Scam

That’s the problem with being a murder suspect. People snub you. Dinner invitations fall off. You just get no respect.”
    She cocked her head. “Are you all right? You’re acting kind of weird.”
    Well, that made it unanimous.
    “Sorry,” I said. “I’m not having one of my better days. So let me tell you what I wanted to talk about. I happen to be a stockholder in Philip Greenberg Investments.”
    She blinked. “What?”
    “Yeah. I was going to the meeting last night, but I got held up. Too bad. I understand it was a honey.”
    “What do you want?”
    “I was going to ask you the same thing. What is it you want? I mean, chairman of the board—why do you want to be chairman of the board? Do you want to run the company, or is it just for fun?”
    Her face darkened. “Why is it, when I want to do something, everyone’s all, Why do you want to do that? Grampa was the same way. I go to see him, I’m like, Tell me about your business. And he’s like, Why would you want to know that? It’s like, you’re a girl, you don’t need to know.”
    Oh, great. Here I was, once again, tiptoeing on dangerous sexist ground.
    “I admit that attitude is wrong,” I said. “But speaking of you, personally—do you have an interest in the company? Were you planning on running it yourself? I mean, what’s the deal?”
    “Why shouldn’t I run it myself?”
    “I didn’t say you shouldn’t. I was just asking if you intended to.”
    “That’s none of your business.”
    “Oh, but it is. Like I said, I’m a stockholder. I’m deeply concerned in the interests of Philip Greenberg Investments.”
    Amy Greenberg didn’t seem convinced. “I’m warning you,” she said. “You get out of here.”
    I took a step backward, spread my arms. “I am unarmed and not dangerous. I am the least threatening person imaginable. I seek only conversation. If you want, I’ll go call you from a pay phone on the corner. Though I don’t happen to see one, and that would be rather stupid. Now, is it me you’re afraid of, or what I might say?”
    Her eyes flashed. “You want to tell me, like, I’m not smart enough to run the company, I don’t have to listen to that.”
    “That’s not what I want to tell you.”
    “Yeah? Well, what then?”
    “I understand Miriam Pritchert was at the meeting.”
    “Yeah. So?”
    “Do you know her?”
    “No. Why should I?”
    “What about Marty Rothstein?”
    “What about him?”
    “Do you know him?”
    “Don’t be silly. He works for the company.”
    “I thought you took no interest in the company until your grandfather died.”
    “Yeah, but I told you, they were all after me, trying to get me to vote my stock.”
    “Un-huh. And what did you think of Miriam Pritchert?”
    Amy made a face. “Are you kidding? She voted for Marty Rothstein. Like, we women ought to stick together. But no, she’s all, I think Cranston would have wanted it this way. Like hell. Like he would have liked what’s going on.”
    “What’s going on?”
    “I’m not saying anything. But she shouldn’t have voted for Marty Rothstein.”
    “Uh-huh. You ticked off enough at Rothstein to fire him?”
    She frowned. “Who told you that?”
    “Is it true?”
    “Hey, like, where do you get these ideas?”
    “I’m trying to figure out the case.”
    “Case? What case?” Reminded, she backed away again. “That’s right. You’re a killer. I’m standing here, talking to a killer.”
    “Not at all.”
    She held up her hand. “You stay there. Stay right there. No, like, what am I saying? You don’t stay there. You get in your car and you go. Asking me questions. Saying you’re a stockholder. All, What are you going to do now, little girl. Well, I’ll tell you what I’m going to do now. I’m going to go inside my house. And I’m going to lock my door and I’m going to look out my window. And if you’re not gone, I’m going to call the police. Now, how do you like that?”
    I didn’t like that. I got the hell out of there.

44.
    M ARY M ASON BEEPED ME ON my way back from Scarsdale, and when I called in she had a message from Sergeant MacAullif. That was a switch—the guy actually wanted to talk to me. I hung up on Mary, made the call.
    “Better get in here,” MacAullif said. “Shit’s hit the fan.”
    And hung up.
    Nice guy. I had to either call him back—and probably have him hang up again—or drive all the way to Manhattan to find out. Not that I really wanted to find out. I mean, I’m on