Gossip Can Be Murder

by Connie Shelton

  “But . . .”

  “But a killer would be walking around free. I just . . .”

  “Have you shared your information with the police?”

  “Tried to. I really did. Gallegos just wasn’t interested. And what do I really know anyway? Rita’s death wasn’t an accident because someone came into my massage session yesterday and threatened me? I can’t make the connection yet, and it’s a sure thing they won’t immediately see it either. Maybe if I can get something more, something concrete.”

  “Do you have any ideas?”

  “A couple. Ron’s doing some background checks for me.” I caught myself before I told her of my feelings about Celeus Light. She always spoke so glowingly of him; I didn’t want to shake her faith if it turned out my suspicions were groundless.

  “Look, I gotta get to the ladies room, then make it to my class,” she said. “Be careful, and I’ll catch you at lunch.”

  We walked back inside. As Linda made for the restroom I ambled toward the library. A plan had begun to form and I knew she wouldn’t like it. A plan that could get me into a lot of trouble.

  I stepped into the quiet ambience of the library. Soft lamps glowed on two tables and the freshly plumped cushions on the sofa indicated that no one had yet used the room this morning. The lingering scent of sandalwood clung to the oriental carpet and to the upholstery. I strolled to the bookshelves and studied the titles.

  An entire shelf contained books by Celeus Light. Idly, I picked up one and flipped to the back cover, noticing for the first time that he had co-authors for all his titles. A younger photo of him smiled back at me with his trademark image as teacher of all things mystical. A week ago I might have bought it.

  The blurb describing him as a spiritual leader and world-renowned speaker didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know. Except, maybe, how many of the words in the book were actually his own. One thing about it: if I ever wanted to become rich and famous I’d like to get the name of his publicist. He or she certainly wrote convincing ad copy.

  From the hallway Shirley’s voice rose above the general hubbub, calling everyone to class. I replaced the book and tucked myself into a corner so I’d be invisible from the doorway. Within two or three minutes the place got quiet. I gave it another five minutes and took two deep breaths.

  A tentative peek around the corner assured me that both Shirley’s and Light’s classroom doors were closed. Nicki sat at the reception desk, writing in a ledger-style book, her back to me. Now or never, I figured.

  I stepped out of the library, careful not to bump against the door jamb, willing my shoes not to squeak on the polished wood floor. I walked past each of the classes, trying not to look sneaky, in case Nicki moved from her spot at the desk. The big obstacle might be a locked door, but I got lucky. Light’s office door opened without a sound and in one second flat, I was inside with the door closed behind me.

  The overhead fluorescents were off but he’d conveniently left a lamp burning on the credenza. I crossed quickly to his carved cherrywood desk and scanned its top. Nothing. He was one of those executives whose environment shows no trace of actual work being done. A blotter, gold pen and pencil set, and telephone were the mainstays. The top drawer on the left contained a box of business cards—Celeus Light, Spiritual Leader and Meditation Guidance.

  Two more drawers contained nothing more than stationery, pens, and various office supplies. The bottom drawer on the right was sized for files and was locked. Fat lot of good that did, since the key to the lock was in the drawer right above it. I was inside that baby in no time.

  Unfortunately, the files weren’t exactly of a top secret nature. Publicity materials for his various speaking engagements, dating back three years. Nothing before that. It looked like the kind of ego stuff a person would keep either to remind himself how wonderful he was or to convince the IRS that his business was legit. Other files contained employee information, belying his statement that Shirley handled all that. However, no file for Rita. Interesting.

  I pulled the rack of files forward and found a few goodies behind them, against the back of the drawer. A small bottle of Scotch, Glenfiddich single malt. The good stuff, and probably technically a vegetarian item. I pulled out a small box beside the bottle—another box of business cards. These bore the name Robert Stanworthy, President, Stanworthy Financial. Financial what, I wondered. Advisor, accountant, stockbroker? There were numerous possibilities. I snagged a card from the box and tucked it into my purse, replacing the box and closing the drawer.

  Umm, now what? A credenza behind the desk held a laptop computer, lid open but not turned on. Did I dare?

  I’d considered the tantalizing possibility for about two seconds when something else caught my attention. The squeak of a shoe sounded right outside the door. Oh god. Nowhere to go and no time to make a decision.

  The doorknob began to turn.

  Chapter 19

  My heart did a gigantic thud, then stopped. I’m dead meat, I thought. With no other choice, I grabbed my purse, ducked into the leg space under the desk, and pulled the chair in after me. There was no time to make sure I’d closed all the drawers, no time to be sure my feet weren’t sticking out. It wouldn’t matter anyway because if Light came in and sat down he would knee me right in the face. I held my breath.

  As before, the door swung open without a sound. What had worked in my favor ten minutes ago now kept me in suspense. Another shoe squeak. Someone was standing in front of the desk, separated from my vulnerable backside by a thin sheet of wood.

  A thunk sounded directly over my head, like a stack of papers being dropped. I jumped, fortunately not hard enough to bang my head on the underside of the desktop. Another footstep and the door closed with a firm click.

  Too close.

  I cautiously pushed the chair away, crawling on hands and knees out of my confined space. I smoothed my jeans in an ill-concealed attempt to be sure I hadn’t wet my pants. Finally, I remembered to breathe again.

  After about four deep breaths I felt my courage returning. I really wanted to take a look at that computer. I weighed the possibilities. Staying here was clearly becoming dangerous. Taking the computer would be even more so. Not to mention that I’d be committing a felony and would need to sneak back into the office again to put it back. This is foolish, Charlie, totally, completely, insanely crazy.

  Before I had a chance to talk myself out of it, I closed the lid on the computer and stuck it inside my jacket. With nerves stretched like over-taut wires and heart thudding audibly, I peeked into the hall. All clear.

  Light’s office was the last one at this end of the hall and I thought I remembered an exit to the courtyard just beyond it. I edged to my left and found it. As Elsa Higgins would say, I was as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a rockin chair factory all the way to our room. Luckily, Linda’s absence gave me the whole place to myself.

  I figured I had about fifteen minutes max. Light’s lecture would let out and I could pretty well bet that he would go immediately to his office. The conference attendees would head for lunch, but he rarely joined them. I locked the deadbolt and perched on the edge of my bed. The computer booted up readily enough, lighting up with a blank screen with one word in the center: Password.

  How was I going to figure that out? And how many tries would it give me?

  I closed my eyes and took a deep, meditative breath. Try something, Charlie, anything. No time to waste here. I tried SOUL, LIGHT, PEACE. No luck with them. I pulled out the business card I’d just stolen. His real name was Robert Stanworthy. I began trying variations of that starting with STANWORTHY and finally hitting it with BOBSTAN. All right!

  The moment the desktop icons revealed themselves, I opened the list of files. Luckily there weren’t zillions of them. Partway down the list I came to one named Ratwill. I opened the document, which appeared to be a legal form of some kind. I scanned through enough whereases and therefores to learn that David’s and Rita’s names were both in t
here, but I wasn’t going to be able to read and absorb the whole thing in the next three minutes. Now what? I needed a way to print it or copy it. I’d brought nothing in the way of office stuff with me.

  Wait—Linda had brought her laptop computer. She’d been transcribing her notes onto it each evening. Maybe she had an extra memory card somewhere. I set Light’s computer aside and dashed to the corner where she’d stashed her computer bag. Feeling like a real sneak, I unzipped the bag and rummaged through it. Two cards were stashed in a small pocket inside the case. One was labeled, the other looked new. I grabbed that one and plugged it into the drive on Light’s computer.

  The Ratwill file copied quickly, and I ran my eyes down the list of other documents. Several might have been interesting, given enough time to open each and read them, but I had no way of knowing. I debated the invasion-of-privacy issues for a good ten seconds before copying two more files. I will delete them the minute I’ve read them if they don’t have anything to do with Rita, I promised myself. I unplugged the card and dropped it into my purse, shut down the computer properly, and stuck it back into my jacket. This is so stupid, Charlie, you’re gonna be cooked if anyone ever finds out about this.

  Light’s seminar was due to break for lunch in two minutes. I raced out of the room and down the empty hall. Out in the courtyard, I paused for a second and took two deep breaths. No one was around. In through the exit I’d used earlier. I scanned the corridor and didn’t see anyone, although voices rose in a lively pattern from one of the classrooms. People would fill the hall in mere seconds, heading for the restaurant. In as smooth a move as possible, I opened Light’s office door and stepped in. Without bothering to close the door, I whipped the computer out of my jacket and crossed the room.

  Guessing at the placement, I set it back on the credenza and opened its lid. The voices in the hall were very close now. I did two giant steps across the room and paused in the doorway.

  “Ms. Parker?” Celeus Light stood no more than five feet from me. My stomach lurched and I know my face must have drained of color.

  “Oh, there you are!” How would I explain this? “I uh . . . I tapped on your door, but wasn’t sure if you’d answered me. Little noisy here right now.”

  He fixed me with a long stare.

  “Well, obviously you weren’t in. I just discovered that.” Stop babbling, Charlie. You’re looking guilty as hell.

  “No,” he said in that smooth voice. “I’ve just come from my lecture. What was it you needed?” Pat Girard stood behind him.

  Damn good question. “I . . . well, I see that you’re busy.” I glanced past him at Pat. “I just wanted to get some advice on my meditation techniques, but it can certainly wait.”

  I skittered away before either of them could pin me down more specifically. By the time I got to the ladies room I seriously thought I would throw up. Bolting myself into a stall, I leaned against the wall and pressed my hands to my stomach. He’s going to notice something out of place and he’ll remember this encounter. Why on earth did I take the computer, and why did I cut the timing so close? And how much had Pat seen? Her mouth was probably the most dangerous weapon on the premises.

  The butterflies began to subside and I reached into my purse and felt for the memory card. For a second I couldn’t find it and the bile began to rise again, but eventually my fingers closed around the little piece of plastic. A slow grin began to form. Risky as it was, I knew I had something here about the Ratwills’ financial situation. Light or Stanworthy or whoever he really was looked like he’d been working with David Ratwill to pull something against Rita. I just needed to put the pieces together. And to do that I needed to read these documents.

  Tahlene stood at the sink when I exited the stall. “Oh, hey, Charlie,” she greeted. “Missed you this morning in yoga.”

  “Yeah, my attendance has been a little spotty the past few days. I’m really sorry.”

  “No worries. We got some dishy gossip about Rita this morning.”

  “Really. I understand the police ruled her death an accident.”

  “Did you know she and Trudie knew each other a few years ago?” she said.

  I feigned ignorance. “Really? In school or something?”

  “More recent than that,” she said, moving closer and lowering her voice. “Rita was a patient of Trudie’s in California. At a mental facility.”

  “Interesting. I didn’t realize that was the type of nursing Trudie did.”

  “I know. Seems a bit mental herself sometimes, doesn’t she?” Tahlene parked her butt on the edge of the vanity and went on. “Well, she says Rita checked herself into this place, claiming depression. But she really, deep down, had lots of issues with her husband. Trudie says the husband was really a nice guy, called every few days, cared for her a lot. But Rita was . . . well, we’ve all seen how Rita was.”

  Sort of hyper, controlling, edgy. But she also worked for David at that time and they were in the middle of the big lawsuit against AceChem. Add the strain of an unhappy marriage and I could see how Rita might have been depressed. Then there was the other nurse’s account of Rita’s being afraid of Trudie. For the first time I kind of felt for her. I wished I could peel through the layers of all this and find out what really went on, not just what the latest gossip held. Maybe a lot of Rita’s prickly attitude came from all the crap she was facing in her life.

  “Did anyone else have anything to say about it?” I asked.

  “Not really. The Mayhews sat there kind of quiet, interested, you know, but not saying anything. But they didn’t really get the chance. You know how it is when Trudie gets started.” She turned to the mirror and fluffed her hair.

  The door opened just then and two women walked in, Pat Girard and another of the doctors. Did I just imagine that Pat gave me a peculiar look?

  “Your friend Linda is looking for you,” the other doctor said. “Said she’d meet you in the restaurant.”

  “Thanks.” I walked out, leaving Tahlene at the mirror.

  Linda seemed a little anxious as she scanned the dining room, before I finally caught her eye.

  “Ah, there you are,” she said, her dimples finally showing again. “I’d been wondering whether you’d make it.”

  The waiter arrived with the ubiquitous bowls of bean soup, salads, and steamed vegetables. With my stomach still halfway in knots, none of it looked appealing. I halfheartedly speared a carrot.

  “I need to ask a big favor, Linda,” I said after a couple of minutes during which I worked over the one carrot slice, while she eagerly tucked into her salad.

  “Sure, what is it?”

  “First I better apologize for missing so many of the sessions and not doing a better job for you, not doing what I’d agreed to.”

  She waved it off. “No problem. I’m getting copies of the handouts from Shirley. You know I really suggested this week to give you a break from your crazy pace and let you relax a little. Guess that little ploy didn’t work.”

  “I never do seem to relax, do I?”

  “No, and as your doctor, I should be giving you a lecture about that.” She forked a tiny grape-tomato.

  “So, this favor, am I going to get a big lecture if you find out it involves work? For me, that is.”

  She rolled her eyes, which I took as a signal to spill it.

  “Can I use your laptop for a few minutes this afternoon?” I asked.

  “That’s it? Nothing involving a shootout, a chase, breaking and entering?”

  Her wide, innocent smile told me she really didn’t know, but my guilt reflexes kicked in and my hand clattered the fork against my plate. Luckily she’d chosen that moment to take a sip of water and she didn’t notice.

  “No, just something I need to read from a disk. I’m impatient and didn’t want to wait till I get home.”

  “No explanation necessary. It’s in the black carrying case in the room. Use it anytime.”

  The waiter came to clear our dishes, giving me a puzzled
look when I told him I was finished. I’d probably consumed a total of three carrot slices. “Just not hungry,” I told him.

  At that, Linda narrowed her eyes. “You, not hungry?” she said after he’d left. “I’ve never seen you not hungry. Usually for something involving a big hunk of red meat or smothered in green chile.”

  Exactly. But I didn’t want to seem ungrateful. “No, no. Lunch tasted good. I just had a little touch of something . . .” I fluttered my fingers in front of my stomach. “It’ll be fine by the end of the day, I’m sure.” Provided I don’t get caught in any more crimes in the meantime. “Guess I’m thinking about what Drake’s going through in his deposition.”

  To prove my robust health, I joined her in finishing off my entire dessert, something that tasted like genuine chocolate but probably wasn’t. I didn’t ask.

  “Okay, I’m going to take a leisurely walk around the building, then I have a massage at one-thirty,” she said, rising. “Help yourself to the computer, whenever.”

  What I really wanted was just to go home. I was tired of healthy food, healthy exercise, and lectures on good health, surrounded by gossipy, toxic people who wove their little webs of intrigue and somehow ended up dead. A margarita followed by a plate of green chile chicken enchiladas at Pedro’s would do me fine. An evening at home with my dog and my husband and a great night of sex and sleep in my own bed would do me even better. I sighed and pulled myself out of my chair.

  Chapter 20

  My grumpy sense of malaise followed me to the room, where I stretched out on my bed for a minute, which stretched into thirty as I promptly dozed off. My ringing cell phone brought me back. I’d forgotten to switch it to vibration mode and thank goodness it hadn’t gone off earlier in Light’s office.

  “Hey, glad I caught you.” Drake’s voice came through, his familiar tone always welcome. “I was afraid you’d be in classes and I’d end up leaving a message.”