The Weekend Was Murder (12 page)

“I’ve got zilch power,” I said, “because I’m just a summer employee.”

“That’s right,” Tina said cheerfully. “You’re on the bottom rung.”

That didn’t make me feel any better. I wished Tina would hurry up and start working for that degree in psychology. She might not know any more then than she did now about what she was talking about, but at least she’d have the authority to say it.

“I’ll talk to you later,” I told her, hung up, and hurried to Mr. Lewis Parmegan’s office.

My knees were shaking as Marie, his secretary, smilingly led me into his office and shut the door. Mr. Parmegan was trimly and expensively dressed, as usual,
but I was surprised to see both Lamar and Detective Jarvis on hand too.

Mr. Parmegan tried to look superior and officious, as he usually did while talking to me, but worry had turned down the corners of his mouth and wrinkled his forehead, so his expression was nothing more than pitiful.

“Miss Rafferty,” he said, “please take a seat.” I had no sooner settled into one of the chairs than he said, “I understand that you overheard part of a conversation between Mr. Devane and …”

Jarvis threw Mr. Parmegan a warning look, so he continued by saying, “and someone else.”

Did he know where I was when I overheard it? Was he going to ask? I held my breath, but he went right past the question.

“And during this conversation they apparently referred to me?” he added.

I nodded. Uh-oh. The moment had come. Good-bye, job. Good-bye, Ridley Hotel.

“Well?” he asked.

“Well?” I repeated.

His impatient expression was beginning to overtake the worried one. “Miss Rafferty,” he said, “I would like you to repeat the exact conversation.”

I knew I was fidgeting, but I couldn’t help it. As I wrapped my legs around the front legs of the chair, I stammered, “I—I m-might not be able to remember it exactly.”

Detective Jarvis rested a hand on my arm, giving me a little pat of encouragement. “Take it easy, Liz,” he said.
“Just calm down and tell us as well as you can remember.”

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. That helped. “Okay,” I said. “Someone named Frank was talking to somebody he called Al, and he said something like, ‘We’ve got them where we want them.’ It had to do with a meeting they’d just held.”

“What time was this?” Mr. Parmegan asked. Now he looked a little sick.

“Around two or two-thirty,” I said.

He looked even worse, but he managed to say, “Please continue.”

I thought a minute and said, “I think that Al asked him if some papers were in order, and Mr. Devane—Frank—that was Mr. Devane, wasn’t it?” No one answered, so I shrugged and went on. “Anyhow, Frank got kind of crabby and told Al not to bring it up again. He was afraid they’d be overheard.”

I paused and smiled. “Which they were. Isn’t that funny?”

No one seemed to appreciate the irony, and Detective Jarvis said, “Go on, Liz,” so I did.

“Al was kind of tough,” I told them. “He said he wasn’t going to let anyone get in his way.”

I had to stop to think again, but I remembered, “They were talking about Mr. Yamoto. What did they say he was? Oh, yes. Careful. No, cautious. That’s it. Cautious. And intelligent. And rich. All of that. But Mr. Devane thought Mr. Yamoto might hire a private investigator and check out stuff.”

Now I was coming to the scary stuff—scary because
Mr. Parmegan wouldn’t like it. I couldn’t leave it out—not when Detective Jarvis was investigating a murder. I just hoped Mr. Parmegan wouldn’t blow a fuse. “Al wasn’t worried about Mr. Yamoto,” I said. “And he wasn’t worried about someone named Logan.”

Detective Jarvis made a note. “That was the name you heard?”

“Yes. He said Logan was hooked, thanks to Parmegan.”

Mr. Parmegan made the tiniest of groans, but he didn’t move.

“That’s just about all of it,” I said.

“Please tell us everything,” Jarvis said quietly. “It’s important that you tell us every word you can remember.”

I stared out the window, wondering why, of all things, I could remember the worst part of the conversation so clearly. I couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes as I told them, “Mr. Devane said ‘you catch big fish if you’ve got the right bait. I had a hunch Parmegan would make good bait.’ And that’s it. A busboy came into the room to collect dirty dishes, and the men left.”

Mr. Parmegan’s face was red, but he turned to me and said, “Thank you for your cooperation, Miss Rafferty. I have one question. How did you happen to overhear this conversation? Where were you at the time?”

It’s a good thing I paused, trying to think of the right way to answer, because Detective Jarvis said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Parmegan, but I’m asking Liz not to divulge that information at this time, since knowledge of her
whereabouts might be detrimental to the solution of this case.”

Wow! That sounded so official, even Mr. Parmegan was subdued. I hoped that Detective Jarvis could read the message in my eyes and see how grateful I was that he had saved me from losing my job. I was grateful to Lamar, too, because he hadn’t said a word.

“Is that all?” I asked, eager to get away from Mr. Parmegan’s scrutiny.

“No,” Jarvis answered. “One of the men involved in this financial venture asked to speak to Mr. Parmegan, so he arranged for him to come to the office. Do you think you could recognize the voice of the one you called Al?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe.”

Mr. Parmegan picked up his phone and talked to his secretary for just a second. Then he put down the phone and said, “He’s here. He’s in the outer office.”

“Will you go out and talk with him, please, Mr. Parmegan?”

“I—I’m not sure what I should say.” I could see that Mr. Parmegan didn’t feel like talking to anyone who had referred to him as bait, and I didn’t blame him.

“He came here to talk to you,” Jarvis said. “He’ll have something to say. Just try to draw him out.”

Mr. Parmegan left his office, not closing his door. His voice was still stiff as he said, “You wanted to see me, Mr. Ransome?”

I heard Marie excuse herself and the outer door shut. Mr. Ransome must have moved toward the office, because
Mr. Parmegan quickly said, “We can speak right here.”

“All right, as long as we can’t be overheard.” Mr. Ransome paused, and when he spoke he sounded terribly embarrassed. “About my drinking too much last night,” he said. “I apologize for my obnoxious behavior.”

So Mr. Ransome was the jerk who had made all that noise in the lobby. Apparently no one had notified Mr. Parmegan. I’d never forget that voice. It was Al. Detective Jarvis was watching me, so I nodded emphatically.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Mr. Parmegan said.

“I went to the bar at seven, and stayed much too long,” Mr. Ransome said. “I suppose I had too much to drink, and again I apologize, but I must put in a word of appreciation to the member of your security staff who so kindly escorted me back to my room. Please do relay my thanks.”

“I will do so,” Mr. Parmegan answered.

Mr. Ransome’s voice mellowed, as though he’d added a big dose of artificial sweetener, and he said, “There’s another reason why I wanted to see you. Granted, we’re all upset by the unfortunate death of Frank Devane, but there’s no reason why we have to miss out on the investment opportunities we’d been discussing. I have the necessary information and authority, so I hope you’ll agree to attend another meeting.”

“I—I’m not so sure another meeting would be advisable,” Mr. Parmegan said. “I’m sure that Mr. Yamoto
has to get back to Tokyo, and Paul Logan informed me that he has a business meeting Monday in Seattle.”

“Have you talked to that detective from homicide? He asked our cooperation in remaining over the weekend. I don’t know why, but for some reason he wants to question us.”

“The reason is simple enough to understand,” Mr. Parmegan said, and his voice grew raspy. “Unfortunately, we have a direct connection to the murder victim.”

There was silence for a moment, then Mr. Ransome said, “Let’s put that concern aside and get back to the point of this conversation. Will you agree to continue our discussions by attending another meeting?”

Mr. Parmegan hesitated, and I could see Jarvis tense. I knew Jarvis was hoping that Mr. Parmegan would be sensible enough to agree.

“Very well,” Mr. Parmegan said. “This afternoon? Around two?”

“Fine. Same room?”

“I believe it’s available.”

There was some small talk as Mr. Ransome moved away, and I could hear the outer door shut.

Mr. Parmegan returned, and Detective Jarvis stood up, saying, “You handled that very well.”

“I didn’t know whether to agree to a meeting or not. After what you—and Miss Rafferty—told me, I want nothing more to do with those men.” He scowled and asked, “Why do you want them to stay here at the Ridley? Why not just let them leave and be done with them?”

Detective Jarvis didn’t answer, and I could see the light dawning in Mr. Parmegan’s eyes. He paled and said, “I see. You think one of them might be the murderer!”

As Lamar, Detective Jarvis, and I crossed Mr. Parmegan’s outer office, Marie was back at her desk. She picked up the phone, and I heard her say, “Yes, sir. Conference room C. Coffee, soft drinks. Candy bars? I’ll take care of it, Mr. Parmegan.” She put down the phone, smiled at us, and said, “Mr. Yamoto is quite fond of candy bars.”

So was I. I thought how nice it would be to have someone like Mr. Parmegan arrange to have candy bars at hand everywhere I went.

I said good-bye to Lamar, who nodded to Jarvis and me before he strode off toward the elevators. But when I tried to say good-bye to Detective Jarvis he said, “Wait a minute, Liz. There are a couple of things I want to talk to you about.”

“Okay,” I said, and waited, ready to hear what he had on his mind.

But Jarvis took my elbow and steered me down the
hall toward the elevators. “Tell me why you were fingerprinted,” he said.

“It was at school,” I told him. “One of those childprotection things a few years ago. Everyone in our school was fingerprinted, and our fingerprints, along with our descriptions, were sent to be filed with the Houston police department.”

He nodded. “That answers one question. The other one is this: Why did we find one of your fingerprints on the murder weapon?”

“Th-the paperweight?” I stammered, although I remembered the blood on the paperweight and knew without asking that it was the murder weapon.

Someone squealed loudly, and as we turned from the hallway into the waiting area for the bank of elevators, we walked into a team of sleuths eagerly writing in notepads. Sherlock Holmes was still wearing his deerstalker cap—although this morning he seemed to have put it on backward—and he shouted, “Aha! Didn’t I say we should follow her?”

The rest of his team were just as excited.

“Detective Sharp deliberately withheld information!” a woman yelled. “She told us the paperweight had been wiped clean.”

“She promised to play fair,” a tall, thin man objected. “But it’s not fair for the police detective to hide the clues.”

“Let’s go complain!” a tiny woman with a big voice demanded.

“If you do,” I told her, “all the other teams will find out.”

They looked at me and at each other. “Why are you telling us this?” Sherlock Holmes asked.

“Because I’m innocent,” I said, “and the truth will come out sooner or later. Sooner, I hope.”

“They all say they’re innocent.” The tiny woman actually glared at me. “We don’t believe you for a minute.”

Detective Jarvis and I looked at each other. “We’d better find Mrs. Duffy,” I said.

The only reason the team didn’t follow us onto the elevator was that Detective Jarvis threatened to arrest every last one of them. It turned out that Sherlock Holmes was an attorney, and he wanted to argue about it, but Jarvis got the last word by closing the elevator door.

As we rode upward I asked him, “Who else’s fingerprints were on the paperweight?”

“No one’s,” he said. “The paperweight was essentially wiped clean, except for one spot along the edge, where one of your fingerprints stood out clearly. The murderer must have known what parts of the paperweight he touched and made sure those were clean.”

“I’m glad you don’t think I’m the murderer,” I told him. “But what about all those sleuths in the mystery game? They’ll all think I’m guilty.”

The elevator opened, and I saw we were on the nineteenth floor. “Mrs. Duffy isn’t staying on this floor any longer,” I said.

“I know,” Jarvis said. “I’d like to pay another visit to the original scene of the crime.”

I shuddered. “You know it’s haunted, don’t you?”

He didn’t answer as we paused outside the door of room nineteen twenty-seven. Automatically, I reached into the pocket of my shorts and pulled out my two keys. As soon as I saw which one was numbered nineteen twenty-seven, I put it into the lock and opened the door.

When Jarvis didn’t move I turned to look at him. Passkey in hand, he stared at me with narrowed eyes. “Where’d you get that key, Liz?” he asked.

“Mrs. Duffy gave it to me,” I said. “I just forgot to give it back.”

“How long have you had it?”