by Mary Maxwell
“Close enough,” Harper said. “But will we establish a bad precedent if we do it?”
I made my way to the front line. “We can have them sign confidentiality agreements,” I said with a straight face. “If they tell anybody, we’ll lay claim to their time share at Lake Havasu.”
As she breezed by me with the berries, Julia made a face. “I thought they sold that,” she said. “Jenna was tired of the college kids in skimpy bikinis.”
I shook my head. “I saw her last week at the bank. They had a buyer, but the deal fell through. I think they’re going to take if off the market for a few months before trying again.”
Harper drummed her fingernails on the stainless steel shelf in the pass window. “Um, hello? What do I do about our early birds?”
“I’ll go and unlock the door,” I said, glancing into the dining room. “Then you can finish with the salt and pepper shakers.”
“Thanks, boss,” she said, turning away from the window.
“No problem,” I called before heading for the entryway.
When I came around the corner a moment later, Ron was pressing his nose against the window beside the front door. He waved excitedly when he saw me and then stepped back to wait.
“Sorry, Katie,” he said once the door was open. “We know you guys don’t start until seven, but we have to be in Briarfield before eight.”
Jenna walked up and offered a similar apology. “There’s nothing more annoying than people who show up a half hour early, right?”
I smiled. “You’re fine,” I said. “I can think of at least a dozen things that are worse, but none of them involve nice people like you two.”
They both chuckled and stepped inside. I closed the door and motioned toward the dining room.
“Oh, we’re not here for breakfast,” Jenna said. “We wanted to tell you something about Wendy Barr on account of we know that you’re trying to help the police find her killer.”
“Word travels fast,” I said.
Ron reached into his back pocket, producing a small notebook with a bright red cover. He opened it and flipped through the pages.
“We put down a few thoughts last night after Detective Kincaid came by the house,” he said. “Just to make sure we’ve got all of our ducks in a row.”
I smiled. “Ducks?”
“Facts,” he said. “Like, the day that Wendy told us she was eliminating our positions because business was going in the crapper.”
Jenna cringed. “Can you please not use that word?”
They exchanged a glance before Ron apologized for the remark. Then he checked the pad again and ran through a series of names, dates and quotes.
“Long story short,” Jenna said when he finished, “even though we’ve both worked for Wendy’s cleaning company for almost three years, she was going to give us pink slips and keep Lionel and his sister, who have only been on the crew for about seven or eight months. As you can imagine, that didn’t sit well with us. We’re loyal people, and we—”
“Super loyal!” Ron added.
Jenna sighed. “That’s right,” she continued. “Super loyal people. And not just when it comes to work either. I mean, I’ve been getting my nails done at The Glam Room since I was a high school senior, right? And even though Shelby’s raised her prices way higher than most of the other salons in town, I keep going.” She held up one hand so I could admire the eggshell polish adorned with tiny ladybugs. “I know it’s silly, but it’s something that Danielle and I have been doing together every other Saturday since forever.”
“Danielle Breen?” I asked.
Jenna nodded. “She’s one of my besties. In fact, I’ll be seeing her later today. We meet at six o’clock, Shelby gives us a glass of wine and then we three chitchat while she’s doing our manicures. It’s a nice social outlet, and changing the nail color every couple of weeks makes me smile.”
“Sure,” I said. “Plus, people know you for that.”
“For spending a small fortune on her nails?” Ron asked. “Something that makes a household budget go down the—”
“Don’t say that word again, Ronnie! It’s uncouth!”
His face turned red. “Sorry, honey. I spend half my day cleaning bathrooms in office buildings. I can’t get it out of my head.”
“Well, try harder,” she said, checking the time on her phone. “Now, we should get back on track so we’re not late.”
“One quick question?” I said.
They both nodded.
“Do you know why Wendy changed her mind?” I asked. “You mentioned that she planned to eliminate your positions, but that didn’t actually happen.”
Ron frowned. “Pretty typical of her in the last few months. Wendy was a real different person lately than when we first met her.”
“In what way?” I asked.
“You name it,” Ron said.
Jenna held up one artfully-manicured hand and began counting with her fingers. “One, she was grouchy a lot of the time,” she said. “And that’s not the Wendy that we fell in love with. Two, she started spending money like it was growing on trees. Three, she—”
“Do you know how much an Aston Martin costs?” Ron blurted. “The model she bought is around two-hundred grand.”
“Three hundred,” Jenna repeated. “But who’s counting?”
“Probably all of us,” I teased.
“True,” Jenna said. “But the weird thing is, in the last few months, Wendy was behaving kind of cagey, like she knew a secret that nobody else did.”
“Yep, that’s right,” Ron agreed, “especially when we asked her a couple of questions. I’m not sure, but I think she was involved with some nefarious types.”
“What do you mean?” I said.
“Crooks,” Jenna volunteered. “I heard her on the phone one time when we were picking up our paychecks and it didn’t sound lovey-dovey. She was saying something about the person on the other end better watch himself or there might be trouble.”
“So Wendy was threatening someone?”
Jenna nodded. “It reminded me of an old movie with Al Pacino, the one where he’s selling drugs.”
“Scarface,” Ron said. “Now, that’s a classic! They don’t make movies like that anymore. The whole Hollywood thing has gone down the—”
Jenna stomped one foot. “Ronnie! I swear to high heaven that I’m going to wash your mouth out with soap!”
“What?” her husband pleaded. “I was gonna say down the tubes, honey.”
She narrowed her gaze. “You were?”
He sniffed. “Swear on my mother’s life.”
“Down the tubes?” Jenna said.
I waited until Ron leaned over and kissed her cheek before asking if there was anything more they could tell me about Wendy Barr.
“Not really,” Jenna said. “We shared all of this with Detective Kincaid, but Blanche Speltzer suggested we share it with you, too. Just in case it’s helpful in your…” She frowned. “What do you call it, Katie? You’re not officially working with the police, but everybody knows you used to be a detective.”
“Private,” I said. “Back in Chicago. Nowadays, I just pitch in to support the Crescent Creek PD from time to time.”
“Like with Wendy’s murder?” Ron said.
I nodded.
“Well, it’s just heartbreaking,” Jenna whispered. “Her brother’s running the company temporarily, so we keep going to work. But it’s not the same when you call the office. I mean, even when she was acting all high and mighty about her sudden reversal of fortunes, I could still hear remnants of the old Wendy in her voice.”
“It is sad,” I said.
Ron looked at his watch. “You know what else is sad?”
“What’s that, Ronnie?” asked Jenna.
“When we get docked pay,” he said, “because we show up late for a new customer and they tell the office.”
Jenna glanced quickly at her phone again. “We best scoot,” she said, giving me a warm smile
. “Thanks for letting us interrupt your morning, Katie. We hope it helps.”
“Every little bit does,” I said as Ron reached for the door. “Thanks again for sharing your insights with me. I’ll be back in touch if I think of any other questions about Wendy’s company.”
“Oh, right,” Ron said. “That’s one other thing. Did you talk to Anthony Pappalardo yet?”
I nodded. “I talked to him the other day. What do you think of the guy?”
Ron scowled. “I punched him once,” he said. “But that was only in a nightmare I had about work. I know that he’s just doing his job and Gordon Janitorial has a right to open offices wherever they’d like, but I’m not a fan of Goliath stepping all over Wendy’s toes.”
Jenna poked her husband’s arm. “Let’s move it, Ronnie. If we’re late, Wendy’s brother will get back up on his soapbox again.”
“Thanks again,” I called as they rushed out the door and down the steps. “Have a great day!”
CHAPTER 30
That afternoon, while Julia frosted vanilla cupcakes with pink buttercream for Donna Robertson’s baby shower and Harper mopped the dining room floor, I slipped into the office, picked up the desk phone and dialed the toll-free number for Gordon Janitorial’s national headquarters. I wanted to try and reach the regional sales contact that Anthony Pappalardo mentioned during our chat earlier in the week. If he’d talked to Wendy Barr at some point in the recent past, it might be helpful to quiz him about their conversation. No stone unturned, I thought. No clue too small.
While I waited for someone to answer on the other end, I scrolled through the company’s online brochure again. According to the slick promotional materials, Gordon offered fifty years of professional cleaning experience for clients in six main segments: industrial, hotel/restaurant, medical, commercial/office, retail and educational. From general housekeeping services and floor care to construction clean-up and window washing, Gordon Janitorial provided comprehensive cleaning solutions for businesses throughout the country.
When a voice finally came on the line, I was momentarily confused because I couldn’t figure out if it was a recording or an actual person.
“It’s a spotless day at Gordon,” the woman said with a flat, neutral accent that had been scrubbed of any provincial dialect. “We’re your leading global provider when it comes to creating a sparkling environment for your customers and employees.”
“Hello?” I said hesitantly. “May I please speak to Arnie McDermott?”
“Thank you,” she said after a few seconds of silence. “Allow me to connect your call.”
Since I’d dialed the company’s Wisconsin headquarters on a weekend, I was wondering if I would land in the guy’s voicemail or if the switchboard would route the call to his mobile number.
I had my answer in less than thirty seconds when Arnie McDermott picked up the phone with a clear, crisp greeting.
“It’s a spotless day at Gordon Janitorial,” he said. “How can I help you?”
“Hi, my name is Kate Reed,” I began. “I’m calling from Colorado. Anthony Pappalardo suggested that I talk with you about a woman named Wendy Barr.”
He cleared his throat. “Wendy Barr?”
“She owns Silver Spur Cleaning here in Crescent Creek,” I told the man. “I’ve heard that some of her customers have been switching to your firm.”
“What was the name again?” he asked.
“Her name is Wendy Barr,” I said. “And the company was—”
“Silver Spur Cleaning?”
“That’s right,” I said.
“And what was your name again, ma’am?”
“Kate Reed,” I answered.
“Do you work with Wendy Barr?”
“I was actually calling about one specific thing,” I said, avoiding the question. “Is it true that Silver Spur lost customers to your company recently?”
I heard him punching away at a computer keyboard. “I’m just…sorry about that,” he said. “I’m just going to take a quick look at my market analysis report. I haven’t handled Colorado very long, so I don’t know all of the local players by heart.”
“Take your time,” I said.
There was more typing. While he searched for the information, I scrolled through a few texts on my cell phone. One was from my mother in Florida, asking if I could send her the recipe for Nana Reed’s buttermilk rye dinner rolls. Another was from my neighbor, Viveca England, inviting Zack and me to brunch the following Sunday. And the third was from the most amazing boyfriend in the world, offering a few options for dinner that night.
“Uh-oh,” I said, sending Zack a quick text. “I’ll have to—”
“What was that?” McDermott asked.
“Oh, I was just muttering to myself,” I said.
“That happens,” he replied. “And I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’ve never met or talked with Wendy Barr. I definitely found her in the files, but I keep very fastidious notes about my conversations with competitors. I passed Wendy’s contact information along to our guy there. His name is—”
“Anthony Pappalardo,” I said. “I talked to him the other day.”
“Very good,” McDermott replied cheerfully. “Did he tell you that Gordon Janitorial offers special agreements to our local competitors so they can save on supplies and materials? If you’re interested, I can send you a PDF with all of the data. It’s basically a hybrid program; local operators retain independence while benefitting from the purchasing power of our organization.”
“Interesting,” I said. “How does that impact their bottom line?”
“Well, in certain cases, they can save quite a big chunk of change with our discount pricing,” he explained. “It’s also nice to have access to our training and development programs for hourly team members and management staff. They pay us a fair fee for our knowhow, but retain the ongoing income from their clients.”
I took a moment to make a few quick notes. Then I asked again if he was certain that he’d never met Wendy Barr.
“One hundred and fifty percent,” he said.
“Well, I appreciate your time,” I told the man. “And I hope that you truly do have a spotless day!”
CHAPTER 31
Zack sounded upbeat and relaxed when he answered the phone a few minutes later.
“Your ears must’ve been ringing,” he said.
I laughed. “Guess that explains why I kept hearing Big Ben, huh?”
“Yep. I was going to call you as soon as I finished cropping the last few pictures for a feature about Cam Woolard’s lawn care service.”
“When will that be in the paper?” I asked. “It sounds like a profile for the Thursday business spotlight.”
“Well, it was supposed to run in two weeks,” he explained, “and next Thursday was going to be about a new shoe store that one of Gretchen’s sorority sisters is opening soon. But then everyone’s favorite newspaper editor decided at the last minute that she wanted the lawn service story next Thursday and her friend’s feature in two weeks. Thus, I’m hurrying to get Cam’s pictures ready for the layout guy.”
“Ah, the new shoe store on Delaware Street?” I said. “With the bubblegum pink awning and daisy decals on the front windows?”
“Exactly right!” Zack chuckled loudly. “Gretchen thinks it’s going to be a homerun, but some of the other women here disagree.”
“Hmmm,” I murmured. “I’ll be curious to see who wins that one.”
“Likewise,” Zack said. “I’ve got fifty bucks on the place going out of business by next year. And that’s not because I wish anyone to fail. I just don’t see how you can sell enough fancy high heels in a small town like this and remain profitable.”
“It’s easy,” I said, “if your husband’s filthy rich.”
“Aha! So you know the shoe store owner?”
“I know of her,” I replied. “We met at Blanche Speltzer’s a few weeks ago. She was wearing an expensive designer dress while I was in my favorit
e threadbare jeans and an old Broncos hoodie.”
He laughed. “What was the occasion?”
“It was a last-minute planning meeting for a charity thing that Blanche was organizing,” I said. “When she called to see if I could stop by, I was running a bubble bath after a busy day at Sky High. The last thing that I wanted to do was listen to a bunch of catty women gripe about their back fat and bunions, but I couldn’t resist the opportunity to help the food pantry.”
“That’s you, Katie,” he said. “Big heart, big brain and big—”
“Whoa, mister!”
“—capacity to be patient,” he added. “What did you think I was going to say?”
“Never mind. I was actually calling to tell you something.”
“Yeah?”
“I forgot that I’d made plans with Viv to have dinner tonight,” I said. “I’d invite you to join, but she wanted to get my advice about some rather private matters.”
“Oh, no,” he said. “Did she break up with that new guy?”
“It’s not that,” I told him. “It’s more…well, it involves what I thought you were getting ready to say about me a second ago.”
He considered my response. “Oh, I get it,” he said. “Viveca’s thinking about getting implants?”
“Bingo!” I said. “She’s been considering it for a few years, and I guess her new beau has been hinting about it.”
Zack groaned. “Hinting about it?”
“That’s how Viv described it,” I said. “Why do you sound so skeptical?”
“I don’t know, babe,” Zack replied. “I guess it’s my sister’s experience. She got implants to try and please her husband, but they ended up splitting anyway. I know that every woman has the right to choose, but…” He paused for a moment. “I don’t know,” he continued. “It seems selfish if a guy pressures his girl into getting bigger gazongas.”
I laughed. “Gazongas? Such a tasteful word.”
“What should I have said?”
“It’s okay, handsome.”
“That’s what my sister always called hers,” he said. “If the subject ever comes up today, it’s real gazongas or faux gazongas. It drives my mom insane! She was really against the idea when my sister did it.”
