All God's Promises (A Prairie Heritage Book 7)

by Vikki Kestell

  Linnéa’s training snapped into place. “It’s about cost control and my weird schedule, Daddy. Don’t worry. And if it’s after hours and there’s a real emergency, you know a telegram will reach me fastest.”

  The relay Marstead had in place would deliver a wire within the hour.

  “Yes. Well, I’m glad you called, Little Duck. We love you. We are praying for you.”

  The “we are praying for you” part grated against Laynie’s nerves.

  I have no value to a holy God, Daddy. Don’t you understand? God has never wanted me and he never will.

  But Laynie simply answered, “And I love you and Mama, too, Daddy.”

  ~~**~~

  Chapter 18

  April 1993

  IN THE ELEVEN MONTHS SHE HAD BEEN WITH KARI, Scarlett had proven to be a hard worker, unafraid to take on new tasks. Scarlett’s actual business experience might have been thin, but her education and instincts were first-rate.

  The quality Kari appreciated more was loyalty: Scarlett was loyal to a fault.

  Scarlett worked out of a small office not far from Kari’s office. They shared Bettina Fletcher’s services, and began each day with a short meeting.

  “I received a curious email this morning, from an anonymous individual concerning your plant in Houston,” Bettina informed Kari during their Monday meeting.

  “Oh?” Email messages from within Brunell & Brunell were common enough but were less so from without—although Kari believed the trend could only increase.

  “The email is from a Houston Internet provider, but we do not recognize the sender. Since it concerns Granger Mills, I can only assume that it is from a Granger Mills employee.”

  She handed Kari a printout.

  Kari read aloud: Please inform Miss Michaels that the Granger Mills management team will be meeting next Tuesday to vote on significant changes to the plant and its staffing.

  “I’m not familiar with Granger Mills,” Scarlett said.

  Kari’s brow creased. “Granger Mills is a textile mill and sewing factory, Scarlett, but I don’t recall receiving notice of ‘significant changes.’”

  “More concerning, you did not receive an invitation to the meeting in which those changes will be discussed and decided,” Scarlett murmured.

  “Hmm. Apparently someone at Granger Mills decided I should be put in the know. How many employees at Granger Mills, Bettina?”

  Bettina consulted the sheet she’d printed along with the email. “Three hundred fifteen, at the most recent count.”

  Kari tilted her head, thinking. “Oskar expressed some concern when we visited Granger Mills last. His ‘inside man’ was retiring and he was not altogether confident in Mr. Hancock.”

  Kari tipped her head, and considered an idea. “Bettina, do you know an administrative assistant at Granger Mills who can be trusted?”

  Bettina glanced up. “I am acquainted with a Mrs. Jensen. She provides administrative support to the management team, but not directly to Mr. Hancock.”

  “How long has she been there?”

  “Fifteen years. Perhaps longer?”

  Kari sat back, lost in thought. When she sat forward again, she said, “I’ll be frank with you: This anonymous email provokes some concern in me regarding Mr. Hancock. It may be that I came away with an unfavorable first impression, but I think it is more. Certainly my instincts were twitching when we were in the same room.”

  Kari glanced up at Bettina. “Please book a flight for us into Houston a week from tomorrow, back out the same evening.”

  Bettina cleared her throat. “Unfortunately, I will not be able to accompany you. If you recall, my mother is having out-patient surgery that day.”

  “Yes, that’s right. Hmm. We’ll have to muddle along without you. And please tell her I’ll be praying for her.” Kari’s brows bunched together. “As for that meeting? What a bother. Walt Hancock gives me the creeps.”

  “What is his position?” Scarlett asked, making notes in her own organizer.

  “He’s the plant manager and V.P.,” Kari replied.

  “What, in particular, bothers you?” Scarlett asked.

  Kari thought another moment. “When Oskar introduced me to the management team, Hancock was mildly deferential at that moment but dismissive within the actual meeting.”

  Kari corrected herself. “No, dismissive isn’t the right word. ‘Excluding’ is perhaps more accurate. I sat next to Oskar at the conference table with Hancock and his four-member team, but I may as well not have been there.

  “He rarely made eye contact with me, and when Oskar asked my opinion it was like Hancock never heard me.”

  “Did he not realize that you are the outright owner of the company he manages?” Scarlett asked.

  Kari shrugged. “I think my disquiet may run deeper than that. I sensed that Hancock places little value on females in the workplace. His manner is condescending. I don’t believe any women hold management positions either, yet I recall a woman sitting against the wall whom two managers consulted regularly.

  “She seemed very astute—had the facts and numbers Oskar asked for at her fingertips—yet was not invited to sit at the table or address the management team directly. The only other woman in the meeting was Hancock’s admin, Mrs. Blake, who took notes and said nothing.”

  Kari sighed. “I confess this email is raising more than one red flag. I would like to know who sent it.”

  She tapped her pen on her notebook a few times. “Bettina, I’ve changed my mind. I want to fly into Houston Sunday afternoon—unannounced. I’d like you to have Mrs. Jensen meet us for dinner that evening. And see if she knows who the other woman in the last meeting I attended was.”

  “Her name should be in the meeting minutes, shouldn’t it?” Scarlett inquired. “And we have a copy of those minutes, don’t we?”

  “Right you are. Have that woman join us for dinner, too. And again, I don’t want anyone else knowing that we’re coming to town early or that they are having dinner with us.”

  Bettina nodded. “I’ll take care of it.”

  —

  NEAR THE END OF THE DAY, Bettina knocked on Kari’s door. “Miss Michaels?”

  “Come in.”

  Bettina sat down in front of Kari’s desk. “Your flight and hotel reservations for Houston are confirmed for Sunday. I also made a dinner reservation for four at DouPre’s.”

  “Ah. You located the mystery woman?”

  “Yes. One Cadie Bryant. As it turns out, her name was not in the meeting minutes, but Mrs. Jensen knew who she was as soon as I mentioned her.”

  “Oh?”

  Bettina nodded. “Miss Bryant is regarded as the in-house whiz. She’s only been with Granger Mills for a year or so. Her mind is a steel trap for facts and figures but . . .”

  “Let me guess: She is underpaid and underappreciated.”

  “Exactly.” Bettina hesitated a moment. “Mrs. Jensen told me . . .”

  “Yes?”

  Bettina frowned. “Perhaps it would be better for her to tell you herself. She says that she is, and I quote, ‘looking forward to an opportunity to speak candidly with you.’ End quote.”

  “Hmm. I think I am looking forward to our conversation, too.”

  —

  KARI AND SCARLETT ARRIVED IN HOUSTON around two Sunday afternoon. A driver waited for them; he held up a sign that read “K. Michaels.”

  He smiled pleasantly. “Afternoon, ladies. Welcome to Houston. I’m Maurice; I’ll be your driver while you’re in town.” He collected their luggage and saw them to the car.

  The city was warmer than New Orleans that day, but the humidity was as high.

  “I’m going to shower and dress for dinner,” Kari murmured as she and Scarlett parted to their separate rooms. “Meet you downstairs at a quarter to six?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  —

  AT EXACTLY 5:45, KARI AND SCARLETT MET IN THE HOTEL LOBBY. Maurice picked them up and whisked them downtown.
He pulled up in front of a tall tower.

  “The restaurant is located on the top floor,” he told them. He handed Scarlett a card. “Please call me when you are ready to return to the hotel.”

  Kari and Scarlett walked into the building’s lobby and found the elevator to the restaurant. When they stepped out, two women looked at them with expectant expressions.

  “Miss Michaels? I’m Emma Jensen. This is Cadie Bryant.”

  “Thank you for meeting with us this evening,” Kari replied. “This is my associate, Scarlett Brunell.”

  Kari studied the two serious-faced women. Mrs. Jensen was petite and pleasant looking, perhaps fifty years of age. Miss Bryant was a tall, stately African American. She appeared to be Kari’s age. Kari did not miss the thick briefcase Miss Bryant carried.

  “Shall we find our table before we talk?” Kari suggested.

  The women agreed and followed Kari and Scarlett to the hostess. As they were being seated, Kari wondered how she would broach the subject of the factory’s state, but as it turned out, she had little to do but listen and ask clarifying questions.

  “Miss Michaels, no doubt you received our email?” Mrs. Jensen began.

  “Yes. So you sent it?”

  “I sent the actual email, but it was from the two of us,” Miss Bryant answered. “We are both in positions to see and hear things at the plant that concern and perhaps alarm us. I believe that some, er, issues have gone undetected for years. However, a specific management decision finally prompted us to reach out to you.”

  Miss Bryant spoke extemporaneously before, during, and after dinner. Whenever Kari asked a question, she had answers at the ready. Mrs. Jensen frequently expanded on Miss Bryant’s narration.

  Two hours later Kari could scarcely remember what she’d eaten for dinner.

  But I’m pretty certain what I’ll be having for a midmorning snack Tuesday.

  “Miss Bryant, how long have you worked at Granger Mills?”

  “Two years in the fall, ma’am.”

  “What position do you hold?”

  “My position is “Accounting Analyst,” ma’am.”

  “And your education?”

  “I hold a master’s in business administration.”

  Kari considered the woman. She was placid, transparent, and utterly in command of the fiscal state of Granger Mills.

  “Miss Bryant, you seem to pull exact facts and figures right out of your hat. Do you happen to have what they call an eidetic memory?”

  A light blush rose on the woman’s cheeks. “True eidetic memory is something of a myth, Miss Michaels. I am, however, adept with figures. I can recall exact numbers and make calculations in my head with ease. I-I don’t think that my manager, Ted French, the Granger Mills comptroller, realizes how much I have, er, figured out. He doesn’t give me much credence, but as an analyst, I’ve learned how to ‘backdoor’ systems with tougher security than Granger Mills’ system.”

  “Surely with your education and talents you could work somewhere more prestigious than a textile mill and sewing factory?”

  She blushed again. “Actually, for a number of years I was a forensic accountant for a large CPA firm in downtown Houston.”

  Kari looked her question and Miss Bryant appeared pained. “So why am I at Granger Mills? It’s a matter of priorities, I guess. My sister and I were raised by an aunt who became homebound two years ago. My aunt requires continual care that she cannot afford, so we, my sister and I, live in our aunt’s home and provide it ourselves.

  “My sister carries most of the caregiver load while I provide the finances. My aunt’s home is only two miles from Granger Mills. The quick commute makes it possible for me to go home during lunch and give my sister a needed break.”

  “In other words, you and your sister have put your lives and careers on hold to love and care for your aunt.” Kari wanted the woman to know that she esteemed her selflessness.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Miss Bryant’s response was a hoarse whisper.

  “God bless you, Miss Bryant.”

  The woman blinked back sudden tears.

  Kari changed the subject. “Since you are obviously overqualified for your present position, have you applied for promotions at Granger Mills?”

  “Of course. However, ‘upward mobility’ doesn’t seem common within Granger Mills.”

  Kari turned to Mrs. Jensen. “Are there any women in management at Granger Mills?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  Kari lapsed into silence, thinking over the information they had provided her. When the waiter appeared with the check, she roused herself. “Thank you, Mrs. Jensen, Miss Bryant, for your time and, er, candid conversation this evening. I appreciate you both. I particularly thank you for your service to Granger Mills.”

  While Kari signed the credit card receipt, she added, “Mrs. Jensen, my administrative assistant could not come with us on this trip. Would you kindly attend the meeting Tuesday to take minutes for me?”

  Emma Jensen swallowed. “Mr. Hancock’s assistant, Mrs. Blake, usually takes the minutes,” she said. “And I hardly think Mr. Hancock would be pleased to see me in the room.”

  “Hmm. I take your point. However, I wish for my own set of minutes, and I desire them to be accurate and complete.”

  She looked at both women. “You need not fear repercussions; I will ensure that your positions are secure. So, Mrs. Jensen, are you up to the task?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Very good. Now, Miss Bryant. You’ve brought along supporting documentation, I presume?”

  “Yes, Miss Michaels. Months of reports and an executive summary to guide you through the salient pages. I’ve also highlighted the particulars as I’ve described them.”

  “Thank you. Scarlett will take them from you. I’d like you to be in attendance Tuesday also.”

  “Of course, Miss Michaels.”

  “Tomorrow I plan to visit my factory. I wish to be free to go wherever I decide to go and speak to whomever I choose to speak. Mrs. Jensen, can you arrange for visitor passes to be waiting for us, say, around ten in the morning?”

  “Certainly. Would you care for a tour?”

  Kari chewed the end of her thumb for a moment. “Who is the sewing factory shift supervisor?”

  “Um, Jeff Baines supervises the mill; he is on the management team. Eric Thompson supervises the cutting and sewing floors. He is not on the management team.”

  Scarlett jotted down the two names and their office numbers, and Kari said, “I will ask for Thompson when we arrive. You understand that I do not wish for any advance notice of our visit tomorrow?”

  The two women cut glances at each other and nodded.

  “Thank you again for your time.”

  Scarlett had spoken little during dinner, but she had listened intently. During the drive back to their hotel, they were silent until Scarlett’s soft chuckle roused Kari from her reflections.

  “What is it?”

  Scarlett shook her head, still giggling. “It’s just . . . I am looking forward to tomorrow and Tuesday.” She turned her head toward Kari. “I’m learning a lot from you.”

  “From me?” Kari was nonplussed.

  “Oh, yes.” Scarlett laughed again and then they lapsed into their own thoughts.

  —

  MAURICE DROPPED THEM AT THE FRONT ENTRANCE to the plant a few minutes after ten the following morning. Scarlett was equipped with notebook, pen, and a binder of selected reports.

  Kari was armed with several hours of prayer.

  Lord, I’ve never been in a position like this! I certainly have never faced such a situation before, she continued to pray as they walked to the front entrance.

  Oh, how I need your discernment! I need your help, your guidance, and most of all your peace. I realize, Father, that it is not enough for me to ‘do’ the right thing here; I must also behave in a manner that demonstrates the fruit of your Holy Spirit—regardless of how difficult that might be.

&nb
sp; Lord, I can only be the woman you desire me to be if you help me. And so I am leaning upon you.

  Scarlett stepped up to the security desk. “I believe two visitor passes are waiting for us? The names are Scarlett Brunell and Kari Michaels.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Please wear them at all times. But who will be escorting you today?”

  A tall, harried-looking man pushed through the door into the lobby. “Miss Michaels? Miss Brunell? I’m Eric Thompson.”

  They shook hands and Thompson gestured toward the door into the plant proper. In the hallway on the other side, he stopped and stared at Kari. She could see worry in the creases around his mouth and eyes.

  “I was pretty surprised to receive your call this morning, ma’am. As you requested, I have not mentioned your visit to anyone, but . . .”

  “But nothing, Mr. Thompson. I own this mill lock, stock, and barrel,” Kari replied evenly. “I appreciate your willingness to follow my orders.”

  Somewhat relieved, Thompson released a deep breath. “Yes, ma’am. Right this way.”

  In the hallway outside the sewing floor stood long lines of employee lockers and a cabinet containing disposable ear protection. Thompson handed Kari and Scarlett spongy earplugs.

  “It’s noisy in there with all the machines running at the same time.”

  They entered the sewing floor then and Kari experienced what he meant. Perhaps one hundred sewing and serger machines were spaced upon the floor and busy workers ran them. Other employees wheeled bins of bundled fabric pieces to the sewers and shuttled finished pieces to the next sewing station. A few curious eyes noticed them.

  Thompson started to lead Kari down one of the rows, but she placed a hand upon his arm.

  “Mr. Thompson, I wish you to remain here while I tour the sewing floor.”

  He hesitated and then said, “I have some work in my office. Perhaps I could leave you here for a quarter hour?”