Lily and I collected sandwiches and chips from a deli before she dropped me off at the agency. She promptly declared she didn't want to sit around while I punched my laptop keyboard. I didn't argue with her since that was exactly what I planned to do. I had a few things I still had to find out and Austen suggested some new ideas on where to start.
It took me thirty minutes to find the news article, after digging deep in the digital archives of the reporting newspaper, about Zach's wife. I printed it for the file I was accumulating, skimmed it, then reread it again, slowly, from the beginning.
The deceased Sophie Gallo died after her car spun out of control, according to an eyewitness. She was on a long, notorious stretch of road outside her small hometown. The report asserted she was an art history graduate, married for two years with no children. Her husband witnessed the accident because he was traveling behind her in his own vehicle with his sister. According to the report, she wasn't survived by any other family members, just her husband and sister-in-law. The reporter tracked down a friend, Annie, who was reported as saying, "Sophie was my best friend through high school and college. She was always a careful driver and I'm heartbroken to hear about the accident." The friend added, "Sophie was such a joy to be around and had everything to live for. She will be dearly missed". Zach didn't provide any comment. The article ended after a brief list of Sophie's accomplishments: a teaching assistant role at a college, a peer-reviewed academic paper on art that was very well received, and an award for raising a sizable amount of money for a high-school classmate who suffered an accident during their senior year.
I sat back and contemplated everything I read. It seemed so sad that a young woman with so much potential could lose her life at so young an age. Now, Zach's anger made more sense; perhaps he simply misdirected his grief and possibly suffered from PTSD after witnessing his wife’s horrific death. Then I thought back to the frigid coldness I glimpsed in his eyes when he pushed me, and I wasn't so sure.
One crucial factor stood out: someone potentially knew both Sophies and Zach. I had to track her down.
Unfortunately, that wasn't an easy task. Annie Woodley was a popular name combination and I had to whittle my way through the results until I found one that lived in the right area and was the right age. A fundamental godsend was provided by a social media photo that featured a high school pennant in the background that I could easily cross-reference with the deceased Sophie's school. Lacking a phone number to contact her, I sent her an instant message and included my cellphone number, asking her to call me urgently.
While I waited, I browsed the internet. I started looking at dresses I wondered if I should buy and recipes I would never make. I still appreciated the mouth-watering pictures of the finished products. While I idly scrolled through pages that fit well into my fantasy lifestyle, I thought about Austen and Sophie’s serendipitous meeting at the theater. What were the chances of two people having such luck? Then I thought about the first time I saw Solomon, moodily waiting in the small room I was ushered into. Who knew I would end up where I was now thanks to that encounter? I wondered if Austen ever reflected on it. Out of sheer nosiness, I logged onto the The Playhouse's website and scrolled through their news blog. When I found the entries regarding the annual fundraiser, I blinked. Tickets cost two thousand dollars each!
"Hey," said Solomon, walking in. He rounded my desk and looked down at me, crossing his arms. "I didn't expect to see you here. I thought you would be working from home."
"I spoke to Austen and Lily dropped me off here."
"I can give you a ride home now, if you want?" Concern gripped his face as he watched me silently.
I shook my head and smiled in what I hoped was a reassuring manner. "I'm good for now. I'm just doing some research. Did you know tickets to fundraisers at The Playhouse cost two thousand dollars each?"
"Do you want tickets to an upcoming event?" asked Solomon.
"No, I was curious about the event where Austen met Sophie."
"Two thousand dollars is nothing for a man with Austen's bank balance."
"Sure, but what about Sophie? She couldn't afford that on a gift shop salary."
"Maybe someone gave it to her? Or she won it?"
"I guess. Quite a generous gift. Who would give someone a gift like that?"
"An employer?"
"Do you give your employees gifts like that?"
"No. I give bonuses for extra good work."
"Mmm. I like your bonuses," I said with a wink.
"I don't think you'd like me giving those kind of bonuses to your colleagues."
I pulled a face. "Good point. Stick to cash. If you had a low salary, would you save up for an occasion that expensive?"
"Perhaps. If it were something I truly valued that I thought was worth the money it cost. Mostly, I'd focus on paying my bills, food and the basic necessities. Have you asked Austen?"
"I don't want to trouble him again today. There's no one else I can consult. I can't ask Zach because he's too scary and I can't call her former colleagues without appearing suspicious."
"Check her financial records."
"I already did. I would have noticed a withdrawal or a purchase of that size. She didn't have that kind of money. Have you ever been to one of their fundraisers?" I asked.
"I like the theater but not enough to plunk down two thousand dollars for one ticket."
"I was wondering more what kind of people attend those sorts of things."
"Have you ever considered asking your sister?"
"Serena? No. Why?"
"She tends to orbit esthetical affairs. If it's a pricey ticket, she might know something."
"Good idea," I decided. Not only did Serena like aspirational events, but she was also a happy social climber. Her ex-husband was the same, who unfortunately, happily decided to climb into bed with someone else. Despite having to endure the tragedy of a broken marriage, Serena knew he'd done her a huge favor.
Solomon said he had to make some calls and after he walked into his office, I checked my watch and called Serena. "Hello," she said. "I've been meaning to ask you for your pasta recipe. It was surprisingly good."
"Thanks!" I frowned, wondering what she was talking about. Then I realized. She was referring to my last-minute deli dash.
"Almost tasted store-bought but of course, you wouldn't do that when the rest of the family made all their dishes from scratch."
"Of course not," I huffed as I rolled my eyes and mentally scrambled for a plausible lie. "I perfected the recipe over many hours of practice. Too bad it came from a printout I got on the internet and accidentally tossed into the trash."
"Oh. Never mind. Why are you calling?" she snipped.
"I can't call just to say hi to my sister?"
"Uh..." Serena paused and I imagined her mental cogs whirring. "That's sweet of you. I'm very busy. You could stop by for lunch this weekend."
"Thanks. Of course I know how busy you are and don't want to keep you," I said, smoothing my way into the question I wanted to ask. "I wondered if you knew anything about the annual fundraiser that’s held at The Playhouse?"
"Of course I do. I went to one with Ted years ago. We saw the show and they served an elegant dinner afterwards with a jazz band that featured the most sublime singer. Ted spent the whole night handing out his business cards and the next month playing golf with all the subsequent new contacts."
"So… they're like business networking things?"
"More like a gathering of Montgomery's 'movers and shakers'. They only have one fundraiser a year and everyone who's anyone vies for a ticket. Ted got ours because one of the senior partners at his firm couldn't make it after they bought a whole table. Why? Do you have a case involving the next one? I could help you navigate your way through it. You'll need a new dress to start."
"By movers and shakers, you mean...?"
"Rich people, Lexi. I'm surprised Solomon hasn't taken you there yet. I'm sure some of the attendees are theater fans but a lot of business deals get signed there. Contacts are made. Being seen with the right crowd is free PR, if you know what I mean."
"I do."
"The bidding is blind so that's easy too. I'm sure people write down any old number even if they don't want the item on offer just to look more generous, but at least it results in a big wad of cash for the theater."
"Bidding?"
"To win the donated prizes. The year Ted and I went there, one of the prizes was a week in Napa, another was season tickets for the Red Sox, another was dinner and a night at The Marchmont Hotel, and a portrait painting and a whole bunch of other expensive things. Ted bid on the Red Sox tickets."
"Did he win?"
"Of course not. The winning bid was crazy. Ted just wanted to look fancy to his colleagues. The whole idea is to splash the cash very blatantly even if no one directly comments on it."
I scribbled the information on my notepad. "Thanks for your help. I appreciate it," I told her.
"Oh, well, yes, of course. And you might suggest that Solomon buy a table. Antonio will look great in a tux and I'll be happy to help you get through it so you don't look like Philistines."
"That’s so kind of you," I said dryly. After thanking her again, I disconnected.
A heavy feeling lodged in the pit of my stomach. The fundraiser was the place where people made deals. What if Sophie went there to make a "deal" with Austen? Was she deliberately putting herself in his sights? A pretty woman posing as someone interested in the same things he was? That could pay huge dividends from the investment of the ticket’s original purchase. It was such a horrible, cynical way to look at it. Even worse, it played into Austen's theory that Sophie wasn't the woman she said she was. I didn't want to confirm his suspicion but would if I had to. Was she a gold digger who figured out a way to siphon cash from a rich husband? Maybe, but didn't I have an obligation to the unconscious woman that was brutally attacked to give her the full benefit of my doubts? Her friends at the museum mentioned her passion for theater, so perhaps it wasn't entirely a lie. I couldn't question her until she could defend herself. All I had so far was an uncomfortable feeling that something wasn't quite right in Sophie Takahashi's life. I needed some proof. I had to be absolutely sure.
I checked my inbox again but found no message from Annie Woodley. Another thought struck me. I was still waiting on Maddox to tell me about the cash stash in the Takahashis' home. I called him, hoping he would have some fresh answers for me. When he didn't pick up, I left a message to phone me about any news.
While I waited, another bright idea crossed my mind and I decided to call The Playhouse. A man with a very low voice answered. I told him I was interested in purchasing tickets for the annual gala.
"We haven't begun selling those tickets yet, ma'am," he said. "I can add you to the 'interested parties' list if you like?"
"If you could just provide me with some information for now, that would be great," I told him, lacking any desire to be added to yet another mailing list. "My friends, Austen and Sophie highly recommended it. They actually met at the gala. Isn't that lovely?"
"Very," said the man, audibly uninterested.
"Perhaps you know them?" I continued. "Austen Takahashi? I imagine he must be a patron?"
"The name sounds familiar but I can't divulge the identities of our current or past patrons. A public list is posted on our website where you will also find the dates, time and the particular play they plan to debut for the next gala."
"And can I buy the tickets through that website too?"
"Yes and no. Our corporate manager handles all the ticket sales for tables, which we reserve for our esteemed business guests. Our priority list ensures patrons have an opportunity of at least twenty-four hours prior to the general sales. In addition to that, there is the competition we offer in the Montgomery Gazette for a free pair of tickets."
"Is the competition held every year?" I asked, making a note. "And is it free to enter?"
The man sighed as if my questions were irritating him. "Yes, every year. I think the contestants have to write a short essay about a personal experience they've had involving the theater."
"You mean, as an actor?" I asked, more confused now.
"Last year's winner wrote about her first time seeing a musical, which was a treat from her grandparents. Like I said, any personal experience with the theater. You can find all the links to the winning entries on our website."
I tapped my pen against the notepad. What if Sophie simply won her ticket? "Do you have a list of past winners?"
"You can also find that information on our website."
"Thanks so much for your time."
"Have a wonderful day," he sighed before hanging up.
I called up a new tab on my browser and searched for The Playhouse. The gala had its own subheading and it didn't take me long to find the answer. Sophie didn't win a ticket and neither did Zach. Nor was she given them by the actual winners who were all pictured in their evening dress at the events in the galleries. I checked the patron list too but didn't find any names I recognized.
Drawing a large question mark on my notepad, I moved onto my next call: Austen's secretary, Katrina Halliday. I felt weird about asking her probing questions regarding her boss but I couldn't ignore the lead. Zach raised the issue of her and Austen having an extracurricular relationship, although he could have simply been throwing out wild accusations. But that didn't mean there wasn't an element of truth despite Austen's counterclaim.
"Austen told me to expect you," she said, answering the phone. "Would you like to come by the office to talk?"
I blinked, surprised at the warmth in her voice. I expected her to be surly and insulting, or even cautious. "Yes, that would be great."
"If you could come now, it would fit well into my schedule. I have a meeting at three."
"I'll get a cab and join you..."
"Don't trouble yourself," she interrupted, "just tell me where you are and I'll send a car over. Austen said I should assist you in any way you need."
"Thank you!"
By the time I stepped onto the sidewalk in front of the agency, a black town car with tinted windows was idling at the curb. A man with black hair and a neat beard, dressed in a black suit and narrow black tie, stepped out and opened the door for me. "Ms. Graves?" he said, indicating he already knew my identity and was inviting me to get into the car.
"Thanks," I said, eager to enter as elegantly as I could, which would have gone so much better if I hadn't hit my head on the ceiling. The chauffeur pretended not to notice as he shut the door. While I buckled my seatbelt, he climbed into the driver's seat.
"If you would like some water or another beverage, you will find an assortment inside the central panel," he said, merging into the traffic before I could blink.
"Are you Austen's personal chauffeur?" I asked.
"I work exclusively for the firm but I am not his personal chauffeur as such," he explained. "The firm retains a small number of vehicles for the use of staff and clients when situations are not conducive for public transportation."
"Do you ever drive Austen?"
"Many times."
"What do you think of him?"
"He's a good boss," he said without hesitation.
"In what sense?"
"He remembers my name and never talks down to me. He even offered me other, more lucrative opportunities but mostly, I just like driving."
"What kind of opportunities?"
"He hired a tutor for any members of the staff who don't have a GED. I got mine. Some decide to take more college classes, which he also encourages, but like I said, I prefer driving. I'm good at it and I like being around cars."
"Have you met his wife, Sophie?"
"Ms. Halliday said you might ask that. I have. A lovely lady. A little shy. She helped my daughter with her art homework on several occasions."
"That was nice of her."
The chauffeur smiled. "She thought it was nice of my daughter to let her help. Mrs. Takahashi knows a lot about art. My daughter wishes her high school teachers were more like her. Here we are. Ms. Halliday will meet you in the lobby." The car drew up alongside a glass-fronted building with a central revolving door. The chauffeur got out and opened the door for me. Mercifully, this time, I managed not to whack my head. I thanked him for the ride and he smiled and nodded.
A few people milled around the lobby, looking relaxed, dressed in slacks and informal shirts and blouses. I didn't see any ties but a lot of smiles. I got the feeling this was a happy place to work, which made it better than ninety percent of the firms I temped for.
A tall woman, her black Afro peppered with gray and held back by a black band, was wearing mulberry pants and a pale pink blouse. She waited for me by the keycard machines that allowed access to the main building. She smiled when she saw me and walked forward, her hand outstretched. "Ms. Graves, thank you so much for coming. I appreciate your swift response on such short notice. I'm Katrina Halliday."
"It's no problem at all," I said, warming to her friendly demeanor and fabulous taste in clothing.
"I hope I can answer your inquiries. Austen has kept me pretty well informed of your investigation. I told him we should probably have spoken sooner but his mind has, naturally, been focused primarily on Sophie's wellbeing."
"You only came up as someone to speak to very recently," I told her as she swiped us through the machine. We took the stairs to the second floor and I followed her along a light-filled corridor.
"Austen mentioned his brother-in-law's accusations. I probably shouldn't have laughed but I did." She ushered me into an office and closed the door. Like the rest of the building, the walls were white, the carpet medium gray, and two wide windows overlooked a courtyard. A wall of glass with a door in the center, separated this office from the one next door. "That's where Austen sits," she explained. "We work in close proximity to each other, given my role, but privacy is guaranteed with the smart glass."
"It's a very nice office," I said looking around at the sleek furniture.
"It is," she agreed. Taking a seat on one of the sofas, she politely offered me the other. Someone left a tray with a carafe of water and two glasses on a low coffee table but I declined when she asked me if I cared for any. "So how can I help?"
"I'd like to start with Zach's accusation that you and Austen are having an affair."
"Jump directly into it. I like a forthright woman," said Katrina, nodding approvingly. "The answer is no. There never has been, is, nor will there ever be, an affair between my boss and me. I am Austen's assistant, and I like to think I’m his friend too, but neither one of us has the slightest inclination to pursue anything beyond that."
"Why do you think Zach would make such an accusation?"
"I only met Zach twice. First, at Austen and Sophie's wedding; and later at a company event that he crashed."
"What was your impression of him at their wedding?"
"He spent the whole time making comments about what people had rather than learning about who they were. He came off to most people as brash and crass although I think he amused some of the guests with tall tales of his Army days."
"Can you remember what he said?"
Katrina shrugged. "Apparently, he enlisted in his twenties. Did a couple of tours in Iraq, or so he said. He sounded bitter but I suppose many of our young servicemen and women underestimate what they ultimately sign up for."
Oh, boy, did I know that better than anyone! Fortunately, the Army and I switched paths at boot camp. "Bitter? In what way?"
"He whined the country hung him out to dry after he left the military. Barely any pension, no opportunities, and their 'thank you for your service' was nothing but a ‘warm glow with a cold sting’. His words, not mine. Then he said something that troubled me, not like the other things didn't."
"What was that?"
"He said moving to Montgomery was a new start for him and Sophie and he was very pleased that their fortunes had finally turned. Not Sophie's. Theirs. I thought it was an unusual choice of words but I convinced myself otherwise. I pretended Zach meant he hoped Austen would start some kind of charity or new initiative for men like him. Men who gave so much to the country only to receive so little in return."
"Did Austen establish anything like that?"
"It never came up again. I suppose he might have helped Zach privately but I'm not privy to Austen’s personal interests or transactions."
"Like his home renovations?"
"I liaise with his contractor, Mr. Ortega, on occasions, when Austen asks but it’s not my purview."
"Did you note any complaints from Mr. Ortega or his work crew?"
She frowned. "Nothing was brought to my attention. Mr. Ortega is always pleasant to speak with."
"What about the work event? You mentioned Zach showed up there too?" I asked. My purpose for being there was to ask Katrina about Austen and Sophie, yet Zach dominated our conversation and I was curious as to where it would go.
"It was embarrassing really. It happened during our summer family picnic for the employees, their partners and their children. We tried to make it a carnival theme with rides for the little ones and popcorn and hotdog stands and even a raffle. Zach caused a bit of a scene. He shouted at Austen and claimed as he was Sophie's only surviving family, he should have received an invitation to the affair. I don't think she told him about it at all. Plus, it was meant for the immediate families of the employees: their partners and kids, not their siblings. Anyway, Zach also tried to pitch his half-baked ideas to some of the suits, using his relationship with Austen as leverage. He drank too much and became belligerent. I called security to assist him home," she added with an eyeroll. "Austen didn't want him allowed on the premises again. He didn't discuss it with me but I know Zach embarrassed him."
"I can imagine."
"You know what really struck me? How unalike Sophie and Zach are. At first, I thought she was a little meek but gradually, I've gotten to know her. She’s very warm although a little on the quiet side. She's also terribly knowledgeable. Austen asked her to select all the art you see in his office, you know?"
"I didn't know. May I?" I asked, curious what choices a wife might pick for her husband’s office.
"Sure." Katrina stood and I followed her through the glass doors into Austen's office. She indicated a triptych on the far wall. "Isn't it lovely? Very modern, yet so captivating," she said as we gazed at the thick blue oils sweeping across the three canvases. "However, this is my favorite," she added, turning around and pointing to a much smaller canvas. At first, I wasn't sure what I was looking at but when I stepped closer, I realized it was a line drawing of two people embracing. The woman's head rested on the man's chest and their eyes were closed. It was simple and rapturous. When I glanced at Austen's desk, I realized it was directly in his line of sight. "She drew that for their first anniversary," Katrina added as we both gazed at it.
"It's beautiful."
"Austen bought her theater tickets and said her version of a paper gift was much better than his."
"Austen mentioned they met at the theater."
"Yes. At the gala. To think he never intended to go! And then he meets Sophie and they’re married within months!"
"He didn't intend to go?"
"No. I asked him if he wanted tickets after he purchased them the year before but he said he didn't plan to attend since he was too busy. However, the theater sent him a ticket as a gift so he decided to go ahead and use it. Didn't that turn out to be serendipity?"
I nodded. It was extremely fortunate and remarkable that he happened to receive the very ticket that placed him directly beside Sophie. Far too remarkable to call luck.