Margaret Grace - Murder In Miniature

Once we were both in lighter clothing, Maddie nibbled on one of the brownies we’d taken from Ghirardelli’s, while I arranged the printouts on the dining room table.

“I can’t believe you’re hungry,” I said.

“I didn’t eat all my sundae.”

“You mean you didn’t lick the bowl?”

“Uh-huh.”

Sheets of paper filled with charts and numbers were my least favorite thing to read, let alone study. My need to procrastinate was so great that I ate a snack of crackers and cheese myself.

Finally, we settled ourselves side by side at the table, Maddie perched on a stool so she could see the whole area. It had been a while since I’d had a glance at Skip’s copy of the material. He’d highlighted areas of interest, which made it easier to focus. We were starting from scratch.

I started with the headings on the columns. At the top of each sheet was the designation RFP Summary , followed by the name of the project.

At the bottom of each page was a boilerplate statement:

Reference numbers are to documents on file, specifying timeline for job completion. Proposals will be evaluated based on previous experience with similar projects, quality of previous work, time to completion, and cost. Scores will be assigned accordingly and the bidder with the highest score will be the awardee.

I also noted, in fine print, a statement advising vendors that they could appeal a decision within fifteen days of notification of rejection. I wondered if anyone had ever taken advantage of that right, especially Callahan and Savage.

Maddie and I each picked up a page for a closer look and read together, half out loud, half to ourselves. My first sheet was for an equipment upgrade on the heating and cooling system at the Duns Scotus in 2006. The RFP Issue Date was listed as February 6, 2006. The bids were submitted two months later.

Maddie showed me a similar breakdown on her sheet, with an RFP going out on June 13, 2005, and bids coming in three months later. There were seven bidding companies, with Mellace’s bid the second highest. Once again, Mellace had an asterisk next to its name.

“We’ve known this all along,” I said to Maddie (and myself), dejected.

Skip had processed all this information already, and Barry had as much as confessed these irregularities. I’d been hoping that with a closer look, I’d be able to come up with more, something that tied David directly to fraud. Barry had mentioned an upcoming major remodeling project for the Duns Scotus, but either the RFP for that hadn’t gone out or the printouts we had were simply outdated.

Reading these sheets, one could argue that Mellace Construction’s high bid was worth it because of their years of experience or excellent customer references. Or that Callahan and Savage’s low bid was balanced by poor qualifications of their staff or another criterion of which I had no clue. I had to resign myself to the fact that I’d come up with nothing new.

“Let’s check the e-mails,” Maddie said, sweeping the RFP summaries to the side.

We took our positions and focused.

The correspondence was much easier to read, being word-based instead of number-based. Almost all the e-mails were from David Bridges to Mellace Construction, a few to other companies that had won a contract.

“I guess it would look suspicious if Mellace got totally all the contracts,” Maddie said, at the same time that I was thinking it.

The text of the e-mails was all the same, except for numbers filled in, for the amount of the contract and the agreed-to start and finish of the projects.

I’d lost track of the number of dead ends in this case, while my friend was virtually a prisoner of an elaborate frame.

“It’s hopeless,” I said.

“Let’s not give up, Grandma. I’m not sure what we’re looking for exactly, but we might still be able to find it.”

I was sorry that I’d expressed my despondency out loud. To humor my granddaughter I put a positive face on and said, “Okay, let’s try another approach. We could make up a time line, putting everything we have in chronological order, whether it’s an RFP summary or an e-mail. Can you do that while I see about something for dinner? You must be starving.”

I was only half joking, since Maddie had been in a heavy-eating phase all summer, not that you could tell from her skinny body.

“I’m starving for something good, like pizza.”

“Ice cream sundae and brownies for lunch and pizza for dinner. I don’t think so. Try again.”

“Then can you make tuna casserole?”

Was Maddie the only contemporary eleven-year-old who even knew what tuna casserole was? “Tuna casserole it is.”

“With no peas, and lots of potato chip crumbs on top.”

“And you won’t tell your mom?”

“Duh.”

“Deal.”

The best thing about tuna casserole was that I didn’t need to look at a recipe. I had my own variation, adjusted to Maddie’s taste at three years old right up to the present. No pimiento or almonds, and cream of celery instead of cream of mushroom soup. I did sneak in a better grade of cheese than the original recipe called for.

I assembled the masterpiece and put it in the oven. In thirty-five minutes, we’d be set to go.

“Something’s funny here,” Maddie called from one room away.

I walked into the dining room and peered over her shoulder. “Show me.”

“Okay, see this line on the RPFs?” I saw no value in correcting her. “It tells you when the bids were asked for. So, look at this one, Project Number 20988, for fixing the air-conditioning units in the hotel. It has the date January 10, 2005.” Maddie plucked an e-mail from the stack. “Then here’s the e-mail letter to the Mellace company saying congratulations, because they got the contract for Project Number 20988. That’s the same number. But the date is December 29, 2004. That’s why I was confused. I was trying to put January after December. Get it?”

I certainly did get it. David Bridges informed Mellace of a winning bid and then sent out a request for bids ten days later. Was there a time warp due to New Year’s Eve 2004?

There was no Callahan and Savage bid on Project 20988, and it was a small Duns Scotus project, thus showing that David spread the fraud around, among different size bids.

“Are there any more pairs like this?” my voice carried an excitement that I know pleased Maddie.

“I don’t know yet. Let’s look.”

We created a most interesting time line, with three more cases of an RFP going out after Mellace was notified of the winning bid. I hoped what we’d put together constituted the kind of proof Larry Esterman had talked about, the kind that could put someone in jail, the kind that someone might kill for.

Walter Mellace moved up a notch on my list of suspects. All the nice things Barry and Rosie had said and thought about David Bridges were taking their toll, and I envisioned David’s deciding to play it straight, something Mellace would not be happy about. I was sure the LPPD would be eager to know my conclusions.

After I left a message at all of Skip’s numbers, Maddie and I sat across from each other over a steaming tuna casserole.

Maddie was beside herself with agitation, trying to talk with large mouthfuls of noodles. “I can’t wait to tell Uncle Skip,” she said, though I know she had only the vaguest notion of the meaning of what she’d uncovered and understood only a fraction of the concept of fraud, as perpetrated by Mellace Construction and their coconspirators.

“I’ll make sure Uncle Skip knows who the detective was this evening,” I said.