by Gail Hewitt
"Have you read the entire contract?" Ann asked. "Is it what you expected following our discussion?"
"It's better," Maggie told her. "It almost seems too good to be true, especially the fact that the buyer isn't demanding an inspection."
"It's not that unusual when a property is being bought for intermediate or long-term holding," Ann told her. "They don't care about the house. The house played little, if any, part in their valuation."
"Which is a good thing," Maggie said. "So what now?"
"Sign and date the Seller signature line, and fax the contract back to me," Ann told her. "I'll call the buyer's agent to see who they want to use for closing, and get back to you."
Maggie signed, dated and replaced the contract in the Manila envelope. Obviously, the first task was to get this faxed to Ann, and the second to activate the new gear. She picked up the BlackBerry, thought about it, but then went to the phone and hit the top button.
"Hi, Alysha, Maggie McLaurin here. Thanks for taking in the fax. Now, I have one that I need to send in return. Is there a machine in this office, or should I bring it back to you? Also, is there someone available who can unpack the laptop and get it connected to the office network and set up my other gear as well? It'd probably be simpler if they work here with me so they can ask me questions if necessary. Also, this morning you mentioned researchers. I'd like to meet them and see the reference setup. What's the protocol? Is an appointment necessary, or can I just . . .?"
She listened for a moment, making notes as Alysha gave her the name of the person who'd be coming to work on the gear with her and the name of the librarian.
"I'll call Reference and tell them you're coming, Miss McLaurin," Alysha finished. "I've got a couple of things to do before I take a conference call with Mr. Scott in about fifteen minutes, so it might be better if you wait about the fax until after you finish in Reference."
"Will do, Alysha," Maggie said. "Thanks." She was about to add, "And please call me, Maggie," when it occurred to her that she'd better scope out the usual forms of address in this place 'cause that bell, once rung, couldn't be unrung. She'd barely hung up when a brisk knock sounded at the door. "Hi, Maggie, I'm Jennifer Eastman. I'm TTI tech support. What can I do for you?"
Maggie rose to shake hands with the tall, willowy blonde and pointed out the still-boxed laptop and printer on the side table and the gear on the desk. "Will you please do whatever's necessary to get me connected and up and running on all this? When you reach the point where passwords need to be set, let me know and let's work out something simple but secure." She pointed to some cabling underneath the desk. "I assume this goes to the network? What software is resident on the server?"
"Pretty much the usual." The tech ticked them off on her fingers. "Full Microsoft Office, plus Project. Adobe Creative Suite. Acrobat. Quark, plus Suitcase. OrgPlus. Couple of high-level stat programs. They're trialing SAP All-in-One, but so far people here aren't using it to any extent, maybe because TTI isn't far enough along to customize it enough to make it really useful. If you're thinking there's some overlap, you're right, but everyone who's come on board evidently has something different they like for specific purposes, and my instructions are to provide and support whatever's asked for. My guess is that there'll be some standardization up the road, but for now that isn't the top priority. So, if there's any program — or any device for that matter — that you'd like, just let me know and I'll order it for you."
"What are you using for CRM?" Maggie asked.
"ACT! – we've just installed 2009."
"Given all that, I think I can make do," Maggie grinned, "at least until I know more about the kind of material I'll be generating. And I can access the full network from the road?"
"The whole enchilada," the tech said. "And you've got Broadband Access Built-In and Verizon so you ought to be able to reach the network from just about anywhere – and it's encrypted. Some users still like for me to load their laptops and tablets with some of the resident software – in case they want to work sitting in the middle of a mountain meadow in the wilds with no signal."
"I don't anticipate that," Maggie laughed, "but I'll let you know." The tech was edging toward the boxed laptop, obviously eager to get to it.
"Reference is on the second floor, right? I'll be back in about half an hour," Maggie said. "If you need me before that, call me there or text me on my Palm." She handed over the Palm ID.
"Wow, cool address," the tech was impressed. "You must have been a way-early adapter."
"One of the first. I was working for a telco at the time around a bunch of gear geeks. We always had the latest stuff."
"Cool," the tech repeated. "Just leave me to it."
Reference occupied the front third of all three buildings, consisting of a series of what had been three side-by-side rooms, now joined together, with bookshelves all the way to the top of ten-foot walls. A rolling ladder gave access to the taller shelves, which were crammed with a mix of books, three-ring binders, manuals, and periodical boxes. To one side, a couple of computers sat on a long table, sharing a stack of binders. In a long, glassfronted area was what appeared to be a teleconferencing setup. A small Christmas tree sat on a side table.
In the center of the main area, a T-shaped desk was shared by three people. The oldest, who couldn't have been more than thirty, wore a tag that identified her as "Rachel Inman, Librarian." She stood up and held out her hand. "Hi, Ms. McLaurin. Alysha called to give us a heads up that you'd be coming. These are our two researchers: Sandra Jacobi and Brad Newman. What can we do for you?"
"I need to see the research that's been done on the TTI target populations in north Georgia, specifically with typical students and their parents, teachers, vocational counselors, and principals." She thought for a minute while Rachel waited. "Also, I'd like anything you've got on economic development in the area."
"All the project-specific research is in the binders collected together on the second and third shelves of the first row of bookcases," Rachel told her, getting up. "Let's see what we can find."
"You mentioned students? Here's one called Team Dynamics in High-School Populations. Is that the sort of thing you mean?"
"Is it specific to the geographic area?" Maggie asked.
Rachel flipped to the introduction. "No, it's more of a general overview of teamwork from the perspective of teenagers. It seems to have been prepared for Mr. Scott by an academic panel in California."
Maggie shook her head. "No, what I need is something about attitudes of parents, students, and educators in these nine North Georgia counties toward education, public service, community issues, career preparation — that sort of thing."
"I'm not seeing anything like that," Rachel told her regretfully. "I'll look in my database, but I don't remember anything to do specifically with North Georgia." She walked to her computer and began inputting queries.
Maggie's Palm vibrated. It was Jennifer, wanting to know her preferred password. Maggie had just responded when Rachel looked up and shook her head.
"I'm sorry, Ms. McLaurin, but I'm not turning up anything specific to Georgia."
Maggie thought about it for a minute. "Then, for starters, I need the names of each high school and middle school in those nine counties, together with the names and contact information for each principal. And I need that as soon as possible."
"There's no other time frame around here," Rachel said, smiling. "Is there anything else you'd like now?"
Maggie considered what might be readily available. "I'd like a demographic rundown on the nine counties in north Georgia to be initially included in TTI – average family size, ages, occupations, any income data, and economic development stats for the last five to ten years."
"Just the basic rundown – a county profile, not by town?" Sandra asked. "That generalized?"
"For now, general demographics will be fine, and it'd be helpful to have that as soon as possible."
"We may be able to get some of this
for you later today, and all of it by early tomorrow. We'll begin at once, and finish tonight," Rachel said.
"Uh, I've got that game," Brad started to say, but was stopped by the librarian's glare.
"I'm temporarily downstairs on the garden level at the rear of the center townhouse," Maggie said, "so I can be reached at that phone extension with any questions or status reports. Also, you can text me on my Palm." She gave them the address.
"We'll have some of it tonight and all of it for you first thing Tuesday a.m.," Rachel repeated serenely, and Maggie recognized that she had an ally who believed as strongly as she did in running a tight ship.
"Terrific," she said, turning to leave. Suddenly she stopped. "Oh, something else that would be useful. See if you can generate a list of the restaurant chains in those counties."
"You mean like Mickey D's," Brad interjected.
"More like . . . " Maggie searched for names, "a couple of steps up."
"I think she means more like Red Lobster and Applebees and Ruby Tuesday's," Sandra said.
"Exactly," Maggie said gratefully, giving the girl – obviously a college student – a big smile. "I appreciate it."
The three reference specialists were already dividing up what they'd do as Maggie left. It struck her suddenly that the building must have excellent sound insulation. She could hear nothing of the traffic noise from outside. Nor could she hear anything from behind the closed doors off the hall. The only noise was made by the mechanism of the small elevator as it ascended in response to her tapping the UP button. She guessed that everyone was either already gone for Christmas or at least out Christmas shopping. As the little cage made its slow ascent to the next floor where Alysha's office was located in the adjacent townhouse, she felt incredibly empty. She realized she was glad to have the excuse of a short deadline that made it necessary to work over Christmas. What else was there to do?
She'd thought about flying to Atlanta for the day, but her visits seemed only to agitate and irritate her mother and cause extra work for Amanda. The few friends she'd managed to keep up with from her Atlanta days were scattered over the globe. Her friends in New York were more professional than personal. And this year, unlike last, Miles would not be appearing when least expected. She sighed.
It was always possible, of course, that Miles would change his mind and suddenly show up, bearing gifts and the usual good cheer, but somehow she didn't expect that. Or, she realized, she could change hers. She could call Miles and tell him that she'd been wrong, that she was leaving this job, that she was willing to marry him on his terms if he'd still have her. The fact that the problem of the West Paces Ferry house had been resolved had actually removed one of her objections to coming to him with no financial prospects and lots of financial problems. Still . . .
There was something odd about his attitude. He honestly acted as if he expected her to do whatever he told her and that he would always know best. She knew that wouldn't work. She was suddenly sorry that she'd ever accepted the stupid ring. Why did marriage even have to enter into it? She liked Miles, more than liked Miles. He was fun and endearing; and the sex had been, well, the sex had been phenomenal, truth to tell. He had somehow known exactly what she . . .
The elevator door opened, this time on the opposite side, and she found herself facing Susan Broad.
"Oh, hello, it's Maggie McLaurin, isn't it? Ms. McLaurin. I haven't seen you since we drove down day before yesterday. I just assumed that you'd taken the week off."
Her tone was snide, but Maggie forced herself to smile pleasantly. "Have you been to see Alysha Harding?"
Susan looked at her suspiciously. "Well, yes, but she was on the phone. Are you going there?"
"Actually, yes," Maggie told her.
"I'll show you," Susan said. "This is a regular rabbit warren up here."
"I know my way, but thanks," Maggie smiled. "If I don't see you again before the holiday, have a nice Christmas."
As she turned to leave, Susan exclaimed, "What have you done with that fabulous ring?"
"I don't make a practice of wearing serious jewelry at work," Maggie said, not at all minding the snideness that crept into her own tone. She did not like Susan Broad. More to the point, she did not trust her. She was certainly not going to share information about her personal life with her.
Alysha was sitting at her desk, on a phone headset, inputting instructions as she received them. "Yes, Mr. Scott. Yes, Mr. Scott. Yes. Yes. I've got that. Yes, as a matter of fact, she's right here. Did you want to talk to . . . Yes. Yes. Now, as to the Damien Hirst, according to your lawyer, all you can do without legal complications is to complete the purchase as agreed and then attempt to resell it if you no longer want it. Yes, yes, I'll tell him. Next, the Talent Treasury wants to know if you'll attend their annual banquet next month so they can acknowledge your grant – I told them we'd get back to them. Also, your brother's Vietnam outfit is having a reunion in June — I've already put it on your calendar. I think that's about all of any special interest. So you'll be back tomorrow afternoon? I'll have all of it ready then, and I'll call the theater and then Miss Owens once I've confirmed. Have a good evening out there in sunny California."
Hanging up, she turned briskly to Maggie. "Mr. Scott would like to see you here at 4 p.m. tomorrow afternoon if that's convenient."
"Certainly," Maggie told her. "I'll be working downstairs anyway. Did he say if there's anything I need to bring with me?"
"No, just that he'd like to see you at four. In regard to your visit to Reference, Miss McLaurin, did you find what you need?"
"More or less," Maggie told her. "What I need now is to get this faxed. I'm sorry to bother you, but I didn't know who else to call. None of my equipment is up and running yet."
"I'm glad to help," Alysha said, appearing to mean it. "Just give it here and I'll get it on its way and you can take the original with you, together with the confirmation."
"I appreciate it," Maggie told her.
As the document scanned, Alysha turned to her. "Did Jennifer find you before you headed upstairs?"
"She did. She seems to be extremely efficient."
"She is. Before she came, this place was like a software puzzle. Nothing worked with anything else, and passwords had a mysterious way of disappearing into some digital void. As you can imagine, it just about drove Mr. Scott crazy, but he was determined not to involve any of his people from the West Coast. Fortunately, Jennifer's gradually putting us to rights."
"She obviously knows her IT," Maggie said.
There was a small discordant note from the direction of the fax machine. "The recipient's number appears to be busy," Alysha told her, "but this machine will continue to retry every thirty seconds. Can you wait?"
"I'd like to if I'm not in the way," Maggie told her.
"Not at all, but I do need to make a quick phone call if you'll excuse me." She was hitting a speed-dial button even as she made her excuses.
Maggie stood a discreet distance away, at the window, looking four floors down to the street, but she could not help hearing the calls. In the first, Alysha arranged for a private box at a theater with a currently hot play. Then she called Miss Owens and told her that Mr. Scott would collect her at 7:45 the following evening to go first to the theater and then to dinner. Did she have a restaurant she'd prefer? Excellent, then Alysha would make those arrangements as well. Also, Mr. Scott had specifically requested that she tell Miss Owens that it would be possible for them to spend the entire evening together if that was acceptable to Miss Owens.
Maggie lifted her eyebrows. Code for sleepover? Almost certainly.
The phone rang, and Alysha got into an involved conversation with someone about a fitting on Mr. Scott's yacht that had not been as ordered.
Maggie guessed the mix of pleasant, organized, and firm made her very good at what she did. As the conversation continued, threatening to turn into a marathon of persistent probing, Maggie tuned out, thinking about her office downstairs and
what needed to be done to it to turn it into an efficient work space. Spaces could control not only the logistics, but also the mood, of what went on in them. The tiny, almost claustrophobic bedroom in the rather grotty apartment that Tom had rented during the time she'd known him before was proof of that. Its very neutrality made it no more than a blank canvas for flashes of bare flesh and what seemed an almost-tangible mesh of literally naked need. But what had made her think of that?
"Miss McLaurin," Alysha's voice brought her back to herself. "Here's your original and the confirmation that the fax has gone through."
"I appreciate it," Maggie told her.
"We'll look forward to seeing you tomorrow at four," Alysha told her as she turned to leave.
"I'll be here. At least . . . is this where I come for the meeting?" Maggie asked, having looked around and found no connecting doors.
"Yes. I'll take you to Mr. Scott's office. It's very difficult to find." Back in the hall, waiting on the elevator to make its way up from somewhere in the bowels of the place, Maggie became aware of a clattering noise. She looked around to see a large ginger-colored cat running full tilt toward her, followed by a rather stout older woman in a stylish dark dress, breathlessly calling "Tommy Cat." Instinctively, Maggie dropped her briefcase and made a grab for the cat, who evidently viewed the proceedings as a game since he immediately relaxed and began to purr.
