A Billion Little Clues (10 page)

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Back at the receptionist's giant glass monstrosity of a desk, Eleanor gave me another one of her classic sighs, but also handed over the guest list from Roman's party. "And here," she added, holding a small card out towards me between two fingers, as if she wanted to avoid making any contact with my bare hand. "It's an access card. Roman said that you need to get into anywhere, so he had IT muck it up."

I took the card from her extended slender fingers. "Thank you," I said, mainly because I was fairly sure that the words in my head were inappropriate for the workplace.

Eleanor just wiggled her fingers at me, and so after another minute of awkwardly standing there, I decided that I should probably get to work. The receptionist had pointed out a nearby office and told me that it was open, so I stepped inside, closed the door behind me, and then sank into the chair behind the desk.

This office was a little smaller than Roman's - although that wasn't saying much. I could still probably hold a tennis match in here and have room to show off my backhand. At least the chair behind the (glass, of course) desk was more comfortable. It was one of those newfangled models with the mesh and bars that looks like some sort of crazy insect. I nearly snapped my back while trying to figure out which bar lowered the seat.

With my chair adjusted, I spread out the list on the desk, and then stared down at it for a few minutes. I had no idea what to do next.

I had been up with Roman when Silvers was killed, so I knew that he wasn't at fault. But after Roman had gone running off, I had headed downstairs and been swept up into the charging crowd. It was totally possible that the killer had done the same thing - he might even have been running next to me as we hurried back upstairs - only he knew exactly what we would find!

This meant that I wouldn't be able to eliminate anyone on the list based on their position. So instead, I finally decided, I would have to resort to using my own preferred tool of choice.

Gossip.

Fortunately, the list of guests also included their position title and their office location. Quite a few of the big executives, most of whom had titles that included "Head of" in their description, had offices two floors below us, on the twenty-sixth floor.

I had visited the twenty-sixth floor on the occasional errand from Keith when he was too grumpy to leave his office. It was also much nicer than our floor, although it didn't hold a candle to this amazing top level. But it was definitely nice enough for me to loiter around a bit after dropping off my assignment, poking my head into the break room, grabbing a few complimentary snacks, and listening to the secretaries gossip around the coffee pot. The place was a breeding grounds of rumor.

And that would be the perfect place to get an idea of who was the prime suspect for killing Silvers. Aside from Roman, of course.

I folded the list over, tucking it into my purse, and finished off my coffee. Wouldn't do to walk into a break room with a cup of coffee already, I thought to myself, and then congratulated myself on such smart thinking. Why, I was a full-on detective already! No wonder Roman was trusting me with such an important mission!

I left floor twenty-eight, forcing myself to not look as I passed the desk of the far-too-attractive Eleanor, and headed downstairs. I even decided that I would take the stairs instead of the elevator. Positive life choices! Getting my daily exercise in! I steadfastly refused to admit that it might be because I was exceedingly jealous of Eleanor's long and slim legs. I didn't have a single jealous bone in my body. Besides, it was only two flights of stairs! How hard could that be?

When I arrived at the break room on floor twenty-six, I immediately sank into the nearest chair with a gasp of relief. How could two flights of stairs hurt my legs so much? I probably had some sort of bone spur, or a splint or something. I really shouldn't be taxing myself in such a physical manner.

As I tried to catch my breath, however, I was already hearing little snatches of conversation drifting over from the next table in the break room. I perked up my ears, leaning in to make out what the ladies were saying.

"...and can you believe that they just found him dead? I don't know why they didn't all go running out of the house screaming!" one rotund receptionist was excitedly telling her friend in a stage whisper.

"Oh, I know!" her friend replied. "And murdered! I know that some of the executives in this place are cutthroat, but I never thought that was literally true!"

Perfect. I scooted my chair over to the table. Both of the women looked up at me as I shuffled in, their expressions reverting instantly to professional blankness. I lowered my own voice, trying to look as conspiratorial as possible. "Want to hear something crazy?" I whispered to them. "I was at that party last night! I might have actually talked to the murderer!"

My words and tone instantly told the other two women that I was far more interested in gossip than in reporting them for slacking off. Their expressions immediately opened up. "No way," gasped one of them in shock.

I nodded. "Way. It's so scary to think about!"

This had been enough to prove my allegiance and willingness to share my story. I was one of the group, now, one of the gossiping circle. The other women clustered in around me, and I could see that they were just bursting with questions.

"I'm Diana," one of them told me, the name spilling out to get the formalities out of the way. "And this is Heather."

"Melinda," I replied. I didn't see any reason why I should try to conceal my name. I was working straight for Roman, now! I didn't have to worry about Keith getting angry that I was bragging about his party. I hoped.

"So who do you think killed Silvers?" Diana was clearly not going to beat around the bush. Her eyes widened as she imagined learning the killer's true identity before the police even knew.

Unfortunately, I couldn't answer. "I don't know," I confessed. "I was with all the other guests when we heard the scream, and we all went running upstairs in a big crowd. Anyone could have slipped into the rest of the group without being noticed." As I had done, I thought privately to myself.

Inside my head, I glowed with pride at how I had so easily covered up the fact that I hadn't actually technically been in the group with the other guests. No fraternizing with the boss here! Definitely not off with the CEO and host of the whole party, our hands running over each other's naughtiest areas and searching for a spot where we could strip off each other's clothes. Not a single mention of that.

"But they arrested the CEO, didn't they?" Heather insisted, leaning in like she was sharing a state secret that the Russians would kill to learn. "I heard that they hauled the man out in handcuffs! In front of everyone!"

"They did," I confirmed, and both women squealed with pernicious delight. "But do you two want to know something?"

"Sure," Heather said - the understatement of the century, that was.

"I don't think it was really him," I confided. "I mean, not that I think he was a double or something - I don't think that Roman murdered Silvers!"

Heather's eyes and mouth were both round with surprise, but Diana paused for a moment. "Roman?" she repeated.

Shit. I wasn't supposed to be on a first name basis with him. "The CEO," I clarified. "I bumped into him earlier and he wanted to be called by his first name. But he seemed really friendly with Silvers! I bet it was someone else!"

The seed was planted. And I didn't need to wait long before it bore fruit. This time, Diana was the one to look surprised as an idea hit her. "I bet it was Rube!" she exclaimed.

"Rube?" I asked. "Who's that?"

"Rubinch! Barry Rubinch, the Head of Operations!" My face was still confused. "He's a short guy, pretty squat, usually angry about something?"

An image suddenly popped into my mind. "Wait! The bulldog man!"

"Yes, that's exactly what he looks like!" Diana cheered. A second later, she remembered that she was supposed to be keeping quiet, and she lowered her voice back down an octave. "He's had it out for Wayland ever since he arrived here."

This was a lead! That was the word, wasn't it? I strained to remember the last time I'd read a detective novel. Maybe I could swing by the bookstore and pick up a few so that I could refresh myself on all the lingo. "Why does he hate Wayland so much?" I asked, being sure to use Roman's last name. No need to repeat my little slip-up.

"Oh, don't you know?" This was prime, juicy gossip, and Diana was milking it. "Rube has been here forever, ever since back when Panther wasn't even Worldwide yet. He's fought his way up to the top, that's why he always looks like he just chewed on a lemon - or almost to the top, at least. Heather, you know about this, don't you?"

"Yeah, yeah!" Heather chimed in, eager to show off her own gossip chops. "There were rumors that he was going to take over when the old CEO left, but the board ended up bringing in Wayland instead! He basically stole Rube's position, and they just gave him Operations because they didn't know where else to put him. He's always been upset at Wayland for swooping in and stealing his spot!"

"Wow!" I actually never knew this before. Was there some sort of Panther Worldwide history book that I had missed hearing about? "So you think that maybe he blamed Wayland for murder?"

Heather shrugged, but it was clear that this was exactly what she thought. "It makes sense, doesn't it?" she insisted, the certainty in her voice totally hiding the fact that her co-conspirator had only just come up with this idea. "I bet he's the guy! Oh my god, that means that there's a murderer on this floor!"

On this floor? Crap on a cracker. Rubinch had seen me at the party, and if he spotted me here, he might wonder what I was doing skulking around. And I didn't think that Heather or Diana would hide my secret.

What should I do next? I tried to think of my favorite detective, but I didn't really have one. Agatha Christie was one, wasn't she? No, she was just a writer who wrote detective stories. And I knew that she wrote really good detective stories, everyone said so, but I didn't remember the names of any of the heroes in them. Sherlock Holmes! He was a detective. He was the logic guy, right? With the weird hat! He would probably go put on that hat so that he could investigate, but there was no way I could pull off ear flaps. And I didn't even know where to buy a magnifying glass.

Rubinch, Barry Rubinch. Bulldog Barry. He was now my prime suspect. I remembered how my dad had made me watch Law and Order when I was younger. Usually, the detectives went and questioned their prime suspect. That should be my next move - go question Barry Rubinch!

Of course, the detectives also had badges. And guns. And police stations with those really bleak rooms and the two-way mirrors where they could leave their suspect for hours until he was ready to confess for a glass of water.

I didn't have any of that. But I did have a new job as Roman's personal secretary, and he would probably go along with any story that I made up. And I had a card from Eleanor that supposedly gave me total access. I looked down at it now, rubbing a finger along the magnetic stripe.

It would probably work in the executive dining room, wouldn't it?

And even if Rubinch didn't want to be interrogated, the food there was supposed to be amazing. It was worth a try.

#

Twenty minutes later, I was sitting across a white cloth-covered table from Barry Rubinch, watching with some small amount of amazement as he shouted at me. Part of me was listening, sure; I was an ever-vigilant detective, just like Sherlock Holmes or whoever the guy was in those Agatha Christie stories. But another part of my brain was marveling at how easy this whole thing had been.

Heather and Diana had been happy to point me in the direction of Rubinch's office, although they sent little titters of "don't get murdered!" after me as I left. And that was a little off-putting, because what if the man actually turned out to be the real murderer? Maybe he would try and kill me to cover up his crime!

Fortunately, I didn't think that he would kill me in the middle of a crowded dining room. And now, as I listened to him rage on and on, I was starting to think that perhaps he wasn't the murderer at all.

I had knocked on his office door, a little part of my mind noticing that, while it was the biggest office on the floor, it didn't compare to Roman's office upstairs, or even to mine. That is, the empty office that had been loaned to me, but I was already starting to think of it as my own. I could bring in some plants, maybe a couple of little decorative pillows, to really brighten up the entire room.

Rubinch was sitting at his desk when I entered, one hand still raised from my very polite rap on the door. There were just as many papers on his desk as mine, I was happy to notice. He had two large stacks in hand, and appeared to be in the middle of comparing them. I saw sheets and sheets of figures. "Yeah?" he barked at me.

"Er..." I really wasn't sure how to start this. The man really had managed to perfect his glare! "I'm Melinda, Melinda Gaines." That was a good start, but I felt like I needed more authority. "I'm Mr. Wayland's new assistant."

For a moment more, the short little dog of a man glared at me, but then his expression briefly lightened. Slightly. "Oh, I remember you," he said. "Weren't you at the party the other night?"

So he had remembered seeing me as I ran alongside him towards the screams. "Yes, I was," I said, nodding as if this gave me authority. "And I was hoping to have a lunch meeting with you to discuss..."

Oh god. I didn't have anything to discuss. My mind was totally blank. Quick, Melinda, find something, anything, to say! He's staring at me!

"...the current state of affairs?" I finally managed to squeeze out, the words sounding weak and insincere.

But to my incredible relief, Rubinch simply nodded, as if this somehow made sense to him! He was setting his papers down and grabbing his suit jacket off the back of his chair! "I figured that Roman would come down here to ream me out himself," he groused as he shrugged it onto his broad shoulders. "But if he's just going to send some girl along to listen to my plan, that's his choice, I suppose. No skin off my nose."