Chapter 26

26

I checked in with Phoebe to see how she'd been doing since I saw her last. She sounded better, and she'd even made an appointment to speak to a therapist about what she was going through. I offered to take her to lunch, but she'd already made plans with Foley, so we set up a lunch date for a few days from now.

After speaking to Donovan earlier, I noticed I had a missed call from Claudette. I wasn't looking forward to calling her back, even though she deserved an update on the progress I was making, or lack thereof. I wasn't far enough along in the investigation to give her the answers she wanted. And even though it had only been two days since she hired me, in her eyes, I was sure she would view it as plenty of time to uncover some solid information.

I entered the address of my next stop into my phone, and then I gave Claudette a call. We chatted for several minutes, and I admitted I'd found a note that led me to believe Cordelia had been spying on at least one of her neighbors. She asked if I thought one of them could be her sister's killer. I said I didn't know, which was the truth. I didn't. Not yet.

I gave Claudette a brief overview of Cordelia's notes, thinking she'd chime in and give me her own opinion about them, but she didn't. She said it was best not to point a finger in any direction until we were certain the finger was pointed in the right one.

I agreed.

We ended the call, and I pulled into a parking space in front of Eco Earth. The building itself was impressive, a three-story, polished white brick with oversized windows.

I entered through the front door and looked around. Several feet in front of me was the receptionist's desk. A young woman sat behind it, typing on her computer keyboard at warp speed. She was dressed in a simple black dress, and she wore a pair of big, red, round eyeglasses. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun and secured with a fastener that reminded me of chopsticks.

I approached her, and she didn't acknowledge me at first, her focus on the computer screen in front of her. Once she stopped typing, she looked up, and I noted the nameplate pinned to her dress.

"Hi, Nadia," I said.

"Hi. Can I help you with something?"

"I would like to speak to the person in charge."

She considered my request and then leaned toward me, removing her glasses. She looked me up and down like she was trying to figure out what I was doing there and why I wanted to speak to her supervisor.

"Is Tripp expecting you?" she asked.

"He is not."

"I'm not sure he can see you, then. He's a busy man. We have a lot going on here today."

"I understand," I said. "Maybe it would help if I explained why I'm here."

She nodded. "Maybe it would."

"My name is Georgiana Germaine. I'm a private detective, and I'm investigating a murder that took place in Cambria a couple of weeks ago."

Her eyes widened, and she perked up, her voice raising a few octaves. "Are you talking about the old lady who died in the library?"

"I am."

"I see. Why are you here?"

"One of the murder victim's neighbors works for Eco Earth."

"Which one?"

"Eddy Westwood."

As soon as I uttered his name, she sprang from her chair, pointing a finger in my direction. "You stay here. I'll … umm, I'll be right back."

Nadia rounded the corner, disappearing into a long corridor. I did what she asked, staying in place, drumming my fingers along the top of the desk as I waited.

A few minutes later, she returned with a tall, lanky man at her side. He was dressed in a dingy, white, button-up shirt, blue slacks, and white tennis shoes.

Nadia tipped her head in my direction, turned toward the man, and said, "That's her."

He walked toward me, extending a hand. "Miss Germaine, I'm Tripp Redding. Would you mind following me please?"

His tone was serious enough that I wondered if following him might be a bad idea. I did so anyway, walking side by side with him back through the corridor until he stopped at the elevator.

He stepped inside and turned, asking me if I would please, "Get in."

Once I did, he pushed the third-floor button, and then folded his hands together in front of him, remaining silent.

The elevator doors opened, and Tripp extended a hand, saying, "Right this way, Miss Germaine."

"I'd like to know where we're going."

"To my office. We'll talk further once we're there."

Tripp with his monotone voice seemed like a no-nonsense kind of guy, which was appealing to me in ways. I much preferred dealing with someone who was direct than a person who gave me the runaround.

He passed a few offices and then stopped in front of a door, swiping the keycard around his neck in front of a square, gray panel. The box's frame lit up a bright-green color, and the office door opened.

I stepped inside and looked around. The office took up a majority of the third floor, and most of it was unused space—carpeting with no furniture or accessories of any kind. In the far left corner, a desk faced the window. Through it, he had a perfect view of the parking lot, and anyone who was coming or going.

"Go ahead and have a seat, if you don't mind," he said.

"I don't mind at all."

"Nadia tells me you're investigating the Bennett murder, and you're a private detective?"

"I am."

"I understand the woman who died lived next to one of our former employees."

I was taken aback.

"What do you mean former employees?" I asked. "I was under the impression Eddy still works here."

"Why would you be under such an impression?"

"I spoke with Eddy's wife yesterday. He wasn't home at the time. When I asked her where he was and when she expected him, she said he was at work, and she didn't know when he would return home."

Tripp leaned forward, folding his arms over his desk. "How interesting."

"I feel like I'm missing some information here," I said. "Can you fill me in?"

"Not much to fill in."

If I wanted answers, it was clear I was going to have to do the legwork myself. "When was the last time you saw Eddy?"

"I haven't seen him in … oh, let's see now … has to be a couple of weeks, maybe longer."

"Any idea why Rosalyn would tell me Eddy worked here if he doesn't?"

"None at all. It's rather strange, don't you think?"

I did.

"When was the last time you spoke with Eddy?" I asked.

He was just about to respond, but he hesitated for a few beats. Then, "Ah, yes," like a lightbulb moment had occurred.

Tripp opened his desk drawer, taking out a large leather planner. He opened it, flipping through and running a finger up and down the pages as he read.

Several flips later, he said, "To answer your question, the last time we spoke was sixteen days ago. I remember the conversation well, including the date, because it was the last day I worked before I left for a family vacation."

"What did you and Eddy talk about?"

"Can't go into too much detail, as some of it was confidential, work-related information."

"What can you tell me?"

Tripp drummed his fingers on the desk a couple of times before starting. "Eddy came to my office to speak to me, and he was upset, flailing his arms, yelling. It was hard to get through to him. I've never known him to be so unreasonable before. It was a side of him I'd never seen."

"Can I ask why he was so upset?"

"There's an employee he worked with here, someone he demanded I fire. I don't feel comfortable giving you the employee's name, but Eddy said he wouldn't work one more day with the guy."

"Why not?"

"He was ranting, going in circles, giving me tidbits of information, but even then, it took a while before it all started to make sense. What I got out of the conversation was that this particular employee had offended him in some way by speaking to his wife."

"What did the guy say to her?" I asked.

"I'm not sure what was said, but I can imagine. Eddy's wife had dropped him off at work that morning, and this employee had a brief conversation with her. Then she left. From what I gather, some flirting had gone on—not on Eddy's wife's end, but on the employee's end."

"How do you know?"

"After Eddy came to my office, I spoke with the employee. He admitted he thought Mrs. Westwood was a real looker, and he'd told her as much. In his mind, his comments were fine. He wasn't aware that Nadia, our receptionist, had overheard the entire conversation. She confronted him and told him she thought the way he'd behaved with Eddy's wife was inappropriate. He laughed it off, saying something about her being too stuffy, which fueled the fire. She went to Eddy and told him what had happened."

"What did you say after Eddy demanded you fire the guy?" I asked.

"I said I'd have to think about it. I thought he'd simmer down, and we could revisit the issue once I returned from my vacation. I planned to bring both men in and see if we could resolve the situation. On my first day back to the office, I was told Eddy hadn't shown up to work since that day.

"Did you or anyone else call him to find out why he hadn't returned to work?"

"I assumed he quit and hadn't bothered to tell anyone. I felt bad about downplaying the situation. So, to answer your question … yes, I called him. Several times, in fact."

"Did you speak to him?"

Tripp shook his head. "Eddy never answered the phone. It rang and rang and went to voicemail. I left messages, but he never got back to me."

"You didn't happen to call his wife, did you?"

"No, I didn't, but funny thing is, your timing's perfect. I planned on calling her today."

"Why now?"

"A couple of days ago, we hired someone to fill Eddy's position. I asked Nadia to check Eddy's locker to make sure it was cleaned out. I planned on letting Eddy's replacement use it. When she opened the locker, she was surprised to find Eddy had left some things behind."

"Like what?"

"A couple of thermoses, a pair of shoes, two shirts, and a watch—a Rolex. All this time I figured he didn't want to show his face around here again, not even to gather his things. But I can't imagine leaving a Rolex behind. Can you?"