The Heirloom Murders - Kathleen Ernst [65]
“You want to tell me what all this is about?”
Chloe sighed. “It’s probably about me being stupid.”
“Your prerogative,” Libby said. “Listen, though, will you be seeing Dellyn today? I’ve tried calling her several times in the past few days, and I never catch her.”
“Her Garden Fair is tomorrow and Sunday,” Chloe explained. “She’s been putting in extra hours on that.”
“Let me know if there’s anything I can do,” Libby said. “I’m worried about her.”
_____
Roelke was lying on his sofa that afternoon, listening to Duke Ellington’s Sophisticated Lady and thinking about his accident, when the phone rang. “That better not be work,” he muttered. He had the day off. He was in no mood to get called in. Without sitting up, he groped for the phone with his right hand. “McKenna here.”
“Roelke? It’s Peggy.”
Roelke closed his eyes, wishing he’d been called in to work. “Hey, Peggy.”
“How are you doing?”
No way was he going to tell her he’d spent the night in the hospital after rolling his truck into a ditch. “OK,” he said, and waited for her to say something else. Uncomfortable moments ticked by before he realized what she was waiting for. “Um, how are you doing?”
“Good, Roelke. I’m good, thanks.”
“Were you able to find anything about AgriFutures?”
Another pause. I don’t have the energy to chit-chat right now, Roelke told her silently. He didn’t feel good about that. He’d asked her for the favor, after all. Least he could do was be civil. But he didn’t want anything more than the favor, either. It would be all too easy to send the wrong signal.
Most of the time, he really did have no idea how to communicate with women.
“I was,” Peggy said finally. “I can assure you, Roelke, that AgriFutures is not in financial straits. They made a record profit last year.”
She named a figure that made Roelke blink. Holy toboggans. So much for the idea that Simon Sabatola might be in some kind of financial trouble. Unless he was hiding something huge, no way was a vice president of AgriFutures hurting for money.
“I’m no expert, but that sounds pretty good,” he allowed. “Did you pick up any insights into management?”
“Management?”
He chose his words carefully. “You know, management style. Does the CEO treat the employees well? Any scandals? I’d hate to put my money somewhere that …” He floundered. “You know.”
“No scandals, certainly,” Peggy said. “I wouldn’t suggest—”
“Of course not.”
Small pause. “Things may be a little unsettled there at the moment,” she said finally. “The founder died recently. He had two sons, both vice presidents. The Board of Directors is taking longer than expected to announce which son will take over the helm. The board’s split into factions, I guess.”
Oh, really? Simon Sabatola had said his ascension was a done deal.
“But I’m sure that will be resolved soon,” Peggy was saying cheerfully. “So, are you ready to invest? We really should talk about a diverse portfolio. Why don’t we get together?”
Roelke stifled a groan. “Well, here’s the thing, Peggy. I’m just home from the hospital. I rolled my truck into a ditch last night.” He held the phone a few inches from his ear until her exclamations had settled back into normal decibel range. “So at the moment, I don’t feel quite ready for anything social.”
“But I hate to think about you being all alone after that kind of experience! How about I drive up? I made some peach melba muffins this morning. I could bring some by.”
The thought of eating peach melba muffins—whatever the hell they were—while Peggy hovered and fluttered made Roelke want to crawl under the sofa. “Thanks,” he managed, “but the doctor said the best thing for me right now is sleep.”
“I understand. Call me when you’re feeling better, though, OK? You still owe me that coffee.”
“I owe you,” Roelke agreed miserably, and hung up the phone before he could get in any more trouble. Right now, he had his hands full with Simon Sabatola. It seemed really,