by J. D. Griffo
For a brief period after graduating high school, Alberta had worked at the Kleinfeld Insurance Agency. She hated every second of it, so if she succeeded in getting a job here it would definitely be an improvement. The building itself was an upgrade.
Standing in the middle of the huge lobby on the speckled gray and white marble floor, Alberta noticed that the walls were painted off-white and trimmed in dark wood paneling. Directly in front of her was a floor-to-ceiling window that ran four stories high, the entire height of the building, allowing light to flood the lobby. Drenched in a downpour of sunlight, Alberta closed her eyes and could feel the warmth penetrating through the walls. It must get hot inside during the summer, she thought, but the view was well worth it. She thought it would be wonderful to be greeted by a picture-perfect blue sky and the swaying branches of the trees every morning upon arriving at work. All this could be hers, she thought, if only she could fake her way through the initial interview.
“I know I don’t have an enormous amount of office experience,” Alberta conceded. “But I worked at an insurance company before I got married and, well, I did raise two children and kept house. Plus, I’ve done tons of volunteering. Catholic Daughters of America, Sisters of Charity, PTA when my kids were little, back in the day . . . as they say. Oh, and I hosted our annual fire department fund-raiser, Blaze of Glory. At the end of the night we’d get a big bonfire going and then the firemen would show everyone the proper way to put it out. Making fire fun, that was our motto.”
Denise Herb-Kaplan, the human resources administrator interviewing Alberta, was fascinated by her applicant. Regardless of age, gender, or race, the typical job seeker was never forthcoming about faults and thought it best to present a shell of a person devoid of personality. Alberta was refreshing, and if there was a position available, Denise would have given it to her. Unfortunately, there were no current openings.
“I’m so sorry, Alberta, honestly I am,” Denise said, her tone more apologetic than it had ever been in her career. “But as we say in the HR world, there’s just no room at the inn.”
“Well if it’s good enough for Jesus,” Alberta replied. “Then it’ll have to be good enough for me.”
Alberta was more disappointed than she thought she’d be upon hearing the bad news. She was dejected, of course, because she wanted to make headway with the investigation, but she also thought it would be fun to be a member of the working force again after such a long hiatus.
Denise walked Alberta to the elevator and told her that she would definitely call her if a position opened up. And just as the elevator doors opened, one did.
“Alberta Ferrara?”
The man standing before Alberta was vaguely familiar, but in the kind of way that meant he could’ve said he was a former neighbor or a TV weatherman, and either way she would’ve believed him.
“I’m sorry, I don’t believe I know you,” Alberta replied.
“Sure you do,” he replied. “I’m Marion Klausner.”
And then she remembered. He wasn’t a neighbor or a local TV celebrity, he was yet another old schoolmate. First Lucy, then Vinny, and now Marion? Ever since she moved to Tranquility it was as if she was reuniting with her past instead of moving toward her future. Was the universe trying to tell her that you can never escape your past? Or were all these chance meetings serendipity?
“Oh, Madon!” Alberta gushed. “Now isn’t this a nice surprise.”
“I believe the pleasure is all mine,” Marion replied.
“Do you two know each other?” Denise asked.
“Ever since ninth grade,” Marion replied.
“Really? That is . . . so incredible,” Denise said a bit nervously in the presence of her boss. “Mr. Klausner is the president of Wasserman & Speicher.”
“Well, what do you know?” Alberta mumbled.
Marion stepped out of the elevator and into better lighting and Alberta immediately saw the resemblance to the teenager she knew in high school. Marion’s close-cropped hair was all silver now, but worn in exactly the same style as was memorialized in his senior class photo, parted on the right and swept over to the side, more fastidious than stylish. His blue eyes shined as bright as ever, his face was still smooth, though with the expected smattering of wrinkles no one can avoid, and his nose was still a tad too long for his face.
“I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you at first, it’s been so long,” Alberta said apologetically. “But once you said your name, it all came rushing back to me.”
Her comment made the blood rush to Marion’s cheeks and his lips formed into a boyish smile. “Chi ha nome, ha robe,” he said softly.
“Is that Italian, Ma . . . uh, Mr. Klausner?” Denise asked.
“It certainly is,” Alberta answered. “I can’t believe you remember that.”
Marion explained with an awkward mixture of sheepishness and pride that growing up he was incessantly teased for having a girl’s name even though he always pointed out that John Wayne’s real first name was Marion, which meant it was definitely a man’s name. Despite that bit of trivia, each school year brought forth a new bully who taunted him for his moniker. Try as he might to rise above the put-downs, the constant ribbing pushed him into a depression deeper than the typical teenaged angst. But one of the things that always helped him rally against the ridicule was something Alberta said to him when they were sophomores, Chi ha nome, ha robe—“A good name is the best of all treasures.”
“I don’t know if I ever properly thanked you for those kind words,” Marion said, still moved by the memory.
Alberta was filled with a different kind of awkwardness, one that she hadn’t experienced in almost four decades, the feeling of being nervous in the presence of a good-looking member of the opposite sex. She remembered that it made you do and say inappropriate things. When she spoke, she knew she was right.
“You could make it up to me by giving me a job.”
Marion smiled like a teenager, “Done. She can have Lucy’s old job.”
Denise burst into inappropriate laughter at hearing the comment. When she saw that Marion wasn’t laughing along with her, she tried to stop laughing, but only wound up laughing harder. “I’m so sorry, excuse me,” she said, still chuckling. “But, um, I thought that position had been phased out per, um, your request.”
“It was,” Marion confirmed. “But I’ve changed my mind. Welcome to Wasserman & Speicher, Alberta.”
* * *
After giving Alberta a tour of the whole building, showing her important office landmarks such as the ladies’ room, the kitchen, the supply room, and—most impressive—the outdoor lounge, which was off the third floor and on a clear day offered a view of Memory Lake, Denise brought Alberta to her desk. It was as if she had just been led to that elusive Holy Grail, and this time she found it to be brimming with treasure.
“It’s beautiful,” Alberta sighed.
“I’ve never heard it called that before,” Denise said. “But I’m glad you like it.”
Alberta’s new desk was quintessential eighties office chic, a heavy structure with thick legs and made of laminated knotty pine so it looked like smooth tan wood decorated with random black circles. There were several built-in shelves on the top and sides of the desk in a variety of sizes that Alberta couldn’t imagine ever being busy enough to fill, and except for the office essentials—phone, computer, mouse, keyboard, pencil holder—the desk was bare. Behind her was a shelving unit and a bulletin board on which some papers and a calendar depicting a tropical beach hung by pushpins, but other than that it looked like all evidence that Lucy had ever occupied the area had been removed. Once again Alberta felt a pang of guilt for invading a dead woman’s space. All for a good cause, she reminded herself.
“Lucy was Mr. DiSalvo’s assistant, but since he’s retired, Lucy has . . . sorry, had been acting as an office floater, helping out wherever she was needed,” Denise explained. “Which will be good for you, because it’ll break you in slowly and give
you an overview of the company. We’ll start you off on a temporary basis, which is just our company policy, but don’t worry, I get the feeling that you’ll be put on the permanent staff in no time at all.”
Alberta didn’t comprehend much of what Denise had just told her (though she did notice “floater”), but nodded her head and said, “That sounds wonderful.”
Adjacent to Alberta’s desk was an identical space; the only difference was that there were many more papers and personal items covering the desk’s surface, the shelves were crammed with files, and the bulletin board was one gigantic photo montage. It was the lived-in version of the space Alberta had inherited.
“Beverly sits over there,” Denise advised, “She’s Mr. Klausner’s admin. And right over there is his office.”
If Alberta didn’t already know Marion was the head honcho, the size of his office would’ve given it away. His door was brown wood, laminated just like the desk, but a few shades darker, and flanked by two floor-to-ceiling glass panels so you could see right in. Inside the office, however, bunched up at the top of the window, were Venetian blinds that could be drawn to create complete privacy. The rest of the wall was the same wood as the door, and it seemed to continue for the length of the hallway. His office looked to be the same size as the first apartment Alberta and Sammy moved into after they got married. Her old friend with the funny name had done well for himself.
“That’s some important-looking office,” Alberta murmured.
“That’s because Mr. Klausner is an important man.”
Both Alberta and Denise turned around to see a woman standing behind them. Alberta’s first impression was that she was one of those middle-aged women who was desperately trying to cling to her youth. Bleached blond hair, chunky jewelry, and a skirt and blouse combo in too-bright colors and too-small sizes. But she was impressed with the woman’s footwear, because Alberta couldn’t remember the last time she even attempted to wear shoes with a three-inch heel. Luckily there was something in the woman’s eyes that led Alberta to believe that despite her age-inappropriate outfit, she possessed a genuinely good spirit, because the woman was going to be Alberta’s closest office mate.
“Alberta Scaglione, I’d like you to meet Beverly LaStanza,” Denise said, introducing the women to each other. “Alberta’s going to be joining us as our new floater.”
“You mean she’s going to be the new Lucy.”
Before Denise could chastise Beverly for making such an unprofessional comment, the woman took matters into her own hands.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, tears welling up in her eyes. “It’s just been . . . difficult since . . .” Her voice trailed off into nothingness, but she didn’t need to finish her sentence for Alberta to know what she was going to say.
Later on as the two women sat at their desks, fresh cups of coffee in their hands, Alberta was hit with more feelings of guilt upon learning that her new acquaintance was having a much harder time processing Lucy’s death than she was.
“I mean, one day she was sitting right where you are now and the next she’s floating on top of Memory Lake,” Beverly said, shaking her head in disbelief. “I just don’t understand how something like this could happen.”
“Neither can I,” Alberta agreed. “It’s like a bad dream. I keep thinking I’ll wake up and Lucy will still be alive.”
Beverly’s head cocked to the side like a perplexed poodle. “Did you know Lucy too?”
Dammit, Alberta cursed herself, so much for being an undercover agent! Obviously, Marion knew of her connection to Lucy because they all went to high school together, but since he was the boss she didn’t think he’d engage in small talk with the rest of the staff, and Alberta didn’t think it wise to let everyone in on the truth, especially if her sole reason for employment was to collect information to uncover Lucy’s murderer. She was taking a chance because some of Lucy’s co-workers must have gone to her funeral, but thus far she didn’t remember seeing anyone, including Beverly, and no one seemed to recognize Alberta.
Vinny had also pulled some strings and was able to keep Alberta’s name out of the police report, identifying her only as a female resident of Tranquility, and subsequently, her name never made it into the papers as the person who had actually found Lucy’s floating dead body. With one slip of the tongue, Alberta almost ruined all that careful maneuvering. She knew that if she wanted to play the role of a private eye, it was time to start acting like one.
“No, I didn’t know her, but I read about the unfortunate news in the paper,” Alberta lied. “I guess she reminds me of myself . . . we’re both the same age, Italian, widows, live in the same area . . . it could just as easily have been me in that lake instead of her.”
By the compassionate look on Beverly’s face, it appeared that she bought Alberta’s fib. “I know what you mean,” Beverly said, her eyes once again moist with tears. She blew her nose and took a moment to compose herself, then added, “I only worked with her for a few years, but I really do miss my friend.”
That comment haunted Alberta all the way home and continued to gnaw at her conscience when she was filling Jinx and Helen in on the details of her day later that night. She focused on the facts and kept her feelings to herself, but even though she didn’t speak it out loud, she was very disturbed that Beverly, who only knew Lucy for a short time, was much more upset about her death than Alberta was—and she had known Lucy for a lifetime. Maybe as she got older Lucy softened and started to treat people better. Alberta sighed despondently because she would never really know.
“How crazy is it, Gram, that your boss is somebody else you went to high school with,” Jinx declared. “It’s like everybody from Hoboken suddenly moved to Tranquility.”
“It was a vacation spot for us back then,” Helen confirmed. “We thought it was like the South of France or Palm Springs even, very fancy.”
“From the looks of it, Marion is living a very fancy lifestyle,” Alberta conveyed. “The building itself is beautiful, his office is huge, and he looks amazing for a man his age.”
Helen pursed her lips and folded her hands around her coffee cup. “Do I need to remind you that you’re there to find a killer and not a boyfriend?”
“Ma, che sei pazzo? I don’t want a boyfriend!” Alberta exclaimed. “And if I did want a boyfriend, I can tell you that it certainly wouldn’t be Marion. To me he’ll always be a skinny little boy with pimples on his forehead no matter how polished he might look now.”
“And boy, has Pimpleface gotten polished,” Jinx said, admiring a photo of Marion that she uploaded onto her cell phone. “He’s like the epitome of the distinguished gentleman even though he’s got a lady’s name.”
“Lovey, Marion is a man’s name,” Alberta corrected. “Not the best man’s name in the world like Joey or Frank, but a man’s name all the same.”
Still gazing at the photo on her phone, Jinx replied, “Well lady’s name or not, your boss is kind of hot in a silver daddy sort of way.”
“Let me see that,” Helen ordered.
When she looked at Marion’s photo she threw her hands up and rolled her eyes in disgust. “Don’t waste your time with that one, he’s already got a girlfriend.”
“How the hell do you know that?” Alberta asked.
“Because I’ve seen him in action.”
In between spoonfuls of ricotta cheese eaten right out of the container, Helen described the scene she had witnessed downstairs at Ippolito’s Funeral Home the night of Lucy’s wake. She was on her way to the ladies’ room when she saw a man and a very distraught-looking woman huddled together in a corner. She could only see the woman from behind, but from the way her body was shaking and the sounds she was making it was obvious that she was crying. The man whispered something into the woman’s ear, and just as he took her by the elbow, he turned around and he and Helen locked eyes. The man was definitely Marion. And Helen could tell by the gentle way he led the woman outside that the two were a couple.
“So get any thoughts of an office romance out of your head, Berta, and just concentrate on your work and finding out who offed Lucy,” Helen instructed.
Which is exactly what Alberta did the next day. While Beverly was in Marion’s office taking dictation, Alberta was reading through some of Lucy’s old business e-mails to see if they could provide a link to her killer, but all they served to do was help Alberta familiarize herself with the company’s real estate holdings. The phone rang.
“Wasserman & Speicher,” Alberta announced, unexpectedly delighted by how corporate she sounded.
The voice on the other end of the line didn’t sound nearly as corporate, but it certainly sounded Russian. “Lucy, it is me, Olive, we are still to meet for tonight?”
Alberta was about to tell Olive, whoever she was, that she had made a mistake and hadn’t reached Lucy, when she remembered Helen’s words. If she wanted to help Jinx solve this murder, she was going to have to start thinking more like a detective and not like a woman impersonating a detective.
“Oh, hi, Olive, how are you?” Alberta said.
“Me? I am a-okay,” Olive replied, her tone of voice not so subtly suggesting that she hadn’t called to make small talk. “And you? I will see you at seven?”
“Yes, absolutely, seven it is,” Alberta confirmed. “See you then.”
Just as Olive was about to hang up, Alberta remembered she had no idea where she was supposed to be at 7 p.m. For all she knew she might need to race to the airport to catch a flight to Moscow. “Wait! What’s the address again?”
“You cannot be serious, Miss Lucy?” Olive screamed and then shouted something in Russian that Alberta was rather sure would translate to “What a friggin’ idiot.” “I do not understand how people in this country expect to do business when they cannot even remember simple details like an address. You have pen?”