by Mary Mead
“And does. Half a dozen times at least. I’ve found them.”
“They could leave them around the house, too. Even around the Gem.”
I nodded. The security blanket was moth eaten at best.
John thought for a few minutes, his brow furrowing. “Do you have the authority to change the locks? The ones to the front and back doors?”
“I suppose. We have an open account at the hardware store in Monarch. I charge whatever I need for repairs around here. I turn in the charge slips with the end of month report.”
“You might want to do that,” John said. “Personally? I think you should at least change the locks on the apartment. With that many keys floating around, better safe than sorry.”
“I’ll do that,” I said. “Tonight. I don’t think I’d sleep well now.”
“Tell you what,” John said, “how about I pick up the lock and a pizza and bring it over after work.”
“If you let me pay for the lock, you have a deal.”
“Fair enough,” he smiled. “In the meantime I’m going to check with the rest of the team, see if anyone remembers that file, maybe moved it or borrowed it. I’ll see you tonight. Office closes at five?”
“Yes it does. And I need time for a shower.”
“We’ll make it six then. That work?”
“Perfect,” I said with my own smile.
John doubled patted the counter again and left.
I went to the back office for one more look around. The idea of someone being in here bothered me. Deposits I took upstairs with me. We kept a hundred dollars on hand in the office to make change or use for petty cash. Hardly worth a break in. The most expensive items in the office were the software programs and those were useless to almost everyone.
I decided to ask Papa Murphy about changing the locks rather than do it without authorization although I couldn’t see a reason they would object. After all, it was their property. I’d think they would want it secure. As for the customers, they had keys for their own locks, unless they were overlocked and the overlock key was a master key.
I could see why the Murphy men had keys to the office. They had trouble with managers in the past. They explained that when they hired me. Various times one or the other had to run the office. They needed keys. Mrs. Murphy never worked in the office. Her keys should be the ones for the units she occupied.
Changing the locks would require four duplicates – one for each of the Murphy men and one for Steve on weekends. Four extra keys. Was it worth it? That would have to be up to Papa Murphy. As for my apartment? Papa would need a key, he owned the place. The others? Nada. If they needed in my apartment they could make an appointment.
Now I was faced with the fact that someone had taken those DVD’s from the back office, my office, the one off limits to Steve. They weren’t hidden, they were kept in a cabinet in the back along with the recorder. Who was in here? I made a note to ask Steve on Saturday if any of the owners had been in on the weekend.
There was nothing I could do now, this afternoon, so I went back to work. At five I backed up the day’s receipts, printed the deposit, and backed up all the camera’s. While the computers did their jobs I used the cameras to check the lot, looking to see if anyone was still on the property. Customers had access to the facility until seven although the office closed at five. I always checked to see who was out there before I went home.
In checking the property I noticed Burke’s motor home in space 29. Which brought back Patrick’s complaint. I had left a message on Burke’s cell phone. I tried again and again it went to voice mail. I left another request to move. On a whim I wrote up a quick note, got the cart and drove out to tape the note to the door of the motor home. If something had happened to Burke’s phone, he surely would see this the next time he was here.
John was punctual and we spent an enjoyable evening. After we ate John changed the lock on the front door and presented me with a pair of keys when he was finished. We chatted easily without mentioning the missing files.
Tuesday morning I opened the office as usual. No messages from Burke. I still had to get that motor home moved. I left another message on his voice mail, got the cart and went out to check his motor home. My note was still attached to the door. The tape looked undisturbed.
Headed back for the office I saw Patrick’s truck. I only met him recently but I had spent a lot of hours watching him pack, repack and unload his mother’s units. Several times I had observed him laughing with her. Once he picked her up and swung her around in a circle while she squealed, her hands on his broad shoulders. My memories of him on camera were a whole lot warmer than the cold, abrupt man I met.
I changed direction and headed for his truck, wondering which Patrick was present today. I pulled the cart up close to the door and hailed him. He materialized from the gloom like a ghost and drifted to the door.
“I wanted to let you know I didn’t forget about your motor home. I’ve left messages for the owner to move his. He appears to be out of town. I’ll keep after him.”
“Why is he there?”
“I’m sorry about that. My records show that space empty. I wasn’t aware you used it.”
“I’ve always used it,” he replied.
“You haven’t used it since I’ve been here,” I said, annoyed at this attitude. “My customer list says the space is vacant.”
“I’m not a customer,” he snapped back. “I’m the owner. I own that space and I want it.”
“I understand that, Mr. Murphy, and I am doing all I can do to get it ready for you.”
“Patrick. My dad is Mr. Murphy.”
“Well, Patrick, I am still doing all I can do to get that motor home moved. I will mark the space as occupied as soon as I do.”
“Who owns that motor home? Maybe I know him.”
“I doubt you’d know him,” I said and was interrupted.
“How long have you lived here?”
“Almost two years,” I answered and again was stopped from saying more.
“I’ve been here thirty. This is one of several businesses we own. I’d be willing to bet I know more people here than you do.”
“Yes, sir, I’m sure you do. We’ve had an incident here,” and again I was cut off.
“I know about the drugs. So is this guy a suspect? Is the law watching him or something?”
I took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “He is the law. He’s with the CCID. He’s watching the property.”
“Is he paying for that space?”
“No, sir.”
“Then he moves. Out if necessary. We run this business for profit. If he’s staying he’s paying.”
My temper was on the rise and I was fighting to keep it in check. I couldn’t afford to cross another boss if I wanted to keep my job. The big question was did I want to keep my job.
“Yes, sir,” I said between gritted teeth. “I’ll see to it.”
“And I’m not ‘sir’.”
“Of course, Patrick,” I said, managing to make the name sound venomous.
He stood for a minute looking me up and down with those cold eyes before turning his back and disappearing back into the unit. The interior darkness swallowed him.
I started the cart and went back to the office, sure the camera would show smoke coming out of my ears. If Burke didn’t answer my calls by tonight I was going to have the motor home towed and the cost of that would come from my own pocket. The last time I was going to have a run in with a boss. Too many bosses. While I liked and admired Papa Murphy he had failed to teach his sons courtesy. After the Paul incident, then this, I was going to print out my resume. Tonight.
I left yet another message on Burke’s voice mail and rooted around for Agent Miller’s card. I dialed that number and got another machine. Technology. I wondered if the task force played golf all day and checked their messages once a week.
The next day I looked up the number for a towing company and made an appointment for the afternoo
n which set my mood for the day. Still no Burke. This guy had gone from being a semi-permanent fixture to a pale memory in just a few weeks. What’s with this guy? From easy companion and outrageous flirt to missing in action. That thought brought me up. I hoped he was all right.
I had no idea what Burke did when he wasn’t here. There were several times he was absent for a few days, never this long. A sniggle of guilt nested in the back of my mind, right beside the memory of the two dead men found alongside the freeway. I sent up a silent prayer Burke wasn’t going to be found the same way.
Thursday the tow truck came and moved the motor home and fifty bucks from my checking account to his. The new space was only two over so Burke could find it if he showed up. I didn’t bother to notify Patrick his space was clear but I did take that space off the rentals list so I didn’t make the same mistake again.
The rest of the day was routine and I was happy to see it. After the drama of the past few days it was nice to sit in the office and crunch numbers. Randy came in and spent an hour updating me on the state of the nation. Things slowly slid down the slope into normal.
Friday I was already looking forward to the weekend. It was a tossup between locking the door and watching old movies or taking off for Cambria and running away. For almost two years my day and my social interaction ended at five. The past weeks with Burke and then John had filled a lot of my evenings. I reluctantly admitted to myself that I missed them, or more accurately, I missed the company. When I locked up the office, I headed for Kelly’s in Monarch. Rather a diner full of strangers than an empty living room.
Being early on a Friday night I had my pick so I took a booth. Kathy, the waitress I knew slightly, came right over to take my order.
“Hey, good to see you,” she said, pulling out her order pad. “You’re getting to be a regular here. What can I get you this evening?”
“I’ll have the special and iced tea.”
“Coming right up.”
She went back up front to place my order. I opened my Kindle.
The diner wasn’t full although there were enough people to make a low hum of conversation just audible over the clink of silverware. A comfortable level of white noise.
I read a few pages before Kathy brought my tea.
“Here you go,” she smiled, putting down a coaster and a straw. “I’m happy to see you. After the last time, I was afraid you wouldn’t be back.”
“Wasn’t your fault,” I said, closing the Kindle.
“No, it wasn’t. You know how it is. Someone has a bad experience they don’t want to go back, you know? Avoid the scene of the crime.”
“I wouldn’t hold it against Kelly’s,” I said with a smile of my own. “Can’t be responsible for the way others behave. Not likely to run into that guy again.”
Kathy’s eyes rounded and she took on an owl look.
“What? Is he here?”
The woman nodded and flipped her head to indicate the front of the room. “He’s near the door up there. He’s sober, though, so you’re okay. It’s only when he’s drinking that he gets, well, rowdy? The rest of the time he’s a doll, he really is.”
“Does he drink a lot?”
“I wouldn’t know,” she backtracked. “He’s come in happy a few times. You know? When he’s had a good day and he wants to share it? He helps his dad at the Gem so sometimes he’s had a few?”
Her habit of adding a question mark at the end of a sentence made it difficult to know if she was telling me or asking me. I opted for a nod and sipped tea.
“I’ll get your fish,” she said and left the table.
I picked up my Kindle again.
“It’s rude to read at the table,” a voice said and I looked up in time to see Patrick Murphy slide into the booth across from me.
I closed the Kindle. Now what?
“Your space is clear,” I said, as politely as possible. “You can bring your motor home down any time. That won’t happen again.”
“All business, huh? I saw the tow truck,” he said. “I was working in my mom’s unit when he came in.”
“I’m very sorry that happened,” I said, tired of apologizing.
“What are you reading?” He turned to signal Kathy, who hurried back to our table.
“Along Came a Spider,” I said.
“James Patterson,” he said to me. “Can I get some coffee, Kat?”
The waitress nodded and hurried away.
“Yes, it is,” I said, surprised Patrick would know that.
“Good book. I liked it.”
“You read?”
He shook his head and smiled at me. “I’m not ignorant, Miss Montoya. Nor am I stupid. I read a lot.”
“I meant no offense,” I said, feeling my cheeks warm up. “Most guys like you don’t read,” I stopped in mid-sentence. His eyes were laughing. “There’s no way I’m going to get out of that one,” I said.
To my surprise he laughed. He had a contagious laugh. I found myself joining in.
I started again. “I meant guys who look like you don’t usually read.”
“What’s wrong with the way I look?”
“Not a thing,” I blurted, before I blushed to my hairline, feeling the heat in my face. “I am so sorry. That didn’t come out right.”
Patrick Murphy smiled a slow, warm smile, his blue eyes lighting up. “Go ahead,” he said. “It’s fun to watch you blush. Don’t see that much anymore.”
I ducked my head and sipped tea, listening to his chuckle.
“Let me try this again. How did you like the book?”
Patrick leaned forward on his folded arms. “I liked it. That one was similar to a Michael Crichton, another favorite of mine. I have also read most of the classics. I like Rex Stout, Robert Parker and I read the Tarzan series twice when I was a kid.”
“You like mysteries and adventure,” I smiled.
“I like books,” he said and sat back for Kathy to set a cup of coffee down in front of him. I had never seen that kind of service. Kelly’s kept a tray of clean mismatched cups next to the front door. If you wanted coffee you chose a cup when you came in and carried it to your seat. Tourists and visitors were marked when they made the return trip to pick up a cup. This was a first, seeing a wait person bring a cup. Patrick must rate around here.
“Would you like anything else?”
“Not right now, thanks.”
The waitress scurried back to the front. If she had a forelock she’d have yanked it out by the roots.
“How do you like that Kindle?”
“I love it,” I answered, happy to change the subject. “I read a lot, too. With this I don’t have to drive to a book store, or wait for one to open. I can browse books in the middle of the night and sample them before I pay. I can get a sample for free and if I don’t like it I just throw it away. Sort of like browsing in a book store. Of course I’m limited to Amazon but that’s my favorite place to shop anyway so for me it’s fine.”
“I’ve thought about getting one. I like the feel of a book, the weight, you know? ”
“I do,” I agreed. “I wasn’t sure I’d like one until about ten minutes after I bought it. Took that long for me to fall in love.”
“You do that a lot?”
“Excuse me?”
“Fall in love. You do that a lot?”
Before I could answer Kathy came back and looked at my plate. “Are you finished with that?”
There was still a couple of pieces of fish and some fries on the plate.
“Yes, thanks,” I said, although I wanted the fish I didn’t want to eat in front of Patrick. I slid the plate closer to her.
“More tea? Some dessert? We have apple, berry and peach fruit pies and banana and coconut cream. From Cora’s bakery right here in town.”
“I’ll have the apple,” Patrick said. “How about you?”
“I’m good,” I said.
“Come on,” he smiled. “Pick one or I’ll pick it for you.”
I
thought for a second. “Peach,” I said.
“Ice cream?”
“No, the pie is fine.”
Kathy left again leaving me and Patrick looking at each other.
“You want to talk more books? Move on to movies? History? Foreign language? I am well versed I assure you.”
I felt the heat climbing up my neck again, the flush like a sunburn. “I’m kinda boring,” I said finally. “I read a lot, I like the old movies on TV.”
“Me too. What are your favorites?”
“Most of the black and white ones from the forties and fifties. The mysteries. I love the funny ones, the ones where everyone gets stuck in an old house and picked off one at a time.”
His eyes glowed bright blue. “Where the eyes in the picture on the wall move? And there’s about eight bedrooms with secret passages and one creepy butler?”
My turn to nod. “That’s them. And the Thin Man, Charlie Chan, all those.”
“Topper? I loved the Topper movies. I collected them. Topper and W.C. Fields.”
“I love those! Charlie McCarthy and Mortimer Snerd. I remember them and the westerns. So many westerns.”
“No brothers or sisters?”
“Two of each. I was the youngest. We had one of those aerials on top of the house. No cable or dish so it was old movies or nothing. I got parked in front of the TV while they all worked.”
I stopped when Kathy slid our desserts onto the table. She didn’t even glance my way, focused on Patrick. “More coffee?”
“Yeah, thanks. How about you? Would you like coffee?”
I nodded, my mouth full of luscious golden peaches.
“She’ll have coffee, too,” he told the waitress who once more hurried away only to return with another cup and the pot of coffee. A double first – two cups brought to the table. I’d have to remember that my next trip, see if it was a new policy.
“Will there be anything else?”
“Should do us,” Patrick said, forking up a chunk of apple pie. “I’ll wave if we need anything else.”
Kathy left again, with a wistful look over her shoulder that was wasted on Patrick. He was watching me.
We continued to chat about old movies while we ate our desserts.
Kathy brought our checks and Patrick picked up both slips.
