by Maggie King
Maisie looked delighted. “Yes, Sarah said that. Well, I could tell you some stories. True ones.”
“Really?” I prompted.
“Rox was a quite a character. If you want to learn about romance in the workplace you’ve come to the right source. She had quite a thing going with one of our interns, Foster Hayden.”
“Well, this sure sounds interesting.”
“Foster was, I imagine still is, a very attractive gentleman. Quite dishy. And much younger than she was.”
“You’re kidding?” I held up my phone. “Mind if I record this? For my story?”
“Not at all.” I started the app and put the phone back in my pocket.
Maisie picked up her tale. “They were attracted to each other the minute he walked into the office to start his internship, and one thing led to another. Foster was a nice young man, I always liked him. Unfortunately, no matter how nice, men are men—they’re prone. My oh my, you could have gathered some good story material when they were around. Lots of fighting, very public. And making up, if you know what I mean. Behind closed doors. Most unprofessional.” She tsked but her delighted expression told me the unprofessionalism hadn’t bothered her a bit.
“She used the office like a hotel room. After all, there’s a nice sofa, small refrigerator, wet bar, you name it. You could live there. And she kept a supply of wine, beer, and champagne in the refrigerator.”
“Why didn’t Rox and Foster just go to a hotel?”
Maisie shrugged. “Maybe they did sometimes. But with all these amenities, why pay for a hotel room?”
“How often did she, um, entertain Foster?”
Maisie thought for a moment. “Evenings mostly. One night I left my phone at work and had to go back. My first hint that they were in the building was their cars in the lot. And the sounds coming from Rox’s office . . .” She trailed with a do-I-have-to-draw-you-a-picture tone in her voice. “I found my phone and tiptoed through the rest of the office. I saw Foster’s jacket in his cubicle, his monitor still on.
“If one of us shagged in the office she’d have booted us out the door pronto.” Then, thinking I may not be up on British slang, she asked, “Do you know what shagging means?”
“Yes,” I smiled. “Sex. I think most Americans are familiar with the term.”
“Just want to be sure. Anyway, one time they didn’t even wait until everyone left for the day. I’ll never forget hearing those sounds from her office. A board member was there and heard it as well. I couldn’t make eye contact with him. He was waiting to talk to Rox about our fundraiser.”
“When was all this going on? What time period?” We crossed a small bridge. I tried to imagine the tranquil-looking setting without the constant hum of traffic.
“Oh, we’re talking six, maybe seven years ago.”
“So then what happened?”
“Rox started acting really crazy and possessive and Foster quit. She said she’d see to it that his career was over.”
“Was it?”
“Not at all. The Public Policy Director who was there at the time helped Foster get a position with the ACLU. Later we heard he was working for a large legal practice. Do you want to walk over to the other lake?”
“Okay.” We headed that way. Maisie was right—the lake lowered the temperature by several degrees, making for a pleasant walk.
“Didn’t Rox go over to his house or apartment one time and cause a scene?” I asked. “I think I read something about that.”
“Yes. She banged on his door, yelling and screaming. He wouldn’t let her in. He finally came out and they wound up wrestling and rolling around in the hall. That was all in the paper.”
“Did he ever file a sexual harassment complaint?”
“No, at least I never heard that he did. He was probably too embarrassed to file a complaint. Besides, he gave in to her. And he didn’t want to damage his career.”
Did he think that dallying with the boss would further his career? Did Rox give him any indication that such a move would be successful? Or had hormones been the deciding factor and ambition forgotten?
“So, anyway, after Foster left the ARS, Rox calmed down for a while. Then there was that scene at the theater.”
“Oh, I think I read about that too,” I said. “A long time ago. I’m fuzzy on the details.” It couldn’t hurt to hear Maisie’s perspective of the incident. I might learn something new.
I didn’t. Maisie related the same information I already had—the dramatic showdown in the theater and the car damage. Car damage was a common theme in Rox’s relationships, I thought, thinking of the crazed windshield smasher—only this time, she was the damager.
A gaggle of geese greeted us at the next lake. A number of office buildings surrounded a body of water twice the size of the one we’d just left. I counted three fountains shooting geyser-like sprays. A bridge spanned the water at its midpoint.
Maisie wiped her brow. “It’s sure getting hot out here.”
I handed her a tissue from my pocket. “You might want to wear a hat if you keep up your walking routine.”
“I hate hats. But back to Foster. There was that whole thing with his father.” Maisie was on a roll and clearly enjoying herself.
“Father?” My ears perked up like a cat’s. I hadn’t heard anything about Foster’s father.
“Not long after the movie incident, Foster’s father showed up, wanting to see Rox. The two of them met behind closed doors and I don’t know what they talked about. But a few weeks later Foster stormed into the office. He called Rox every name in the book. Told her to stay away from his father. I took him outside and tried to calm him down. He showed me pictures of Rox and his father. In some they were leaving the office building; in others, they leaned against a car with their tongues shoved down each other’s throats and his hand hiking up her skirt. Right in the parking lot. Foster’s mother had hired a private detective to follow her husband. The date and time stamps on the pictures were for different days over a period of a month. Always in the office or the parking lot, late in the evening.”
“How cheesy,” I said. “First the son, then the father. Maybe the father was a trophy.”
“He certainly was a coup,” Maisie agreed. “And the man was running for some kind of office. State senate, I think. Rox didn’t say a thing about Foster’s tirade when I returned to the office, just acted like nothing had happened.” Those words echoed what Nichole had reported about Rox’s behavior in the aftermath of Evangeline’s termination. “But I caught a hint of a pleased look. I think Rox really liked upsetting people and actually took a perverse pleasure in it. Like that woman in East of Eden.”
“Funny you should mention East of Eden, because we were just talking about it at book group last week. But you probably mean Cathy Ames, and Rox must have been pretty bad if you’re comparing her to Cathy. Cathy was the devil incarnate. I read somewhere that John Steinbeck modeled her after one of his wives.”
“If that’s true, he was lucky she didn’t kill him.”
Figuring we were getting off track, I said, “So what happened next with Rox?”
“Soon after that, the father died. The paper just said he died, no cause. Rox showed up at the funeral. So did Pamela, Foster’s girlfriend from the movie incident. His mother started screaming when she saw Rox. There was a terrible scene and Foster reminded Rox that he had taken out a restraining order on her and that he wouldn’t hesitate to invoke it. Rox held up her hands in mock surrender”—here Maisie demonstrated by raising both hands— “and left with an amused look on her face.”
“He took out a restraining order?”
“That’s what Foster said. And he told me that he and his family blamed Rox for his father’s death. All the stress, especially when the mother got hold of the pictures.”
And all that gave Foster a powerful motive to kill Rox, I thought.
“Even with all her hijinks, Rox could put on a professional face when she needed to. She raised money
, she gave good talks, knew how to schmooze with the donors. The board loved her results. But they couldn’t take the publicity and ultimately had to fire her. After that we kept up with her antics via the paper.”
We fell silent. As I admired the scenery and stepped around goose droppings, I tried to process the information Maisie had shared. The part about Foster’s parents was quite a revelation.
“So Hazel, is this giving you some inspiration?”
“Sure is. And it makes me wonder . . . do you think Foster could have, you know, killed her?”
“Oh I don’t know. He certainly had a motive, but it was so long ago.”
I considered his alibi of being in Atlanta. But alibis weren’t always reliable. How long would it take him to get here from Atlanta? Eight hours? Ten? Not inconceivable that he made the trip with an intent to kill. However, it seemed unlikely. I couldn’t wait to hear what Lucy had to report after her lunch with him.
“What about Rox’s current husband? Widower, rather? How did he come into the picture? Didn’t you say he was on the ARS board?”
“Ah, Brad. Yes, he’s on our board. He got Rox the job at the Hamlin Group when the ARS canned her. Brad knew one of the members and got her in there. Then she started getting DUIs. The woman was a train wreck.
“Brad had been in a relationship with Nina, Rox’s sister. Nina’s a nice person. And so was that other woman who used to come in the office to visit Rox. What was her name? Oh, I’m having a senior moment.”
Interesting that Rox associated with such nice people when she herself was not so nice.
“Marcie. It was Marcie. I think she and Brad were cousins.” Maisie offered nothing more. If she knew of a relationship beyond friendship between Rox and Marcie, she wasn’t sharing. And I felt sure she would have.
“You know, Brad’s had his share of tragedy as well. He was happily married, then his wife disappeared.” Maisie described how Veronica Jones’ body was found on the banks of the James River in Lynchburg.
I acted like it was news to me. “When was this?”
“Oh, four years ago. Maybe five. It’s hard to keep track of time. We went to her funeral, as well.”
I thought back to my conversation with Nina at Joe’s Inn. Brad’s son Andy suspected Rox and his father of killing Veronica. Again, Rox sounded like Cathy Ames. Or was this a case of insurance fraud, a la Fred MacMurray and Barbara Stanwyck in Double Indemnity? I reined myself in. I was getting carried away with the movie parallels.
“What was Rox like as an employer?”
Maisie made a waffling motion with her hand. “Okay. For the most part she had little to do with the employees and left me to deal with them. I was the office manager then.” That echoed what I’d heard at the Hamlin Group. “Of course, she paid a lot of attention to Foster.”
“So she didn’t have any run-ins with her employees?”
Maisie thought. “There was this one woman, Tracy. Hard worker, but not much personality. One day she noticed a candy bar missing from her desk and said something about it. Rox admitted that she’d taken it the night before when she’d been working late. Probably working late with Foster. Anyway, the woman got indignant and actually yelled at Rox. You can imagine how well that went over. Tracy didn’t last long. Rox took advantage of any opportunity to criticize her in front of the others. One day Tracy left in tears, yelling that she didn’t have to take this crap anymore, and she wound up at the Hamlin Group.” Maisie repeated Nichole’s account of Tracy’s tragic death in an accident.
“We’d better head back,” Maisie said.
•••
Wood, glass, and plants created a pleasing interior at the ARS, unlike the gray cubicles of most workplaces. Sarah sat at a computer, checking off names on a printout. Maisie retrieved her book and I signed it, thanking her profusely for her interest.
“You think you have some good material there?” She asked, a twinkle in her eye.
“No doubt about it.” I took my phone out of my pocket and waved it. Remembering that the app still ran, I ended the recording. “You’ll have a top spot in my acknowledgments.”
“I’ll walk out with you,” Sarah said.
“Did you get my e-mail about Evangeline?” I asked on the way to my car.
“Not yet. I haven’t checked.”
“That Rox was a piece of work,” Sarah said when I caught her up on my visits with both Evangeline and Maisie, adding, “So is Evangeline.”
“I recorded the conversation with Maisie.” But when I played back the recording all we heard were strange sounds, like thumping or squishing. And heavy breathing.
Sarah and I looked at each other and laughed. “Sounds kind of obscene,” she said.
“Guess I shouldn’t have left the phone in my pocket. Oh well, I remember everything.”
“We’ll have plenty to talk about tomorrow,” Sarah said. “And hopefully Lucy will too, after her visit with Foster.”
“We’re not in danger of running short on conversation any time soon.”
•••
At home I fixed a salad and looked up Foster Hayden on LinkedIn. Maisie was right, the young man was quite “dishy.” He’d earned his degree from VCU in communications. What did that cover? Phones, television, radio, Morse code, carrier pigeon? Currently he worked for a legal firm. On Facebook, I hunted through his postings for indications that he’d been in town on the night Rox was killed. But nothing said “I did it! I did it!” Foster had chatty, friendly postings, many of the “I’m drinking coffee now” type. He also ate a lot of attractive food and shared the pictures with his friends, who numbered in the hundreds. I found Pamela Barry, Foster’s companion and fellow victim from Rox’s movie theatre drama. Pamela smiled for the camera, her face framed by a mop of curls. Her few postings had to do with church activities.
Vince came home laden with groceries. After I helped him put away the items we sat with cold drinks while I recounted my walk with Maisie.
“It sounds like you got a lot of information.”
“I had never heard all that about the father and the PI. All I’d heard about Foster was the movie incident . . . nothing beyond that.” I sipped my cold cider. “So maybe Brad and Nina didn’t kill Rox, and Foster did. He could’ve made a quick trip to Richmond and hightailed it back to Atlanta.”
“Remember, he has an alibi. As I recall, a nurse vouched for him. His mother was close to death in the hospital. He was there the whole evening with her and his brother.”
I sighed. “You know something, Vince? Rox gets worse with each telling.”
FIFTEEN
AT THE BOOK group’s next Skype session on Wednesday, we fairly burst with eagerness to share the fruits of our detective work. Even though we’d been updating by e-mail, more information was bound to come out in actual conversation.
We launched into our accounts, covering the visits to the Hamlin Group and the Moonshine Inn as well as our conversations with Nina, Kat, Evangeline, and Maisie. Despite the fact that this was a group effort, so far I was the only one involved in every interaction, and so I did the bulk of the reporting.
When at last we wound down, Eileen said, “Whew! Lunatics, feisty old women, lesbian erotica . . . and Evangeline sounds like a mess.”
Lucy said, “I’ve been thinking about what Hazel said about Rox being in a same-sex relationship with Marcie, or at least Evangeline’s saying she was. Maybe Rox latched onto anyone who had money, regardless of their gender.”
“Could be,” Trudy agreed. “Anyone who could give her a meal ticket.”
“I imagine Brad does well enough in his dental practice to make him appealing to a gold digger,” Eileen said. “But back to Evangeline—I apologize for not doing the research on her that I said I’d do. But my mother’s been acting up at the assisted-living place and I’ve been in meetings with the staff there. I hope they don’t throw her out.”
“Would they do that?” I asked.
“I hope not.” Eileen sounded rueful.
“Anyway, I’ll see what I can find on Evangeline.”
Sarah said, “So Lucy, tell us about your meeting with Foster.”
“Okay. I have some notes here.” We heard the sound of paper shuffling. “I’ve tried to arrange all of this in chronological order. I stopped by Foster’s office and invited him for coffee. I frequently do visit my clients to touch base, see if they need anything and check on the employees I placed. So it didn’t seem at all unusual that I did so today.
“I told Foster that a couple of people from my book group had met Rox Howard’s sister and that she wanted to hire a PI to find out who killed Rox.”
“He said, ‘Who cares who killed her? Whoever did it should get a medal. Unchristian of me, I know.’ In no time he was off and running with a list of Rox’s various transgressions.”
“Good job, Lucy,” Trudy cheered.
“We’ve already heard, or read, about the movie incident countless times, so I won’t rehash that. Foster seemed especially incensed when Rox, during her tirade in the theater, asked if Foster and Pamela had been intimate yet, and then proceeded to recommend Foster’s services. In detail.”
We laughed at the sheer audacity of the deceased woman. “I’m sure the audience won’t forget that performance,” Eileen said. “But they probably forgot all about the movie.”
Lucy continued. “To quote Foster: ‘Pamela’s very religious and doesn’t believe in intimacy before marriage’.”
“Quite a departure from Rox,” I said.
“Okay, you know about Rox going to Foster’s place and causing a scene in the hallway. After that, Foster’s father suggested that he get a restraining order. And—this you heard from Maisie—his dad went to see Rox, to try to reason with her. They wound up having an affair.”
Interesting. Mr. Hayden advises a restraining order against the woman and he winds up sleeping with her. I remembered Maisie saying that he was running for political office. Why did politicians so often seem to have their own brand of logic?
Lucy went on to describe how Foster’s mother hired a PI to follow her husband, the PI’s damaging photos, and the father’s suicide.