Death with a Dark Red Rose

by Julia Buckley

  I swung around as Phil Enderby stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. “So I guess maybe it’s time we cleared the air.”

  22

  She knew that if she was going to run, she would have to do it now.

  —From Danger at Debenham Station, a work in progress

  “THAT’S A GREAT idea,” Sam said. His voice betrayed nothing beyond a mild interest. “We certainly have a lot of questions.”

  Phil Enderby looked older than he had in his picture, or even in the factory; he was perhaps sixty, with gray hair and a slightly defeated look. He gestured to a small couch near his desk, and Sam and I sat down. Sam took my hand in his in a casual, affectionate gesture.

  Enderby said, “And again I must ask: Why do you have questions at all? Who are you to me, or me to you? We don’t know each other, as far as I recall?”

  “And yet our photograph is in the center of your desk,” Sam noted.

  Phil sat down behind his desk. He donned a scholarly expression. “I like to keep up-to-date with events in Blue Lake,” he said. “I live there, in fact.”

  “You’re woefully behind the times,” I said. “That’s a very old paper. At this rate you’ll catch up to the present in about nine months.”

  Enderby smiled thinly. “Well, gosh, we could go back and forth like this all day. So let’s put our cards on the table. I had a man following you. He learned that you were all very interested in Plasti-Source. Why? What’s the point of spying?”

  “Asked the man who sent a spy,” Sam said. “And an ex-con spy, at that.”

  Enderby paled slightly. “So your cop friend is also in on this. I wondered about that.” He pushed a button on his desk. “Sherry, ask Barbara to send Mr. Doug Heller and Ms. Camilla Graham to my office. Thanks. And tell Barbara to wrap up the tour and lead people out when Ed finishes speaking.”

  I looked at Sam. Were we about to get answers, or was this something more threatening? Doug Heller was a police officer. Surely Enderby was intimidated by that fact?

  Moments later Doug arrived, with Belinda close behind him. Doug looked around and said, “What have we here? Mr. Enderby, didn’t I just talk to you earlier today?”

  Enderby motioned to some chairs along the wall, and Doug seated himself and Belinda across from the desk. “Camilla and Adam will be here shortly. She wanted to use the restroom,” Doug said.

  I turned to Doug. “Mr. Enderby just admitted that he had someone spy on us, and that Driscoll is his man.”

  “Driscoll,” Enderby said. “You all have me at a disadvantage. You seem to know something I don’t. How exactly did you know that Mr. Driscoll was—making inquiries about you?

  Belinda and I laughed. “He wasn’t making inquiries. He stood in Camilla’s window like a Peeping Tom and scared us to death. Then he ran away, like a criminal,” I said. “And now we learn he was sent by you.”

  Enderby sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Miss London, Plasti-Source is a forty-million-dollar-a-year business, and it is expected to grow in revenue over the next few years. We must guard our interests at all costs. Mr. Driscoll caught all of you trespassing on the Blue Lake site—

  “We weren’t trespassing. We were sitting on the road, looking at the building,” Sam corrected.

  Enderby continued as though Sam hadn’t spoken. “He caught you trespassing, so he took note of your car and did some research.”

  “Translation: he copied down Lena’s license number and illegally linked it to the owner,” Doug said, his face hard.

  Enderby shrugged. “It’s not illegal; our lawyer has told us that—”

  “I’m sure your lawyer will say a lot of things if the price is right,” Doug shot back, scowling.

  To my amazement, Enderby merely smiled, as though we were all at a tea party. “Ms. London, Ms. Frailey, is it?” Belinda nodded. “I’m sorry if Mr. Driscoll was unorthodox in his methods. He was not instructed to frighten you in any way, but to learn why you were so interested in our company.”

  “So—asking us was out of the question?” Sam said.

  Enderby sighed. Clearly we were trying his patience. “Why were you so interested in Plasti-Source in the first place?”

  “It’s simple,” I said. “It’s an ugly monstrosity of a building, we don’t want it in our town, and we wanted to pull over and look at it for ourselves.”

  “Hmm.” Enderby studied the tip of a pencil on his blotter. “And why did Driscoll hear you talking to Carl Frailey and mentioning Luis Castellan—both of whom worked at this plant and have since disappeared from our ranks?”

  Belinda lifted her chin. “You fired my brother. He didn’t disappear, you fired him.”

  Enderby nodded. “We could do a lot more than that. Because like you, he was digging into things that were none of his business. So again, I’m wondering—why? What are you all looking for? Haven’t our press conferences and events like today allayed your concerns? What deep dark secrets do you think we have at this respected place of business?”

  “And if you have no deep dark secrets, why do you care? Why aren’t you prosecuting Carl?” Doug asked.

  Now Enderby was irritated. “Well, I can see that nothing productive can come out of a meeting in which we just keep firing questions at each other.”

  “I have another question for you,” Belinda said. “Why do you have contracts with two different construction companies?”

  For the first time Enderby looked disconcerted. “What—we—Anemone Construction has a long history in Blue Lake, and they were a perfect choice to—”

  “What about Crandall Construction? What can they do that Anemone can’t?”

  He recovered quickly. “It’s about timelines. We need to be finished by the date we set out to finish; Crandall can work solely on our waste-disposal design.”

  “May we see the design?” Doug asked.

  “No, that’s top secret at this point.”

  “Why?” Sam asked.

  The door opened, and Camilla and Adam entered. “Have we missed much?” Camilla asked with a mischievous smile.

  “Not really,” Sam said. “We are at an impasse.”

  “This is all ridiculous,” I said. “You need to tell the police why you would hunt a man down, threaten his life, when he did nothing to you. What did he find out, anyway?”

  “What? What are you—? Are you referring to Luis? Listen, I know the poor boy disappeared and that the papers suggested he met with foul play, but we had nothing to do with that. Good Lord, this is a place of business. I assumed—perhaps he was involved in drugs, or some kind of gang, or something.”

  “You worked with the man. Did he seem like he was in a gang?” Adam asked, standing near the doorway with his arms folded.

  Enderby pounded on his desk. “This is a moot point! I certainly had nothing to do with the death or disappearance of Luis. He was a good worker. He is not related to the discussion at hand except that you have somehow linked him to your own inquiries into my business.”

  “Your business?” Doug said, raising his brows.

  “I have a stake in it, yes.” Enderby’s face reddened slightly.

  “I assume you’ve been running it, while Grange was away?”

  “Yes. I’m second-in-command.”

  “Command?” Sam said. “You talk like a military man.”

  Enderby straightened. “I served. US Navy, eight years.”

  Doug let out a loud sigh. “Listen, I’m getting tired of these conversations. You gave us the runaround when we asked you about Luis Castellan, and you’re giving us the runaround now.” He stood up. “I ought to arrest you right now, Enderby.”

  Enderby’s mouth dropped open. “For what, exactly? I’m running a business here.”

  Doug pointed at him. “What does Crandall Construction need to do at night in order to avoid d
etection?”

  “What?” He stared at Doug for a moment; then his eyes darted back and forth among the rest of us, perhaps hunting for some inspiration. “What do you—?” Something seemed to dawn on him then. “So Castellan is alive. He talked to you.”

  “Were you hoping he wasn’t?” Doug asked, moving closer. His hands sat on his hips, ready perhaps to go for his cuffs.

  Enderby lifted his hands in entreaty. “Whatever he told you was taken out of context. Our workers do sometimes have to work at night.”

  “Why?”

  “Well—because—sometimes during the day we don’t want to—upset traffic patterns, or—disrupt the busy flow of things . . .” He seemed to barely know what he was saying.

  “In Blue Lake?” Sam asked, his tone skeptical.

  “Where are the plans for the waste-disposal system?” Doug asked.

  “I’ll have to consult Ed. It’s up to him what you see or don’t see, and he is busy with the tour.”

  “What does it entail? Is it a pipeline?”

  “What?” Now Enderby’s eyes were wide. “I—we have secure barrels and a way to transport them to a licensed waste-disposal site.”

  “Then why does that require construction?” I asked.

  Enderby dabbed at his forehead with one hand. “You can take all this up with Ed. I do my job. If you want to arrest me over some alleged safety issue, then be my guest.”

  Doug still loomed over him. “Why did you think Luis Castellan was dead?”

  “I—because it was in the paper. As we discussed. Before that I thought he was just being—lazy, I guess.”

  “Even after what he read on your computer?”

  “Why would his reading my computer make me assume he was dead?” Enderby looked genuinely confused.

  “Did you replace some glass in a door last week?” Doug edged closer.

  “Wha—? Yes. It was broken. The janitor had to repair it when we came in for an early morning meeting.”

  “How did it get broken?”

  “I don’t know. We assumed it was the cleaning crew, or some accident caused by someone leaving Friday. No one owned up to anything.”

  “You didn’t question why it looked like a bullet hole?”

  “It didn’t look—” Now Enderby paused, and for the first time he seemed to take stock of the situation. “What’s going on?” he said quietly.

  “Mr. Enderby, did you know that Luis Castellan went to Edward Grange about the chemicals you were sampling for use on the factory floor? He felt they were highly dangerous, potentially toxic to workers.”

  Enderby’s eyes narrowed. “Many chemicals are toxic. That’s why you must be careful.”

  Doug leaned over the desk. “Tell me why I shouldn’t haul you in right now for attempted murder.”

  “Attempted murder of whom?” Enderby’s eyes were wide and, as far as I could tell, innocent. Doug saw it, too, and he backed up.

  “What did Luis Castellan say to you before you left Monday night?”

  “Nothing. Just that he would look at my computer. It was frozen, and I needed to get to it before the Tuesday meeting.”

  We sat in silence. Phil Enderby certainly had something to hide regarding Crandall Construction, but he didn’t seem to understand any of the references to Luis Castellan.

  Belinda spoke, her soft voice sounding almost loud in the quiet room. “Why was tonight’s event not advertised on the Plasti-Source website?”

  Enderby’s face became furtive. “I’m not sure how it was advertised. You’d have to ask our publicity department.”

  “You have a publicity department?” Sam, sounding skeptical.

  “Not our branch specifically. That stuff comes out of the head office.”

  Belinda’s green eyes widened. In that moment I was struck by her resemblance to Carl. She opened her mouth, then shut it again, sending an urgent glance to Doug.

  Enderby cleared his throat and straightened the newspaper on his desk; his body language said that he was trying to reclaim authority over this meeting. “In any case, I have answered your questions, but you have not fully answered mine.”

  Doug laughed. “You absolutely have not answered our questions.”

  The two of them bickered for a while, accusing each other of withholding information.

  I looked at my lap, trying to work things out. Who might have a grudge against Luis? Did he anger a security guard? They had guns, after all. Did he have a feud with a co-worker? He hadn’t said anything to anyone, except to tell Edward Grange about the chemicals Enderby had been testing.

  He had implied that if the chemicals got into the water, they would be toxic.

  What had he said? “If you put this stuff in water it would be deadly.”

  For some reason I thought back to Sam’s illness and my unfounded fears. I had worried over poisoning because the idea of toxic chemicals had been planted in my mind. I had feared that someone would actually put something into Sam’s food or water and choose to kill him for some insidious reason. I had pondered the dangers of consuming something without being aware that a deadly substance had been added to it. How terrible, how permanent, how invisible, was poison.

  An ugly thought bloomed, huge and monstrous. “Oh my God,” I said.

  Camilla’s eyes met mine. “What?”

  “Luis said that if the chemical was added to water, someone could die.”

  “So?” Enderby said. “I told you, we have safety—”

  “I’m not talking about your safety procedures,” I said. “I’m thinking about the fact that you’ve been running things because your boss was on bereavement leave.”

  “Yes.” Enderby’s mouth was grim. “I can assure you, I have kept everything according to Ed’s standards, and—”

  “Phil,” I said, impatient. “How did Ed Grange’s wife die?”

  Phil stared at me; Doug swung around quickly, his face tense as he studied mine. Phil said, “What? Why do you—it happened quickly—some kind of undetected heart ailment. It was unexpected because she was only sixty. Ed was devastated; he still is.”

  The room was silent for a full minute, but I knew that everyone’s thoughts were churning, like mine.

  “Maybe what looked like devastation was actually guilt,” Camilla said. “Lena might be on to something here. Luis said that Ed Grange looked sad and lonely. But if Grange was guilty of his wife’s murder, and if he in fact put something toxic in her food or drink, then certainly he might jump to the wrong conclusion when Luis told him about the toxic chemical. He might think that Luis was calling him out on his crime.”

  “Luis said that he spoke to Ed directly. If you think about it, the words could be interpreted as an accusation. Didn’t he say, ‘We both know’? Something like ‘Ed, you and I both know that if you put this stuff in water it would be deadly,’” Doug quoted with a musing tone. “It is true that people with guilty consciences tend to think that other people see their guilt.”

  Enderby was livid. “This is ridiculous. What, are you trying to end up in one of her books?” He pointed to Camilla with a certain disdain. “Now I see. You’re trying to shut down this company any way you can. You said you hated it and found it ugly. First you go after me, now you’re going after Ed in his time of grief. You need to leave the poor man alone. This is outrageous beyond belief!”

  Doug sat back down next to Belinda. “Do you know if Grange was happy in his marriage?”

  “His wife was an environmentalist,” I said. “What if she knew something that could be devastating to the company?”

  Enderby stood up. “We’re done here. My employer is a respected man in this town, he is a widower, and he is my friend. You can just take yourself right out of here. Direct any further questions to our company lawyer.”

  A voice behind us said, “I’m afraid they can’t
leave, Phil.” We spun around to see Edward Grange, thin and pale and holding a gun, like a terrible phantasm in the darkening hall. “And neither can you. I have far too much to lose to let any of you go now. And that is truly unfortunate. As if I don’t have enough on my conscience.”

  His haunted eyes found mine. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m going to need you all to line up against that wall.”

  23

  The drama of the Gothic climax! We find it rather like a soap opera. We might laugh, except that we are so absorbed in the details, and so determined for light to win against dark. We are lured into the architecture of both building and plot.

  —From the notebooks of Camilla Graham

  SAM STEPPED IN front of me and I hugged him around the waist. Enderby sat at the desk, his mouth open, like an emoji of surprise. Doug moved forward, alert as a cat. “Listen, Grange, let’s talk about—”

  Grange came into the room and pointed his gun at Belinda, who still sat on the couch, her face pale and frightened. “You’re a cop, so I’m guessing you have a gun. Slide it here so I don’t have to shoot her.”

  Doug didn’t hesitate; he removed the gun from the holster under his jacket and slid it over to Grange. “Don’t do anything you’ll regret,” Doug warned. On the surface he was calm, but his skin had gone five shades paler. I wondered if he was going to faint. “There are people in the building. They would hear the shots.”

  Grange still pointed his gun at Belinda; he shook his head. “The tour is over. Barbara ushered them out, and she left herself.”

  Camilla’s eyes were on Grange. “This was a lure, wasn’t it? Belinda said it wasn’t on the website. You didn’t care about the public’s questions. You hoped we would come, or at least some of us. You sent an e-mail just to her.”

  Grange nodded.

  “And then you told poor Phil there to see what he could find out,” Adam added.

  Phil found his voice. “Listen, Ed, I know you’ve been under a lot of strain. Let everyone leave here now, and we’ll get you some help.”