by JM Dragon
“I need guidance and help but who can that be, who would want to? I have no friends.”
†
Dee Lawrence patiently watered the flowers as tenderly as she would care for a child. It was probably the closest she or Gene would ever get to having children. Gene more so, since the company is her life. Dee’s boss had such a good nose for perfume, a family talent passed down Dee figured. Heritage was in every pore of Gene and she was so naive about everything else. She raised the watering can toward Matriarch, the oldest rose they had on the premises. Gene said its initial root came from her family homeland in France, from a hundred-year-old strain.
“Well, old lady, time for you to have sustenance. Can’t have our history going without in the US. Gene loves you and I love you too, old girl. I swear she loves you more than anything else on this earth.” She sighed. Then glanced across at the beautiful pale pink rose that was hours away from full bloom. “It’s your time, Beautiful, and your family is here to help you.” She returned her gaze to the old red rose, damn sure that her leaves had bowed in acknowledgment.
The phone rang; she completed her watering and answered the shrill tone. “Yes?”
“Dee, I think we need to talk, Desrosiers is in big trouble, let’s have dinner tonight.” She smiled at the gruff tone of the factory manager at the other end of the line.
“Gene hasn’t said anything, and she would.”
“Sure, she would if she had any business knowledge and we both know she doesn’t.”
“Tell mom I’ll bring dessert.”
“That’s why I called really,” he chuckled. “It was time for me to have some decent sweet stuff. Any chance of the triple chocolate truffle?”
“I might if I have the time. See you at six. Bye, Dad.” The call ended.
“We are going to help Gene and save the company. Now we just need friends we can trust. Do you have any suggestions, old girl?” Glancing at Matriarch she sighed. Dee didn’t want to think that this life was over. It was all she had known since she was sixteen and all she was good at.
†
Quinn entered Maxali, a coffee shop a quarter mile from the factory. It was unpretentious with red gingham drapes adorning the windows, and a smattering of tiny tables with two chairs each. Walking inside she almost hit the bell above the door that tinkled as she entered.
“Hi there, welcome.”
Quinn frowned at the welcome. She hadn't quite shut the door as the perky voice hit her. She walked toward the glass counter where a woman with spiky blonde hair and an elfin expression was smiling—in total contrast to the voice.
“What can I get you? As you can see, I’m not exactly busy but by the end of the shift at the factory I will be. So, take advantage.”
Gregarious, hmm, that might be useful. “That would be Desrosiers?”
“Yes, no other factory around these parts for a hundred miles. They employ a hundred and fifty people.”
Quinn raised her eyebrows.
“I know doesn’t sound like a lot, but in some way or another, everyone else around here gets a cut.”
“A cut sounds rather roughish.” A chortle of laughter greeted her words.
“I meant basically that without Desrosiers this town would die. We lost the lumber yard five years ago and half the men in town left. Enough of my ramblings, what can I get you?”
Quinn glanced at the slate board behind the woman. “A large latte please.”
“Anything else? I can vouch for the pastries, my partner Alice makes them daily, and she’s a wonder in the bakery department. Actually she makes most things we have on the menu.”
There was pride and fondness in the words and Quinn wondered if partner had a double meaning or was it just her own way of thinking.
“Okay, sounds good. Any recommendations?” There was an appetizing array of pastries and pies on display. Quinn pointed to a delicious looking cake in three layers with strawberry quarters on top and strawberry colored icing. “That looks good.”
“Alice loves that strawberry cake but if you prefer something less sugary, she makes a magnificent beef pie. I’ll guarantee no matter where you live you will never find one as good.”
There it was again, the pride and fondness for this Alice person. “It would be rude of me not to have both and I haven’t eaten for hours.”
A soft snort of laughter echoed in the room. “Ah, a lady after my own heart. I’ll bring your choices over with the coffee.”
“Thank you.” Quinn walked to the table nearest to the counter and sat down. Her fingers trailed over the mosaic patterns on the table as she stared out window. Traffic was still rushing by but there wasn’t any evidence of pedestrians. She swiveled to ask why, but the woman was gone.
“Hmm, weird there’s so much traffic but no one stops.” Her phone rang, and she retrieved it from her pocket. “Hi, Sheila.”
“Do you have the shipment?”
“No, apparently they have a supply problem, not sure why. I said I’d be back tomorrow to collect the shipment before my flight in the afternoon.”
“Did you talk to Christine?”
“She’s gone.”
“Oh.”
“Oh, is right. I think the place is in disarray. The new woman in charge is pretty lame. How hard do you want me to push this?” There was silence for a few moments.
“Hard. This is one of our most profitable lines, so if we don’t get the product, we will have to tighten our belts.”
“Okay, point taken.”
“That’s why I employ you, Quinn, you understand perfectly what’s needed. I’ll expect to see you and the merchandise Thursday morning.”
The call ended. Quinn slowly placed her phone on the table.
A couple of minutes later her coffee was delivered along with a piping hot pie.
“Sorry give me a sec and I’ll fetch cutlery.”
Sipping on her coffee Quinn smiled, the flavor rivalled that from her favorite café in the city. Moments later the cutlery was delivered.
“I’ll bring your cake when you are done here. Do you need anything else?”
“Not right now, thank you.”
“Shout if you need anything.”
Quinn nodded, took a fork and pierced the pie, releasing steam from the pastry and the smell was as appealing as the sight. It smells wonderful. I hope this is as good as she said. Taking her first mouthful she was in heaven. I love you, Alice, and I don’t even know you.
Chapter Two
Grady’s bank manager, Simone Baker, scratched the top of her head. She hated the habit but at times of stress it was an automatic reaction. On her desk was the final collection notice for the Desrosiers overdue account. The head office had called time on the debt collection process, even though she had fought it off for as long as she could. Why hadn’t Christine paid the installments? She said she would and then days later, she up and left without notice. It hurt on all levels, but right now if the owner couldn’t come up with the funds it meant that Grady was possibly going to end up a ghost town.
“Simone, Ms. Desrosiers is here to see you, but she doesn’t have an appointment. Shall I ask her to—”
“I’ll see her. Show her in, Fiona.” Her assistant nodded and moments later waved inside a woman who was of medium height, stout, and otherwise nondescript. Simone had never met the owner of the factory that kept the town alive. According to local gossip, she was reclusive.
“Ms. Desrosiers, it’s a pleasure to meet you. How can I help you?” She placed a company magazine over the Desrosiers file on her desk and held out her hand. Surprisingly the firm handshake was delicate.
“I’m not sure you can to be honest. I need to know if I have any options with the bank before you force me into bankruptcy and liquidate my business.”
The soft tones didn’t quite fit the look of the woman. Simone waved a hand to the seat opposite her.
“Take a seat. I know the situation is difficult. Perhaps you have other funding that might get you t
hrough this bad patch? Christine seemed confident that you had good backing financially.”
“If she said that why is the bank demanding the payment?”
“Because we haven’t had a payment on the loan for six months, and before you say anything, we have not been informed that you had any problems. It looks to us that you just don’t want to pay.”
“Six months?”
Bleak tawny eyes stared at the manager who dropped her gaze toward the hidden folder.
“Christine promised that it was just a glitch, but I’m afraid that now she has gone, and we still haven’t received any payment, the situation has become critical.” Simone watched several expressions cross the clear complexion as the cheeks glowed red. Is she angry, frustrated or both?
“Christine left unexpectedly, and frankly the money side of the business isn’t my forte. I’m trying to find someone who understands business management, but Grady isn’t exactly brimming with good prospects I’m afraid.”
“Yes, I understand. Do you know the state of health of your sales order book?” Simone leaned back in her chair.
Genevieve Desrosiers blinked rapidly and frowned heavily.
“Not really, I was looking into the paperwork when I saw this.” She held up the foreclosure letter and waved it in front of her. “I can probably have that information to you by lunchtime tomorrow. Will it stop the foreclosure if we have sales?” From desperation came a glimmer of hope as the woman gave a tentative smile that quite transformed her features.
“It would be a step in the right direction. I’d need what you owe people so we can work out your solvency. I’ll do my best to delay the notice until we go through the information, but I can’t promise it will work out for you.”
Ms. Desrosiers stood and nodded. “Thank you, Ms. Baker.” She turned and hurriedly left.
“I guess she’s eager to find the information.” Just as she picked up her phone there was a soft knock on the door. Her assistant stepped inside.
“Everything okay? Ms. Desrosiers was muttering like a mad woman and I swear she almost ran out of the building.”
“Fiona, really, your imagination.” Simone smiled then became serious. “It’s all good for me but Desrosiers Perfumery is in trouble. Do you by any chance know anyone in town who can tell us what’s really going on there?”
“Yeah, Larry Davis, their lab technician is a friend. He might spill the beans.” Fiona bit her lip. “Do you think Desrosiers can be saved?”
Simone tapped her manicured nails on the wooden surface of her desk. “Too early to say, but I’ll do my damnedest to make it so if I can. I’ve gotten used to living in sleepy Grady.”
“Well then, Ms. Desrosiers has a chance with you on her side. Your next appointment is here. Shall I send Joe Parrish in?”
“Yeah and then coffee would be good.”
“You got it.”
†
The motel room was comfortable and clean, and that was about all that could be said for it. The prerequisite TV, refrigerator, and coffee pot were enough for Quinn’s needs. After all, she was only here for a night. Quinn threw her overcoat on the bed, slipped off her shoes, and her stocking clad toes sank into the mottle-brown carpet. She padded over to the TV, picked up the remote and switched the machine on. Immediately the room filled with machine gun fire and she quickly lowered the volume. “Wow some people must be deaf.” She changed the CNN news feed to a more exciting channel—reruns of Supergirl. Walking over to the coffee machine, Quinn placed water in the body and set it in motion. She then looked outside. “Great view of the parking lot.” Glancing at her watch, she saw it was three thirty. After her mini feast at Maxali, she’d found the local general store and bought toothbrush and paste, along with the most unflattering pair of underwear she’d ever seen in her life. Even her mother wouldn’t be seen dead in the full briefs of a terrible green color. Still this had been an impromptu stayover, and if that fatal event happened her parents would laugh at the irony of it.
Max from the café had at least given her hope for the evening. There was a local bar, Ray’s, and she’d been invited to meet Max and her partner, Alice, at seven. As it turned out the bar was a block from the motel, she couldn’t get lost.
Quinn’s phone buzzed, and she looked at the caller ID—Tim Andrews. “Hi, Tim.”
“Is Desrosiers in big trouble?”
She rolled her eyes. Tim never did polite.
“Yeah, what’s it to you?”
“Sheila asked me two months ago to pitch the product to Driscols of San Fran. I have the contract on my desk for Sheila and Arnold to sign. Driscols wants product by the end of the month.”
“Sheila never said she’d given you that opportunity.” Quinn’s nose twitched.
“Why would she? You don’t know everything that happens here, even if you think you do. So, do they sign or not?”
“Can’t say. I’ll let you know when I get back tomorrow afternoon.”
“That’s a cop out…they want an answer by mid-day.”
“Then get your ass here and find out for yourself.” Quinn ended the conversation and muttered, “Asshole.” Why hadn’t Sheila mention that? It was critical information for this visit.
Ignoring the hiss of the coffee pot she picked up her coat and headed out, slamming the door behind her.
†
Maxine Reed silently walked up to her partner and wrapped her arms around Alice Lawrence’s slim waist, kissing the side of her neck. “I love you.”
There was a tinkle of gentle laughter.
“I love you too, Max. Now just give me five minutes to finish this concoction and I’ll be all yours.”
Max grinned, gave Alice another kiss, then moved away to the water dispenser and poured a drink.
“I met an interesting person today. She’s from New York. I invited her for a drink with us at Ray’s tonight at seven, hope that was okay?”
“I trust your judgment, always have. How is she interesting?” Alice didn’t turn from her machinations.
“I think she’s one of us, but I could be wrong. I have been in the past and paid for it big time. Also, she said she had business at Desrosiers. Anyone who has business there is a good person, right?”
“Right…unless,”
“Yes?”
“Never mind, I’ll tell you later, but I’m sure you are right. If we want to be on time you need to shower.”
“Okay, sounds like a plan.”
“Yes, and if you are not done in five minutes it’s my turn.”
There was a chuckle and Max left the room.
That’s my Alice, always practical but as sexy as hell, and she knows I take at least ten minutes in the shower, wahoo!
†
Gene rummaged in the filing cabinet for anything remotely mentioning sales and found nothing that made any sense. She thumped the steel monster and wished she hadn’t as the side of her left hand now ached. She stepped away from the three-door gray unit and plonked down on the vinyl chair nearest to her—it was uncomfortable. Damn, why didn’t I just come straight back here instead of checking on the new plants? Now there’s no one here to help me. She smote a hand to her forehead and sighed.
“Damn you, Christine, I hate you more than I thought I ever could a person.”
The sound of a vacuum cleaner outside the room sharply brought her head up. No one could see her this down…it wasn’t right in her position. I need to give a positive vibe, it’s what people expect, and I don’t want to fail them. She swallowed hard and concentrated her thoughts. How hard could it be to find this information? The door opened and a middle-aged heavy-set man she had never seen before entered.
“Sorry, I thought everyone had left for the night. I’ll come back later.” He held up one hand while the other was occupied with the vacuum cleaner.
“No, no, it’s fine. Go ahead, I don’t want to put you out of your routine.”
He smiled, and his brown leathery skin creased. It reminded her of some of
her flower petals, odd very odd, but the impression remained with her as he began his tasks. She watched, fascinated, and at the same time it took her mind off what she needed to do. Then a heavy-lidded coffee-eyed gaze caught her.
“Can I help you?”
Those words echoed in her head, Damn I wish you could. “Unless you know all about sales reporting no, I’m afraid you can’t.” She turned away and then back again sharply.
“I might. I used to be the business administrator at Henderson logging until they left the area.”
“You’re a janitor.”
A belly laugh erupted from the man. Then he leaned on the wand of the machine and shrugged.
“As everyone knows around here, there’s not many jobs. My wife was sick, and I couldn’t up and leave when Henderson closed its doors. When I could, ageism came into play. Who wants to employ a fifty-eight-year-old when they can have a thirty-something who might end up their next CEO?”
“You know all about sales order books and what we owe people?” Gene stood and walked toward the man.
Another belly laugh followed. “Sure, I do.” He glanced at his watch. “Sorry I need to get on or I’ll be sacked from this job.”
Gene placed a hand on his arm. “You won’t, I promise. What’s your name?”
“Charles Spencer, or most call me Charlie.”
“Well, Charles Spencer, you have a new job now…you are helping me tonight.”
“Oh but Mr. Lawrence will have my hide if I don’t clean the offices. Ms. Ager is very particular about no dust in her office.”
