Authors: Gin Jones
Helen ignored the temptation to spy on the commotion on Lee Street and moved as quickly as she could back to the door. She opened it just a crack to see if anyone was in the reception area. Seeing that it was unoccupied, she scooted out of Quattrone's office as quickly as she could. She'd gotten what she needed and didn't particularly want to talk to him, so she headed for the exit.
She was only a few feet past the assistant's desk when Quattrone came around the corner muttering, "This time she's gone too far." His face was red, almost the same color as a large splotch on the upper sleeve of his jacket. It looked like he might have been hit with a tomato. It had to be Dale's handiwork.
Quattrone caught sight of Helen, and his angry expression immediately changed to an artificially cheerful one. "Ms. Binney. It's so good to see you again. Have you reconsidered supporting the expansion of Wharton Meadows?"
Helen couldn't leave now, not without seeming suspicious, and she didn't need yet another person complaining to Detective Peterson about her. "I just wanted to take a closer look at the scale model before I decided how I felt about the expansion."
"Come in. Come in." He opened the door and held it for Helen.
It sounded like Quattrone had bought Helen's story, but she wasn't entirely sure. Like Almeida had said, it was hard to predict how a person would act behind closed doors based solely on his public persona. What if he knew that Helen was looking for evidence that he or one of his associates had killed Sheryl? He could be trying to get her somewhere private and contained while he called his mobster connections. Once inside his office, she would find it difficult to get out if he didn't want her to. Only Jack knew she was here, and he was on his way to the airport. Tate wouldn't wonder where she was for another hour or more.
Helen refused to be afraid. She had her phone to call 9-1-1 if necessary, and Quattrone didn't have any real reason to think Helen was a risk to him. He was arrogant enough that if he had been responsible for Sheryl's death, he would also expect to get away with it. He might be cautious around the police, but his ego wouldn't let him see a private citizen like Helen as being much of a threat.
Besides, since she couldn't count on Lily to do some digging into Wharton Meadows' finances, this would be a perfect opportunity to get some of that information out of Quattrone himself.
"If you're sure you have a few minutes to spare," Helen said, "I'd really like to hear more about your expansion plans. You must be awfully certain the town will vote to sell the property if you're going to all the expense of architectural drawings and a scale model."
"You can't make money without spending money," he said, leading her over to the model.
"But what about your investors?" Helen said. "Aren't they worried about the expense?"
"I'm lucky to not be accountable to any investors. Not counting my wife, of course," Quattrone said with an ingratiating chuckle that set Helen's nerves on edge. He might as well have called Annie his "little woman." He was lucky Helen didn't have her cane with her today because she'd have been tempted to thwap him with it on his wife's behalf. "I've got a mortgage but no stockholders."
"Wouldn't the bank be concerned about your incurring additional debt for the expansion?" Helen said.
"You'd have to ask Annie about the details—she's the one who handled all the financing for the business—but you don't have to worry about the future of the Meadows as long as I'm in charge. My banker can't wait for us to start the expansion. He's seen all the plans and given me a preliminary green light for the financing."
"But what if the town decides not to sell the garden land?"
"They won't."
"You sound awfully confident," Helen said. "I suppose it helps that now you don't have to worry about Sheryl getting to it before you do."
"It's a tragedy what happened to her, but it's got nothing to do with me. You'll see. It won't be long before that Meeke-Mason woman is arrested for something more serious than breach of the peace." Quattrone glanced out the window to Lee Street where Helen could see the last of Dale's protesters being dispersed. "Besides, if Sheryl's death allows us to expand, then at least something good will come out of it."
"That sounds pretty cold, especially coming from someone in the business of end-of-life services."
"I'm just being practical about it," Quattrone said, watching the activity on Lee Street. "It's not like I killed her."
"Or had her killed?"
He looked at Helen finally. "How on earth would I do that?"
"Never mind." She hadn't really expected him to confess to being an accomplice to murder, but she'd hoped she'd be able to read him better than she actually could. He'd seemed startled by her accusation, but she wasn't sure. "I tend to get carried away sometimes."
"I suppose you have good reason. I heard about your past run-ins with killers. You really ought to be more careful. After all, we're hoping you'll become one of our satisfied residents someday, and you can't do that if you're dead."
Helen took a moment to consider whether he'd just threatened her. She could ask, but he was enough of a smooth operator to have mastered the art of deniability. He would probably claim that he hadn't been threatening her life, just warning her about the risks of confronting killers. The best way to deal with that sort of ambiguity was to pretend he meant exactly what he said, without the innuendo, and to respond without any indication of fear.
"No offense, but I don't consider the prospect of living here to be much of an additional incentive for me to stay alive. I do have family and friends who give me reasons to live." And a boyfriend, she almost said, but she wasn't sure exactly where she and Tate stood at the moment. Besides, she didn't need a man to have a reason to live. "I also have a cat. Vicky's already lost one owner. It would be cruel to make her go through that again."
* * *
As soon as Helen could extricate herself from Quattrone's office, she hurried for the exit, hoping she'd catch the final moments of Dale's protest, possibly even join in before everyone was dispersed. As she left the administrative building, though, the lack of unoccupied cubicles suggested that any employees who'd left their desks to watch the protest had returned to work.
Outside, a group of Wharton Meadows residents in pastel jogging suits were power walking along a marked trail, and a groundskeeper in jeans and a turquoise T-shirt was diligently steering a commercial-grade lawn mower around the golf-course-perfect lawns.
By the time Helen reached the sidewalk, all that was left of the protest was a single police cruiser, blue lights flashing silently. There was no sign of Dale or any of her followers, just Paul Young working in his plot in the far back of the garden. Presumably the one uniformed officer—not anyone she recognized—had been left behind to discourage any repeat performances of the protest.
Helen heard her name being called from inside Wharton Meadows. She turned to see Annie running toward her.
Helen went back to meet her.
"Someone's got to talk to Dale," Annie said, slightly winded. "She's taking the community garden thing too far. This time, she upset RJ by waking his father from his afternoon nap. He called the cops."
That explained why Dale had ended her protest so quickly. She wouldn't have cared about Quattrone's complaints. "I can't imagine Dale intended to bother anyone other than your husband. And maybe Hank Peterson."
"Dale has good intentions, but she tends not to notice anyone who's just minding his own business, not doing anything she considers to be wrong."
"Like RJ."
"Exactly," Annie said. "I feel so bad for him. The only time he has to himself is when his father's napping in the afternoon. RJ was probably napping himself today. He doesn't always get much sleep at night, and I know how debilitating that can be. I get insomnia sometimes too, especially around the full moon. I'm fortunate that I can come here to my office and get caught up on my work when that happens. RJ's got nowhere to go."
"No wonder he finally ran out of patience today," Helen said. "There was a full moon earlier this week, wasn't there?"
Annie nodded. "The night before Sheryl was killed. I knew I'd never sleep, so I came back here after dinner. I considered pulling an all-nighter since I knew I'd be up early for the opening of the community garden, but I ended up leaving around 3 a.m. RJ was up at least that late. There were lights on in two of the upstairs rooms and one downstairs."
"He could have been asleep and just left the lights on," Helen said. "His father seems to have reverted to childhood in many ways. Perhaps he's afraid of the dark."
"I don't think so," Annie said. "I've definitely seen the entire place dark other nights. Plus, I saw someone moving around in one of the upstairs rooms. It made me feel a little better knowing I wasn't the only person still awake in the entire town. But I feel bad for RJ. He must be more exhausted than usual this week, and then he had to deal with Dale's protest."
"Did he file charges against her?"
Annie shook her head. "RJ's too nice to do that. I just hope Dale doesn't stage any more protests here. If she does anything that affects access to Wharton Meadows, my husband won't be nice. He'll take whatever legal action he can. He's already furious that Dale's been interfering with his negotiations to buy the garden land. He's just looking for an excuse to get rid of her."
"Like he got rid of Sheryl?"
Annie frowned. "Wait, you think Wes killed Sheryl? That's ridiculous. He was home with me that morning until I left for the garden. Besides, he might talk someone to death, but he's not a violent person. I've been married to him for close to twenty years now, and I have never ever seen him raise his hand in anger. Not even as a joke. It's just not who he is."
A wife's alibi was always suspect. Especially a wife who was constantly bullied by her husband. He didn't have to raise a hand to be intimidating. "You're not exactly unbiased."
Even as she spoke, Helen realized her words were being drowned out by the approach of the groundskeeper on the heavy-duty mower. She recognized him from the Toth Construction jobsite, although today his brown jacket had been replaced by a turquoise one without any company name embroidered on it. She didn't know his name, but the scar that ran down his cheek was unmistakable, especially when coupled with his bright red hair styled with gel to stand on end like an oddly colored porcupine.
When the mower was far enough away that conversation was possible again, Annie said, "I'm sorry. What did you say?"
"It wasn't important." Helen nodded at the groundskeeper. "Isn't that one of Sheryl's employees? I can't imagine your husband hiring Toth Construction to work here."
"Wes doesn't know," Annie said, shrugging. "They're the best crew in town, so it would be silly not to hire them. The deal is that they can't use or wear anything with the Toth Construction logo on it while they're here."
Helen recalled Quattrone saying that Annie took care of the finances for Wharton Meadows. Still, the landscaping work had to be a significant line item in the budget, not a minor detail that he might have missed while reviewing it in his capacity as CEO. Or was he merely a figurehead with Annie doing all of the real work? And if so, just how far would she go to carry out his instructions?
What if Quattrone had told Annie, "It would be really nice if Sheryl were permanently prevented from interfering with our expansion plans." He could claim he hadn't meant anything by it, but someone like Annie wouldn't need explicit words, just a little "make it so" hand wave that she knew from experience was a command that she had better carry out or suffer the consequences.
Was Annie so thoroughly controlled by her husband that she would have killed for him? Or possibly even for Dale, the other bully in Annie's life?
Helen's uncertainty must have shown on her face because Annie said, "Look, Wes doesn't know I've been hiring Sheryl's crew for years. Sometimes he makes me so angry, and I'm not as tough as you and Dale are, so I can't make him listen. Instead, what I do is hire a landscaper."
Tate had annoyed Helen yesterday, but she'd never considered doing anything other than telling him he was being foolish. "Does that make you feel better?"
"It does." Annie peered over her shoulder to make sure no one was within hearing distance. "See, I created a shell corporation that supposedly does landscaping, but what it really does is subcontract out the work and add a hefty bonus to the price. Wes has no idea that I own that company. I get bids, and my shell corporation contracts for the work. Then I draw up an invoice from the shell corporation that's twice what the subcontractor is charging, and I get to keep the difference. It all started when Wes had an affair a few years ago, and I decided to install that huge flagpole in front of the administrative building. Since then, it's been a way to punish him for any bad behavior. Sort of like the old-fashioned swear jars where people had to donate money every time they used a bad word. Except he donates every time he makes me angry."
"Isn't that illegal? You're skimming from the retirement community."
"It's not really skimming," Annie said. "Wes and I own Wharton Meadows jointly, so it's not like I'm stealing from anyone else, just taking my share of the profits. The shell corporation files its tax returns on the profit it makes, and if there's any tax due, it gets paid, but most of the income is given to charity—you can ask Terri Greene about the anonymous donation they got last year right after the tennis courts were installed here. The IRS did audit me once, but I really do keep meticulous records, so they didn't find any problems with the return."
Helen couldn't imagine being in a relationship where she couldn't be honest with her partner, but she supposed it worked for Annie and her husband. He got to feel like a big shot, and she got to vent her irritation without hurting anyone. And Annie was doing a bit of good for the community if she was donating the money to charity.