Murder in City Hall Page 2

  What hurt beyond mending was that Sarah started seeing someone else before telling Molly she was fed up with her long hours at the office, her bringing more work home, and her need to swing by construction sites on the weekend. Molly couldn’t help that she loved being a civil engineer. She thrived on working for a local municipality that was small enough to allow her to design a little of everything—roads, utility lines, site plans, and buildings. A typical firm would plug her into one specialty until she was bored out of her mind by her work. This way, work was a continuous challenge to prove that she could handle any project. She loved a challenge to her mind. A challenge to her emotions was altogether different. Emotions she would just as soon shove aside and not have to deal with. In all fairness to Sarah, Molly was surprised they lasted over three years. Typically, Molly wore out her welcome with women after two years when she began to lapse into indifference. “Well, at least I’ve never cheated on anyone.”

  Molly sighed as she walked through the long narrow living room and looked out the front storm door. She might as well watch for the return of the moving van as start something she would have to stop in the middle of. She waved at the woman across the street tiptoeing out in her housecoat for her newspaper. Most of her neighbors appeared to be retirees, which was good considering how little Molly would be home. They wouldn’t mind keeping an eye out for her or the house.

  She was almost at the end of the block. Her house faced a narrow street with a sidewalk on her side and a cul-de-sac just past her driveway. Her driveway went down at a forty-five degree angle from the street and ended with a concrete retaining wall anchored into the ground ten feet below. If Molly felt brave, she might park on the slope in good weather.

  Her Realtor swore that the previous owner had been able to make the sharp turn at the bottom of the driveway and park his sports car in the small garage. Molly wouldn’t attempt that maneuver with her Jeep on a bet. She glanced at the printout of the floor plan taped to the opened wooden door; the garage was barely eight feet wide. The movers teased her every time they came in, knowing she had already planned exactly where she wanted everything as it came off the truck. She didn’t mind paying them for back-breaking work, but she wasn’t wasteful of their time or her money. What amused the men was that everything fit perfectly. She managed to get room names on boxes if not a list of contents.

  She made the circuit of the first floor of the 1,300-square-foot house, killing time by pacing. As sure as she left the house for a quick breakfast, the movers would show up. She paused in the kitchen and munched on a Pop Tart she had thought to pack in the box with the coffee maker—the first appliance she had unpacked the night before. She glanced up to see if the cat had moved. “You can wait for me.” The only sound she heard was gentle snores from Dolly.

  The living room was rectangular with a fireplace on the long exterior wall and steps to the second floor on the long interior wall. She loved the six big windows spaced around the room taking most of the exterior wall space but leaving perfect locations for two-shelf bookcases to line the two exterior walls except for a break for the fireplace. A swinging door led into the original kitchen. The appliances were old but working, and that was all that mattered to her—it was not as though she would spend much time cooking. The Realtor repeatedly apologized for the lack of dishwasher and couldn’t understand that Molly didn’t want or need one.

  There was open space at the end of the counter for two stools in front of the radiator—perfect for dining. The door on the back wall of the house led from the kitchen to the deck that overlooked a tree-filled backyard with little grass to mow fifteen feet below. The other door in the kitchen led into what had been a dining room that Molly was going to use for her bedroom. She thought that a chandelier over her bed would make a good conversation piece even if a ceiling fan would be more practical.

  A small square hall separated bedroom from den and opened into a bathroom and the living room.

  The den on the front corner of the house had thin paneling covering plaster walls she didn’t want to know the condition of. The front wall of the den was a double window surrounded by built-in bookcases.

  Molly smiled. She knew she bought the house because of all of the bookcases. She had saved every book since she was a child—from her first Dr. Seuss books and paperbacks she bought from the Scholastic Book Club through the books she went to sales for now. Her mother taught her to read before she started kindergarten and Molly never lost her love of words on paper.

  Words had been the bridge that connected Molly and her mother to the outside world after Molly’s father walked out on them when she was eleven. Mother and daughter had lost themselves in school activities; Molly’s mother had been a teacher. During college, Molly’s reading was mainly textbooks—she kept all of them also.

  Upstairs were a tiny bedroom and half bath that gave her claustrophobia with only gable end windows and sloped ceilings. It would do for a guest room on the rare occasions she had company. The basement was dank and smelled of dog, likely to be ventured into only to use the washer and dryer.

  Molly also knew that she bought the house because it was small. She would not be able to have a “roommate.” She looked at Dolly. “I know, for crying out loud, to just say no to girlfriends for a while.”

  Dolly opened one eye briefly.

  Molly returned to the front door. She considered herself reasonably attractive—no great beauty but inheriting enough of the family’s Irish blood to give her thick chestnut hair, green eyes, oval face, and medium build. She kept her hair cut in a long choppy bob just above her shoulders so she could pull it back in a ponytail when needed. She wasn’t sure where the predilection for freckles came from, but she had just enough to be offered to play connect-a-dot in an entertaining fashion. She was five feet six inches tall, tried to keep her weight below 140 pounds, and turned thirty-five next month.

  Her father and his second family, as well as assorted cousins, were in Michigan and did not understand why she stayed in Virginia after attending college in a small mountain community. Molly knew that her mother’s grave in Michigan was why she remained in Virginia.

  Molly first worked for a private engineering firm in the same town as the college until she passed her professional engineer’s exam; it was the company’s practice to work license-seeking engineers sixty or more hours a week while they honed their college studies. She then accepted a job in a city of 45,000 that was halfway between skiing in West Virginia and sunning on the North Carolina beaches—the best of all worlds as far as Molly was concerned. The only challenge was taking time off from work to actually do something on the weekend besides sneak into the office to catch up.

  “At least I won’t have as far to drive now. I can even catch a bus if I hike up the street.” She was five minutes from downtown where she worked in city hall.

  Molly returned to the kitchen and squeezed between the stacks of boxes so that she was able to stroke the black and tan cat affectionately. “You and me, Dolly. Enjoy the few days I’ve taken off. I know Jack has projects piling up and waiting for me when I go back next week. Busy is good. Busy will keep me out of trouble.”

  Dolly gave her what Molly referred to as her mother’s over-the-glasses look, implying improbability.

  Molly heard the hum of the truck motor and knew the guys were on the way with the last of her possessions. It was good to be home. She was fine. She didn’t need Sarah or anyone else in her life. Molly was certain that Jack Sampson would keep her occupied.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Molly carefully balanced the project notebook, a legal pad, handouts, and cup of coffee as she left her office. She knew from bitter experience not to be late to Jack Sampson’s Monday morning staff meeting. Why he couldn’t wait until the middle of the week when most contractors weren’t trying to catch up on phone calls to schedule work for the coming week was beyond her. Of course, it could always be worse; he could really show his disdain of them and have the meeting late on Friday.
Likely the only reason he didn’t was because he was the one notorious for ducking out at lunch for a long weekend. Molly often fretted that she knew Jack too well, having worked for him almost eight years.

  She eased past the corner office and heard Jack on the telephone with his wife—the only woman he spoke to civilly. She didn’t want to understand that relationship and suspected that Shirley ruled Jack at home and Jack took it out on them at work. She went to the opening in the five-foot-tall partition walls just outside of Jack’s office. Donna Brooks rolled her eyes as she turned briefly from her computer screen when Molly whistled at her.

  “Agenda?” Molly asked.

  “He just gave it to me in longhand. I have ten whole minutes to make it look like he came in on time and ready for his own damn meeting.” Donna returned to the keyboard. She shook the short frosted corkscrew curls that kept her hair off her neck. Her dark tan was a result of a tanning bed during the week and working in her yard or vegetable garden most of the weekend.

  “We live to serve.” Molly chuckled when Donna raised her hand with middle finger extended.

  It was a well-known secret that the lowest-paid women in city hall were the very ones who kept the work flowing. Donna was ready for a promotion and Molly intended to help her despite Jack’s dependence on Donna in an administrative job.

  Molly continued along the short middle stretch of the U-shaped hallway. No one was in the staff kitchen. The small conference room beyond Donna was vacant; Jack held on to the space as a status symbol, preferring to hold private meetings away from his office. Molly glanced into the next office. Campbell Chamberlain was not at his desk. Molly worried about Campbell, knowing how he struggled with advanced rheumatoid arthritis and the drug experimentation by his doctor. She knew that the utilities director was trying to hold his work life together for two more years until he could take early Social Security retirement, as well as draw on his full city pension.

  She tapped on the partition end walls and waved as she passed the row of three departmental administrative associates; they knew she would come back later to chat. Frankie Mahoney and Rusty Witt were deep in conversation; Molly heard utility rates mentioned several times and didn’t interrupt the utilities accounts manager and the finance director.

  “Hey.” Molly stood in the doorway of Eric Blackstone’s office.

  His face brightened. “I won three sets of tennis yesterday. I love to pound my opponent into the court during the hottest time of day. My neighbor now hates me.”

  “Way to go?” Molly had given up trying to understand the way Eric thought. She inclined her head along the hallway—the large conference room was next door. “Come on.”

  “We have time.” Eric opened his briefcase. “New baby pictures.” He held up a thick envelope from the drugstore. “You were the one giving me grief last week for having none.”

  “You’re killing me with your timing. I’ll look at them later.”

  He waved the packet.

  “Bring them with you then. I’m not setting all this stuff down until I’m in the conference room.” She walked away, knowing he would follow.

  Eric was true to form. He bounced out of his office, holding a legal pad with one remaining sheet of paper in his teeth as he juggled the photos and pulled free the back half of his shirt tail. He ran back for the soft drink that constituted his usual breakfast.

  Molly looked him over as he entered the conference room. “Don’t even try to get away with that. I refuse to listen to Jack rail for ten minutes about the dress code.”

  “Come on, it distracts him from all the boring crap he brings back to share with us from executive staff meetings. Got an extra pencil?”

  Molly sighed. She glanced down at her outfit. Khaki suit with blue oxford shirt, low heel pumps—plain and comfortable, nothing to cause controversy. She carried a sharpened wooden pencil to back up her favorite mechanical one that matched the dark blue stripe in her shirt. She reluctantly surrendered the Black Warrior and made a mental note to bring two wooden pencils next week.

  Eric’s suits were at least one size too big for him; he preferred the longest jackets he could find. He looked like a boy playing dress-up in his father’s suits, much less trying to experiment with his shirt tail. None of them believed he was twenty-nine. He laughingly told them about the multiple hair products he used for thirty minutes grooming every morning to achieve the slicked-back look and bragged about spending more on his long black hair than his wife did on the baby.

  He kept the back and sides razor short with weekly salon trims but let the top grow below his ears so that it slicked back almost touching his collar. He was an inch shorter than Molly. He fit the mold of rising young white-collar executive with a wife who stayed at home with their six-month-old daughter. How they managed financially was beyond Molly. She persisted in the belief that he had a part-time job somewhere that he hadn’t reported to HR. She hoped it didn’t bite him later.

  “Before you distract me with the most beautiful baby in central Virginia, take a look.” Molly handed him a project checklist. “I worked on this at home last week when I was fed up with unpacking.” Molly felt protective of Eric. She liked him instantly upon their introduction two years earlier and knew that as a business major he was in way over his head in managing federal grant-funded construction projects. She had cut her teeth on construction projects while working for a general contractor during high school—full time in summer and part time during the academic year.

  “Damn, this steps us through everything needed for a construction project, from plan review to council approval, with a macro for cost estimating.”

  “One for each annual contract according to the way we take unit price bids from the road and pipe contractors.” Molly held out her hand for the photographs.

  He tossed the envelope in her direction. “I don’t see any difference in Erin’s expression from one photo to the next, but Robin swears differently.”

  Molly juggled the catch, not wanting to play fifty-two-photograph pickup, and frowned at him.

  He grinned. “You may have to help me stay awake during the meeting. The college kids are moving back into town. I hit all the bars last night.” He jingled his pants pocket. “You wouldn’t believe the money I make hustling pool games.”

  Molly flipped through the photographs. “Do you do anything at all at home to help with this darling child?”

  Eric shrugged.

  “I’m glad I brought more projects with me if this is all you two have to do on Monday morning. I can just imagine what you would be up to by the end of the week.” Jack Sampson strode into the conference room with an armload of file folders and copies of the agenda still warm from the machine. “Molly, put those away until your own time at lunch.”

  “That she always works through,” Eric said with a smile.

  Molly knew better than to defend herself. It only made the meeting last longer and end with the same outcome. It was wise to choose battles carefully in local government.

  Jack was one of those men who swore that his pants size had not changed in the last ten years. What he chose to ignore was the increased stomach bulge that overhung his belt. His body fat was out of control and his cholesterol levels barely within a safe range with medications. His diet was the only thing that hadn’t changed in ten years. He was fifty-one years old and looked sixty, often debated dying his hair but was concerned it would make the thin spot on the back of his head more noticeable, and wore shirts that tested the thread strength holding the buttons on the front placket.

  He glared at Molly. “About time you rejoined us. The GIS tech position is still empty. If you don’t fill it, I will. I won’t lose a position because we keep it vacant long enough to catch finance’s attention.”

  Molly jotted a note to herself. “I’ll have Ann pull the applications—internal first.” She made another note to check that Donna had her résumé up to date and posted with HR. Donna would be perfect to learn the geographic informati
on system from the ground up, then teach the rest of them in the community development department.

  “Did you get moved in, Molly?” Eric smiled at her across the table. He knew her scheme to promote Donna and the need to distract Jack from personnel matters. He also knew that Molly had just been through a breakup with her partner of three years and that her partner was a woman. The key was that Jack knew none of this for sure. Jack believed he controlled the women in city hall with his male prowess. Most of the women who worked on the same floor with him learned quickly to allow Jack that fallacy, among others. It was all in knowing how to dance backward to his awkward lead and still make him look good—pathetic but a means of surviving poor management.

  “I did, and I love being back in the city,” Molly said.

  “It looks better that way since the city pays your salary. Live here and contribute to the tax base that employs us all.” Jack shuffled through the stack of folders and shoved one-third toward Eric and the rest to Molly.

  Molly glanced at Donna’s color-coded labels—three new residential subdivisions, two building renovations, and one industrial site. The previous week had been average in new project applications for early fall.

  Jack tapped Eric’s two folders. “I heard about a new round of recreational grants opening up after the first of next year. You need to research those and check if any apply to the bike trail or playing fields being discussed.” He reached to the telephone in the center of the table and punched a frequently used extension. “Donna, join us in the conference room.” He dialed again. “Rusty, we’re ready.”

  Molly stared at Eric and raised her eyebrows. He shrugged.

  Rusty Witt strolled into the conference room, glowing with the dark tan he managed by playing golf year-round. His skin tone was the only way he could pull off wearing the garish sport coats he marveled at finding at sale price. Today’s jacket was school bus yellow. He grimaced at Molly when he took a seat at the table beside her. He leaned forward to brush off his trousers leg and whispered, “Sorry.”