by Anne Canadeo
“I think we did hear that someplace, Edie,” Maggie said vaguely. “It’s a terrible shame, but I’m sure the police will figure out who did it quick enough.”
“I saw her around town a lot. She never came in here,” Edie added. Suzanne got the feeling Edie felt insulted by Liza’s slight. “I hear there’s a memorial service for her tomorrow.”
“We were just discussing that,” Maggie said. “Are you going?”
Edie shrugged. “I don’t think so. But I bet half the town will be there.”
“From what I hear, I don’t doubt it,” Maggie replied.
Edie was called away by a waitress and bid them a quick good-bye. Once she was gone, Lucy said, “Well, the news is out. If Edie knows the police are calling it murder, I give it five minutes to travel down Main Street.”
“I’ll give it three, but I get your point,” Maggie countered. “So, we’ll go to at the memorial service tomorrow? It’s at one o’clock, at the church on the village green. Maybe we should ride over together?”
“Good idea. I can pick everyone up.” Suzanne was relieved to have her posse with her, right from the start. Especially since the whole town would soon know that Liza was murdered.
She glanced at Maggie. “Do you think Charles and his partner will be there?”
“Possibly. They may want to see who attends. Just like we do.” She paused.
“And they might be following me around now.” Suzanne didn’t mean to sound so glum and rattled, but she couldn’t help it. “Gee, Mag . . . I thought Charles liked me.”
Maggie looked surprised. “Of course he likes you. But he has to do his job.”
“Can’t you put in a good word for me or something?” Suzanne knew the question sounded whiny and childish. But she really meant it.
Maggie seemed half amused and half thrown off balance by the appeal. “Oh, Suzanne . . . you know it doesn’t work like that. Please don’t worry. Let’s have a little faith in the police department. I know they got off to a bad start, but I’m sure they’ll soon see you had nothing to do with Liza’s death. The attempt to point the investigation in your direction seems very clumsy to me.”
“Okay. But I sure hope you’re right. Clumsy or not, I’m still on the hook.” Suzanne tried to smile. It was hard. She didn’t know what else to say.
Maggie smiled back. Suzanne could tell that her good friend didn’t know what else to say, either.
* * *
Breakfast with her friends had been both emotionally and physically fortifying. Suzanne felt ready to face her coworkers at Prestige Properties.
Nobody knows you were at the station last night and you don’t have to tell anyone if you don’t want to, she reminded herself. Just show your face, act busy, and when you’ve had enough, pretend to have an appointment.
It seemed like a good plan and Suzanne felt calmer. Though her confidence began to melt as soon as she walked through the door and the receptionist, Janine Osborn, didn’t even say hello before she started talking about Liza.
“It’s awful about Liza, isn’t it? Here one day, gone the next. What a shock. Now the police are saying she was murdered?”
“Yes, awful. A real shock,” Suzanne echoed. The upgrade to murder had been breaking news five minutes ago on TV, but had obviously traveled like a flash fire down Main Street.
“The memorial is tomorrow. Are you going?” Janine glanced down at her desk and slipped a sheaf of time sheets over the celebrity magazine she’d been reading.
“Of course I’m going. I’m sure everyone in the office is.” Suzanne didn’t mean to bristle but the question caught her by surprise.
“Right.” Janine nodded. “I just thought . . . well, since you two didn’t get along.”
“We didn’t. But I certainly want to pay my respects. I didn’t dislike her that much.” Suzanne’s tone was curt.
“Of course not,” Janine replied. She put her hands up in mock defense. Suzanne noticed her fresh manicure. Tall and thin with dark hair and eyes to match, Janine was young and attractive. And always on the lookout for a boyfriend. She never seemed to meet Mr. Right, though from what Suzanne could see, the young woman didn’t have very good judgment about men and was always attracted to the toubled type, guys with enough baggage to fill a carousel at Logan Airport. Still, Suzanne didn’t envy her. Being single in a small town like Plum Harbor had to be tough.
“Didn’t mean anything by it, honestly,” Janine said.
“I’m sure you didn’t,” Suzanne replied in a calmer tone. “I’m sorry if I snapped. I didn’t get much sleep.”
“We’re all a little out of sorts around here today. Join the club.” Janine gave the sort of eye roll Suzanne usually got from Alexis. “Wait until you see Harry. He’s a mess, poor guy.”
In her sigh Suzanne heard a certain telling note of devotion, one she’d heard before. Janine had a little crush on Harry. Maybe not so little, actually. Suzanne wondered if, with Liza gone, Janine had plans to comfort the “poor guy”?
The phone lit up and Janine answered in an efficient voice. “Prestige Properties. How may I help you?”
Suzanne felt relieved and headed to her cubicle. But she was alarmed to find it messed up, with gritty powder on her desk and chair. It looked as if the drawers of her desk had been pulled out and the papers riffled through. She opened a cupboard to find the contents rearranged.
The detectives had asked for her fingerprints last night, but maybe just to make their case files official. She knew what the stuff looked like and it seemed they had already dusted the room thoroughly for her prints.
She hung up her jacket, dusted the desktop and her chair with a tissue, and set down her leather bag. She’d just settled in when she heard a light tap on the metal molding of the cubicle and then, a throat-clearing sound. It was funny how, when there were no doors, people had different styles of getting your attention.
She turned to find Harry. He looked bleak, his dark eyes wide and sad, his mouth sagging at the corners. Suzanne knew that most women, especially in her office, would say that Harry Prentiss was good looking. Maybe he was, though he wasn’t her cup of tea. But he was successful and wealthy, which did affect the eyesight of a certain type of person.
Tall and fit, he still had most of his hair. His features were rather ordinary, with a thin nose and sharp chin. He did have very nice eyes, which could bestow a certain glow of warmth and approval. Other than that, he dressed well and looked like a man who didn’t work that hard but enjoyed a very comfortable life. He sailed and played golf, then drank aged whiskey and vintage wine, and ate well, too.
Today, as she expected, he looked lost. His eyes were red rimmed from crying, or drinking too much. Or maybe both. It was hard to lose someone you loved. A cut that went deep. Despite her opinion of Liza, and even ignoring his marriage, she did feel sorry for him.
“The whole place is a mess. Not just your spot, if that’s any consolation,” he said, taking a step in.
“Not much.” She took another wad of tissues and dusted off her computer screen. “Geez, if I wanted to clean today, I would have stayed home and pulled out the vacuum.”
She saw Harry’s mouth twitch, almost forming a smile. “A top salesperson like you? I thought you’d have a cleaning service by now.”
Suzanne had tried weekly cleaners. But the house got messed up within minutes once the family marched in, and it made her even crazier, because she’d actually paid for it to be neat.
“What can I say? Housekeeping keeps me humble.” She dabbed the desktop again but tissues were not going to do it. She needed some paper towels and spray from the kitchen. She tossed the last wad in the wastepaper basket, dusted her hands, and turned to him.
“I’m sorry, Harry. . . . I’m sorry for your loss. I know that you . . .” How to say this in the most delicate way? Suzanne suddenly regretted starting the condolence, but she felt Harry’s sorrow had to be acknowledged. It was a fine needle to thread, that was for sure. “You valued Liza
very much, as part of this staff,” she added. “And you valued your . . . personal relationship. I’m sure this must be very hard for you.”
Harry seemed touched by her words, however awkward they’d spilled out. “Thank you, Suzanne. It’s no secret that you two didn’t get along, but I know she respected you.”
“I respected her,” Suzanne said quickly. Which she realized was true. “I feel bad about the way I acted on Thursday at the staff meeting. You don’t know how much I wish I could start that entire day over,” she said honestly. “I was so ashamed of myself. The things I said. That’s why I came back in that night. I wanted to apologize to her.”
To apologize . . . and try to save my job. Though she didn’t think he needed to know all that.
“Don’t beat yourself up. What’s done is done. We all have bad days, and even lose our temper. At least you wanted to make it right. You were just . . . too late.”
Harry’s sympathetic words surprised her. She’d braced herself for a harsher reply. But it seemed that the wake of Liza’s death had left him with a kinder and gentler perspective. Which was fine with Suzanne. But it was not like him and she wondered how long it would last. He cleared his throat and blinked. Pushing back a sudden bout of tears? He took out a handkerchief and quickly got hold of himself.
He met her gaze again. “You know what they say. ‘No one is guaranteed tomorrow.’ Liza died well before her time. What a fluke. And they still don’t know what set off that allergic attack. Not that I’ve heard.”
“Oh yeah, they do. Turn on the news, pal,” she was about to say. Harry obviously hadn’t heard yet that the police knew how Liza had died and were calling her death a homicide. Suzanne was about to break the news, then caught herself. Once she started down that road, it would be hard to keep her interview with the detectives a secret.
“It was a tragedy. No doubt. But I know the police are on it. They’ll figure it out soon. With the autopsy and all. The investigators certainly tore this place apart.”
She wondered when she would get her office computer tower back, but thought it wasn’t a good time to ask.
“I’d gladly see the whole building knocked down to rubble, if that would bring her back,” Harry said quietly.
She never realized he had a poetic side. Maybe only Liza brought that out in him.
He gazed at the floor, lost in his thoughts, then suddenly looked up. “When this is all over, we’ll talk, Suzanne. There’s a big gap to fill with Liza gone. I’d like you to take over her clients. What do you think?”
Harry was bestowing an unexpected gift and Suzanne knew he expected surprise and gratitude. But she didn’t know what to say. Ordinarily, she would have whipped out a pom-pom and done a leap for joy. She was always the Can-do! Girl when it came to taking on more work. And making more money. But inheriting Liza’s clients? With the police sniffing and snapping at her heels? The proposition seemed ghoulish and just the thing Detective Oliver would love to hear—and twist all around to smear her even more.
“You know, Harry . . . I’m so flattered that you thought of me. Can I think about it a bit? I’ve got such a heavy load now, and things are just wild at home. I’m not sure I can do the kind of job I’d want to do for you. One that would do Liza’s reputation justice.”
Harry looked surprised. “I understand. It’s probably too soon to bring up business. This is a sad time for all of us. But think about it. I only ask because I know how motivated and skilled you are, Suzanne. A real role model for the others, believe me.”
Lead dog in the sled, now that Liza’s gone, he meant to say. Suzanne heard the whip crack and replied with a silent “Woof!” At the same time, she felt undeserving and weighed down by his praise.
“Thanks, Harry. I try my best.”
“I’m sure.” He glanced at his watch, a slim, gold Rolex. “I’ve got to get going. We’re managing the reception tomorrow after the memorial service. The Devereauxs are in shock. They weren’t able to handle it, and we wanted to help.”
“That’s very generous of you. I’m sure they appreciate it.”
Harry waved his hand. “It’s nothing. The least we can do. I’ll see you tomorrow, Suzanne.”
At least he hadn’t insulted her by asking if she was going to the service. Suzanne appreciated that. “See you,” she said.
The conversation with Harry had been draining and distracting. She was glad for the simple task of cleaning up her cubicle before she settled down to do real work. Though her productivity today was questionable, with her office computer gone and her thoughts so scattered.
She suddenly wondered about Harry’s lack of knowledge about Liza’s death. Was that just a cover-up of some kind? Maybe he did know but didn’t want to talk about it. Was he trying to find out how much she knew?
Suzanne gave up on trying to clean her cubicle with tissues and headed for the kitchen. She searched under the sink for spray and a sponge or some paper towels, but supplies were scant. Everyone needed to do the same thing here today, she realized, and Beth Birney, their office manager, was careful with expenses and fell into a tizzy if she found two sponges or two rolls of towels in use at the same time. Flustered, but never really sharp in her rebukes, Suzanne amended. Beth took such things so to heart, you wanted to cooperate just to be nice to her.
Suzanne found a petrified sponge in the back of the cupboard and ran it under hot water. As she stood at the sink, the rest of the sales team, Anita Fleming and Lyle Croddy, walked in.
In her midfifties, with long, brown, silver-streaked hair, Anita had a perennial bohemian look that had recently come back into style. She favored swinging skirts or leggings, and high boots with blowsy tops and layers of costume jewelry. Her jingling bracelets always warned of her approach, like bells on a cat’s collar.
Anita’s laid-back personality matched her vintage outfits. She worked part-time, covering apartment rentals and low-end properties, and Suzanne had never noticed any friction between Anita and Liza, mostly because Anita seemed to know her place in the food chain and was marching to a different drummer entirely.
But maybe under all of that peace, love, and understanding, Anita was really seething? Suzanne knew that her husband had lost his engineering job last year and hadn’t found a good paying position yet, working now as a barista in a Starbucks at the mall. Watching Liza pull down commissions on million-dollar properties left and right had to sting Anita a bit. No one was that laid-back.
“Here we are, the last three on the island. Who will be the . . . survivor?” Lyle met her gaze and wiggled his eyebrows in a meaningful way.
Did he mean they were going to get “picked off” one by one, as in a dumb reality TV show? Leave it to Lyle to come out with that tasteless quip. Did he know Liza’s death was not due to natural causes? It seemed so.
Suzanne glanced at him, nearly blinded by a typically mismatched outfit—a blue striped shirt with a patterned tie, covered by a lumpy green sweater vest. A fringe of white and orange hair stuck out in all directions—a few, select strands carefully combed across a bald spot and fixed with hair gel.
Anita poked him with her elbow. “Have some respect. Poor Liza isn’t even laid to rest.”
Lyle shrugged. “A little gallows humor. Didn’t mean to offend.”
Suzanne met his gaze, remembering now how he’d sold her out to the police, wildly exaggerating her behavior at the infamous meeting. Was it Lyle? Was he the one who had set her up to take the blame for Liza’s death?
He acted nice enough face to face, but she always got the feeling that deep down, he didn’t like her very much. He was normally on the cranky side, but always seemed extra bitter about her victories. He’d been that way with Liza, too, come to think of it. Often dropping hints that made Suzanne think that, just because he was a man, he believed he should have seniority on the team. But it didn’t work like that. “You have to sell stuff, Lyle. Duh . . . ,” she had often wanted to tell him.
He’d also felt the sting of Liza
’s client-stealing ways, she recalled. And had tried to horn in on Liza’s residential listings and Suzanne’s, even though he was supposed to stick to commercial sales and leases.
The grass was always greener in the real estate biz. And so were the commissions, Suzanne reflected. Maybe Lyle and Liza had some private vendetta that she had no idea about?
Lyle, Lyle, Crocodile . . . ? Something to consider, later, when she was alone.
“No worries, Lyle. No offense taken,” she replied smoothly. “Anybody know when the network will be back up?”
“I asked Harry, but he couldn’t say. He’s in a daze today.” Anita shrugged and cast Suzanne a meaningful look. “If I knew the system was down, I would have worked from home.”
“Me too.” Lyle had turned to the counter to make a cup of coffee. He pulled open several cupboards before he found a coffee pod and a clean mug. “This place is a mess. Didn’t the service come this week?”
“If they did, they need to come back. I’m trying to clean my space with a Dustbuster. It really needs a Shop-vac,” Anita said.
Suzanne was relieved to hear her cubicle had not been singled out for investigation. If anyone in their group, or even a stranger, had harmed Liza, surely the police would find some evidence of that?
Evidence that didn’t point to her.
Suzanne squeezed the sponge and pulled off a wad of paper towel from a dwindling roll next to the sink. “Beth should ask the cleaners to come back. Maybe the police wouldn’t let them in while they were working here.”
“Just like on TV. The crime scene can’t be contaminated.” Lyle spoke with the authority of a man who watched a lot of police procedurals. “I think they suspected foul play from the start. Even though they kept telling us all this detective work was routine. Did you see the news today? The police are sure now that she was murdered.”
“I heard that, too. On the radio, driving over this morning.” Anita had found a plastic cake holder on the table and checked under the lid. She pulled out an oatmeal cookie, sniffed it, and took a bite. Beth’s doing, Suzanne guessed. She probably made the cookies thinking they might cheer everyone up.