Part 22 (1/2)
”Thank you, Detective. I feel so much better now.” Ann slammed the phone down. ”The nerve of that jerk,” Ann fumed. ”He has the sensitivity of a scorpion.”
She wasn't well, Ann thought to herself, but cancer? She never mentioned going to the doctor. No! Marie wouldn't commit suicide even if she knew she had cancer.
She paced around her desk, unable to get over the detective's cruel detachment about her friend. Out of sheer defiant anger, she opened Marie's desk drawer, pulled out a cigarette from her pack of Winston's, and lit it. Smoke curled up the length of the cigarette and drifted into her nose and eyes, stinging them.
More deep drags.
Her irritated lungs spit the burning smoke back up and out her nose, triggering a coughing spasm she hadn't experienced since she had whooping cough as a child. She jammed the cigarette in the ashtray on Marie's desk and ground it into dust. After she coughed out all the smoke in her lungs, Ann ceremoniously raised the ashtray over her head and smashed it to pieces in the trashcan. She was seething and not satisfied with Detective Connell's refusal to investigate further. Marie wouldn't commit suicide-there had to be another reason for her death.
She pulled the suicide note out of her purse. Detective Connell had given it back to her since Marie's death was ruled a suicide. She read it over again for umpteenth time. These weren't Marie's words. She would have been more caring and used more loving expressions in speaking of the children. Ann stopped reading and clamped her hand over her mouth.
”Oh my G.o.d,” she said. The note's lower case 'o' had an open break at the bottom of the letter. She checked the spare typewriter and the spreadsheet machine. They weren't damaged nor was hers. Marie's typewriter at home was perfect-it was old but had no damaged lower case 'o' key.
She dumped everything out of her pocket book onto Marie's desk. Sorting through her car keys, house keys, checkbook, and makeup compact, she found Detective Connell's card he'd left with her. It took two tries to get the number dialed correctly she was in such a hurry.
”Detective Connell speaking, how can I help you?”
”This is Ann Blackmon again. I'm sorry about hanging up on you. The cancer was a big shock. n.o.body knew she was sick. But I have some information I think you should have concerning Marie Short's death.”
”I'm listening.”
”The lower case 'o' on Marie's typewriter isn't damaged like the 'o' on her suicide note. Her home typewriter isn't damaged. I've checked the typewriters in this office and they aren't damaged either.”
”What is your point, Mrs. Blackmon?”
”My point is she didn't type that letter, Detective.”
”She could have typed it at the library, anywhere. If she didn't, then who did? Mrs. Blackmon, I understand you're upset. But look at the facts: She was dying of cancer and took the easy way out. Being alone, she made it easier on everyone. She died of a prescription overdose. It happens all the time. Please save yourself some grief and get on with your life. You were a good friend to her. Let that be enough.”
”But, Detective, how could she know she had cancer? Marie never went to the doctor.”
”Again, I'm sorry for your loss, but that doesn't change anything. The case is closed.”
Too furious to respond to Connell, Ann hung up on him again. The only typewriter she hadn't checked was Joey's. Could Joey have typed the note and left it in her typewriter to make it look like suicide? Their relations.h.i.+p was volatile, but why would he want Marie dead? If Detective Connell wouldn't investigate, then she would do it herself.
Chapter 48.
”Bankstowne did not roll up its sidewalks or quit. It rolled up its sleeves and went to work to make sure the proud tradition of Bankstowne lived on.”
Spring 1966 Seventy-five degree breezes brought new life to Winston-Salem. A grove of fruitless pear trees formed a canopy of white around the sterile tin box of S & T Distributing Company. Pink dogwoods thrived nestled beneath in the shade of the mature trees. Throughout the city blankets of flowers, tall ones, short ones, hues of red, blue and yellow formed a montage of color unequaled by any artist's brush. Winter's death was gone, chased away by the fragrance-laden burst of spring.
Ann seldom spent much time in the warehouse while Jerry was alive. They talked and made plans for the future while he waited for the box cars to be loaded. Then he was gone. Hanging off the side of the lead car, he signaled to the mainline train that arrived to take the precious cargo to its destination in New York.
”What a relief to breathe in the sweet scent of the new season,” Ann chirped to Ronnie. ”Isn't this weather beautiful?”
”Yeah, for now. In a few weeks it'll be too hot to breathe in here with all the dust flying around.”
”Oh, come on. Don't be such a pessimist.”
”Easy for you to say. You ain't got to be out here in it all day.”
This was the life she had come to accept, at least for now. Unsure what her future would be, Ann quietly planned how she would change the monotony of her lot in this new life. The dock doors creaked, slowly disappearing into the overhead. As soon as they were up, forklifts darted around like water bugs on a pond, loading box cars with Sam's cash crop of contraband cigarettes.
”You had best stay out of the way,” Ronnie said on his way out to the loading platform. He took his job seriously, making sure the operators were careful not to burst any of the boxes open. Joey was harsh with him and the crew, docking their pay when cartons were damaged.
”I'll be fine. don't worry about me.” Ronnie was already beyond the range of her soft voice, barking orders of his crew.
Ann wanted to snoop around. In all the years she'd worked there, she'd never been inside the office tucked away in the far corner of the warehouse. It was Joey's domain and no one was allowed inside-not even Ronnie. She was sure it would be locked while Joey was in Was.h.i.+ngton on business with Sam.
There must be a way to get in there, she thought, dodging forklifts as she worked her way toward Joey's office. Tightly closed Venetian blinds hid his office from view in addition to burglar bars that protected the only window.
Ann tried the door handle. As she suspected, the door was locked. Above the door handle was a deadbolt lock. There was no other entrance.
Frustrated, Ann headed back to the front office. She'd put off clearing out Marie's desk long enough. It would be a good time to do that dreaded ch.o.r.e while things were slow in the office.
The side drawers were filled with old files from years past. Those could be interesting, maybe evidence. Ann started putting anything that looked official into an empty box she brought in from the warehouse. It was an official s.h.i.+pping container, complete with the stamped number of cartons of cigarettes it contained and its destination: New York City.
Marie's middle drawer, a catch-all for pens, paperclips, note pads, an open pack of cigarettes, and a romance novel she read during lunch. Little sc.r.a.ps of paper with notes scribbled on them were scattered around: Pick up milk and bread, remember coffee. Get keys made and order new lock.
Ann studied the last note then stretched her arm to the back of the drawer. It was shallow, and the top of her hand sc.r.a.ped against something sharp. The object scratched her knuckle, but she continued to feel around until her fingers touched something cold and jagged. She withdrew her arm, and a handful of dusty keys lay in the palm of her hand. She recognized the front door key and the key for the office door into the warehouse. Four remaining keys were exactly alike, probably for the loading dock doors.
A smear of blood seeped from the sc.r.a.ped knuckle. A wrinkled Band-Aid was among the odd a.s.sortment she'd scooped up from the drawer. With her wound properly bandaged, Ann turned her hand palm up and carefully examined the underside of the desk. Near the back of the drawer, again she felt the jagged teeth of a key taped to the bottom of the drawer. She pried it loose and examined it. This key was from a different lock manufacturer than the others and unlike the others whose edges of the teeth were smooth.
An Acme Lock Company logo was stamped on the handle. Ann's body tingled with fear and excitement. She realized what she'd found.
”What are you doing?”
Ann jumped at the sound of Ronnie's voice and wrapped her hand around the key before sticking her hand behind her back. ”Oh, just cleaning our Marie's desk.” Ann struggled to sound calm.
”Well, we're going to need some more boxes by next week. Marie always ordered our boxes. I guess that's going to be your job now, at least until Joey hires somebody new. Can you order'em? Marie always kept a copy of the invoices, if you can find one to tell you how many to order. Be sure we get'em in a couple of days. It takes a full day for us to put'em together and stamp'em.”
”Yes, of course. I'm sure she has the vendor's list here somewhere. Oh, Ronnie, did Joey tell you he was going to hire someone to take Marie's place?”
”Not exactly. That's what he's doing in Was.h.i.+ngton. Mr. Sam is pretty particular about who works here. He might send somebody down from Was.h.i.+ngton. Who knows? Joey don't tell me nothing. Sometimes I hear him on the phone if he leaves the door open. But that don't happen very often. I never seen n.o.body so secretive about everything. Anyway, thought you needed to know about the boxes.”
”Thank you. Oh, Ronnie, you mentioned once before that they had a big argument while I was off. What was that about?”
”I'm not sure. Every time she talked to Joey, it ended in an argument. She came out on the dock that morning. It was a Friday, I think. We were really busy loading up some cars and she wanted to talk to him about something. I think she wanted to leave early and Joey told her she couldn't leave. It was noisy so I'm not exactly sure what they were arguing about, but when they started yelling, I put as much distance between me and them as I could.”