“Tell me about it.”
“Do you want the names of the joggers?”
She wasn’t the eyewitness I’d hoped for, but this was good too. “That’d be great. I also wondered if you noticed one jogger break away and leave Horseshoe Falls that night.”
“Sure. We have several marathon runners here.”
“Only one left on Friday. Did you see who it was?”
She pressed her lips together. “No. I guess I didn’t notice which one it was.”
“It’s okay. I’ll take the list and go from there.”
“All righty.” She grabbed a notepad and pen from the booth.
My phone erupted into the theme song from my favorite television show. I tapped the screen and gave Bernie a thank-you smile. “I’m meeting Nate for breakfast before work. That’s my reminder. I’ll stop here on my way back and pick up the list.”
Bernie set the notepad and pen aside. “That’s all right. I’ll text it to you. You’d probably like that better anyway. Thank you for the coffee.”
“Anytime.” I hastened to my car and gunned her little engine to life. Joggers were common. Joggers leaving the grounds were common. Maybe my theory was junk. If so, I was back to having no leads. Which wouldn’t be as bad if someone wasn’t following me around, putting drowned mice on my car.
I checked the rearview mirror a hundred times on the way downtown. No one seemed to be following me. Then again, I hadn’t noticed anyone before either. I shook the fog from my brain and climbed onto the sidewalk behind Nate’s truck.
Nate leaned against his big white Navigator outside the PC Consulting Company. Steam swirled in the air around his Daredevil travel mug.
“Hey, Wannabe,” I said. “Nice cup. It’s as if you’re only carrying it because Netflix told you to.”
He twisted the mug, examining it at eye level. “Excuse me? Do you have a problem with my cup?”
“Not at all. I’m a huge Matt Murdock fan. Always have been. You never liked him before he became available for instant streaming, but that’s okay. You and soccer moms everywhere are finally cool.”
He snorted and pushed away from his truck. “Oh, I’m sorry.” The words dripped with sarcasm. “What about you and Jessica Jones? Are you the pot or kettle here?”
I stepped onto the sidewalk in front of Nate. “I am Jessica Jones.”
“Uh-huh.”
We boarded the elevator with a bunch of people in suits.
I folded my fingers together and stared at the ceiling, hoping none of them were sick or perverted. Crowds weren’t my favorite. Crowds in little metal closets were worse. The overstuffed vessel stopped on every floor, delivering and retrieving strangers. I imagined a killer cloaked in black depositing dead mice on my unattended car. At least the city had security and traffic cameras. I’d get a look at who was following me if they tried anything while I was in the meeting. And if the culprit was brave enough to wait for my return, I’d have a giant ginger at my side. A ginger with a killer left hook.
“Are you ready for this?” Nate asked.
“I guess. Did you check the site today? I added a link where users can volunteer as part of a test group. We’ll be alerted after every twenty-five registers. Then, we can sort the volunteers according to their answers on the registration form about their experience. I’m working on questionnaires for each experience level, so we can meet players where they are. I started roughing out a few question sets geared toward specific aspects of our game, but I fell asleep.”
He gave me a sad face. “Mia, you don’t have to do that stuff. That’s why we’re here, so you don’t become the youngest person in Ohio to die of some stress-related illness.”
You’re welcome. I mashed my lips shut and focused on the crush of strangers packed around us.
By the eighth floor, I was edging internally toward insanity. The stairs felt like a better option every time we stopped. “How’s things with Fifi?” I blurted, desperate to escape my prison.
Nate turned his face to mine in slow motion. He squinted bright green eyes. “Fine. Thank you for asking. I’m definitely in love. I think she’s the one. What do you really want?”
I widened my eyes in faux innocence. “Nothing. I’m doing small talk.”
He waited.
“Fine. I hate this elevator, and I don’t want to hire a project manager.”
“Mia. I don’t know the first thing about marketing or half the stuff we need accomplished.”
“I do.” I pointed to my face. “I’m an amazing and experienced project manager. I’m not a bad programmer or web designer either, and no one loves REIGN like I do.”
“All true, but you don’t have time to take on something this important right now. You said it yourself.”
I looked away. “Fine. I have something else to run past you.” I ignored his smug face and kept going. My heart pounded frantically as I said the dreaded truth aloud. “I’ve found drowned mice on or near my car on three separate occasions since Dante’s death.”
The elevator dinged.
I pressed one palm to my chest and made the sign of the cross with the other. The machine was out to kill me, by claustrophobia, panic attack or stroke, it was anyone’s guess.
One traveler got out. Four new suits pressed their way inside.
Nate nudged me to go on. “What did Jake say?”
I rolled my head against the cool metal wall behind me.
“You haven’t told him?”
The doors closed and we lurched upward once more.
“Jake’s hard to reach.”
Nate angled to face me. “Well, reach him anyway. You need to tell him. Those mice are threats. You know this. Twice is a coincidence. Three is a pattern.”
A few strangers turned their ears our way.
I pinched the fabric of his jacket between my fingers. Either Nate had a sudden influx of fashion sense, or Fifi bought the outfit. Silver slacks, white shirt, sky-blue tie. The cut was premium. He looked like a GQ model. “Where’d you get this?”
“Nordstrom. Why are you changing the subject?”
I gave my outfit a long appraisal. Maybe I should’ve worn a suit. Something structured instead of a flowy dress and flats. I looked too young. I was dressed too casually for a proper barter. Nate looked like the stronger player here, and I hated what that did to gender stereotypes everywhere. I dug into my purse for some bobby pins and an elastic band.
“What are you doing?”
I twisted my heavy locks into submission and secured them in a librarian bun on my head. “I can’t represent REIGN looking like a twenty-something. We’ll get crappy rates on consulting fees, and it’ll be my fault for wearing this dress.” I pulled the long strap of my handbag over my head, freeing it from my body. I hung the bag, in the crook of one elbow, by its smaller handles, and tucked the longer strap inside. “I’m aging myself.”
“The Powerpuff Girls nail decals might work against you.”
“Shut up. I couldn’t sleep last night. The manicure lifted my mood and distracted me. I wasn’t thinking about this meeting at the time.” I scraped away the tiny decals on my pinky nails. “You have no idea how complicated it is to be a woman.”
His patronizing face proved my point. “It must be really hard to be so smart, rich and adorable. I’ll bet people mistreat you all the time.”
“I’m going to mistreat you in a minute.”
The man in front of us coughed to cover a laugh.
I folded my arms and my boobs instantly looked bigger. Jeez. I relaxed my stance and shook my head.
The elevator whooshed to another stop and dinged. I didn’t jump.
Nate inched forward. “This is us.”
The riders parted as I followed Nate off the car.
I gave the c
ougher an angry face as I passed. He was cute.
The PC Consulting offices were immaculate and obsessively modern in design. Glass walls and endless windows. Metal-framed white couches and chairs. Spotless glass tabletops and counters. White carpets and upholstery. A chandelier of glass balls hung in strands from the soaring ceiling like bubbles headed into the ether.
Nate stopped at the welcome desk to announce our arrival.
I slunk off to the waiting area, picking tiny superheroes from my nail polish.
The receptionist greeted Nate with a wide smile. Her blouse was stunning, and the gray designer pencil skirt paired amazingly. Her stilettos made my toes hurt just looking at them. I’d never seen an outfit so on point. Why hadn’t I worn something more professional?
Nate crossed the narrow room in two long strides and took the seat beside me. “She’s letting them know we’re here. Is anything else going on with your private investigation? Besides the mice, which you need to tell Jake about ASAP. Leave him a voice mail or text him if you have to.”
I fiddled with the purse on my lap. “I went to Dante’s office and had a look at his computer. I found several appointments this month with someone named Keith Orson.”
“Did you tell Jake about the files?”
“No, but I gave them to Dan yesterday.”
Nate stretched long legs before us and crossed them at the ankles. “Given the mice situation, is it safe to assume you have no idea who the killer is, but it’s highly likely the killer is on to you?”
That didn’t deserve a response.
“I mean, unless you’ve peeved off someone else or become the modern Pied Piper.”
The Pied Piper led rats out of Hamelin. That had nothing to do with this. “We shouldn’t assume anything.”
The receptionist rounded her desk and smiled at Nate. “The team’s ready for you now.”
We followed her down a brightly lit hallway to an oversized, ultra-modern conference room complete with full wall of flat-screen monitors demonstrating various games and a massive oval table covered in action figures and puzzles. “The team” wore jeans and dress shirts with wacky vintage ties.
A guy my dad’s age opened his arms and encouraged us to take a seat. His tie had Space Invaders. “I’m Bartholomew Sanders and this is my team.” He introduced everyone before joining us at the table and beginning an enthusiastic presentation of all the things he could do for our company.
Nate smiled from start to finish.
I did my best not to be too impressed by their obvious skills. I could’ve done the same thing with a little time.
After our meeting, we were given company-logoed thumb drives with the team’s presentation for quick reference.
Nate walked me to my car, still smiling. “I liked them.”
“You like everyone.”
He shrugged and checked the area for mice. “All clear.”
“See,” I said, thankful to change the subject to anything else. “Maybe three is sometimes a coincidence.”
“Talk to Jake or I will.”
* * *
I climbed out of my car at Horseshoe Falls, thankful not to have seen another mouse, and hoping I’d somehow blown the whole thing out of proportion. Denial was my favorite coping mechanism.
The Ohio Wiring van rolled to a stop near the clubhouse and beeped. Trey climbed out of the passenger seat. “We replaced the shredded cable, but you need to get rid of whatever caused the damage or we’ll be back replacing this cable every week. I can call it job security, but I’m not sure your boss will approve.”
“Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.” I waved him off and headed for my office. Apparently, winding my hair into a bun didn’t stop some people from thinking I was an idiot.
I made it through the double glass doors before Marcella flagged me down in the lobby.
I forced a small smile and met her at the concierge desk. “Yes?”
“The people are in an uproar. They want the community Wi-Fi you promised.”
“Great. It should be working now.”
She nodded too quickly, like a gorgeous Latina bobblehead. “Yes. For now. What about tomorrow?”
“Did you talk to Trey?”
“Yes. He says keep the animals away from the wires, but the people are divided. Mr. Lionel owns a national chain of Outdoor Sportsman stores, and he says he’ll get rid of the squirrels one way or another if we won’t.” She drew one finger across her neck in demonstration.
“Yikes.”
“Yes, yikes,” she echoed. “Mr. Peters has the pro-wildlifers all worked up. He’s obsessed with tracking their little squirrel behaviors and making a case for animal rights.”
She’d lost me. “Who’s Mr. Peters?”
“He was the one who brought the first pair of black squirrels into the community. He feels like they’re his responsibility. Like their human grandfather or something nutty.” She pressed a hand to her mouth, trying not to laugh at the unintentional joke. “He has a squirrel family tree.” She paused again. “A lineage chart.”
“Gotcha.” Peters was a wackadoodle, and leading the charge against my Wi-Fi. Peters equaled Enemy.
She squinted down the hallway. “Maybe we can hire trappers to haul them out of here under cover of night.”
That wouldn’t work. “They’d just come back.”
She did some quiet swearing in Spanish and walked away.
I hurried down the employee hallway to IT. Squirrels were the least of my problems at the moment, and I’d met my quota on crazed researchers. I had Bree. Marcella could deal with Peters.
Fifi bustled around our office, comparing two flyers in-hand with new ones from the chugging printer. “There you are.” She shoved the flyers at my hands. “I think the answer to all this community drama is a party.”
The printer ground to a stop and beeped.
She huffed. “How old is that dinosaur? It sounds like it’s going to die.”
“It’s out of paper.” I flipped between the flyers she’d handed me.
Fifi stuffed the printer with blank white paper and stroked her blond hair. “What do you think of the flyers? I have more variations on the desk.”
I glanced around the room. Yes, there were flyers on the desk. Counter. Floor. “Wow. How long have you been at this?” I checked my watch. Ten after nine.
“I came in at eight. I thought about the party all night, but I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to work on that during work hours since it’s technically a PR issue, not IT. I’d planned to stop by nine, but then I couldn’t pick a font. What do you think?”
“I think these are great. The Wi-Fi issue makes this IT related, and Marcella will be thrilled for the PR help.” I perused the flyers papering our room. A clip art oak tree anchored one side of the announcement. Cartoon squirrels lined the branches. Some chewed acorns. One gnawed a wire that swung from his jaws and disappeared off the page below. Stick figures with frowns and cell phones stared at the sky; others smiled and pointed binoculars at the furry rats. “I think you’ve depicted the problem fairly.”
“Thanks.” She bounced on her toes. “I think getting all the angry people in one place is the answer.”
I blinked. “It sounds disastrous.”
“Yes, but this group of grouches has a solid sense of community in common. Whatever their stance on the wildlife, they care more about this place and each other. I think some refreshments and a properly moderated heart-to-heart is the answer.”
“Uh-huh.” Wherever the moderator-sign-up sheet was located, I’d be headed in the opposite direction.
I dropped into my desk chair and waded through email. Thanks to the week’s incessant hoopla, my day flew by. At six, I called Grandma to let her know I was running late for the Ren Faire. I had a quick stop to make
on my way.
I parked in the lot outside Keith Orson’s pet store and checked the area for lurkers, lookie-lous and animal killers, then dashed into the store.
Fins, Feathers and Fur was a boutique pet shop with high-end custom items, personalized accessories and enough live animals to keep pet lovers cooing.
Keith stood over a chinchilla play yard, filling food bowls. A name tag hung from his shirt pocket, but I recognized him from a few online searches. According to his Match profile, he was an entrepreneur with a penchant for fine wines and gourmet cuisine. From where I stood, he looked more like a cheeseburger-and-beer guy. His profile pictures were all taken from the chin up. Some lucky ladies were going to get a big surprise.
“Mr. Orson?” I pressed the girth of my velvet gown against my legs and side-stepped between displays.
He straightened and froze, chinchilla food in hand. “Can I help you?”
“I hope so. I’m Mia Connors. My grandmother was a friend of Dante Weiss. I believe you knew him.”
Keith moved closer. “How can I help you?”
A wall of glass habitats lined the far wall. White mice scurried through tubes and tunnels, burrowing under piles of bedding and sucking madly on water bottles stuck to the glass. My empty stomach flattened against my spine. Heat rolled up my neck and across my cheeks.
“Uh.” I pried my gaze off the mice and fixed it on the large man before me. “You had a lot of meetings with Dante before he died.”
“Yes.” He stepped closer. “And?”
“And I wondered if you might want to tell me why you were getting together so often.”
He moved into my personal space and stared down at me. “May I?” He motioned to the desk at my side.
A Geek Girl's Guide to Justice (The Geek Girl Mysteries) Page 13
