Mourning In Miniature (15 page)

At the very least, Barry seemed guilty of overseeing the delivery of the presents to Rosie, leading her to think David was courting her, with or without David’s knowledge. It was a slim motive, but a motive nonetheless, to think that David found out what Barry was up to and a fight ensued.
Slim
, I repeated to myself, but not zero.

I found Barry’s page in the yearbook to see what he’d been up to since his well-written Dickens paper. I did a quick read of the text and saw no mention of participation in sports. I moved on to Training and Education—it seemed Barry was a CPA. He now worked as the chief financial officer in the accounting office of Mellace Construction Company.

Small world, and not just for miniaturists. I filed the information under “what a coincidence” and moved on.

More accurately, I moved back, to my conversation with Skip, who had claimed to have more to share eventually. I had a sinking feeling that whatever it was, it wasn’t good news for Rosie. I had to decide whether to add to his arsenal by producing the tiny locker mirror I’d found in David’s room after the murder.

If I were a trained interrogator, as he was, I’d skirt around how I found the mirror and get him to tell me how and where he located the vandalized version of the miniature locker room Rosie had built.

I tried to weave in the loose ends—a disgruntled (based on one interaction) employee who quit the morning David’s body was found; Walter Mellace wanting something from David’s room. For a moment I considered that it might have been Walter who stole my purse, thinking I had that “something” he’d hassled me about on the eleventh-floor hallway, in my purse (could the something be that small?) or in my room. Given Walter’s heft, however, I guessed I’d still be unconscious in the Duns Scotus jungle if he’d been the one to bump into me on the bridge.

I had Callahan and Savage to fit into the scheme also. The only connection I could put my finger on was that both they and Walter Mellace were in professions associated with buildings. I thought of my crafts rooms. So was I, you could say.

Another loose end fluttered to the front of my mind, demanding attention. I remembered what Rosie had told me when we woke up in adjacent beds on Saturday morning. She’d come in at two, she said, after a workout at the hotel’s fitness center.

This one was easy. I didn’t even need Aaron or his equivalent. I went to the concierge’s desk and picked up a hotel brochure from a pile in the corner. I ran my finger down the list of amenities and hours of availability. Room service was offered twenty-four hours; same-day service laundry pickup was before seven in the morning; the fitness center—my heart sank—closed at midnight.

If I were the police, one lie would be enough to discredit Rosie completely. But I was her friend; I had to give her the benefit of the doubt in spite of the trashed locker room, the tiny mirror in David’s suite, and the failed alibi.

The concierge came back to his desk and I made one last stab at rescuing my faith in Rosie. “Is this brochure up-to-date?” I asked him.

Young enough to be Aaron’s twin, he scratched his stylishly bald head. “Yeah, pretty much. Something in particular you’re interested in?”

“What time does the fitness center close?”

“Midnight.”

A sigh escaped. “Thanks.”

“That do it for you?”

“I’m afraid so.”

I was in dire need of someone to talk to. That person had
always been Ken’s younger sister Beverly, Skip’s mother. Now that she was “going steady” with a retired cop friend of Skip’s, I saw her less and hesitated to bother her.

“Nothing has to change,” she’d told me. “I’m always here for you.”

True theoretically, and I thought Beverly believed it, but in fact, much had changed. No more late-night tea klatches, no more last-minute taking care of Maddie. This weekend, for example, when she would have been an enormous help to me, she was in Seattle with Nick’s family.

What hadn’t changed was that we were a close family and wanted the best for each other. I had pangs of guilt over my selfish thoughts and was glad she wasn’t aware of them. I knew that if I really needed her and told her so straight out, Beverly would be at my side in a minute.

It was hard to ask for more.

 

 

The Duns Scotus brunch buffet was as lavish as any I’d
ever seen outside of pictures of Victorian-era banquets. A beautiful table was spread with breads and fruit; at a separate station a chef made omelets to order; at another station one could be served slices from an enormous leg of lamb, roast pork, or a side (it seemed) of beef. As Ken would say at a feast like this, “Many a man would call it a meal.”

“Wow,” said Taylor and Maddie almost in unison as they saw the oversize éclairs. Taylor’s blond pixie cut was wet, as Maddie’s red curls were, from a quick after-swimming shower. The girls sent sprays of water drops onto their shoulders in their excitement.

The éclairs and other pastries could each feed a family of four. I made a note to leave room for a dessert or two and therefore skipped the carnivores’ table in favor of a mushroom-and-cheese omelet. Calorie for calorie, there probably wasn’t a lot of difference.

“Isn’t it funny?” Taylor asked Maddie. “Your grandma and my grandpa only live a few blocks away from each other in Lincoln Point, but we’re all hanging out in San Francisco.”

The thought had crossed my mind, too.

“Why did the witch need a computer?” Maddie asked, out of context.

“You’ll have to tell us, “ Henry said.

Taylor and Maddie burst out laughing.

“We planned it,” Taylor said. “We’re not going to tell you the answer until next week.”

“When we have lunch together in Lincoln Point,” Maddie said.

Henry and I glanced at each other across the table, both seeming to catch on to the ploy—the two girls plotting to get together. I worried about Maddie’s becoming too attached to Taylor when she had just a few weeks before she’d be leaving Lincoln Point. Would this be another wrenching separation, like when she had to leave Devyn and her other friends in Los Angeles?

It was only ten miles to Maddie’s home in Palo Alto, I reminded myself. We could have playdates. Not the same as being in the same school and joining clubs and teams together, but we’d make it work.

There were many fewer reunion people here than at the banquet. I imagined many had been anxious to get home and get ready for the workweek. A couple of students we hadn’t seen yet came over to chat, but otherwise there were no new incidents. No one fighting, no one jumping out of bushes. Still, I kept my everyday shoulder purse on my lap instead of hanging it from the back of the chair as I usually would.

“It’s a real shame about David. I keep thinking about him,” Henry said, during one of the girls’ trips to look at the dessert table. “And poor Rosie, caught up in it all.”

“What have you heard about Rosie?” I said, jumping past sympathy to detective mode.

“I called my daughter, Taylor’s mother, this morning to give her our timetable and apparently it’s all anyone’s talking about in Lincoln Point. Way more than yesterday. She says she heard that the police want to talk to Rosie and she’s nowhere to be found.”

“I don’t think for a minute that she’s guilty,” I said, skipping over the part that I knew where to find her.

“I’m sure you’re right. I used to do business with her father, Larry Esterman, when he had his own place in town. At the time, all of us trades teachers used to get together and pool resources and network with the Lincoln Point tradesmen. Larry was always ready to take on a promising student as an intern and I placed a lot of kids with him. Most honest guy around.”

My experience complemented Henry’s. I’d had many dealings with Larry during Rosie’s high school years. He was as dedicated a single parent as I’d ever met. I now saw him occasionally in the bookshop, though we never had extended conversations.

“I don’t remember exactly what business Larry was in,” I told Henry. “He’s retired now, isn’t he?”

“Refrigeration,” Henry said.

I gulped. “Refrigeration?”

“Uh-huh, good-size company, too. But he retired and now he works off and on for Callahan and Savage.”

“You don’t say.”

For a minute I reverted to Maddie-land and wondered, how many refrigerators does it take to cool a town?

Back in our room, packing to leave, I had a brainstorm.
With Maddie distracted by last-minute computer work (a drag-and-drop interface, she called it), I went into the bathroom. I pulled all of the tissues from the box on the sink and unrolled a long strip of toilet paper. Together they made a wad I hoped was big enough to stop a toilet. Then I threw the wad into the bowl and flushed.

I was surprised that I got it on one try. The water rose to the rim and stayed there.

Oops. Time to call a plumber.

“We’re about to check out,” I told the woman who took my call. “But we still need to . . . you know.”

“Oh, of course. I’ll send someone right up.”

When the knock came less than five minutes later (something for the plus column on the Duns Scotus evaluation card), Maddie went to answer it. She knew enough to ask who it was and check for my approval first.

“He says he’s a plumber,” she called back.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I forgot to tell you the toilet is plugged up.”

Maddie opened the door. I was relieved to see that Mike the electrician didn’t double as a plumber. Rather, a gentle-looking Enrico introduced himself and entered the room with a large toolbox.

“Thanks for coming,” I said. “This just happened a few minutes ago.” I left out, “by my own hand.”

Enrico looked at the mess and produced an industrial-size plunger and a gallon of something apparently toxic enough to require a skull and crossbones on its container.

I suspected it wasn’t often that Enrico’s clients stood over his shoulder while he worked. “Such a shame, losing your boss yesterday,” I said. The concerned guest.

“Yes, yes, it’s a shame, very sad. A young man, Mr. Bridges.”

“I’m surprised at your quick response to my little problem this morning, since I also heard that someone quit yesterday?”

“Yes, yes, Ben, he walk out with no notice.”

“Was he a plumber, too?”

“No, Ben was what you call a supervisor.”

I laughed. “I’ll bet he didn’t work as hard as you do.”

I tried not to pay too much attention to the details of Enrico’s recovery program at our toilet, but I noticed that he never turned to me, nor did he lose his work rhythm as he talked.

“I wonder if Ben and Mr. Bridges got along. I guess that’s not unusual, though. For a boss and an employee to have disagreements.” No comment from Enrico. “You’re such a good worker, I’ll bet you get along with everyone.”

“I mind my business, you know? But Ben, he’s what you call ambitious.”

“Ah,” I said, with a small tsking sound. “And Mr. Bridges didn’t like that?”

“I mind my business,” Enrico said again. “All done here.” I had the feeling he was referring to more than the plumbing.

Thwarted.

It made sense that the electricians and plumbers of the Duns Scotus wouldn’t share company politics with guests. Too bad for me they all took their training to heart.

Enrico stood up and did a test flush. All went smoothly. Next time I’d have to create a bigger problem. All I’d gotten from this little exercise was news of Ben Dobson’s ambitious streak and his position as supervisor.

Enrico packed up his tools and glanced back at Maddie, still deep in the computer zone. “Gotta watch these kids, huh?”

I smiled and threw up my hands. “What are you going to do?”

I didn’t tell Maddie she’d been blamed for a problem she knew nothing about.

 

 

“You didn’t get to see my apartment building that
Grandpa made me when you were in the shop last time, Mrs. Porter. You should come by and see it.”