Death Loves a Messy Desk (17 page)

I was annoyed that Pepper showed me the door without giving me any information about Barb, but at least Truffle and Sweet Marie were glad to see me. As we hoofed it down the stairs for their constitutional, Jack popped out of his apartment and waved both hands in greeting. He hopped on his bike and skidded out onto the street.

“Jack! I need to talk to you.”

He called over his shoulder, “Can’t talk, Charlotte, late for an organizational meeting. Catch you later.”

Not so fast, mister.

“At least you could introduce me to your friend,” I called back, pointing to the woman hurtling down our street at warp speed.

“Oh,” Jack said, stopping. “Sure.”

As the cyclist whipped up beside us and stopped by some miracle, she flashed Jack a grin that could rival Todd Tyrell’s for whiteness, brightness, and bigness. That cycling outfit had been designed with her long, graceful frame in mind. Comfortable yet clingy. How lucky is that?

“Hello,” I said, politely.

Jack shot me a look.

“Charlotte, I’d like you to meet Blair. Blair’s the chair of our organizing committee for the fund-raising race.”

Blair took off her helmet and shook out an amazing mane of blond hair. Even damp from her helmet, it managed to look very sexy. Without a break in the grin, she shook my hand. Bone-crushing grip, I noted.

“Hi, Charlotte. I’ve heard all about you,” she said.

“Nice to meet you, Blair,” I said. I did not say that I’d heard nothing whatsoever about her, even if that was true. “I hope the planning for the race is going well.”

She gave Jack a nudge. “How could it not be? Jack here is just an amazing inspiration.”

“Is he?” I said. Jack shot me another look. Oh well, maybe he shouldn’t have called me bossy.

“Later, Charlotte,” he said as they took off down the road.

“Nice seeing you, too,” I remarked as his Hawaiian shirt and her clingy sports gear vanished around the corner. Inspiration, my backside. Jack was one dropped sock short of complete chaos. Who was she kidding? Well, with all these so-called organizational meetings, I sure hoped he got everything right. Or she did. Or WAG’D might end up with its tail between its legs.

Never mind. I still had an evening to fill.

Switch to Plan B. As the doggies sniffed every tree and bush along our street, I tried Margaret on my cell phone. “Feel like a spontaneous dinner out? I can tell you about Pepper’s ultrasound,” I said. “And maybe—”

“Ultrasound? Ew. I mean, love to. Really. But, um, I have to work tonight. Urgent matter. Gotta go. See you soon.”

Right. I know when Margaret’s lying, too. She’s not as good at it as Pepper. Less practice back in the formative years, maybe. What was going on there? I had my suspicions. I tried Sally next, a bit reluctantly, because it was getting close to dinnertime, and that’s a pretty intense time of day at the Januscek residence.

“Rescue me,” she said.

“I’d love to. How about dinner out?”

“Can’t. I’m stuck here, with three howling kids. And the last holdout looks like she’s on the verge of joining the choir.”

“Is Benjamin there?”

“Long, tedious board meeting. The lucky devil.”

“Well, you’ve been in the house for too long. What about getting a sitter? What was that horrible noise?”

“That was me snorting in derision, Charlotte. There’s no way I can get a sitter for four small children on short notice at mealtime. How happily unmarried of you to even suggest such a thing.”

“No need to get personal,” I said. “I can come over and help you with dinner. Then maybe we could play with them for a bit and then put them to bed and—”

“Charlotte?”

“Yes.”

“Remember how that doesn’t always work?”

“Are you referring to the spaghetti-on-the-ceiling incident? Because, if so, it’s time to put that behind us.”

“It’s all coming back now. And no, it wasn’t just that.”

“The incident with the glue in the hair?”

“Mmm.”

“Not my fault. How was I to know they’d use craft scissors on each other?”

“Mmm.”

“It grew back, didn’t it? Anyway, I’m just trying to help.”

“Tell you what. I’ll get a sitter lined up for one night later in the week and we’ll go into the wide world as adults. But tonight, as soon as the last little head hits the crib, I am going to bed myself. With a box of chocolates and a mystery.”

Motherhood. I like kids, and I love Sally’s in particular, but I’m not very effective with them. I certainly don’t long for my own, and I consider a night at a trendy restaurant more rejuvenating than scrubbing finger paint off the walls. What can I say? Sally loves being a mom most times, and Pepper had been miserable until she knew she was pregnant. Maybe I was missing that gene. Margaret was, too.

My revised Plan B was to settle the pooches in, feed them, and actually for once make myself a stir-fry. I eyed the New York Super Fudge Chunk, but decided to save it for some time when Jack was available. I ate my stir-fry. It was all right, I suppose. I polished it off in front of the television. I didn’t care how many nutritionists I offended. Of course, I regretted it when Todd Tyrell loomed onto the screen again. Detective Connor Tierney scowled into the camera. Perhaps he’d already heard Todd’s words. Whatever the reason, even scowling, he looked a lot better than Todd.

Flash back to Todd’s magic teeth, flash back to blue car in wooded area. The crime scene tape was still fluttering gaily. I saw no sign of Barb Douglas’s anguished pacing in the background or of Nick trampling evidence. What kind of an update was that? A special information-free spot? Useless as always.

I clicked off the television and headed back to the kitchen, still caught up in the situation that everyone said was not my business. Why did I feel involved? Definitely not because of the unpredictable Fredelle or the socially inept Robbie. I washed up the one pan, one plate, knife, fork, and glass and put them away.

The expression on Barb’s face, that was what had hooked me. I’d seen how she looked as she raced away. I wanted to know what had happened to her. I wanted to know she was safe. I wanted to know her connection to the man in the Impala. Did it mean that she was truly in danger? Because there didn’t seem to be anything I could do about that.

When the kitchen was done, I kept busy preparing invoices for the previous month’s projects and put the copies in my tickler file for thirty days later to track them for payment. I took care of a couple of items from my master list, and I checked over the files of the projects I had going to see if I was on target.

I did not let my mind drift to Barb Douglas. I did not dwell on Quovadicon. I did not give a moment’s thought to Robbie and whether he’d been lying about not knowing where Barb lived. I definitely did not think about Jack.

When I finished my tasks, I decided to reward myself with a nice bath. That wasn’t so bad. I made myself a cup of pomegranate tea, ran the bath, and dropped in a mango-scented fizzy bath ball. One of the nice things about having an apartment in a converted Victorian house is that you can end up with a big bathroom, and I mean
big
. Mine was probably a nursery originally. So my kitchen may be the size of a phone booth, but the bathroom more than makes up for that. I placed my giant fluffy bath towel and my terrycloth dressing gown on the chair near the claw-foot tub and lowered myself into the warm welcoming water. I lay back and closed my eyes to let the tension of the day slip away. I wanted all the talk of bodies in trunks and missing IT people and suspicious boyfriends to float away. As Fredelle and Pepper and even Ramona insisted, it was none of my business.

I inhaled the scent of mango, sipped the pomegranate tea, and sighed happily. The dogs watched me from the bath mat, intrigued but cautious and close enough to the open door to bolt if they decided I was trying to trick them into a bath.

The tense muscles in my shoulders and neck began to relax. My eyes closed. My breathing slowed. Bliss. And I’d even had a decent dinner, making my quick trip to Han naford’s pay off, too.

My eyes popped open. Hannaford’s. Of course. That’s where I’d seen Missy, the perfect admin assistant who was on maternity leave. She’d been noticeable wheeling a basket through the produce section, smiling happily while two infants slept in a double carrier. I sat up, splashing scented water over the floor. Truffle and Sweet Marie leaped from the room and vanished.

When had I seen her? She was supposed to be terrifically organized, so most likely she had a shopping schedule. Once a week. My regular time was around four in the afternoon. A low-productivity time of day for my work and yet good for getting groceries ahead of the after-work rush. But it hadn’t been then. It had been a quick dash through to pick up diapers for Sally, who’d been marooned because Savannah had an ear infection. Last Tuesday? No, Wednesday. Hmm. That would be tomorrow.

I don’t work for free. I let people know that up front, and they sign a contract. If they choose not to proceed, they pay me for my initial time. This business has a lot of emotion in it, and people often change their minds. That’s code for chickening out. Easy to do, but I have to make a living.

I had an invoice for Fredelle, and first thing Wednesday morning, I headed out to Quovadicon with it. Oh sure, I could have put it in the mail. The odd thing about an invoice, particularly delivered face to face, is that the client often has a change of heart—in part to avoid paying for something they won’t receive, and in part because a little time lets the fear and anger dissipate. I have to admit that sometimes it’s an effort to face the person, but it’s important to be resolute. In spite of the lure of the messy desk, I wasn’t keen to continue my Quovadicon contract, but I had a small piece of information I wanted and I had been booted off the property. This seemed like the best way.

Autumn was on duty when I opened the door, the invoice already out of my briefcase and in my hand.

“Hey, Caroline,” she said, without any great interest.

Hey? Never mind business etiquette, had she totally forgotten that I’d been unceremoniously ushered off the premises just the day before?

“Can I help you?” Naturally, there was no great enthusiasm to match the interest level.

“I’d like to see Fredelle, please.”

Autumn looked puzzled. “Fredelle?”

I kept my sharp little tongue in check.
Never alienate the receptionist
is a first rule of business. “Yes. Fredelle, your office manager. I have something for her.”

“Oh.” She nodded sagely, as though that explained everything.

I smiled, patiently.

“Is she expecting you?”

“I’m pretty sure she isn’t.”

“Oh that explains it.”

“Explains what?” Having a conversation with Autumn was like fighting your way through an invisible verbal jungle; you felt caught in the tangle of irrelevant responses and general vagueness.

“Fredelle is tied up right now. I don’t think she’s available for the next few minutes, so while you’re waiting, I was wondering,” she said, “if you would mind filling out a little survey for me.”

I stared at her.

She said, “You are Caroline, aren’t you?”

“Close enough,” I said.

She gazed at me anxiously. “So can you do it? You can’t believe how hard it is to get people to fill these out. I am trying to do well at this job so my dad doesn’t force me to go back to some college. I hate school, and I really like it here. Sometimes it’s interesting, especially lately.”

No kidding
, I thought.

She handed me the printed questionnaire before I could think of a good excuse.

“All right,” I said, hoping it wasn’t a client satisfaction survey or one that sought to determine Autumn Halliday’s suitability for employment. I put the questionnaire on the small counter by the side of the reception desk. Still clutching the invoice, I fished out my pen. I placed my handbag and briefcase on the floor as there wasn’t enough room for them plus the questionnaire and the invoice on the counter. It was hard to feel satisfied with Autumn’s services, but I didn’t mean her any harm. I could always say
not applicable
, as I was a supplier and not a client.

She said, “It has to do with impressions.”

I said, “Huh.”

Autumn smiled in her hazy way and went back to playing with her hair.

I stared at the questionnaire, hoping I could deal with it.

Autumn jerked her attractive yet seemingly empty head and glanced behind her, leaning to see around the corner.

“Oh, there goes Fredelle now. She’s heading to the staff room. If you hurry you can catch her.” She smiled the way you smile when you’ve done someone an immense favor.