Lizz Lund - Mina Kitchen 02 - Christmas Bizarre (17 page)

She looked at me.
“We all knew he was doing something personal in there, especially after the daily fight with the wife. We figured it was porn. But gambling? Who knew?”

“It sure looked like he lost a bundle.”

“Really? How much?”

“The screen was blinking $96,000.”

“Holy crap. You’re right. Do you think he had a stroke?”

“I would have.”

Madeline whisked around the corner and faced us. She pointed toward Hamilton’s door.

We nodded.

She opened the door and looked inside. We peered in behind her.

Yep, he was still there.
Dead as a doornail.

Madeline walked over to the computer, maneuvered the mouse from
beneath Hamilton’s death clasp, and closed the web page.

“Umm… isn’t that som
e kind of tampering?”

Madeline whirled around and glared at me. “The reputation of this firm will not be compromised by a momentary lapse in judgment.
Nor would this be respectful of Mr. Hamilton’s legacy with this office.”

Amber elbowed me
hard in the ribs. I coughed and nodded.

“Amber, I trust you will treat this with the utmost
delicacy?”

“Of course!”

“You must have had quite a shock. I’ll understand if you would like to take some compensatory time for the rest of the day.”

“Great!
I mean, sure, thanks.”

“It will be understandable if you wish to remain at home tomorrow.”

“Gee!”

“I’ll need to call HR to find out what to do next.
I mean, about him.”

We nodded in tandem.

Madeline made her way past us – and the corpse.

“Sorry to bother you,” I began, “but I was wondering if you don’t mind if I take my lunch now?
I could be back a little after two?”

Madeline swung around.
“Two?”

“Well, it’s
after one now, I got kind of delayed on account of…” I nodded toward Hamilton.

“Oh yes, of course. Never mind.”

“Thanks.”

“No, really, never mind.
There’s no need for you to return now.”

“Huh?”

“Just fill in your time sheet for up to well… I’ll be generous because of the shock. Let’s say one-fifteen. Then you’re free to leave.”

“Oh. Great. Thanks.”

Madeline’s shoes clicked away.

“Too bad you’re not full time
,” Amber said. “I bet you she would have comp’d you the rest of the day, and tomorrow, too.”

I stared at her.

“Well, better luck next time. Maybe I’ll see you around? I’ve got to dash – wow, maybe I can finish up my Christmas shopping!”

Clearly,
Hamilton’s life had made a lasting impression upon the staff.

Amber skipped away while I dug around for a timesheet to fill out and retrieved my coat.
I wandered around and eventually found Madeline on the phone.

She motioned for the time sheet and signed it, and pulled away her carbon
copy as she hung up the phone. “You understand that you are not to say a word about Mr. Hamilton’s internet activities, yes? This is a law firm – we could sue you
substantially
for defamation of character.”

I gaped at her.
I hadn’t deformed his character. He had. But I didn’t want to test the waters, either. “Gotcha.”

I walked into the lobby and noticed a conversation at the receptionist’s desk growing loud.
I looked. Myron was shouting at her.

“Nice try.
I know Hamilton’s in his office. He called me and told me to meet him here. You tell him I need to see him
now
.”

The receptionist rolled her eyes.
“I told you – our office manager said he’s been taken ill, and he’s gone!”

“Did you see him leave?”

“No…”

“Precisely.
I’ll wait right here. I’ll probably catch him on the way out to lunch.” Myron made himself at home in a leather club chair. The receptionist seethed.

Then he spotted me.
“You! What are
you
doing here?”

“I…”

The receptionist piped up. “She’s just a temp.”

“Who are you temping for?”

I sighed. “This firm. Mr. Hamilton.”

“See?” Myron pointed at the receptionist. “I told you he’s here!”

“In a manner of speaking.” I leaned against the wall. Wait for it.

“You see? He hasn’t left.”

“Nope. He’s gone. But not like on a trip.”

“Not like
on a trip?”

The elevator doors opened, and an EMT unit – not in very much of a hurry – rolled in
with a gurney.

“Oh my
gosh! Is someone sick? I better call Madeline!” The phone buzzed and she picked it up. There was a lot of uh-huhing.

I looked at Myron.
“I think that gurney’s for Hamilton.”

“You’re kidding, right?
Well, he gets points for being creative. But he’s not getting out of this one.”

“I think he kind of did.”

“What do you mean?”

The gurney
slammed back out, with a sheet draped over the corpse.

Myron stared as they wheeled
the body out. He looked at me. “Hamilton?”

“Yep.”

He drummed his feet on the floor and had a fit. “You killed him!”

“No
I didn’t! I just transcribed for him!”

“You probably gave him a stroke
!”

I thought for a moment
and considered an honest answer. “I think he did have a stroke. But it wasn’t me.”

Myron shot into the
next elevator, shouting loudly at the voices in his head. I pondered if he might be another stroke victim in the making.

I made my way back to the garage, realizing that cute high heels were not ideal footwear
for psychopaths or driving sleet. I found the van, wove my way down toward the pay booth, and waited in line, hoping my ticket wouldn’t stretch into the next hour. I was bobbing my head to, “All I Want for Christmas is My Two Front Teeth,” when I heard shouting. I looked up to see Myron and Dexter in full rant out on the sidewalk. Then Dexter sped off on his motorcycle. I shrugged. I guessed they’d figured out the hard way that somebody has to mind the store at all times and that they’d given themselves the same shift off again. Not too bright. But given my last encounter with Dexter, I locked my doors to be on the safe side.

I got home and found an equally chilly reception.
The garage door wouldn’t open. I walked around and unlocked the front door. The thermostat read sixty-five. I played with it. Nothing. I raced upstairs to Marie’s room to make sure she wasn’t frostbitten. Thankfully, her room has the southern exposure, so it’s the warmest room in the house. No worries for the moment.

I noticed
the light was off so I flipped the switch. Nothing. I closed the door and peeked into my room and saw the alarm clock was also off. “Great. A power outage.” I dug out the phone book and called the electric company to report the outage. I still can’t figure out how your phone works when your electricity doesn’t. Eventually, I got an actual person.

“Hold on
, let me check for you. What’s the address?”

I repeated my address and waited.

“That’s strange. We have no power outages reported in your neighborhood.”

“Well, you do now.”

“Can I put you on hold, please?”

I sighed.
“Sure.”

An eon later he returned.
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting.”

“No problem.”

“
There is a teensy weensy bit of a problem, actually.”

“Oh?”

“It appears that you are delinquent in your bill.”

“What?
I just mailed it!”

“You might have, but we never received it.”

“Can you turn the power back on?”

“After you make
your payment, yes.”

“It’s in the mail!
Are you telling me you stop services if a check is just late?”

He sighed.
“It’s a new company policy. We don’t wait for three months anymore. We mailed you a copy last July.”

“Who reads electric company junk mail?”

“I know, I know. It’s becoming very problematic.” He sighed again.

“So what do I do
now?”

“If you want the power back on quickly, I suggest you put the delinquent amount on a credit card.
Or pay cash.”

I gulped.
Cash was not an option. “What happens when you get my payment?”

“We’ll credit your account toward next month’s bill.”

Great. I got to pay my back rent and next month’s rent the same month. Fabulous. The VISA guys would be flipping cartwheels. “I guess I don’t have much choice.”

“No, I’m sorry.
You don’t. Just a minute while I get your information.” He took down my credit card vitals and we concluded.

“So when will the power come back on?”

“I think we can get this on by the end of the day. This is a residence, and not a business, correct?”

“Yes.
I live here.”

“In that case, you should be fine.”

We finished the closing banalities and I hung up firmly. I began to consider alternative venues for Marie for the evening. Vinnie and I would be okay, but frosted feathers wouldn’t be a good option for a cockatiel.

I dug around
and found a seven-day candle, lit it and said a prayer to the electricity gods to get us back up to speed, pronto. Then I looked around in the fridge, quickly, for lunch. I was starving. A half day of office work had done me in. I settled on a hunk of cold lasagna.

As I stood eating over the sink, I heard a key in the front door, and
whirled around with my mouth full. Vito lumbered in.

“Whoops!
Sorry, Toots. Guess I should have knocked.”

“Stranger things have happened.”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

Vito stepped cautiously inside the kitchen, and stared at the lit candle. “Wow, I didn’t realize you had a romantical date and all.” He glanced around furtively. “Where is he?”

I finished swallowing.
“There’s no one here but me.”

“Mweee Ooo!”
Vinnie amended this factoid with a direct editorial comment.

Vito scratched his head and shrugged.
“Whatever.”

I gave Vito the ground work re: tardy electric bill.

“The bums! Well, hey, I guess that explains it.”

“What?”

“Your mail.” He plunked an assortment of bills on the counter.

I felt my blood pressure hit the
ceiling. I hadn’t realized I had this many overdue bills. This was clearly becoming an unhealthy habit. I forced myself to peer at them. “What the?”

These were not new bills.
Oh, no. These were notices for the old bills I had already mailed. All returned with the word, “Counterfeit” stamped across the postage. I groaned at the thought of repeating the electricity hassle in triplicate – if not more.

“Wazzup?”

“I mailed these bills. Cripes they were already old. Now they’re returned, and I’m going to have to contact each one separately to make sure nothing else gets shut off.”

“You need cash?”

“Yes.”

Vito pulled out a roll of greenbacks that could choke a hippo.

“No!”

“I thought you said yes?”

“Yes, I need cash. No, I don’t need yours. At least not yet. I don’t think.”

“You want a ride to the bank?”

I shook my head. “No. I better get to Squirrel Run and get my pay from Hilda, and then get to the bank.”

“That makes good sense.”

I considered the time, made some mental departure notes to myself, and then got a bit panicked. “Hey, are you going to be home for a while?”

“Actually, we are.”

“Miriam’s over?”

“Natch.”

“Can you keep Marie over at your place? Until they turn my heat back on?”

“No problemo.”

I swaddled Marie’s cage with a blanket and schlepped her across our adjoined porches, much to her protest.

Miriam gushed and got Marie comfy
in a corner, away from Stanley’s reach. Then she turned feral after Vito explained my dilemma.

“The bums!
You should sue!”