Murder as a Second Language (15 page)

“Did the two of you talk?”

“Do you think we used sign language?”

“Did he ask you about me?” It was increasingly difficult to hide my annoyance.

“He just wanted to know if you were upset about what happened at the Literacy Council. I said that if you were, you were doing a fine job of hiding it and were running around trying to solve the case under his nose, thereby embarrassing him and the Farberville Police Department for the umpteenth time. That pretty much covers it, Mother. I need to make those calls. Go make
boeuf
à la barf or whatever. I guess I'll be here for dinner every night until Joel gets back.”

Now I knew why Peter was so well informed about my activities. I'd reared a freckled Mata Hari and married a man who had no scruples about coaxing information out of her for a measly ten dollars. Caron, at least for the last month, was planning to major in political science. She would never succeed in politics unless she learned how to negotiate. I would have given her fifteen dollars
not
to blab to Peter.

On a brighter note, Bartek's house was not under surveillance. I had a legitimate excuse to spend the day at the Literacy Council. I would find a reason to go to Duke's house and continue our conversation about Ludmila. Feeling much better, I took a package of ground beef out of the freezer and stuck it in the microwave to thaw. Caron and I would dine on
boeuf avec fromage
on buns, with fries, salad, and the Key lime pie I'd hidden in the darkest corner of the freezer.

La vie—c'est belle.

*   *   *

I appeared at the Literacy Council at nine o'clock. Keiko must have seen me through her office window, because she came bounding out of her office to throw her arms around me and squeal, “Oh, thank you, Ms. Marroy! You are so very wonderful to come and help. Everything is a big mess. The police went through all the files and left them in piles. I need to contact all the students and let them know we can have classes again. I cannot find the files for the tutors. I put a message on our Web site, but nobody looks at it.”

I disengaged myself and looked around. There were only a few students in the lounge area. Leslie came out of her office, gathered them up, and took them into her classroom. I had not blipped on her radar screen. I went to the doorway.

“We are all very upset about what happened to Ludmila,” Leslie was saying. “I know that in some cultures, it's considered best not to speak about tragedy. In this country, it's encouraged. Does anyone want to say something?” She waited for a moment. “Then I'll start. I feel as though the Literacy Council has been tarnished by this crime.”

An Asian girl waved her arm. “What is ‘tarnished'?”

“Made dirty!” said Jiang. When I'd seen him earlier, he seemed to be simmering with anger. Someone or something had turned up the heat, because he was near his boiling point. Even Leslie was unnerved.

“That's right, Jiang,” she said. “Would you like to add to that?”

His arms crossed, he shook his head and slunk down in his chair. I hoped he wasn't a closet samurai. Keiko, Leslie, and I were not going to subdue him if he pulled out a razor-sharp sword and began slashing. I eased back and found Keiko in her office.

“Same drill as last time?” I asked. “Answer the phone, take messages, hand out forms?”

Her eyes were wet. “Oh, Ms. Marroy, this is too much for me. No one is telling me anything. The board members came on Tuesday and stood around talking to each other. Gregory came in and talked to your husband, and then Leslie came in and did the same. No one is talking to me except to demand that I find files and folders and time sheets for the tutors. The schedule is different every day. I don't know who is here on Monday evening or Wednesday morning or anytime!” She grabbed a tissue from the box on her desk. “I think that I will quit. I will stay at home and make sushi for my children.”

I stared at her. “You have children? How old are you, Keiko?”

She recovered from her emotional outburst and smiled at me. “How old do you think I am, Mrs. Marroy?”

“You look like you're about fifteen,” I said.

“I am two times that. Kazu is eight and Rie is six. My husband is Australian. We are here because he is putting in a new computer system at the Sell-Mart corporate headquarters. He works for a big company in Tokyo. We will be here for two more years, since he has to fly to distribution centers all over the country and teach the new system. After that, he will be transferred to a European center to do the same. I took this job to keep myself from getting lonesome. Now I want to be lonesome all by myself.”

“I understand, but you should probably wait a few days before you make a decision. The police will determine what happened to Ludmila. The students will drift back, and everything will be back to normal.”

“Like hell it will,” said Keiko. “Please excuse my language, Mrs. Marroy. Most of the students have e-mail addresses, and I have notified them. Then there are some who don't. This is a list of their telephone numbers. You need to call and tell them that the Literacy Council is open. I need to look for the tutors.” She dropped to her knees and began to sort through files. “I know you are here, my lovely tutors. Where are you hiding?”

I poured myself a cup of coffee in the back classroom, noting that the door to the copy room was festooned with yellow tape, and took a seat at the receptionist's desk. I located a pen and a notepad. I made sure the stapler was armed. I listened to Leslie leading a conjugation drill: I swim, you swim, he swims, etc. Keiko's list seemed to grow longer as I looked at it with a sour taste in my mouth. I had felt no sympathy when Caron and Inez had to call their respective students. Faced with the same dilemma, I wanted to crawl under the desk and stay there until everyone went home. Which would make for a long day, I told myself. Leslie had assured the girls that all the students spoke some English, but she assumed that the students would answer the telephone.

As it turned out, half of my calls went unanswered. Those who answered seemed to understand me, although I was just as willing as they were to pretend they did. There were about forty names and numbers on the list. When Gregory came in, I was down to the last ten. I decided they could wait.

“Good morning,” I said.

He stopped. “Good morning, Claire. Are you the permanent receptionist? Seems rather menial for someone with your talents.”

“I'm volunteering until Keiko finds someone else. Have you recovered from Tuesday morning's tragedy? Such a shock.”

“It was a nightmare.” His face was pale, and there were dark half-moons under his eyes. “The detectives kept me here all day, asking questions and searching my office. I don't know what they thought they'd find. At least they didn't come across another dead bird or a death threat. I'd have a hard time explaining that.”

Students and tutors began to come into the building. Gregory seemed panicky as he said, “Let's continue this in my office, Claire. I detest being stared at as if I were a monster.”

“Okay,” I said, although those staring in our direction seemed to be focused on me. I doubted any of them had figured out what my role had been after Ludmila's body was found. I wasn't sure myself.

Gregory's office was as chaotic as Rick had told me. Papers, files, folders, booklets, and envelopes were piled haphazardly on the floor. I moved a stack of papers off the chair while Gregory found a path behind his desk. The room reeked of cigar smoke. The blinds were closed, the light minimal. I am not claustrophobic, but I was uncomfortable.

“It may look disorganized to you,” Gregory said, “but I can find things—unless someone moves them. Since our conversation last week at the café, I've been careful to lock the door when I leave.” He gave me a plaintive look. “I don't know if the police took anything, and, frankly, I don't care. I was exhausted when they let me leave. Someone must have told them about Ludmila's vendetta against me. I don't know why the woman despised me. When she first began coming here, she ignored me. Then one day she stormed in like a Valkyrie on steroids and started shouting at me. All I could think of was that she didn't like my tie. Silly, I know, but I was stunned. By the way, it was a very nice silk tie from Hermès in Paris.”

“I'm sure it was,” I said lamely. “I suppose the police asked you about Monday night. That was quite a scene at the board meeting, wasn't it?”

Gregory shook his head. “I toyed with the idea that Rick was Ludmila's evil pawn. I don't know what Rick's problem is. Yes, I know he's been accusing me of embezzlement. If he had any proof, he wouldn't have to resort to this deceitful attack on my character. I've spoken to a lawyer about filing a suit for slander.”

And I'd volunteered to spend time in this minefield. There was no reason why I couldn't take on Italian cooking and learn how to make pasta by hand. Somewhere in my kitchen there was apt to be a contraption for that specific purpose. I could make cute little ravioli and tortellini. Ditch the truffle oil in favor of olive oil. I was in the middle of a whimsical vision of my private olive grove when I realized Gregory was watching me. “A lawsuit can be played on the front page of the newspaper,” I said. “It might do a great deal of harm to the Literacy Council's reputation. Even if you're exonerated, your donors may have reservations. Where there's smoke…”

“Would you talk to him, Claire? He'd spit in my face before I could get out a word. If I offer to show him my personal bank statements, he'll accuse me of having an account in the Caymans. There's an old political joke: If a candidate walked on water, his opponent would claim he couldn't swim. If Rick can't find any evidence against me, he'll say that proves I've hidden it.”

I held up my hands. “I'm not getting in the middle of this. Talk to Frances. She's the president of the board of directors. I've been on the board for less than a week, and nobody listens to me. I'm not complaining, mind you. I may take the training session so I can tutor, but I'm going to resign my position as soon as enough of the absent board members return to make up a quorum. There's a reason why I majored in English instead of business. I prefer to deal with characters on a page, not in my face.” I stood up and repositioned the papers on the chair. “I have more phone calls to make. Good luck, Gregory, with whatever you decide to do.”

I went back to my desk and finished calling the names on the list. Leslie's class was now chanting about those who sing, sang, and had sung. More students were in the lounge, and I could hear tutors in the cubicles. The telephone rang. The caller asked to speak to Gregory, and after a few false tries, I managed to transfer the call to his office. A UPS man delivered a box and allowed me to sign for it.

Then, as though a thunderstorm had moved in just above the building, the phone began to ring and ring and ring. Most of the callers were students who wanted to know if the class schedule had been revised or if their tutors had been notified. To those whom I could not understand, I repeated the word “yes” until they hung up. I might have said the same thing to Jorgeson if he called to ask if another body had been discovered. Caron and Inez appeared at eleven, both texting intently. When Leslie's class emerged, Inez plucked her Mexican student from the throng and took him into a cubicle. Caron sighed as she did the same with Jiang. I hoped she was prepared for a bumpy ride.

The phone kept ringing and I kept answering it. There was no way I could get a cup of coffee or even make a dash to the ladies' room. I scribbled messages for Leslie and did my best to transfer calls to Gregory's office and Keiko's. Sometimes it appeared to work; other times the light went off. I did not care. Gregory had dismissed my job as menial, but it required the appendages of an octopus to grab the receiver, deal with the students in front of me, and make indecipherable marks on scraps of paper. I was aware my performance was subpar, but one gets what one pays for.

Caron gave me a desultory wave as she left. Inez emerged with Aladino, patted him on the back, and headed for the lounge to find her next student. Aladino watched her with a dopey grin. I could see why. Inez had not only ditched her glasses for contact lenses, she'd also done something to her hair to make it soft and shiny. Her shorts fit snugly, and her knit top displayed a hint of cleavage that I'd never realized she had.

It was noon, and I was exhausted. Keiko had said nothing about how long she expected me to stay. When the phone rang, I merely looked at it. Instead of saying, “yes, yes, yes,” I was perilously close to saying, “no, no, no,” to every last blasted question. I was wondering what I was supposed to do about lunch when Keiko and Gregory came out of their respective offices.

Keiko patted her hair. “How do I look?”

“Fine,” Gregory said as he took her arm. “You have your story straight?”

“Do you?” she countered. I sucked in breath as I waited for him to respond to her flippant tone.

After a long, uncomfortable moment, he propelled her out the front door. I followed them and was not especially surprised to see the local TV station van. The cameraman and the soundman fiddled with their equipment while a middle-aged woman in a suit tried to hide her wrinkles with a thick layer of makeup. There were photographers and reporters from the regional newspapers. A group of students huddled at the far side of the parking lot, unsure what to do. I backed toward the door, but I was too late.

“Claire Malloy!” shouted a reporter. “Are you assisting the police? What can you tell us about the victim?”

“Are there any persons of interest?' shouted another one.

The camera was pointed at me as the TV reporter hastily brushed powder off her lapels and said, “Was this a terrorist attack? These students are from countries like Iran, the Sudan, and Indonesia. Is Homeland Security investigating their backgrounds?”