Murder as a Second Language: A Claire Malloy Mystery (Claire Malloy Mysteries)

by Hess, Joan

  “Why did he say he left?”

  “He didn’t like the winters. We’d listed the opening on a Web site, and he e-mailed a cover letter and his résumé. I verified that he’d done quite well raising money and getting grants. That’s the basic job description. Keiko’s the one who runs the program, deals with the students’ problems, coordinates with the tutors, orders supplies, and unlocks the door every morning. She puts in a lot more hours than Gregory for half his salary. I promised her a raise this fall—if we can afford it. I do want to tell you how much we appreciate your involvement, Claire.”

  “Thank you, Frances. I seem to have stepped in at an awkward time.”

  “One could say that,” she said. She beckoned to Drake, who was hovering. “I was telling Claire how lucky we are to have her on the board.”

  “Very lucky,” he said in a flat voice. “How’s your investigation going?”

  Clearly I hadn’t fooled him by my visit the previous day. “The police are still looking into it,” I said. “So many people to interview, and some of them in their native tongue. They’ve never had to deal with such a polyglot group. Did you ever meet Ludmila?”

  Frances shook her head. “No, but I heard her squawking after several of our board meetings. I avoided her.”

  “So did I,” Drake said. “She was obnoxious. Gregory should have found a way to get rid of her.” He stiffened. “That’s not to imply that he did. I wish we could blame this unfortunate event on a burglar or a random psychopath. I don’t suppose the detectives found signs that a window had been tampered with. There are more than a dozen computers and some expensive audiovisual equipment. It would have been a lucrative heist.”

  “You’ve been watching those TV cop shows, haven’t you?” Austin said as he joined us. “I prefer Sesame Street.”

  “I’m sure you do,” Drake said.

  Austin laughed. “You must be Oscar the Grouch. Rick and I are Bert and Ernie. What about you, Frances? Big Bird?”

  “This is not the time for frivolity,” she said coldly. “In case you’ve forgotten, this is a memorial gathering for one of our students.”

  “Well, tickle me, Elmo.”

  I will admit I snorted, but I managed not to smile.

  Students came out of the classroom, and more came in from outside. Gregory and Bartek emerged, both looking mellow. Leslie looked far from mellow, but she greeted the board members and accompanied them toward the back classroom. The reception area and lounge were uninhabited—as was Leslie’s office. Feeling remarkably guilty, I hurried inside it and closed the door. My note from Waterford had been crumpled and discarded on the floor. I resisted an impulse to pick it up and opened a folder on her desk. Like the ones I’d found at her home, it contained a résumé and a photograph of a man, this one with a beard. I flipped over the page to expose a photograph of an earnest young blond woman. A second folder contained the résumé of an Asian man and a sticky note with “Jennifer?” written on it. The next folder was for a slightly older woman who, according to her résumé, was a graduate student at the University of Arizona. Her name was not Jennifer.

  I was beginning to worry that my absence might be noticed. I replaced the folders as best I could and left Leslie’s office. I almost yelped when Yelena materialized and grabbed my arm.

  “You must taste my soleniye ogurscy, Claire.”

  The back classroom was crowded, and people were balancing plates in the hall and seated at cubicles. The cacophony of voices was louder than a college bar on Saturday night. Caron and Inez were in a corner, eating pizza and texting. As Yelena deftly elbowed people aside, I saw Duke in the doorway. I accepted a plate with a bright green pickle and squirmed my way out of the throng.

  “I’m glad you could make it,” I said to Duke. “Have you met Ludmila’s grandson, Bartek?”

  “Once when he came to pick her up at the senior center. He was impatient with her. One should respect one’s grandparents. Without them, one would not be born, right?”

  “I cannot argue with that. Would you like a pickle?”

  “I would always like a pickle, Claire Malloy. Have the police found out who killed Ludmila?” He bit into the pickle, which crunched in response.

  “I don’t think they’ve made much progress. Can you remember anything she might have said about someone having a dirty secret?”

  “I’ve been trying to think back. She detested the director and called him swistak.” He spelled it for me. “I looked it up in a Polish dictionary. It means ‘whistler.’”

  “That’s his name,” I said. “Did you look up any other words?”

  “They are not fit for your delicate ears. When I asked her why she used such words when speaking of him, she muttered and I could not understand her. To be honest, I didn’t want to know. I tried to get her to talk about the weather, the flower gardens, the farmers’ market, the news, anything. She did like to talk about how Bartek was an important professor at Farber College. I encouraged her.”

  I sent him into the fray to fight for food. It was curious that Ludmila’s most vituperative curse was merely Gregory’s last name. I couldn’t envision anyone cringing if I were to throw his last name at him. A twenty-watt bulb lit up above my head. I hurried back to my desk and wrote down the word before I muddled it. It suggested a new line of inquiry that I’d totally missed.

  The sudden silence caught my attention, so I returned to the back room. Yelena stood on a chair, dressed in a long black raincoat. “Passing away of life must be honored,” she announced in trembling voice. “I will now tell you sad story about passing away of beautiful peasant girl.” She reverted to Russian and leapt into her narrative. Her voice rose and fell, and her arms flapped like the wings of a convulsive condor. At the height of her recitation, she became so agitated that she would have fallen off the chair if Austin hadn’t steadied her. She shrieked a few more words, took a quick glance at Austin, and collapsed into his arms with a shuddery sigh.

  We all clapped with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Yelena bowed, reveling in her ten seconds of fame. Since I was not the emcee, I stayed by the door and let Frances take the spotlight. While she droned on about the terrible loss and the importance of carrying on in the face of tragedy, I eyed the remaining food. The platters, plates, and casserole dishes contained only scraps and smears. Even Yelena’s pickles had been devoured. Austin’s Crock-Pot was soaking in the sink. Chocolate cake crumbs looked like well-fed ants. I’d given my pickle to Duke.

  Keiko sidled up to me. “Did you like my sashimi, Claire-san?”

  I sadly admitted I hadn’t had a chance to eat anything. I shot a dirty look at Gregory, who was still grazing on a laden plate. I hoped someone had brought pickled pigs’ eyes and fried newts to the party and he had gulped them down, despite his snooty remarks made earlier. Frances introduced Bartek. He thanked everyone for the lovely memorial, shook hands as he made his way to the door, and gave me a harried smile.

  “Survival of the fittest,” he said. “I hope I’ll see you soon, Claire. I’d love to drink wine with you and discuss anything else but Babcia. Anything else.” Before I could retreat, he gave me yet another hug that made me uncomfortable. “Come by later,” he whispered in my ear.

  I freed myself. “I have plans for the afternoon—and I also have a husband whom I adore. If I have any more questions, I’ll call.” I caught Austin’s arm as he came out and let him escort me to my desk.

  “You and Bartek got a thing?” He smirked, but I wasn’t offended. If I were a cougar, I’d be pursuing him. His smile faded. “What’s going on with the investigation? Are they getting close?”

  “My husband won’t tell me anything. I have a long list of unanswered questions, but I’m floundering.”

  “I hope you don’t suspect Rick.”

  “Should I?” I countered. “I can come up with a possible narration in which he stayed in Leslie’s office until he thought everyone had gone. He went into Gregory’s office to resume prowling through the paperwo
rk. Ludmila surprised him. They scuffled and she fell. If you’ll wait a minute, I’ll come up with a more elaborate story.”

  “Rick and I left together and went across the street to the bar. He’s a decent dude, maybe a tiny bit obsessive, but he wouldn’t harm anyone. You know what they say about bankers’ blood.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “They don’t have any.”

  Austin waited for me to laugh, but I was considering this new scenario. Austin would give Rick an alibi in any circumstances. “How long did you stay at the bar?” I asked him.

  “Maybe a couple of hours. He was pissed about what happened at the meeting. I was home before midnight. Take care of yourself, Claire. Somebody out there is not a nice person.”

  “True.” He left, and I sat down at my desk, more confused than ever. Ludmila had been in the middle of a spiderweb, which she built herself, but there were lines radiating in all directions. It was a very complex web. I was fine-tuning the analogy when Caron and Inez came over.

  Inez failed to make eye contact. It was preferable to Caron’s glare. “You do remember that you have to go to the store on your way home,” she said. “Expect at least twenty people. I Cannot Believe you made me do this. What’s Joel going to think when he gets home and hears I’ve been having wild parties?”

  “Then don’t have a wild party, dear.” I saw Miss Parchester slip out the door, but it would be unseemly to tackle her in the parking lot and drag her back inside. “I’ll get enough food for forty, and we can freeze what we don’t use.”

  “Yeah, right. C’mon, Inez. Bikinis are still on sale at the mall.”

  No one else felt the need to speak to me as they left. Gregory, Keiko, and Leslie went into their respective offices. Bartek winked at me, but I failed to notice. Duke waved. Students left in groups. It was a few minutes after one o’clock, so I packed up my notes and prepared to go meet Rick at Mucha Mocha. I didn’t mind waiting as long as I found something to eat. I wished I’d had a chance to sample Caron’s deviled eggs so I could gush with sincerity. I would never admit to Yelena that I hadn’t savored every bite of her pickle.

  I opened Keiko’s door and told her I was leaving. She glanced up briefly, nodded, and returned her attention to her computer. Hunger prevented me from barging into Gregory’s office to ask about Monday night. I could come back after I’d talked to Rick, although I was in a time crunch to shop and be home at four o’clock. I hadn’t cared for Caron’s casual reference to wild parties. Not under my watch, I vowed.

  Mucha Mocha was calm. I took my lunch to the patio and sadly ate a ham sandwich instead of homemade food from across the planet. I love incendiary curry, cocktail wienies, doughnuts, and whatever else had been brought. I assessed all the information I’d heard from Rick, Austin, and, most interestingly, from Duke Kovac. I glanced at a frizzy-haired man clicking on his laptop. Why not? Brazen was not my middle name, but I was not above a polite disruption.

  I sat down next to the man. “Hello,” I said. “I’m just so helpless when it comes to computers, and I’m hoping you can help me. I’ll treat you to the pastry of your choice. Please?”

  “Yeah, why not?”

  I pulled out a paper. “I want to find out about a company with the word swistak as part of the name. It may be a European pharmaceutical company.” I spelled the word and gave him my most guileless smile. “This is so kind of you.”

  “I was just browsing. Did you know there are two hundred and thirty-eight thousand breeding pairs of emperor penguins in Antarctica?”

  “Fascinating,” I breathed. I wanted to poke him, but I only had a few minutes before Rick arrived. “The pharmaceutical company…?”

  He abandoned his quest for penguin data and started clicking. “Okay, look.” He pointed at a line on the screen. “Bergmann-Swistak Pharmaceuticals, headquartered in Hamburg and makers of a long list of bizarre-sounding drugs.”

  I took out a ten-dollar bill and handed it to him. “Enjoy your pastry.”

  “I’m gluten-free, but I can use the money.”

  I thanked him and went back to my table. Gregory’s father had been a co-owner of Bergmann-Swistak Pharmaceuticals. At some time in the past, Gregory or his father had Anglicized the family name. Ludmila might have seen a photo of father and son and made the leap.

  My new best friend sat down across from me. “I did a little more research,” he said. “Bergmann-Swistak went bankrupt ten years ago after a massive class-action suit. For decades they sold drugs that were diluted, mislabeled, and in some cases lethal. The government closed them down. It turned out the company’s assets had vanished, as had the executives. The lawsuit hasn’t been settled, and there are outstanding warrants.” He left before I could dig out another tip.

  That was excellent motivation to change one’s name. Ludmila had treasured an old photograph of a small child, perhaps a dear friend’s grandchild. If the child had died because of a tainted drug, I could understand why Ludmila was so enraged whenever she saw Gregory. If he’d realized why, he would have known how much of a threat she posed. Her English was inadequate to expose him, but he couldn’t be sure a new Polish student might not wander through the door of the Literacy Council. Ludmila would have a confidante, quite possibly one who remembered the Bergmann-Swistak scandal as well. On Monday night Ludmila had been waiting for Bartek to pick her up, giving Gregory the perfect opportunity.

  I was tweaking my hypothesis when Rick joined me. “That was quite a production,” he said. “Who is that Russian woman, and what was she doing?”

  “Her version of a eulogy. She was an actress in Moscow before she came here. Why don’t you tell me about Sonya and Gregory?”

  He stirred his coffee for a moment. “Since I joined the board, I’ve been sorting through receipts and bills in Gregory’s office. It’s been frustrating. If I find a manila envelope with credit card bills, it disappears the following evening. That means I have to dig through all the blasted boxes again.”

  “Why don’t you take them with you?”

  “He’d accuse me of tampering with them. He knows I don’t have any hard evidence.”

  “You could call in the police department’s forensic accountant, you know.”

  Rick held up his hands. “The publicity would kill us whether I’m right or wrong. Who’s going to give us grant money if there’s any hint of embezzlement? We have to offer proof that we’re using the money according to their specifications. That’s a significant part of Gregory’s job. We also have to send him to conferences to enhance our standing in the ESL community. Regrettably, this gives him a chance to double-bill his expenses. I know damn well he’s comped for some hotel rooms and meals, but his credit card charges say otherwise. He then writes checks to reimburse himself.”

  “What does this have to do with Sonya?”

  “After the board meeting Thursday, I went into Gregory’s office. I almost fell over when she marched in. When I told her that he was gone, she growled and went out to her car. On a whim, I followed her.” He caught my frown. “Hey, I don’t fancy myself to be a private eye. I’m merely curious—just like you. She drove to his house. I saw them embrace in the doorway. “

  “They’re adults. As long as they aren’t … behaving indecorously in his office when other people are around, I don’t see why it’s a big deal.”

  “I’ve already told you that I don’t like Sonya. She’s a manipulator of the worst sort. From what I’ve heard from my younger colleagues, she frequents the bars on Thurber Street and rarely leaves alone. That’s her business. The problem is I have a guilty conscience. Don’t bother to ask—I’m not going to elaborate under any circumstances. I took her into Leslie’s office Monday night to tell her that Gregory is an evil man.”

  “Because he may be embezzling money from the Literacy Council?”

  “No, because he’s a murderer.”

  13

  I stared at him with what must have been a somewhat unattractive scowl. “Rick, you can’t
make an accusation like that if you don’t have evidence!”

  “Well, I just did. In any case, all I did Monday night was try to warn Sonya about him. She flipped me off. Having done my duty, I absolved myself from any future responsibility for her welfare. I need to get back to work.” He picked up his coffee mug and the torn packets. “I’ll see you at the next board meeting. I hope you enjoy fireworks.”

  He left me sitting in a daze. I wanted to chase after him and demand to hear the reason for his accusation, but I had a feeling it wouldn’t do any good. He didn’t know about Bergmann-Swistak Pharmaceuticals or he would have told me.

  I had a little bit of time before I needed to buy supplies for Caron’s party. I wanted to talk to Miss Parchester, but she would insist on tea and chatter. It might take a long time before I could take control of the conversation. I decided to try to corner Gregory in his office. I had no qualms about going after him as bluntly as necessary. I gave myself a few minutes to prioritize my questions and then drove back to the Literacy Council. As I came around the corner, I saw an ambulance in the parking lot. This was not good.

  I parked on the street and walked to the door, reminding myself to breathe. Keiko was waiting inside, her hand plastered to her mouth and her eyes wide. “Thank goodness you came back, Claire. A most terrible thing has occurred. Miss Willie has suffered a great illness.”

  “Is she…?” I couldn’t say the word.

  “They are taking her to the hospital. I don’t know how bad it is.”

  Gregory appeared. “Claire, good. Keiko, talk to the students before we have another riot. Tell them one of the board members is ill, that’s all.” He gestured at me. “She’s in one of the small classrooms that we don’t use in the summer. She’s unconscious but breathing.”