“Absolutely. Sorry. I do appreciate your diligence on all this.” I turn to cross over to where my agency people are clustered in small groups. I’m getting no eye contact, although I catch a glance from Chris and continue to the coffee urn, where Bonnie Jo is refilling her cup.
“Hey, Bon. Sorry to have to see you here, that’s for sure.”
“For a whole lot of reasons. Right?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Shhhh…hold it down, Tim. Not the time or place. I know everyone’s glad you’re here.”
“Really? Sure doesn’t feel like it.”
“Well, they can’t help but notice that the detectives seem to be talking to you more than anyone else.”
“Gee, Bonnie, I wonder why? I’m second in command, they know that I know everyone, and they assume I know everything that goes on at work. Which, of course, I don’t.”
“Sure, I believe you. You just better hope the others do.” She walks over to one of the groups.
I fill my cup and head over to Paul, standing there with Mo, Bill, Julie, and Chris. Mo breaks the awkward silence. “Hi, Tim, thanks for being here.”
“Of course, Mo. Of course.” My phone vibrates and I look down to see that it’s Tiffany again…
Tim!!!!!!!!!!
I sign the guest register on the way out. Is nothing sacred?
Chapter 21
By the time I get up to Grand Central, the schedule monitor next to the ramp to the lower level shows an 8:29 express to Croton-on-Hudson, track 119, downstairs, so I head down the ramp past the Oyster Bar—and here’s Tiffany Stone, leaning up against the wall like she’s waiting for me.
Of course. She is waiting for me. How the hell did she know I’d be here?
“Oh, Tim!” she bleats. “I am so glad to see you. I really need to talk to you!”
“Listen, Tiffany, I’m so sorry, but I’ve got to get home and don’t want to miss my train.”
“No, you listen to me! I’m scared. Scared to death. It’s awful what happened to Ramon.”
“How the hell did you know Ramon? I just came from his wake, for Christ’s sake.”
“I connected with Ramon one time when I was at the agency, and then I got weed from him sometimes, just like everybody else. I even resold some of it every once in a while. Now Ramon’s dead. And I’m wondering who’s next?”
Only way to describe the look on her face is somewhere between pain, fear, and anger. Which somehow makes her even more sexy.
“Look, Tiffany. I’d love to help if I could. But I can’t, not now, anyway. Not tonight.”
“Tim, if I didn’t know better I’d say you were trying to avoid me! After all these years!”
Shit. I can’t leave it like this…who knows what she’ll do next?
“Okay, I can see you’re in rough shape. Tell you what. Let’s grab a cocktail. Come with me. This will help, I promise,” and we head down to the Oyster Bar.
“Okay thank you, thank you.”
By the time I’m done with Tiffany it’s the 9:54 I catch, barely. At home, this time everybody’s long asleep.
I crawl into bed with Jean. Her back’s to me. I sense she’s awake. But no acknowledgment I’m here.
I take the hint.
Chapter 22
Next morning I’m walking back through Grand Central to catch the 6 train down to work and there’s cops all over the place. A hell of a lot more than usual.
My blood pressure spikes. I instinctively pull my carry bag a little closer. What the hell’s going on?
“Excuse me, sir,” I say to one of the cops standing next to the terminal clock. “Can’t help but notice you guys have, like, tripled up in presence here. Is something going on?”
“Can’t say, sir. Please move on. Have a nice day.”
Now what? Maybe it’s some kind of terror threat.…
I try to figure out what’s going on the rest of the way to work.
“Morning, Mo,” I say as I pass by her desk into the office.
“Oh, Tim! The detectives are back talking to us again. There’s been another murder!”
“Oh, sweet Jesus, Mo! Who? Has the entire universe gone mad?” She shakes her head.
I head up to my cubicle and Quinn’s sitting there waiting for me.
“Good morning, Tim.”
“Morning, Detective. Hardly good, though. I hear there’s been another murder?”
“I’m afraid so. But first things first. How are you doing?”
“Truth? Not great. This murder stuff is way too close to home. It’s seriously getting to me.”
“I’m sure you’re feeling it more than most, given your history and standing with Marterelli’s.”
“And now there’s been another one, Pete?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“So what’s this latest murder got to do with us?”
“Tim, a woman was murdered in Grand Central Station last night.…”
My knees start to buckle. Wonder if it shows? No wonder there were so many damned cops there this morning.
“She was an actress. And the reason we’re back here is she was a person a lot of you guys worked with a good while back.”
I suck in my breath. Here it comes.…
“Her name is Tiffany Stone.…”
“Oh…my…God! The original CrawDaddy girl! The one we put in their very first Super Bowl commercial?”
My world is officially fractured. The devil himself has decided to fuck with me.
“They found her in the basement of Grand Central Station—with a bullet through her mouth.”
I collapse against my desk, trying to collect my wits, and make some sense out of all this insanity.
But I can’t.
The second person I know has been murdered.
Chapter 23
Quinn’s not done with me yet. I sit on my desk for some stability.
“I feel your pain, Tim. You must have known her pretty well.” Is he trying to empathize with me?
“Not really. But I was on the CrawDaddy shoot back then, the first time I was with Paul. She was great. Hung out. Everybody loved her. Funny. Smart. Bawdy—in a good way. Hell, she ad-libbed half her lines in the commercial. It’s not right. Just…not…right.”
“So, Tim,” he looks me in the eye, “that’s two murder victims with connections to the Marterelli agency. Any thoughts?”
“Okay. It occurs to me that there’s something that could be helpful. Look, we’re a downtown, independent New York ad agency. Nearly two hundred employees. Highly creative. Break a lot of rules.
“So it shouldn’t surprise you that a lot of these guys smoke some marijuana every once in a while. Some of them a lot.”
He’s nodding his head. “No surprise there.”
“For all I know they’re into other stuff as well…”
Another nod. And insistent eye contact. Not exactly comforting.
“I’m not saying I was one of them. But what I hear is most people got their stuff from Ramon. I think Ramon might have been the office dealer, the guy they went to for their weed. And who knows what else? Everybody loved Ramon. Maybe that’s why.”
More nodding. He’s not saying so, but I can tell he’s still not surprised. These guys know more than they’re letting on.
“That’s fairly serious stuff, Tim. Why didn’t you share this with us earlier?”
He’s got me. “I should have, I guess. I really didn’t know for sure until just yesterday, and it didn’t make any sense to me at first.”
Is he buying it?
“Look, Tim. None of these things ever make any sense. Until they do…”
Yeah, but not before one more person in my quickly collapsing world gets murdered.