Watchdog (18 page)

I pushed the door closed and heard it latch. “You okay?”

“I'm just tired. You know how it is with kids. You start at dawn and it never lets up.”

“Why didn't you tell me?” My tone was half accusing.

Alice and I had met in a neighborhood play group shortly after our sons were born, and quickly become friends. Over the years we'd covered for each other more times than I could count. I used her, and she used me. The reason the system worked so well was because we were scrupulously honest with each other when something wasn't convenient.

“It's no big deal,” said Alice. “Come on in the kitchen and have a cup of coffee with me. That'll revive me.”

“How's Joe?” I asked as I followed her to the back of the house. Like the rest of the homes on the street, the Brickmans' house was a Cape with a pretty basic floor plan. When Joe had started making some serious money at his law firm in Greenwich, they'd built an addition on the back that added a large family room to the first floor and another bedroom upstairs.

Much as I considered Alice one of my best friends, I hardly knew her husband at all. He worked long hours at his job and wasn't into socializing with Alice's friends when he got home.

“The same as always,” said Alice. She set up the coffeemaker and turned it on. “Joe never changes, or if he does, he's not around enough for anyone to notice.”

Ouch.

“Anything I can do?” I asked.

“Yeah, sit down and drink coffee with me and talk about something else.”

That sounded easy enough. I took a seat at a built-in booth that had been added the same time as the family room, pushed Carly's crayons and coloring books out of the way, and told her about Marcus Rattigan's murder and my brother's involvement in the whole mess.

While I was talking, Alice put two mugs of steaming coffee and a carton of milk down on the table and joined me. By the time I'd finished, she'd brightened. “You know, that's what I like about you, Melanie. No matter how bad my life seems, you've always got something worse going on.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“No, really. You have a real talent for putting my problems into perspective. What's up with you and Sam these days?”

“A week ago I thought he was about to propose.”

“That's great! Congratulations.”

“Then he changed his mind.”

“That's not allowed.” Alice was outraged on my behalf. “If you want, I'll call him and tell him so.”

I shook my head. “Even if he changed his mind back, I'm not sure what I'd say. We had a bit of a disagreement.”

“Your first?”

“Pretty much so.”

“So work things out.”

Like Aunt Peg, Alice was a big fan of Sam's. Actually, so were all the women I knew. And while the physical aspect certainly played a part, I knew there was more to it than that. Sam was smart and kind and fun to be around. He loved children and animals. He wasn't perfect but he came closer than any other man I'd known.

“I've been waiting for him to call me,” I said glumly. “I've been an idiot, haven't I?”

“Yup.”

“How about you?” I countered. “Are you going to work things out with Joe?”

“Of course I am. Do I look stupid to you?” There was a thunderous noise on the stairs as the three kids came running down into the kitchen. “Can you imagine me trying to find someone else willing to be saddled with those two?”

“Sure,” I said, grinning.

“You're either an optimist or a liar.”

“Put me down as an optimist,” I said. “It sounds better.”

“Hey, Mom!” cried Davey.

“Hey what?”

“What's for dinner?”

The eternal question. “Wait and see,” I said. That's the answer I use when I have no idea but I'm hoping to find something interesting in the freezer. I got up and carried my mug over to the sink. “Is Joe coming home for dinner?”

“He said he would.” Alice shrugged. “Men.”

I glanced at the boys. “Think ours will grow up to be any different?”

Joey had a light saber he was swinging around the room with abandon. Davey ducked just in time as the toy passed over his head and narrowly missed sweeping the milk carton off the table.

“Maybe.” Alice sighed. “If they live that long.”

The next day at school, I ducked out again during lunch. Yankee pot roast was on the menu, and its delicious aroma had been wafting through the halls all morning. For the sake of my stomach and my job, I hoped this kind of truant behavior didn't get to be a habit.

As I saw it, the only way I stood a chance of seeing Ben Welch was if I presented myself at Anaconda Properties and refused to take no for an answer. Liz Barnum could bar my access forever by phone. In person I might be able to make a more persuasive case.

Liz was sitting at her desk and talking on the telephone when I arrived. She stared balefully in my direction and took her time about ending the call. By the time she hung up, I was leaning my hip against her desk and eavesdropping shamelessly. Too bad she wasn't talking about anything interesting.

“I'd like to see Ben Welch,” I said as soon as she put the receiver down.

“He isn't available.”

“That's what you told me yesterday.”

Liz smiled condescendingly. “That's because he wasn't available then, either. If you'd care to leave a message . . .?”

She would write it down and drop it into the wastebasket as soon as I left, I thought. “Why are you protecting him?”

“I'm not. I'm simply telling you the truth. Ben isn't available. He isn't even here.”

So much for my grand plan to storm his office if she wouldn't let me by.

“It seems like he's been out of the office a lot lately.” Acting on a hunch, I added, “I guess he's been with Gloria.”

Liz's smile froze. “I doubt that.”

“I don't. I gather they've been spending quite a lot of time together.”

“They have business to discuss—”

“I'm sure they do. But that's not all that keeps Ben busy when he's with Gloria.”

Her fingers had been tapping an irritated rhythm on the desktop. Now her hand stilled. “Do you know what you're talking about, or are you just trying to annoy me?”

“I know enough.”

She glanced down the hallway, then she pushed back her chair and stood. “Let's go into Marcus's office. I'd rather talk privately.”

Once there, Liz shut the door carefully behind us. “I don't think much of innuendo, so let's get straight to facts. I know you've been asking a lot of questions. What exactly have you found out?”

“Not so fast,” I said. “Before I tell you anything, we're going to make a deal. I'm damn sick and tired of running around in circles. I'm neglecting my job, my boyfriend's mad at me, and I've barely had a chance to walk my own dog. I'll tell you what I know but only if you agree to do the same for me.”

Liz thought for a moment, then nodded grudgingly. “I guess that's fair enough.”

I stuck out my hand. She looked surprised but didn't hesitate, and we shook on the matter.

“Did you ever wonder how Gloria found out about your affair with Marcus?” I asked.

“No, not really. I just assumed he'd slipped up somewhere. Maybe I was hoping that subconsciously he'd wanted to be found out.”

“So that Gloria would have a reason to divorce him?”

Liz nodded.

“She wouldn't have, you know. Gloria's the type of woman who wants desperately to be married. If she had to overlook a few transgressions on the part of her husband, I'm sure she could have managed it. Anyway, Rattigan didn't get careless. Gloria told me herself that she had a spy in the company.”

“A spy?” Liz snorted. “How very dramatic. It sounds just like something Gloria would think of.”

“Apparently she wasn't the first to come up with the idea. She claims that Rattigan had their servants keeping tabs on her, and that she was only retaliating.”

The phone began to ring in the reception area. Liz seemed oblivious. “What does any of this have to do with Ben?”

“He's the one she chose to do her dirty work.”

“No.” Her tone was emphatic. “Ben wouldn't have done something like that.”

“How do you know?”

“Because ... because . . .” Liz's hands flailed ineffectually.

She seemed to be taking things personally, which made me think that my hunch had been right. Gloria wasn't the only one who'd been looking for a successor after she lost Marcus, and Ben Welch had been even busier than I originally suspected.

“Marcus was the one who gave Ben his start in business,” said Liz. “The two of them weren't just co-workers, they were friends. I can't believe he would have hurt Marcus that way.”

“According to Gloria, she offered extra incentives. Their relationship doesn't end with business.”

“Gloria's a liar!”

“She's not lying about this. Now that Rattigan's gone, she's planning to keep the company and let Ben run it.”

Liz struggled to regain her composure. “She hasn't made any announcement to that effect.”

“No, but Ben knows.”

“He doesn't know anything of the sort. If he did, he would have told me.”

“Are you sure? Obviously he hasn't told you everything. No matter how close your relationship is.” I gazed out the window and let the thought dangle.

“I know what you're thinking,” Liz snapped. “You're thinking I went straight from Rattigan's bed to Ben's, but it wasn't like that. Believe me, it wasn't like that at all.”

She began to walk around the room, letting her fingers glide softly over familiar objects. “Ben was the one who courted me. He knew what had happened with Marcus, of course. He offered me consolation, and a shoulder to cry on. It all started very innocently. We had lunch together a couple of times a week. From there, our feelings for each other just grew.”

“So that's why you didn't leave the company after Marcus ended your affair?”

“Partly, I suppose. But mostly because I have a damn good job here. Salary, benefits, and a lot of responsibility. I'd have had a hard time matching that anywhere else.”

Last time she'd insisted that ending their relationship had been a mutual decision. This time, I noticed, she hadn't corrected me. This lying thing was getting to be an epidemic. Not that I was immune certainly, but didn't anyone tell the truth anymore?

“Tell me about the day Rattigan died,” I said.

Liz stopped wandering. She squared her shoulders and faced me. I was glad to see that anger seemed to be shoring up the chinks I'd made in her facade. “What about it?”

“Why did Rattigan go to the coffee bar that evening?”

“I don't know.”

“You told the police that he had an appointment with Frank.”

“I'm well aware of that,” Liz said stiffly.

“I imagine you're also aware that the police have been treating my brother as their chief suspect, at least partly as a result of what you told them.”

“Frank
did
call here that day. All I did was embellish a bit. At the time I thought I had a good reason.”

“Which was?”

She grimaced slightly. “Ben didn't have an alibi for the time Marcus was killed. He'd taken some work home from the office and spent the whole night by himself in his apartment going over some plans.”

“Did he ask you to cover for him?”

“No, it was nothing like that. It just occurred to me that naturally the police would be looking into Ben's whereabouts. I thought that it wouldn't hurt to shift some of the blame in another direction.”

“You thought it
wouldn't hurt?”
Lord, was I steamed. If I were a cartoon character, there would have been smoke coming out of my ears. “What made you choose my brother as your scapegoat?”

“That part was obvious.” Aware of my annoyance, Liz was treading lightly now. “Frank is such a sweetheart. I thought anyone would be able to tell that he couldn't have done it. Besides, it's not like he had anything to gain from Marcus's death.”

Little did she know, I thought. It was beginning to look as though half the town of Stamford had had something to gain from Rattigan's murder.

Liz walked toward the door. “Listen, when you see Frank, tell him I'm sorry, okay? I never thought the whole thing would cause this much trouble for him. Honest.”

“I'll tell him,” I said tightly. The phone was ringing again and a glance at my watch confirmed that I had barely twenty minutes to get back to school before my next class. “Are you going to tell Detective Petrie about this, or am I?”

“I will,” Liz said. “Don't worry, I'll call him as soon as you leave. Actually, it'll be a relief. I've been kind of worried about lying to the police. As for Ben, that snake, he can take his chances.”

We walked out of the office together. Whoever had been calling had given up. For once, the phone was silent.

“Speaking of Ben,” I said. “Do you think he knew about Rattigan's will? That he'd never gotten around to changing it after the divorce?”

“I doubt it. I can't imagine it's the kind of thing they'd have ever discussed.”

“Did Marcus keep a copy of his will here in the office?”

“Sure. I remember the last time he updated it about five years ago. The damn document went back and forth to the lawyer's office a dozen times before everyone was satisfied. Then Marcus had four copies made up. One stayed with the lawyer, one went into his safe-deposit box, one he took home, and the other was put with all his legal papers here.”

“Do you mind if I have a look at it?”

“It's confidential,” said Liz.

“I won't tell, if you won't.”

She thought for a moment, then shrugged. She opened a drawer in her desk and took out a small key. I followed her to a cubicle down the hall. The tiny room had a whole wall of file cabinets, but only one was locked. She took the key, fitted it to the lock, and slid the drawer open.

Liz thumbed through the folders from front to back, then frowned and started over. “It isn't here.”

“Could it have gotten misfiled?”

The look Liz gave me could have charred stone.

“Maybe the police have it?”

“No, they don't. I kept a record of everything they took, and I know I would have remembered.” She shut the drawer and relocked it.

“What about Ben? Does he have a key to these files?”

“Of course he does. Ben has access to everything. Marcus trusted him implicitly.”

We were both silent then, and I knew we were thinking the same thing. That trust could have cost Marcus Rattigan his life.

 

I made it back to Howard Academy with only moments to spare. As I flew across the parking lot and in the back door, I could hear the bell ringing. Shedding my coat as I ran, I rounded a corner and didn't see Russell Hanover until I'd nearly plowed right into him.

“Well, hello!” He reached out with both hands, grasping my shoulders to steady me. “Running late, are we?” His deep voice placed heavy emphasis on the word running.

“Just a bit.” I raked back my hair and tried out a smile.

“We've missed you at lunch the last two days. You do understand we feel quite strongly about our teachers taking the opportunity to interact with their students outside of class?”

“Yes, of course. It's an excellent idea.” And would be even better if we weren't expected to monitor their table manners at the same time.

“There's nothing amiss, is there?”

“No, I just had some business to take care of.” Somehow I couldn't see trying to explain to Russell Hanover that my brother was a suspect in a murder investigation. He'd probably be shocked to his well-bred, New England core. “It won't happen again.”

“Quite right,” Russell agreed, continuing down the hall.

The rest of the afternoon sped by. My students were prompt, well prepared, and eager to learn. One boy proudly displayed a written report we'd worked on together that had earned him a B, the highest grade he'd ever achieved. I hugged him briefly, then let him do a victory dance around the room while I ran the title page of the report through the copier. I hung it, grade prominently displayed, on the bulletin board behind my desk.

It's good to have a day like that every so often to remind me why I became a teacher in the first place.

Promptly at 3:15 P.M., I arrived at Hunting Ridge to pick up the boys. With Halloween a week away, they were arguing over who had the better costume planned. The year before, Davey had been a fireman in a big yellow slicker and red rubber boots. This year he was aiming for a more macho look.

“Batman's no big deal,” Joey scoffed at my son's costume. “I'm going to be Dracula. I'll have a cape and fangs that drip blood.”

“I'll have a cape, too,” Davey defended his choice. “And a cowl and my very own Batmobile.”

That got Joey's attention. “You don't drive.”

“No, but I have a model. My mom said I could carry it.”

“I'm sure you're both going to look great,” I said. “What are the other kids going to be?”

The discussion of costumes, and the parade that would take place at their school on that day, carried us the rest of the way home. As I turned onto our road, I glanced automatically toward the house. There was a car parked in the driveway. Not Frank's black sports car, thank God, this was a blue Ford Blazer.

Sam's car.

“Hey!” Davey cried from the backseat. “Sam's here!”

Joey sat up and craned his neck to look.

“I hope he brought Tar!”

As the car rolled to a stop, Davey was already unfastening his seat belt. He and Joey spilled out of the car and hit the ground running. Sam opened his door and got out. He had indeed brought Tar with him and the puppy joined the boys in the yard.