by Dana Dratch
Good thing I’d stocked up on doughnuts.
CHAPTER 75
I checked the peephole before I opened the door. I’d learned my lesson.
Geoffrey blinked repeatedly. As if it was the first time he’d seen the sun in a while. And looking at his pale but perfect complexion, I could believe it.
Luckily, he didn’t have someone spiking his sunblock with mayo.
“Come on in,” I said. “We’ve got doughnuts and coffee. And there are a few people here you haven’t met.”
As I introduced him, he gave a nervous wave and grimaced. Or it could have been a smile. It was hard to tell.
Nick handed him a cup of black coffee. “Cream and sugar on the table in front of you. And the chocolate doughnuts are first-rate.”
Geoffrey lurched forward, considered the box carefully and finally selected a plain cake doughnut.
He held it in his hand, studying it as if it was a diamond. “Did you know that the acceptable number of rodent droppings in a pound of industrial flour is four?”
“Good to know,” Nick said.
“Tell us about FunMoney,” I said, finally.
He dropped the doughnut and seemed to fold in on himself. “You know that I did it,” he whispered.
Wait, what?
So much for my gut instinct. I struggled to keep my poker face. “We do,” I said, nodding encouragingly.
“I didn’t mean to,” he said softly. “It was an accident. She was so angry. So angry.”
“So tell me,” I said.
He shook his head.
“We’ve all seen the app,” I coaxed. “It’s beautiful. I’m lousy with numbers, but it actually made me want to draft a budget. It was fun.”
He smiled and seemed to perk up a bit. “That’s the idea. Anybody can design a budgeting program that’s complicated. It’s a complicated subject. But I wanted to invent one that made it easy. For people just starting out. For older people who aren’t really good with computers. And for people who are too busy to learn another spreadsheet program.”
“I was really impressed with the design, too,” Annie said. “You created something really gorgeous.”
Geoffrey’s pasty cheeks went pink. As a redhead, I could empathize.
“I wanted it to be useful and beautiful,” he said. “That would make it special.”
“It must have taken you forever to design it,” I said.
He nodded. “Since college. But I liked working on it. It was my hobby. I’d get an idea, and it would go into the program. It’s not really ready yet. But I wanted to beta test it.”
“So what happened with Leslie?”
“She’s in business. She sells real estate. Sold real estate. So I told her all about it. I asked her if she wanted to try it. But she said she wasn’t much of a computer person. I tried to explain that was the whole point of FunMoney. A computer program for people who hate computer programs. Or numbers. But she said no.”
“So you got angry?” Nick asked.
“Oh no,” Geoffrey said, looking startled. “That’s what everyone says. People say no to me a lot.”
“It’s a visual thing,” I said. “You have to see the app to really get it.”
“Exactly,” he said, nodding.
“But then Leslie got her hands on the program,” I said.
“She stole it,” he said, looking like a kid who’d just dropped his ice cream cone. “Took it right out of my computer. And she wiped my hard drive.”
“You didn’t have a backup?” Trip asked. “A cloud account?”
“The cloud’s not secure,” Geoffrey said. “It’s just another server. Well, lots of servers. No, I had a disc. I kept it next to my computer. She took it.”
“How did you know it was Leslie?” I asked, holding my breath.
“She told me,” he said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
“And that’s how she got your vote for her little experiment—firing the management association and everything?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “I thought that was a good idea. We were paying them. The management company. She was going to do it for free. Free is better.”
In mathematical theory, free was better. In the real world, free usually cost more.
“So why did she tell you she stole it?” I asked him gently.
“She wanted something,” he said, blanching. “Something bad. I didn’t know it was bad. But it was.”
“What did she want?”
The room was silent. Not a sound. Not so much as the rustle of the wax paper in the doughnut box.
Even Lucy, settled on the floor next to Nick, seemed riveted.
“She wanted to know how to work the elevator.” Now we were getting somewhere. But unpacking Geoffrey was like defusing a bomb. Slow and steady, no sudden movements.
“To do what exactly?” Trip said quietly.
Geoffrey looked at him and blinked. But I could tell that his mind—his memory—was somewhere else. “I didn’t know it then. I know now. She wanted to hurt someone.”
“Who?” I asked.
He shook his head vigorously. “Don’t know. Never found out.”
This was excruciating. I felt like I was torturing a puppy.
Annie reached out and patted his hand, the way a mother might. Not our mother, mind you.
“It’s OK,” she said in a soothing voice. “Everybody in this room is on your side. Just tell us how it happened.”
Geoffrey nodded and swallowed. More like a gulping motion. If I didn’t know he hadn’t touched that doughnut, I’d have sworn it was riding his Adam’s apple.
He sighed. “One evening, I went to play around with FunMoney and it was gone. Just all gone. And the disc. I thought I’d lost it. Or accidentally deleted it. And that was it. All that work. Gone. But a couple of days later, Leslie saw me at the mailboxes. She told me she’d erased it. And she had my disc. I didn’t believe her. But she showed it to me. And she said she’d give it back if I just did her a favor. But if I didn’t, she’d erase the disc, too.”
I nodded and looked at Annie. She smiled at Geoffrey.
He took a deep breath. “I said I’d help her,” he said quietly. “She asked me to stop by that night. After her party. Really late. When I did, she told me she wanted to send the elevator car away. To the top floor – and make it stay there. But if someone pressed the button, the doors would still open like normal. Even though the car wasn’t there. She’d read about it.”
“Did she say why?” I asked.
“She wanted to go inside the shaft. And climb on the rungs up the wall. And take a selfie. I told her that only the technicians can go in there. It’s dangerous.”
“Not what she wanted to hear, was it?” Annie said.
Geoffrey shook his head. “ ‘It’s the price of your little game, Geoffrey,’” he said, doing an eerie impression of Leslie McQueen’s voice. “‘It’s the price of your little game.’ ”
“I told her it’s not a game, it’s an app. Anyway, I wanted it back. So she let me into the elevator closet. And I did it. The closet’s on the top floor. That’s where all the machinery has to be. After, we walked down to the ninth floor, just to check. And it was exactly like she wanted. She pushed the button, the door opened. But the car wasn’t there. The car stayed up on ten. She didn’t know it, but I’d locked all the other doors. Everything except nine. So they wouldn’t open. So no one would get hurt.”
“So what happened with Leslie?” I asked.
“She was really excited. And happy. She was jumping up and down and clapping. I thought she’d want to climb in and take her selfie. So I told her I wanted my disc. But she said we weren’t done yet. There was one more thing. Now that I’d proven I could do it, she wanted me to show her how. So she could do it herself.”
He shook his head. “That’s when I knew. She didn’t want to take a picture or climb the ladder. She wanted to hurt someone. I said no.”
Geoffrey sighed. He looke
d like he was close to tears.
“She grabbed my wrist and twisted it. I just needed to get away . . .”
Annie patted his shoulder. “It’s OK, baby. It’s OK.”
“She started hitting me,” he said, so softly I had to lean in just to hear him. “With her fists. She wouldn’t stop. And yelling. With her face this close,” he said, holding his fingers about two inches apart. “It was bad. She just wouldn’t stop. So I put my fingers in my ears and dropped to the ground.”
What?
“Stop, drop, and roll,” Geoffrey said, looking vaguely relieved. “It’s supposed to be for fires. But it works for other things, too.”
“Then what happened?” I asked.
“I took off,” he said sheepishly. “I know you’re supposed to stand up to bullies. Everyone says that. But it doesn’t work. Not really. So I left. But when I got home, I remembered the elevator. I didn’t want anyone getting hurt. I had to fix it. So I went back to the tenth floor. The closet was still unlocked. And I reset it. Then I locked it up and went home.”
“So Leslie was alive when you left the ninth floor,” I confirmed.
“Alive and angry,” he said. “Not good.”
“The police didn’t find any fingerprints on the elevator closet,” Annie said.
“Of course not,” Geoffrey said, as though we were children. “With electricity, you have to wear gloves.”
“So why did you say you killed her?” I asked him, as we all digested the new information.
“She fell because of me,” Geoffrey said simply. “Because I opened the door. I didn’t stand up to her. I ran away. I caused the accident.”
“You didn’t cause it,” I said. “She didn’t fall. And I think you can help me prove it. But, first things first. Here’s FunMoney.”
I handed him the disc. And I swear his face lit up like a kid’s on Christmas morning.
CHAPTER 76
True to their word, Ernie, Stan, and the gang were sitting around the pool at high noon. Stan had, indeed, brought a date. And, as I suspected, it was Ethel.
Everyone had a cocktail and they seemed to be in high spirits. Literally.
“How’s Mrs. Pickles?” I asked.
“Oh, honey, she’s her happy, smiley little self. But it’s way too hot out here for her today. So I left her upstairs watching the soaps.”
We did the same thing with Lucy. Minus the soaps. The pup was more of a Discovery Channel fan.
“Alex, over here,” Trip called from a table across the patio.
“Gotta go,” I whispered. “Wish me luck.”
Ethel held up both hands with her fingers crossed.
“Everything ready?” I asked Trip, approaching the table.
“All systems go,” he said. “And Gabby, Nick, Baba, and I will be right behind you at the next table. Just in case.”
“Anyone hear from Annie?” I asked.
“Yup, all set on that end,” Nick said.
I pulled out my laptop and typed in a familiar URL, then flipped through a few pages until I found what I needed.
“You might want this, sugar,” Gabby said, leaning over as she handed me the cord.
“And here comes the guest of honor, right on time,” Trip said under his breath.
“I don’t know whether to hope he’s been drinking or hope he hasn’t,” I confessed.
“Either way, I’m betting five bucks someone goes in that pool,” Nick said.
“If this heat keeps up, it’s gonna be me,” I said.
Baba, I noticed, had lost the black sweater. But the sweat socks remained. And she was packing the black leather bag. Battle-ready Baba.
“Mr. Whitmore,” I said, standing as he strolled over. “Thanks for meeting me on such short notice.”
“Call me Quinn,” he said genially. “One of the advantages of being retired. Less formality. So what was it you wanted to talk about?”
“Leslie McQueen,” I said, settling in my seat. “I know you two were friends. So this whole thing can’t have been easy. And now that the police are about to arrest her murderer, I thought you might want to hear the news from a friendly face.”
“Well, that is something,” he said. “Had no idea. About damned time, though.”
I nodded. “It took a bit of doing. To piece together what happened the night she was killed. Leslie was a top real estate agent. But what most people don’t know is that she was starting a second career in blackmail.”
“I don’t follow,” he said flatly. “But I’d be very careful if I were you.”
“Oh, that’s OK. I know you weren’t in on it. The day she died, Leslie was testing a little theory. She’d heard it was possible to rig an elevator so the doors opened even if the car wasn’t there. And I admit, I don’t know exactly why this little factoid was important to her. But I do know that Leslie liked to plan ahead. Maybe she was thinking of faking her own death. Maybe she felt threatened and wanted to have this in her back pocket. Who knows? But the bottom line is, she needed to do a dry run. Now, you might not know this, but the elevator controls are on the tenth floor. So Leslie goes up there, does her bit—and wants to see if it works. She walks down a flight of stairs and rings for the elevator. And—presto—the doors open, but there’s nothing there. Her plan is a success.
Quinn Whitmore pushed away from the table and crossed his legs. I was afraid he was going to leave. So I amped up my smile and just kept talking.
“Now this is the good part. While she’s up there on the ninth floor, who should open his door, but her old friend and poker buddy. Were you still up, or did you hear all the commotion in the hallway?”
“I would be very careful about where you’re going next, young lady,” he said evenly. “I may be a retired old duffer. But I’m a retired old duffer with money and some very good lawyers.”
“So you walk in on the perfect scene. Leslie’s there. The elevator door is open. The car is missing. And with one little shove, your troubles are over. Done and dusted, as a friend of mine likes to say.”
“What is this, a shakedown?” he growled.
He stood suddenly, looming over me. His face was red. And it wasn’t from the sun. “Are you trying to blackmail me, you little pisher?”
Simultaneously, I caught movement, out of the corner of my eye. Nick. Gearing up for combat. I shook my head, ever so slightly.
“No, just the opposite,” I said conversationally. “Blackmailers charge money. I’m doing this for free. And blackmailers keep secrets. I say, ‘tell the world.’ ”
I pressed the button on my laptop. And crossed my fingers.
The big screen in the bar came to life. As did a giant fifty-inch we’d set up on the other side of the pool. The video was identical. Two figures in the moonlight. Recognizable even on infrared film.
As the clip played, Quinn Whitmore seemed to deflate. Until he was sitting in his chair again, all but doubled over.
“As a special bonus, I had someone email it to the local police department and upload it onto YouTube,” I said, turning the screen so he could see it. “And, hey, look at this: You’ve already gotten ten thousand likes.”
Thanks to Geoffrey’s computer magic, both the email and the upload were also anonymous.
“You have no idea what you’ve done,” Whitmore rasped. “Not a damned clue.”
“You mean I don’t know that a couple of the guys in your regular poker game have more than a few connections on the wrong side of the law? And that they’re not going to take too kindly to Leslie’s little video tape? That’s called motive, by the way.”
“Go to hell,” Whitmore snarled, rising from the table. Then, as he turned, he froze.
I looked across the deck, and one of the retirees was giving him the big wave.
“Who’s that?” I leaned over and whispered to Trip.
“One of the poker buddies,” my best friend hissed. “I think Ernie did a little crowd salting of his own.”
Quinn Whitmore sank back into his c
hair.
“First you killed Leslie McQueen,” I continued. “Then you sat back, smiled, and waited for the police to dismiss it as an accident. Or a suicide. Or, failing that, to blame someone else. Now, I’ll let you in on a little secret. There’s a detective in the lobby. His name is Logan Alvarez. And if you tell him what you did, he might be willing to protect you. You know, in a nice safe prison cell.”
Whitmore stared at me with pure contempt. Then he rose out of his seat and walked across the pool deck with the look of a man going to his own execution.
But, to be fair, I don’t have his people-reading skills.
As he marched through the door toward the lobby, everyone broke into wild applause. Over the hooting and hollering, I looked over and saw Ethel Plunkett pumping her fist.
CHAPTER 77
The next morning, Nick and I raced around the penthouse like a couple of crazy people stoked on caffeine. Which we were.
“Three booties,” Nick said. “I’m looking at three booties. And I’m not leaving here until I have all four.”
“Hey, a set of booties is a lot less expensive than another ticket if you miss the train. But if you happen to find a white T-shirt with a chocolate stain, let me know.”
“Don’t you have several of those already?” Nick said, checking behind the couch cushions. “Complete with the chocolate stains?”
“Yes, but this one’s my favorite.”
Meanwhile, Baba was sitting on the sofa next to her suitcase. She had on her normal black sweater/ankle-skirt traveling combo. But in a nod to South Beach, she’d paired it with one of the rainbow-colored Lilly Pulitzer blouses and a straw hat. And she was packing two purses: one light straw, one black leather.
Ready-for-anything Baba.
“Hey, where’s Lucy?” I asked, suddenly realizing the pup was missing again. I pictured another stop at Diamond Jack’s to collect her before we left town.
“Gabby took her for one last run on the beach,” Nick said. “They’re on their way. Where’s Trip?”
“Probably at the train station, wondering where the heck we are. He had to turn in his rental car.”
“Hey, sugar, look who the cat dragged in,” Gabby drawled, strolling through the front door with Trip and Lucy.