CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I managed to slip into Robert Quartermaine’s empty office while everyone else was away at lunch. The FBI had cleaned it out of every last paperclip and notepad.
I put my tuna sandwich and water bottle on Robert’s—Rob’s—empty desk. I put the gallon-sized plastic bag I had brought to hold anything I collected.
Then I sat there, in the quiet, taking bites of my sandwich and thinking about where I might possibly look to find something the FBI had missed.
I tried to think like I did at home, when my car keys, or the TV remote, went missing. Where could a thumb drive be placed that it would be overlooked by the FBI?
I peeked behind the desk and the wall. It was dark and hard to see, so I got the tiny flashlight that Seth had gotten me for my keychain and flashed it down there.
I saw something white and fished it out with a large paperclip I quickly pulled open into a hook. It was only a scrap of paper, with a number scrawled on it. Still, I put it in the plastic bag I had brought with me to hold any evidence I collected.
Judging by the way they’d stripped this office, they wanted everything they could get their hands on.
I looked behind the filing cabinet. Nothing.
I opened the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet all the way and peeked on the floor beneath it. There was a small brown notebook there. I put it in the bag with the scrap of paper.
It could have been there before Robert Quartermaine, of course, but I’d leave that for the FBI to determine.
At last, I used my Nancy Drew and Harriet the Spy reading experience to try the most far-fetched hiding places. I ran my hands under the desk and drawers to see if anything had been taped there.
“Ouch,” I complained, when I got a metal splinter jammed under my finger. I put my bleeding finger in my mouth and contemplated not bothering with the last drawer. I nearly had a heart attack when Kecia popped her head in the doorway.
“What are you doing in here?” She didn’t seem unfriendly, but I definitely got the vibe that I was on suspicious ground.
“Trying to channel Robert Quartermaine’s brilliance while I eat lunch,” I said.
I grabbed my lunch bag and shoved in my water bottle, my empty sandwich bag, and the bag with the evidence I’d collected, hoping she hadn’t noticed what was in the evidence bag was not even close to a balanced lunch.
“Don’t let Dr. Stubbs catch you,” she said. “She’d hold it against you.”
I made a face. “Thanks.” Needing to change the subject, I randomly fished for a suitable segue and came up with, “Do you think you’ll stay here after you graduate?”
She shook her head. “No way. I want to go somewhere warmer.”
I could relate. The Maine winters were definitely getting to me, too. “Good luck on your exams next week, then.”
“Thanks.” She lingered. I couldn’t tell if it was because she wanted to talk, or because she was still suspicious about what I was doing in the office. “How’s the puppy?”
I smiled. “Jasmine is now an official member of the family. My kids adore her. My husband is bringing her to work with him, too.”
She smiled. “Kids and dogs, a natural combo. Phoebe would love a puppy, but our apartment forbids it. I’m glad we were able to get all the puppies adopted so quickly.”
“Who knew a fire alarm could make a great marketing gimmick?” I laughed. “How old is your daughter?”
“She’s almost two.”
“You don’t look old enough to have a two-year-old,” I said lightly. I meant it as a compliment, but it was the simple truth.
She shook her head. “Is anyone old enough to have a two-year-old?”
I thought about back when Ryan was two, when Anna was two. “No.” I shook my head. “Two-year-olds make us old enough.”
Reflectively, she gazed out the window at the bustling campus. “I thought I would always be a loner. And then Phoebe came along and I knew I’d do anything to give her a great life. Anything. Even give up sleep.”
We shared a laugh, and I felt her suspicion dissipate. “Good luck channeling Rob’s brilliance,” she said. “We definitely can use it.”
She turned to leave, but before I could relax, she said, “I almost forgot.” She came over to Robert Quartermaine’s eerily empty desk and laid down two sheets of paper. The top one had a single name on it, that filled the whole page: Quartermaine.
I had forgotten that I’d agreed to pick up the family at the airport. I wondered how they were feeling? Shock, no doubt. Grief, of course, but it showed itself so differently in different people. Would they be angry? Broken-hearted?
I suddenly wished Dr. Stubbs had given the assignment to Penny. I picked up both sheets of paper and read the second one, which had the flight and hotel information for picking up Robert Quartermaine’s family and delivering them to the hotel.
“Thanks,” I said, looking at the time. “I’ll have to go get them soon, won’t I?”
Kecia nodded. “Yes. It will probably take you all afternoon to collect them, and get them settled. Dr. Stubbs won’t expect you to come back into the office today, but do call and leave a message for me when you have them set up in the hotel.”
“Will do.” I frowned, grabbing my lunch bag and standing up. “I better see what I can get done before I have to leave for the airport.”
I stood at the doorway and watched as Kecia went back to her desk, thinking of that last, unsearched drawer bottom.
As soon as I was sure she had gone back to her desk, I hurried back to Robert Quartermaine’s desk, bent down and ran my hands under the last drawer.
To my shock, I found something. No, not something, I found the mother lode. A tiny, shiny, red thumb drive, stuck tightly to the drawer bottom with so much tape I had to kneel on the floor to pry it free.
James Connery was really going to love me. I started to put the drive in the evidence bag, but stopped.
First, I wanted to see if the drive had any information on prospective students that would make Dr. Stubbs love me even more. I wouldn’t cause any trouble for the FBI if I copied any files that would make my job easier. Not that I’d tell Connery I’d done that.
By the time I got back to my desk to work, Penny was already there. I thought I’d check the thumb drive when she took a break, but she didn’t take a break before it was time for me to head to the airport.
I’d have to check the drive tomorrow morning, before the memorial service. I could give the evidence bag to Connery then. I was certain he’d be there, searching the faces of the crowd to see if he could find the ringmaster of the identity-theft ring, and a murderer.
I wondered, suddenly, if they were one and the same? Or, maybe, just maybe, the brilliant Robert Quartermaine had been a ruthless ringmaster and that was what had gotten him killed?
Would meeting his family shed light on the question, or make it even murkier?
I parked the SUV in the airport’s short-term parking, hoping that Dr. Stubbs would reimburse me for the expense tomorrow. It wasn’t much, but every five dollars counted.
I realized, as I fretted over the amount in my bank account, that I was actually going to be paid for a solid eight hours today. It had been a long time since I’d known that feeling of a whole day’s pay.
I think I wouldn’t believe it until the money had actually been deposited into my account. I was surprised to discover I was quite so cynical.
Once in the airport, I stood in a spot where people flooding off the plane would be able to see me—and the sign I held that identified me as the one who was there to pick up the Quartermaine family.
I worried that I would miss them, or they would miss me. I’m not particularly tall, when it comes right down to it.
When people began to come off the plane and head toward the baggage claim area, I held the sign up over my head, just in case. I may have wiggled a little, I’m not sure. I had a sign over my head and felt about as conspicuous as a garishly lit Christmas tree.
In the end, it was easy to spot them. Three men who looked like varying incarnations of Robert Quartermaine, and one tiny woman who had clearly given birth to all of them.
I moved to greet them, “Hi, I’m Molly Harbison. Dr. Stubbs sent me to get you to your hotel. I’m so sorry about Robert. If there’s anything you need, I’m happy to help, please just ask.”
The tallest brother said, without a smile, “Point me to the person who killed our brother. That’s about all we need.”
“I wish I could.” I did, too. My reasons were more selfish, though. If James Connery knew who killed Robert, he wouldn’t need me to spy for him. Then I could concentrate on doing my real work and not end up fired before I even got hired.
The tiny woman took one skeptical look at me and said, “Honey, bring the car around so my boys can load in the luggage.”
I looked at the “boys,” who all looked at me, as if the small talk portion of the greeting was concluded. “We’ll be at the curb to meet you,” the one closest to me said. Then two of them trundled off to baggage claim, while the one who seemed to be the youngest stayed to escort his mother.
Okay. Grief can definitely take a pragmatic turn. Or two.
I did as she asked, and we found ourselves efficiently loaded up and on the road to the hotel in under fifteen minutes. I was impressed at the “boys” and their luggage-slinging ability. Not to mention the way they simply sat where their mother told them and said absolutely nothing, to me, to each other, or to their mother.
The vibe in the car puzzled me. These people didn’t seem like the typical grief-stricken family members I’d ever known before. They didn’t ask me any questions, except for the obvious one—who had committed the murder. It was as if they already knew most of the answers.
They seemed…I tried to put my finger on it. They were not so much angry, as determined. As if they could do something about Robert’s death. Something besides mourn him.
I suddenly wondered if James Connery had told me everything. Was Robert Quartermaine involved in the identity theft ring? He’d seemed like such a likable young man.
“I’m Molly,” I said, after I’d turned onto the highway for the short drive to the hotel. “I didn’t know Robert well, but I know he was well-liked on campus.”
Instead of acknowledging my statement, lame as it was, Mrs. Quartermaine commented, “I expected Dr. Stubbs would be here to pick us up.”
“She had an appointment she couldn’t cancel, I’m afraid.” It sounded even fishier when I said it than when Dr. Stubbs had said it. I really needed to make sure James Connery knew about the strange way Dr. Stubbs had avoided meeting Robert Quartermaine’s family. Not to mention the strange way Robert’s family was acting.
As if she’d picked up on my thinking about an FBI agent near her, Mrs. Quartermaine said, “I hear the FBI is looking into who murdered Robert?”
“I believe so.” I didn’t want to sound too knowledgeable, because normally I wouldn’t have known anything but what was common knowledge among the Admissions staff. The spy stuff could really trip you up if you didn’t think about what you were supposed to know versus what you actually knew. I comforted myself with the thought that a good gossip had the same problem.
Still acting like she knew more about what was going on than it was possible to know, she said, “I want to talk to them. Do you know who may be in charge?”
I was about to lie, and say, “No,” as we pulled under the awning at the entrance of the hotel. And then I saw James Connery standing in the entryway.
I pretended I was too busy putting the car in gear and turning off the engine while I thought about how to guide her to making the conclusion I wanted her to make. I was almost surprised she didn’t already know.
Hitting upon the perfect way, I said, “Do you think they may want to talk to you?”
She seemed nonplussed for about a micro second, and then she asked sharply, “Why would you ask that?”
I pointed to Connery. “Because that guy there looks like an FBI agent to me.”
One of Rob’s brothers broke the silence of the brothers and said, “I think she’s right, Ma. He definitely looks like a fed.”
James Connery pretended not to know me, but he did approach the tiny woman to help her out of the SUV, and introduce himself. “Mrs. Quartermaine? I’m Agent Connery from the FBI. We’re investigating your son’s death, and I had some questions for you and your sons, if you don’t mind.”
“I have some questions for you, too,” she said without skipping a beat.
His left eyebrow went up, just a teensy bit. The green eyes took in the family, skipping lightly over me. “I’ve taken the liberty of reserving the hotel conference room. If you and your sons will join me there after you’ve settled in, I would appreciate it.”
I went up to the front desk, gave them the reservation information, and reassured them that the university would be paying for the Quartermaine’s stay.
“I need a purchase order number, then,” the clerk said sourly.
“Of course.” I scanned the information that Kecia had printed out for me, but didn’t see a PO number on it. “Can you just get them into their rooms, please, and I’ll call and get that order number for you.”
She sighed, as if I’d asked her to climb Mount Kilimanjaro, and then caught sight of the very handsome trio of brothers. Suddenly, she was so busy flirting that I suspected I could have walked out without giving her any more information. Not that I would have done that.
I called the Admissions office, hoping Kecia would be there to pick up. She was.
“Kecia, I’ve delivered the Quartermaines to the hotel, but the desk clerk needs a purchase order number.”
“I didn’t give you that?” She sounded apologetic. “I’m so sorry.” She rattled off the number to me, and I wrote it down, repeated it, and thanked her.
“Molly,”
“Yes?”
“Please let the Quartermaines know that Dr. Stubbs has arranged to pick them up and take them out to dinner. She’ll be there at five.”
“Will do,” I said. “And you let Dr. Stubbs know that the FBI is interviewing the family in the hotel conference room, so they may be a little late.”
“The FBI?” Kecia sounded shocked.
“I guess they want to know if his family has any information about why someone would kill him,” I offered lamely. I kept forgetting that most people didn’t even know about the identity-theft operation.
“Right. Of course. I’ll let Dr. Stubbs know.” She said, “And you don’t need to come back in. It’s already past four. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
“Bright and early,” I said, trying not to think of what this airport side trip has cost me in terms of my competition with Penny, who had no doubt been powering her way through her stack of files all afternoon.
I hurried over to the elevator to tell the Quartermaines about Dr. Stubb’s intentions for dinner.
“Excellent. I will speak with her when I’m finished with him.” She indicated James Connery with a tilt of her head.
“Again, I’m so sorry. I’ll see you tomorrow at the memorial service.”
“Thank you, Molly. I appreciate your candid nature.”
Candid? I guess she meant the part about pointing out the FBI. How little she realized.
As soon as the elevator door closed upon the Quartermaines, James Connnery grabbed my elbow. “Find anything for me yet, Molly?”
I thought of the envelope of evidence that was sitting in my car, tucked into my lunch bag. “Yes. Do you want it?”
He followed me out, trying to look like we didn’t know each other. I gave him the bag of evidence. “I don’t think it means anything, but your guys missed it in their first sweep, so I thought you should have it.”
He smiled at me, the patented charming smile I was learning to ignore. “Good girl, Molly. Is there anything else?”
“That family seems more like they came to track down Robert Quartermaine’s killer than to grieve his loss at a memorial service.” I hadn’t mentioned the thumb drive. I would give that to him tomorrow, at the memorial service.
His attention focused on me, before he smiled again, this time the real smile, the one that told me I’d noticed something he didn’t expect me to. “They have some organized crime connections, through the dead Mr. Quartermaine. Supposedly, though, the brothers are all out of the family business.”
“So you suspect Robert of running the identity-theft ring?” I let my annoyance sound in my voice. “I could have used that information yesterday, when I was searching his office.”
“Someone was running the ring from the Admissions Office, we know that. But we don’t have proof that it was Robert.”
“Most of the staff is away this week, but it could be any of them. Do you want me to look in everyone’s office?” There was a good chance doing that would get me in trouble, so I hoped he said no.
“Not unless you see something suspicious. The activity we were monitoring stopped as of Robert Quartermaine’s death. That could mean it was him, or that someone killed him so that we’d think it was him.”
“Wouldn’t they have planted evidence on his laptop, and left it, then?”
He laughed. “You watch too many cop shows.”
I do, but I wasn’t going to admit that to him. “When does Martie get back? She’d give me better intel, so I can find what you’re looking for.”
“You’re out of luck. She won’t be back before we wrap this up.”
“You sound pretty confident, then, that it was Robert. Have you given up on Henriette Stubbs?”
“Investigating the Quartermaines gave me some useful information. Apparently, Robert wasn’t quite the happy superstar Henriette thought him. He was planning to go to work for the family brokerage firm in the near future.”
“I wonder if she knew?” I didn’t think so. “Maybe his death has nothing to do with the identity-theft ring, and he just made Henriette angry when he told her he was going to leave.”
I was certain I’d cracked the murder, for about ten seconds. Then I shook my head. “No. Henriette was at my mother’s presentation. We were all locked in together.”
He shook his head. “That doesn’t rule her out. Quartermaine was killed on his way to work. The killer hid his body well enough, behind a dumpster, that he wasn’t discovered until the dumpster was emptied.”
Too bad. I would have liked to know I wasn’t working for a murderer. “So do you want me to try to look into Henriette Stubbs’ office? She’s very neat. I bet any clues would be all neat and tidy, too.” I was getting frustrated. Nothing he told me helped me know where to look for clues.
“That’s a good idea. Maybe check out the Assistant Director, too.”
“He’s away, and his office is locked, so that could be tricky.”
“You can do it.” He spoke with conviction, but I didn’t know what it was based upon.
“Do you want to give me a few hints? Tell me what to look for?”
He shrugged. “Look for the least likely connections, in the least likely places.”
He tucked the bag of evidence I’d given him into his jacket pocket. “Who knows, maybe you already found it, and the answer is in here.”
Or in the thumb drive I still hadn’t given him. I looked toward the hotel entrance, so that he couldn’t read the guilt in my face. “Good luck with her,” I said. “She’s one tough cookie.”
He laughed, as if he thought I had made a joke. “You really need to join up, Molly. You’re good at this.”
I thought about his partner Martie, off on family vacation. I wondered how many nights of the week she ate dinner with her family. Maybe I’d ask her, when she got back from vacation. Just in case the job in Admissions fell through.