Murder at Fire Bay (24 page)

I thanked him for the offer and told him I would see how things went; maybe I could go. I meandered back to the office to do paperwork and to think about the next step investigation of Gloria’s murder. I heard the back door slam and checked my watch: eight-thirty a.m. Time for the second crew to be at work. I got up from my desk and peeked out my office door. Good, Ashley was at work, on time. Would wonders never cease? Back at my desk I took another slug of my cold coffee and made a mental note that if I was to be here on a permanent basis, I would definitely need my own pot.

The office door slammed open and then slammed shut. In came Martha, face full of fury and hell bent for leather. She slammed her clipboard down on my desk and stood towering above me.

“Mr. Bronski, do you have any control over that woman? Any at all?”

I took a deep breath and resolved to hold my anger. Now was not the time to reprimand someone for not knocking. “What seems to be the problem, Martha?”

She paused, trying, I suspected, to gather her wits. “She’s . . . she’s doing it again! She’s following everyone around, especially me! And if she doesn’t stop it, I’m going to knock her in the chops!”

“Martha, you don’t want to do that. You would end up in jail,” I said, trying to be as calm as possible. I waited a few seconds before going on, hoping she would settle down.

“I’ll have a word with her.”

She snorted. “Yeah, that’s all you ever do. Does she have something on you? Because your so-called talks never, but never, do any good. People out there are tired of it. We have one of the best production records in Alaska, and you cannot get blood out of a turnip. Does that ring any of your bells, Mr. Bronski?”

I was just about to tell her that insubordination wasn’t going to look good on her record, when she picked up her clipboard and walked out, the door slamming even louder than before.
 

I sat back in my chair. Ashley was bringing the house down. A phone call was in order.
 

Without further ado, I dug my cell phone out of its pocket and dialed. “Yeah?”

“Boss, it’s me, Leo.”

“Uh huh.”

“Sir, we have to get Ashley out of here. She’s causing morale problems here.”

“What’s she doing?”

“She ís following people around. It’s making them nervous.”

There was a slurping sound, which meant the cigar was being moved around.

“So handle it, Bronski.”

“Can I fire her?”

“No, Bronski. You have to find some other way to handle her. Look, I gotta go.”

There was the usual click and the phone went dead. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he didn’t want to talk to me. Why would my boss want to avoid talking to me?

I had to talk to somebody. Maybe old Crouch would talk. I dialed his office.
 

“Sorry, Mr. Crouch isn’t here at the moment. Would you like to leave a number?”

I left my number, but I had a hunch he wouldn’t call back either. What the hell was going on? Was I simply being paranoid? Well, paranoid or not, I had to find a way to get Ashley off the troops’ backs for a while. I knew what her excuse would be: “It’s for production’s sake and the needs of the service.”

I picked up the phone. Might as well get it over with. My attention was drawn to the pile of paperwork, paperwork that could be done by Ashley. A smile came to my face as I asked her to come to my office.

The door slammed.
 

“All right, Bronski, what is it?”

I silently handed her the paperwork.

Her eyelids dropped down. “What the hell is this?”

“Paperwork,” I answered, “and I want it done by this evening.”

She hauled out the picture again.
 

I almost laughed, but I managed to hold on. “Ashley, you can show that picture to whoever you want to, but if you don’t finish this paperwork by this evening, I’ll put you on suspension. Is that clear?”

Her manner changed, became almost pleading. “Leo, I could make you a rich man.”

“Oh, really? Well, that’s nice, but right now I want you to do the paperwork and stop harassing the troops out there. They know their jobs and don’t need you following them. Now, get out of my office!”

Without another word she left, paperwork in hand. Maybe it would keep her busy for the rest of the day. I threw my pen down and stretched. I needed a break and I knew exactly what I was going to do. I grabbed my jacket and took my time walking through the various cases to the back door. Martha darted looks at me as I passed by. She probably wanted me to stop, but I decided not to. If she had a problem, she would have to come to my office. Right now, she had no complaints because Ashley was in her office doing the paperwork, dull repetitive paperwork that just about anyone could do. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw wonder-boy Sam Goodnight watching me. As usual, his first-class mail was flying into its respective slots. He seemed to be so darn talented—too talented—which set me to wondering about his part in this drama.
 

I opened the back door and stepped into the warm fall sunlight. The post office problems disappeared. I hoped they would stay forgotten until I walked back through the door.

My first stop was at the Eat More, and there sat Emily at her usual table. Since there was no chance her lover would see us together, I headed in her direction.

“Hi, Emily. Mind if I sit down?”

She smiled. “Only if you don’t shoot me.”

“Not in here,” I answered. “Too many witnesses. Still, it’s not a bad idea.”

She cocked her head and frowned.

I patted her hand.

“Just kidding. So how’s Sam?”

Her face turned its usual glorious red.

“Fine.”

The waitress came and I ordered the biggest apple fritter I saw under the glass counter.

Emily put her cup down. “You’re in a good mood.”

I carefully looked around and leaned forward. “Emily, I’m making progress on the Plinski case.”

I went on to tell her about the old man and his stroke and how he finally was able to get me to understand what he saw that day. She asked me what I was going to do about it, and I told her that it was going to be one careful move at a time. I wanted no screw-ups. She pleaded with me to tell her what the next move was, but I resisted. There might be someone at the cafe putting two and two together.

I then proceeded to put a pat of butter on that oversized fritter and closed my eyes as I took a bite. Pure ecstasy! I opened them to see Emily staring at me in amazement.

“Bronski, you’re going to get fat!”

I assured her I wouldn’t and took another bite.

“You’re just jealous,” I said in a muffled voice. “Now that you have a beau, you have to watch your figure. By the way, is he the one?”

“The one, what?”

I gave her a look over my rims. “You know what I mean.”

She smiled a mouth full of braces. “I have to go, Leo. After that monster, I hope you can get up out of your chair. Have a nice day,” she said sweetly as she headed for the door.
 

I shrugged. Monster or not, it went down the hatch. Sometimes we have to sin. It’s when we don’t control our sins that we get into real trouble. I had a hunch that’s what had happened to Gloria. Someone couldn’t control his or her’s murderous thoughts. I sighed. All this thinking was going to ruin my pleasure in eating the fritter. I took a last swig of coffee and left.

Instead of going back to the post office, I headed over to the drug store where I bought a cheap disposable plastic camera. I have found that for snapshots these cameras work as well as an expensive one, and I definitely was not going to be shooting scenery.

As I walked through the back door of the post office and onto the main floor, I noted that the troops were chatting merrily away. No doubt some production time would be lost, but their morale would be higher, and that was important to me. I did notice that Martha was not at her case. A fellow worker at a nearby sorting table said Martha had left, saying she was not feeling well. Ashley was not in sight. Either she had gone to lunch or she was hiding out. I cruised on up to the front counter and noted that there were only six people waiting in line. Maybe I had an uneventful afternoon ahead of me. Finally, I went by Ashley’s office and saw that she was working on the paperwork I had given her. Good, everyone in their place and doing their job. What more could an O.I.C. ask for?

 
I had just sat down when there was a knock at my door. I sat back in my chair, took a deep breath, and said, “Come in.”

It was Ashley. She closed the door behind her and stood there, arms folded and foot tapping. “Well, I hope you’re happy.”

I leaned forward and motioned toward a chair. “Happy about what?”

She remained standing, as I knew she would. “The slow-down in production! They should have been done fifteen minutes ago with first class!”

Keeping my temper in check, I reminded Ashley that we were missing an employee. An employee who had a great attendance record.

“Why do you think she is sick, Ashley?” I asked.

She shook her head. She hadn’t a clue.

“It’s probably because you were following them around and making sarcastic remarks!”

She actually blanched and took a step back when I said this.
 

I also reminded her that most of the employees had at least 500 hours of sick leave coming to them. Paid sick leave. By now I was standing, and I’m sure steam was coming out my ears.

“What would happen if they all decided to take sick leave, hmm . . .? I presume you’ve heard of sickouts. It’s happened before!”

She stood there, not saying a word.
 

I sat back down. “Now, are you through with the paperwork?”

She shook her head and snarled. “I called the Boss and told him about the production going down.”

I took another deep breath. “That’s fine, Ashley. Now, get back to your office and do the paperwork. By the way, I will be checking it, so do a good job or I’ll write a letter of reprimand!”

With that said, I turned back to my paper work. When I heard the door click shut, I looked up and asked myself whether I should call the Boss. I decided not to. If he were upset, he’d call me.

Lunchtime came and went. Since I had sinned earlier that morning, I decided to stay in-house and sin some more with a couple of bags of potato chips and a Coke. Not the best of meals, but I wanted to stick around to see if Ashley pulled anything, like messing with the employees. Maybe it was because I stuck around or maybe she just decided to be good for a change. At any rate, she remained in her office until her scheduled lunch break, and then she left with nary a look to anyone.

The fact that Martha was the employee out sick bothered me. Was she truly sick, or was she sitting at home nursing her wounds? Martha struck me as someone who let problems, real or imagined, build up. Then, look out—pop-bang. More grievances and complaints to paper the walls.

I walked the floor and talked briefly with Jim and Ralph. I learned that Ralph was also a pilot who owned a Cessna 180. This surprised me. He didn’t look the pilot type, but then neither had Jim, with his long hair and evasive looks. When Ashley came back from lunch, I checked the clock on the wall, making sure she saw me. She headed for the office again, looking neither left nor right. Hmm . . . almost too good to be true.

As soon as that everyone was back from lunch, I returned to my office and dug out the camera. It was time to take pictures. Photographing people at their job was an interesting process. Some people willingly smiled and presented what they think is their best side to the camera. Other people were plainly annoyed, like maybe this wasn’t part of the negotiated agreement signed by the union. Still, out of politeness, they stood quietly and stared at the camera, devoid of emotion with pride taking a back seat.
 

“Hey, Ralph,” I called, “stand still for a moment, while I take your picture.”

Ralph stood still for a moment all right. He turned and gave me something close to a snarl. It was a Ralph I had never seen. Later when I looked at his picture, I knew I had caught his true self. Something seethed beneath that man’s surface. I suspected he felt there were wrongs committed against him. Wrongs that he knew could not be righted, but he would have his revenge. And if I were a judge of character, he was that kind of man.

Ashley herself was the very—shall we say—picture of Southern charm, all smiles and goodie two-shoes. No one would see the real Ashley in a picture, no sir. I almost laughed at her deception, nevertheless, just for a few minutes, we stood in a neutral DMZ.

Back at my desk, I sat tapping my fingers wondering about Martha. After a time, I shifted my thoughts to more practical things, like computer work. I had just gotten started on it when my cell phone rang. Before digging it out of my other shirt pocket, I glanced at my office door to make sure it was closed. No need to have Ashley or someone walk in unannounced.
 

I punched the answer button. “Yes?”

“Leo, it’s John Crouch. Listen, things are starting to look serious. The undercover man in Portland was shot. He is still alive, but barely. These people are playing for keeps. Don’t do anything heroic, okay?”