I hope you understand, Jonathan.
Chapter 16
The phone was ringing when Martha returned home. It was Sunday, and she had made a special trip into the shop in order to transfer some data onto a thumb drive so she could do some troubleshooting at home. She hurried to answer the phone recognizing the number as one of the company lines.
“Hello, this is Martha.”
“Martha. It’s Davis. Sorry to bother you on the weekend but we have a problem here. We can’t find the Donavan file. We need the results of the research they did down in Atlanta. Did you take the file home with you?”
“Of course not, Davis. I’m not involved in that project, at least not until you folks submit your department’s report. Did it get misfiled?” She was immediately sorry she said that since, obviously, he wouldn’t be calling her until all avenues had been pursued.
“We’ve looked everywhere, Martha. The entire file is missing, and this data hasn’t been entered on the computer yet. We can always contact Donavan and get it re-transmitted, but I think we need to know what happened to it.”
Martha knew that was true. This was critical data that could cost the company millions if it got out. “I’ll give Alan a call. He might know something about it. I’ll get back to you.” She quickly dialed Alan’s home number.
“Fitzgerald’s residence.” Martha was surprised by the formality and wondered if Alan had a housekeeper.
“May I speak with Alan please?”
“Who’s calling?” the woman responded in a cool tone.
“This is Martha Miller from the office. Is Alan in?”
“This is his wife. May I ask why you want to speak with him?”
Taken aback, Martha responded, “We have a problem at work, and I need to ask him a question.”
“You know, it’s Sunday. You folks have him six days a week from early morning until late at night. My husband needs his rest. Is this really important?”
“Mrs. Fitzgerald. I’m truly sorry to bother you and Alan, but I only need to ask him one quick question.” Without responding, Alan’s wife laid the phone down.
Martha heard raised voices in the background but couldn’t make out what was being said. After a long pause, Alan picked up the phone. “Martha. Sorry to keep you waiting. What’s up?” He, too, sounded brisk.
Martha explained about the missing file. Alan expressed surprise and said he had no idea where it might be. “Donavan said they were transmitting it a few days ago. Are you sure we received it?” he asked.
“Yes. It was logged in on Thursday.”
After reiterating that he had no information about the file, Alan said goodbye and hung up. Martha was surprised by his seeming lack of concern. Usually he was very cooperative and would have offered to go in and help the weekend staff locate the file. She wondered if he was having problems at home.
Putting the issue aside for the time being, Martha prepared an early dinner and spent the evening going over the figures from the shop. Her mother had said that Ruth might be coming home within the next few weeks, and Martha wanted the finances to be pristine for her. She went to bed early and read until midnight. Just as she turned her light off, she heard a car pull up outside. Most of her neighbors were elderly and were rarely out this late.
Leaving the light off, she slipped out of bed and went to the window. Carefully pulling the curtain aside, she looked out and spotted the car parked across the street. She saw the door slowly open, but the inside light had been deactivated. A figure quickly ducked out of the car and into the bushes directly across the street from Martha. She could barely make out the glow of a cigarette.
Shaking, she picked up the phone and called the police.
“Officer Muldoon. What’s your emergency?”
“I want to report a prowler. There’s a person outside my house in the bushes. Can you send someone over right away?” Martha’s voice was trembling.
“He’s on your property?” the officer asked.
“No. He’s across the street,” Martha replied. “But he’s been here before.” She was very nervous and didn’t think she was being clear. “I think he’s been following me.”
The officer hesitated and then said, “I’ll send someone out. Let me confirm your address.” In about ten minutes, Martha heard a police car pull up in front of her house. She went to the window and saw that the black car was gone, and a female officer was getting out of the squad car followed by a young male officer. She met them at her front door and explained that the car was now gone. The officers checked the perimeter of her property and that of the neighboring houses. Someone opened their front door, but the officer told them to remain inside.
Once they confirmed that there was no one lingering around the house, they came in to talk with Martha. The young female officer’s name was Officer Holmes, and she patiently listened as Martha told her and her partner about her misgivings regarding the black car.
“Do you know who it is?”
“No.”
“Do you have any suspicions?”
Martha hesitated. “My ex-husband was recently released from prison in Montana. …”
“Do you have reason to think it might be him?”
Again, she hesitated. “He threatened me during his trial, but that was nearly twenty years ago. I don’t think it could be him.” Office Holmes pulled out her notebook and asked a few questions about Greyson, most of which Martha couldn’t answer.
“Is Greyson his first or last name?”
“As far as I know, it’s his only name. He was born on a commune back in the early 70s. His mother was a hippie, and he never knew his father. He told me she named him Greyson. Just Greyson,” she added with a shrug. That’s why I kept my maiden name.”
“Some strange names came out of that decade.” Moving on, Officer Holmes asked, “Do you have any other ideas about who it might be?”
“I fired a man a couple of months ago, and he was upset by it, but …”
Officer Holmes turned to her notebook and asked for his name and the circumstances of the firing. She told the officer about the letter he sent her but didn’t tell her about having dinner with him. She felt guilty about it, knowing she shouldn’t have agreed to meet him. “Do you have the letter?”
“No. I threw it out. But I really don’t think it’s important. I’m sure it wasn’t Derek.”
“Stalking can be very serious, ma’am. You need to let us decide what’s important.”
Stalking? She hadn’t thought of it as stalking. The idea was frightening, and she began to back away from the idea. “It’s probably just my imagination,” she said.
They continued to ask questions for the next half hour or so. The whole thing was beginning to feel out of control, and she was sorry she had involved the police. Finally, Office Holmes stood to leave. She handed Martha her card, and instructed her to call the direct number if she thought of anything else or if she saw the car again. Martha walked them to the door and promised to call.
Looking at the card after they drove off, Martha frowned slightly. Amanda Holmes. The name sounded familiar. Her mother, perhaps, had mentioned her. She would like to ask but didn’t want to explain why the police were at her house.
Martha went to bed but had a restless night filled with troubling dreams she couldn’t quite remember.
The next morning, she was exhausted but went into the office early. Alan was already there and greeted her in his usual friendly manner as if they hadn’t had the uncomfortable conversation the night before.
In her office, she removed her boots and hung her coat up on the coat rack. She unlocked her desk and opened the drawer where she kept her current projects.
On the top of the pile lay the Donavan report.
Chapter 17
Over the next two weeks, staff from the New York office descended on the Middletown branch. Martha was questioned extensively as were all of her staff, but Martha seemed to bear the brunt of the allegations.
“I have no idea how that report got into my desk or where it was while it was missing,” she responded angrily to the incessant questioning. “You know I’m a loyal employee and have been for years!” Martha was both hurt and angry that the blame for this was falling on her.
“If there’s a corporate mole at work here,” she snapped after an especially long interrogation toward the end of the first week, “you’re missing the opportunity to catch him while you waste your time questioning me.”
Before the investigator could respond, she added, “And why would you think this had anything to do with corporate espionage anyway? Maybe it was a simple mistake.”
Nevertheless, the questioning continued, not just of Martha but of all her staff. “That was an especially grueling interview,” Alan said as he joined Martha at Barney’s, the local bar and grill where they had decided to meet to discuss what was going on. No work was getting done, and Martha was becoming worried about impending deadlines.
“Am I crazy to think this is a simple mistake? Do you think we have a mole?” she asked Alan.
“I have no idea. I’ve asked the corporate suits if there’s been other evidence of a problem, but I don’t get anywhere.”
“I’m asking the questions here,” Martha said, mimicking the corporate interviewers. “I’m sick of the whole thing. They are pulling personnel files now, and they have a subpoena to look at our staff’s personal finances.”
“Why in the world would they do that?” Alan responded indignantly.
“They’re looking for people with outside income, people who seem to have two employers, us and someone hoping to ruin us.”
Alan didn’t respond but downed his whiskey in one gulp. “I heard they downloaded our hard drives to a special server so they could poke through our research and communications.”
They decided to order sandwiches and return to the office to see if they could get some of the reports done for the upcoming meeting with their primary client. “We’ll have to request a delay in the final report. There’s no way we can complete the research with all the interruptions and the staff in a state of high anxiety.”
They worked until nearly midnight and decided to call it a day. Alan walked her to her car and then slid into his Acura. He flashed his lights at her as he drove away.
Martha started her own car quickly, but as she was pulling out of her parking space, she spotted a car parked across the lot in the shadows. She turned and slowly drove in the direction of the car, but the car accelerated suddenly and its tires squealed as it sped toward the exit and out of sight. She couldn’t see it clearly in the dark, but Martha knew it was the black car.
Martha didn’t know who was stalking her, if it could even be called stalking. Sometimes she even thought it was just her imagination. There are lots of black cars in this city, she told herself. She also told herself she had no idea who it might be, but whenever she saw the car or received the calls, Derek’s cold angry eyes crossed her mind.
On her way home, Martha toyed with a new idea. Both Derek and Greyson had crossed her mind as people who might want to make her uncomfortable or even fearful. But what if it had something to do with the company? She hadn’t told anyone about the black car other than the skeptical police officers. Maybe I should discuss it with Alan, she thought tentatively.
Weeks earlier it had occurred to her that perhaps she should discuss it with Charles, but she immediately abandoned the idea, knowing that involving him would bring the family into it, and she was adamantly opposed to causing them any undue stress. Yes, I think I should talk to Alan.
* * * * *
“You look tired, Martha. Why don’t you go on home. I can finish up here.” Sarah had been helping Anna with a class while Martha handled the customers. Sarah had looked up to see Martha rubbing her temples with her eyes closed.
Quickly dropping her hands to her sides, Martha responded, “I’m okay, Mother. I can stay until closing time.”
“Anna’s here, Martha. Go on home. You need rest and tomorrow is Sunday. You can sleep in and …”
“Not tomorrow. We’re working all day tomorrow. We have a big meeting this week with our primary client and we’re far from ready.”
“I’m sorry, Martha. You didn’t have to be here today. I wish I had known, I would have insisted you take today off.”
“I like being here,” Martha responded in a soft tone.
“Are you really okay?” Sarah asked, moving closer to Martha and reaching out to touch her arm. Martha turned into her mother’s arms, and tears ran down her face. “What is it, honey? Tell me.”
“Just stress, Mama. Just stress. I’ll be fine. You’re right, I need rest. I guess I’ll go on home if you’re sure. …”
“I’m sure.” Sarah helped her daughter gather up her coat and gloves and walked her to the door.
As Martha pulled away from the curb, Sarah noticed a car start up suddenly and swing in behind her daughter almost hitting her bumper. Sarah frowned and watched until the two cars were out of sight. She hurried to the phone and left Martha a message to call her as soon as she got home.
* * * * *
“I’m fine, Mother. I didn’t even notice the car.” Martha quickly changed the subject. “Are you about ready to go home?”
“Yes, but I was worried about you.”
“Well, I’m home safe and sound and about to soak in a hot tub,” Martha responded cheerfully.
“That’s just what you need! I’ll talk to you later in the week. I love you,” and Sarah hung up, feeling relieved that it was nothing. I hope I’m not starting to overreact like Charles does, she told herself with a chuckle.
Martha hung up the phone and sighed. The car had followed her until she turned into her street, but didn’t turn when she did. It was dusk and a thick fog had settled over the town making it impossible to determine who was driving the car. She drove slowly trying to get a look at the license plate. She could make out an E and what appeared to be a six. “E6,” she said aloud, but the rest of the number seemed to be smudged, apparently with mud.
She drove around to the alley and entered her house from the back. Without turning the lights on, she went to the window. The car wasn’t there. She was relieved but realized she was trembling anyway. She was tired of this constant feeling of foreboding.
“Those were the only two numbers I could make out,” she explained to Officer Holmes when she called her later that night.
“I’ll see what I can find out,” the young officer said, but they both knew that was little to go on and, in fact, no crime had been committed. At least, not yet.
Chapter 18
It was Monday morning, and Ruth had just pulled into her familiar parking place in the alley next to Stitches. She had returned over the weekend and was eager to get back to the shop and resume her own very comfortable routine. Her mother had died the previous week, and Anna and her family had driven to Ohio for the funeral. Nathan, Ruth’s husband, picked up Katie at school and the two drove straight to Ohio as well. It was the first time Katie had seen the house and the community where her mother grew up.
Ruth had been nervous about how the community would respond to their presence, but everyone was kind and comforting. It had been a very special experience to be able to be with her family and to care for her mother, but she was overjoyed to be home again.
As she unlocked the door, she smiled to see the shop just as she left it. Being in the shop brought back a feeling of being grounded for the first time since her mother died. She had felt somehow unattached or free-floating. It was as if an invisible umbilical cord connecting her to her mother had been cut.
Ruth had no sooner removed her boots and hung up her coat when she heard the jingle of the door being opened. She stuck her head out of the back room and was surprised to see all the members of the Friday night club crowding into the shop. Anna said good morning as she hurried past her sister carrying a large tray of sweet rolls.
Ruth rushed out to meet her fri
ends, and was immediately inundated with hugs, questions, condolences, and a few tears. Ruth had missed her friends and they clearly had missed her as well. Sarah stood in the background, allowing Ruth to wallow in the lavish attention she was receiving.
“Sarah,” Ruth called to her friend. “How can I ever thank you? The shop looks wonderful.” She hurried over to Sarah, and they hugged and talked briefly about the shop.
“Let’s set business aside for a few minutes,” Anna interjected as she re-entered the room and the group became quiet. “Sarah, would you do the honors?”
“Me?”
“Yes, you,” the group chimed in unison.
“What’s this all about?” Ruth asked, looking around questioning.
“Okay,” Sarah said. “Let’s move into the classroom for coffee and refreshments, and while we’re there, Ruth, we have a little surprise for you.”
“Wait for me!” The voice came from the front of the shop, and the group turned to see Martha hurrying toward the classroom. “Am I in time?”
“Martha! You came!” Sarah introduced her daughter to the group, but most of the women had met her in the shop.
“So this is Martha,” Ruth said hugging her and thanking her for all her work. “I haven’t had a chance to see your reports, but your mother has been bragging about the work you’ve done.”
“Maybe we’ll have time to take a look at it before I leave. I don’t need to be back to the office for a couple of hours. So,” turning to her mother, “am I too late?”
“You got here just in time.”
“What are you girls talking about?” Ruth asked impatiently.
“Anna,” Sarah began, “helped us with a special project and,” as she reached under the table and pulled out the bag, we made this for you while you were away.” She handed the bag to Ruth who took it gingerly with a look of confused anticipation.
Patchwork Connections Page 8
