Karen MacInerney - Margie Peterson 01 - Mother's Day Out (20 page)

I blushed again.  “No, he wasn’t.”

“Well, that’s a relief.  For you, anyway.  Who you workin’ for?”

“I can’t tell you that.”  No need to share the fact that the client was me.  “Client confidentiality… I’m sure you understand.”  Particularly since Miss Veronica worked for a company that specialized in helping men realize their cross-dressing fantasies.  “Anyway, other than Marcus, is there anyone else who might have wanted to hurt Ev… I mean, Selena?”

“Wasn’t Selena the one havin’ trouble tellin’ her family?” said Miss Topaz.  “Did she ever get around to it?”

“I don’t know,” said Miss Veronica.  “But that’s a problem for several of our clients.  Wives, in particular, seem to have difficulty with the idea that their men like to be ladies from time to time.”

Gee, I couldn’t think why.  “Trevor said something about a wives’ group,” I said.  “Is it common for… er… transvestites… to be married?”

There was pity in her eyes.  “Honey, sixty percent of the men who come visit us have families.  The spousal support group is one of our more popular programs.  That and the transformation class.”

“Transformation class?”

“Oh, yes.  It’s a weekend workshop.  That’s when our deans turn the ugly ducklings into swans.  We’ve got a Dean of Cosmetology, whom you’ve met… a Dean of Seduction, a Dean of High Heels, a Ballet Mistress… even a Dean of Femmenergy.”

I blinked.  How come I didn’t have these resources available when I was an adolescent girl? Miss Veronica continued.  “The new ladies join the sorority. Most of the ladies who have come through here stick together, and the community in Austin’s a pretty close-knit group. And the deans get to play fairy godmother and wave their magic wands.”  I glanced around at the array of feminine accoutrements and wondered what the final products looked like.

“Yeah, I been tryin’ to get Cassandra in my chair, but she won’t budge.  That girl got an eyelash problem.  Looks like she’s growin’ mustaches on her eyelids.”

I shifted the conversation from the topic of Cassandra’s eyelashes.  “So, Selena was having trouble with her family?”

“She was thinkin’ of talkin’ to ’em, but I don’t think she had a chance.”

Since she died in a ball gown, I was guessing the cat was out of the bag now.  “So other than Marcus, you can’t think of anyone who might have wanted to hurt Selena.”

“Nope,” said Miss Topaz.  Miss Veronica shook her head sadly. 

“Do you know where I can find Marcus?”

“He lives down off of South Congress.  Trevor, can you get the lady Marcus’s address?”

Miss Topaz narrowed her blue-gray eyes at me.  “You got a gun?”

I shook my head.

“Well, if you’re goin’ to see Marcus, it might be a good idea to get one.”

SIXTEEN

As I climbed into the minivan, my cell phone bleeped.

“Hello?”

“Margie?” It was Becky.  “I’m sorry for the short notice… can you be at International Shipping in thirty minutes? Michael’s contact is going out of town for a month tomorrow, so he moved up the meeting.”

“But I haven’t had a chance to find anything out about the shipping industry!”

“You don’t need to.  You’re a new employee, remember?”

“Yeah, brand new.  Okay.  Where is it again?”

“On Sixth Street.  That new big silver building. What’s it called?”

“The Frost Building?”

“That’s the one.  By the way, your name is Priscilla Anderson.”

“Priscilla?”

“I had to come up with something fast.  Anyway, I’ve got to run and get dressed. See you at eleven.” 

Becky hung up the phone before I had a chance to tell her about Blake’s car or my trip to Miss Veronica’s Boudoir.  I put the Caravan in gear and headed toward downtown.  Thank goodness I had spiffed myself up this morning. 

I arrived at the Frost building with fifteen minutes to spare.  It was a glass monolith not far from Maxted’s apartment, and as the parking garage attendant handed me a ticket, I wondered if Maxted had walked to work.  It would certainly be more cost-efficient than paying the three-hundred-dollar monthly rate advertised at the entrance.

I took the elevator to the lobby and parked myself in a leather couch while I waited for Becky and Michael to show up.  A stream of men and women in tailored suits flowed by. Although Austin was known for “business casual”, evidently the workers in this building didn’t subscribe to the city’s laid-back approach to life.  Or at least not the slacker wardrobe. 

“Margie!” Becky and Michael appeared near the giant glass front door.  Becky looked like anything but a mother of two small children in a perfectly cut blue suit that curved in and out in all the right places.  Her brother, Michael, looked as good as she did in a double-breasted charcoal Brooks Brothers suit.  Although I had felt nattily dressed an hour ago, as Becky approached with her brother, I found myself wishing I had thrown a jacket on over my blouse.

“I thought you said my name was Priscilla,” I said.

“Sorry, sorry.”

“Hi,
Priscilla
.”  Michael thrust out a hand and engulfed my own.  “You look great.”

I felt myself blush.  “Thanks.  So do you.  And thanks for doing this.”

“No problem.”  He squeezed my hand before releasing it, and a little tingle traveled up my arm.  Michael had always been tall and stocky, and although he was a little thicker around the middle than he had been, he was as appealing as he had been twenty years ago when Becky and I were in high school.  I’d had a terrible crush on him.  Evidently I still wasn’t completely over it.

For God’s sake, Margie, you’re a married woman
, I reminded myself. 
Think of Blake
.  Then I remembered the missing money and the dead transvestite, and decided to focus on my kids instead. 

Michael directed another high-wattage smile toward me.  “Ready?”

I swallowed hard.  “Anything I need to know?”

“Nope.  I’ve told them you’re training to be a client contact, and that you’re new to the industry.  I’ll do all the talking.  If they ask you any questions, just tell them you started last week.”

“Okay.  I can do that.”

As the elevator door closed behind us, I studied my distorted reflection in the shiny brass doors and whispered to Becky, “Do I look okay?”

She squeezed my arm.  “You look great.  At least my brother thinks so.”

I was about to poke her when the elevator doors opened, and we were there.

Becky and I hung back while Michael talked with the receptionist.  The lobby of International Shipping was heavy on the mahogany and granite.  The company’s name was emblazoned in silver on the wall above the front desk.

“Somebody blew up Blake’s car last night.”

Becky’s face paled.  “Oh my God.  You’re kidding me.  Is everyone okay?”

“Yeah.  The investigators should be out at the house right now.  It was a Molotov cocktail, they think.”

“Do you think it has something to do with the missing money?” she whispered. 

A wave of anger and pain threatened to engulf me.  I pushed it back.  “Right now, I don’t know what to think.”

“God.  I can’t believe it.  Blake’s car.”  Her mouth twitched up into a sly smile.  “I bet he was pissed.  Remember how mad he was about Nick throwing up in it?”

Despite the knot of despair in my stomach, I giggled.  Then I told her about my trip to visit Miss Veronica. 

“So he’s got a violent ex-boyfriend?” she said.  “Maybe that’s what happened.  Evan broke up with Marcus, and he snapped.” 

“Could be,” I said.  “I’m planning to swing by and talk with him later.”

She fished through her purse and pulled out a small blue canister.  “If you do, take this.”

I picked it up and gave the trigger an experimental push.  “What is it? Hair spray?”

Becky’s hands flew out.  “No! Don’t spray it! It’s pepper spray!”

I hastily released the trigger.  “Oops.  Sorry.”

“Just keep it handy, okay? And don’t let the kids get their hands on it.”

“Got it.  Thanks.”

As I tucked the pepper spray into my purse, I remembered that there was something else I wanted to ask.  “By the way, can you help me with some accounting stuff?” I murmured.

“Accounting stuff? Does this have something to do with Blake?”

“No, not this.  But if I tell you, you have to promise me you won’t say a word to anyone.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Okay.  Attila wants me to find out if someone’s embezzling money from Green Meadows.”

“Embezzling?” Becky’s voice rang out clear as a bell.  The receptionist looked up from the phone.  Michael’s eyebrows rose as he turned to look at his sister.

“Shhh! No need to announce it to the world!” When Michael had engaged the receptionist in a conversation, I continued.  “I’m supposed to go in and look through the files this weekend, but I have no idea what I’m looking for.  I need someone who knows something about accounting, so I thought of you.”

Becky hesitated.  “I’ve done accounting, but never auditing.”

“Well, you’re ten steps ahead of me, then.”

“I don’t know…”

“Becky, please help me.  Just tell me what to look for.  Attila’s promised to call Lydia off of my daughter if I help her.  And maybe I won’t have to go see that stupid child psychiatrist.”

“I can’t believe someone’s embezzling from the school.  It’s no wonder the tuition is so outrageous!”

“Will you help me?”

Becky smiled.  “I can’t promise you I’ll track it down, but yes, I’ll help you.”

“I’ll hire a babysitter, then.”

“No need.  Rick is already planning on keeping the kids while we go to the Junior League thing.  He’ll just have them longer.”

“The Junior League Fashion Show? That’s
this
Saturday? I thought it was next week! I don’t have anything to wear!” My voice rose as I spoke, and the receptionist glared at us.

Becky patted my arm and shot a reassuring smile to the receptionist.  “We’ll find something.”

“And then I’ve got a funeral to attend on Sunday…”

“Who died?”

“Maxted,” I whispered.  “I figured I’d go and see who turned up.”

“But won’t his coworkers recognize you?”

I hadn’t thought of that.  “Crap.  You’re right.”

“Don’t worry.  We’ll think of something.”

“Ready, ladies?” We looked up.  A large, bald man in a too-tight suit stood beside Becky’s brother.  We stood up and joined them at the reception desk. 

 “This is Calvin Pitts, the CEO of International Shipping,” Michael said as I held my hand out.  Calvin’s palm was sweaty, and he smelled strongly of Brut cologne.  “Calvin, this is Priscilla Anderson and Becky Hale.” 

“Nice to meet you,” I murmured, withdrawing my hand and pressing it against my skirt to surreptitiously wipe off the sweat.

“Mike here says you’re two bright girls.”  His bulging eyes roamed up and down Becky’s curvy figure, and I resisted the urge to knee him in the balls.

“Shall we give them a tour?” Michael said brightly.

“Well, there’s not that much to see—these are just the corporate offices—but it can’t hurt to get to know a few of the people you’ll be working with, can it? We followed Calvin down a thickly carpeted hall, meeting and greeting the corporate cream of ISC.  Calvin walked behind Becky, ogling her derriere, and placed his hand on her lower back every time he introduced her to someone new. 

I paused at an empty corner office.  Although the nameplate at the door was empty, files lay strewn across the desk inside.  “Whose office is this?” I asked, interrupting a monologue about the risks of dealing with Brazilian trucking companies. 

Calvin tore his eyes from the front of Becky’s suit.  “Oh, that office belonged to our former CFO.”  His face sagged slightly.  “He passed away this week, I’m afraid.  We haven’t found a replacement yet.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Calvin shrugged, and a shadow crossed his features.  Then his eyes found Becky, and he perked up again.  Soon we were back on Brazilian companies and following him into a small conference room, where we sat in front of burnt coffee in tiny Styrofoam cups.

He had just launched into a description of freight containers when I decided to make my move.

“Would you please excuse me for a few minutes?”

Calvin nodded at me and turned back to Becky, who appeared to be hanging on his every word.  Her eyes flashed to me.  Then Michael asked something about Pacific transport, and I was out the door.

I shouldered my purse and hurried down the hallway, resisting the urge to break into a sprint.  I was three doors from Maxted’s office when a woman in a plum-colored suit appeared from one of the offices.  I remembered meeting her. She was one of the few women who worked at ISC, and had an arched nose that reminded me of some kind of predatory bird. But I couldn’t remember her name.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“Oh. I was just looking for the ladies’ room.”

“Then you’re going the wrong way.”  She pointed her beak back toward the conference room.  “It’s back there.”

“Thanks,” I said.  She watched as I backtracked almost the whole way to the conference room.  I turned to smile at her and stepped into the ladies’ room.

After thirty seconds, I poked my head back out.  The plum-colored suit was gone.  I eased the door shut behind me and trotted down the hall, staying close to the far side of the hall and picking up speed as I passed the door she had emerged from a minute earlier. 

I finally got to Maxted’s office.  As my hand reached for the doorknob, voices sounded from the woman’s office.  I slid into the corner office and closed the door with a soft click behind me.

My stomach tightened as I surveyed the files strewn across every surface of the large office.  I only had a few minutes.  What was I supposed to be looking for?

I slid behind the desk and flipped through the nearest stack of files.  Invoices from E. M. Hernandez Trucking Company.  Each file was stuffed with papers marked
Bill of Lading
.  A couple had red stars on the top right corner, but I had no idea why.

I tried a few more stacks, but they contained equally incomprehensible financial records.  Incomprehensible to me, anyway. I should have sent Becky instead.