Death Loves a Messy Desk (26 page)

“She never talked about them.” He looked at me sheepishly and glanced away. “I tried to Google her, but there were so many people with that name. None of them her.”

“Listen, Robbie. I have some ideas to follow up on. I’ll check car rental agencies, for instance, but I’ll need a photo of her, because I’m sure she wouldn’t use her real name. Do you have one?” I knew he did, but I didn’t want him to know that I knew that. I didn’t figure I’d get my stolen copy back from Pepper without a hair-pulling session.

“I have one, on my phone. We were clowning around in the office and I snapped a picture of her. I can send it to you. Do you have a printer here?” Robbie did his best to look casual, but his deep flush gave him away.

“I have a mini-printer for photos,” I said, pointing toward my office. “E-mail me the photo, and I’ll print it for you.”

“I’ll just use my memory stick,” he said.

Minutes later, as the photo of Barb slid from the printer, Robbie said, “I can come with you to the rental companies.”

The last thing I needed was Robbie threatening a car rental employee and having the strategic response team show up.

“I have a better idea. You can get her personnel file from Quovadicon.”

“That won’t take any time. We can just ask Fredelle.”

I shook my head. “I don’t want Fredelle to know that I’m involved in any way.”

“Why not?”

“Because she lied to me, Robbie, when she asked me to come to try to help about Barb’s desk. I find that suspicious. And later she told me I wasn’t welcome at Quovadicon.”

He flushed and looked away. “I think all that was my fault, because I was upset about Barb. I told my father you were making trouble.”

“Even so. I don’t want to deal with Fredelle. I don’t know what she’s really up to. And anyway, I can’t go back to Quovadicon because some people believe I tricked the staff into leaving and then killed Dyan.”

“So we’re stuck again.”

“Not really, Robbie. You have the run of the place. Nobody finds you suspicious.”

“What can I do?”

He sure wasn’t one to pick up on an idea quickly. “You can get your mitts on Barb’s personnel file without anyone knowing, not even Fredelle. It’s underhanded, but we need to find out where she comes from. She might be hiding with a relative or former co-worker. Remember, we don’t want anyone to know that we’re doing it. Or that you have any connection with me. And don’t get caught. Remember what happened to Dyan.”

He nodded. “I’ll do it. The office staff is all in by nine. Fredelle will be at her desk. But maybe I should wait until tonight. I like it better when no one’s around, just a few guys in the warehouse and the truckers.”

“Did you say the warehouse guys and truckers are there in the night?”

“Depends on what’s coming in and going out, but I don’t usually see them.”

“That reminds me. Two guys in a truck helped me after . . . the situation with Barb. I thought their names were Mel and Del, but Fredelle said no one with those names works for your company. Do they sound familiar?”

He shook his head. “I don’t mix with those guys. I might recognize their faces.”

“Oh well. Try to get the file in the daytime without attracting attention.”

“I know where the keys are kept. You really think this file might help?”

“Let’s hope.”

Robbie looked bleak. “We have to hope that things don’t get any worse.”

By eleven, my head felt much clearer and I decided to make the rounds of the car rental companies. It was time to shower, shampoo, ditch the pajamas, and dress like big people. I reached for my disaster-morning outfit. I slipped on the raspberry sleeveless turtleneck and matching cardigan, enjoying the feel of soft cotton cashmere. September days can freeze or fry, so I could always slip off the cardigan if the temperature soared. I kept this favorite, two-year-old outfit ready for rough days: the chunky dark necklace would keep it on the right side of snazzy. The plain chocolate lightweight wool trousers had a comfortable stretch, and my glossy short boots were butter soft and easy on the feet. I was ready to go.

As I was leaving home, I got a call from a woman who was desperate to deal with her teenage daughter’s disastrous bedroom. “Emergency,” she said. “Can you come tonight?” I explained that I’d had a head injury and there was a small chance I might have to cancel, but I would do my best. I wrote down her phone number and address. I felt good doing something so normal.

Luckily, there were only three car rental offices in Woodbridge, and by noon I’d been through them all. No one had recognized Barb from her photo, although one customer had noticed Barb on television.

So the car rental was a dead end. That left stolen cars. Maybe even harder to get information on those. Unless . . . I got into the Miata and cruised by the police station. I kept going and pulled in front of Doug’s Donuts, a favorite spot of the Woodbridge constabulary. Sure enough, parked at the counter, leering at a glazed chocolate number with white chocolate filling, was Nick Monahan.

“Hey, Charlie. You look good enough to—”

“Don’t go there,” I snapped. I then moderated my tone quickly. “So, Nick. I need to know something, and you’re the one person who probably knows the answer.”

His chest puffed up. Predictably. “Yeah, what is it?”

“Stolen cars.”

He frowned. “Your car get stolen?”

“No.”

“But—”

“Long story. It’s a bit of research I’m doing.”

He nodded knowingly. “You taking a course?”

“In a way. I was wondering if the type of cars that are stolen on a typical afternoon would be different from the type of cars stolen in the morning.”

“Boy, it would take a while to go back over the year and figure that out.”

“Sorry,” I said, “my research just focuses on this week.”

“Just this week?” Nick was losing interest in me and eyeing the doughnut lustfully.

“Yes.”

He nodded, eyes still on the doughnut case.

“Let me get you another couple of those, Nick.”

“Thanks, Charlie, but it’s not much work. We only had one car stolen here this week and it was, hey—”

“Hey!” I echoed. “I bet that means Monday? Late afternoon?”

“Yeah, how did you know?”

“I’m a good guesser. Was it near Lilac Lane by any chance?” I gestured to the man behind the counter. “Half dozen chocolate glazed for my friend here.” I slapped Nick on the back.

He frowned in concentration. “You know, it was maybe two blocks from there. Iris Street. You’re good.”

“No one knows cars like you do, Nick. What make of car, by the way?” I said.

“Well, that’s true. I do know cars.” He chuckled a bit at his own cleverness. “It was a black Civic, ’99, new paint job, though. Mint condition.”

“A black Civic.”

“But you could have guessed that.”

“Why?”

“Thieves love the older Honda Civics. Pop the locks like that.” He snapped his fingers. “And if they don’t have an alarm system or keyless entry, they’re gone, looking like half the other cars on the road. Ten minutes later, they’re in a chop shop. Thought you’d have picked that up in your research.”

“Thank you,” I said. “That’s impressive, Nick.”

I had a feeling this was one Civic that wouldn’t end up in the chop shop. Black would be good for Barb. Why rent and be identified when you could pop the lock and off you go? Black would be pretty well invisible at night. I had a feeling the plates would have been switched with some other vehicle’s, something with a bit of dust on it. I was smiling as I said good-bye to Nick.

“Let me know how your research turns out, Charlie.”

“Sure thing,” I said.

I had a few other errands while I was in the uptown area. I swung by Kristee’s Kandees and picked up three boxes of black-and-white fudge, gift wrapped. A box for Sally, a box for Margaret, and a spare one in case I needed a quick gift. I got a plain box for me, too. If a head injury doesn’t entitle you to black-and-white fudge, I don’t know what would.

On my way out, I headed over to check out Dream Stories, the linen boutique that had opened recently. I like the boutiques uptown and downtown, and in my business I have to know what’s cutting-edge on all fronts. I hoped to see some innovative storage as well as gorgeous bed and window coverings. I knew that would be great ammunition for the consultation about my new client’s daughter’s disastrous bedroom. I knew from previous experience that youthful décor plus the right storage options had been known to win over most adolescents.

I picked up a cheap cell phone and bought enough minutes to keep me going until I settled with my provider. I’d already canceled the other one, although not in time to save me grief.

On the way to meet Robbie, I stopped for gas just off the interstate. As I left the service station, I noticed a nondescript white van at one of the pumps. More to the point, the driver noticed me. So did Del, who was filling the tank. Something told me that stopping to ask them about Barb was not an option. Del dropped the nozzle and raced to the passenger side. Before he jumped in, I gunned the Miata, which has a lot more pep than any old van. I shot out of the service station and sped back onto the interstate. I’d always thought that feeling someone’s eyes on your back was a cliché. This time, it felt like a threat. I got off at the next exit and took the secondary roads to my destination.

I hadn’t been worried about Mel and Del before this. Now I was.

I used my new cell phone to call Robbie. We arranged to meet at Betty’s, my favorite diner. Well, everyone’s favorite diner. Sooner or later, you’ll run into everyone in Woodbridge and surrounding communities there. Despite the fact that Robbie and I were now in cahoots, I wasn’t crazy about spending time alone with him. Betty’s was perfect. It wasn’t far from Quovadicon, and I’d never seen a police officer in the place. Not that there was anything illegal about having a bite to eat with Robbie Van Zandt. The rest of what we’d be doing, well, it was necessary.