Death by Killer Mop Doll (An Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mystery) (21 page)

“Let’s start with what you’ve been up to,” said Marlowe, pencil poised to write.

I didn’t like the way he’d phrased that, or the way he eyed me, but I took him and Phillips step-by-step through the last few days, leaving nothing out, other than the fact that I knew Vince wasn’t dead. I’d promised Zack I’d keep that to myself. Besides, Phillips and Marlowe already knew Vince was alive and cooling his heels over on Rikers Island.

As I told them about Sheri’s hidden cameras, something occurred to me. “When I first met Sheri, she told me one of the show’s techies had written a program to bypass Trimedia’s spy ware.”

“Spy ware?” asked Phillips.

“A computer program they use to monitor employees’ Internet usage. We’re not allowed to use the web for anything that’s not work related. Doing so gets you fired.”

He nodded. “And?”

“I half-jokingly asked her if the guy could do the same for us at the magazine. She said he’d recently won the lottery, quit his job, and was island-hopping around the Caribbean.

“But I don’t think that’s the case. Maxine said it was a good thing Sheri set up the spy cameras. Then she said, ‘God bless your tech skills.’ I don’t think there was ever a tech guy who quit. I think it was Sheri all along.”

Phillips and Marlowe exchanged knowing looks, like I wasn’t telling them anything they hadn’t already figured out for themselves.

“Hmm,” said Phillips.

“Got any other insights?” asked Marlowe.

“As a matter of fact, I do. Sheri was behind everything. I’ll bet she planted that e-mail from Monica on Vince’s computer so you’d seize it as evidence and discover the kiddie porn. She set Vince up to get rid of him without having to pay out on his contract. Maybe Vince really isn’t a pervert.” Although I found that hard to believe.

The more I thought about it, the more everything jelled. “And the security tapes. Sheri volunteered to check them after the vandalism. But she didn’t check them; she erased them. She said killing Lou was an accident. He probably found out about the tapes and confronted her, and she panicked.”

Marlowe scrawled a few more notes on his pad, then said, “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Pollack. We’ll have a uniformed officer drive you back to New Jersey.”

He and Phillips turned to leave the room.

“Wait!”

They both turned back. “Something more you remember?” asked Marlowe.

“Aren’t you going to tell me if I’m right?”

They shook their heads in unison, like some programmed robocops. “Sorry,” said Phillips.

“Ongoing investigation,” added Marlowe, spouting the company line. “We’re not at liberty to discuss it.”

With that, they left the room and left me with my mouth hanging open.

Twenty-three

I was surprised to
find Cloris waiting at my house. “Are you all right?” she asked, eyeing my reddened arms and cheeks.

“Thanks to you. What made you call Marlowe?”

“You can thank Janice. She wasn’t in the office this morning. I figured maybe she had a doctor’s appointment or something and didn’t give it another thought. But when she arrived around noon, she stopped off at my cubicle and started telling me a Sheri story. She’d been at the studio, taping a segment all morning. I knew right then that something was wrong because how could Sheri be at the studio and on a location shoot at the same time?”

“You literally saved my life, you know.”

“What do you mean—literally.”

“Just what I said. They were planning to kill me.”

“They?”

“Sheri and Maxine, her lover.” I looked around the living room. “Where’s Mama?”

“Out getting her hair done. I figured someone should be here to tell your mother and the kids that you were missing, and better me than the cops.”

“So she doesn’t know anything?”

“Not yet. I gave her some song and dance about needing to borrow the boys when they got home from school. I wanted to stall as long as possible. When Marlowe called to let me know you were safe, I decided to hang around to see for myself.” She gingerly touched my cheek with her index finger. “Painful?”

“More itchy than anything. The hospital gave me some ointment and pills. They’re helping.”

“If you change into long sleeves and a pair of slacks and put on some make-up, you might be able to get away with not telling your mom and kids anything.”

I liked that idea. Mama and the boys didn’t need to know someone had tried to kill me. Again.

_____

Zack wasn’t as easy to fool. Or more likely, an inside source had alerted him to the day’s events. An inside source who works for the Manhattan D.A. He sped into the driveway as Cloris and I waited for Mephisto to fertilize the curb.

“Shouldn’t you be off photographing indigenous meerkat colonies or something?” I asked as he jumped out of the car.

“That was last week. I’m between assignments.”

I didn’t buy that for a New York minute, but instead of pressing the topic, I proceeded with introductions. “Cloris, Zack. Zack, Cloris.” To Cloris I said, “Zack is my tenant.” To Zack I said, “Cloris is—.”

Zack shook Cloris’s hand. “Watson to your Sherlock. I’ve heard.”

I sighed. “Is there anything about me my mother and sons haven’t told you by now?”

“Doubtful.” He grabbed the leash and pooper scooper from me. “Why are you out here walking the dog after nearly getting yourself killed?”

“Hmm … let me think. Because I don’t want dog poop on my carpets?”

He turned to Cloris. “Can’t you make her lie down?”

“Can you make her do something she doesn’t want to do?”

Now it was Zack’s turn to sigh. “Glad it’s not just me.”

“Three’s a crowd,” said Cloris. “I’m out of here.”

“You don’t have to go,” I said.

“Yes, she does,” said Zack.

I opened my mouth to tell him to stop being so damned bossy, but stopped dead—no pun intended—before uttering the first syllable. The man had what romance writers refer to as a smoldering look in his eyes, something I’d previously dismissed as pure fiction, and that smolder was directed straight at me. Up to this moment, no one had ever
smoldered
at me before. Not my husband. Not any of the guys I’d dated prior to meeting Karl.

So much for telling Zack off. If only I didn’t itch so much … I carefully rolled back one loose-fitting sleeve to show him my left arm. “The right one makes for a matched set. Same for my legs.”

“What the hell did they do, drop you in a patch of poison ivy?”

“Duct tape. The nurse at the hospital said I might have a latex allergy.” I rolled my sleeve down.

Zack reached out to cup my face in his hand. I cringed and pulled away. “Face, too. Hidden under the make-up.”

He let loose with a couple of choice expletives better left deleted. “Where else?”

“That’s about it. My clothing protected the rest of my skin.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Itches mostly. I’m on oral and topical antihistamines and trying not to think about it too much, so let’s change the subject, okay?”

Cloris uttered one of those hey-guys-remember-me? throat clearing sounds. “As I was about to say, I need to get home, anyway.” She directed an index finger toward me. “You should take tomorrow off.”

“Can’t. No more sick days left this year.”

“Excuse me?” She raised both eyebrows. “A Trimedia employee tried to kill you a few hours ago. Not only are you entitled to some time off, you should think about filing for workman’s comp.”

“Forget that,” said Zack. “She should sue the pants off Trimedia.”

“For what?” I asked.

“For hiring a certifiable nut job and setting her loose on all of you.”

“Nice idea,” I said, “but I can’t afford to lose my job, and what are the chances of Trimedia continuing to employ someone who is suing them?”

“Actually,” said Cloris, “If they fire you for suing them, I think you can also sue them for that.”

“Tempting but not worth the risk, and what would I do while these lawsuits were slogging their way through the courts? I’m already living from paycheck to paycheck and barely making ends meet.” Not to mention making next to no dent in my Mount Everest of inherited debt.

Cloris offered me a rather devious smile. “Find a rich boyfriend?”

“It’s a good thing you just saved my life,” I told her. “Otherwise, you’d be in serious trouble right now.”

Cloris left for home, and Zack and I headed up to his apartment. Over glasses of wine, he helped me concoct a story for Mama and the boys. As much as I hated lying to them, I didn’t want them worrying that my name had been drawn out of a hat by
every killer and psychopath in the tri-state region. In the last several
months I’d had two attempts made on my life. Those were damn high odds, even for CIA operatives, let alone suburban moms. Best they didn’t learn of the second one.

“I’ve got it! You developed a sudden allergy to Mephisto,” suggested Zack after downing a glass of chardonnay and mulling ideas around in his head for a few minutes.

“I wish.”

“Then how about this: you got tangled in his leash and tripped face first into a patch of stinging nettles.”

“More plausible, but where’s the patch? The boys will want to know to steer clear of it.”

Zack poured us both more wine. “If you had dumber kids, they wouldn’t think to ask.”

“True. Smart kids are such a parental burden.”

The conversation went downhill from there, helped along by several additional glasses of what turned out to be an excellent chardonnay. However, by the third glass, it really didn’t matter. The wine and Zack were taking my mind off my itchy face and limbs, not to mention my near-death experience.

I finally settled on something mundane but semi-believable if no one looked close enough to notice the almost surgical-like precision delineating my affected skin from my unaffected skin. I suffered an allergic reaction to some organic body cream samples our beauty editor Nicole Emmerling had received and passed around at the office.

_____

By the next morning, the rash had faded considerably, and the itching bordered on bearable. Ignoring Cloris’s suggestion to take a few days off, I headed into the office. Had I stayed at home, I’d have nothing to do other than catch up on housework. At the office, I could catch up on the work that came with a deadline and resulted in a paycheck.

On my way to my cubicle, I grabbed a cup of coffee from the break room. Halfway down the hall, Naomi’s assistant Kim caught up with me. “Naomi wants to see you in her office.”

“Now?”

“Right now.”

That sounded ominous. “What’s going on?”

Ignoring my question, Kim continued walking toward the break room. I headed down the corridor, past my cubicle, to Naomi’s office.

I poked my head around the slightly ajar door and found Naomi engrossed in some papers on her desk. I rapped once. “You wanted to see me?” I asked when she lifted her head.

“Yes. Come in, Anastasia. Close the door behind you and have a seat.”

“You heard what happened yesterday?”

She nodded. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m beginning to think I’m some killer magnet. First Marlys. Then Lou.”

“And Vince.”

I shrugged without saying anything, not sure whether I still needed to keep that bit of information to myself. “I’m not Nancy Drew. I didn’t ask to get thrown into the middle of their murders.”

“Yet you were.”

“Hopefully, that’s all behind me now. And behind the rest of us. I’d like nothing better than to get back to normal.” Or the new normal, given the other recent, unwelcome changes to my life. Thanks to Dead Louse of a Spouse, normal had flown the hacienda for good.

“As would I.” Naomi dropped her eyes to the papers in front of her.

“Is that all?” I asked.

“No, I’m afraid not.” She picked up the papers and tapped them into a neat pile. “I spent the better part of last evening in an emergency meeting with the board of directors and the legal department.”

“Regarding the cancellation of the show?”

“Among other things. The show won’t go on. It’s part of the settlement I negotiated on your behalf.”

“On my behalf ? I don’t understand.”

“Cloris called me after she saw you yesterday. She mentioned a lawsuit—”

“Naomi, that was all Cloris’s idea. I can assure you I have no plans to sue Trimedia.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I—”

“Anastasia, how the hell can I negotiate a settlement for a suit you don’t plan to file?”

“But—”

Naomi held up her hand. “I’m going to do the talking, and you’re going to do the listening. Understood?”

I nodded.

“Good. Now, in exchange for you not suing Trimedia, Trimedia has agreed to all your demands.” She pushed her glasses farther up her nose and checked the papers she held between her hands. “There’s the usually legal mumbo-jumbo concerning the parties of the first part and the parties of the second part and so forth. I’ll skip all that if you don’t mind.”

“By all means.” I didn’t understand legal mumbo-jumbo, anyway.

“Good. First, Trimedia will cancel
Morning Makeovers
as of today. Secondly, all editors will be fairly compensated for the additional time they spent preparing for and taking part in the taping of the now defunct show. Compensation to be the standard time-and-a-half of each editor’s hourly salary.”

Stunned, my mouth dropped open, and I stared at Naomi. “Have they really agreed to this?” In my mind I rapidly calculated a rough estimate of how many additional hours I’d worked over the last six weeks, then sent up an extremely grateful silent prayer to the Goddess of Cash-Strapped Single Working Parents.

Naomi lifted her head. “Don’t interrupt me.” Then she immediately lowered her head and continued with her summation, “Secondly, effective immediately, all editorial staff contracts will be amended to include payment for any and all promotional activities for which said staff takes part.”

And to think certain members of the staff thought Naomi had sold us out over the show. I never doubted her. Naomi had our backs. At heart she was one of us, having no love for the media conglomerate that now ran what used to be a family-owned business.

I smiled my thanks, but her nose was once again buried in the papers. If she saw me, she ignored me and continued reading. “Finally, Trimedia employee Anastasia Pollack agrees to accept the sum of fifty thousand dollars as full and complete restitution for the pain and suffering inflicted upon her by former Trimedia employee Sheri Rabbstein.”

Naomi passed the papers and a pen across her desk to me. “If you agree to the terms, sign the last page of both copies where indicated and initial the other pages.”

This went seriously above and beyond watching her editors’ backs. This was Naomi stepping into the role of my Fairy Godmother. “You did this for me?”

She removed her reading glasses, placed them on the desk, and rubbed her temples. Naomi always looked like she stepped off the pages of
Vogue
, not a hair out of place, not a wrinkle in her outfit nor a worry line on her face. Not today. Today she looked every one of her fifty-nine years and then some. I wondered just how long those negotiations had taken last night and what toll they’d personally cost her. Naomi wasn’t a lawyer, and she’d been up against a notorious gang of sharks and barracudas. Trimedia was used to strong-arming, not being strong-armed.

“I wasn’t entirely successful,” she said. “I wanted to hold out for a hundred grand. When they balked, I added the other stipulations. Of course, if you want, you can still sue. The courts might award you considerably more. If successful, you’d stand to recoup everything your husband lost and then some.”

“Or not.” I flipped to the last page and signed my name without bothering to read the document. Then I did the same for the second copy. My lawyer, if I had a lawyer, would freak. However, since only Naomi and I were in her office, she simply arched a brow.

“This settlement is about more than just me,” I said as I initialed each page. “Trimedia took advantage of all of us, and you’ve made sure that never happens again. Thank you.” I passed the papers back to her.

“Don’t thank me,” she said, handing over a check. “This is all your doing. I was merely the go-between.”

I got the message. “So I can’t let the rest of the staff know what you did for them?”

“You can let them know what
you
did for them. No one can ever know that you and I weren’t in talks last evening each time I stepped out of the conference room. Understood?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good. I’ve scheduled a staff meeting for noon to announce the changes. Now get back to work. We have a magazine to put to bed.”