I tucked my hair up under the equally ugly Watership cap and pressed on a blond mustache to my make-up free face. I snorted and spit (albeit into a tissue) to work myself up into man-mode. And I checked myself out in the mirror.
Not bad.
One would have to look long and hard to tell that I wasn’t of the weaker (male) sex. But I didn’t really worry about it. Like I said, people see what they expect to see. Even me, it seemed. A glimpse of mustache, and they think guy. A dress equals female. (Damn, but it burned that I hadn’t looked harder at ‘Jennifer’.) What I’m saying is, as long as I didn’t stick around long enough for close investigation, I was safe. Sorta.
Shit, who was I kidding? Safe was the furthest thing from what I felt.
I crumpled the restraining order and stuck it in the glove compartment, and was just slamming it shut when I saw the reason for my trip to Weatherby Industries walking into the building. His head was bent and his strides scissored determinedly as he entered the front door. Two women stopped to talk to him, one going so far as to put a hand on his shoulder, but he just brushed past them and hurried away as if the devil himself were on his tail.
Nope, not the devil. Just me.
I got out of the car, and walked toward the building, determined to have a conversation with Mr. Billy Star.
And yes, as I walked toward the building, I checked for my gun, reassured by its cold weight. Even as I did it, I wondered if I was being overly paranoid.
On the other hand, someone had killed Jennifer Weatherby. The same someone had possibly set me up to take the fall. And I had no doubt that same someone wouldn’t think twice about seeing me dead, too, should I get in the way. And I was always getting in the way; it was my job.
Overly paranoid, my ass.
+++
I entered the Weatherby building directly after Mr. Billy Star — quickly enough so that I could see him getting on the elevator, lean to push a button, and turn with red-rimmed eyes to stare up at the top of the doors and watch the numbers. I had called his office right after Dylan left my apartment, and was only half surprised to find him working. Ned Weatherby would understandably be absent; Billy had to keep the business running smoothly. But there was more to his appearance at the office.
Red rimmed eyes didn’t surprise me. If anything, they confirmed my suspicions.
I watched the elevator lights, rising steadily and stopping on the top floor.
I took the next elevator up, waiting impatiently then standing as inconspicuously as possible beside the two suited men. It worked. They didn’t seem to notice my presence, or my listening in to their conversation.
“I heard Mrs. Weatherby had been shot three times.”
“Maybe it was a suicide?”
“Three shots?”
“I heard old Ned had a lover. Bet it was that new girl in accounting.”
“I heard Mrs. Weatherby was fooling around on Ned.”
“Holy crap! I can believe it.”
It didn’t surprise me rumors were flying already. Stuff like that was always flying at times like these. But how much was rumor and how much was truth? Damn elevator. It moved too quickly and dropped my loose-lipped fellow travelers off on the 18th floor.
I quickly found the maintenance closet and jimmied the lock. I grabbed some Windex and hooked it onto my uniform. I loaded a maintenance trolley with what surely looked official and started heading down the hallway. Star’s office, as I’d ascertained on my way down the hall, was the third to the right off the elevator. Right next to the corner office of Ned Weatherby. I cringed. That had to bite, considering that Star was the major partner just before the stock in the company went skyrocketing. Ned had made millions. And no doubt an enemy in the now under-his-employ Billy Star.
I passed a couple of other male janitors in the hallway, just as I was about to enter Star’s office — their navy and yellow WATERSHIP uniforms visible from a mile away. They looked at me strangely, trying to place me.
“‘lo,” I said with a manly nod of acknowledgment. I adjusted the rolls of TP on the cart (like what the hell else was I supposed to do?).
They nodded back. These guys could have been a father and son team, they looked that similar.
“You new here?” the older one asked.
“New? Yeah, very new. First day.” I deepened my voice and slowed my speech.
“Well, doesn’t that fuckin’ beat all.” His coworker cast me a disgusted look. “Takes us five years to get this floor, and this dude comes in and day one, comes up here.”
“Don’t seem right.”
I snorted a laugh and scratched my crotch. “Yeah, well, my uncle owns the company.”
“Is that right?” the young one said, grinning a smartass grin. “Your uncle is Sophia Maria Watership?”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t be stupid. My uncle is her husband,” I gambled. Poorly.
“You mean her late husband?”
“Yeah.” I squared my shoulders (thanking myself for remembering to add the shoulders pads to the uniform for the decidedly male appearance). “You got a problem with that?” I said it with so much attitude, Steve McQueen would have been proud.
“I do,” Shorty answered.
“Let’s call head office, son.” The old fellow shook his head. “Something isn’t quite right here.” They started walking away.
Aw shit!
“You do that,” I called. “And when you talk to Aunt Sophia, you tell her I’ll be over for supper at six tonight.”
They halted and looked back at me.
“It’s canasta night,” I said, “and Aunt Sophia don’t like me late on canasta night. Tell her I want her to make that seafood lasagna, but don’t use those cheapie small shrimp like last time. And tell her I’ll pick up some of the good rolls at the market on my way in. Oh, and tell her that if I catch my cousin Charlie cheating again, there’ll be hell to pay. Oh, and be sure to tell her—”
“I look like your message boy?” Shorty called. “Tell her yourself!”
“Yeah,” the other chimed in. “Tell her yourself! We’ve got work to do.”
It worked. For now. But I wasn’t foolish enough to think what I’d pulled on them would work for long.
They both gave me one last spiteful look before proceeding down the hall. And I had the sneaking feeling that though I wasn’t yet busted, it wouldn’t take Tweedledee and Tweedledumb long to check out my story.
I’d have to move fast.
Every indication I had of Billy Star from my week of running surveillance on his boss was that he was a hot head. And well, maybe there was a legitimate chip on his shoulder — I’d be pissed too if someone bought me out just before business skyrocketed. But really, what was Billy to do? He was well over fifty, had built the business along side Ned from the ground up; it was all he knew. With a mortgage and an aging father to look after, not to mention two kids in college from his former marriage, he had to keep working for Ned.
That’s why I packed the heat. Just in case I needed some motivation for him to calm down should he be inclined to go ballistic on me. He was a big man. Rugged. Obviously able to take care of himself, and though I wasn’t intimidated by his size, I wasn’t stupid either.