ASK MARTHA — THE EMBEZZLER

Written by Robbie Cutler, Published on 5/1/2009

Inspector Samuels had been even grumpier than usual when he called. “Crusher,” he said, “I need some help with this one.”

We met at the Village Coffee Shop that had recently moved into Starbuck’s abandoned storefront. Like the mall opening which it flanked, there wasn’t much pedestrian traffic. In fact, that’s probably why Inspector Samuels liked it. He didn’t exactly want to advertise the fact that he was consulting me about a case. Plus, of course, here he could use the discount coupons that had rained into most of the mail boxes in town while an indulgent postman looked the other way. Or maybe the postman had moonlighted and distributed the coupons illegally along with the mail—there are all manner of benign, everyday mysteries which go unsolved.

He sipped his coffee to cool it while I ordered a latte. When the hovering waiter left, Inspector Samuels leaned over and half whispered, “This is a tough one, Crusher. And it won’t be kept quiet much longer. Not with a payroll to meet next week.”

“What payroll? You’re starting me off in the middle of things, Inspector.”

“Sorry. It’s the Nolting Furniture Company. They are missing a cool twelve hundred dollars. Les Nolting, the president of the company, called me yesterday afternoon. I went down and interviewed him and talked with some key employees this morning. Matter of fact, I’m just coming from there.”

“What did you learn at the Nolting Furniture Company?”

“Well, the money went missing from the office safe. Sarah Kimble, Nolting’s secretary, had cashed a company check at the First National Bank the previous day, and placed the money in Nolting’s safe, as was the usual procedure.

“Only four people had access to that safe, by the way. Besides Les Nolting and Sarah Kimble, there were two other company employees, Joan Carstairs, the showroom manager, and Paul Brassard, company administrator. Carstairs spends most of her time showing potential customers around the showroom. Brassard manages the furniture wholesale purchasing, and the fleet of trucks—some fleet, I mean the two trucks—that pick up the company’s wholesale orders from the North Carolina manufacturers, and then take furniture that has been purchased from the showroom to customers’ homes. He also makes an occasional showroom sale, on a commission basis.”

“Those four people aren’t the only company employees, surely?”

“No, not at all. There are drivers, furniture haulers, and truckers. Some work full time and some are part time. I’d say about a dozen people in all, including Nolting, Kimble, Carstairs and Brassard, get their paychecks from the Nolting Furniture Company. But the others are not regularly inside the company office and showroom.”

“You said that payday is coming—that made the missing cash even more urgent, no?”

“Sorry. What I meant to say is that everyone gets their paycheck at the end of the month. Nolting told me Brassard had even worked out a scheme for direct deposit, but people liked to pick up their paychecks instead, so that was the practice. Employees got their expenses reimbursed at the same time. For example, meals and motel expenses during a run to pick up furniture from the manufacturer. There had been several trips this month, that’s why there was so much cash in the safe. Twelve hundred dollars was more than their usual reimbursement expenses. Anyway, employees normally pick up their paychecks and sign voucher receipts for their expense money, receiving that sum in cash.”

“Only now they won’t because of the theft.”

“That’s right.”

“Tell me your impressions of the four people you interviewed.”

“Les Nolting is a distinguished sort, expensively dressed. He inherited money—his grandfather started the company—and still has enough for his lifestyle, according to his banker and investment broker. He is the last one to have seen the money in his safe, when he arrived yesterday morning at nine. He is also the one who discovered the theft, when he came back from a long luncheon with his wife, at about three o’clock in the afternoon.

“Sarah Kimble, his secretary, is a new employee, replacing a woman who had worked for the firm for many years. Nolting speaks well of her efficiency; a good thing, since she has large college loans to pay back. She only left the building to get a hot takeout lunch, which she had ordered by phone in order to save time. She hadn’t been gone more than twenty-five minutes, she said, at the very most. Before that, she and Nolting had been in their office the whole morning.”

“What time did she get back from grabbing her lunch?”

“She left the company at one, and Paul Brassard says he saw her coming back around half an hour later.”

“What about Brassard?”

“Mid-thirties, maybe a bit brassy, snappy dresser, but a natural salesman. Nothing low-key about Brassard. He almost sold me a sofa during the interview, and he isn’t even the showroom sales manager!”

“And what about the sales manager? Joan Carstairs?”

“Dignified, professional, and smooth. I think she would have better luck than Brassard on really big orders. She can talk lighting, placement and styles of furniture. Mid-thirties too.”

“Where was she during the lunch hour?”

“She was sharing sandwiches with Brassard. There is an employee snack area off the showroom floor. There table in the snack room has a good view of the showroom, in case a customer comes into the building while the staff is having lunch. They would see it immediately and go attend to business. The company doesn’t close for lunch. It’s always open, nine to five, and seven o’clock on Fridays and Saturdays. Not that much furniture is being bought during this recession ...”

I thought for a moment, and then Inspector Samuels spoke again, “To anticipate your next question, Carstairs remembered that Brassard left the snack area just once, for five minutes, to answer the telephone.”

“That means that she was alone for the same period of time.”

“Yes. And he also remembers that she went to the ladies’ room, which is off the showroom, when they finished their sandwiches, just as Sarah Kimble was returning.”

“Any personal details?”

“Well, except for Nolting, the other three are single. But ...” he leaned closer and almost whispered, “… if body language means anything, Sarah Kimble has a thing going for the boss. I’m not sure he knows she’s alive, romantically speaking.”

“I guess this is where our friend Martha comes in. Frankly, Inspector, I’ve got a pretty good idea of who’s embezzling from Nolting Furniture Company, based on what you’ve told me. You’ve got a keen gift for details, but the personal observation is crucial. Maybe this is a case for Martha …”

“You got that right. She,” he turned red, “you, can sort these things out. At least, you’ve been able to do it when your readers write in. This is your chance to do it in person!”

He was referring to the fact that I wrote half the newspaper, mostly under my own name, Crusher Davis. But I also wrote the advice column, “Ask Martha,” and sometimes that gave me an opening that helped him solve crimes. A lot could be gleaned from the letters Martha received, soliciting advice. Our deal was that Inspector Samuels would keep my secret so long as I helped him with an investigation here and there. Nobody had to know that former All Conference football legend Crusher Davis, all 6 foot 6 and 235 pounds of him, was writing the Ask Martha column for the local newspaper.

“I’ll give it a try.”

In my Business Editor guise, it was easy to arrange an appointment at the Nolting Furniture Company. Les Nolting particularly appreciated the publicity, given the economic downturn. I didn’t mention the theft. The staff photographer took a number of pictures for the weekend edition.

“How do you rate your staff, Mr. Nolting?”

“I wondered if you would ask. Word does get around in a small town. They are good at what they do. My secretary is ambitious and does her work, but is not very interested in this job. Joan Carstairs is terrific. If I weren’t happily married, I could go for her. She’s a very smooth saleswoman too—just has the knack. Paul Brassard is productive and well organized. And I think he has a thing for Joan. Not that you asked.”

Joan Carstairs was all business. She confirmed what Inspector Samuels had already told me. But she added the detail that during their lunches, Brassard had a tendancy to make passes at her. Incomplete, I gathered.

Paul Brassard was the sort of guy I wouldn’t want at the other end of the counter. He was so persuasive that I’d end up buying something I didn’t really want.

“That Sarah Kimble is quite a looker,” I said.

“If you like the type.” Clearly, he didn’t.

Next, I was pleased to hear Sarah Kimble say “You’re from the Chronicle? It must be fun working with Martha.” She told me she was a regular reader of the column.

“Sure, and Martha always says that personal business on the job becomes company business, at some point.”

Sarah Kimble chuckled. “Martha is right about that ... not that Joan ever gave the boss any encouragement!”

I raised my eyebrows in interest.

“He used to buy her little presents, you know.”

“That doesn’t make for a happy workplace, in my experience.”

“It sure doesn’t. Poor Paul was furious—not only about Mr. Nolting giving Joan presents, but that she kept them. Paul’s had a crush on her for months. Maybe he wanted to up the ante, get her something extra nice. And he’s not the kind to do nothing about it.”

I had welcome news for Inspector Samuels. Ask Martha had solved another case.