by Tonya Kappes
“I don’t know.” His voice goes flat. The confidence he had a few seconds ago has completely forsaken him.
“What do you mean you don’t know?” If he doesn’t know, why did he tell me this bit of information? Some cop his brother-in-law is.
“They are all from different public computers. One from the library, one from the internet café and the last one is from the Coffee Bean.”
“So this person is going around using public computers?” Someone must really be serious to go out of their way to find public computers. Plus those are places I go. I wonder if I’ve seen them. I look off at the glass building, digging back in my memory at someone who might’ve stuck out. You know, like the crazy lady at the supermarket or the bum in the park – they stick out.
Mmm…nope. Nothing. I can’t even remember what I ate for dinner last night, much less the people standing in line at the Coffee Bean. I’m even more uneasy now. I can’t help but wonder if this person really is watching me. “We have a smart one on our hands,” I say to Bradley.
“The police will have to subpoena the library, Internet Café or where ever else the emails are coming from to see who’s using the public computer.” Bradley pauses. “I really think you need to call the police.”
“Right now I need to go into Macro Hard and fill out an application.” There’s no need to talk about this.
“Fine. Call me as soon as you get out of there.”
I put my phone on vibrate and place it in my purse. The rear view mirror squeaks as I position it to see my face. Lipstick—check, brushed hair—check, clean teeth—check. I’m ready to go in.
I’m not sure what I’ll find out at Macro Hard, but being around a lot of people in a closed environment, I’m a little worried about colliding auras. I don’t care how many espresso shots Aunt Matilda gives me.
I stop shy of the entrance. The sun reflecting off the huge glass building makes my eyes scan up to the top. There have to be at least ten floors. It’s definitely the tallest building in Park City.
For a brief moment I reconsider applying. How can I possibly clean an entire building this size when I can’t clean the five room cottage I live in. With a deep inhale and steady exhale, I walk straight through the door.
“May I help you?” I watch the words leave the petite brunette’s lips and realize I can’t back down now.
I blink several times to keep her aura at bay.
“We have a bathroom over there if you need to fix your contacts.”
Contacts? I don’t wear contacts. I can pretend to wear contacts. I put my fingers up to my eyes like I’ve seen Erin do when her contacts are bothering her.
“I’ll be fine. I’m here to apply for the cleaning position.” I keep fidgeting with my lids pretending to fix my contacts so I won’t see her aura.
“Take the elevators next to the bathroom up to the third floor. You’ll find the HR department there.” She picks up the phone and says, “Thank you for calling Macro Hard. How may I direct your call?”
HR? Those are two letters that haven’t floated around in my dreams. What’s HR? I wonder, while keeping my eyes low. Thank God I’m the only one in the elevator. I run my fingers down the index next to the buttons and push three. “Human Resources. HR.” I snicker at my stupidity.
The entire third floor is covered in a thick fog of hovering auras. My head begins to get light and dizzy. I grab the receptionist’s desk and hold on for dear life.
“Are you okay?” I don’t even look up at the voice coming from the other side of the cheap laminate desk.
I put my fingers back up to my eyes. “Contacts.” I grimace, hoping it will work a second time. “I’m here to apply for the cleaning position.”
“Nightshift, right?”
I perk up when I hear night shift. Nightshift equals no people, which mean no auras. Perfect! Suddenly my pretend contacts are much better. For a nightshift position I can keep my dizziness in check long enough to interview.
“Yes, the nightshift.” I ignore her white cloudy aura, and do my best shit-eating grin. “I’d rather clean toilets than sleep.”
“Here.” She hands me a clipboard with an application. “Fill it out and take it down to the second door on the right.” She scans me from head to toe, checking me out.
I want to say, your aura color does nothing for your bleached out hair, but I don’t. Like a good girl I take the clipboard and head over to the seating area to fill it out.
“What’s your name?” She hollers after me.
I almost spit out Jenn from Splitsville.com, but catch my tongue. “Olivia Davis.”
She picks up the phone and says, “Olivia Davis is filling out paper-work for the cleaning position. She’ll be down shortly.”
I fill out everything on the application like a breeze until the previous experience part throws me off. I tap the clipboard with the pen top. “Hmmm, previous experience.” I guess I can put that I clean my house every few days which would be a gross exaggeration.
“I’m sorry, is there a problem?” I look up at the tall Amazon women towering over me.
Of course there is a problem. I’ve never cleaned a toilet in my life much less a urinal.
I politely smile. “No problem.”
She puts her man hands out and says, “Great. Sandra Jones, HR manager.” My eyes follow her finger as she taps on her prestigious HR manager nametag.
“Nice to meet you.” Obviously this is the butt I need to kiss in order to get in here and figure this mystery out.
“If you’re done, you can follow me.” She takes the application and hands the clipboard back to the receptionist.
I follow her down to the second door into her office. She gestures for me to sit on the loveseat next to her chair, with a small table between us.
“We like it cozy, like a home.” She touches the picture hanging on the wall. “We are all family here, no matter what job you have.”
I stand back up and mosey over to the picture. Immediately I spot Dabi in the framed 11x14 photo. I make a mental note of all the people, but Sandra Jones’s fat finger is too busy pointing herself out.
“Very nice.” Again I politely smile.
“Let’s get back down to business, shall we?” She points back to the love seat.
I agree as she goes through my application starting with the verification of my name. It’s all smooth sailing until I see her eyes focus on a particular part of the application.
She taps the page. “I see you left out previous experience.” She looks at me wanting an explanation.
Nervously I say, “There’s so much to put down and so little space.”
“So you’ve scrubbed floors and toilets and used a feather duster before?” Sandra Jones mocks me. I want to snarl, but decide not to be a smart ass because I need this job to further my Nancy Drew skills.
“Yes.”
She places the application on the table between us. “Here’s the deal. We need someone tonight. Every floor has its own cleaning person. You will be cleaning the executive offices.” She hands me a map of the executive floors. Dabi’s name jumps out at me. “Let’s make this a trial week.”
Trying hard to control my excitement and the luck of having this handed to me is almost too much to bear. “Yes, I will do a great job. Trial week.”
With a few particulars discussed and a couple different pieces of paperwork filled out, Sandra gives me a temporary name tag and free pass to Dabi’s office…er…make that free reign to learn how to clean a urinal.
Pushing the heavy glass door to the outside with one hand, I reach in my purse for my phone with the other.
“I start tonight,” I say to Bradley when he answers the phone. The phone jiggles as I run to my car to get out of the pelting rain.
“That was quick.”
My hair is dripping and my clothes are soaked. I take it slow around the back roads making my way home and tell Bradley about the entire interview.
Nineteen
Th
e rain is coming down at a steady pace, which puts me in a crabby mood, and having to stay up to clean is the last thing I want to do. I had no clue they were going to hire me on the spot. Something I wasn’t prepared for. I’m tired, my shoes are soaking wet, I want to go home, crawl into my bed and pull the quilt Aunt Matilda made me, over my head, with Herbie lying next to me, and sleep the night away.
But if I want to save my entire life, I have to learn how to work a mop bucket. How the hell am I going to pull this off? I’ll have to work and work fast. Get in and look around.
I find the closest spot to the door because I definitely have no desire to clean an entire building with sopping wet shoes. Or snoop around in wet shoes.
“Welcome to the night shift.” The elderly gentleman checks my badge and makes some type of mark on a piece of paper. “Here’s your uniform and your cart closet is over there.”
I take the blue jumpsuit from him and hold it up to me. It’s something straight out of the eighties only a little less attractive. “You’ve got to be kidding me?” I fold it back up. “Are you?”
I eye the security guard. He eyes me back.
“Nope, not kidding.” His small frame is exactly how I’d picture a grandfather to be. His white hair is neatly tucked under his security cap and his matching mustache is equally maintained. “Everyone in housekeeping wears one. Just be glad no one has to see you in it.”
“Precisely!” I slap the get up on his counter. “No one will see me so I don’t have to wear it.” It’s bad enough I have to keep myself awake for this.
“No.” He slides it back towards me. “You have to. Or my job will be on the line. And you aren’t looking like you’ll be here long. So it’s not worth it.”
“What does that mean?” I curl my nose.
“You don’t look like much of a cleaning person. Or at least one that usually works those kinds of jobs.”
“I don’t know whether to take that as a compliment or insult,” I shoot back at him.
“Let’s just say you don’t look like you get your hands too dirty.” His suspicions are right. I don’t plan on being here very long. A few nights at best, enough time to find some clues to who the people are in the photos and their relationship to Dabi and Kent. “Enough chit-chat, young lady. It’s time you get to work or you’ll never get these executive offices cleaned tonight.”
Reluctantly I take the jumpsuit to the closet and put it on over my clothes. It’s bad enough I have to clean; wearing this is plain humiliating. Even if it is just me and the security guard.
I open the door and back the cart out of the closet, only it doesn’t budge with a little pull. I grab the handle and slide while pulling at the same time. I turn when I hear laughter.
“What?” I glare at the security guard who’s bent over laughing.
“Yep, I knew you weren’t cut out for this work,” he yells just as I fall to the ground. He points and doubles over again snorting. “There’s a brake on the side.”
I brush myself off, hoping it will help with the humiliation too, but it doesn’t. I fiddle with the brake and it pops free, causing the cart to slide forward, and I have to throw my body in front to stop it. It’s the battle of me versus the cart and I’m going to win or at least I try. “Ouch!” I jump around on one leg while holding my foot in my hands. The cart rolled right over my foot and continues to roll until it stops smack dab into the wall.
I don’t look at the security guard, who is giving his full attention to details about me, as I gather the cart. Once I have it back on track, I push the squeaky thing down the hall.
Every other light down the hallway is just enough for me make a mental note of all the rooms and the name plates. And if I count correctly, which I did pass third grade math with flying colors, there are eight executive offices and a conference room.
I quickly maneuver my way around two offices doing the basics—vacuuming, light feather dusting and empting the garbage cans.
“You okay in here?” A flashlight blinds me.
I hold my hand up to block the light. “Do you think you could kill the light?” I blink trying to ignore the black dot in the center of my vision.
I hear Harold click the flashlight off. “Sorry, job hazard.” He flicks the overhead lights on.
“I’m good. You didn’t have to turn all the lights on. The corner lamps are fine.” Every office is laid out the same. There is a big cherry desk in front of the windows and a wall full of cherry shelving on the opposite wall. Which stinks because all this dusting leaves me little time to snoop, and with Harold following my every move doesn’t help.
Harold sits in one of the cigar chairs.
“What are you doing?” I dust around the lamp on the table next to him. “Don’t you have to walk around and point your light a corner somewhere?”
I don’t bother waiting for him to get up before I exit the room.
Nothing seems suspicious until I hit Dabi’s office. I back the cart up to the door and look down the hall. The coast is clear. I back into her office pulling the squeaky cart. I grit my teeth hoping it will miraculously stop the god-awful sound coming from the wheels. I bend down and spit on the wheel for some lube but of course it doesn’t work.
Dabi’s office is a little bigger. It’s a lot more feminine with window treatments and corresponding decorations. The closet door is open and I look in. She has several jackets hanging up, an armoire full of accessories, and shoes to match. A tinge of jealousy makes my stomach churns, the closet is bigger than my bedroom.
Everything seems to be in place. Her desk looks as though it hasn’t been touched. I use my keychain flashlight, which only gives me pin size amount of light, and read her day calendar. There are business meetings penciled in, dinner dates, a couple different parties, but nothing out of the ordinary for a businessperson.
Footsteps and voices coming down the hall cause me to stop. The door knob squeaks as I turn it and quietly shut the door. I put my ear up to the door. The footsteps seem to be getting closer. Quickly I grab my cart and head towards the door next to the closet.
“Please be a way out.” I close my eyes and open it. “Crap,” I whisper, “a bathroom.” I notice my cart and I will barely fit in there.
I squat down praying that whoever is coming into Dabi’s office doesn’t have to pee.
“I guess if anything good can come out of my dear sweet Dabi’s death, it’s Kent can’t get any of her money.” I hear the voice loud and clear coming from under the crack in the bottom of the door.
I barely crack the door to see who’s talking. It’s the bald guy from the press conference—Dabi’s dad. I can’t see the person he’s talking to because the opening isn’t wide enough and if I move a single millimeter, I’ll fall out of the bathroom and blow my cover. I keep my knees bent clear up to my ears and stay as quiet as possible.
“It is a shame.” I barely make out the whispers of the other person. I can tell it’s a man’s voice. I close my eyes and strain harder to hear him, but he’s a dark shadow. “I can’t believe he killed her and then himself.”
What? Killed himself? How does this guy know Kent killed himself? That is not what Carl is telling everyone.
“They don’t know that for sure. But it all makes perfect sense.” I have perfect view of Dabi’s dad putting a file in the drawer. “No one will come in here, so it will be safe.”
They continue to talk about some business that I don’t understand—expanding the company and working late nights. My eyes feel heavy. I push the indiglo on my watch and notice its one A.M., way past my bed time. I think I hear the door close.
***
“You can come out now.” My knees fling out from my chest as the bathroom door opens and the security guard startles the crap out of me. “They’re gone.” He leans the right side of his body on the door handle.
“I…” I have no idea how I’m going to get out of this one. I blink several times to figure out where I am. I can’t believe I feel asleep. “I�
�m not used to this night shift thing.”
“I don’t know who you are but you better get to the job they’re paying you for.” He points to a small camera hanging from the ceiling. The camera I didn’t see on my way in. He nods toward the cart. “You need to oil that thing when you’re done snooping.”
“That’s what I want to ask you about.” I grab the cart and pull it out. I whip it around and push it after the security guard.
“I don’t know anything about carts. I’m the security guy and I should be calling you in right now, but I didn’t see you do anything wrong yet.” His eyebrows narrow. He stops at the security desk and pushes buttons to bring up the camera screens.
“No, not the wheels.” I lean over his desk. He’s got a complete smorgasbord laid out in front of him and it looks really good. Ham sandwich, potato salad, regular salad with ranch dressing, and I’d know ranch dressing from anywhere. There are several snack baggies full of cut up veggies, a thermos for something hot, diet coke and a bottle of water. I can almost taste the cold water. The cold sweating down the side makes it look so refreshing. “Your wife afraid you aren’t eating?”
“My wife is dead.”
A knot instantly forms in my throat. His eyes warm.
“It’s all right. My daughter takes real good care of me.” He holds up a snack bag of carrots. I take it. “Harold.”
I smile pulling apart the bag. Harold is trying to make nice.
“I’m sorry. I have a habit of putting my foot plus my leg in my mouth.” The carrot crunches between my teeth. “I guess I better get back to work.”
“What did you want to talk to me about?” The sandwich he took a bite out of makes my mouth water.
“We’ll talk later.” I decide I’m not ready to confide in Harold yet. I’ve little time to discover whatever it is I’m trying to find.
The little nap and carrots did me good. I’ve got a little giddy-up back in my step and with the building empty—well, I guess Harold is watching me, I can get back to business. I continue down the halls, making a mental note where all the rooms are.
