The Diva Digs up the Dirt (23 page)

I left his office, certain his eyes were following me, and not in a nice way. I shook like a wet dog when I stepped onto the sidewalk, wishing I could wash off the ickiness Overton projected.

“Overton come on to you?”

I whipped around. Wolf leaned against the brick wall of Overton’s office building, his arms crossed resolutely over his chest.

“Not exactly. He wanted my number, though. No wonder Anne hated her job.”

Wolf rubbed his eyes. “What do I have to do to convince you to stay out of this? I’ve asked you, I’ve told you—Sophie, I’m begging you to knock it off.”

I felt small, like a kid who’d made Dad angry. “Why couldn’t you tell me about Anne’s relationship with Heath? If you’d told me, I wouldn’t have to ask other people. Did Anne get caught up in one of his embezzlement schemes?”

“Is that what he told you? That jerk!” Wolf flung open the door and stormed inside.

I ran after him.

He barged past the receptionist and into Overton’s office. A door slammed shut somewhere.

I dashed into Overton’s office, but it was empty except for Wolf, so I peered out the window in hopes of catching sight of Overton. I was in luck. In the back of the building, Overton looked over his shoulder, walking so fast that he stumbled over his own feet.

When I turned around, I expected Wolf to still be angry with me, but he had fixated on a picture on Overton’s wall. I hadn’t noticed it before because it was behind me when I spoke to Overton.

In it, Overton’s arm looped around Anne’s shoulders. Their heads tilted toward each other and they wore laughing smiles.

Wolf ripped the photo off the wall. He opened the frame, and slid the picture out. Leaving the empty frame on Overton’s desk like a picked-over chicken carcass, he strode out as though he had forgotten all about me.

From the front door, I watched him blast down the street.

The receptionist stood beside me.

“I’m sorry about that,” I said. “He’s under a lot of stress.”

“Are you kidding? It’s fun to see that blowhard Overton get his comeuppance.”

I took a harder look at her. Medium height, short curly hair, no makeup, wire-rimmed glasses. She wore a simple short-sleeved blouse and skirt that wouldn’t win any fashion prizes. Birkenstock sandals adorned her feet.

“Did you know Anne?” I asked.

“No. I interviewed for my job on the day she didn’t show up for work. What a madhouse! The tension was terrible.” She smiled sadly. “I always thought I got the job because they were in too much of a panic to give hiring much thought. Accountants are very precise people. Planners, you know? They don’t take disruptions well.”

“Can you tell me what happened?”

She shifted her feet uncomfortably. “I can’t divulge anything about clients. That would be a big ethical breach. But between the two of us, I’ll say this, I always wondered if Roscoe Greene didn’t kill her.”

Roscoe!
“What did Anne have to do with Roscoe?”

“I can’t say anything more, or I’ll lose my job.”

“There was a picture of Anne and Overton on his wall. There weren’t any, um, rumors about them, were there?”

She cringed as if repulsed by the thought. “None that I ever heard. You must not have studied the other pictures. They’re all of Overton with pretty women. I call it his fantasy wall. Here he comes. I didn’t tell you anything, okay?”

“Not a word! How do you keep him from mauling you?”

She giggled. “I told him my father was a martial arts instructor, and that I knew five easy ways to kill him.”

“And that worked?”

“Like a charm.” She slipped inside and closed the door.

I hurried in the other direction, hoping Overton’s long legs wouldn’t help him catch up to me. I turned the first corner I came to and ducked inside a little store. Feigning an interest in baby clothes, I made my way to the show window and watched the street. I picked up a toddler’s sundress with white ties on the shoulders. A teensy ladybug adorned each tie. They reminded me of Anne and the ladybug she embroidered on the pillow in Wolf’s house. Wolf said she loved ladybugs and praying mantises. I examined the stitches. Flipping the strap over, I decided the outfit was machine embroidered. A person wouldn’t achieve such tight, even stitches.

Would I think of Anne each time I saw a ladybug for the rest of my life? I looked up in time to spy Overton striding by on those long legs like Ichabod Crane.

No doubt disappointing the saleswoman who hovered nearby, I put down the dress and peered out the door. When I thought the coast was clear, I headed straight to Nina’s house.

I slipped through the alley and snuck through her back gate so Natasha wouldn’t see me and try to rope me into something that she hoped would impress TV executives.

I knocked on the kitchen door.

Nina opened it cautiously. “Nobody ever comes to this door. You scared me half to death.”

“Ready to check on the cat?”

“You’re going dressed like that?”

“I can’t go home to change. I’ll be so glad when this backyard nightmare is over, and Natasha isn’t at my house all the time. Come on. I want to ask Roscoe a few questions. I’ll tell you all about it on the way over there.”

Birds twittered and butterflies flitted between flowers in the garden Olive had created, but not a soul was in sight.

“I was afraid Kenner’s men might still be camped out here,” whispered Nina. “It’s like a garden paradise. Are those hummingbirds?”

“Looks like a fight over territory.” They zoomed in circles, chasing each other. One flew away, and the other
feasted at a plant. Beautiful to watch, but I had a feeling it was very serious business to them. The long, tubular flowers drooping in clusters on tall stems must seem like a buffet to hummingbirds.

“Those would be gorgeous in a tall vase. Think anyone would mind if I snipped a few to take home?” asked Nina.

“I don’t think you want to—they’re poisonous. In fact, those are foxglove. Roscoe said the medicine digitalis comes from foxglove plants. If memory serves, I think Agatha Christie used foxglove leaves to kill people in one of her stories.” I studied the plants. “You know, whoever poisoned Roscoe didn’t have to use medicine.” I gestured toward the garden. “It’s right here for free.”

The pinkish blooms flared at the end like trumpets, revealing little dots of burgundy on the inside. Olive had planted them in large groups. Even with the other stunning plants in her garden, the foxglove stood out in size and brilliant color. The green leaves lower on the stalk resembled basil or young spinach leaves.

“Those cone-shaped things? How come the hummingbird isn’t dead?”

I had no idea. We edged toward the foxglove cautiously, as though it might leap at us.

Nina sucked in air. “Look! Some of the foxglove plants have been cut.”

I crouched to examine the stems. “Maybe they were deadheaded by the gardeners.”

“Or by Audie.”

A chill skittered over me at the thought of Audie poisoning his father with a foxglove planted by his mother.

A happy
woof
came from the direction of the house. Daisy hurtled toward us, acting as though she hadn’t seen us in weeks.

“Mars must be here.”

Daisy wriggled with glee and pawed the air.

I gave her a big puppy hug, then looked around for Mars.

Nina bent to her. “Sweetie, I’m trying to catch a kitty cat. Maybe your mom could take you back to the house?”

“No problem.” I ruffled her fur. “Come on, Daisy.”

She walked beside me, happily wagging her tail. As we neared the corner of Roscoe’s home, I could hear hushed voices. Roscoe and Mars sat outside on the porch at a round table covered with a sunshine-yellow cloth. Vivid red geraniums bloomed in pots along the black wood floor, and someone had placed a cluster of the red blossoms in a white vase that matched the earthenware. Tall glasses of orange juice added more splashes of color.

Roscoe and Mars called to me and invited me to join them.

“I’m surprised you’re willing to eat here,” I said.

“We watched every single step of the preparation.” Mars fed Daisy a piece of cantaloupe.

Through the window, I could see Violet hovering inside, no doubt listening to every word.

I pulled up a chair, ready to get down to business. “Roscoe, did Heath embezzle money from your company?”

He slapped his napkin on the table, horror on his face. Pointing a fleshy finger at Mars he said, “This is exactly what I’m talking about.” He turned his attention to me. “Where’d you hear that?”

I didn’t want to get anyone in trouble. “You and Wolf have some kind of beef, so I’ve been asking around, and I sort of put two and two together.”

“Calm down, Roscoe.” Mars glared at me. “I’ve called in the crisis team.”

That brought back memories. When we were married, Mars had called the crisis team each time one of his politicians made a salacious blunder. They were public relations specialists who dictated a course to minimize the impact of a painfully public catastrophe. “Because Heath stole money? I’m not following.”

“To handle the news of Heath’s death on Roscoe’s property.”

Roscoe’s jowls quivered. “There have to be consequences, Mars. Otherwise, people talk. There might not be anything we can do about the police and Heath, but can’t
we stop everybody from reviving that old stuff? It’s water under the bridge.”

I’d been surprised by Roscoe’s reaction to my statement. Clearly, there had been some kind of issue involving Heath, Roscoe, and money. Maybe I should have backed off, but I was tired of getting the runaround and half-truths.

“Roscoe, I’m sorry to upset you, but this is important. Someone murdered Anne and Heath. I’m not the only one who will be asking questions.”

He pounded his fist on the table, causing the dishes to jump and clatter.

Daisy shuffled backward in alarm.

“For pity’s sake, how many times do I have to say it? It’s over and done with.”

Mars kicked me under the table.

“Do
you
know what happened?” I asked him.

“You’ll have to excuse Sophie. She’s been dating Wolf.”

Roscoe leaned back in his chair and contemplated me, drumming the fingers of his right hand on the table. “I did not know that.” He thought for a moment, the left side of his mouth pulling to the side in an irritated expression. “Anne Fleishman was not the angel Wolf thought she was. When Heath worked for me a few years back, he and Anne stole my money. Millions. Funneled it right out of my business accounts. It was a perfect setup because Anne was supposed to audit the accounts. If it hadn’t been for Cricket, we never would have known about it. She noticed a discrepancy and figured it out. Fortunately, Cricket managed to get the money back. That girl is a gem, got every last cent of my money. We didn’t want any bad publicity, so we threw a blanket over the whole thing and never pressed charges. All’s well that ends well, you know. If anything, Wolf ought to be thankful that I didn’t put that precious wife of his in jail.”

No wonder Wolf didn’t want to tell me. He probably had trouble dealing with it himself. An embezzler! And with another man, which meant she probably
was
in a relationship with Heath. Wolf must have been mortified… and hurt. A double whammy. Anne had been a duplicitous,
two-timing criminal. She betrayed Wolf in every way possible. She couldn’t have been farther from the sweet innocent he or Mona had described.

I sat back. Cricket had been Anne’s best friend. What would I have done if I’d discovered Nina was stealing from someone? Probably the same thing Cricket did. Report her, try to get the money back, and hope the consequences wouldn’t be severe. Was that the real reason Anne was murdered? Did Heath murder her for taking him down with her? What about Overton? Had anyone considered him? He was a first-class sleazebag. I wouldn’t put it past him to kill her for putting his firm in jeopardy. Or had she angered him by spurning his revolting overtures?

“What I want to know,” Roscoe grumbled, “is how Heath had the nerve to show his face around here again.”

I studied Roscoe. I thought I’d known him—not terribly well, but enough. Yet his words gave me an unexpected peek into his mind. Heath had gall to show up after trying to steal Roscoe’s money, no question about that. But why was that Roscoe’s main concern? Why wasn’t he worried about the fact that someone had murdered Heath? Someone who was probably in Roscoe’s inner circle.

I looked up to see Mrs. Danvers fixing me with a steely glare from a kitchen window. She’d tried to cover up Heath’s hand after we had seen it. It had been laughable, really. Did she think she was protecting Roscoe? Audie? Had one of them killed Heath when he showed up again? Or had she done him in herself?