Murder in Store (20 page)

I nodded, conceding the point. “Do you think that Diana really intended to kill you? I mean, I went to school with a guy who was allergic to aspirin and he just wheezed a lot and used it as an excuse to get out of PE. What I mean is, most people with aspirin allergies don’t slip into comas. Did Diana know how severe your reaction would be?”

She sighed. “I’ve considered that possibility. And I really don’t know. However, whether she meant to or not, it almost killed me.”

The way I figured it, intent would make all the difference in a courtroom. Even so, if someone came close to killing me, whether she meant to or not, and I’d had five or so years to stew about it, I probably wouldn’t care whether it had been a prank gone bad or the real thing. Taking it one step further, anyone who engineers five doses of cyanide doesn’t figure on the recipient recovering.

“You know, of course, about the similarities between your accident and Preston’s death.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Will you tell this to the police?”

“No, I won’t.” She set her drink down and began to put the pictures back in her purse.

I hadn’t expected her to say that. “Why the hell not?”

“Because I don’t want to screw up my marriage. This is family business. That’s the way Robert sees it. Still, what happened to me five years ago and what happened to Preston a few days ago is too similar to ignore altogether. Someone needed to know.”

“So, you’re telling me this just to get it off your chest, but I can’t really do anything with it.”

“You’re a reasonably intelligent man. I imagine you know what has to be done.” She stood up and looked at Elaine. “May I have my coat please.” Elaine removed the fur from the closet and threw it on the couch.

I stood up. I wasn’t consciously trying to intimidate her, but I couldn’t help but notice that I was almost a foot taller. Whatever works.

“I have to be going,” she said.

“Oh, I see. You’ve done what you came for. You spill your guts and clear your conscience. Doesn’t take much does it? Sort of like making your confession to the local bartender instead of a priest. He’s happy to absolve you and you don’t have to worry about it going any higher.”

“That’s enough, Mr. McCauley.” She put her coat on and slung her purse over her shoulder.

“No. It’s not nearly enough. You want to be helpful and give me just enough rope to hang Diana, but only if your hands don’t get dirty in the process. Tell me, there’s a little more involved here than desire for justice. Maybe it’d be a very nice feeling for you to have Diana out of your life for once and for all. No more worrying about Robert going soft and welcoming her back into the fold.”

She reacted to that statement with a slight narrowing of

the eyes and a fraction of a step backward.

I jumped on it. “Maybe he’s gone soft already. He hears about Diana’s husband and starts to rethink how he treated her all these years. Maybe he’s been reading some of your psych books and understands he’s got a lot to do with the way she is. Maybe he didn’t realize he’d been snowed by a pro until he woke up under the drift.”

Paula and I faced each other less than a foot apart, seriously invading each other’s space. It was a glaredown, and possible that neither of us would back off. Without moving her gaze, she reached for something on the table. I thought maybe she needed a quick transfusion of scotch. I was wrong. She grabbed the glass of water I’d considered dowsing myself with earlier and did it for me.

Elaine jumped to her feet. I wasn’t sure if she was trying to keep me from hitting Paula or if she was going to do it herself. Whatever the intention, she changed her mind and the three of us stood there for one incredibly long moment.

Paula spoke first, and it was as if the last few minutes had never happened. “Will I have any trouble getting a cab out front?”

“No,” I said, wiping my face with a shirtsleeve. She left and Elaine and I didn’t say anything for a few minutes.

Then Elaine broke the silence. “Wow,” she said. “Ditto.”

“This sure changes things, doesn’t it?” she said. “If it’s true, that is.” “If it’s true,” I echoed. “What do you think?”

“I think …” I leaned back and closed my eyes without finishing the sentence. Much later I said, “Who was that woman?”

“You okay?” Elaine was leaning over me.

“Yeah,” I lied.

“Let’s go to bed,” Elaine said as she tried to pull me out of the chair.

I didn’t resist and I didn’t assist. I just said, “Not tonight, Elaine. I have a concussion.”

23

 

If irna was peevish during our previous meetings, her disposition as I walked into her office this afternoon could only be described as deadly. She glared her greeting and I smiled and told her it was nice to see her.

“I have an appointment with Mrs. Hunnicutt.”

“Yes, I know.” Irna inserted a sheet of letterhead into her typewriter. “She said to tell you she’d be about ten minutes late. You can wait here if you like.”

Spending ten minutes in a room with a woman who would rather eat live baby eels than say something civil to me was not my idea of nirvana. But I figured I could live with almost anything for ten minutes. The chair was hard and my head still hurt, but aside from that I was feeling pretty good about being alive. I’d slept until noon and Elaine had pancakes waiting for me when I finally got up—pancakes and a message from Grace Hunnicutt.

When Grace swept into the room, I was a little relieved to see that I wasn’t the only one Irna glared at. The hostile secretary didn’t seem to faze Grace in the least, and she cheerfully ushered me into her office.

“It’s so good to see you alive and well, Quint,” she said as she took her place behind her brother’s desk.

“I do appreciate your coming here. Now, please tell me what happened yesterday. I got a brief account from the police, but I’m dying of curiosity. Can you imagine? Frank Griffin. Though I can’t say it surprises me.”

I described the events of the previous afternoon and

when I came to the part where Griffin hadn’t told me he’d murdered Hauser because we hadn’t gotten around to discussing it, I waited for Grace to make the comment I’d found that statement usually elicited.

Instead, she said, “Interesting.” She fiddled with a pen on her desk, considering what I’d just said. Finally she said, “Then perhaps Griffin didn’t kill Preston.”

I appreciated that last statement more than Grace would ever know and debated whether I should tell her Paula Wainwright’s story, finally opting not to talk to anyone about it until I’d had a chance to hear Diana’s side of it.

“Well,” I said, “that’s a theory, but I’m afraid that the police are so pleased with themselves for wrapping this up that it’s going to take a lot for them to reopen the case.”

Grace nodded. “But Quint, if Frank Griffin did not kill my brother, his murderer is still at large. Justice has not been done.”

“Yeah,” I said, absently rubbing the back of my head and thinking that, while I liked this woman, I didn’t want her directing my investigation, “but I’m going to let the cops work on this for a while anyway.”

“Of course,” Grace said, seeming to take the cue. “Let me change the subject for a moment here,” she said. “I really did have a reason for you to come here this afternoon, and it wasn’t just to hear the gossip. I’d like to offer you your old job back. Hauser’s needs a competent head of security.”

I hadn’t expected that so I didn’t know what to say. I thanked her and asked her if I could have some time to think about it.

“Of course. Take a few days. Whether you decide to come back or not, I’m going to have to replace that Fred Morison. The man’s scared of his own shadow and dumb as a post to boot.”

So that explained Irna’s less than cordial greeting.

On my way out of the office I wished her a pleasant day and had to bite my tongue to keep from asking her how Fred was doing.

I took my time leaving the store, chatting with a few of the employees, and found out that there was some dissension in the ranks. People were concerned about the store’s stability. Preston Hauser had been only a figurehead, but he’d been an impressive one. Several of the employees and managers I spoke to felt that his death wouldn’t affect the bottom line as much as Griffin’s. Griffin may have been a murderer and greedy bastard, but he knew how to manage a store. More than one person voiced their concern about Grace’s ability to do the same.

I was a little surprised when someone told me that Pam was working. I found her in the women’s jewelry department. She looked tired and pale, but she smiled when she saw me.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“I might ask the same thing of you,” she said.

“Yeah, but I thought of it first.”

She pushed an earring display aside so she could rest her elbows on the counter. “It helps to stay busy. I took yesterday off and spent most of the day remembering and crying. I don’t think there are any tears left. But plenty of memories.”

“It’ll get easier to live with them.”

“So they say.”

“It will. You’ll be walking along someday, maybe watching the penguins at Lincoln Park and something about one of them—maybe the way it looks like it was born to wear a tux—one of them will remind you of Art. You’ll smile to yourself, and then you’ll realize you just had a memory that didn’t hurt. They’ll get more frequent after that.”

She smiled and touched my hand. “Thanks, Quint.” After a few seconds she said, “What brings you to Hauser’s?”

I made a show of looking around, to be sure we were out of everyone’s earshot, then I leaned toward Pam. “This is top secret, you understand. For your ears only. I was just offered my old job back.”

“That’s great! You’re taking it, aren’t you?”

“I’m considering it.”

“Mrs. Hunnicutt really needs you. There’s rumors about a mass exodus of upper management. A lot of people felt it was pretty presumptuous of her to decide she could run the store without having any experience at it. That hasn’t set well.”

I shrugged. “She grew up in the business. I think she cared about it more than Preston did.”

“Maybe, but there’s a big difference between knowing about it and doing it.”

“I suppose so.”

“Anyway, that’s great news about that job offer. Boy,” she shook her head, “things sure didn’t work out for Irna and Fred. First Hauser dies before he sells Griffin the store, then Griffin dies before Fred gets his stuff moved into your old office.”

I thought my hearing had failed me. “Pam, did you just tell me that Hauser was selling Griffin the store?”

“I guess it was pretty hush hush. It slipped out one night when Art and I were talking. He made me swear not to tell anyone.” She shrugged. “I guess it doesn’t make any difference now.”

“Did Grace know?”

“I doubt it. She’s the last person they’d tell. In fact, she’s probably the reason it was a secret. From what I hear, she threw a fit when Hauser was thinking about selling the store a year or so ago.”

I shook my head. “No wonder I’m not head of security anymore. The shoplifters probably knew more than I did.”

“Don’t feel bad. You weren’t one of Griffin’s chosen

few. I’d consider myself lucky for that, if I were you.”

I had a lot to think about already, yet I was headed someplace where I’d probably be hit with a whole lot more to think about—Diana Hauser’s. All this on top of a concussion. I hadn’t called ahead because I wanted to make sure she wasn’t prepared for me.

Luckily, she was home. But she looked like she wouldn’t be for long. She was wearing a shocking blue evening dress that set off her eyes like nobody’s business.

“Why Quint, what a nice surprise.” Without asking, she made me a scotch on the rocks and took up the cocktail she’d been drinking. She clicked my glass with hers. “Here’s to Frank Griffin. He never did approve of me. I’m so glad I outlasted him.”

I drank and studied her. As usual, I didn’t know how to take this woman.

She cocked her head and furrowed her brows. “You’re not still upset about that little incident with the rat, are you? I really didn’t mean anything by it.”

I shook my head. “Diana, why is it whenever I come near you I feel like I’ve fallen into the rabbit hole?”

She smiled and sat on the couch, patting the cushion next to hers. I took my place on the piano bench.

“I’m not here to discuss rats,” I said and abruptly changed the subject. “You’ll never guess who I had a visit from yesterday.”

“Who?”

“Your wicked stepmother.”

She shifted her eyes away from mine and paled slightly. “What did that bitch want? As if I didn’t know.”

“She had an interesting story to tell.”

“I can’t wait to hear.” She crossed one leg over the other and began swinging it.

I told her what Paula had said and when I’d finished she

set her drink down and lit a cigarette. “That woman has a very active imagination.”

“Are you saying her story is a lie?”

She nodded.

“All of it?”

“All of it,” she said through a stream of smoke.

We stared at each other and when it became clear that she wasn’t going to break down and confess, I cleared my throat and said, “You know what we’re going to do?”

“What?”

“We’re going to be honest with each other, and I mean totally honest. We’re going to pretend I have a portable lie detector in my pocket that reads your voice. It’s very sensitive and can pick up the smallest of lies, even the white ones. And do you know what I’m going to do if it goes off? I’m going to march down to the police station and tell Sergeant O’Henry—you know, the one you hit it off with so well—I’m going to tell O’Henry Paula’s story.” I winked at her. “I think it’ll make his day, don’t you?”

“Bastard” was all she said.

“I’m glad we understand each other. Now, back to Paula’s story. Did I tell it right?”

She looked at me for one long, hard moment, then something in her relented. It wasn’t anything visible—no sighs or lowered eyelids—but it was there.

She said, “I guess that’s right. It was a while ago so I don’t remember everything, but, yes, that version sounds about right.” She took a drag off the cigarette and exhaled slowly. “You know, I didn’t intend to kill her.”

“No? Then what
was
your intention?”

She smiled, savoring a thought. “I wanted to see her lose her lunch all over those three-hundred-dollar shoes paid for with my family’s money.”

“If you had intended to kill her, what would you have done different? Used cyanide?”

Diana flicked an ash off her cigarette and smiled, recognizing the challenge of the game she thought we were playing. “No. Not cyanide. I can’t stand the smell of almonds.”

“Diana, I’m getting a reading awfully close to outright lie on my little machine here. It’s only going to take one time. Then I’m out of here and on my way to tell my story to someone else.”

She took another swallow of her drink, her eyes still fixed on mine.

“Let me repeat the question,” I said. “Would you have used cyanide?”

“Maybe.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere.” I clapped my hands. Her jaw tightened as did the grip on her glass. “I didn’t kill Preston.”

I nodded. Not in agreement or denial of what she’d said. Just nodded. “Let’s
say,
just to see how it fits, that you did kill Preston.” I paused and she waited. “Is that how you would have done it?
Cyanide
in his vitamins?”

She appeared to give that some serious thought. Then she nodded slowly and said, “Yes. I think that’s precisely how I would have done it. With one difference.”

“What’s that?”

“I’d have been there to watch.” She looked down at her drink and spun the ice cubes around. Then, smiling, she looked back to me.

Before either of us could make a move, there was a knock at the door. Diana snuffed out her cigarette. “That’ll be my date. He’s a little early.” She waved the smoke out of the air and leaned back into the couch, waiting for the second knock. When it finally came, she got up, took a moment to smooth her dress, and walked to the door as if five days was a respectable amount of time to spend in mourning.

Flinging the door open, she spoke to the newcomer but kept her eyes on me as she delivered the line. “I’m famished. I won’t be kept waiting for a table tonight.”

“You’ll be lucky if you eat tonight,” came the reply.

She turned to the figure in the doorway. “What are you talking—” Her smile froze in midsentence. “Sergeant O’Henry. Wh-what are you doing here?”

“I’m placing you under arrest for the murder of Preston Hauser.” He motioned two uniformed men into the apartment.

As soon as Diana was capable of forming a sentence, she turned to me, blue eyes blazing, “You,” she said, clenching her fists. “You’ll have hell to pay.”

For a second I believed her. Then I remembered that I had no reason to pay hell anything. But I didn’t know exactly where I fit into this scene being played out before me, so I kept my mouth shut. One of the uniforms began to read Diana her rights. She told him to shut up after he read the line about the court-appointed attorney. Nonetheless, he continued, unperturbed. The whole time, she never took her eyes off me. By the time they escorted her out of the apartment and down the hallway toward the elevator, I felt like I’d had a hole drilled right through me by a blue icicle.

O’Henry and I were alone now, and his expression bore none of its usual bemusement. “Do you want to tell me what in the hell is going on? Every time I show up here, you’re sitting on that damned piano bench. Is there some kind of duet going on here that I should know about?”

“Nope,” I said. “Just fishing.”

“What’s your bait?”

I shrugged. “I was playing out a hunch. It fizzled. What about you? Have I earned the right to know why you’ve arrested Diana?”

O’Henry thought about that for a moment and then

decided. Whatever acid test he’d put me to earlier I’d passed. For some reason, which I was sure neither of us understood, he trusted me. “We followed up an interesting anonymous tip. It seems that about five years ago, Diana Hauser pulled a stunt on her father’s new wife that was very similar to the one that killed Preston.”

“Is that so,” I said. “And what might that have been?”

O’Henry told me the story I expected to hear, only this time there didn’t seem to be any doubt that Diana meant to make her father a widower.

“Have you been able to verify that?” I asked when he finished.

“Yep. We called Robert Wainwright, Diana’s father. He hemmed and hawed and threatened us with one of the amendments, but finally he broke down and admitted that Diana had tried to kill his wife. Seems he wasn’t anxious to let the press get hold of that story.”