Murder in Store

by DC Brod

  “I said I didn’t kill him.”

  “Then who did?”

  “It could have been a lot of people.” She cocked an eyebrow, slipping back into her playful role. “Even you.”

  “Who else?”

  She took a drink, then began twirling the ice cube in her almost-empty glass. “Doesn’t his dear sister Grace have any theories? I can’t believe she’s keeping a low profile right now. She’s probably busy dropping hints that Preston’s young widow did him in.” Diana drained her glass.

  “Not to me,” I said. “She just wants to know who killed him.”

  Diana’s laugh was dry and without humor. She peered into her glass, looking for a drop she might have missed. “That’s the first time we’ve agreed on anything since I thought Preston was going to sell the store.”

  “Preston was going to sell Hauser’s?”

  She shook her head. “Not really. Apparently it was just one of those momentary whims of his. It passed.”

  “Who do you think had the most to gain through Preston’s death?”

  “That would be me, as far as money goes. But like I said, I don’t need it. As for my life, well, I guess I had the most to lose in that department. Whatever I was with Preston, I’m much less without him.”

  I picked up the picture and the letter from the coffee table, pocketed them, and stood up.

  Diana was fiddling with the ends of the silk sash tied around her waist. She didn’t look at me when she said, “What are you going to do?”

  I didn’t answer because I wasn’t sure yet.

  “Are you going to tell O’Henry?”

  “No,” I said, not sure why. Maybe I believed her or maybe I just wanted to. “He doesn’t have to know. Not yet anyway. However,” I added, taking in her beauty and her wiles and realizing I wasn’t totally convinced there wasn’t a black spider sporting an hourglass at the core of her soul, “if anything unfortunate happens to me, he will know.”

  She nodded. “That’s fair.”

  I walked to the doorway but looked back when she called my name. Her arm rested on the back of the couch and she spoke to me over her shoulder. “You don’t have to leave, you know. What happened earlier, that wasn’t all part of the act I really don’t want to be alone now. I’d like you to be here.”

  I almost stayed, and I might never have regretted it. Instead, I just shook my head, said, “I’m sorry,” and left.

  Chalk up another one for the lizards.

  15

  IT WAS AFTER seven when I got back to Elaine’s. She had whipped up a spaghetti dinner I could smell ten feet from the door. We split a bottle of Cabernet and stuffed ourselves on garlic bread, spinach salad, and spaghetti with meat sauce that was wonderfully rich with garlic.

  I told Elaine most of what had happened. She listened, without interrupting. When I finished she said, “Do you think Diana Hauser killed her husband?”

  I thought about that for a long time before answering. “She might have. I get the feeling she lives her life on the edge a lot. It probably wouldn’t take much to push her over. But then I don’t know that she really had a motive. She didn’t need his money. Her family has plenty, or so she says. And I really think she did need him, or thought she did. She wanted to torment him, to make him feel like he wasn’t as in control as he thought he was, but I don’t see anything there that would be a motive. I mean, how can you continue to torment someone when he’s dead? But, as of now, she’s the only viable suspect, as they say.” I sipped on coffee that tasted faintly of cinnamon.

  Elaine said, “You ready for dessert?”

  “Are you kidding? There’s no place to put it.”

  “I think you can find room for this.” She left the room and returned in a few seconds with a brown envelope, which she plopped down in front of me. “Enjoy,” she said.

  I could tell by her impish grin that she wasn’t going to give me a clue so I pulled out the contents. There were

  seven manila files. I looked from the contents to Elaine, then back again. I opened the first one. As far as I could tell the information was the same. I flipped through the rest. They had all been in the stolen group of files: Frank Griffin, Hauser’s purposeful general manager with an unswerving eye for attractive women; Larry Duane, Hauser’s department head who was under surveillance for suspicion of running a dogfighting ring; Byron Noble, a buyer with an unswerving eye for attractive men; Art Judson, Hauser’s PR man with a bad gambling habit; John Harrison, head of maintenance, who had spent a couple years at Joliet State for assault and battery; Tom Cassidy, who apparently took a personal interest in promoting the careers of the ladies of the evening and had been arrested, though not convicted, on statutory rape charges; and, of course, everyone’s favorite former security head: me. As I thumbed through the familiar names, I could hardly believe I had them in my hands.

  “What is this?” I said.

  “What does it look like?”

  “It looks like Hauser’s files, but that doesn’t make any sense.” I looked through them again. “These are Hauser’s files.”

  Elaine nodded. “You’re not the only one who had a busy, productive day.”

  I was awestruck. “I guess not,” I said and added, “And you had time left over to put together a feast. God, what a woman. How did you do it?”

  “Well,” she said, leaping into it, “after you left I started doing some digging. I found out that this detective of Hauser’s, Ray Keller, lived with his mother.”

  “How did you find that out? Police records?”

  “No. Phone book. I looked up his number and dialed it. Actually there were several in the directory. I just figured if someone answered to the name Ray Keller or if he was out

  then I could disqualify him because he wasn’t dead.” “Flawless logic.”

  “I thought so. Anyway, I think it was the fifth number and this woman answered. She got kind of upset when I asked for Keller and she wanted to know who I was. I lied.” She looked a little ashamed. “I said Keller had been doing some investigating for me on a very personal matter. She told me he was dead and I pretended to be very upset. Distraught. Well, Mrs. Keller—Carmen—she’s a real motherly type. She became concerned about me. So I told her that Keller had some information on my husband, who was cheating on me. But I told her that my husband and I were trying to make a go of it again and I wanted to be sure no one ever saw those files. Well, she invited me over. That’s where I spent the afternoon.” She paused. “That’s also where I got the recipe for the spaghetti sauce. And the files.”

  “I’m speechless,” I said. “She just gave them to you?”

  “Well.” She shrugged. “She spent all afternoon talking about Ray and what a wonderful son he was. She showed me pictures, drawings he made in grade school.” She shook her head sadly. “I felt like such a jerk. I mean, I knew I was being deceptive, and this was such a nice lady. I figured the least I could do was listen to her. She showed me all his files. Apparently he worked out of that apartment. She said I could take anything I wanted. She had all she wanted to remember Ray by in her own memorabilia.” She sipped her coffee. “She also thinks the police didn’t investigate Ray’s death thoroughly enough. She thinks someone killed him. She can’t believe her son would ever be drunk enough to fall into the path of a car.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think Mrs. Keller is genuinely convinced, but I also think she’s a mother who loved her son very much. And maybe she doesn’t want to believe that her son died for no

  good reason. Still, it’s hard not to take her side. When I left she asked me to come back soon. And she said she hoped my marriage worked out.” Elaine shook her head slowly. “What a miserable thing for me to do.”

  I was touched by her guilt. Most people don’t feel that deeply. “Hey, Elaine.” I put my hand on her shoulder. “You made the woman’s day. And you didn’t just sit there and listen to her go on about her son because you wanted those files. You cared enough to list
en.”

  “She was so lonely. Her son was all she had. Now he’s gone and she’s got nothing.” She sighed. “And I lied to her.”

  “Yeah, well if these files tell us anything, they may tell us who killed Hauser and Keller.”

  She grabbed the top file and flipped it open. “What are we looking for?”

  “Anything that could be a big enough secret to warrant killing two, maybe three people.”

  “Ah,” Elaine said. “This one. We may be able to eliminate this one immediately.” She looked at me. “Did you kill Hauser?”

  “No.”

  “Well, that’s good. We can narrow it to six now.” She continued to read my file. “A real page-turner, isn’t it?”

  She yawned, then something she read made her giggle.

  “You got to the part about me living in sinful bliss with a woman young enough to be my daughter. I feel the need to point out that I would have been a very young father.”

  “Maybe that’s why Hauser hired you. He could relate to a man who liked younger women.”

  I shrugged. “Who knows?”

  “I suppose,” Elaine said, “that a woman of thirty-one would be over the hill for you.” “Not if she were rich.”

  Elaine whacked me on the head with my own file and

  glanced at the name on the next file. She gasped. “Oh, my God.”

  “What? Oh my God what?”

  “This is incredible,” she said as she scanned the contents.

  “A hint, Elaine. I need a hint.”

  “Does Pam know that Art has these gambling debts?”

  “Why should Pam care?” I asked, but the answer was dawning on me. “Pam and Art?”

  “Don’t look so shocked. Pam’s got a lot going for her.”

  “I know that, but … Art Judson? They just don’t seem a likely couple.”

  Then I recalled Pam’s attitude toward me. It wasn’t like she was snubbing me, but more like she had gone on to something else. And Art had mentioned meeting a woman who was helping him get it together. Pam could do that.

  “I feel like I’m invading someone’s privacy,” she said, continuing to leaf through the folder. “You don’t think Art could have killed Hauser, do you?”

  “I think it’s possible. What do you think?”

  She paged through the file again. “God, this is all real hard to believe.”

  I waited for her to elaborate.

  “It says here that Art was once in debt some twenty thousand dollars, but that someone gave him the money to pay off the debt. Doesn’t say who. Then it says that he is quite the womanizer. Went through beautiful, very young women like there was no tomorrow.” She shook her head. “God, poor Pam. She’s really hung up on the creep. Now he owes a bunch of money to some guy named Lorenzo.”

  I sat up. “Paul Lorenzo?”

  She glanced at the paper. “Yes. Why?”

  “That’s interesting.”

  “Why?” she repeated.

  “Paul Lorenzo owns Lorenzo Trucking, which was recently

  given the trucking contract for Hauser’s.” Elaine’s eyes widened.

  “I heard that Hauser hit the ceiling when he found out that Griffin hadn’t renewed the current trucker’s contract and had given Lorenzo the business without even asking for bids.” I wondered about Art’s loyalties. And about Griffin’s connections.

  Elaine closed the folder and placed it in its own space on the table. “These are the ‘maybes.'”

  We went through each of the remaining five folders, jotting notes and downing several cups of coffee. When I opened Griffin’s file a photograph fell out.

  “Hello. What have we here?” I picked it up off the floor. It was a picture of a young, very attractive woman in the company of a blurred man who might have been Griffin.

  Elaine leaned forward. “Let me see.” I showed her the picture.

  “Who is that?” She squinted at the photo, trying to bring it into focus.

  “I think it’s Griffin. But I don’t know who the woman is. What’s strange is that I don’t remember seeing this picture in the files Hauser gave me.”

  Elaine took the picture from me. “Overdoes the make-up, don’t you think?”

  “I hadn’t noticed.”

  “And if she’s a natural blond, I’m Princess Di. I’ll bet she’s one of those part-time models.” “Are you finished?” I asked.

  “I guess so.” She replaced the picture in the folder and tossed the whole thing in the maybe pile.

  When we finished with all of them, Elaine looked at her notes and then at me. “You go first,” she said.

  “I eliminated four. Harrison spent two years in prison, and although it’s not something he would want anyone to know about, it’s a matter of public record. Duane is breaking

  the law with his dogfights, but I don’t think he has whatever it takes to kill a human being.”

  “Scum,” Elaine muttered. “Who else?”

  “Cassidy. He likes hookers. Big deal. So do a lot of men. And the statutory rape charge never stuck. He’s not in a very powerful position within the company, either. Not a lot of leverage for blackmail or a lot to lose if someone were to find out. And Noble has never tried to hide the fact that he’s gay. Doesn’t flaunt it either. He and Griffin don’t get along at all—Griffin thinks there’s something wrong with you if you don’t have a wife and at least one mistress—but I don’t think Noble had any problem with Hauser. He’s a valuable employee.” I put down the sheet of notes. “What about you?”

  She scanned her notes before answering. “Close. I didn’t eliminate Duane, though, and I considered eliminating Griffin.”

  “Why Duane?”

  “I think,” she said, flipping through his folder, “I think it was largely a matter of wishful thinking. Justice.” She looked up at me. “He wouldn’t get the chair for running a dogfighting ring, but maybe he would if he had killed Hauser.” She dropped the folder on the table. “I guess that’s not very logical.”

  I picked up Duane’s folder. “We’ll put it with the maybes. Why not Griffin?”

  “Well, apparently he does have a mistress, but you can’t prove it by that picture. Keller may have been okay as an investigator but he was a lousy photographer. All the others evidence seems kind of flimsy.”

  I nodded. She might be right.

  “Why do you think he’s a possible?” she asked.

  “He wouldn’t get the chair for firing me, but maybe he would if he killed Hauser.” We both laughed. “No,” I said. “It’s more than that. Maybe it’s because his is the only file

  that is so sketchy and vague. All the others have done specific things that can be pinned on them. Griffin hasn’t. Maybe he has a mistress and maybe he hasn’t. I just think there is more to it than meets the eye or his file wouldn’t be here. Besides, Griffin runs Hauser’s. It’s possible that he could benefit from having Preston out of the way. Also, I’m beginning to think that Griffin’s influence at Hauser’s went a lot deeper than most people realized.”

  Elaine nodded. “Okay. That narrows it down to two—Griffin and Judson.” Elaine rose and began clearing the table. “So, where do we start tomorrow?”

  I collected my plate and the spaghetti sauce dish. “Elaine,” I said. “You’ve been an incredible help already. In fact, I guess you could say you’ve given me a place to start. But, I can’t get you further involved.”

  She stopped rinsing plates and wiped her hands on the back of her jeans. “What do you mean? I already am involved. Somebody trashes my home and I take it personally.” I didn’t say anything and she added, “I want to help.”

  She meant it. But I had the feeling things were going to get a lot worse before they got better. Already I wasn’t playing real smart. I should have told O’Henry everything. Dumped it all in his lap and gone on with my life. Elaine shouldn’t have to pay for my stupidity.

  “I know you do,” I said. “But I can’t let you because I can’t let anything happen to yo
u, and I don’t know any way to make sure of that except to keep you out of this.”

  I left the room to get my suitcase, which I had never completely unpacked. We had moved my suitcase to Elaine’s bedroom before O’Henry arrived the night before. Elaine was still in the kitchen while I got my things together. I shoved my belongings into the suitcase, snapped it shut, and turned. Elaine stood in the bedroom doorway. Her arms were crossed in front of her and she wore her defiant look.

  “You have to let me help,” she said. “If you don’t, I’ll do it on my own. I know enough already to do that.”

  “Why is this so important to you?”

  She cleared her throat before answering. “Because I think I’d be good at it, and I want to prove to myself that I don’t need a multimillion dollar company behind me to succeed. Because it feels good to do something for myself and not for the company. Because I don’t want you to leave.”

  That last statement hung in the air between us.

  Dropping my suitcase to the floor, I approached her. She didn’t move and, this time, neither one of us turned away.

  I pushed her hair back off her shoulders and traced the curve of her throat with my thumbs. She tilted her chin upward in response. We kissed, quick and gentle at first, like we were testing the water. Finding it agreeable, she pushed her hands up under the back of my sweater as I moved mine down the front of hers, touching the rise and fall, the hardness and softness of her breasts.

  Locked in an embrace, we pulled each other down onto the carpet, fumbled with sweaters and zippers and hooks and laughed at the awkward moments, until we were finally as close as two people can be.

  Later, we lay on the carpet, still twined around each other, feeling the chill of the air as it evaporated the sweat from our bodies.

  I thought she was reading my mind when she said, “I wonder how the bed works.”

  We moved onto the bed and made love again, more slowly now, taking time to explore each other and allowing the sensations to linger.

  I woke in the early morning with the light of the moon on the bed and watched Elaine as she slept—her skin

  smooth and white, her breathing deep and even and her face peaceful in repose. Then, selfishly, I nuzzled her awake until her protests dissolved into sighs.