Sketch Me If You Can (14 page)

“But that was mostly ’cause I hadn’t owned up to bein’ dead and all.”

Rory was immediately sorry that she’d broached the subject. She was definitely more comfortable around an amiable Zeke than a morose or angry one. She should stick to things of a less personal nature, like her investigation.

Zeke perked up with interest as she filled him in about the silver Ford.

“Sounds like you rattled someone’s cage,” he said. “But I’m thinkin’ they just wanted to scare you off. If they’d really intended to harm you, they would’ve.”

“Let’s hope you’re right, because I have no intentions of giving up. If anything, they’ve made me more determined than ever to find out what happened to Gail.”

“Now hold on there,” Zeke said. “Just ’cause they didn’t intend you harm today don’t mean they won’t try to kill you tomorrow.”

Why was everyone so sure that she couldn’t take care of herself?

“I’ll tell you what,” she said. “You can be my side-kick. That way you can come along and scare off the bad guys if things get rough.” Although Rory intended the remark to be funny, Zeke didn’t laugh. He was busy studying the fraying cuff of his right sleeve.

“I can’t leave the house,” he said when he finally looked up at her.

“You mean you don’t want to leave, or you can’t?” Rory asked with surprise. She’d had no idea that ghosts had such boundaries.

“Can’t’s what I said and can’t’s what I meant,” Zeke snapped. “I may not have as much schoolin’ as you, but I know the difference between ‘want’ and ‘can’t.’ ”

Before Rory could say anything more he vanished from his seat. She turned to look for him and found that he’d relocated to the granite-topped workstation in the middle of the room. He stood there, arms folded, glowering at her.

“I’m sorry.” Rory said. “I didn’t mean to imply . . .”

Zeke’s expression softened. “Okay, I’m gonna cut you some slack, seein’ as how you’ve had a whole lot thrown at you lately.”

Rory caught herself before she could tell him what she thought of his magnanimous gesture. Instead, she turned back to the table to finish her dinner.

A couple of minutes later Zeke reappeared in the chair across from her. “I was serious when I told you that you need to be careful,” he said, as if nothing had happened to interrupt their conversation.

“I’m sure you were,” Rory replied, making an effort to keep her voice neutral. “But I’ve made a commitment to pursue this investigation and I won’t go back on my word.”

“I ain’t askin’ you to. But you might consider goin’ about it a bit differently.”

Rory stood up and carried her dish to the sink. Mac hadn’t mentioned that his pal Zeke could be annoying as hell. She took a minute to wash the tomato sauce off her plate before replying.

“Okay, Marshal, I’m listening,” she said, drying her hands on a dish towel as she turned to face him.

Zeke was suddenly standing beside her, so close that she automatically fell back a step, until the edge of the sink was digging into her back. He didn’t seem concerned that they’d come close to touching, but Rory was left wondering what that would have been like. Would her hand have passed through him as if he were no more than air? Or would she have felt something like the gooey consistency of the wraiths in the
Ghostbusters
films? In any case, she wasn’t eager to find out.

“You oughta hold off on talkin’ to the rest of the suspects,” he said. “They ain’t obliged to talk to you anyway. Wait till you can get back into that house like we discussed. Could be you’ll find somethin’ those other investigators missed. If you don’t, you can always go on with the interviewin’.”

“Look, I don’t know how long it will be before the real estate agent holds another open house. Why should I waste time doing nothing?”

“Cause it would be a heap smarter and safer to do as much investigatin’ as you can that don’t involve rufflin’ the feathers of someone who might just be a murderer.”

“I’ll think about it,” Rory said. Her neck was starting to hurt from looking up at him at such close range.

“Ain’t there someone you can partner up with?” he asked. “It’s concernin’ me that you’re goin’ about this alone.”

“Oh for Pete’s sake,” Rory replied. “
You
came all the way back east alone to find a killer.” She realized her mistake as the words left her mouth.

“And you can see how well that worked out,” Zeke said.

Rory was not going to concede anything. “Women have fought for the right to do anything men can do, and most of the time we do it better,” she bristled. “And we’ve sure as hell earned the right not to be harassed about it.”

“After what happened today, do you think your uncle Mac would want you to be workin’ this case alone?”

Rory’s cheeks flushed with anger. “Don’t you ever invoke my uncle’s name in order to manipulate me!” She threw the dish towel onto the counter and stormed out of the kitchen. She didn’t look back to see if Zeke was still standing there. She didn’t care if he stayed rooted to the spot for the next two centuries. Tonight
she
was going to have the last word. And tomorrow she was going ahead with her plans to track down Gail’s old boss!

E
lite Interiors still occupied the small, gray clapboard house with blue shutters on the main street in Port Washington where Gail Oberlin had begun her career. So tracking down Gail’s old boss, Elaine Stein, had So tracking down Gail’s old boss, Elaine Stein, had not been difficult. However, getting past the telephone screening of Lyle Beaumont, her pit bull of a secretary, had so far proven impossible. If Rory were to believe him, Elaine was never actually in her office. After half a dozen futile attempts to reach her, Rory asked if she might leave a message. Lyle heaved a grudging sigh and at least pretended to take down the message she dictated.

She identified herself as a freelance journalist writing an article about women like Gail who used and abused people in their mad scramble to the top of the career ladder. Rory had her doubts as to whether Elaine ever saw the message, because she never heard back from the woman. Based on Mac’s assessment, she’d expected Elaine to jump at the chance to retaliate against her nemesis, even if posthumously. Frustrated, Rory decided to take matters into her own hands and stage an end run around Lyle.

She arranged to take a personal day. At six a.m., with a Starbucks nonfat latte in hand, she parked diagonally across the street from Elite Interiors to begin her first stakeout. Just before eight thirty she watched a slight young man climb the three steps to the front porch and using a key, let himself into the office. Although he was short of stature, he moved with a bearing of self-assurance that bordered on arrogance. She had little doubt that this was Lyle Beaumont. While his voice had been decidedly masculine, he was clearly more of a peacock than the pit bull she’d imagined.

Two hours later Rory was learning her first lesson of Stakeout 101—never drink a large cup of coffee, or any other liquid for that matter, before a stakeout. She debated leaving to find a bathroom but suspected that she would miss the elusive Ms. Stein if she did. While she was still considering how long she could hold out, a late-model burgundy Mercedes with a woman behind the wheel double-parked in front of Elite Interiors. A moment later, Lyle Beaumont hurried down the steps to the street. The woman emerged from the car with a briefcase, and Lyle slid into the driver’s seat. A few words were exchanged between the two, after which he closed the door and drove away. The woman made her way into the office. Apparently Lyle’s duties included valet service.

Rory figured she had a window of maybe five minutes before Lyle returned. She locked her car and hurried across the street; her bladder would have to wait. She entered the building and found herself alone in a small reception area with several chairs and a neatly ordered desk from which Lyle presumably ruled his roost. Down a short hallway, she could see an open door. She headed for it. There was no time to waste on social etiquette. She had to grab Elaine’s interest before Lyle could run interference.

The interior designer was standing beside her desk, frowning as she rummaged through the briefcase that she’d set atop it. She was big boned with angular features, not a pretty woman by most standards. But her hairstyle, makeup and fashion sense went a long way to making up for any hereditary deficiencies.

When Rory knocked on the open door, Elaine looked up, both confused and annoyed to see her there.

“Excuse me, Ms. Stein. I know how busy you are,” Rory said quickly, before she could be remanded to the reception area, “but I think you’ll be interested in what I have to say.”

“And who exactly are you?” Elaine demanded in the imperious tone of one not accustomed to unexpected intrusions.

Rory introduced herself as she crossed the room, repeating the same story she’d told Lyle on the phone. She’d considered using an alias but had decided to go with her real name. The less she lied, the less likely she was to trip herself up.

She extended her hand as she reached the desk. “From what I’ve heard,” she went on, “you’ve had an experience with an employee that would be a perfect fit for my article.”

Elaine shook her hand warily, as if it might contain something coiled and ready to spring. “I assume you’re talking about Gail Oberlin?”

“Yes, I am.”

She withdrew her hand. “To be blunt, Ms. McCain, although I can see how I might be helpful to you, I don’t see what’s in it for me.”

“Payback?” Rory suggested. While planning for this interview, she’d considered other possible rejoinders to such a question but had decided that vengeance afforded her the best chance for success.

“Look,” the designer said with a brief and humorless laugh, “I’d like nothing better than a bit of good old-fashioned revenge against that bitch, but dead is dead. With any luck she’s already doing hard time redecorating Hell. That kind of heat is murder on fabrics. What more could I do to her?”

“I see your point,” Rory said, changing tactics. “I guess you’re one of the lucky ones in that respect. Not many people get to see justice done in their lifetime.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Elaine said briskly, turning her attention back to her briefcase. “Now I believe we’ve reached the end of our discussion, Ms. McCain. I have a very busy schedule today, so if you would please see yourself out.”

Rory wasn’t going anywhere quite yet. She had maybe another minute or so before Lyle returned and either tried to eject her bodily or called the police. She was pretty sure she could take him in a fight, but she couldn’t chance the police getting involved. In any case, she was down to the wire and there was no time left for subtleties.

“Of course,” she mused as innocently as she could manage, “there are those impatient few who take matters into their own hands, rather than wait for justice to be served.”

Elaine looked up from her search again, eyes flashing. “I hope you’re not insinuating what I think you are.”

“Oh, no, no, not at all,” Rory said as if she were equally horrified by that possibility. “I just meant that people like Gail make so many enemies, it wouldn’t surprise me if one of them gave her a little help down those stairs.”

“Well, maybe you should be talking to them,” Elaine snapped, “or to the coroner. It’s my understanding that Gail’s death was ruled accidental. She tripped, fell and cracked her head open on the marble floor. End of story.”

“How intuitive,” Rory said. “The ME’s report never actually mentioned what type of floor it was.”

“Come on now,” Elaine replied without hesitation, “a custom home worth two point six million dollars would hardly have had vinyl tile.”

Nice save, Rory thought. Even so, she’d swear she heard a slightly higher pitch in the designer’s tone. Lying could manifest that way. But before Rory could press her further, Lyle appeared in the doorway.

“Sorry, Ms. Stein,” he said in bewilderment, looking from his boss to Rory and back again. “I didn’t realize you had any appointments this morning.”

“I don’t,” Elaine said tightly. “So if you would please show Ms. McCain here to the door, I’ll be able to get on with my work.”

At the mention of Rory’s name, Lyle realized what was going on. He went from timid sycophant to bouncerbodyguard mode in under two seconds. Rory couldn’t help but wonder how intimidating he would be if the threat to his boss stood six foot two and weighed in at two hundred pounds. As it was, he didn’t even frighten a featherweight like Rory. Unfortunately she couldn’t allow things to escalate to the point where he might call 911, so as Lyle marched up to her, she raised her hands in mock surrender and backed away until she’d cleared the doorway.

It wasn’t until she was back in her car that she became aware of the drumming of her heart. While she might not want to live with a constant adrenalin rush, it could sure add a bit of zest to the day.

In deference to her bladder, Rory made a brief stop at the local 7-Eleven. Then she headed home, dissecting her conversation with Elaine Stein as she drove. She didn’t for a moment believe that the designer had just guessed about the type of floor on which Gail had met her end. Elaine either knew about the marble floor because she was the killer, or because she had visited the murder scene out of curiosity, or perhaps just to gloat. But although gloating might be obnoxious, it wasn’t yet a crime in the state of New York. Somehow the more Rory learned about the potential suspects in the case, the further she seemed to get from its resolution.

She parked her car in the driveway and was walking up to her front door when she heard the telephone ringing inside. She managed to unlock the door, turn off the alarm and pick up the extension in the living room before it went to voice mail, all the while thinking how nice it would be if it was the killer, distraught with guilt, who was calling to confess.

“Rory?” a male voice said in response to her “hello.”