Authors: Kelly Rey
I glanced at Maizy again. She was staring at him as if he was an alien life form. I knew her well enough to tell she wasn't believing a thing he said.
Since we weren't getting anywhere useful with meaningful questions, I decided to try another tack. "So did you talk to her husband?" I asked. "After the funeral?"
He shook his head. "I wanted to, but he was so broken up I just couldn't do it. It's not as if it was his fault I lost everything."
Except maybe it was. If Deirdre was right that Weaver had been the brains of the operation, then Weaver did everything but reach into Roger Marrin's wallet himself. Which brought up another question. "Did you pay her in cash?"
He blinked. "Sometimes cash, sometimes check. But if it was a check, she said it had to be a thousand dollars for some reason. Even when I ran a tab, she wouldn't take more than a thousand at a time."
I knew the reason. That amount wouldn't turn any heads at the IRS, and it would maintain a nice, fat interest-accruing tab. I was starting to think that Dorcas and Weaver had deserved each other.
The groceries were scanned and bagged, and the shoppers in line behind us were getting restless, so I paid Roger Marrin, and we went on our way. Until we got to the car. Then Maizy blurted out, "I think that guy is lying through his big buck teeth. He knows way more than he said." She tossed me the keys. "Wait here. I'll be right back."
"Where are you going?" I yelled after her, but she was already gone. I slid into the passenger seat and stared at the front of the Shop 'n Save, thinking about the list of potential suspects and adding Roger Marrin to the list. He hadn't even really been on my radar, especially since crashing Dorcas's funeral had been practically a regional pastime. I'd noticed him the way you'd notice a pretty flower garden and then forget about it. But he'd been unremarkable enough that I hadn't even bothered to find out who he was. Outside of his fashion choices, Roger Marrin wouldn't stand out in any situation, which made him the ideal suspect. Forgetability was a real asset for a criminal, and Roger had that in spades. I'd already forgotten what he looked like.
Maizy got behind the wheel and started the car. "What I thought. The manager just said that doofus never came to work at all the day Dorcas was killed. He had hours to drive over to Oak Grove and bump her off."
"Roger didn't see you and the manager talking, did he?"
Maizy shook her head. "The guy's completely oblivious. He didn't notice anything."
"He noticed he's missing a lot of money," I said. "And he knows where
that
went."
"Down the rabbit hole," Maizy agreed. "What an operation. The thing that gets me is how many people were willing to hand over so much money for so few results. Her rates were
crazy
."
I chewed on my lip. "Did you see an appointment book? At the studio, I mean?"
She frowned. "Come to think of it, no. Maybe she kept an electronic diary."
I shook my head. "She didn't like computers. She would have kept a hard copy diary. But I didn't see one at the studio."
"It
would
be good to know who had an appointment that day." Maizy tapped the steering wheel, thinking. "Don't suppose you want to go back to—"
"No," I said. "I don't."
"Just a thought." She backed out of the parking spot. "Here's another one. We ought to follow this Roger Marrin guy and see what he does in his spare time. I say we get the groceries home and come back before he gets off work. It'll be tight, but I think we can do it."
"What about Harvey McWirth's iced cinnamon dolce latte?"
"Harvey's not going anywhere. But Roger Marrin might. You know what cockroaches do when the lights come on."
"They run and hide." I thought about it. "Do you really think this guy could have killed Dorcas?"
Maizy pulled out of the parking lot and floored it. A horn blared behind us. She didn't notice. "He's bitter enough. And broke enough." She shuddered. "And weird enough."
We made it back to my apartment in half the time it should have taken, with Maizy lead-footing it and taking red lights as a mere suggestion. We hauled the shopping bags upstairs and unloaded the groceries into the fridge or cupboards as need be. I slid Elmer into the freezer.
Maizy was waiting at the door when I noticed my voicemail light blinking. I held up a finger for her to wait and grabbed the phone. There was one message, from Howard Dennis, and it wasn't good.
I was fired.
My whole body went limp as I listened. According to Howard, the firm couldn't tolerate my despicable criminal behavior besmirching its sterling reputation. Clean out my desk within forty-eight hours. Hand over my key to a partner. And don't expect any visitors from Parker, Dennis while in prison.
I dropped the phone back into the cradle. So much for innocent until proven guilty. So much for having the decency to fire me face-to-face. I'd have thought Howard would want the chance to berate me before he let me go.
"What's the matter?" Maizy's face was pale.
"I've been fired." I hugged myself, overwhelmed by the realization.
"Because of all this?" She shook her head. "So what? You didn't like that job anyway. You'll get something better."
Easy for her to say. Where was I going to get something better? I'd had to put in sixteen applications before I got
that
job. I wasn't fearless like Maizy, I wasn't highly skilled, I wasn't overly bright, and now I couldn't even use Parker, Dennis as a reference on my resume. If I had one. Guess now I had to fabricate a resume, one with a real phony work history involving some nonexistent, defunct companies.
That sounded like a job in itself.
The full implications of being fired suddenly hit me. I had no income. I wouldn't be able to pay my bills, which wouldn't matter much since I wouldn't be able to pay my rent, either. I'd be able to keep my car, since I owned it outright, but I couldn't afford gas or insurance. I'd have to sponge meals and showers off of my parents. I'd be seven years old all over again, but without the dignity.
My eyes were stinging. I swiped the backs of my hands across them, angry with Howard, angry with Dorcas, angry with myself.
Maizy was hugging me then, her bushy hair plastered against my face. She didn't say anything. She didn't rub my back in that soothing way people do. She didn't tell me everything would be all right. It was a good hug. When it ended she stepped away, pulled her knit cap back onto her head, said, "I'll help you with your resume, as soon as we solve this murder," turned, and walked out the door.
Twenty minutes later, we were back in the Shop 'n Save parking lot. Not much had changed. The lot was still half full. It was still cold. And I was still a little freaked by my newly unemployed status. But then I started to see an upside to it. Now I had the time to sit in the Shop 'n Save parking lot to wait for Roger Marrin to get off work.
Which he did, about ten minutes later, loping into the parking lot with his head held low as if he was hiding his face from surveillance cameras. He wore a ragged-looking camouflage coat, fastened up to his Adam's apple. He had a black scarf wrapped around the lower part of his face, and he was wearing black gloves.
"He looks like a criminal," Maizy said. She started the car.
I squinted. "Are you sure that's him?"
"That's him." She pointed. "See the pants?"
I hadn't even noticed his pants before. Now I wondered how I missed them. They were checkered.
Roger Marrin had parked at the far edge of the parking lot, in an area probably designated for employee parking so the paying customers could be close to the door. He stuck out a spindly arm when he was about twenty feet away from that area, and a black SUV's headlights flashed in response.
Maizy and I looked at each other. "You've got to be kidding me," I said.
She shrugged. "I told you every other driver in New Jersey has one of those." She waited for Roger Marrin to pull out of his spot—then she fell in a good distance behind him, rolling along as if we were on a Sunday drive and running out of gas.
"Be sure you don't lose him," I said, pointing as the SUV coasted through a right on red.
Maizy waited for a Mustang to gallop through the intersection to provide a buffer zone. "He's probably going home," she said. "Bet he has a freezer full of Hungry-Man dinners and a cat waiting for him."
"I don't think so," I said. In fact, I was starting to think I knew just where he was going. A few more turns, and I was positive.
We were in Weaver Beeber's neighborhood.
"He lives
here?"
Maizy stared out the window in amazement. "Shop 'n Save pays better than I thought."
"He doesn't live here," I said. "Weaver Beeber does."
Her head jerked toward me. I pointed straight ahead. "End of the block. Pull over. Let's see what he does. Maybe this is just a shortcut for him."
It wasn't. The SUV's brake lights flashed as it came to a stop at the curb around mid-block. Roger Marrin didn't get out. No one came out of a house to get in.
Maizy hunched over the steering wheel. "What is that little weirdo doing?"
He wasn't doing much of anything. Ten minutes later, there was still no movement.
"Do you think he's messing with us?" she asked. "Maybe he knows we're here."
I shook my head. "I doubt it. He could have pulled over anywhere to do that. He's watching the Beeber house for some reason."
"He does know she's dead, right?" Maizy asked.
"Maybe better than anyone," I said. I'd had my doubts about Roger Marrin killing Dorcas, but there was something so creepy about this whole scenario that it was starting to seem more plausible by the second.
Another ten minutes passed.
"I have to go to the bathroom," Maizy said.
"It's the cold."
"It's the Big Gulp I had before we went shopping."
I looked at her. "So run the heater for a few minutes."
"If I run the heater, we'll get exhaust," she said. "If we get exhaust, he might notice us back here."
I sat up straighter. The Beeber front door had opened, and Weaver stepped outside. Or Seaver. It was hard to tell from a distance. Whichever Beeber it was, he got Roger Marrin's attention. I saw movement in the SUV, and then something black appeared in his hand, standing out in contrast to the windshield behind it. He pointed it toward the Beeber house.
I clutched at the dashboard in alarm. "Is that a gun?"
"It's a camera," Maizy said. "With a telephoto lens, from the looks of it. What the…" She narrowed her eyes, watching. "He's taking pictures of Weaver Beeber!"
We watched for another few seconds until Weaver had gotten into the sedan in the driveway. A moment later it backed onto the street and took off in the opposite direction.
Roger Marrin's SUV lurched after it.
"Isn't this interesting," Maizy said, starting the Escort. "Roger Marrin's a stalker."
Even more interesting was his choice of stalkee. I could only think of one reason why Roger Marrin would be stalking Weaver, and it had to do with revenge. A shiver ran through me. Maybe some diabolical plan was being executed right in front of us. Maybe Roger planned to follow Weaver to some remote location, or maybe he'd actually lured him to some remote location, where he planned to do the worst. Or, if not the worst, maybe the very unpleasant.
"Where's the nearest remote location?" I blurted.
Maizy didn't bat an eyelash. "Place called the Dunes, but they're not really dunes. They're just dirt hills and gullies, like that. Kids go there to drink and—" She bit her lip. "Not really sure," she said.
I rolled my eyes. "I get it, you're a kid. You're not climbing out the bedroom window at night to go to free speech rallies. I'm just thinking where's the best place for Roger to kill Weaver."
"Oh, that'd be the Pine Barrens," Maizy said immediately. "They're a lot more remote. You might not see anyone for miles, and the body might never be found." She frowned. "But that's a pretty good drive from here. And it's starting to get dark."
"Exactly." I looked at her. "What better time to lure someone to his doom?"
"Wow. Doom." Maizy looked back at me. "Really?"
"Yeah, okay." I grinned. "Maybe that's a little dramatic. But I just have a feeling about Roger Marrin."
"Me too." She pulled out her cell phone. "I've got to know the deal with this guy." She unlocked her screen and pulled up a search engine.
Weaver exited the development followed by Roger Marrin, and Maizy toodled along well behind, engrossed in her Internet search. Traffic was starting to get heavier as it got later in the day, and, before long, we were half a dozen cars behind.
"We're losing them," I said as they both rolled through a yellow light well ahead of us. "Are they headed in the direction of the Pine Barrens?"
Maizy looked up. "Nope. They're headed in the direction of that 7-Eleven." She pointed as Weaver's car pulled into the parking lot and parked on the far side. Roger Marrin parked next to him. "Not very subtle, is he?" she asked.
Both men got out of their vehicles, and I was struck by their physical similarities. Neither one would ever be mistaken for a stud. Between them they probably didn't weigh four hundred pounds or have a full head of hair. And their fashion choices ran toward Ninth Grade Nerd.
"Geez," I said. "It's as if they're one person."
Maizy nodded. "No kidding."
Weaver went into the 7-Eleven first, holding the door open for Roger Marrin without looking at him, the way I'd done lots of times for strangers behind me. Roger stayed on Weaver's heels as they moved into the store.
Maizy dug into her backpack and came up with a little pair of binoculars. Which should have surprised me but didn't, since she generally carried more gadgets than James Bond. She trained them on the store's plate glass window. "Oh, that's so not a good idea. They're getting Slurpees. This 7-Eleven doesn't have good Slurpees. Too watered down." She wrinkled her nose in disgust.
I stared at the storefront, trying to see. "Are they talking to each other?"