Death Loves a Messy Desk (15 page)

“I love her,” he said. “Go ahead, and laugh.”

“I’m not laughing. You may have some horrible co-workers here, but not everybody in the world is a total jerk.”

Robbie had obviously met more than his share of total jerks. He looked suspicious.

I added, “Why shouldn’t you love her?”

“She accepted me for what I am. Now she’s gone. I don’t know what to do.”

“Well, first of all, she hasn’t been gone long. So let’s work together to find out what happened. Perhaps she got a message about a family member. Maybe it has nothing to do with you or me.”

“I’m sorry; I kind of lashed out at you. I feel helpless.”

“Well, let’s start by checking her phone to see who called.”

“Won’t help. The call came on her cell phone.”

“And, of course, that went with her?”

“She had it in her hand when she left.”

And I hadn’t seen it at her apartment, although I chose not to mention that.

I said, “Wherever she’s gone.”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Let’s think. She must have said something when she answered the phone.
Hello? Hi?
Can you recall the moments before?”

“She was in a good mood. We were talking about new movies that were coming to town. Stuff we might like to see. We’d been to a couple together. Just like friends, you know. And there’s a new Coen brothers picture in town. She’s a big, big fan.”

“Go on.”

“She said we should go to see it and then she’d make dinner for me at her place. Just simple, she said, but we’d have fun. That was great. I was looking forward to seeing where she lived.”

“You’d never been inside her place?”

He shook his head.

“You just drove her home and said good-bye?”

He stared at me. “I didn’t drive her home. She had her own car. We used to meet at the movies.”

“Oh. Did you pick her up?”

Sad puppy eyes again. “I don’t even know where she lives. I could have found out easily I guess if I wanted, but it seemed wrong, like a stalker. Creepy. Anyway, now I had an invitation.”

I felt a lump in my throat. “Were you nervous?”

“I was pretty revved about the dinner offer, but yeah, I was nervous. She was relaxed. She probably didn’t know how much . . . I can’t believe I’m telling you these things. I feel like such a loser.”

“You’re not a loser, Robbie, and you’re the best chance we have of finding out what happened to Barb. So after the dinner offer . . .”

“We were laughing about popcorn or caviar. Menu choices. Beans or boeuf bourguignon. And her cell phone rang.”

“Well, did she say anything at all?”

He closed his eyes, thinking back. “No. She just stood there listening and then that little cry of distress.”

“She didn’t mention anyone’s name?”

He shook his head.

“But she recognized the voice?”

He blinked behind the thick glasses. “Yes. She must have.”

“Have you tried calling her cell phone?”

He actually hung his head.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I don’t have her number.”

Now that was unusual, no question about it. I kept my mouth shut. From the look on Robbie’s face, he knew it was weird, too.

“Well,” I said, at last. “You did work side by side, so you probably never needed to call her.”

He managed a weak smile. “I suggested it a couple of times. I gave her my number. She just forgot, I thought. When I’d remind her, she’d say, ‘Oh right, gotta do that.’ ”

For some reason, I felt the need to comfort him. “Well, you could just wave at each other. Probably didn’t seem pressing to her at the time.”

“I think she didn’t want people calling her. She was very private. But I thought we had something special.”

“Right.”

Someone had called her, though. Figuring out who that had been through Robbie wasn’t going to be easy. I tried anyway. “Did she have any other friends or colleagues in Woodbridge?”

“Not that I knew of.”

“Family? Maybe someone—”

He paused, thought a moment. “No. She never mentioned anyone. She never got calls. You know what? In four months, that was the first time I ever heard her cell phone ring.”

“Really? The first time?”

He shot me a reproachful look. “Mine never rings, either.”

“Hmm. We don’t have much to go on.”

“No.”

“What did you do after she left?”

“I didn’t know what to do. I just paced around here and then you arrived, and I figured that you were the cause of the problem.”

“If you didn’t have her cell phone number, then I can’t imagine any of the Quovadicon staff would. It seems unlikely that someone outside this office would call her and say that I was coming in to check out her desk.” I looked him straight in the eye. “Admit it, Robbie. That’s not what happened.”

“I realize that now. I guess I was trying to find a reason for it. I wanted someone to blame.”

“How would you describe her reaction? That cry. What emotion do you think caused it?”

He stared back at me without speaking. He no longer saw me as the enemy, but I thought I saw panic lurking behind the thick glasses.

He said at last, “I don’t know how to explain it. I would have to say it was a cry of anguish.”

I had squeezed no more useful information out of Robbie by the time I left, even though I felt he was holding back something. Of course, I was hardly in the position to browbeat him any more than I already had.

On the way out, I ran into Fredelle, still looking peaked. I followed her into her office, glancing back at Dyan, who was keeping a heavily made-up eye on the two of us.

“Hi, Fredelle.” I had the contract in my briefcase, but clearly this wasn’t the time to talk about it. “I just had a long talk with Robbie.”

“He didn’t do anything to her. He wouldn’t. Not Robbie. He just wouldn’t.” She twisted her hands as she spoke. I figured she was on the verge of tears. It struck me—and not for the first time—that for a practical business like shipping and logistics, everyone in Quovadicon seemed overwrought all the time.

“I didn’t suggest that Robbie did anything to harm Barb, Fredelle,” I said. “Why would you even mention that?”

She pulled a tissue from her periwinkle pocket and honked. I waited.

Eventually she said, “Some people are talking.”

“ ‘Some people.’ You mean Dyan?” I turned back and closed the door. “Don’t give her the satisfaction of getting under your skin. The situation will only get worse if you do.”

“It’s just that I’m so worried about Barb and now about Robbie and you’ve been dragged into it.”

“For sure, this is an upsetting day, but . . .”

“And then she called me a stereotypical interfering mother hen. Said I’m the cause of everything wrong in this office.”

“What?”

“She—”

I held up my hand. “Sorry, I actually heard you, but I couldn’t quite believe it. That’s ridiculous. How could
she
call anyone a stereotype?”

“What do you mean?”

“She does dress almost like a cartoon character.”

I found it hard to imagine that Fredelle wouldn’t have noticed this. Of course, she might almost have been a cartoon character herself. If only she’d worn a long skirt and a blouse with a cameo and kept a canary.

Fredelle’s jaw dropped. “Overly glamorous, you mean. Do you really see her as a cartoon character?”

“Never mind, Fredelle. I shouldn’t have said that. But you are certainly not a stereotype. You are warm and caring and kind and obviously committed to your job.”

She went back to twisting her hands. “We’re all types, I suppose. Robbie’s the sad little boy who could never get out from under his father’s thumb to have a relationship with a woman. Dyan George, well. And even little Autumn Halliday: pretty face, empty head—oh, I shouldn’t say that. You know what? Barb Douglas is the only one who’s unusual.”

“In what way?”

“She’s tough but warm, effective but messy. Friendly, but private. She’s a whole lot of contradictions.” She gri maced. “Maybe that’s why I like her. She’s the only one of us who seems real.”

“I suppose I’m a bit of a stereotype myself.” I grinned.

“I suppose you are,” she said.

That wasn’t the answer I was expecting.

Fredelle said, “I know what you mean: a bit bossy, a bit uptight, kind of vain about your appearance. Maybe shallow.”

Ouch.

“Back to Robbie. Is there something to worry about?” If she’d been pale before, she was bleached white by my comment.

“I said there wasn’t.”

Now I was worried. I’d had the feeling there was something wrong in Robbie’s behavior and Fredelle was confirming it.

I looked her straight in the eye. “I know what you said, but you’re acting as though there is, so please tell me what it is.”

She straightened up. “I think that this arrangement is not working out. I’m going to terminate it. Right now.”

“What?”

“I’ll pay you for your time, and extra, of course.”

“Fredelle. What’s going on here? I rearranged my schedule to make room for your project.”

This had been no big deal, a small switch here and there, but never mind.

She raised her small round chins. “And as I have not signed a contract, that’s even easier. I want you to leave the premises.”

“No problem. I don’t know what you’re trying to hide, but I’m going to head straight for the police and tell them that you threw me out of the building because you didn’t want me to ask questions about Robbie Van Zandt and the missing employee that you claim to care so much about.”

I whirled and whipped open the office door.

“Wait!”

“Too late,” I said. “I don’t know what you’re trying to hide, and I don’t like being treated like this.”

Autumn was standing by the filing cabinet, wide eyes even wider. “Awesome,” she said.

Dyan smirked from the photocopier. Had I been shouting? I sure hoped I hadn’t been. I held my head up and nodded to them. “Thank you, ladies, you’ve been very helpful.”

Of course, that didn’t make any sense, but I couldn’t let Dyan think she’d gotten to me, even if it was clear that Fredelle had.

“Charlotte!”

Fredelle stood in the doorway, gripping the frame. I turned back toward her. She looked like she’d had a shock, lost a loved one or a pet. “Please, come back in. I don’t know what got into me.”

I glanced at Dyan, who mouthed,
Losing it
. Autumn mouthed
Awesome
again and then
Wow
for emphasis. She didn’t have the range that Dyan did, but I guessed she was working on it.

“I think we’re done here.”

“I’m sorry. Very sorry. But I have no choice. You must stop nosing around Barb and Robbie’s private life.”

“Nosing around? First you insisted that I come here to do something about the desk, which is the least of your problems. Then you begged me to go to Barb’s place. I think there might be something funny about Robbie’s behavior and you call that nosing around? Fine. You want me to leave? Now I’m out of here.”

Fredelle caught up to me in the parking lot. I could hear her huffing. Now she was pink with exertion, I suppose, or anxiety.

“I’m so ashamed. Please forgive me.” She leaned against the shiny red Ford Focus coupe. She was breathing heavily and her face was flushed, no doubt with embarrassment.

“I don’t know what you want from me, Fredelle. Our deal, which was really a verbal contract, is over. I don’t work for people who yell at me. I have more business than I can handle. And if you’re firing me to protect Robbie, you can forget that idea. I have to tell my contact at the police that you were worried about Robbie. I have no choice. If something has happened to Barb Douglas, and I know damn well something has, this is no time to keep secrets.”