Lizz Lund - Mina Kitchen 01 - Kitchen Addiction! (15 page)

Shit,
shit, shit, I thought.  I really didn’t want to explain my Sad Clown face to
any coworkers.  So I ducked into the farthest stall, closed the door, blew my
nose hard again and waited for the occupant to come and go.

The
door opened, and I heard someone come in and run water.  I was beginning to
calm down.  I began to think that maybe I could come out into the open with
some kind of wisecrack and laugh my cosmetic disaster off.  I was about to come
out and face the gurgling music when I heard the door open again.  And
whispering.

“What
happened?”

“What
should have happened months ago.  That goof-off Bauser’s been put on the Plan,”
the other voice smirked.  It was Lee.  Big surprise.

“I
didn’t think Bauser goofed around.  He hardly takes a day off,” mouse voice
stammered.  Who the heck was this? I held my breath, pulled my feet up and
eavesdropped.

“Let’s
just say he’s finally been found out as being the world’s largest paperweight,”
Lee smirked.  “So he’s taking his weenie day off to decide if he wants to take
the Plan or quit.”

“But
he was working on his day off, taking care of the fire,” Mousie began.  And
then stopped abruptly.  Probably because Lee set her Shut Up Glare on stun.

“Yeah,
he was here.  And incompetent,” Lee snorted.  “The server room should have been
locked down.  He allowed the arsonist’s entry.”

I
didn’t think I could dislike Lee more than I already did.  I was wrong.

“Well,
anyway, who do you think will handle the server room?” Mousie asked.  “We’re
having a lot of data problems called in about the website and Bauser always
troubleshoots those between our servers and the host site.”

Ohmygawd,
Mousie was Maureen!   Sometimes I had lunch with her!  And we both kvetched
about Lee together!  I pinched my lips together and gnawed my tongue.

“Me,
of course,” Lee said.  “After all, I took a course in web management,” she
added smugly.

“Oh,
well, that’s good to know,” Maureen continued.  “I’ve already got clients
complaining.  Thanks for filling me in about Bauser.  I tried to find Mina to
ask, but I couldn’t find her.”

Lee
started to say something when Smyrna blew into the restroom.  I pondered about
slamming the stall door open Clint Eastwood style and letting them all have it
(“You need office supplies?  You need toiletries?  Go ahead! Do you feel lucky,
punk?”) but my leg was falling asleep.

Smyrna
announced, “Maureen, Howard is
looking for you.  He has the Buy-A-Lots executive in his office and they’re
screaming about the data downloads.”

The
three tsking workabees scuttled out of the Ladies’ Room.  I heard the door
swing open.  Then I heard Maureen’s voice one last time as they departed: “Do
you believe all this smoke? And, I swear, I think I actually smell bacon.”

I
unfolded myself, came out, rubbed my leg and washed my face.  And reminded
myself to keep my mouth shut and just chew if I ever had lunch with Maureen
again.

I
wandered into the kitchen in search of some high octane coffee and a sugar
buzz.  Since the server room’s right next to the kitchen, most everything was
either melted or smoked, with the combination of the fire, last night’s power
outage and it being a very hot summer.   I started a new pot of old coffee,
grabbed a semi-soft package of peanut M&M’s and munched.

Norman
shuffled into the kitchen.  We
stared at each other.

“Jeez,
are you alright?” he asked.  I explained about Flower and my scents. “Jeez,
maybe you could go home sick?” he asked hopefully.  I shook my head and explained
about Ma and Vito and the Non-Peaceable Kingdom complete with swatches.  “Oh,
me too,” he said.  “The girls are all home.  This is the week between music and
equestrian camps.” He sighed.  “So it was come in to work or stay at home with
my family.”

I
nodded sympathetically and we walked back to our cubes together, armed with our
respective vices: my caffeine and chocolate-fix, and Norman with his carrots. 
I understand Norman’s a vegetarian.  But I still think breakfast carrots are
weird.  Couldn’t he grab an apple or raisins or something?

We
parted at our crate openings to strap ourselves in our chairs, hook back into
the network and tap back into EEJIT’s network.  Or at least Norman did.  I saw
the note on my chair and sighed.

‘SEE
ME.’

It
was from How-weird – obviously.  In large, red 37-point ink.  I was surprised
he took the trouble to write it on a piece of paper, and not just my chair.  I
shook my head, grabbed a notepad and pen and trudged toward his office.

I
got side-swiped by the Ladies’ Room Regatta doing a fast shuffle off from
How-weird’s office.  I peered in and saw How-weird behind his desk with smoke
literally fuming in front of his face.

I
knew I’d contemplated Howard disappearing in some kind of Rumpelstiltskin
manner for a while now, but this was a bit over the top.  Dick Fellas, the
Buy-A-Lots exec, was sitting in the guest chair opposite Howard and choking.  I
looked at Howard and then at the pile of cinders under his desk, sending up the
very, very smelly smoke.

“Hi,
Howard,” I waved.  “Got your note… do you need me to order something?” I
faked.

“WHERE
WERE YOU?” How-weird shouted in 57-point, bold, shimmering italic purple at me.

“Umm,
well I got a cup of coffee, went to the ladies’ room; you know… normal
morning stuff…”

“YEAH,
WELL I GOT SOME NOT SO NORMAL MORNING ‘STUFF’ HURLED AT ME!”

“Huh?”

At
this point, Dick Fellas recovered enough to explain.  “Hello. It’s Mina, isn’t
it?” He frowned.  I nodded.  He looked me up and down and clearly looked
pained.  “Well, MINE-ahhh,” he drawled, “Howie here and I were discussing
yesterday’s concerns, when someone very rudely interrupted us during our
discussion this morning by hurling, ummm… a bag of burning fecal matter…
under Howie’s desk here.”

I
glanced down. Right under the very center of Howard’s desk was a smoldering,
stinky paper bag, an indentation on it indicating where Howard’s fat little
foot had been: he’d clearly tried to stomp it out.  That explained where the
fumes were coming from. And the smoke.  I was surprised the sprinkler in his
ceiling hadn’t gone off.  I guessed he must have put it out in time.  And then
I saw that the contents of the smoldering bag was splattered all over
How-weird’s shoes, socks, pant legs, wall-to-wall carpet, computer desk, walls,
and chair.  Eww.

“My,”
I said.  Howard gave a smoldering glare at me (no pun intended).  I shrugged. 
“Wanna paper towel?  Some Pinesol? Lysol? Clorox?” I asked.

“NO,
I WANT YOU TO IDENTIFY THE LOCATION OF EVERY PERSON IN THIS OFFICE AT 8:58 THIS
MORNING!”  Howard blared through clenched teeth.

“I
hardly think that’s Mina’s concern,” Dick said pointedly to Howard.  “After
all, I’ve called People to take care of this.”

Wow. 
He called People. I wondered what he thought I was.

“Actually,
Howard, that might be kind of hard, with the exhaust fans going and all,” I
said.

“WHAT
DO YOU MEAN?”

“I
mean, unless someone has to use their card to get through the lobby’s glass
doors, there’s really no way to tell who came in and when.”  Howard looked
apoplectic.  “Unless of course the building’s security guards remember.  Maybe
they’re taking some kind of notes?” I ended hopefully.

“CHECK
WITH THEM!”

“Ummm…
okay…  Just a hunch here, but I’m guessing this takes priority over the
insurance files?” I asked.

Howard
gritted his teeth so loudly I swear he could have ground wheat. 
“INSURANCEFILESPLEASETAKEPRIORITY!” Ugh.  I would have rather gone back and
interrogated Chubaka the Guard.

Just
then a couple of suits walked in.  And stepped back out gasping.  I looked at
Dick, who looked at Howard, who looked back at me.  I peered at the new suits. 
They both looked like they were from IBM, except they were wearing navy blue
instead of corporate dinge.  The guy, I didn’t know.  But I sure remembered the
redhead.

“Good
morning,” the IBM-esque guy said, holding out a business card to Howard and
Dick.

Howard
stood up to take the card and shake hands, but ended up stepping further into
the molten pile of poop.  There was a disgusting ‘sqwoosh’ sound, and the bag
puffed out yet more fecal fumes.  The IBM dude dodged back out of Howard’s
office into the threshold.  I wasn’t far behind him.  Dick look strangulated
but there was no room for him to escape, what with the throng in the doorway. 
Howard smoldered.

“My
associate and I were in the area, on a separate matter, but thought we should
look in,” he said through a pleasant smile.  Howard looked at the guy’s
business card, turned green and fell back in his pleather chair.

“Gosh,
you guys are really on it.  I had no idea the dry cleaning business was that
competitive,” I said.  Everyone looked at me.  “I guess you’re here because of
the smoke smells in the carpet and such.  And I’m sure Howard’s pants need a
really good dry cleaning now.”

Red
flushed.

“MINA,
WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? THESE ARE U.S. MARSHALS!” Howard shouted, waving
the IBM guy’s card at me.

“Really?”
I said.  I took the card from Howard and read it.  I stared at Red.  Had the
fumes gotten to me? I could swear she was the new girl I met at Mrs. Phang’s
Lickety-Split Cleaners.  Why else would I think she and this guy were peddling
door to door dry cleaning services?

“Young,
umm, lady,” the old IBM-like guy began, “I think there has been some
misunderstanding here.  I’m a U.S. Marshal.  And Ms. McMay is my associate.” He
smiled conclusively.  “We were just leaving town but read about the Buy-A-Lots
arsons, and EEJIT’s recent troubles.”

I
stared blankly back at him.  I really couldn’t see the connection.  Who didn’t
want to fling a flaming bag of poop at a Buy-A-Lots?  Or How-weird, for that
matter?  “Coincidentally, Ms. McMay is from this area, so she convinced me to
make a stop before we left,” the guy – Mike Green – said pointedly, indicating
Red.  He finished, “We’ll be on our way now.”

“Sure,
sure, no problem.  Thanks lots for your help,” How-weird replied, getting up
from his chair and wiping his foot on the carpet.  Real smooth, I thought. 
Ick.

Howard
and Dick gave the U. S. Marshal and Red a custom tour back toward the
elevators, with lots of backslapping on Howard’s part.  Poor Red.

I
shuffled down the hall and into Bauser’s cube.  I opened the pen drawer where
he kept his spare keys to his filing cabinet, and inserted a ruler.  SNAP! went
the mousetrap he routinely booby-trapped to break the fingers of snoops.  I
pulled out the dented ruler and adjoining mousetrap, opened the drawer and took
out Bauser’s spare keys.

I
went through Bauser’s files, which are really well organized, and took out all
the pertinent insurance files.  I also took out the hard-copy listing of
everyone’s hardware information, just in case there had been smoke damage and
someone insisted they needed a replacement.  Then I logged in through Bauser’s
system and used the company access codes to download more insurance stuff from
the admin directory onto a flash drive.  I closed out, gathered up the paper
files and re-locked Bauser’s cabinet.  Although I thought the point was
probably moot.  I thought about replacing Bauser’s finger-trap but figured I’d
probably lose a finger setting it back up.  So I pocketed the keys, and planned
on handing them back to Bauser when I saw him.  Which I hoped was soon.

I
got back to my cube and sealed the files in an oversized plastic overnight
pouch, since it was the only available unsmoked envelope in my cube.  I figured
this was safest since there were a bunch of odd/small sized notes in the files
that probably shouldn’t get lost.

Then
the non-heavens rained down on me.  And my cube.  And my computer.  And me. 
While the fire alarm sounded.  Apparently the fire alarm sprinkler system did
work.

Since
Howard had also decided last month that part of my duties as Office Manager
included being the resident Fire Safety person, I had to go cube by cube and
get everyone out of the building.  Which would be easy: I didn’t think anyone
was actually at EEJIT today besides me, Norman, the Ladies’ Room Trio, and
Howard and Dick.  Mr. Green and Red had left the building before we started
flinching in the showers.  So I grabbed the overnight pouch, then began making
my way up and down rows of empty cubicles and got soaked.  I held my hand to my
eyebrows Pocahontas-style so I could see across to Norman’s cube.  Norman was sitting at his computer with his towel draped over his head and his laptop. 
“HEY, NORMAN,” I yelled, “YOU GOTTA LEAVE! THIS ISN’T A DRILL.”

“I
KNOW,” he yelled back, “AND I’M WET, NOT DEAF.”

Oh.

I
clung to my pouch and purse and continued my rounds.  Even through the men’s
room.  Eeeecccchhhh.  Once I was done in there and had stepped out again, I saw
the IT lab door open.  Inside was Bauser.