by Peter Sexton
“Sit down,” Anderson said.
The young man obeyed the order.
“How’s your nose?”
“Broken!” Puckett snapped.
“When we’re done here, go get it looked at.”
Puckett nodded, then grimaced.
“Probably should have knocked earlier before barging in like you did,” Anderson said. “What do you think?”
“What’s her fucking problem, man?”
Anderson glared at Puckett. He got what he deserved, Anderson thought. “Keep your tone in check, Puckett. And don’t ever forget who you’re talking to.” A beat. “That nonsense could have been avoided.”
“What the hell was she even doing here?”
Anderson shook his head and waved him off. “I said keep your tone in check. Don’t make me have to say it a third time. You just need to remain focused.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my focus,” Puckett said. “You told me to keep an eye on Lee. That’s what I’m trying to do.”
“And I appreciate that,” Anderson said. “Ten- sions are high while we’re all trying to get a handle on this situation. Tempers, obviously, are going to flare.”
“I called her in,” Puckett said. “She’s supposed to be working for me.”
Anderson tried to suppress a smile. The young man’s bravado and delusions of grandeur amused him. He reached into his desk and retrieved Puckett’s weapon and handed it across to him. Puckett took the gun and slid it into the holster under his coat.
“You want to tell me what was so important earlier that you needed to barge into my office unannounced?” Anderson asked.
“Meyers is gone. He packed a bag and left.”
“What? What do you mean he left?”
“Looks like he’s getting ready to run.”
“Where the hell is he?”
“Scottsdale, at the Motel 6 on Camelback.”
“He disappoints me,” Anderson said. “I’m going to have to go and bring him in. Apparently, I can’t trust him out there on his own.” He was silent as he considered his plan. “Where are we with locating the girl?”
“I’ve got Trammel looking into the mother, see if anything turns up there. Stone’s working on the Blackwell’s phone, tracking the origin of all incoming calls.”
“Anything yet?”
“No,” Puckett said. “But we’ll find her.”
“And when you do I want no more mistakes. I want the tape recovered and I want her taken out, whatever you have to do. She’s becoming too much of a liability; she’s drawing too much attention to our operation.”
“What if she doesn’t have the tape?”
“She has it...or she knows where it is. And now she has the notes taken from my computer. Whether she realizes it or not, she’s carrying the key that can shut this operation down before it even gets completely off the ground. Either way, I’m tired of playing games. Just take her out and bring me back the tape.”
“And what if she’s not alone?”
Robert Anderson considered this possibility for several moments. The girl could be getting help from any number of people: her mother, her mother’s husband, someone from the media, whoever it was who tipped off Edward that they were about to raid his home. “It’s a pretty safe bet she’s not out there on her own,” Anderson said conclusively. “So if she’s not alone when you find her...take them all out. We can’t afford to take any more chances.”
“Understood,” Puckett said.
“No loose ends.”
“Yes, sir.”
The phone on Anderson’s desk rang. He picked it up and swung around in his chair so that his back was to Puckett. “Anderson,” he said into the phone. He listened for several moments, then glanced at his watch and said, “Of course. Thirty minutes. I’ll be there.”
Twenty-Eight
The boardroom of the Earth’s Own Flavors building was buzzing with chatter when Robert Anderson walked in and took his place at the head of the table. The room fell to an almost instant silence, before a very short woman in a smart pants suit spoke. Her high-pitched voice easily cut through the anxious silence.
“I believe I speak for everyone here when I say that we’re all gravely concerned about the recent events unfolding in and around this company.”
Anderson sat quietly as the small woman spoke.
“The suicide note that Mr. August left,” she continued, “in which he claims to be responsible for that dreadful business at Faber’s, was certainly dis- turbing news. And now we have the tragic events of last evening.”
“Yes,” Anderson said.
The woman said nothing more for a time, just stared at Anderson, apparently waiting for a more significant response to her concerns. Finally she said, “We trust that you, as chief executive officer of this company, are attending to our potential liabilities.”
Anderson rose from his chair, placed both hands flat on the table, and scanned the faces of the entire assemblage, attempting to determine whether or not the woman indeed spoke for all. A sea of troubled faces looked back at him.
“Let me set your minds at ease,” Anderson said. He reached into his briefcase and removed a single typewritten sheet of paper. “I have already com- posed an official press release offering our deepest sympathies to the families of the security personnel who lost their lives here last evening. In addition, today I will be meeting personally with each family, insisting that they allow us to pay for all expenses related to their losses, as well as add a little some- thing extra to show them how...saddened we are.”
“That sounds fine,” one of the men said. “But what’s to keep them from filing suit against this company?”
“Nothing at all, of course.” Anderson looked at all the executives seated around the table. “But by the time I’ve finished meeting with each of the families, they’re going to be thinking of us as friends. The thoughtful, caring friends who helped them through a tragic and unfortunate family crisis. The friends who showed them that there’s indeed life after great loss.”
“You make it sound so easy...so trivial,” the small woman said.
“It absolutely is not trivial,” Anderson countered. “As for easy, however...” He reached into his briefcase once again and produced another letter that he passed around the room.
“And what is that?” another gentleman at the table asked.
“That,” Anderson said, “is the order everyone is going to sign today that authorizes the accounting department to issue a check to each man’s family in the sum of three-and-a-half million dollars. The checks will be accompanied by a letter explaining that the sum is equivalent to roughly forty years of salary plus bonuses.”
“So we’re buying them off?” the same man asked.
“Helping each of them endure through tragedy,” Anderson corrected. “It’s a small price to pay.”
The slight woman produced a stack of newspapers and tossed them onto the table. “That’s fine,” she said. “I see no reason to debate that. Mr. Anderson is right, ‘friends’ are less inclined to sue.” She pointed at the stack of newspapers, each one containing an article about the tainted baby food. “However, I’m not as certain about the families of the dead children. Edward August was an active employee of this company when those infants lost their lives.”
Anderson moved around the table and took one of the newspapers into his hand and waved it in the air as he spoke. “If, and I do mean if, we are named in a suit filed by any or all of these families, we’ll deal with it on a case-by-case basis.”
“Has anyone consulted our attorneys?” someone asked. “Shouldn’t they be present for this meeting?”
“They’ve been consulted,” Anderson assured the group, “and this is their recommended course of action. They are of the opinion that ultimate liability for the deaths of the children will end with Mr. August. They have informed me that his assets have already been frozen, including any financial benefits he would be entitled to from this company. Th
ey assure me that we are as good as in the clear of any potential liability.”
The small woman spoke up again. “And they’re certain we are completely sheltered from liability?”
“Absolutely,” Anderson said.
“So any evidence of communications between this company and Mr. August suggesting our awareness of or involvement in any of his activities has been completely destroyed?”
Twenty-Nine
Miranda sat up with a start as she woke from a dream in which she was being chased by flying monkeys straight out of the Wizard of Oz. Only her flying monkeys were employed by Earth’s Own Flavors, and they were heavily armed. Miranda took a few moments to orient herself with her unfamiliar surroundings, finally remembering she was on Sarah’s couch. She tried to slow her breathing to a normal pace and relax. A quick glance at her watch told her it was twelve thirty-seven in the afternoon; she’d fallen asleep just over three hours ago.
She showered and dressed and found Sarah exactly where she had been earlier. Sarah looked up when Miranda walked into the room.
“Hey,” Sarah said, smiling. “Get some sleep?”
“Up until the flying monkeys with the Uzis.”
“Flying monkeys?” Sarah asked.
“With Uzis,” Miranda emphasized.
“Didn’t you used to have dreams about the flying monkeys—”
“—when I was in high school. Yeah.”
“Did they get you?” Sarah asked.
Miranda shook her head.
“Good. That’s good. That’s a good omen.”
“If you say so.”
“It is.”
“I can’t believe I zonked out like that.” Miranda paused. “I don’t even remember lying down on your couch.”
“You were exhausted. You obviously needed the rest.”
Miranda knew her friend was right. And she did feel a lot better now that she had a bit of sleep and a shower.
“So did you call the mailbox place? Do you know how it fits into everything?”
“Yeah. They’re an independent company that offers box access between the hours of nine and six on weekdays, and eleven and three on Saturdays.”
When she saw her mother’s name on the sheet of paper, written in Sarah’s handwriting next to the address and phone number, Miranda asked, “What’s my mother’s connection to this place?”
“She has a mailbox there,” Sarah said, the excitement evident on her face and in her voice.
“You’re kidding. My mother?”
Sarah looked up and made eye contact with Miranda. “And your father. Both their names are listed on the contract.”
“But that doesn’t make sense. Why would they have a box together?”
Sarah didn’t answer the question.
Miranda picked up the sheet of paper and stared at her mother’s name. Then: “How’d you figure it out?”
“The reverse-listing search I did for that address came back with more than five hundred names. I hadn’t gone through the entire list by the time you and I were talking earlier. When I finally got through it all, I saw that Gillian August was one of the names.”
“Gillian August?” Miranda asked. “Why wouldn’t it be under her new name?”
“Good question. You should ask her next time you see her.”
“Do you know how long they’ve had the box?”
“Yeah. That’s interesting, too. The box was only opened in the last couple of weeks.”
“Are you serious? She didn’t say anything to me about it.” Miranda paused for a moment. “But there has to be a connection. Why else would my father have put a reference to this place on the same page as these other notes?”
“I was wondering the same thing,” Sarah said, “so when I called them, I said I was Gillian August. I gave them the box number and asked if I’d received anything.”
“And?”
Nodding, Sarah said, “There’s a small package about the size of a hardcover book.”
Miranda processed this, then glanced down at the information on the page. Gillian hadn’t mentioned anything about the postal box. What could this mean? Was she in contact with my father right before he was killed? Does she already know something about what’s going on? Does she even know that there’s a package waiting?
Miranda didn’t realize that Sarah had been trying to speak to her until she felt her friend’s hand gently shaking her.
“You all right? Still here on Planet Earth?”
“I need to find out what’s in that package. It had to have been sent by my dad? I mean, why else would he have written the address of the place on these notes?”
“I agree. Definitely too much of a coincidence.” Sarah paused. Then: “I have a theory. Since your dad’s name is also on the account. What if Gillian didn’t know anything about this postal box? What if your dad opened the account so that he could have a way to communicate with her? He had to have known you were both in real danger. Maybe he thought you might end up needing your mother’s help.”
Miranda considered everything she had just heard. The possibilities were endless. Assuming her father had taken out the box intending to use it as a way to communicate with her mother...how would he have let Gillian know about it? Maybe she doesn’t even know anything about it. There was, of course, one good way to figure out answers to some or all of these questions.
“I really need to see what’s in that box,” Miranda said.
“Yeah. Well, there’s a small problem with that plan.”
“Problem?”
“Unless you have the key, you’ll need to be Gillian to gain access to the box. You’ll have to produce a valid ID showing you’re her.”
Miranda played her options out in her head. She could call her mother and ask her why she hadn’t said anything about the postal box. But would that do any good right now? Or would it make Gillian defensive and less inclined to offer information. Miranda didn’t know, and she didn’t want to take any chances. “So then I’ll have to figure out how to get the key.”
Sarah started out of the room.
“Where you going?” Miranda asked.
“With you,” Sarah said. “Just give me ten minutes to shower and change.”
“No way.” It was a stern objection.
“What do you mean? I can’t let you go do this alone. You’re going to need my help.”
“I need you here,” Miranda said, “working on the rest of the puzzle. We need to know how everything fits together.”
Sarah shook her head. “I don’t know, Randi.”
“I’ll go back to Oak Hill on my own and get the package somehow. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen the place before. I know right where it is.” She paused for a moment. “I’ll be okay. I promise!”
“At least let me give you some money. You’re going to need gas and food and—”
“I’ve got plenty of money,” Miranda said, inter- rupting Sarah. “My dad packed all the money he had in his emergency fund before we left the house.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Definitely.”
Concern remained on Sarah’s face. “I’m still not comfortable letting you go out there alone.”
“Nothing’s gonna happen to me,” Miranda assured her. She tried to put on a smile for her friend. “I’ll be back before you even start to miss me.”
Thirty
“I’m sorry I’m putting you in this position,” Miranda said into the phone, “but I don’t have any other choice.” Miranda was in Sarah’s bedroom, packing a change of clothes while talking to Lawrence via speakerphone. “This is the only way I can think of to get into that postal box.”
“You don’t have to apologize,” Lawrence told her. He hesitated a moment too long, and Miranda sensed a shift in his mood before he said, “I don’t know why Gillian didn’t tell you.”
“Tell me what?” Miranda sat on the bed and pulled on a pair of white sneakers.
“Your father sent her a note a couple weeks ago. It j
ust said, ‘You might need this.’ She told me she had no idea what it meant, or what it was about.” A beat. “There was a key in the envelope with the note.”
Surprise and confusion. “Why didn’t she say anything about it while I was there?” Miranda was simply thinking out loud and had not expected Lawrence to respond.
“She’s your mother, Randi. I know you haven’t seen each other in several years but that doesn’t change the fact. I’m sure she was just trying to protect you.”
“She could have been helping me. We could have checked out that box while I was there.”
“She never said anything to me about a postal box,” Lawrence said. “She said she didn’t know what the key was for or why your father would have sent it to her.”
Miranda felt a little relieved at this. Maybe Gillian wasn’t aware of the box. Maybe she wasn’t hiding anything from her after all. It’s possible that her father included her mother’s name when he opened the account so she would have access if it ever became necessary, but hoped that she would never need to know about it. That actually made sense.
“How did you find out about the key?” Lawrence asked.
Miranda explained about the reference to Your Postal Partner, and the information Sarah had been able to piece together thus far.
“All right,” Lawrence said, “so tell me exactly what you need me to do.”
Miranda added her father’s Glock to the change of clothes already in her backpack.
“I’m gonna need the key to the box,” she said. “Without the key, I’d have to prove that I’m Gillian, which I obviously can’t do. The woman said non-key access to the box requires a photo ID. No excep- tions.”
“There are always exceptions,” Lawrence said.
“The only exception I can think of is to put a gun to the woman’s head. But I don’t want to have to do that.”
Miranda’s comment won a long beat of anxious silence from the other end of the phone.
Finally, Lawrence said, “The characters I write about in my novels are very comfortable with guns, but I personally don’t care for them.”
