Death Loves a Messy Desk

by Mary Jane Maffini

  I clicked off the television and headed back to the kitchen, still caught up in the situation that everyone said was not my business. Why did I feel involved? Definitely not because of the unpredictable Fredelle or the socially inept Robbie. I washed up the one pan, one plate, knife, fork, and glass and put them away.

  The expression on Barb’s face, that was what had hooked me. I’d seen how she looked as she raced away. I wanted to know what had happened to her. I wanted to know she was safe. I wanted to know her connection to the man in the Impala. Did it mean that she was truly in danger? Because there didn’t seem to be anything I could do about that.

  When the kitchen was done, I kept busy preparing invoices for the previous month’s projects and put the copies in my tickler file for thirty days later to track them for payment. I took care of a couple of items from my master list, and I checked over the files of the projects I had going to see if I was on target.

  I did not let my mind drift to Barb Douglas. I did not dwell on Quovadicon. I did not give a moment’s thought to Robbie and whether he’d been lying about not knowing where Barb lived. I definitely did not think about Jack.

  When I finished my tasks, I decided to reward myself with a nice bath. That wasn’t so bad. I made myself a cup of pomegranate tea, ran the bath, and dropped in a mango-scented fizzy bath ball. One of the nice things about having an apartment in a converted Victorian house is that you can end up with a big bathroom, and I mean big. Mine was probably a nursery originally. So my kitchen may be the size of a phone booth, but the bathroom more than makes up for that. I placed my giant fluffy bath towel and my terrycloth dressing gown on the chair near the claw-foot tub and lowered myself into the warm welcoming water. I lay back and closed my eyes to let the tension of the day slip away. I wanted all the talk of bodies in trunks and missing IT people and suspicious boyfriends to float away. As Fredelle and Pepper and even Ramona insisted, it was none of my business.

  I inhaled the scent of mango, sipped the pomegranate tea, and sighed happily. The dogs watched me from the bath mat, intrigued but cautious and close enough to the open door to bolt if they decided I was trying to trick them into a bath.

  The tense muscles in my shoulders and neck began to relax. My eyes closed. My breathing slowed. Bliss. And I’d even had a decent dinner, making my quick trip to Han naford’s pay off, too.

  My eyes popped open. Hannaford’s. Of course. That’s where I’d seen Missy, the perfect admin assistant who was on maternity leave. She’d been noticeable wheeling a basket through the produce section, smiling happily while two infants slept in a double carrier. I sat up, splashing scented water over the floor. Truffle and Sweet Marie leaped from the room and vanished.

  When had I seen her? She was supposed to be terrifically organized, so most likely she had a shopping schedule. Once a week. My regular time was around four in the afternoon. A low-productivity time of day for my work and yet good for getting groceries ahead of the after-work rush. But it hadn’t been then. It had been a quick dash through to pick up diapers for Sally, who’d been marooned because Savannah had an ear infection. Last Tuesday? No, Wednesday. Hmm. That would be tomorrow.

  I don’t work for free. I let people know that up front, and they sign a contract. If they choose not to proceed, they pay me for my initial time. This business has a lot of emotion in it, and people often change their minds. That’s code for chickening out. Easy to do, but I have to make a living.

  I had an invoice for Fredelle, and first thing Wednesday morning, I headed out to Quovadicon with it. Oh sure, I could have put it in the mail. The odd thing about an invoice, particularly delivered face to face, is that the client often has a change of heart—in part to avoid paying for something they won’t receive, and in part because a little time lets the fear and anger dissipate. I have to admit that sometimes it’s an effort to face the person, but it’s important to be resolute. In spite of the lure of the messy desk, I wasn’t keen to continue my Quovadicon contract, but I had a small piece of information I wanted and I had been booted off the property. This seemed like the best way.

  Autumn was on duty when I opened the door, the invoice already out of my briefcase and in my hand.

  “Hey, Caroline,” she said, without any great interest.

  Hey? Never mind business etiquette, had she totally forgotten that I’d been unceremoniously ushered off the premises just the day before?

  “Can I help you?” Naturally, there was no great enthusiasm to match the interest level.

  “I’d like to see Fredelle, please.”

  Autumn looked puzzled. “Fredelle?”

  I kept my sharp little tongue in check. Never alienate the receptionist is a first rule of business. “Yes. Fredelle, your office manager. I have something for her.”

  “Oh.” She nodded sagely, as though that explained everything.

  I smiled, patiently.

  “Is she expecting you?”

  “I’m pretty sure she isn’t.”

  “Oh that explains it.”

  “Explains what?” Having a conversation with Autumn was like fighting your way through an invisible verbal jungle; you felt caught in the tangle of irrelevant responses and general vagueness.

  “Fredelle is tied up right now. I don’t think she’s available for the next few minutes, so while you’re waiting, I was wondering,” she said, “if you would mind filling out a little survey for me.”

  I stared at her.

  She said, “You are Caroline, aren’t you?”

  “Close enough,” I said.

  She gazed at me anxiously. “So can you do it? You can’t believe how hard it is to get people to fill these out. I am trying to do well at this job so my dad doesn’t force me to go back to some college. I hate school, and I really like it here. Sometimes it’s interesting, especially lately.”

  No kidding, I thought.

  She handed me the printed questionnaire before I could think of a good excuse.

  “All right,” I said, hoping it wasn’t a client satisfaction survey or one that sought to determine Autumn Halliday’s suitability for employment. I put the questionnaire on the small counter by the side of the reception desk. Still clutching the invoice, I fished out my pen. I placed my handbag and briefcase on the floor as there wasn’t enough room for them plus the questionnaire and the invoice on the counter. It was hard to feel satisfied with Autumn’s services, but I didn’t mean her any harm. I could always say not applicable , as I was a supplier and not a client.

  She said, “It has to do with impressions.”

  I said, “Huh.”

  Autumn smiled in her hazy way and went back to playing with her hair.

  I stared at the questionnaire, hoping I could deal with it.

  Autumn jerked her attractive yet seemingly empty head and glanced behind her, leaning to see around the corner.

  “Oh, there goes Fredelle now. She’s heading to the staff room. If you hurry you can catch her.” She smiled the way you smile when you’ve done someone an immense favor.

  I grabbed the envelope with the invoice and dashed down the hallway after Fredelle.

  “Hello,” I said when I caught up to her.

  She lifted her chin.

  “I don’t have an appointment with you, but I needed to drop off this invoice for my consultation and time worked. I wanted to make sure you got it personally.”

  I handed her the envelope.

  She took it without a word.

  I held out my hand to shake hers. “Too bad it didn’t work out with us. I hope things . . . improve.”

  She didn’t shake my hand. “I’ll send the check tomorrow. But you’d better leave now. And I don’t want you dropping in here anytime it suits you.”

  “Trust me. I have no intention of coming back.”

  Dyan must have followed me down the hall, hoping for some drama. I ignored her curious stare as I passed her, my head high, naturally. For some reason the office seemed full this day. I assumed the extra peop
le were sales staff, and one or two might have been clients or even suppliers. No way to know. I thought I saw Robbie scurry by, but that may have been my imagination. I snatched up my hastily abandoned handbag and briefcase as I passed Autumn’s desk.

  “Will you finish the survey?” she breathed.

  “I’ll mail it in,” I fibbed, picking that up, too. “Oh, by the way, I thought I saw Robbie, but I didn’t notice his car outside. Is he in today?”

  “Robbie?”

  “Yes,” I said patiently, “Robbie Van Zandt. The owner’s son?”

  “Oh right. Yeah, yeah, weird Robbie. Everyone knows him. I didn’t notice him come in.”

  “I was almost certain I saw him in the parking lot. What kind of car does he drive?”

  She shrugged. “I have, like, no idea, Caroline.”

  I gave her a tight little smile. “You know, if you reoriented this reception desk, you could actually see people come by. They’d see you, too. That would probably be a good thing.”

  “Awesome, Caroline.”

  “Yes, and you could probably get them to fill out that questionnaire, too. There are quite a few people here today.”

  “Thank you!” Her lovely face lit up. “That’s a great idea.”

  On that note, I headed for sanity.

  Next stop Hannaford’s, and not a second too soon. I slowed my pace as I headed through the automatic doors. Ten o’clock seemed like a good starting point. I’d taken a little extra time styling my hair and doing a restrained but effective job on the makeup. I wore a crisp cropped jacket and a Pucci-inspired patterned skirt in yellow and charcoal. My pewter heels finished off the look. I’d chosen a contrasting handbag. No point in looking like the neighborhood lunatic if you were planning to ask a total stranger some very peculiar questions in front of the baby powder section. I grabbed a grocery cart and began to prowl through the store, seeking my prey. The baby products aisle seemed like a good place to start, but it was empty.

  I returned to fruit and vegetables to pick up a few boring but necessary nutrients. Maybe someday I’ll get excited about food that doesn’t have chocolate as a first ingredient, but I wasn’t there yet. So lettuce, red peppers, broccoli, and some ripe and fragrant pears. Couldn’t hurt. I glanced around as I selected each one, but no petite blond smiling mommy caught my eye.

  I hurtled around the perimeter of the store, glancing down each aisle as I passed by. No sign of her. By this point, I had no choice but to wander down the candy aisle, where a package of Mars bars jumped into my basket.

  Back again, this time on the lower end of the aisles.

  No luck.

  I returned to the produce section to start all over again. This time I picked up and examined every orange in the store. I kept an eye out, but no Missy appeared. I selected two oranges that had looked pretty much like all the others and decided to keep hunting for Missy.

  By the fourth trip around the store, I’d collected a box of ice cream sandwiches, some microwave popcorn, and three containers of B & J’s. Jack, if he ever showed up again, could make short work of those. I’d make sure he knew I had them.

  Forty-five minutes later, I still hadn’t spotted Missy and I had admitted defeat, but had stocked enough ice cream and candy to take me through Halloween. I was headed toward the cash registers when I caught a flash of blond hair. I made a U-turn, abandoned my cart, and whipped down the baby aisle.

  Missy was stopped in front of the disposable diapers. “Thank heavens,” I said. “You look like you know what you’re doing.” I pointed toward two sleeping infants.

  Missy smiled. “That might not last long, but so far so good.”

  “They’re such beautiful babies,” I said, although to tell the truth I can’t tell one baby from another one, something I never ever mention to my friends. “What are their names?”

  “Riley and Ryan.”

  “Beautiful names. They seem like such good babies, too. Look, I don’t want to hold you up, but could you help me out, please?”

  “Sure, if I can.”

  “Thanks,” I said, radiating gratitude. “I promised to get some baby powder for my friend. She’s stuck in the house with a couple of sick children, and I said I’d swing by and pick it up. Her baby is six months old. Shenandoah. Another beautiful child. But I don’t remember what brand my friend told me to get. What do you use?”

  “I’ve always been happy with this.” She picked a familiar container from the shelf and handed it to me.

  “That’s it. That’s the one she prefers. I wasn’t sure and I didn’t want to add to her troubles, or make a return trip.” I was about to drop the baby powder into the cart with my purchases when I realized I’d left the cart behind in my dash to catch Missy. Sally would be bemused to learn she’d been part of my info-gathering conspiracy, and she’d think the cart thing was hilarious.

  “I don’t blame you. Once a week in the grocery store is enough,” she said, confirming my opinion of the type of organized person she was. “Your friend’s a lucky girl, though.”

  I did a little fake double take. “I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but you seem quite familiar.”

  She looked at me, seeking signs of familiarity, I suppose. I tried not to feel guilty over the subterfuge. I reminded myself that Barb Douglas was missing under strange circumstances, that the police had no intention of getting involved, and that someone at Quovadicon could well be at the heart of her disappearance.

  I said, “Oh, I know what it is. I have a contract at a business on the edge of town. Quovadicon? I saw you in a photo yesterday. Unless it was someone who looked a lot like you.”

  She laughed and pointed to the twins. “It would have been me. I was as big as a house with these two bruisers.”

  “I didn’t like to say that. It was your smile that I recognized.”

  “Wow. Say hi to everyone for me. I have to get in again to show them how the twins are growing, but the days are so busy. You can’t imagine.”

  “I’ll pass on your greetings.”

  “Thanks!”

  “Fredelle says they miss you a lot.”

  “She would say that. She’s such an office mom. I miss her, too. It must be hard on her. A lot of new people.”

  “Right. Dyan, who replaced you . . .”

  “Hmmm. Actually, we overlapped.”

  I figured Missy was too kind and probably too smart to trash-talk Dyan to a stranger.

  I said, “And I guess the receptionist hadn’t been there long, either. Did you have to train her, too?”

  “Autumn. She’s young. I guess she’s still managed to avoid going back to school.”

  I didn’t want to change the subject. “So Robbie’s been there for a long time.”

  She smiled. “Oh, Robbie, so shy. Tell him I said hi.”

  Here was my chance to find out about Robbie’s car. “Sure. In fact, I have to talk to him later today. I’m embarrassed to say that I think I drove right by him this morning and didn’t acknowledge him.” I paused to consider the most unlikely vehicle for Robbie to drive. “He was in an SUV, a big red one. A Jeep, I think.”

  She frowned. “I can’t imagine Robbie driving an SUV. Or anything red. He’s too self-effacing.”

  “Really, I was sure it was him. So what does he drive?”

  “An old silver Camry. He’s had it nearly ten years. He’s not a person to spend money on luxuries. He’s probably got plenty tucked away for emergencies. He’s always expecting one.”

  “And what about what’s-her-name, right, um, Barb, who works next to him? I have to talk to her tomorrow. Or did she join Quovadicon after you left?”

  One of the twins opened a tiny rosebud mouth and emitted a squawk.

  Missy leaned forward and rubbed the little tummy. “Shh, shhh, shhh. No, she was there before I left.”

  The other twin’s eyes opened, followed by his identical rosebud mouth. I knew that Missy wouldn’t stand around chatting with a stranger if both babies started crying. I spoke
quickly, because I wanted to hear if Missy had anything to say about Barb Douglas. “Really, I didn’t know that. Did you have to train her, too?”

  “Shhh, shhh, Ryan. No, no, she was technical. I wouldn’t have known where to start. She knew her stuff, though.”

  “Did she? I haven’t talked to her yet, but I’d heard she was really smart. Must have been why Fredelle recruited her.”

  “Oh, Fredelle didn’t recruit her.”

  “She didn’t? I thought she did all the hiring.”

  “There’s not that much hiring, outside the warehouse, and Fredelle doesn’t do that. We’ve always been a stable group until this year, when everything changed for a number of reasons.” She cooed at the fidgeting babies. A serious bleat came from the baby on the left, echoed by a matching one from his twin on the right. Missy said absently, “I’d better get moving. I want to finish before they hit high C.”

  Not just yet, I thought. “Didn’t people like Barb?”

  Missy had already started to move down the aisle. “Most people did, but that’s the thing. It didn’t matter two cents whether people liked her or not, because Mr. Van Zandt handpicked her.”

  11

  When you make an appointment,

  note the contact number of the person in your agenda.

  If you have to cancel in an emergency,

  you’ll have the number handy.

  I grabbed my missing cart, checked my watch, and high-tailed it to the cash register. I had a consultation soon, but I had another important item to check out first. Luckily for me, it was on the way. I popped the groceries in the car and raced off to Lilac Lane.

  Fortune was with me, and Jim Poplawski was just about to wedge himself into an ancient station wagon. He was carrying a small animal crate. Worry clouded his broad, cheerful face.