Agatha

by Kayt Miller

  Drake Garlock

  Age: 55

  Height: 5’8”

  Weight: 261

  Address: 461 Rainbow Drive, Page, AZ.

  Property Type: Own

  Payment amount: $3540.00 / month

  Driver’s License State: Arizona

  Title: Chief Financial Officer

  Annual Income: $295,542.00

  Years at H&S: 15

  Marital Status: Divorced (2x), currently

  married to Tiffany Garlock, age 28

  Children: 3 (daughters)

  Criminal record: None

  Social Media: None

  “Tick tock, Ian. You’ve only got forty-three days left.”

  Forty-four but who’s counting? “Yes, sir. I’ll get it done.” Turning on my heel, I don’t wait for more bullshit from him. There’s something about that guy. Instinct tells me he’s hiding something. But what? I step out of his office, shutting the door on the way out. Outside his office, people have their heads down working, but there’s no sign of Drake’s assistant, Monica. Taking the long way back to the office, I scan it for anything out of the ordinary.

  Rounding a corner, I spy Kim Reynolds and Drake’s assistant, Monica, huddled over the copy machine. “Hey ladies,” I say loudly. The two women jump apart so quickly Kim’s body hits the shelf that holds office supplies, causing it to lurch. “Sorry.” I chuckle. “Didn’t mean to startle you two.”

  Patting her chest, over her heart, Monica titters as she places her hand on my forearm. “You did startle me, Ian,” she says breathlessly.

  “Sorry. I just met with Drake. On my way out for a coffee. Either of you ladies need one?”

  “Well, aren’t you a sweetheart,” coos Monica. Kim remains silent. “I’m good.” She turns to Kim. “You don’t need any, girlfriend,” Monica giggles. “You’re jumpier than a virgin on her wedding night.”

  I stand stock still. That was a completely inappropriate thing to say at the office, but it puts a smile on Kim’s face. “Geez, Mon, you shouldn’t say shit like that at work.”

  Monica shrugs. “Sorry. You can take the white-trash girl out of the trailer park. But… well, you get the gist.”

  “We sure do,” I say with a chuckle.

  Monica Bellamy

  Age: 33

  Height: 5’2”

  Weight: 120

  Address: 111 Date Street, Page, AZ 86040

  Property Type: Own

  Payment amount: $966 / month

  Driver’s License State: Arizona

  Title: Administrative Assistant to C.F.O.

  Annual Income: $28,668.00

  Years at H&S: 5

  Marital Status: Married to William (age 35)

  Children: 2 (daughter, son)

  Criminal record: None

  Social Media: Facebook, Twitter, Snapchat, Instagram

  “Oh, well, gotta go,” Monica says, grabbing a stack of papers from the copy machine. “I’m sure Drake’s asleep again. He’s got a meeting with Jim from sales in five.” She rolls her eyes as she click-clacks out of the copy room.

  Looking down at her feet, I can’t help noticing the heels she’s wearing. Expensive heels. I don’t know lady’s designer shit but my wife…correction, my ex-wife, loved designer clothes, so I know enough to recognize quality when I see it and those shoes are quality. Giving me a little finger wave, she adds, “See you later, big guy.”

  “Yep.” I watch her walk away, noting the rest of her clothing. Expensive too. Designer. Nice clothes for an administrative assistant.

  I turn to see Kim’s back at the copy machine. She’s been quiet the last few minutes. “How are things in accounting?” Like I give a crap. I’m sure it’s not up to par since Agatha left.

  Turning her head only slightly, she shrugs. “Fine.”

  I step closer to her, so no one will be able to hear our conversation.

  “Just fine?”

  She’s not bothering to look at me now. Copying papers seems to be riveting.

  “Have people been asking questions?”

  She snorts. “Of course. This place is a hub of gossip.”

  “What’ve you been telling them?”

  “That she quit for personal reasons.”

  I nod but she can’t see me since she won’t look at me. “You and Monica close?”

  That gets her. Twirling on the spot she looks livid. “We’re work colleagues,” she spits out.

  I give her a shrug, “Looked like you two were huddled up about something. Care to share?”

  Lifting her head back, she stares into my eyes. “I thought your job was to locate the money that Agatha Palmer stole. You’re a consultant. You’ve no business intruding in my personal life.”

  “You’re absolutely right, Kim. I overstepped. Forgive me?” I smile brightly. “I get caught up in my job. I can’t seem to help myself.” I chuckle. Pointing to myself, I say proudly, “Former FBI agent.”

  “Former disgraced FBI agent,” she mumbles as she turns around.

  Well, well, well, someone’s done her research. Interesting. “Be careful. Wikipedia isn’t a reliable source, Kim, but you probably didn’t know that, did you?”

  “What?” she spins around to face me again. “I know how to do research. I know all about you, Ian Burke. I have my sources too. I know what you did to your poor wife.” There’s a little spittle flying out of her mouth.

  Poor wife, my ass.

  “Like I said, make sure your sources are reliable, and don’t believe everything you hear.”

  With that, I turn and walk out the door. I can’t help wondering why Kim’s so hostile.

  Chapter 17

  Agatha

  Making a cup of coffee in my mini Mr. Coffee pot, I stare at the dark liquid as it slowly drip, drip, drips into the four-cup carafe. Anything to keep my mind off the fact that it’s been three days since Ian was here. Three long days. I’ve been doing what I can to keep busy, so I don’t think about him or the other night.

  When the coffee’s brewed, I pull down a mug and pour myself a cup. Reaching into the fridge, I realize I’m nearly out of my favorite flavored creamer. I’ll need to buy more. I can’t live without it in the morning. I’m pretty damn broke, though. I could just get plain creamer or resort to the using milk. A cold shiver runs through my body. “No. Not plain, and absolutely, positively no milk.” I’ll just buy a smaller bottle for now. Once I get a job, I’ll be able to splurge on things like food and the White Mocha Latte creamer that’s almost as good as the ones I used to get a Java Jane’s. Almost.

  I look at the clock on my stove and see it’s only seven-thirty in the morning. “At least I’m up early.” Which means I can get a jump on the job hunt. I’ve updated my resume, eliminating Heart & Sole from my list of experience which is the real reason I haven’t applied for any accounting jobs yet. How am I supposed to explain the lapse in employment? According to my employment history, I’m missing eight years of my life. Maybe I should tell them I was kidnapped by aliens? Ooh, or better yet, I was lost at sea just like that Tom Hanks movie. All I need is a new best friend volleyball. I can name it Wilson just like he did. “Yeah, lost at sea.” I mumble, sipping my coffee. I’m sure people would believe that. Rolling my eyes, I realize that even though H&S didn’t press charges, I’m still so screwed.

  On a positive note, I’ve made good use of my down time. I met Camille at a coffee shop across town, away from the office, the day before yesterday. I wore my one and only disguise of blonde wig and glasses. I couldn’t very well wear my catering outfit. So, I paired the wig and glasses with skinny jeans and a lightweight, tunic-like sweater. When Cam asked me about my disguise, I told her I was doing it to protect her just in case we were spotted together. “You’ll get in trouble if you’re seen with me,” I said as I patted the top of her hand. That’s no lie. I don’t want her getting into trouble just because our friendship means as much to her as it does to me.

  At our rendezvous, Camille filled me in on the
company gossip as it relates to me. She said the big, tall guy hired to do the audit has been skulking around. (That big, tall guy would be Ian.)

  I replied, “Oh, yeah? I think you’re talking about the security guard that walked me out. What do you mean by skulking, and did you talk to him?”

  “I did,” she leaned in and with a giggle, told me, “I said you were too dumb to pull something like that off.”

  “Camille!” I laughed along with her. “You’re terrible. Did he believe you?”

  She shrugged. “No idea. But I had to say something. He’s got the wrong girl.” She hesitated. “Right?”

  “Absolutely. I’m innocent.”

  She looked left and right like she was making sure the coast was clear, and then asked, “Who do you think did it?”

  I shrugged. “I have no idea. I can’t imagine who would be capable of such a thing, let alone who would try to frame me. I thought I got along with everyone,” I added, sounding sad, like Eeyore. “Do you have a suspect?”

  “Well,” she leaned forward again. “Trent’s been acting weird lately.”

  “Oh, Trent,” I sighed. Camille knows how I felt about him.

  “I know, hon.” She patted my hand. “I thought you two were going to end up together. But I heard from a few other people that he’s been saying some really terrible things about you.”

  “Oh.” Well, shit. I wish she hadn’t told me that.

  “Which is why I suspect him,” she said. “I think he dost protest way too much.” She nodded knowingly. “Shakespeare.”

  I believe it’s actually The lady doth protest too much, methinks. I wasn’t about to correct her. She got the Shakespeare part right. Camille is more of a television watcher than a reader. The Real Housewives is her kind of thing. I don’t fault her. She’s fun, sweet, kind, and my best friend. Opposites attract, right?

  I spent the rest of the day, after coffee with Camille, feeling sorry for myself again. I moped and ate junky food. I tried to watch a movie, but I couldn’t get into it. I napped because, why not? I secretly hoped Ian would call or stop by, but no such luck.

  Then yesterday, I helped Sadie out at the bakery since one of her employees decided that working at the ass-crack of dawn every day wasn’t her cup-o-tea. I offered to come in again today, but she said she had it covered. I’d offer to work for her on a daily basis, but that ass-crack of dawn thing isn’t really for me either. I’d do it, though, if she needed me. Checking my bank account yesterday made me want to call my sister back and tell her what an asset I’d be to her little company. But Sadie was clear with all of us when she opened up her shop a few years ago that she didn’t want to depend on family to help her run the place. She was determined to do it on her own. Honestly? I don’t get what the big deal is. What’s family for? Well, correction, I do know what the deal is. It’s her boyfriend, Andrew. Stuffy, fancy, Andrew. He turned his nose up at the notion that his future wife would want to own and operate a bakery. According to Sadie, he’s determined she’ll be a ‘homemaker’ after they’re married. A homemaker? Who says that shit nowadays? Oh, right, Andrew Winchester, that’s who.

  So, here I sit contemplating. My bank account isn’t empty yet, but after I make the next house payment, car payment, insurance payments, pay my cell phone bill, buy groceries, and pay my credit card, it’ll be at a scary level. Rummaging through the pile of papers and items on my table, I dig out the card. “Beth Zimmer. Class Act Catering.” Now that I know what the job entails, I’m sure I can do it. At least until something else pans out. Picking up my cell phone, I dial Beth Zimmer’s number. It rings several times, then a canned voice message begins. I wait for the beep so I can leave my message. “Um, Beth? This is Aggie.” Shit. “I mean Abby from the party at Heart & Sole Shoes. You said…”

  I hear clicking and then, “Hello?”

  “Oh, hello, yes, may I speak to Beth Zimmer?”

  “You got her. You said this was Abby?”

  “It’s Agatha, actually.”

  “Ah, I see. I’m dying to ask what the hell was up with all of that the other night, but I’ll wait until I’ve got you here to quiz you. You coming in to fill out your W-2?”

  “Right, yes.” Yippee! I can get paid for that night. “And to talk to you about a job.”

  “Great. We’re in Tuba City.”

  “I see that.” The company address lists Tuba City, Arizona as the home base.

  “Can you come in today? If you do, I’ve got a gig tomorrow night in Flagstaff, if you’re interested.”

  “How much do you pay, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Not at all. It’s eleven dollars per hour plus gratuity.”

  “Gratuity?”

  “We split the tip.”

  “Okay. I’m about an hour and half from you.” I look at the clock I calculate the time it’ll take to shower, change, fill up my gas tank, and grab a fresh coffee. Once that’s done, I say, “I can be at your place at around ten this morning. Does that sound okay?”

  “Sure thing. See you then.”

  I hang up the phone, jump up and down a couple of times and squeal, “I’ve got a job!” A sense of relief washes over me. Relief that I’ll be able to pay my bills while I figure out what’s going on with the investigation and with Ian.

  “So, you’re going to be a caterer now?” Keely asks as she gingerly sips the beer from the glass that Sadie filled to the brim.

  I spent a good part of my day in Tuba City. Beth was cool; I liked her a lot. She reminded me a great deal of Sadie. No-nonsense and hard-working. Her company is small but well-established in north-central Arizona. I suppose that’s why we hired her; she came highly recommended. When I told her my story, she looked a little apprehensive. I don’t blame her. I assured her I was working on clearing my name. In the meantime, I had to eat. She was still willing to give me a chance and, for that, I’m extremely grateful.

  When I got home, I ate some soup and took a nap. My ringing phone woke me up at around four with an invite to meet my sisters at Murphy’s Pub for an evening of beer, wings, and girl-talk. Yeah, I know I can’t afford it, but spending time with my sibs? Priceless.

  “So, you’re going to be a caterer now?” Lainie asks, repeating Keely’s question.

  “Oh, sorry,” I chuckle. “I was spacing off. So, yeah, for now I’ll work banquets and parties. It’s only temporary. I need money coming in and that’s not going to happen if I sit on my ass at home.”

  “Aggs, I’m sorry I didn’t offer you the job at the bakery. If I’d known you were that worried about money...” Sadie looks sincerely torn. “I just like it…”

  “I know. It’s your place. I’m not financially in trouble yet. Just know that I’m happy to fill in when you need me.”

  Squeezing my hand, Sadie smiles. “Thanks.” She takes a drink of her frosty mug adding, “You can work when Andrew and I are on the cruise. If you don’t have a real job by then, that is.”

  “Catering is a real job.” Why am I defending caterers now?

  “You know what I mean,” she says with a scowl. “You’re a CPA. You do my taxes.”

  “Hey, that’s it!” says Lainie. “You could start doing taxes for people. I’m sure Keeton would hire you.”

  “Stop.” I say with a chuckle. “Thank you so much, my sweet sisters, but you know I hate doing taxes.”

  “Right,” says Lainie.

  “Of course,” adds Sadie.

  “Welp! Keep it in mind if you get desperate.” That one was Keely. Of course she’d say that.

  I turn to Violet, who’s been exceptionally quiet tonight. That’s saying something because Violet is always quiet. Well, not always. She used to be much more talkative growing up. At some point, she just stopped being like that and sort of turned into herself. When did that happen? Was it her first go-around at college? I stare at my little sister. When did she stop being talkative?

  “Hey, Vi?”

  “Yeah?” she asks, giving me a small smile.
<
br />   I’ve been thinking about the gifts Mom gave each of us. I know Lainie keeps hers in her room. Sadie obviously has her recipe box at the shop, prominently displayed at the bakery. Keely’s got her music box on the mantle above her faux fireplace, and I can’t help wondering. “Where’s Mom’s locket? I don’t see you wear it anymore.”

  Her smile vanishes, and she responds abruptly, “I lost it,” and then stands up suddenly. “I need to, um... I’ll be back in a minute.”

  My sisters are chattering amongst themselves. I don’t think they noticed my exchange with Violet until I look at Sadie. Her mouth is closed into a thin line. She pulls her phone out from somewhere and starts to type. When my phone dings, I know it’s from her.

  Sadie: I heard your question. She hasn’t worn it in a few years.

  Me: She said she lost it.

  Sadie: Bullshit. She’d never lose that necklace.

  Me: Okay. Then where is it?

  Sadie: Ask Keely.

  Me: You ask Keely.

  The last thing I want to do is upset Violet with questions about her necklace. She was already out of sorts by my simple question. I watch as Sadie types. When Keely’s phone chimes, she leans down to read her phone that’s sitting on the table in front of her. Keels doesn’t even bother texting. “She hasn’t worn it in years. It’s broken. At least the chain is.”

  I lean forward to whisper. “She just told me she lost it.”

  “Nope. It’s in her jewelry box. I saw it when I was looking for a pair of earrings to borrow.”

  “Why would she tell Aggie she lost it?” asks Lainie.