Ghost on the Case (Bailey Ruth #8)(30)
My uncle had a cattle ranch. A steer is a neutered bull. I gave a low whistle. “But George came to the luncheon.”
“A luncheon invitation was a command performance.” She hesitated. “I overheard part of a call. I think he was talking to George. He was pretty rough. He said . . . out of patience. We’re going to have a talk. He slammed the phone down. I had just come up to the desk with a folder. He looked at me. Susan, let me give you a piece of advice. I think you’ll go far—Wilbur knew I’d been working on a greeting card business and he encouraged me—and you need to remember: If the work isn’t good, move on.” I suppose I looked blank. He laughed, that big booming laugh. In other words, if you hire an artist who turns in lousy designs, it won’t matter how well the artist plays golf or how nicely she smiles at you, it’s out the door. Slam. Bang.”
Susan was likely right that Wilbur had been talking to George, but the golf reference interested me. Perhaps Wilbur was dissatisfied with his easygoing and likely unproductive stepson.
“How about Todd Garrett? I assume he runs the company day to day.”
“No.” The reply was quick and definite.
I was surprised. “Isn’t he the chief operating officer?”
“Todd and Wilbur were in high school together. Todd was a big deal then. Quarterback of the football team.”
I needed no explanation of the status that conferred in Adelaide.
“Wilbur was an ungainly nerdy guy from the wrong side of the tracks. A lot of the kids made fun of him or ignored him, but Todd was nice to Wilbur. Todd, well, I don’t think he’s very smart. To tell the truth, he was a figurehead. Wilbur made all the decisions for the business. Todd’s job was to speak at civic events and glad-hand everybody. Of course, Todd didn’t see it that way. Wilbur talked over everything with him, and the ideas were Wilbur’s, but he let Todd make announcements, send out directives. Sometimes Todd went out on a limb, made promises he shouldn’t have. Usually Wilbur could work things out, and he never embarrassed Todd or complained. Maybe Todd got to thinking he really was running the business. Anyway, the day before the luncheon I was coming back from an errand and I opened the study door, then I stopped. Wilbur was shouting. He said he damn well knew Fitch Enterprises was a tech company and nobody knew more about tech than he did and he didn’t need Todd telling him a SIMPLE Car wasn’t high-tech because that was the damn point and Todd making fun of Alan’s idea at the Kiwanis supper was disloyal to the company and he hadn’t made up his mind yet about the car but it was still a possibility and Todd better walk back any criticism he’d made, ASAP. I shut the door and went to the end of the hall. Todd came out. I guess I’ve never seen him without a grin. His face was red and he had his fists clenched and he stomped out the front door. Now”—and the words came quickly—“Todd was at the luncheon and he was being really charming to Juliet when I came in with the coins. Wilbur never held a grudge, so I guess everything was worked out.”
“Harry Hubbard?”
Her face lightened. “Harry’s the exception to the rule that you’re supposed to resent your stepfather. Wilbur loved golf, and Harry was always ready to play. I think Wilbur put Harry on the payroll—he’s in the PR office—mainly so he’d always have a game. Harry has the ambition of a sloth but buckets of charm. Even when Wilbur drew the line at buying him a Maserati, he managed to keep on Wilbur’s good side. Wilbur told me Harry gave him a salute and said, I know you have a big soft spot so I tried for a big one. Wilbur laughed and said, Harry never gives up. On his way out, he stopped at the door, grinned, and said, On my Christmas wish list, Pops. Wilbur thought that was priceless.”
Sylvie’s tone was admiring. “Harry’s cute. He wouldn’t hurt anyone. Can you imagine Harry figuring out a complicated way of killing Wilbur? He’s way too laid back to do something like that.”
Susan blinked in surprise. “How do you know Harry?”
Sylvie looked a little embarrassed. “Oh”—very offhandedly—“I met him one time when I came to see you and you were busy. We had Shirley Temples out in the garden. Last summer.” A mischievous grin. “I think his had gin in it.”
Susan’s face assumed a big-sister look.
Sylvie wriggled a little on the sofa. “I’ve seen him a time or two. He drops by the campus and we go for a Coke in the student center.” She sat up straight. “Now don’t tell me he’s too old for me. I’m eighteen.” She spoke as if an aged sophisticate.
“Harry’s too old for you.” Rather sternly. Then more equably, “But I agree that casting Harry as a villain is silly.”
I didn’t ruin this moment of agreement by suggesting that charm was no guarantee of innocence. More to the point was Harry’s obvious lust for the fine and the fancy, and he likely knew quite well that Pops wouldn’t put the keys to a Maserati in his Christmas stocking. Harry sounded like a first-class mess, but I wouldn’t be surprised if I, too, found him charming. What is it about good-looking men who make no secret of their indolence and expectation of pleasure?
I ended the diversion. “Alan Douglas?”
Susan was quiet for a moment. “I don’t know.” She spoke slowly. “Once Wilbur told me he admired Alan because Alan was like a bear trap, once he got an idea in his mind, he never let go, and that could be good. But you always had to remember with a one-track mind that you better both be on the same track or something would smash up.”