Death Loves a Messy Desk (20 page)

“I’m sorry. I’m not trying to,” I bleated into the now-silent phone.

Too late.

I glanced at the time. Quovadicon was a good drive away, and this would be the start of what we call rush hour in Woodbridge. Still, I decided I wouldn’t be able to relax without knowing what she was talking about. Maybe it would clear up the mystery of Barb.

As I pulled into Quovadicon, I noticed only one car left in the lot, and it wasn’t a silver Camry. That was weird. There must have been a separate lot for staff parking that I wasn’t aware of. I hopped out and checked the time. Four thirty. A few minutes dealing with Dyan and I could get home and get back to the search for the cell phone.

The large glass doors were open. The lights in the reception area were out. I hesitated before going in, considering I was persona non grata with Fredelle.

“Hello,” I said, walking past the empty reception desk into the office area. “Autumn? Are you here?”

The lights were out in the boardroom and the main office area, but still on in Fredelle’s office. There was no sign of Fredelle, though, which was just as well considering the conversation we’d had the last time we spoke.

Where was everyone? It didn’t seem like Fredelle to depart early without making sure the place was settled.

Never mind; since Fredelle and I were both going to be involved with Therapy Dogs, we’d have to have a civilized discussion soon about what had happened and put it behind us. People say things when they are shocked and upset. Sometimes you just have to forgive and with luck forget. But anyway, I hadn’t come to deal with Fredelle or to talk to Autumn. I wanted to talk to Dyan as quickly as I could and then just get out of there.

I looked around. No sign of Dyan. And she was so nosy that she would normally be checking to see who had come in the front door.

“Dyan? It’s Charlotte. You win.”
Keep it light
, I told myself.
Don’t let on she’s getting to you.

It would be just like Dyan to sit smirking in her cubicle, like a nasty spider waiting for me to fly in. I stiffened my shoulders and stuck my head around the corner. But her work space was empty, too. The leopard-patterned trench coat was still hanging on the hanger, and her oversize orange patent leather handbag was sitting on her ergonomic chair. She couldn’t be far, that was for sure. She wouldn’t leave her money and ID for anyone to plunder. She didn’t strike me as the trusting type.

Maybe she was just playing games with me. Or in the heat of the moment, she’d marched off to fling the so-called information about Barb Douglas in someone else’s face.

Either action would be just like her. On the other hand, perhaps she was in the staff room having retyped a nasty note about the state of the fridge. That would be like her, too. I hurried down the hallway to get it over with, although by now I’d decided that the whole trip to Quovadicon was a waste of time and bad judgment on my part. Most likely Dyan had cooked up some nasty tidbit of gossip or indulged her talent for speculation.

I kept going even though I concluded it had been less than wise for me to engage in whatever nasty little game she was playing. After all, she didn’t represent the management except in her fevered brain and I decided to tell her that. As I passed the IT section, I noticed that Fredelle had arranged a pair of baffles blocking it from view. I peered in and noticed that the towering pile on Barb Douglas’s desk was lower than it had been the day before, partly because half of it was now lying on the floor.

Not your problem
, I told myself.
Keep going, speak to the mean lady and get the hell out. And next time, use your brain.
I peered around the staff room, expecting to see Dyan preening or scheming or whatever she did after office hours. But she wasn’t there, either.

I conceded defeat. I was about to head back toward the front door, mentally kicking myself. As I turned, I heard a strange scraping sound. I glanced around. Nothing. No one. There it was again. And a low moan.

Help?

Yes, I was sure I’d heard a soft gasp for help.

The hair on my arms stood up. My heart began to pound. Was Dyan likely to play a practical joke on me? What did I know about her anyway? Did she know how many terrifying situations I’d found myself in since I’d come back to Woodbridge? Did she think that would be funny? Maybe she was . . .

Stop hyperventilating
, I told myself.
This is just your imagination. There’s nothing to worry about. Run!
Okay, that was a bit of a mixed message.

Even if I did want to get out, I was in the back end of the office, with a moaning, scraping
something
between me and the front door.

I told myself it must have been something scraping on the roof, a branch perhaps. Or perhaps something in the warehouse. There’d be a foreman there, and maybe a lift operator, someone to help me check and see that the moaning was just my imagination. They might be parked in a different area. I pushed open the door between the staff room and the warehouse. I stared wildly around. No one. Not a driver, not a forklift operator, certainly not a foreman. Just a vast empty space. Worse, the doors were all closed and I had no idea how to open them.

Behind me, I heard the moaning again. Fainter.
Welcome to my horror movie
, I thought, with me playing the dumb one who rips off her clothes and runs into the basement at midnight.

Imagination or whatever, I picked up the phone in the staff room, selected line one, and pressed 911.

“I am calling from Quovadicon at 120 Valley Drive in Patterson Business Park. Something bad is going on. The building’s empty and there’s a strange moaning noise. I think someone’s injured or . . .”

“Charlotte?”

Why does it always have to be Mona Pringle? Didn’t anybody else ever take 911 calls?

“Can you send someone?” I said, making sure I got my message out before Mona got me sidelined.

“We haven’t heard from you in a while,” she said cheerfully. “Months. Must be the off-season. Ha ha.”

“It’s not a joke, Mona. Someone could be in here injured or . . .”

“Or what?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I just know that it feels all wrong.”

“I’ll need something better than that.”

“All right. I was supposed to meet someone here.”

“Oh yeah? Like who?”

“Well, not like that, Mona. I was supposed to meet Dyan . . .” I paused. I couldn’t remember Dyan’s last name.

“Uh-huh. And what makes you think there’s something wrong? Maybe she got delayed.”

“I didn’t expect the building to be empty. There’s no sign of her and now there’s this moaning and I can’t figure out where it’s coming from.”

“Hmm.”

“And then there’s the fact that her handbag is on her chair in this apparently empty building. And her jacket’s here, too. I can’t believe she’d go home without either of those things or that she’d leave them in the open in an unlocked building. Anyway, no one else is here, but there’s still one car in the parking lot. It must be hers.”

“You should . . .”

“Please don’t argue with me. Just send somebody. If it turns out to be nothing, I’ll apologize to everyone.”

“Sure thing, Charlotte. We’ve had a lot of demand tonight, but a unit is on its way.”

“She could be hurt. Send them as soon as you can.”

“I’m already convinced. Now in case something is wrong, you’d better go stand outside. Get in your own vehicle. You’ve found one too many bodies, Charlotte. You’re developing a reputation.”

“What if . . . ?”

“Unit’s on its way. Leave the building, Charlotte. Charlotte?”

I am not going to spend the rest of my life hiding under the bed as soon as I hear a noise
, I said to myself. Out loud, too. If Dyan was still there and injured for some reason, I had to help her. I didn’t have to like her, but I couldn’t just leave her for ten or fifteen minutes while the next available unit arrived. She was so nosy. I could imagine her standing on a chair to reach a tall shelf or snoop behind someone’s poster and tumbling in slo-mo. Maybe she was lying somewhere with a broken neck.

“Charlotte? Are you listening to me?”

“Sure thing, Mona. Stay on the line. Just in case. This phone isn’t portable. I’ll be right back.”

I thought hard. I’d heard the moaning after I’d passed the IT area. I pushed myself to move along the corridor. It was hard to believe a new building could be so creepy when you could still see the sun shining through the windows. It was only late afternoon, but the place had a midnight-in-the-graveyard feel to it.
Don’t be stupid
, I said.
This is not midnight in the graveyard. It’s just an office in an ordinary business. That sound is probably somebody’s radio and you’ll have to apologize to Mona and everyone else connected with emergency services in Woodbridge. Just check it out and put your mind to rest.
I paused at the entrance of the IT area and peered behind the baffle before stepping in. I resisted the urge to pick up the papers that had toppled from Barb Douglas’s desk. I stopped and listened. Not a moaning sound, more like a soft gurgle, but it was definitely coming from behind the desk.

I checked behind the desk, my heart thundering like a locomotive. Dyan lay in a crumpled heap, her head under the desk, her legs at a strange angle. Had she tumbled from the chair? I glanced up at the bookshelves. Nothing seemed out of place. I dropped to my knees and leaned forward. I touched Dyan’s back. She was warm and breathing. She moaned again, softly, not like Dyan at all. Alive, but not conscious. I stroked her head and said, “Don’t worry. Help is on the way.”

I got to my feet, somewhat shakily. That’s when I saw the blood on my hands. It seemed to be on my knees, too. I forced myself to wobble back to the staff room and yell into the phone. “Mona!”

Mona yelled back down the line, “What?”

“It’s her! It’s Dyan. She’s badly hurt. Get that unit here as fast as you can. She’s alive, but she’s bleeding. I’m—”

Unconscious as it turned out.