Murder as a Second Language (14 page)

At least I knew his story, I thought, but it didn't seem to have anything to do with Ludmila. She'd come to Farberville via New York, with no detours to the Northwest. It was highly implausible that Rick's cousin had visited Bialystok. I made a note to Google it in case it was home to the eighth wonder of the world. Even my highly imaginative mind could not make the leap.

Rick returned with a bowl of pretzels. “Have I answered all your questions?”

“Oh, no,” I said. “Why did you want to be on the FLC board of directors? I have my excuse. What's yours?”

“I think it's worthwhile. If you've ever lived in a foreign country, you'd understand how frustrating it can be. Hong Kong is a worldwide commerce market, so most of the educated locals speak English and three or four other languages, but I'd go in a shop where all the signs were in Cantonese and everybody stared at me. I felt like a hairy, unwashed Mongol. They may have considered me to be a mongrel.”

Duke had conveyed the same sentiment. I had no desire to move to Algeria or Albania to confirm their invasive sense of paranoia. I began to understand Ludmila's outbursts and depression. That did not justify her verbal abuse, however. I gazed at Rick. “So you were motivated by altruism?”

“I love that word, but it's an exaggeration. I wanted to help, and, to be candid, young bank executives need to display their involvement in the community. You never know what programs the presidents of banks support. Mine always buys a table at the Literacy Council fund-raiser in the fall, and his wife is rumored to spend a great deal of money during the silent auction. Disillusioned?”

“Merely disappointed,” I said. “So what's the problem with you and Gregory? I realize you suspect him of embezzlement, but I was worried that you two were going to start throwing punches. I was ready to duck under the table.”

Rick's eyes slitted. “The idea of him stealing money from a nonprofit pisses me off. We may not feed the homeless or provide vaccinations for indigent children, but we are helping the community. If Gregory wants to hold up a liquor store, that's fine with me. I don't care if he's never returned a library book in his life.” His fist slammed against the table. “I'm going to nail that bastard! Once I have proof, I can bring in the FBI. We get funds from the state, and the state gets funds from the federal government.”

“Whoa, Lone Ranger,” I interrupted. His voice had become so loud that customers were staring and the waitress was watching from the doorway. I could hear clicks as we were captured on cell phones, doomed to be displayed on Internet sites. “Gregory may be committing a felony, but it won't warrant the death penalty. If he's guilty, the feds will deal with him. Do you have proof?”

“Not without a full audit that goes back five years. Frances won't even allow discussion. She, Sonya, Drake, and Willie have had what they call ‘executive' meetings. The rest of us have no input. Frances would prefer to squelch the whole thing rather than acknowledge a scandal during her reign. I want to see Gregory hauled off in handcuffs and convicted.”

“How much do you believe he's embezzled?” I asked.

“It's impossible to tell because of the way the books are kept. From what I can estimate thus far, as much as forty thousand dollars.”

I was taken aback. “That's not exactly a fortune, Rick.”

“It's the principle of the thing.” His voice began to rise again. “It doesn't matter if it's a hundred dollars or a hundred thousand dollars. The man is a criminal!”

Austin slid in beside me. “I hope you're not talking about me.”

I started in surprise. “Austin, please feel free to join us.”

“I believe I did,” he said, flashing his teeth. He was dressed in a pale blue shirt, white suspenders, and a red bow tie—a patriotic motif of dubious taste. He held up his palm. “Rick, my man, how's it going? You didn't tell me that you and the alluring Ms. Malloy were having a little something on the side. You rock, bro!”

Rick slapped Austin's palm. “Only in my dreams, alas. Claire and I were discussing my problem with Gregory. I'm afraid she thinks I'm overreacting to a minor indiscretion. She's off my list for the lynch party.”

Austin draped his arm around my shoulders. “Don't you worry, Claire. We'll invite you to the reception afterward. We'd better not hold it at the Literacy Council. We'll be drinking champagne, and Frances is obsessed with our stodgy Muslim students.”

“I thought you had to work late every day.” I said to Austin. “Have I forgotten an obscure holiday?”

“We finished shooting a commercial a couple of hours ago. You would not believe how difficult it is to keep penguins from pooping. They never poop in documentaries, but they were doing their business nonstop. You try to shoo them away, they attack. I have bruises all over my legs.” He winked at the waitress as she put down a mug. “Let's have another pitcher, Angelina, and some chips.”

“And you just happened to drop by here? What a coincidence.”

“Coincidence? This happens to be my second home, my happy hunting ground. See that sweet brown thing over there in the corner? She hasn't taken her eyes off me since I came through the gate.” He grinned broadly. “If she could ditch that brute, she'd be sitting here in a split second.”

“The brute looks as though he plays varsity football,” I pointed out. “Did Rick call you earlier and tell you to come rescue him? I can't believe I'm quite so scary.”

Rick turned back when he heard his name. “Why would I be scared of you? You're charming, attractive, intelligent, and witty. I may be a little nervous when Frances comes at me like a condor, but I'm beginning to adore you.” He was also beginning to get a teensy bit drunk, having consumed most of the first pitcher.

“As am I.” Austin gave me a sloppy kiss on the cheek. “Ditch your husband and we'll escape to a deserted island on the woolly backs of flying sheep.”

“I prefer to fly first class.” I had to clamp down on my lip to keep from laughing. “How long have you two been friends?”

“A long time,” said Rick.

“Not that long,” said Austin.

They looked at each other, grinned, and slapped palms. Austin grabbed the pitcher to refill their mugs and top off mine. “Somewhere between a long time and not that long,” he said. “We met when Rick joined the board of directors. Before that, Sonya and I were the only members under the age of fifty. She's the personification of bitchiness behind her sugary facade. I don't know what happened between her and Willie, but if Sonya ordered Willie to jump, we'd have to peel her honor off the ceiling.”

I tucked that tidbit into a corner of my mind. “So both of you are convinced that Gregory has been stealing funds? Why not call the police and ask them to do an audit? They have a forensic accountant on standby.”

“Because,” Rick said in a lugubrious voice, confirming my suspicion about his flagging sobriety, “it would take months for an outsider to decipher the books. All the grants, the endowments, and contributions are comingled with the profits from the fund-raisers and membership drives, and half the checks don't have notations. As you heard at the meeting, the board members with checkbooks reimburse themselves and write checks without consulting each other. Sometimes Keiko will pay a utility bill, then Gregory will pay the same bill because Keiko forgot to mark it as paid. That means we get bills and checks from almost everyone. At any given moment, half the checks are still outstanding. It's his fault!”

To avoid another outburst, I said, “You've been trying to sort out the books in the evenings.” I thought about the pranks that had taken place in Gregory's office. The obvious candidate was seated across from me. “I presume you prefer to work when Gregory isn't around.”

“So?” Rick said defiantly.

Austin came to his rescue. “You're not accusing my good brother Rick of pilfering money from the petty cash box, are you?”

“Good heavens, no,” I said. “I've heard some rumors about some mischief in Gregory's office. Little stuff.”

“He claims I hide things,” Rick said, “but that's absurd. Have you looked in his office, Claire? He stacks folders on the floor until they topple over. Despite the nonsmoking policy, the room stinks of cigars. He brings in fast food and leaves half-eaten burgers in bags.”

“Toby doesn't clean in there?” I asked.

Austin laughed as if I'd said something hilarious. “Master Toby went in there one time and then came out and asked if he could rent a bulldozer. Gregory told him to never set foot in there again. That resolved the issue.”

Rick splashed beer on the table as he tried to refill his mug. “Wish I had a bulldozer,” he growled. “I'd chase Gregory around the parking lot until I'd flattened him like a crepe.” His eyes filled with tears as he gave me a blurry look. “I loved my cousin, I really did. She was my best friend. We told each other everything.” Tears dribbled down his face as he leaned forward. “Do you understand? Do you?”

I nudged Austin, who stood up and said, “Guess what, bro? It's time to go home. We'll pick up a pizza on the way.” He went around the picnic table, slid his arms under Rick's armpits, and pulled him up. “Put your arm over my shoulder. I'm going to help you out the gate and into my car. We'll figure out how to fetch your car later.”

Rick was mumbling as Austin took him to the parking lot. I sat back, trying to make sense of what had happened. There was no question that Rick was drunk, and for good reason, having gone through a pitcher and a half of beer at the speed of light. He was still mourning his cousin's death. He loathed Gregory, but luckily for him, Gregory was not the murder victim. But why had he called Austin to chaperone us? The obvious answer was that Rick knew he had a drinking problem and was afraid he might blurt out something to me. I had no reason to think he might be involved in Ludmila's death. If he'd met her, odds were excellent that he hadn't felt any fondness for her. No one whom I'd encountered thus far had expressed any kind words about her, with the exception of Duke.

I hadn't had the opportunity to ask Duke when he had last seen Ludmila. She'd been expelled from the senior citizens center, but they could have stayed in touch. Duke had married a waitress, presumably a good deal younger than he. Maybe Ludmila had been harboring romantic fantasies. The image was so unsettling that I had to take a sip of the tepid beer. Maybe Duke's wife was not pleased with a ménage à trois. Beer spewed out of my mouth as I imagined Ludmila standing on the end of the bed, shouting at her consorts.
Please, no,
I thought as I realized everyone was staring at me. Happy hour at the beer garden on a sunny afternoon.

It didn't seem tactful to drop in on Duke and his wife to discuss Ludmila. The Literacy Council was off-limits, and I was leery of visiting Bartek again. I wondered if he'd said something to Peter or if his house was under surveillance. Murders were often committed by family members or spouses. “Parenticide” was in the dictionary. I was less sure about “grandparenticide,” although it certainly deserved inclusion.

The waitress interrupted my aimless and meandering thoughts. “You done, honey?” I nodded. “That'll be sixteen fifty-five, not including tip.”

Not only had I been deserted, I'd been stiffed.

 

8

When I arrived home, I found Caron sprawled on the sofa. She, her clothes, the sofa, and the floor were sprinkled with crumbs. From the evidence on the coffee table, she'd swilled three cans of soda, emptied a jar of salsa dip and a bag of chips, and finished the last of the leftover chicken. The TV was turned to a game show but muted. I hoped the EPA was on high alert for a potential meltdown.

“Hello, dear.” I entered the room with the same trepidation I'd feel if I'd been sent into the cage to feed the lions.

“I have to tutor tomorrow.”

“That's the cause of the display of abject misery and despair? You knew the Literacy Council would open in a couple of days. Where's Inez?”

“How would I know? She hasn't called or answered a text all afternoon.”

“So you're worried that she was abducted by aliens and whisked away to a distant galaxy. Now I understand.”

Caron lifted her head long enough to douse me with radiation. “Why do you insist on trying to be funny, Mother? Trust me—you're not. Anyway, Annabelle saw her at the movie theater in the mall with a guy from the Latin Club. What's more, she wasn't wearing her glasses. She was dressed in really short cutoffs and a tight T-shirt and swaggering like a model. Then again, Annabelle failed home ec in ninth grade. She
flambéed
her brownies.”

“Good for Inez,” I said.

“Why did I know you'd say that? I must be omniscient! Wait until I tell everybody. Nostradamus must be rotating in his grave.”

“You don't think twice about abandoning Inez when you have a date with Joel,” I said, refusing to react to her sarcasm.

“That's not fair,” Caron retorted. “We all hang out together at the mall. Inez tags along, just like everybody else.”

“Did Inez tag along when Joel took you out to dinner to celebrate your three-month anniversary? How about when you two went to the play at the college?”

Caron stood up. “That is so Not The Point. I need to go call Jiang, Nasreen, and Yelena. At least I don't have to call Ludmila.” She marched toward the staircase, her shoulders quivering with indignation. “Oh, and Keiko left a message for you on the answering machine. The receptionist quit, and Keiko wants to know if you can cover until they find somebody else.”

“Wait,” I said as she started upstairs. “Have you given your statement to the police yet?”

“Yeah, after you left, Jorgeson called, and I went to the PD. Some guy with a beer gut asked me a bunch of questions. It took all of fifteen minutes, since I don't know anything useful. Ludmila didn't exactly confide in me. Afterward I went by Peter's office to see if the PD wanted to reimburse my travel expenses with enough money for lunch. He gave me ten bucks.”