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He looked straight into the cameras and spoke firmly. “It is a testament to Mrs. Murray’s character that she inspired the kind of dedication from her workers evidenced by this videotape. My client, Jacqueline Blue, was rushing off to meet with famed novelist Jamal Hunt, who was waiting for her in the offices of Welburn Books.”
Flurries of shouted questions were flung at him. Why did Miss Blue hire you? What were Annabelle Murray’s last words? How long had Miss Blue worked for the deceased? Keith waited for silence and then continued with what was obviously a well-rehearsed speech. “Miss Blue is deeply distressed by the death of her employer, whom she held in extremely high regard. Like Mrs. Murray’s family, she is hoping that the killer is brought to justice as quickly as possible. I have nothing more to say.” He marched to his limousine with the reporters trailing him and shouting more questions. As the car drove away, the outdoor scene disappeared and the program went back to the studio.
Mama sighed. “What are you gonna do, Jackie?”
“There is nothing I can do except keep my head down and hope this all blows over real fast.”
“Be careful, honey. This is a real dangerous mess.”
“I don’t think anyone wants to hurt me. What would be the point?”
“Whoever did this might think you know more than you really do.”
That hadn’t occurred to me. The idea made goose bumps rise on my arm.
The next morning, I ran into Leigh Dafoe at the elevator bank. Dafoe was a native San Franciscan from a prominent family. She had glossy dark hair, keen patrician features, and a little body with even smaller bones. She looked me over from head to toe and said, with the same fear and suspicion that always radiated from her eyes in the presence of African-Americans, “We need to talk right away.”
“We need to talk right away” suggested that I was not going to start my day by meeting with our art director to continue an ongoing battle over a minstrel-show-type cover illustration which I refused to approve. It implied that a conference call I had arranged for nine-thirty was going to fall through. It hinted that I was about to be fired by the second-in-command for running away from our leader when she needed me to protect her from a grisly death.
I was trembling with fear as we were swept along with a horde of others into the elevator. When we stepped off the elevator at the sixth floor, I said, “Let me hang up my coat and then . . .”
“No. Now.”
It was like a death march. Staffers murmured “Good morning,” unable to resist staring at me as I moved swiftly behind Leigh through the corridors. Leigh unlocked her office door, slammed it behind me, and flicked on the lights. Without bothering to put down her briefcase, she came straight to the point.
“Craig Murray called me last night. He needs to know . . . I need to know . . . Sarah Jane needs to know . . . indeed, every employee at Welburn Books needs to know what you were doing at Annabelle’s place on the morning she was murdered.”
I didn’t want to answer Leigh Dafoe’s questions, but I was afraid of getting fired.
“I stopped by to pick up my appointment book. Who is Sarah Jane?”
“She is Annabelle’s sister. Are you saying that Annabelle was in possession of your book?”
“Yes.”
“How did she get it?”
“I left it at her house by accident two days before.”
“What were you doing at her house two days before?”
I wanted to tell Leigh about the Moms Mabley manuscript but Craig now owned the company and I was afraid to anger him by revealing his secret.
“You’ll have to ask Craig about that.”
The Thin Pink Line formed instantly.
“I’m asking you!”
“Well, I’m sorry, Leigh, but I just can’t tell you.”
“Why not?”
“I was sworn to secrecy by Annabelle. She didn’t want you or anyone else to know about the project I was working on.”
Silence.
“This is a real mess.”
