Amy Patricia Meade - Marjorie McClelland 02 - Ghost of a Chance (23 page)

Marjorie and Jameson trailed behind them. “Why did Mr. Nussbaum leave Cullen Chemicals?” the young woman asked.

“Economics,” Kenneth answered. “Nussbaum couldn’t afford to
wait for the company to reopen, so he looked for a position elsewhere. Luckily, Alchemy was in need of a new salesman.”

“You mean lucky for Alfred Nussbaum,” Robert corrected, “but
not so lucky for you. From the way his records at Alchemy read,
Nussbaum was very good at his job.”

“He was.”

“How did that sit with you,” Marjorie pursued, “Nussbaum
working for the competition?”

“We were disappointed,” Charles admitted, “but my brother
and I are not in the habit of keeping employees against their will.
We understand our workers have mouths to feed.”

“Some more than others,” she remarked, recalling Nussbaum’s
colorful family life.

“You weren’t at all resentful that Alchemy, aside from having
beaten you at the chemical business, had taken one of your best
employees?” Jameson prodded.

“If we did harbor resentment,” Kenneth allowed, “it was toward
Alchemy Enterprises, not Alfred Nussbaum. Our relationship with
him remained amicable. So amicable, in fact, that he visited our
office several times after he had left.”

From the corner of her eye, Marjorie saw Charles signal to his
brother to stop speaking.

“I thought the two of you hadn’t seen Nussbaum in months,”
she challenged.

“We hadn’t,” Charles maintained. “We were traveling in South
America for some time, looking for inexpensive suppliers-you
know, to cut down operating expenses so that we could reopen.
Our secretary told us he had visited.”

“Remarkable timing,” Jameson commented. “Just for the record,
where were the two of you the day before yesterday, around eleven
in the morning?”

“Just for the record, in our room, reviewing our finances.”

“Was anyone else with you?”

“No, our finances are our own concern and no one else’s.” They
had reached the area of the green where Kenneth’s ball had landed.
“Now, before we get on with our game, is there anything else we
can help you with, Detective?”

“Yes, Nussbaum’s employment records. Could I have them,
please?”

The bespectacled man wrinkled his nose. “That’s going to be a
bit tricky. Our files are at the office.”

“All right, we’ll come back after you’ve finished your game and
the four of us will go the office and pick up the file.”

“It’s not that easy. You see our facility, along with all its contents,
was seized yesterday and Kenneth and I have been barred admittance. So, I’m afraid you’re going to have to go through different
channels if you wish to retrieve that file.”
“

I thought this was a temporary shut down,” Jameson quipped.

“Yes,” Marjorie concurred. “You led us to believe the company
was going to reopen soon.”

“It will,” Charles assured. “It’s simply been postponed”

“Until when?” she inquired.

Kenneth took the putter from the caddy and hit his ball across
the green. It rolled straight for the hole and looked like it might
sink, but then at the last minute, it uncannily bounced off the rim.
Kenneth sighed angrily, and stomped off to the ball’s new location.

Charles turned from the scene and peered at Marjorie over the
top of his spectacles. “Until our luck changes.”

AFTER AN EARLY SUPPER and a leisurely stroll along the village
green, Marjorie and Jameson returned to her cottage at dusk, just
in time to hear the telephone ring. Marjorie ran to the large walnut secretary where she kept the sonorous black instrument and
picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

“Hello,” the operator replied. “Long distance for Miss Marjorie
McClelland.”

“This is Miss McClelland.”

“Thank you, Miss McClelland. Please hold while I connect your
call.”

“Good afternoon,” came a clipped British accent through the
line. “Is this the McClelland Detective Agency? This is Cedric St.
John Snell, the World Class Tiddlywinks Champion. I require your
services in the recovery of a missing object: my fiddly. I awoke this
morning and it had disappeared, which is rather puzzling since my
winks are still intact.”

Marjorie grinned and played along, glad to hear that Creighton
was back to his old tricks. “What about your marbles? Do you still
have them, or have you lost those, too?”

“My marbles? Oh, I lost those a long time ago. This loss occurred quite recently. Although I do seem to recollect a small tornado crossing my path yesterday evening, or perhaps it was more
like a small hurricane-as I recall it did have a female name. Margaret? No. Maeve? No? What was it?”

“Marjorie?”

“That’s it! And what a violent little tempest it was. Didn’t stick
around for long though. At least, not long enough for me to make
amends. I was a right bounder last night. The heat I suppose. Makes
everyone a bit stroppy.”

“Well, the storm didn’t give you much of chance to apologize,
did it? But if it means anything, I’m sure she’s sorry too. I, um, I
expected you to call later this evening,” she said, hoping that he
would call her back when Robert wasn’t present.

“Expected? You expected me to call-oh, Robert’s there, isn’t
he? Sorry, but Vanessa and I have a late dinner date tonight. We
made reservations for nine at a restaurant downtown that has quite
a reputation; haute cuisine, candlelight, violins, that sort of rubbish. We wanted to do something to celebrate the engagement.”

“Sounds lovely,” Marjorie remarked, more than a little envious
that it wasn’t she who would be joining him.

“How’s the case coming along? Any new developments since
yesterday?”

“A few,” she replied as she watched Robert plop onto the living room sofa. “We just saw Nussbaum’s former employers, the Cullen brothers. Nussbaum worked for them before he worked
for Alchemy.”

“Did they tell you anything?”

“Yes, although not intentionally. They speculated that Nussbaum’s death was probably a case of robbery gone wrong and asked
us, numerous times, if we had found cash on the body.”

“Very odd,” Creighton commented. “It sounds almost as though
they’re looking for something.”

“I got the same impression,” she agreed. “It was as if they were
hoping Nussbaum had cash on him so that they could claim it;
which, I suppose, isn’t out of the question, since their business has
been seized.”

“Seized?”

“Uh hum. Yesterday. We asked them for Nussbaum’s employment records, but the Cullen’s can’t even access their own office.
Robert had to contact the IRS and request that the file be sent to
him. Heaven knows how long that will take.”

“Unless it’s a file for Eliot Ness, I’m sure they’ll take their time,”
Creighton remarked. “The Cullen brothers are hardly Al Capone or
Frank Nitti.”

“No, they’re not clever enough;” Marjorie deemed. “Do you know
they actually let it slip that Nussbaum had visited their office on numerous occasions since quitting? Yet earlier in the conversation they
claimed not to have seen him in months.”

“How’d they get around that?”

“They claimed they were in South America at the time, looking for new suppliers. Curious though-since curare comes from
South America.”

“Yes. Certainly sounds like they’re hiding something, doesn’t
it?” he responded. “Did you find out anything else?”

“No. Noonan spent the day looking through Nussbaum’s financial records in search of more ammo against Saporito and Josie,”
Marjorie mentioned. “Oh, and Dr. Heller released the body to Bernice.”

“Yes, I know. I saw the obituary in the late edition of the paper.
The wake is tomorrow. Vanessa and I are planning to attend.”

“Both of you?”

“Vanessa was his employer and I, well, I thought it might be
interesting to see who shows up, who doesn’t, and how everyone
interacts.”

“Good idea. Although I’m sure your presence won’t go over very
well with Bernice or Herbert. Or Josie.”

“Josie? I thought Jameson had her arrested.”

“He did. Her lawyer requested that she be allowed to attend the
funeral. Logan is taking her,” she explained.

“Lovely,” Creighton remarked. “I’ll borrow an iron glove from
the suit of armor upstairs.”

“A glove?”

“Yes, so Logan doesn’t crush my hand next time he shakes it.
Honestly, the man pumped my arm so hard I thought oil would
shoot out of my head.”

Marjorie laughed. “You’ll have to tell us all about it. Perhaps in
person,” she added hopefully.

“Perhaps, perhaps not. Whichever way the wind blows,” Creighton remained ambiguous. “Why are you so eager to have me back?
You certainly didn’t seem very pleased with me last night.”

“Because if you marry Vanessa, you may not come back again
and I miss you.” She looked up to see Robert with Sam on his lap,
and staring directly at her. “I mean we miss you. Mrs. Patterson,
Sharon…”

“Sharon! Heavens, I forgot all about her.”

“You mean you haven’t called her? She usually keeps you on a
very short leash.”

“Yes, well I guess it slipped my mind, what with the case, our
argument, and then my engagement to Vanessa…” his voice trailed
off.

Marjorie winced. That damned engagement! Was it true or not?
Was he going to marry Vanessa? And if so, how long before he forgot
Marjorie the same way he had forgotten Sharon?

“I’d better hang up,” he told her. “Looks like Vanessa’s ready to
go. Bye, Marjorie. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Good-bye,” she replied, then quickly added, “Oh, and Creighton?”

“Yes”

There was so much she wanted to say to him, so many things
that needed to be discussed, but now was not the time. “Have a
good time tonight,” she faltered.

“Thank you. You and Jameson do the same. And I’m sorry again
about last night. I want you and Jameson to be happy. As happy as
Vanessa and I are. Good night, now.” There was a soft click from
the other end of the line and Marjorie wondered if it wasn’t the
sound of her heart breaking. With her back to Robert, she returned
the handset to its cradle and blinked back her tears.

“What did Creighton have to say?” Jameson asked.

She took a deep breath in an effort to regain her composure, and
turned around. “He and Vanessa are going to Nussbaum’s wake tomorrow.

“Good thinking. A lot can be learned about people just by watching them.”

“That’s what Creighton thought. He said it might-” Her words
were interrupted by the ring of the telephone. “Not again,” she sighed
before picking up the handset. “Hello?”

“Noonan here,” came the gruff voice. “Is Jameson around?”

“Yes, he’s right here. Hold on a moment.” She held the receiver
out to Robert. “It’s for you. Officer Noonan.”

Robert rose from the sofa, forcing Sam to hop to the floor. He
grabbed the telephone from Marjorie’s hand. “What is it, Noonan? … uh-huh … uh-huh … You don’t say… When? … Where are
you now? … Okay, I’ll be there in a few minutes.” He hung up the
phone and headed toward the door. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

“Where? What’s going on?” she demanded as she grabbed her
purse from the top of the desk.

“To the churchyard,” he replied with a frown. “It’s Reverend
Price. He’s been attacked.”

The minister was stretched out on the sofa in the rectory office,
holding an icepack to the back of his head. Despite the fact that
she was a Catholic and he a Presbyterian, Marjorie had always held
the clergyman in very high regard. She knelt beside the couch.
“Reverend Price, are you all right?”

“A bit battered, but none the worse for wear,” the gray-haired
man assured her.

“What happened?”

Officer Noonan hovered over him, taking notes in a small reporter’s notebook. “Some nut whacked him on the head. Knocked
him out cold.”

“I guess someone disagreed with one of my sermons,” Price
joked.

Jameson stood at the minister’s feet. “Tell me exactly how it
happened,”

“I was overseeing the dismantling of the fair at the church today.” He said to Marjorie, aside, “It was very successful, you know.
We took in two hundred dollars more than last year.”