“Not really. I’m just here to take notes for him.”
She ushered us into the Walters’s living room and quickly moved on to greener pastures.
Though we were right on time, the room was already filled, and with the buffet table of hors d’oeuvres and trays of drinks being passed around by the Walters’s maid, it could almost have been a cocktail party. The only thing missing was party conversation. People were talking, but it clearly wasn’t about the weather or sports, and nobody was mingling. The way people were arranged reminded me of the cookout. Big Bill, Grace, Burt, and Miss Hunsucker were clustered together on one side of the room, and on the opposite side, there was a group of union folks, including Tavis Montgomery, Max Wilder, and Floyd Cabiniss. Everybody was keeping their voices low, and the only communication between the two groups was the occasional dark look.
Aunt Maggie headed for the union group, and I thought about joining her, but when Floyd Cabiniss glared at me, I remembered it was he who’d told Aunt Maggie that Richard and I had been with Burt at the mill. So I decided staying in a central location would be more diplomatic.
Just when I was starting to feel like the stranger at the wedding, Carlelle, Odelle, and Ideile arrived, and I gratefully waved them over. “What are y’all doing here?”
Carlelle made a face. “Our department’s rep has a cold, and I’m the alternate, so I got stuck.”
“Odelle and I just came along to get a look at the inside of the Walters’s house,” Ideile explained. “Vasti keeps raving about how nice it looks since Mrs. Walters redecorated, and we wanted to see for ourselves. What about you? And where’s Richard?”
Before I could come up with an answer, Odelle said, “Ideile, you know you’re not supposed to ask Laurie Anne any questions.” To me, she added, “Aunt Maggie laid down the law that nobody in the family is supposed to bother y’all.”
“Really?” I said, touched. I couldn’t imagine a more sincere display of trust than for Aunt Maggie to order the family around on my behalf.
A few more people came in, and Big Bill announced that it was time to get started.
He led the way into the dining room, where an overhead projector and screen had been set up at the head of the long, elegant table. Aunt Maggie claimed the chair at the foot of the table, and I saw irritation on Tavis Montgomery’s face. He recovered quickly, though, and sat on her right. The other union folks took seats around them, while Miss Hunsucker and Burt sat by the head of the table, making it plain that this wasn’t exactly a friendly meeting. I picked a spot close to the middle.
Once everybody was settled, Big Bill greeted us, delicately referred to the tragedy of Marshall’s death and how he was sure he’d have wanted the project to continue, and passed the floor to Grace.
Grace had enough sense to know she had strong opposition to deal with, so wasted no time in social amenities before launching into a presentation of what she saw as the problems at the mill, managing to lay it all out without directly criticizing Burt. Then she explained her plans for solving those problems and making the mill a growing concern.
Having spent the afternoon looking at Marshall’s files, I recognized most of the overheads she displayed, but I did notice a few changes, especially in her bulleted list of proposed changes. I’d have felt uneasy about it if Aunt Maggie hadn’t been in the room, and when Grace asked if there were any questions, my faith in my great-aunt was confirmed. She had her hand up almost before Grace finished speaking.
“Now you’re saying you can provide more benefits and flextime and all kinds of new things. That sounds real nice.” She smiled, and I could see Grace relax, which was a mistake. “Just when do you expect all this to happen?”
I hid a smile of my own. Aunt Maggie had put her finger on exactly what I’d noticed. The original file had a tentative time line—Grace had deleted those dates.
“Well, Mrs.—”
“Miss,” Aunt Maggie corrected her.
“Miss Burnette, obviously I can’t commit to any firm dates at this time. Everything is contingent on performance.”
“Is that right?” Aunt Maggie said, her tone telling everybody in the room what she thought about contingencies.
“Other questions?” Grace asked, looking at anybody other than Aunt Maggie.
Aunt Maggie spoke up again, and I saw another flash of irritation on Tavis’s face. “You don’t have anything in your graphs and lists about hiring and firing. Are you planning to keep everybody, or are you going to be laying people off?”
Grace’s smile started to look strained, and I wasn’t surprised. That was the other thing I’d noticed that was missing in her presentation. The file I’d looked at had included plans for downsizing.
“I assure you that your job is safe,” Grace said.
Aunt Maggie snorted. “I haven’t worked at the mill in a coon’s age.”
“Then why—?”
Big Bill whispered something to her. Grace looked confused, but went on. “At this point I can’t guarantee that staffing levels will stay the same, but I’m hoping that any necessary changes will be achieved with normal attrition.”
Aunt Maggie snorted again.
Grace stiffened, but went on. “Current attrition is eight percent annually, but from looking at personnel records, I see that we have a number of workers about to reach retirement, which would bring this year’s attrition rate to nearly ten percent. I think it unlikely that we’ll need to trim the workforce any more than that.”
Before Aunt Maggie could ask any more questions, Tavis jumped in with a few of his own, and Grace gratefully focused on him. His big concern was new equipment, and I could see most of the union reps nodding approvingly when Grace outlined her plans for replacing some of the older machinery. They smiled outright when she put up a chart that demonstrated how they could recover the money spent in less than a year because of reduced repair costs.
Then Tavis went into technical equipment-maintenance issues that went right over my head, so I quit listening and instead concentrated on people’s faces, trying to figure out what they were thinking. Big Bill made a show of nodding enthusiastically at everything Grace said, and Miss Hunsucker watched him so she could mirror his reactions. Burt kept his expression blank, while I was pretty sure the triplets were more interested in figuring out which men were available than they were in maintenance schedules.
Despite her hard questions, Aunt Maggie didn’t seem as hostile as she had been earlier, but I could tell she wasn’t completely convinced. Most of the other union reps did seem won over, and Tavis seemed to be leaning that way, too, but Floyd Cabiniss’s face got angrier and angrier as time went on.
Finally he interrupted Tavis in mid-question, and said, “I don’t give a rat’s ass about maintenance schedules—I want to know if you’re going to keep the promises made to me!”
Grace looked startled, and Tavis smoothly said, “Calm down, Floyd. No offense, but we all know your main concern is holding on to your pension.”
“Are you saying Floyd doesn’t deserve his pension?” Aunt Maggie asked.
“Of course I’m not saying that, Miz Burnette, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go putting words into my mouth.”
“Then put something in your own mouth other than your foot,” she shot back.
There was a titter of laughter, and even Tavis had to smile. “All I’m saying is that Floyd’s perspective might not be the same as the rest of ours.”
There were agreeing murmurs from around the table, and Grace said, “As owner, I would naturally assume all legal obligations, including pension plans.”
Floyd looked relieved, but I was still suspicious, wondering if that pension plan was written down in black and white. Then I saw Aunt Maggie scribble a note to herself, and decided to let it go.
There were a few more questions after that, but most people seemed a lot happier than they had been before. I was impressed that Grace had done as well as she had. It hadn’t been easy for her to overcom
e the union folks’ distrust of an outsider, especially a Yankee. The union would still have to vote privately on whether or not it would support the buyout, but it was my guess that it would. How the hardliners like Linwood would react was another question.
Seeing that things were winding down, Big Bill thanked us for coming and reminded everybody that there was plenty of food laid out. Tavis and Aunt Maggie headed straight for Grace, clearly planning to ask more questions, but everybody else wandered back into the living room and lined up for tiny ham biscuits, deviled eggs, cheese, melon balls, grapes, and other finger foods. I’d missed dinner, so I filled a plate and eavesdropped shamelessly while waiting for Aunt Maggie.
Most of what I heard confirmed what I’d guessed, but nothing helped me with what I really cared about. Not that I really expected any whispered confessions to Marshall’s murder, but I was hoping for something interesting. In fact, the subject rarely came up, and when it did, it was hushed quickly as the speakers remembered that Marshall’s widow was present.
I was starting to feel sorry for myself. Here I’d put on high heels and panty hose, and I hadn’t even had a chance to speak with Grace alone and get a feel for what kind of woman she was. As if in answer to that thought, I saw Grace make it out of the dining room and head down the hall. I assumed she was going to the bathroom, and quickly left my plate on the serving table so I could follow her. I’d had plenty of conversations while waiting in line for an available bathroom—maybe I could get something out of Grace.
I turned the corner and saw the bathroom door open, but it was Miss Hunsucker coming out, and Grace wasn’t in sight. I went farther down the hall, thinking that maybe there was another bathroom nearby. Then I heard her voice coming from a partially open door. Thinking that Aunt Maggie or Floyd Cabiniss had cornered her, I tiptoed over there to find out what questions she was dodging. Only when I peeked inside, it wasn’t Aunt Maggie or Floyd in the small sitting room with Grace. It was Max Wilder.
My first thought was that Max was expressing sympathy for Grace’s loss, but that didn’t seem to match the body language. I couldn’t actually hear what they were saying, but they were talking much too earnestly for condolences. Then I remembered what the triplets had told me about Max’s eye for the ladies, and though I thought flirting with a brand-new widow more than a little tasteless, I knew there were men who wouldn’t hesitate. But Max didn’t seem flirtatious, either. The fact that they were talking in whispers intrigued me, standing closer to one another than you would expect from acquaintances.
So how did Grace Saunders know a lowly mill worker like Max Wilder?
Chapter 26
Whatever Max and Grace were saying, they finished and I got away from the door and dived into the bathroom just as they were coming out. After staying in there long enough to be convincing, I went looking for gossip.
Aunt Nora is the best source for general Byerly gossip, and because of her beauty parlor, Aunt Daphine is the best for news about couples, married and otherwise. But for mill gossip, the triplets are the ones to talk to.
I found the three of them avidly critiquing the Walters’s furniture, window treatments, and decorative accents.
Lowering my voice, I said, “If y’all don’t mind, I need to pick your brains about somebody at the mill.”
“Who do you want to know about?” Odelle asked.
“Max Wilder.”
“Laurie Anne Fleming, I’m shocked!” Carlelle said. “What would your husband say?”
“It’s not like that—” I started to say.
Ideile interrupted me. “I bet Richard wouldn’t let you out alone if he knew you were going to go asking about other men.”
I let them tease me for a few more minutes, knowing that they weren’t serious, but finally broke in to say, “I really do need to know about Max.”
Ideile whispered, “You don’t think Max had anything to do with Marshall Saunders’s murder, do you?”
“I’m not sure yet,” I said honestly. “What can you tell me about him?”
They’d mentioned Max’s many romantic triumphs at the cookout, but now they gave me the names and marital status of as many of the women as they could remember. There were so many that I had to write them down, and even then, they said they suspected there were others he’d kept under wraps. I sure hoped he and those women were using protection, or there were going to be a lot of redheaded children born over the next year.
Max lived alone in a rented house, and spent most of his off hours at Dusty’s, the bar that got the mill workers’ business by virtue of being just outside the front gate. As for Max’s performance on the job, other than his tendency to flirt with every woman in sight, he had a good reputation. He was a floater, meaning that instead of working a permanent position, he filled in wherever needed. Many new workers started out that way, waiting until there was an opening in the department they wanted, but Max had already turned down two or three assignments, saying that he preferred floating. He was a hard worker, always got to work on time, and didn’t mind extra hours. Occasionally he disappeared for fifteen or twenty minutes, presumably to meet one of his lady friends, but he always got his work done.
The union had a policy of approaching new workers, and Max had signed on right away. He went to meetings regularly, including the boring policy meetings that were usually only attended by those who had to go, and was the first to volunteer for the union’s car washes and doughnut sales.
Between his friendliness and his willingness to help out whenever asked, Max had quickly become as popular as many men who’d been born and raised in Byerly. There’d been a couple of spats when women learned they weren’t his one and only, but he’d always managed to smooth things over. If there was anybody who didn’t like him, neither one of the triplets had heard tell of it.
Unfortunately, that’s where their knowledge of the man ended. His accent, though Southern, wasn’t from North Carolina, and they had a vague idea that he was from Georgia. Since Max never spoke about his family, other than to look sad when people mentioned theirs, people assumed he was an orphan. He’d never mentioned an ex-wife or girlfriend, and never talked about any previous jobs. He didn’t seem to have any hobbies, which Odelle attributed to lack of time, considering how many women he kept up with.
When I asked about Max knowing the Saunders, the sisters said they’d seen him go through the receiving line at the cookout, and he’d shown no sign of having met either of them before.
Though I came up with a few more questions, the triplets had no more answers, so I thanked them for their help and left them to try to guess how much the Walters had paid for the love seat they were sitting on.
I knew I might be making a mountain out of a molehill—there was no reason Grace couldn’t talk to anybody she wanted to. But it was odd that my inquisitive cousins didn’t know more about Max than they did. It’s not impossible to keep secrets in Byerly, but it’s not easy. That Max had kept so much of his history to himself was mighty unusual.
There was one person in Byerly who should know more about Max: Burt, the man who’d hired him. Unfortunately, he was talking with Tavis, and I had to wait a while to get a chance at him alone. When I saw him heading toward the bathroom, I followed him, and as soon as he came out, I nodded toward the room where I’d seen Max and Grace. Looking around nervously, Burt followed me inside.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I need to ask you some questions about Max Wilder.”
“Wilder? How is he involved?”
“I’m not sure that he is,” I had to admit, “but I saw something that’s got me wondering. Did you hire him yourself?”
“Of course. I never let anybody come into the mill without my personal approval.”
“How did he end up in Byerly?”
“He said he was passing through and liked the look of the town. When he saw our ad in the Gazette, he came in to fill out an application. He didn’t have mill experience, but he had worked in manufactu
ring, so I was sure he’d do well.”
“Where did he come from? Where had he worked before?”
“I don’t remember all the details,” Burt said, sounding irritated, maybe because he thought I was questioning his judgment. “I can assure you that Miss Hunsucker thoroughly checked out his references, or we wouldn’t have hired him.”
“Do you still have his application?”
“Of course. We keep all that information on file.”
“Perfect. I need to see his file: the job application, tax forms, insurance forms—whatever you’ve got about him.”
“But Miss Hunsucker—”
“I’m sorry, but Miss Hunsucker is your problem. Richard and I don’t have time to go sneaking over to the mill in the middle of the night. Besides, I found out that people noticed us when we were over there before. We don’t want that happening again, do we?”
“Lord, no,” he said reverently.
“That’s what I thought. You’re going to have to find what we need yourself and get a copy to us as soon as you can.”
I know he wanted to argue about it, so I gave him my best look. I’m not Aunt Maggie, but then again, he’s not the strongest-willed man in Byerly, either. So he nodded.
“Thank you.” I heard somebody in the hall, and said, “You’d better go on back before anybody comes looking for you.”
He nodded, checked to make sure the coast was clear, and scurried away. After waiting a few minutes, I went to see if Aunt Maggie was ready to go. I was anxious to hear what Richard thought of what I’d found out.
Chapter 27
On the way home, Aunt Maggie and I agreed that while Grace was smart, she was also a little too slick. Either she was hiding something, or she was desperate. Either way, it would be a mistake to trust her too far. Or, as Aunt Maggie put it, “When somebody wants as badly as Grace wants Walters Mill, you’d better watch yourself.”
Other than that, neither of us said much. I think we were both being careful not to ask too many questions. I was still keeping Burt’s assignment secret, and I figured that Aunt Maggie didn’t want to say too much about the union’s position without knowing what I was up to. She seemed as uncomfortable with the invisible barrier between us as I was, so when we got to the house and saw that Richard wasn’t back, we settled in front of the television, glad to use it as an excuse not to talk.
Toni L.P. Kelner - Laura Fleming 06 - Death of a Damn Yankee Page 15
