by Sandra Brown
“Sayre?”
She looked up to find Jessica DeBlance standing beside her chair.
“I seem to have a bad habit of sneaking up on you,” Jessica said by way of apology for startling her.
“My fault both times. I’ve had a lot on my mind.”
“I’m surprised to see you. I thought you were leaving town yesterday.”
“Change of plans. I tried to call you at home earlier this morning. Then your cell phone. When I couldn’t reach you, I remembered that you’d met Danny in the library. I took a chance that you still worked here.”
“I heard about Mr. Hoyle’s heart attack. Is that why you stayed?”
“That and . . .” Sayre glanced at the other library visitors scattered about. “Is there someplace we can talk privately?”
Jessica led her into a cramped workroom filled with books, some boxed, others piled in uneven towers on the floor and every other flat surface. “Donations,” she explained as she removed a stack of books from a chair and motioned for Sayre to sit down. “To most people it’s a headache to inventory and catalog the books, so I volunteer for the job. Even in this age of computers, I still enjoy the smell of old books.”
“So do I.”
The two women smiled at each other as Jessica sat down on a padded stool. “Would you care for a fresh muffin? Some coffee?”
“No thanks.”
“Everyone in the bakery was talking about Mr. Hoyle. Is his condition serious?”
“Early indications are that he’ll be fine.” After a short silence, Sayre said, “Something happened yesterday that I wanted to talk to you about. I don’t know how significant it is, but it’s one of the reasons I postponed my trip home.”
“What happened?”
“Chris was questioned by Sheriff Harper and Deputy Scott in connection to Danny’s death.” While Jessica sat stunned, Sayre recapped what Beck had told her. “It’s nothing more than a matchbook. As Beck pointed out, a defense lawyer could make a dozen cases as to how it got inside the fishing cabin with no help from Chris. It doesn’t prove anything.”
“But it’s made the sheriff’s department wonder if Chris was out there with Danny that afternoon.”
“I’m wondering that, too. Jessica, do you know if there had been any strife between them recently?”
“Hasn’t there always been strife between them? Their personalities and interests couldn’t be more dissimilar. Danny knew that Chris was your father’s favorite, but he seemed comfortable with that. Chris is Huff made over. Danny wasn’t. He knew it, accepted it, even preferred it. He had no desire to be like either of them.”
“Did he compete for Huff’s attention?”
“Not especially. It didn’t seem that important to him. He wasn’t jealous of Chris if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“Was Chris jealous of Danny?”
The question took Jessica aback and she laughed. “Why on earth would he be?”
“I don’t know. I’m shooting in the dark.” Sayre got up and moved to the window, which afforded another view of the pretty courtyard. The sparrows had left, but now bees were buzzing around the pink blossoms on the Rose of Sharon bush. A fat black caterpillar inched across the cracked flagstones. “I don’t know what I’m after, Jessica. I thought perhaps Danny had mentioned an argument or some recent disagreement between them.”
“Chris is seeing a married woman. Danny disapproved. But from what he told me about your brother, adultery wasn’t anything new. Morally, the brothers would always be at opposite poles. Something tells me . . .”
When she stopped, Sayre turned away from the window and looked back at her. “Something tells you what?”
“It’s just a feeling I have. I can’t be sure.”
Sayre returned to her chair and leaned toward the younger woman. “You knew Danny better than anyone. Far better I think than even his own flesh and blood knew him. If you have a feeling about something, I trust that instinct.”
“The thing that had been weighing heavily on Danny’s mind . . .”
“You think it related to Chris?”
“Not specifically. They didn’t have that much interaction.”
“They lived in the same house.”
“They shared an address but spent very little time at home together. When they did, it was in the company of Huff and often Beck Merchant. They saw each other at work, of course, but they had different responsibilities and they reported to Huff, not to each other.
“They didn’t move in the same social circles, especially since Danny became involved in our church.” She paused. “And I think that was at the crux of what was bothering Danny. He was struggling with a spiritual matter.”
“Like what?”
“I wish I knew, especially if he died because of it. I hated seeing him in that kind of spiritual quandary and urged him to discuss it with me, or our pastor, or someone else he trusted. He refused. All he would say was that he couldn’t be the Christian he should be or was supposed to be.”
“His conscience was bothering him.”
Jessica nodded. “I told him there was no sin or shortcoming that God wouldn’t forgive. He made a joke of it and said that maybe God hadn’t met the Hoyles.”
“As far as you know, he never reconciled whatever was troubling him?” Sayre’s hope was that, after she declined to talk to him, Danny had found a sympathetic ear elsewhere, that someone had counseled him. But Jessica dashed that desperate hope with a slow shake of her head.
“I don’t think he could reconcile it. I hate that he died without making peace with it.”
“Perhaps he found peace at the end,” Sayre said, again hoping in vain that it was true.
Jessica looked over at Sayre and gave her a gentle smile. “Thank you for saying that, but I don’t think he did. The more we talked about marriage and our future, the more he seemed to dwell on this problem. I would be guessing, but—”
“Please. Guess.”
“Well, he was constantly bothered about the working conditions at the foundry. He wasn’t proud of its reputation, violating OSHA standards, all that. Yet he hired people to work there. He placed them in jobs that he knew were dangerous and with only minimum training. Maybe he couldn’t live with that any longer.”
The lady who’d been manning the desk tapped on the door and after apologizing for the interruption told Jessica that the nursery school class had arrived for story hour. “About twenty of the little darlings are asking for Aunt Jessica,” she said. “I don’t know how long we can keep them corralled.”
As they were leaving the workroom, Sayre asked Jessica for a favor. “I’ll do anything that might help us learn what happened to Danny. What do you need?”
“Do you know anyone who works at the courthouse?”
• • •
The general mood was as glum, dark, and oppressive as the shop floor itself.
Beck noticed this immediately as he made his way toward the pipe conveyor that had caused the grisly accident the night before. Each worker was going about his job, but with a discernible lack of enthusiasm and in total silence. None made eye contact with him, but he could feel the resentful stares aimed at his back.
George Robson and Fred Decluette were in discussion near the machine and looked surprised when Beck joined them. “Morning, Mr. Merchant,” Fred said.
“Fred. George.”
“Hell of a thing.” George shook his balding head remorsefully, then mopped sweat off it with a handkerchief. “Hell of a thing.”
Beck looked down at the grimy floor. Last night there must have been a lake of blood on the spot where he now stood, but someone had made it disappear before the morning shift reported to work.
“We took care of the mess,” Fred said, as though reading his mind. “Bad for morale. No use reminding them of what happened.”
“Maybe a reminder would be good,” George offered. “Make them more cautious. Not so careless.”
To keep himself from hitt
ing the insensitive idiot, Beck moved closer to the machine. “Show me what happened,” he said to Fred.
“He’s already gone over it with me.”
“I’d like to see it for myself, George. Huff will want to know the details.”
George, he noted, remained at a safe distance as Fred pointed out the faulty drive belt and explained what had gone wrong when Paulik tried to repair it. “We’ve got somebody coming out tomorrow to fix it proper,” Fred told him.
“I made arrangements for that first thing this morning,” George said.
Beck looked up at the cast pipes moving along the shaky conveyor overhead. “Is it safe to operate as it is?” He directed the question to the foreman, but George answered.
“In my opinion, yes.”
Fred looked less convinced, but he nodded. “Mr. Robson here seems to think so, and he ought to know.”
Beck hesitated, then said, “All right. Just be sure everyone knows what happened and caution them—”
“Oh, they already know, Mr. Merchant. Word of something like that travels fast.”
Of course it would. Beck gave George Robson a cursory nod, then turned and went back the way he’d come. His shirt was stuck to his back. He could feel rivulets of sweat sliding down his ribs. He’d been on the shop floor less than five minutes and was drenched with perspiration. His lungs were laboring to expel the hot air he inhaled. These men withstood these conditions for eight hours, unless they worked a double shift to earn overtime.
As he walked past the machine with the white cross painted on it, he paused, wondering if George Robson had ever thought to ask what that cross signified. Or if he had ever even noticed it. Sayre had.
Beck slowed his pace and then came to a complete stop. He pondered the emblem for several seconds and thought about the tragedy it commemorated. Then he did an abrupt about-face and quickly retraced his steps to Fred Decluette and the safety director.
• • •
“Christ, this will make news.” Huff moved his lips as though clamping a cigarette between them. “The media will have a field day just like they did the last time someone got hurt on the job.”
From across the ICU room, Chris said, “Beck should have waited a few more days before telling you.”
Huff practically snarled. “Of course he should have told me. He should have told me last night, and not waited till this morning. It’s my foundry. It’s got my name on it. Would you rather me read about it in the newspaper? Hear it on the five o’clock news? I had to know, and Beck realized that.”
Chris noted that Beck had remained silent while Huff ranted over the news of Billy Paulik’s accident. Although Beck had had to break the bad news to Huff, Huff wasn’t ready to shoot the messenger. Rather, Beck had his wholehearted approval and trust, and to Chris that was a bit galling.
“Paulik’s medical bills will be through the roof,” Huff said. “The premiums on our workmen’s comp insurance will go up because of this.”
“Mrs. Paulik may not file,” Beck said, speaking for the first time. “She told me she wasn’t going to.”
Huff reeled off a stream of vulgarities. He knew what Alicia Paulik’s failure to file an insurance claim portended for Hoyle Enterprises, and so did Chris. He was perturbed with Beck for springing this on them. “Why didn’t you tell me this last night?”
“You didn’t ask.”
“I shouldn’t have had to ask, and I resent the omission.”
“We were both exhausted, Chris. It had already been a hellish day. I didn’t feel like going into it.”
Huff cut their argument short by asking, “You think she intends to sue us, Beck?”
“That was her line last night. She may have changed her mind by now. I hope so.”
“If she sues, how much do you think it’ll cost us?”
“Too early to tell. Our accountants can’t begin to estimate the amount of Billy’s medical bills until they’ve consulted the attending physicians and the hospital, and even they can’t know the final tally this soon. He’ll have a long recovery period. There’ll be rehab, a prosthesis.”
“It doesn’t have to be the Rolls-Royce of prostheses, does it?” Chris asked. “More like a Ford?” His attempted levity fell flat. It seemed everybody close to him had lost his sense of humor.
Beck continued. “Beyond the medical expenses, I think we can safely anticipate Mrs. Paulik to cite things we can’t quantify, like the family’s pain and suffering, Billy’s lost income due to his disability. I’m afraid she plans to hit us from all sides, and the total damages she’ll seek could be astronomical.”
“How much will it cost to bury this thing?” Huff asked.
“You mean in terms of negative publicity? That’ll be expensive, too. She also promised to make a lot of noise.”
“Jesus, you’re just overflowing with good news today,” Chris remarked.
“He asked,” Beck fired back at him.
“You didn’t have to let him have it all at once.”
“I wanted it all at once,” Huff barked. “You can’t deal with a problem if you don’t know but the half of it.”
Chris noticed that Huff’s cheeks had become flushed. Worried about spiking blood pressure, he glanced at the monitors beside the bed. He aimed for a more optimistic outlook that would calm Huff down. “I think we’re all overreacting. We’re dreading a backlash that probably won’t happen. Let’s stop and think about it before we lose our heads. Okay?”
Beck nodded brusquely. Huff grunted what Chris took as a signal to proceed.
“As Beck said, Mrs. Paulik may change her mind. She flipped out in the emergency room. It was a knee-jerk reaction to a traumatic situation. She was probably mimicking a scene she saw on ER. But I rather imagine she’s feeling a bit overwhelmed this morning. In the cold light of day, reality has set in. She may be more agreeable to a quick settlement.
“Second, Billy Paulik has always been a good employee. He’s never given us any trouble. Once he is himself again, he’ll explain to his missus that it was his mistake, not ours. He’ll be too embarrassed to hold us liable for an accident that was his fault.”
Huff considered Chris’s observations, then turned to Beck. “You met the wife. What’s your read on her? Was it just hysterics talking?”
“I hope Chris is right, but you pay me to look at the worst-case scenario. Last night she made her plans for us and the foundry very clear.”
“She’s going for our gonads,” Huff said.
“I think we should prepare for it, yes. For some harsh public criticism at the very least.”
“Then let’s head her off,” Chris said, still striving for amelioration. “Let’s stop her before she starts. Let’s demonstrate our goodwill by giving the kids a carte blanche trip to Toys ‘R’ Us. Let’s park a shiny new SUV in their garage. How about paying their rent for one year? That dump they live in can’t be very expensive.”
“We own that dump,” Huff said. “It’s one of our rent houses.”
“Even better. We can paint it, make repairs, install a backyard grill. After that, I’ll bet Mrs. Paulik would think twice about filing suit. Especially if she thought she might lose—And, Beck, you could dazzle her with legalese that would convince her she would—in which case we would evict her from her renovated house and take back the new car and all the other goodies.”
Huff looked across at Beck. “What do you think?”
“Worth a try, I suppose. I’ll get someone from my office to prepare a goodwill package starting with the SUV.”
Chris said, “And to nullify any allegations about unsafe working conditions, I’ll order that conveyor to be shut down until it’s repaired.”
“It’s already shut down.”
Chris turned to Beck. “Since when?”
“An hour ago.”
“On whose authority?”
“Mine.”
Chris felt a surge of anger. He was director of operations, but apparently titles meant nothing to Beck.
“I’m sorry if I overstepped my bounds, Chris, but I went on the floor this morning to assess the situation.”
“That’s what we pay George Robson to do.”
“He was there, with his thumb up his butt, completely ineffectual. Any idiot could see that that conveyor should not be in use. And think of the message it was sending the other employees to see it in operation, with no regard being given to what happened to Billy Paulik. George was too gutless, or too stupid, to make the decision, so I took it upon myself.”
Stiffly, Chris nodded. “I’m sure you were acting on my behalf.”
“Because you had to be here with Huff. I made it clear to George and everyone else that I was speaking for you.” He checked his wristwatch. “I’ve been away too long. Morale is at rock bottom. We should be visible as much as possible. With your permission, I’ll post a memo throughout the plant, expressing management’s sorrow over what happened to Billy.”
“Be sure and throw in something about how we’re looking after his family,” Huff said.
“Of course.” Beck looked at him and smiled grimly. “This couldn’t have happened at a worse time, so soon after Danny. I hope the bad news didn’t affect your recovery. How are you feeling?”
“One more day in this place and I get to go home. But that’s only a precaution. Unnecessary if you ask me. Doc Caroe says I’m sound as a dollar. Those blasted tests of his. I was poked and prodded and hooked up to machines. Had a quart of blood drawn. Peed into a cup too many times to count. All that, only to learn that there was minimal damage done to my heart.”
Chris laughed. “Don’t sound so disappointed, Huff.”
“Far from it. I want to live forever.” Looking at Beck, he said, “I know you hated to give me that report. But it’s your job to bring me bad news. Don’t blame yourself for doing your job.”
Beck nodded absently.
Sensing his inattention, Huff asked, “Something still on your mind?”
“If I’d lost my arm,” Beck said thoughtfully, “and effectively my livelihood, I’m not sure I could be pacified with a few toys and a coat of paint on my house.” Dividing a look between them, he said, “I still think we should brace for the worst.”
