A Wedding To Die For

I grabbed my phone, called information, and got a number. A minute later I had the address and was heading north to Clear Lake City to visit the Beadfords’ place of business.

Their office was on the third floor of a shiny black building on El Camino Real not far from the Space Center. Beadford Oil Suppliers consisted of a large partitioned room with one small front desk where a dark-haired young woman sat keying on a computer.

“Can I help you?” she asked, not looking up.

“I’d like to speak to the person who’s worked here the longest,” I said.

My odd request got her attention, but once she got a load of me and my ugly puss, she couldn’t stop staring. Finally she said, “Um... are you sure you’re in the right place? This is a big building and it’s easy to get confused.”

Guess she decided my bruise somehow affected my ability to navigate through the world. “Sorry, I should have introduced myself. My name is Abby Rose and I’m a friend of the Beadford family. I’m here on Megan Beadford’s behalf.”

“On her behalf? For what?”

“Do you even know who’s worked here the longest?” I said, leaning an arm on the counter separating us. Daddy always said if you want to beat around the bush, answer a question with a question.

This tactic seemed to work because she said, “I think that would be Mr. Reilly.”

“Mr. Reilly. Good. I’ll speak to him.”

“Um... sure.” She glanced over her shoulder, but I got the feeling she might be looking for a security guard rather than Mr. Reilly. I never realized a messed-up face could become such a social barrier.

“Which cubicle is his?” I asked, not willing to be escorted out without getting what I came for. “I’ll just introduce myself.”

“He—he doesn’t have a cubicle, so—”

“Don’t get up. I’ll go find him.” I marched around her desk and passed about six spots occupied by men and women making what sounded like sales calls. None of them looked older than thirty-five. They would be no help concerning the distant past, but one of them did point out Reilly’s office. Guy must be a bigwig if he rated privacy.

Meanwhile the receptionist had come after me, but I beat her to Reilly’s door and knocked. A male voice called for me to enter and I opened the door.

The young woman had caught up to me and spoke to the man I assumed was Reilly. “This is Miss Rose. She says she’s a friend of the Beadfords.”

“Then by all means come in,” he said.

The woman shrugged and walked away.

Reilly rose from the chair behind his desk. A thin, bald man wearing a wide-lapel jacket, he had huge glasses covering nearly a third of his narrow fifty-ish face. But his purple and yellow tie? Wow. If it were a piece of art I’d call it “Nerd Rebellion.”

“What can I do for you, Miss Rose?” he asked, checking out my face with what seemed to be genuine curiosity rather than pity.

“Call me Abby.” I smiled and pointed at my cheek. “Ran into a door in the dark.”

“That was one nasty door,” he said, shaking his head sympathetically. “Do you have a headache? Because I’m getting one just looking at you.”

“No, I’m fine.” I noticed boxes stacked against one wall and another group on the floor next to me by the door. “Are you moving out?”

“Moving in. I’ve been assigned to this office now that... now that Mr. Beadford is no longer with us. Needs a good fumigation, wouldn’t you say?”

“It is a little musty. So this was Mr. Beadford’s office?”

“No, not his. Belonged to the young man who’s taking over for Mr. Beadford.” He sniffed several times. “Musty. Yes. That’s it. Better get someone on this. Might be mold growing in the walls.” He picked up a Palm Pilot pen and bent to tap on the electronic organizer sitting on his desk.

“So who is taking over?” I asked.

“One of the salesmen—though in my opinion the boy’s not ready to run a multimillion dollar business.” Reilly placed a hand on the back of his chair. “So how can I help you?”

“I’m a private investigator and Megan Beadford hired me to look into the matter of her father’s death.”

“They haven’t arrested anyone yet?”

“No, and I’m sure you can understand she wants to know what happened as soon as possible so she can put this matter to rest. Would you mind answering a few questions?”

“You don’t wear perfume, do you?” he said.

“Uh, no,” I said, taken aback by the non sequitur.

“I didn’t think so. Good for you. Because we’d have to make this a very short conversation if you did. I blame my divorce on perfume. My ex-wife never understood what effect her drenching herself in that stuff had on me. The sneezing, the headaches, the—”

“That must have been tough,” I cut in. “Now, to continue with our discussion.”

“How long will this take?” He glanced back at the computer monitor. The screen was filled by an Excel spreadsheet. “Because Mr. McNabb has me on a deadline and—”

“Holt McNabb?”

“Yes,” he said tersely. “You know him?”

By the look on Reilly’s face, I figured I wasn’t taking any risks when I said, “Unfortunately, yes.”

“He doesn’t understand people. No matter what faults Mr. Beadford had, he understood people. You need that trait when you’re in charge.”

“You sure do.”

He sighed. “It’s very stressful working for someone new.”

“I can see that.” I sat in a chair facing his desk.

He followed my lead and eased into his chair.

Before he could go off in another direction, I said,

“Do you have any idea why someone might have it in for Mr. Beadford?”

“He did have a... haughtiness about him, and I suppose that put some people off. But that’s no excuse to take his life.”

“Are you saying he wasn’t well liked?” I certainly hadn’t liked him much when I met him.

“Mr. Beadford was indeed well liked. Tough, but fair. And he paid well. Supplying stainless parts to the manufacturing and petroleum plants around here is a very competitive business and he knew the value of keeping his good salespeople.”

“And are you a salesman?”

“Oh no. I’m the accountant.”

The accountant. Had he been around when Laura Montgomery did her dirty deed?

I was ready to ask Reilly a few questions about the past, but apparently he wasn’t ready.

He said, “When we started up Beadford Oil Suppliers after the move from Dallas to downtown Houston we had a small space in a building where you could actually open the windows. These days you can’t find a place where you can open windows. Do you have any idea how detrimental it is to your health to be constantly breathing recirculated air?”

“Indeed I do. And how did Dallas compare? You said you worked there first?”

“You know, I hardly remember Dallas except for all the stress surrounding Mr. Beadford’s need for my expertise.”

“Stress related to the bankruptcy?”

“So you’ve heard about that. It was a very difficult time for everyone. I had to make sense of the mess that woman made and show Mr. Beadford how she did what she did so no one could steal from him again. And I succeeded.” He smiled, and I swear his cheeks touched the rims of those giant glasses. “I must say he never forgot. My Christmas bonus has always been generous.”

“You said that woman. Tell me about her.”