by Rose, Kristi
Wednesday, I spent following Sean Kleppner who appeared to lead a very boring life for a man who’d won two million dollars. He went to work. He went to lunch. He went home. A quick call to Shannon led me to believe this was his M.O., and I simply needed to wait him out in order to get the money shot. This PI thing was dullsville.
Finally, Ralph’s called. Training to grocery shop for others spanned two days. Ralph’s spent an entire day telling us how to talk positively to customers, assuring us we’d get stopped a lot and asked to solve problems. Apparently, the small handheld walkie-talkie assigned to me each day was my lifeline to a manager should I ever have a “rabid customer run-in.”
Once, Carson bought me a can of bear spray. I made a mental note to pack it when I worked at Ralph’s. I’d shopped at Ralph’s on triple coupon day; the scene was something out of a horror movie, weapon wielding, name calling, and all. And that was customer to customer.
On Friday, my last day of training, I follow another Click and Go employee named Natalie as she filled an order. Natalie was in the restroom while I waited in the main Click and Go space, watching others process orders. A woman my age came in and plopped down on one of the flat-bed carts and tucked her head in her hands. She was pretty in that overdone way. Her dark hair was dyed pink at the tips, her clothes were form-fitting, and she made the tacky, rubbery, neon-yellow vest we wore look like a fashion accessory. I made it look like a gunnysack.
“Lason Dell has done it again,” she told the room, looking between her fingers to see who was paying attention. Our eyes met, and I shrugged. I had nothing to contribute.
But my ears perked up. A few of the guys made faces at each other then went back to work.
“When are you going to learn, Tara? You have to ignore Lason.” This from an older woman ringing up groceries at the register and bagging them. As much as Tara was put together, this woman was frumpy. Baggy T-shirt, baggy jeans on a pear-shaped figure, and Ugg slip-on boots that looked like slippers. Her gray hair was cut in a short bob, and she sported a no-nonsense expression.
Oh, no. Was Lason a douche bag? I dreaded having to tell Marni that. Of course, who would be surprised? Not the girl who married a married man. Nothing could surprise her anymore.
“You know how hard it is for me to do that, Jean? You know how I feel about him.” Tara shook her head. “I can’t even focus on what I’m supposed to be doing. Maybe I need to go home.”
Someone in the room groaned. My guess it was one of the guys.
Were Lason and Tara fooling around? Was Lason a woman hopper? Only left one when he was comfortably in with another? I was beginning to think so.
Tara huffed. “It’s not like I’m leaving you short-staffed. The new girl can do some orders.”
Everyone in the room stared at me.
Jean said, “She looks smart enough to pick it up quick.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled.
Natalie came out and stood next to me. “What’s going on,” she asked under her breath.
“Something about Tara and Lason Dell. She thinks she needs to go home.”
Natalie rolled her eyes. “Of course, she does. Lason is such a dufus when it comes to her. We’re so tired of it. Their stupid drama.”
I had more questions, but thought that when we were on the floor might be a better time. Less listening ears.
Jean said, looking at Natalie, “You think you and the new girl can do two at a time. We’re swamped today.”
Natalie shot Tara a look of contempt before answering Jean, “Yeah.” To me she said, “Get a cart and four baskets.” She nodded her head to the supply area. The baskets were large black industrial and double-the-size of milk carton crates. They folded down nicely and, when open, stacked one onto the other. Managing the cart wasn’t rocket science. There were two levers, one red, one green, and a u-shaped handle that made steering awkward but do-able.
Jean snatched some papers from one of the boxes on the wall. The boxes were four down and four wide. They resembled employee mailboxes, but there were no names to indicate a box belonged to anyone. Almost every box had paper in it. Jean handed the papers she took to me. It was an order. The time was highlighted. I had four hours to get it done before the customer came to pick it up.
Natalie pointed to boxes. “That’s how you’ll know it’s a busy day. The red marker over the box says that’s where we are in the orders. You’ll come in, grab the order with the red marker, move the marker to the next box, then scan your printout with your handheld.” She tapped a bar code on the corner of the printout. “Others toss the printout, but I keep mine so I can refer to it. It’s up to you.” They’d gone over this in training, but the review was helpful. I kept the printout in my vest pocket.
I glanced at the paper-lined mailboxes. “Busy is an understatement,” I said, noting all but three boxes had an order. Jean had taken my papers from the first box. There was a lot of work that needed to be done.
“Payday,” one of the guys said. “Always swamped.”
Tara was gathering her purse and a raincoat from a locker across the room. “If Lason calls and asks about me, you tell him he did this. That he’s responsible. Tell him I complained of feeling nauseous. That should give him a good scare.” She stalked out of the room, the door swinging closed slowly behind her.
My impression of Lason from Tara wasn’t stacking up to be good. I made a mental note of my observation, fearing I might forget something, wishing I could jot everything down. I made a second mental note to record this in my notebook first chance I could break free from Natalie. Particularly the part about feeling nauseous.
“Come on,” Natalie said. “It’s going to be a long day.”
I followed her out into the store, our carts between us.
“Let’s try to stick together in case you have questions.” She reviewed the order with me, reminding me that it was broken up in sections, how the items were placed in the store. She showed me how she noted any substitutions. Apparently, substitutions increased the closer the order was to payday.
“Always go high with subs,” Natalie said, pushing her cart toward the produce. “Higher value, better brand. You know.”
I nodded. We worked in silence and quickly. After the third item, I found a system and didn’t need the printout. Read item, scan it with handheld, bag it. Not a lot of brain power, but I enjoyed it. I was able to think a lot while I worked. I could move at my pace. No one was hovering. And bonus was this job put money in my pocket. Until I figured out the PI business, I was going to hang onto this job. A crash mat wasn’t bad. I needed a safety net the way my luck was going.
Natalie came over and read my list. “Looks like I have a vegetarian and you a meat eater. I’m going to head toward the dairy section. You do the meat and meet me there. Sound good?”
“Sure,” I said. We separated at the bakery. Once out of her sight, I dictated my observation and the incident with Tara in an email to myself, afraid my notebook would draw unnecessary attention.
The meat section took up a corner of the store. The meat counter was the point of the corner and jutted out with long rows of coffin coolers to each side. Regular meat on one side. Organic, free-range, grass-fed, and hormone-free on the other. Next to the organics was the deli counter.
I was loading five packs of organic ninety-six percent fat-free ground beef into a carton when I glanced at the meat counter and froze.
Tyson Lockett.
He was standing there big as he pleased, not looking over his shoulder but studying the meat in the display. He wasn’t dressed in his gray suit, but a karate uniform—a gi—with a black belt around his waist.
I acted on instinct. I rolled my cart behind him, blocking him in, and waited.
He completed his order and made to leave, not looking at me. “Excuse me,” he mumbled and tried to go around me. I rolled forward playing the blocking game.
That’s when I got his attention. He glanced my way and rolled his eyes. Not in the least bit
surprised to see me.
“What’s your game?” I bit out.
“What? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He met my stare with a steady look of his own.
“Are you even a lawyer? Am I going to find out that you and my husband”—I did air quotes—“are conning me or something? I went to your office.” More air quotes around office. “Was that even real?”
Tyson shook his head. “No, that wasn’t my office, but I am a lawyer.”
I wagged my finger at him. “And I’m not the only one looking for you. Some tall dark Neanderthal is, too.”
Tyson shrugged. “I told you to just walk away from this.”
I suppose with that black belt around his waist he wasn’t too worried about the other man. I made a mental note to take self-defense classes.
“Yeah, because walking away from a relationship and marriage is something people do with ease.” I repressed the urge to smack the meat packages out of his hands.
“I know this can’t be easy, but it’s for your own good,” Tyson said and tried to step past me. I blocked him again. He juked to the other side, but I backed up and cut him off with the cart. We did this back and forth game a few seconds before I snapped. I stomped on the brake and moved to stand in front of him. I poked my finger in his chest. He backed up a step.
“You owe me an explanation. Or something. Since that day in your office, I’ve been almost kicked out of my house, my car taken, my business was broken into, my house was broken into, I’ve been followed, and…and”—my voice rose several octaves as I got into his face—“someone tried to steal my backpack. Then this guy tells me Carson took off with some confidential work—”
“What guy?” Tyson said, his voice low.
“Another PI, Cooper was his last name. Asked if Carson left me a thumb drive or something.”
Lockett surveyed the store before returning his attention to me. “Stay away from him. Trust no one.”
My anger flared. Warnings without explanation were just words. “Stay away? Ever since you told me Carson was dead, I’ve been in the dark. I’m two steps behind whatever the heck is going on in my life and you”—I poked this chest so hard my finger bent back—“you put me there. Maybe you should think about enlightening me a little. Because if I die, it’ll be on your head.” A shiver of fear ran through me. I’d said the last part as a threat in hopes to make him react. Instead, I scared myself.
“Help me,” I pleaded.
Lockett sighed and narrowed his eyes. “Cooper is bad news. Carson knew that at the end. Cooper’s probably making sure Carson didn’t leave you anything from the grave. He didn’t, did he?”
“You mean other than a bunch of lies and a PI business I don’t know how to run? No.” I purposely skipped over the backpack.
“Good. If he did, get rid of it. Don’t tell anyone. Once they realize you know nothing, they’ll leave you alone.” Lockett came off confident with his assessment.
I recalled the conversation Cooper and I had. If what Lockett was saying was true, then Cooper knew I had nothing. The person who broke into my house had found nothing because nothing was stolen. Only time would tell if this stranger was telling me the truth.
“I hope you’re right,” I said. “But why should I believe anything you say? Is your name even Lockett?”
Lockett rolled his eyes. “It is, and I’m really a lawyer. My advice to you is to butt out of everything. Go away. Go on vacation. Get out of town.”
I scoffed then pointed to my vest. “Remember the part about my account being cleaned out?”
He took me by the upper arm and leaned in close. He appeared frustrated, though his attention was everywhere before briefly fixing on me. He seemed slightly…alarmed? “Trust me, Samantha. These guys are not good guys,” he insisted.
Was he a good guy? I wasn’t sure.
“Are you sure Carson didn’t leave anything behind?” He stared hard at me, watching my expression.
I nodded, mute.
“Then you’re going to be okay. Do you understand?”
I nodded again. Not sure that I did understand, except to know that the backpack was significant. “Why did he involve me in this?” I mumbled more to myself.
Lockett gripped my arm tighter. “If you should find something, something unusual, just get rid of it, or give it to me and I’ll get rid of it.”
“There’s nothing,” I said and pulled from his grip.
“Take care of yourself,” he said and stepped around my cart. He arched a brow, waiting for me to nod, then took off, walking briskly away. It was then I noticed he was barefoot.
Weird.
Locket left me with one hope. That the players looking for whatever Carson left behind might believe I didn’t have anything. Maybe life would settle down, and I could catch my breath.
Admittedly, I was curious to know more about the real Carson and why he’d picked me. As angry as I was with him, as disgusted as I was by his actions, I was also just as curious.
17
Friday
After my shift, I found myself sitting in my car, thinking over everything Lockett said. Particularly his warnings. What I needed to know was, could I walk away from this without any answers? I didn’t have to search inside myself for long to know the answer. No, I couldn’t. Everything I’d done over the past few days told me that.
I could have easily shut down the PI business and never taken one step into that world. I didn’t have to go back to Lockett’s office or taunt the stranger in the car. Why did this happen to me? I didn’t know. But I was going to find out. I refused to be the stereotypical victim.
I dunno, Officer. He just did these things that seemed odd, but I preferred to be blissfully ignorant. Are you sure that’s a body in our septic tank? Or backyard? Or closet?
A glance at my watch told me Toby was not in high time so I gave him a call.
“Dudette,” he said after answering on the second ring.
“Dude.” I smiled. “I have a question for you.”
“Hit me.” He made a suck-in sound, likely taking a hit off his vape pen.
“Can you keep a secret?” Toby needed to know the truth about Carson, and I needed his help.
“Is it about aliens or Bigfoot? Because I might have a hard time keeping that kind of secret.”
“It’s about Carson. And it’s not good.”
“Frack, that sounds ominous.” He took another puff. “Do I want to know this secret? Because I don’t know if I do.”
I let the silence sit between us. Another person knowing my secret shame was not high on my must-share list. But I needed his help, and he needed to know the stakes.
“Toby, Carson was involved in something bad. The office has been broken into. My house has been broken into. Someone is looking for something. I need to know how deep this goes.”
He blew out a puff. “Well, I suppose it’s serendipitous I picked a mint and vanilla flavored juice. Hit me with the truth.”
Like ripping off a Band-Aid I said, “Carson was legally married to another woman, and Carson Holmes wasn’t his real name. We were his pretend life.”
A low, slow curse came out of Toby’s mouth. “For reals?”
“Yep.” I stared out the window and scanned the cars around me. Once again, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. “But listen, no one knows. Well, Precious knows. You know. Leo Stillman and this guy Tyson Lockett.”
“Your dad said there’s a funeral for Carson. What? How?”
“I’ll bring an urn with fireplace ash in it.” Maybe I’ll put a bag of dog poo in it instead. That felt fitting.
“Jeez.” He took three quick puffs and one slow blow. “I don’t know what to think. He completely fooled me.”
Ready to move on from this conversation, I said, “Fooled everyone. I need you to get your head in the game. I need your help.”
“Totally. Send it.”
“Can you try and get me the specifics on someone? I want to know wh
ere they’re from. Where they live now. Everything you can find. See if you can find a connection between him and Carson. See if you can find the real Carson.”
“I can do my best. What’s the name?”
I gave Toby everything I could think of about Lockett, told him to look for his law degree. Something about the way Lockett had spoken about Carson today made me think the two had history that extended beyond Carson committing polygamy and setting me up to be a PI. There had been a familiarity there. Toby said he’d get back to me as soon as he had something of value.
“And Toby,” I cautioned, “be careful poking around. We’re being watched. Maybe do this before you get high.”
He laughed. “Wrong. Do it when I’m high. I can be super paranoid. Make it work to my advantage.”
I didn’t want to disagree and start a debate. I’d have better luck crossing my fingers.
“Also,” he said, “did you call Mrs. Wright? She’s been lighting up my phone. Says no one has been out to work on her case since Carson did the initial.”
Wright? I closed my eyes and tried to see the case files. Wright! She was the last one on my list to contact.
“I’ll call her right now,” I said.
“Awesomesauce. Now, I can get some peace,” he said before disconnecting.
I reached for my backpack to get the notebook where I’d written Wright’s phone number and case info.
I held the backpack in my hands. Everyone was looking for something. The pack wasn’t a thumb drive like Cooper was looking for, but I still padded down the pack, searched through the pockets. Nothing.
I glanced over my shoulders to see if anyone was nearby. Sitting in the parking lot suddenly didn’t feel so safe. Not that going home would be any safer. After the home invasion, I was spooked staying there. Found myself sleeping on the couch with my old high school baton beside me. I’d done another sweep for bugs or cameras that weren’t placed there by Carson and found nothing. Toby reassured me several times that no one could tap into our video.
