Splitsville.com (16 page)

Ah-ha! Kent really did seek out and marry Dabi for her money.

“So Kent really did kill Dabi because he would get some part of the company upon her death, and then her dad killed him out of revenge.” I tap my temple with my finger. “Maybe Mr. Stone knows about Dabi using the service and Kent being dumped by the service. So to buy time, he’s trying to pin the murders on Splitsville.com and trying to scare me.”

I know there is something to Dabi’s dad being involved. There has to be.

“Maybe you should get your hands on the other part of the will.”

Aunt Matilda is right. I need to get my hands on that will to make sure my hunches are right. Only I feel like there is much more to it. But what?

Twenty

 Herbie licks the blisters on the palm of my hand from pushing that big-ass cart around at Macro Hard. “I know, buddy.”

If I’d read the job description of housekeeping, I might have gone for the mail job. Only it’s during the day and sleuthing isn’t as easy as I thought. So I’ll stick to the low key.

If the chowder chomping old lady from
Murder She Wrote
can do this, so can I. Speaking of which, I remember I have the Sleuth channel and maybe I can catch an episode of
Snapped
. I twist my body around and find the remote on the table under a pile of clothes.

I rub my rough hands along Herbie’s silky fur. He stands up, circles a couple times and finds a nice comfy spot on the cocoon of blankets. 

I point the remote and press on. I hit the guide button and on the corner of my screen is a live press conference featuring none other than Officer Ian. I make the guide go away and the press conference a bigger picture. It’s the same old song and dance.

“We have a few leads.” His eyes bleed into the screen like he knows I’m watching. “A few witnesses have come forward in both murders.” My eye catches a shadowy figure in the back in the crowd. I lean closer to see if I can get a better look, only the camera pans in the other direction and focuses on Michael. Michael who is supposed to be in hiding, but he’s there in plain view.

I jump up and say to Herbie, “Come on, boy. We need to make a surprise visit to Michael and Belle.” I have to make sure our agreement is in hand. What if he told the police I’ve been snooping in Dabi’s apartment, or worse—Macro Hard! Why else would he be there?

I dart around the house looking everywhere for the blue leash. In, under, on piles of clothes, in the closets, under furniture, and it’s nowhere to be found.

I grab a belt off my bed. “Come on.” I pat my leg for Herbie to follow me.

My phone and keys in one hand, Herbie in the other, I head out to the car.

Herbie takes his usual spot on the passenger seat, I hit the dash just in time to hear Elvis belt out
Suspicious Minds
.

I stop in front of Michael’s apartment and hook the belt around Herbie’s collar. “I know, buddy. I’ll clean the house, I promise.” I have to say something to those little black eyes when I know in my heart I’ll be doing nothing about the piles of laundry.

I check my watch and make a mental note: I have one hour before I need to be home and put on my lovely jumpsuit and head back to Macro Hard for hopefully what will be my last night.

The park isn’t as crowded as usual. Probably because everyone is getting home from work and relaxing before they take their dogs for a walk. I instantly spot Michael with a few dogs and make my way towards him.

“Michael,” I whisper, walking by. I’m not about to stop and watch him pick up poop.

“Follow me.” I walk to the wooded area of the park. I don’t want anyone seeing us together.

“What’s up with the leash?” Michael laughs. I swear I can see the embarrassment on Herbie’s face. Belle growls and tugs at the belt. The dogs do their usual dance of getting reacquainted. The harder I tug Herbie away, the more he fights me.

I ignore Michael’s question. I’m not here for pleasantries. “What where you doing at the press conference today?”

Michael kicks the dust around with his shoes. “I know I should’ve left, but I was returning a client’s dog to their house and there they were, setting up the conference.” He looks up, “I’m like a cat. Curiosity got me.”

I feel like his mother scolding him, “I told you to stay clear. What if they saw you? Then I couldn’t help you
or
me.” I’m not about to let all that hard work I’ve done go right down the drain.

“Fine.” Michael wraps the leashes around his hand and begins to walk back, “You know, you better hurry up. We won’t be able to find clues in jail.”

I look around to make sure no one sees us or is taking a picture, “You keep your end of the deal and we won’t go to jail.”

Michael heads one way and I head the other. He is right. If I don’t find anything out tonight, this whole little investigation I’ve got going on might be a dead duck in the water. I check my watch and hurry back to the car. I’ve got just enough time to get Herbie home, find the awesome jumpsuit and get to work.

***

I have to find that stupid jumpsuit. I pick up piles of clothes and let them trickle back down to the floor hoping the jumpsuit will fall out. “Hush, Herbie.” I yell over his bark. “I’ll let you out in a couple minutes.”

His bark gets louder. I stop. I slowly walk out of the bedroom and down the hall where there are no windows. I tilt my head around the corner and see Herbie standing at the door growling and barking.

He follows the shadowy figure between the door and the window. It looks like the intruder is trying to peek in the window.

I stand up against the wall and don’t move. What if it’s the killer? I pat my pockets for my phone, but it’s not there. I must’ve left it in the bedroom.

The person knocks on the door. Cautiously I look around the corner at the door. The figure is knocking louder than Herbie’s bark. Damn! I’m regretting I didn’t get some of that protective spray. It would come in handy today.

I get down on all fours and crawl over to the window. I slide up the wall, and barely open the blind. My heart falls back down to where it belongs when I see Carl standing at the door.

I pick Herbie up and open the door, “You scared me.” 

Carl gets right down to business. “Looks like you two had some sort of spat.” Ian stands beyond Carl’s shoulders, holding up a picture of creepy Kent and me with a very noticeable look of disgust on my face. “You want to explain what this is all about.”

I’m already running late for work and I can’t find that goofy jumpsuit anywhere. I’ve spent the last ten minutes picking up loads of clothes and throwing them in a basket. Herbie needs to go out and standing here defending myself and my actions to Carl and Ian are the last things on my agenda.

“Look Carl. That was the first time I ever laid eyes on him.” I can’t believe the killer has gone to such great lengths to take my picture. This is total premeditation. I’ve been worried about my business this entire time when I should’ve been worried about me.

“Do you have anything else to say?” Ian puts the picture back in the breast pocket of his coat. I shake my head. I’m thinking I might need a lawyer. “Did you become friends with Goodwin through Splitsville.com and when he started dating your best friend you became jealous?” Carl is hammering the questions.

Ian chimes up, “Did Erin take this picture?”

What? Jealous? Erin? Oh. My. God. They think I did it. They think I killed Kent.

“What does Erin have to do with this?” 

Ian doesn’t take his eyes off me. I keep a straight face. I don’t want to show any fear.

Carl steps around Ian. “Leave the questions to us.” He puts his hand on Ian making Ian take a step back.

“Am I a suspect?” Being a suspect was the farthest thing from my mind when I started my investigation. Now it’s the only thing on my mind.

“Let’s just say, don’t leave town.” Carl tips his hat and heads back to his cruiser with Ian in tow.

Twenty-One

My tires squeal as I pull into Macro Hard’s parking lot. The rate I’m going, they’re going to fire me before I can quit—another reason to save Splitsville.com. There is no way I’ll ever be on time for work. Granted, if my house—or really, my clothes—were organized, I would have been here earlier.

“Running late?” Harold bends the paper down and looks over it at me. “Not a good sign for the second day.”

I hold my hands in the air, looking for some sympathy as to why I’m late. “Look, calluses.” No amount of lotion is going to help with this. Another good reason I don’t

clean, or at least a good excuse for now.

Harold doesn’t budge. “Calluses or not, this place isn’t going to clean it’s self.”

I go over to the closet to retrieve the god-awful cart and refill all the cleaning supplies. I’ve devised a plan to keep Harold busy looking for bleach. What’s the use if it isn’t hidden?

I eyeball the row of paper towels on the top shelf near the back of closet. Hoisting the bleach over-top my head, I stand on my tiptoes and push the bottle until it hits the wall.

“There.” I push the last paper towel roll in front of the bottle. “He’ll have to search all over this place,” I whisper and pull the piece of paper out of my pocket.

Last night I drew a map of all the offices at Macro Hard. Dabi’s office is going to be my first stop. The paper I grabbed was the last page of her will. By the way her father was talking, the will might have something to do with Dabi and Kent’s murders, so I have to get the file her father put in filing cabinet last night.  

I lay a cloth on the handle of the cart. I don’t want any more calluses pushing this thing around.

Harold is watching the monitors, and now would be a good time to put my plan into action. I’ll clean the restrooms first then nonchalantly work my way to Dabi’s office, or file cabinet. I didn’t fill up the bleach bottle all the way so I can yell down at Harold to bring me some more. Finding it should take him awhile since I used my best hiding skills.

Believe it or not, the women’s bathroom is nastier than the men’s. Or maybe it’s the fact that I only want to deal with my feminine hygiene and not the rest of the company’s.

I cup my hands over my mouth. “Harold?” I call out.

“What?” He startles me by creeping around the corner when he’s supposed to keep watch at his desk.

“What are you doing?” I find it a little odd he’s keeping an eye on me.

“Walking around the halls.” He points to the badge on his security jacket.

“Part of my job.”

“Oh, well can you go down and get me the bleach out of the supply closet?” I shake the empty bottle in the air. “Please?”

“Now that’s not part of my job.” He points to the badge on my jumpsuit.

“I know, but I was late, and I need to get going on these rooms.”

With a suspicious eye he says, “Fine. Ain’t got anything better to do.” Harold turns back towards the closet.

I’m actually glad he’s here, because it’ll take him a little more time to get back down the hall, open the closet and search for the bleach.

Just as Harold turns the corner to the supply closet, I rush down toward Dabi’s office and use the key Michael gave me.  

I find the flashlight on my keychain and turn the cap so the light comes on. Barely. “A firefly is brighter than this,” I mumble to myself.

Another mental note, get a bigger flashlight.

I thumb through the files looking for I don’t know what, but I figure it’ll jump out at me. There is one folder with a handwritten label.

“Hmmm.” It’s strange how all the rest have typed stick-on labels. I pull it out and put it on Dabi’s desk. I dangle the flashlight up to the title just before the battery dies. I twist it back and forth hoping it will work. I shake it, but it doesn’t come on.

“What are you doing in here?” Harold startles me when he flips the lights on. “Put that back, and come with me.”

I do exactly as Harold asks. I’ve no way of finding out what’s in that file, well, not tonight anyway.

“Exactly what are you doing here?” Harold plants my butt in a chair, and walks around me in circles. “I knew something was up with you the first time I laid eyes on you. You don’t have a cleaning bone in your body. You can’t take the brakes off the cart, and that’s the first thing you should know.”

Fast, think fast, but nothing is coming. It’s all blank.

He takes my hands and rubs his fingers over the rough dry patches on my palm. “Look at your hands. Soft as a baby’s bottom. Do you have anything to say or should I call Mr. Stone?” He picks up the phone.

I grab the receiver out of his hands. “No.” Fear jumps into my spirit. I’ll for sure be waking up in jail instead of next to Herbie if he calls Mr. Stone.

Harold takes the receiver out of my hands, and puts it back on the counter. “Well? We’ve got all night.” He sits back at his desk, pours two cups of coffee into the Styrofoam cups. One for me, and one for him.

I tell Harold everything, well almost everything. Not about me and my “gift” or my death threats. Everything about Dabi and what I know so far. Even the part about Mr. Stone’s conversation with the mystery figure in Dabi’s office.

His eyes soften and he folds his hands in his lap.

“I’m not saying I haven’t seen anything funny, but it’s none of my business.” He picks up his cup and slowly takes a sip. “No business is worth going to jail over.”

“Splitsville.com is.” I know he doesn’t understand, but I don’t want to tell any more people about my “gift.” I want to get this solved and move on with my life.

Harold puts his cup down, puts both hands on the desk and pauses. He stands up and begins to rub the back of his neck. “I’m going to the bathroom and take a stroll upstairs. I’m not going to monitor the cameras for at least twenty minutes.” He set his big mag flashlight on the desk.

In disbelief, I watch him turn the corner. He’s giving me permission and free rein of the executive offices. I grab his flashlight and quickly make it back to Dabi’s office, locking the door behind me.

Just as I pull the file out, the handle on the door starts to jiggle. It’s not been twenty minutes so I can’t be Harold. I push the drawer back with the file barely sticking out of the top, turn the flashlight off and crouch under Dabi’s desk.

Another flashlight is heading straight towards the filing cabinet. The glare coming off the white Puma tennis shoes is enough light without the flashlight. I strain to see who it is, but can’t without moving the desk chair I’m wedged up against.

The file drawer slowly opens. The wheels creek with every roll they make. I look again, but still can’t make out anything above the knees. Only the Puma’s and blue jeans.

The shuffle of papers, the wheels rolling back in place, the click of the file cabinet being shut, the door quietly closes, the jingle of keys locking the door, and the thud of shoes walking away and the intruder is gone. All in less than five minutes.

Someone with a key knew exactly what they were coming for. I open the cabinet all the way and search through the files—twice. It’s gone. The intruder got want I need. The hand-lettered file.

I open the door and look both ways. Nothing but an empty hallway and noise to match. Slowly I tiptoe my way down the hall without the flashlight on. I’m not going to bring attention to myself.

The exit sings illuminates the hallway. If I take the stairs, I can make it up to Harold faster. Taking two stairs at a time isn’t for someone who sits in a computer chair all day. I stop for a brief second at the top and catch my breath.

Harold stands at the end of the hallway, looking out the window.

“I’m so glad I found you. Alive.” I grab and hug him.

“Child, what’s wrong with you?” Harold pulls away like I have the plague.

I explain everything that happened while I hid under Dabi’s desk. “You keep a running video right?” The intruder has to be all over the camera footage. You can’t walk an inch without seeing a camera in this place.

“It would’ve been running, but I gave you twenty minutes.
Remember
?”

“What?” I can’t believe it!

“If I gave you twenty minutes to do whatever it is you need to do, I’m certainly not going to keep the camera’s rolling for the world to see it.” He shakes his head. “I need my job.”

“Did you see anyone?” I ask.

“No. I was busy trying to ignore the executive office so when the police come snooping I won’t be able to answer any questions.” Harold starts down the hall. “I’m going to walk around and see if I see anyone.”

Why in the world would he do look for the intruder? What if they’re still here? “Wait. I’ll go with you.” There’s no way I’m letting him go alone or even worse, leave me here.

He jingles the key ring hooked on his belt. “It was probably Mr. Stone.”

Harold has a point. I never thought about that. I guess I’m the intruder.

I walk behind Harold the entire time, like a shy child. Even with the lights on, this place is a little creepy.

I jump when my phone vibrates in my pocket. Splitsville.com is hopping and I’ve totally neglected all the dumps in the past couple of days. I thumb through them hoping to take my mind off my present situation.

Great! I read the email. I don’t need anything to add to my night.

I’ve been watching you sleep all night. You better watch yourself. Or you just might find yourself DEAD, like your client.

Obviously this person doesn’t know where I live, because I’ve been here all night and secondly “client” is really “clients.”

Harold helps me tidy up the joint as we go along looking for any intruders. It’s only surface cleaning. No one will really notice if the boardroom wasn’t vacuumed or the top shelves weren’t dusted.

“Almost quitting time.” Harold points to his watch.

Leaning in closer, I read the time, “4:30 already?” It’s funny how time flies when you’re up to something you shouldn’t be doing—I mean the sleuthing part.

Quickly we finish up the offices.

Harold’s yawn is contagious. Or this nightshift might be making me tired. I promise Harold I’ll be back and do a better job even though the file I need is no longer in the building.

***

I stop in the coffee shop to grab a cup on the way home. There’s no way I’ll be able to go home and fall asleep. The file being taken, and the threat are weighing heavy on my mind. With a cup of joe, I can stay up a few hours and start on the dumps that have accumulated over the past couple of days.

The red-lettered sign on the coffee shop reads closed. I didn’t take into consideration they might not open at 5:00 a.m. But a cup sounds great right now.

I walk over to
The Surplus
where I saw the protective spray. The neon sign blinks open. I’ve regretted twice not buying something to keep me somewhat safe, or something that makes me feel safe. This may be a good time.

I pull the door open and look in before I cross the threshold.

“What brings you in here so early?” The woman standing behind the counter chomps on a piece of gum. The chalk from her fingernail file is dusting the top of the counter. Those nails can take my eyeball out in one quick stab. Her long black hair is sleek and beautiful as silk, but the puff on top is pulled back in a clasp makes it look like she is housing acorns under it. “Who you wanna hurt?”

“Aww, Vive, shut up.” A guy slinks up alongside of me. “How can we help you?”

I look along the wall. “I’m just waiting for the coffee shop to open. I have some time to kill.” I can’t believe I just walked into a gun store. I move over to the area labeled protective sprays, I snicker. When did everything become so politically correct? The man follows me.

“
Killing
time huh?” Vive seems to take amusement in my choice of words.

I nod because I need to look into some sort of protection. I’m conducting my own spy jobs and receiving death threats. Why not? It may come in handy.

I shy away from the gun side because I know I can’t shoot someone. With my hands locked behind my back, I scan the wall.

There are several different types of sprays to choose from. I always thought there were two types. Mace or pepper spray.

“Those are good for any single woman,” the guy says looking down at my ring finger. His brows lift with anticipation. “And it looks like you’re single.”

“Let’s say someone is making threats and…” I stop myself. “I don’t need to tell anyone about the threats, and I don’t want Carl or Ian to find out about them.”

“What kind of threats honey?” Vive went from leaning on her elbows to standing tall in her high heels.

I don’t make eye contact with her; I say, “Just every day threats.”

Vive walks over and takes a can of spray in her hand. “Like ‘I can’t stand you’ or ‘I’m gonna hurt you real bad, ’threats?” Vive tugs at the bottom of her jean mini skirt. Her big toe sticks out the front of her shoes as if it’s begging to be let out. I hold in my laughter once I see her toenail is bedazzled.

I pick up one of the sprays and say, “Something like that.” I want to see how it feels in my hands.

“Well?” Vive begins to take down some of the sprays. “Which one?”

“Which one what?” I check my watch because I know the coffee shop is open by now. “Which threat?”

“Honey if you have to pick which threat is worse, you need pepper spray and a gun.” Vive hands me the smallest little pouch with the teeniest nozzle sticking out the top.

It fits perfect in my hand. The scent of leather swooshes up to my nose when I pop the snap open to take the small can out. It’s no bigger than my pinkie.

“I know you’re thinking how in the hell is that tiny thing going to keep me safe. Well,” Vive says and takes it out of my hand. “Don’t you know big things come in small packages?” Vive holds it up and aims with her eyes on the target.
Me
.

I flinch.

“Oh honey, I’m not going to spray you. Hell, it’d hurt me this close.” She hands the spray back to me because I know her nails won’t be able to snap it back in the pouch.

“Thanks, but what’s the difference between this and that?” I point to the larger can of spray. It only seems natural for quantity to be more important. “I want to keep spraying if I have to.”