by E. C. Bell
“So, is he here?”
The drinks he’d had with lunch—or for lunch—were barely disguised by the spearmint candy in his mouth. I noticed the new diamond chip imbedded in his right incisor, and tried not to roll my eyes. I could only imagine what this bad boy wannabe’s car looked like.
“He’s in his office. One moment and I’ll get him for you.” I walked to Mr. Latterson’s door, though I could’ve pressed the intercom button. I had to get out of the aftershave.
“Mr. Latterson.” I knocked and entered, frightening him so badly papers flew from his hands in a small avalanche. “Your two p.m. is here.”
“Good.” Latterson tried to act like he was cool and together, but only managed to rub the sweat from his face into the thinning hair on his scalp. It was not a good look for him. “Send him in.”
Raymond sauntered by me, his hand touching my back and sliding around to cop a quick feel as he stepped to the door. I sidestepped him, and his hand hung, groping in the air like a squid pulled from the ocean.
“Thanks, Sweetie,” he said, the diamond chip glittering. “We’ll talk later.”
“You’re welcome.” I held the smile as long as I could, which was until the door clicked shut, then staggered over to the entry door and opened and closed it several times, trying to clear the air so I could breathe. I glowered at the controls for the furnace and air conditioner. Why couldn’t I move air in this office?
James, even though he was injured and all that, was the handyman. He needed to do something about my situation. I put the phone to voice mail, and stalked out to find him.
I wasn’t mad at James about the air conditioner. Not really. I was worried about Farley, and about my mother, and about my money problems, and every other stupid thing that seemed to have landed in my lap since I took this job.
Luckily, I realized there was a very good chance I was going to take it out on James, injured or not, so, I turned right instead of left, and walked out the ornate front doors. I’d walk around the block, get some air and some perspective, then go back in and figure out Farley’s problem. If I could.
The big problem was, the further I walked, the less perspective I got. Meaning I had no idea in the world what I was going to do about Farley.
So, I decided to call my mother, for real this time. I was ready to put my own crap aside for the moment to get to the bottom of Farley’s situation. Something really weird was going on with him. I needed help.
That’s when I realized I’d left my stupid cell phone in my purse, which was under my stupid desk. I wasn’t going back there. Not yet. I needed a phone, but couldn’t remember if there was a phone booth on the block. It’s something you don’t look for, when you have a cell phone in your pocket.
I had to walk three blocks before I found one. Luckily, it looked like it was still in working order, so I picked up the sticky receiver, trying not to think about who had used it, and what was making it feel so tacky.
I had to do the collect call thing, because, of course, I didn’t have any change on me either. Then, I hung up before my mother answered.
It wasn’t because I’d jammed again about talking to her about Farley, or because she couldn’t really afford to accept the call, because I knew I’d be paying for it. No, I hung up the phone because I couldn’t think of any way to have a decent conversation with my mother when a ghost was crammed in the phone booth with me.
The ghost materialized beside me, and she was glowing. I’d seen her on the streets the past few weeks, screaming at passersby. At first I’d thought she was one of the unaware dead, but I soon realized she was very much aware of her situation. I also realized she was furious about it. That made her dangerous. So, I kept my distance from her, until that moment. At that moment, she was right in my face.
“So, how we gonna do this?” she rasped.
She had been old when she died. That was about all I could tell. Living on the street for much of her life didn’t help me figure her age with any accuracy at all, past old. She still had a white straw hat on her head, with plastic flowers of various sorts pinned all over the brim. I guessed she’d done the decorating herself. It was not attractive.
I hung up the phone and tried to step away from her. She was cold. Much colder than Sally had been. There was a craziness to her aura that set my nerves on edge. Phlegmy yellowish curds floated through her glow. It wasn’t pretty, the way some of the dead my mother had helped had been. And it wasn’t sadly striking, the way Sally’s had been. No, this was ugly, and crazy, and I wanted out of the phone booth more than I could say. However, she was standing in the door. I would have to go through her to get out, and I didn’t think I’d be able to handle what I found when I did.
“Well, Girlie, looks to me like you think you own this here place, but, as you can see, it’s mine.” She pointed to a series of scratches in the plexiglass next to the phone that meant nothing to me. “That’s my name. That means—”
“This phone booth is yours.”
“Yep. That about says it all.” Orange mixed with the yellow, whirling in a sickening whirlpool around her. I couldn’t keep my eyes from it.
“Please let me out. I don’t want any trouble.” I tried closing my eyes, but she leaned closer and her aura invaded me in a frightening whirl that looked sick and smelled smoky, burnt, like rubber tires set aflame. I felt ill.
“You got trouble, Girlie. More than you can handle, I wager.”
I opened my eyes in time to see her walk into me.
It should have been quiet and cold, but it wasn’t. It was screaming madness in there, and I felt my heart slow dangerously as I tried to fight my way through her. She was gluey, and smelled more and more like burning tires until I wanted to scream.
I didn’t though. I pushed my way through her and the open door, landing at the feet of two Business Types who’d been walking together, each talking on his own cell phone. They stopped as one and stared at me as I scrabbled around on the sidewalk, trying to pull myself together.
In my head, the ghost cackled crazily, and so loudly I could barely hear the younger BT ask me if I was all right. I dragged myself from the phone booth, and the cackling lessened, taking on the sound of cellophane being crinkled in someone’s frantic hands. I kicked away a little further between the two men, both of whom jumped aside, obviously not wanting to let someone who was insane touch them. Then I turned and watched the ghost move on.
It was bad. She wasn’t ready. Not the way I’d seen the ones who moved on with my mother. Not the way Sally had moved on. And I’d never seen one choose to go to their form of hell, before.
I cowered behind the younger of the two guys as they tried to decide whether to call the police, and watched the spirit’s aura swallow her whole, blackening as it did. First the faint bits of white that had been left in her aura were gone, then the yellow curds, and then the orange, all swallowed by the black. It whirled into the centre and disappeared. Through the crinkling of the cellophane, I could hear her scream. It stayed with me a few seconds after the extinguishment of her aura.
I shakily pulled myself upright, first using the back of the younger man’s rather expensive pants, and then his jacket for purchase. He was now alone with me, because his friend had made a dash for freedom.
“Please let me go,” the younger man said. Begged, really.
I could see more fear in his eyes than I had in mine. So, I let him go.
“I’m sorry,” I gasped, still trying to shake the screaming out of my head as I brushed at the dirt I’d obviously transferred from the sidewalk to his jacket. “I’m so sorry.”
He pushed my hands away, because I was grinding the dirt into the jacket a lot more than I was rubbing it off. “Are you all right?”
“Spider,” I said. “I saw a spider. In the phone booth.”
“Oh.” The fear on his face disappeared, replaced by a patronizing smile. “So, you’re all right?”
“Yes.” I took a deep breath and let it out, slowly
. “It was a big spider.”
“Well, as long as you’re all right.” He stepped away from me, and pushed the cell phone back to his ear when it beeped. I could see the other man, who had run away when I did my lunatic dash for freedom from the phone booth, standing at the end of the block with his cell phone glued to his ear. The man who had stayed waved and walked toward him. The other man saw that I had seen him, and skittered around the corner, out of sight. The braver of the two followed, and finally, I was alone.
I searched for a place to sit down, because that had taken more out of me than I liked to admit. There was no place other than the phone booth, so I tottered back to the Palais.
James was cleaning up another goopy looking mess in the front foyer when I came through the doors. He waved at me with his bandaged hand, then looked absolutely horrified. He dropped his bucket and mop, and ran over to me. I must have looked worse than I felt, and I felt horrible. I was glad when he took my arm and led me to a chair.
“What happened?” he asked, as he helped me sit down. My legs were shaking so badly, I honestly don’t know if I would have made it under my own steam. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Well, that didn’t help. I stared at him for a moment, then started laughing. Then I couldn’t stop alternating between braying gusts of hysterical laughter, and sobbing. I tried to get hold of myself, really I did, but it was like I was standing way over at the other side of the foyer, watching myself completely lose it, and there was nothing I could do.
James actually carried a handkerchief, which he lent me as I tried to get myself under control. It smelled nice. Freshly washed. Just like him. That thought brought on another round of laughter and crying, and then, as suddenly as it started, it was over. I felt drained, and had no idea how I was going to handle the rest of my day. Then I looked into James’ anxious eyes, and had no idea how I’d handle the next five minutes. I decided the spider gambit was a good one, and worth another try.
“I saw a spider,” I whispered as I handed the damp handkerchief back to him. “A really big one.”
“Boy, you weren’t kidding about those things getting to you, were you?” I could see that he wasn’t buying what I was selling, but I was too tired to try anything else. I nodded, hiccupping once.
“It was really big.”
He nodded again, absently, as though he’d already dismissed my inordinate fear of spiders. “Do you know Helen Latterson?”
“Mr. Latterson’s wife?” I shook my head. “Only talked to her on the phone once. Why?”
“Well, she called me a little while ago. She has a job for me.”
“Mr. Latterson’s wife has a job for you?”
“Yeah. But not as a handyman.” He smiled, sheepishly. “Remember, I used to work for my uncle?”
“Your uncle the private investigator, right?”
“Right. He’s out of town and I told him I’d take his calls until he got back.”
“And she called?”
“Yes.”
“What does she want?”
“Information about Don Latterson.” He looked at me, and seemed embarrassed. “He’s getting ready to divorce her, she thinks, and she wants to find out all his assets—and where they are—before he cuts her loose. She says she needs the information right away.” James looked miserable. “Normally, Uncle would handle this kind of thing, but—”
“He’s on vacation,” I said.
“And I can’t get hold of him.” He looked even more miserable. “There usually aren’t any phone calls when he’s out of town.”
“So, you need to find out how much Mr. Latterson has and where he’s hidden it.”
“That’s about it, yeah.” He glanced at me, and for the merest second, I saw someone else hidden behind mild-mannered James Lavall. That person looked sharp and smart—and cold. Cold as ice. Then he was gone, and James’ good-natured befuddlement came back, so quickly I almost didn’t believe I’d seen what I’d seen. “Do you think you can help me?”
“You want me to go through Mr. Latterson’s stuff? To see what I can find?” I laughed at the look of horror on his face.
“It sounds so bad when you say it out loud,” he said. “Never mind. I’ll figure out another way to do this.” He pushed his hair back with his bandaged hand. “There has to be another way.”
I thought for about a second. “Mr. Latterson’s probably going to go out again. If he does, I’ll see what I can find. If I see anything interesting, I’ll let you know about it, and then you can figure out how to get it yourself.”
I wasn’t sure why I said that to him. Maybe because he carried a clean handkerchief, and shared. Maybe because I saw someone else hiding behind James’ façade, and that intrigued me. Maybe because Mr. Don Latterson really was a dick. Maybe a combination. Whatever it was, the look of relief on his face was nice to see.
“Oh, that’d be great! Just a hint, to set me in the right direction.” He grinned and took my hand, and I felt his heat warming me. “I definitely will take you out somewhere really nice. I owe you huge.”
“We can talk about that later.” I put my hands on the arms of the chair, and considered standing up. My legs had stopped shaking, and I thought maybe I could do it. “I should get back to the office.”
“Maybe you should sit a couple minutes more.” His worried face was back, and I wished I had a mirror. How bad did I look?
“No, I can get up.” I tried to smile at him, hoping it looked reasonably natural. “Really. I’m fine.”
He smiled back, so I must’ve done all right. “Want me to walk you to the elevator?”
“No. You go back to your mess.” I pointed at the goop. “Any idea what it is, this time?”
“No idea.” He grimaced, then laughed. “Whatever it is, it’s part of the devil-may-care world of the caretaker.” He stood, giving me a chance to admire the way he was put together.
I felt my face heat when he caught me staring, so I turned away and walked purposefully toward the elevator.
“Talk to you later,” I called, as the elevator door opened. I didn’t look back at him. No way. I stepped into the elevator like a queen or something, and didn’t collapse in a hugely embarrassed ball until the doors slowly slid shut.
Mr. Latterson was still in his office with Raymond. That wasn’t good. I needed them to leave if I was going to get into his office, and look at his bank statements. However, I could go online and see what I could find out about him. So I sat down and hacked into Mr. Latterson’s life.
I felt a little bit twitchy as I did so, because I had my back to his office door, and I really did not want to let him catch me. He’d lost his mind on me for looking at websites about ghosts. How would he react to me checking out his online life?
Luckily, it didn’t take long because I didn’t find much. A pathetic looking website that hadn’t been updated in forever, and that was about all. Talk about flying under the radar.
I had a couple of his bank account statements sitting on my desk, but they were still in their envelopes, so I couldn’t check them out. I needed to, though, if I was going to find any information for James.
I glanced at the clock above the door. Mr. Latterson usually left before this time. What would happen if he stayed until the end of the day? I wouldn’t have enough time to go through his office, and still get to my cab job on time. I couldn’t afford that.
Gerald the Tyrant would pink slip me as soon as look at me if I was late again, and I wasn’t ready to let that job go, yet. In fact, I was starting to think it was important that I keep that job, because something didn’t feel right with this one. If a man hides money from his soon-to be-ex-wife, there’s a good chance that a newly hired receptionist could get ripped off, too.
Darn it, anyhow.
I heard raised voices in the next room, and quickly shut down Mr. Latterson’s website, clearing the history moments before Mr. Latterson threw open the door and stormed into the reception area.
“Don
’t know when I’ll be back,” he said, anger and sweat steaming off him in a nasty mist. “Lock up.”
Ray followed on his heels, avoiding my eyes, and then the door slammed shut. I waited until I heard the elevator go down, carrying them away. This was the break I needed.
I was lucky. The lock on his door was old enough that my old credit card actually popped it open. I quickly checked his office, but found no bank statements. I glanced at my watch. I had an hour before I had to leave.
There was a closet in the back corner of the office. I checked the door, and it was unlocked. Inside was a bunch of stuff, including a lock box. I picked it up, and saw a hair stuck across the spot where the top and bottom of the lock box met. It was Mr. Latterson’s. I could see where the hair dye stopped on it, and everything.
“Oh my God,” I muttered. “A hair? He’s watched too many movies.”
I carefully removed the hair and opened the box. Inside sat all the bank statements, including several for Rochelle Martin. They had all been opened, and were in their own file folders and everything.
What they told me was, Mr. Latterson had money. Lots of it. Just none of it was in his regular accounts. Most was offshore. Across the top of each of the offshore statements, he had obligingly written the access numbers.
There was also the Rochelle Martin account. It held nearly one hundred thousand dollars. What I found in Mr. Latterson’s business and personal accounts? A couple of thousand in each, and that was all.
I wondered what was going to happen when I gave all this information to James. He’d give them to Mrs. Latterson, and then she’d clean Mr. Latterson out the way he was trying to do to her. Probably.
Ain’t love grand?
All James really needed were the names of the banks and the account numbers, but I took out every statement and made photocopies of them, including Rochelle Martin’s.
Then, I carefully returned the statements to the file folder, and put it back into the lock box. I locked it, and reached for the hair, which I’d placed nearby.
I couldn’t find it and nearly choked on my tongue. It looked like it had floated away.
