“This is Andi McConnell,” Letty interposed. “She used to work here, and now she’s come back to help out temporarily. We were just going to lunch.”
“Andi McConnell . . .” Mr. Findley frowned as he studied me, as if he thought he should know me but couldn’t quite place either the name or face.
Mr. Randolph just looked at his watch. I was grateful he didn’t appear to be connecting me with the belly-buster attack in the hallway.
Then Mr. Findley apparently made a connection, because a lightbulb look came on in his eyes. “Is this the limousine in which Jerry Norton—”
“I’m afraid so.”
More connections apparently snapped into place. “You were a friend of his, weren’t you?”
Unfortunately, connections snapped in Mr. Randolph’s mind too. “You’re the idiot who crashed into me a few days ago!”
Mr. Findley, bless his heart, ignored that. “A terrible thing, Jerry’s death. An incredible thing. Could I speak to you privately after lunch, Mrs. McConnell?”
“Yes, of course.”
Lunch at The Log House was fantastic, shrimp scampi and grilled salmon, although I’d have enjoyed it more if I hadn’t been nervous about meeting with Mr. Findley. Did he object to my temporary employment at F&N? Had he power to veto it? Could he think I had something to do with Jerry’s death?
A few minutes after we were back at work, Mr. Findley called down and asked me to come up to his office. Once I was there, he motioned me to a sofa rather than the chair by his desk and perched on the arm of the couch himself.
“I hope you don’t mind my asking to speak to you.”
Flimsy white lie. “Not at all.”
“I’ve been so upset ever since Jerry’s . . . demise. Baffled by it, in fact. We were quite close, as you may know. Not as close as the two of you were, of course, but he was supposed to transfer to San Diego as my top assistant.”
“He’d told me about the transfer. I think he was quite excited about it.”
“I just can’t imagine anyone doing such a terrible thing to Jerry. He was very well liked, you know. Competent, knowledgeable, a real go-getter. And then to have all his computer equipment at the condo stolen too. Very strange.”
I was surprised Mr. Findley knew about the burglary. “The sheriff’s department has been rather closemouthed about what happened at the condo. Not many people know about it.”
“I heard about it from a detective. They were asking if any company
information could have been on the computer, but I told them I doubted it. Jerry was very conscientious about company confidentiality. A man with the kind of character we could all admire.”
I might quibble about some details of Jerry’s fine character, but I just said, “My own thought is that the theft may have had something to do with his computer Web site business.”
“I was never familiar with details of the business, although I understood it was quite successful. And something Jerry enjoyed doing.”
“I’ve mentioned it to Detective Sergeant Molino.”
“Do you think the murder may also have been connected with that business?”
“I think it’s possible. Or perhaps something to do with a . . . former relationship.” I tossed that out hoping Mr. Findley might jump in with something about Elena, but he just looked puzzled.
“Have you any ideas about who could have murdered him?” I asked.
“No, not really.” He stood up and paced back and forth in front of his desk as if frustrated. “I’ve wondered if someone resented his getting the transfer when so many others here at F&N were let go. Although that hardly seems sufficient motive for murder. And then I’ve wondered . . .”
“Yes?”
“I don’t know quite how to put this, but I had the impression Jerry may have gotten himself involved in something . . . troublesome. I have no idea what, but on that very Friday he was murdered, he’d asked to talk privately with me the following Monday. I had the feeling he was about to confide something of a very serious nature to me. But then, come Monday, he was . . . dead.”
Mr. Findley didn’t tear up, but I had the impression he was about to, and I felt uncomfortable. Especially remembering that Jerry’d had a lot less nice things to say about Mr. Findley than Mr. Findley was saying about him.
“Yes, it was a terrible shock.”
“You found the body, didn’t you? I remember reading that in the newspaper. Jerry was at your house that night, and then his body was found in the limousine.”
I swallowed. His saying it brought back all too clearly the appalling vision of Jerry’s body lying there in the trunk. I hadn’t been totally successful at blocking it before this, but I had managed to stuff it back where it wasn’t sticking out in my mind like the tail of the limo in traffic. Now it was right up-front in vivid color again.
Mr. Findley unexpectedly seemed aware of my distress. He reached over and gave me an awkward pat on the shoulder. “I keep thinking about what losing Jerry means to me, and I know that’s selfish. It must be much worse for you, losing someone you loved.”
“A friend and I have been asking around, trying to come up with any information that might help the police locate the murderer.”
“If I can do anything, will you let me know? The detectives asked me a lot of questions, but I don’t think I was much help. But if there’s anything I can do . . .”
“Thank you. I’ll remember that.”
Mr. Findley stroked his chin, and then, as if he were making a deliberate effort to pull himself together, his shoulders straightened and his tone went brisk. “Well, Mrs. McConnell, we’re glad to have you back with us here at F&N, even though it will be for only a short time. I’m wondering . . . this is off the subject, but is the limousine available for hire?”
“I’m taking a passenger up to Port Townsend after work today, but I understand that if I’m going to start a real limousine service, there are permits involved.”
Mr. Findley grimaced. “Red tape. It’s a nightmare, isn’t it? We added onto the house last year, and you wouldn’t believe what we had to go through. But what I’m thinking is, if you could manage it, I have a meeting to attend with some of the executives of Friends & Neighbors Worldwide. That’s the name of the new, merged company, you know.”
“You’ll be going down to San Diego?” I asked, wondering what this had to do with me and my limo.
“No, Mr. Delgrade has a vacation home on a lake—a private lake—northwest of town. The meeting will be held there.” He frowned. “Making a tax deduction out of what is basically a vacation trip.” The frown reversed to a guilty smile. “Though you don’t need to tell anyone I said that.”
A bit of friction between the F&N transferees from
Vigland and the executives already established in the other company?
“I’m not sure of the exact date yet. Sometime within the next couple weeks, I think. I guess I should just come right out and admit that what I’d like to do is impress these guys. Mr. Delgrade calls his place his ‘hard-times cabin’ and acts as if it’s just some shack in the woods, but I’ll bet anything it’s really a showplace fancy lodge. You know the kind.” He grimaced. “Fireplace big enough to roast a bull. Kitchen fit for a five-star restaurant. Ten bathrooms.”
“I’m not really familiar with expensive lodges.”
“They’re looking on us up here as a bunch of unsophisticated country hicks, and arriving in a limousine might give me a bit of an advantage. If Jerry were alive, he’d be coming with me, of course. I really depended on him.” He moved his shoul-ders as if they were stiff. “Well, I shouldn’t be laying all that on you. My problem, not yours.”
“I’ll be glad to do it for you, Mr. Findley,” I said quickly. I found a vulnerable Mr. Findley a much more sympathetic figure than the stuffy jerk I’d always thought he was. “We hicks have to stick together.”
As soon as I said that, I thought maybe it was a mistake and he’d take offense, but he smiled.
“Right. No wonder Jerry was . . .” He hesitated as if uncertain how to put it. “Attracted to you. And remember, if there’s anything I can do to help in bringing his killer to justice, just let me know.”
32
I changed to my uniform in the ladies’ room at F&N and arrived at the Vandervort place only five minutes late. The house topped a forested hill south of town, with spectacular views of the south end of Puget Sound and Olympic Mountains to the north. Trudy Vandervort herself, in pink shorts, diamond tennis bracelet, and dangling earrings with some pink gem I couldn’t name, answered my ring of the doorbell.
“Oh, there you are! And don’t you look spiffy! I’ll write you a check for the balance, and then I’ll get the Captain.”
I peered around. The house wasn’t quite a mansion, but probably as close as I’d ever get to one. The foyer was bigger than my living room, a graceful staircase winding to the second floor; off to the left was a living room with an enormous fireplace and impressive oil paintings of what I assumed were rich ancestors.
A moment later she returned with the check in one hand and a huge brass cage in the other. In the cage I was astonished to see an enormous, brightly colored parrot.
“You’re taking your parrot along?”
“Captain, this is Andi McConnell. She’ll be your chauffer today.” She made a little kissy moue at the bird.
“You’re not going?”
“No, of course not. I told you, I’m going on a cruise.” She clapped her fingertips over her mouth as she peered at the bird. “Oh, I didn’t mean to say that in front of the Captain.” In a surreptitious aside she whispered, “I let him think I was doing this just as a vacation for him.”
I blinked. “You want . . . I mean, you’ve hired me to drive a parrot up to Port Townsend?” A parrot you find it necessary to fib to?
Her eyes went a little flinty. “Is there a problem?”
I’d been picturing the Captain as a snowy-haired old salt, her father probably, maybe a retired naval officer. But on second thought, with substantial check in hand, what did I care if my passenger sported feathers instead of hair?
I shook my head hastily. “No, certainly not. No problem. Does he need any, uh, special care?”
“He likes company. Perhaps you could leave the partition open and talk to him occasionally.”
Lightbulb going on. “I could ask my assistant to come along. She can ride in back with him. It won’t cost anything extra.”
She beame
d. “That’s very nice of you. I’d appreciate that.”
“Does he talk?” I asked as we trundled out to the limo.
“If he wants to.”
We set the cage on the floor of the limo, along with a box of food and toys, which included a Rubik’s Cube. I decided he probably couldn’t actually work it. But I wouldn’t try to match wits with him, just in case. I drove off with Trudy standing there waving, tissue to her nose, as if she might be having second thoughts about all this.
“Okay, Captain, you want to talk?” I inquired as we headed back toward town, speaking loudly enough to be heard through the open partition. “What’s your opinion on Einstein’s theory of relativity?”
I didn’t want to insult him with Captain want a cracker? For all I knew, maybe he could work that Rubik’s Cube.
Silence. He probably figured I wouldn’t know what he was talking about even if he explained it with equations. I tried another tack. “Can you say your name? Captain?”
More silence, but I had the feeling he was muttering to himself, I know my name, dummy. And I could say it if I wanted to. I just don’t want to.
I made a detour by the Sweet Breeze and ran in to ask Joella if she’d like to come along. She was just getting off work, and I was surprised when she hesitated. Joella was usually so eager for any out-of-routine activity, but she did look a bit frazzled today. She stretched her shoulders and rubbed her lower back.
“Come on out and meet my passenger,” I suggested, thinking the drive might do her good. “I understand he likes company.”
Joella gave me a puzzled look, but when she saw the Captain, she clapped her hands delightedly. “My grandmother used to have a parrot. He liked to ride around on my head and yell, ‘Comin’ through, comin’ through.’”
For his part, the Captain looked at Joella in her long, flut-tery sundress, one of her Goodwill picks, and declared, “Bodacious babe!”
She laughed. “It isn’t often I get a compliment like that. I have to come now, don’t I?”
Your Chariot Awaits Page 22