by J. D. Griffo
Ignoring Alberta’s pained expression, Jinx grinned broadly. “It’s gluten-free pasta stuffed with dairy-free cheese.”
Alberta, Helen, and Joyce all looked at Jinx as if she had committed a mortal sin. “Why on God’s green earth would you do something like that?” Alberta asked, her eyes wide with disbelief.
“I’m trying to be more health conscious, Gram,” Jinx explained. “You said so yourself that you needed to cut back, so I’m taking some of your old recipes and updating them.”
Helen spit out a half-eaten ravioli onto her plate. “That’s blasphemy!”
“Also too,” Joyce said, forcing herself to swallow one of Jinx’s creations. “They’re disgusting.”
“Oh, come on!” Jinx protested. “They’re not that bad. Gluten-free pasta just, you know, takes some getting used to.”
Alberta shoved the plate away from her. “Sorry, lovey, but I’d rather be force-fed food from the Olive Garden for the rest of my life.”
Helen took a swig of mango kiwi vodka to cleanse her palate and smirked. “You better hope your rendezvous with Marion leaves a better taste in your mouth than Jinxie’s concoction.”
“Trust me,” Alberta said. “I’m not letting that man anywhere near my mouth.”
* * *
Her family’s laughter was still ringing in her ears the next day as she sat across from Marion at a bistro table at Mama Bella’s Café. The small restaurant was only a short block from the office, but its Mediterranean decor and ambience, complete with soft lighting, statues of cherubs in various stages of undress, and piped-in music that ranged from traditional Italian folk songs to Dean Martin’s greatest hits, made it feel like it was a continent away.
Their conversation was just as distant, and they spent the bulk of their time discussing the whereabouts of former classmates, the idiosyncrasies of certain teachers, and of course Marion’s unusual name. Alberta once again apologized on behalf of her class for teasing him about it, but he assured her that he had long since reconciled himself to the fact that some people would always mock him for his moniker. “Life isn’t for the weak,” he said, and Alberta heartily agreed.
It was, however, for the patient. Marion was on his third cup of coffee, and the closest he got to flirting with Alberta was to confess that he had a crush on her freshman year. Flattered, Alberta admitted that it was sweet to know someone liked her back then, because she thought she was the most hideous creature ever allowed to roam the planet. Marion assured her that was far from the truth and the only reason he never asked her out on a date was because he considered her to be out of his league.
“Better late than never,” Alberta blurted and immediately regretted her words. So much for playing it cool and trying to get Marion to trip up on his words and reveal some secrets. “Not that this is a date . . . it’s just coffee, but you know what I mean.”
Laughing good-naturedly, Marion said that he did understand and was happy Alberta agreed to step out of the office with him. “A man can only talk escrow, closings, and real estate development for so long before he wants to take a bulldozer to every high-rise he’s helped build,” he admitted. “It’s nice to just sip coffee and chat with an old friend.”
This time, when Marion called Alberta an old friend she didn’t wince, she didn’t silently contradict him, but rather thought the reference was sweet and perhaps accurate. Maybe she had remembered the past too harshly, too dismissively, and maybe if she looked deeper she’d recall that she and Marion had shared some fun times together. She’d have to make do with her memories, because it didn’t appear that Marion was interested in making any new ones.
“I have to get back to the office tonight,” Marion announced, standing up from his chair. “Do you need me to walk you back to your car?”
It was a good thing that Alberta was an expert when it came to hiding her disappointment. “Oh no, I’m going to sit here and finish my cappuccino,” she replied. “I’m awfully surprised they make such a good one.”
“Thank you, Alberta, this was nice,” Marion said. “I’ll see you in the office tomorrow morning.”
And that was that. No kiss good-bye, not on the lips or even her cheek. He didn’t shake her hand or brush her shoulder with the tips of his fingers as he walked away. There was absolutely no physical contact whatsoever. And despite her previous protestations to her family, she had hoped there would be something. So, despite all her grand talk she had to be honest and admit that she was upset because Marion had behaved like such a gentleman.
Sitting in front of her now cold cappuccino all thoughts of Lucy and Beverly were gone from her mind and the only person Alberta felt sorry for was herself.
CHAPTER 12
I frutti proibiti sono I più dolci.
The next morning it was business as usual for both Alberta and Marion. It was as if yesterday’s field trip had never happened.
Alberta looked into Marion’s office and saw that he was marking up a contract with a red pen, head down and eyes focused on the legally binding words he was reading instead of trying to steal glances at his new secretary, whose lipstick, incidentally, was a slightly glossier pink than it had been the day before. Even when he reached for the coffee cup that Alberta had placed on his desk a few minutes earlier, he didn’t lift up his head and allow his eyes to stray in her direction. He remained fixated on his job at hand. For the moment, work, and not some woman, seemed to be Marion’s mistress.
The more she thought about it, the harder it was for Alberta to believe that Marion was the lecherous boss Denise made him out to be. He and Alberta had shared friendly conversation over a few cups of coffee and nothing more. He never made a pass at her or even allowed suggestive innuendo to enter into their dialogue. He was in his office redlining a contract, being nothing but proper and professional, while Alberta was at her desk rummaging through a huge file trying to find something called a quitclaim bill of sale and harboring nothing but improper and unprofessional thoughts about her boss. Alberta turned page after page of the file in search of the elusive document, but her eyes glazed over and she couldn’t concentrate. She was not only ashamed of herself, but also very confused.
Could Denise be well intentioned, but not so well informed? Maybe she was trying to warn the newest member of her staff of the potential romantic pitfalls of the job but doing nothing more than spreading unsubstantiated rumor. And could Jinx and her family simply be judgmental? Maybe they just assumed Marion and Beverly had an affair because that was the easiest, most convenient solution as to why a man would befriend a woman.
Even though Alberta was on red alert, she hadn’t noticed Marion showing any signs of emotional distress since Beverly’s departure. He didn’t seem at all frazzled that the secretary with whom he had allegedly been having sex was no longer an intercom’s buzz away. Ever since he found out Beverly quit, he hadn’t been trying to call her incessantly, he wasn’t asking people if they had heard from her, nor had he made up some lame excuse to leave the office to meet with her and beg her to come back to work. He wasn’t acting at all the way a scorned lover should act.
Was Alberta—with a little help from her colleague and family—making a mountain out of a molehill, or a philanderer out of an employer, as this case may be? Or was she so desperate for affection from the opposite sex after spending years in an emotionally unsatisfying marriage that she had imagined the first single man she met who fell into the appropriate age bracket had instantly fallen in love with her? Dear Lord, Alberta thought, what would Jessica Fletcher say? Only a few weeks on the job as an undercover sleuth and already she was letting her emotions cloud her reasoning. She had agreed to join forces with Jinx to do a job, and it was time she started to act like the superspy her granddaughter believed she could be. Right after she mastered the skills required to be a super secretary.
“Alberta,” Marion said, his voice rising out of the intercom speaker. “Could you please pull the Hampton Estate file from the Safe Room?”
&nbs
p; Alberta pressed the red button on the machine so Marion would be able to hear her response, “Absolutely! Will do! Right away!”
Brimming with can-do determination, she swiveled around in her chair, but before she rose, she swiveled back, and pressed the red button a second time. “Marion?”
“Yes.”
“Any chance you could tell me where the Safe Room is?”
Marion led Alberta down a flight of stairs and then a long hallway, which was in an area that Alberta had never been. Clearly, they were headed somewhere that was not a designated stop on Denise’s introductory tour for new hires. To the right was a large double door made of steel that was padlocked but definitely not soundproof because she heard a loud, whirring noise coming from behind the door.
“That’s the computer room,” Marion explained in answer to Alberta’s quizzical stare. “Only Ruchir in IT has the key, and even I don’t have clearance to get in without his say-so.”
“Ruchir?” Alberta questioned. “I don’t think I’ve met him yet.”
“He works off-site,” Marion replied. “Saves quite a bit of money to outsource certain departments.”
At the end of the hallway was an identical double door that served as a dead end. It was also their destination. “And this, Alberta, is the Safe Room.”
Unlike the computer room, which was kept locked the old-fashioned way, access to this room was monitored in a much more twenty-first-century fashion, through an electronic passcode.
“I guess Denise didn’t take you down here originally because you were starting out as a temp,” Marion said. “And, really, only a few of us still use this area.”
“It looks like whatever’s behind these doors is highly personal and confidential,” Alberta commented. “I feel like I’m about to be given the keys to the kingdom.”
“I hate to dispel such a lofty idea,” Marion said, his lips spreading to form a wide smile, “But it’s nothing more than a relic of the past.”
Marion went on to explain that most of their files and documents were archived off-site and stored online, but there were many files that were too old and too important to completely discard, so they were kept here under electronic lock and key. Originally the files were kept in a safe, complete with a seven-number combination, which is why today it was still called the Safe Room.
“I don’t readily admit this to most people,” Marion said lowering his voice, “But this room is more nostalgic than necessary.”
He paused for a moment and stared directly into Alberta’s eyes. “Truth be told, I sometimes find it hard to let certain things go.”
Was this his attempt at flirting? Alberta couldn’t be sure, because this time there were no beads of sweat on his forehead, just a twinkle in his eye. But boy, was Jinx right, Marion really had grown into a very distinguished man.
Wait! What was she doing? Alberta silently chastised herself because she wasn’t supposed to be thinking of Marion as a man, she was supposed to be thinking of him as a suspect. Or, at least, a link to the real suspect. She needed to hold tight to logic and not romantic notions.
“I know what you mean, Marion,” Alberta said. “But that’s why God invented the paper shredder.”
After a moment, Marion’s body convulsed into laughter, and he actually bent over and slapped his hand on his thigh. He reached out to touch Alberta’s forearm, and despite the invisible armor she tried to cover herself in, she felt an electric shock that almost made her flinch.
“You are such a breath of fresh air,” he said. “Would you like to know another secret?”
Trying not to hyperventilate, Alberta answered, “What girl doesn’t want to hear a man’s secrets?”
“The passcode to this room is my nickname,” Marion disclosed. He then added with a chuckle, “Can you guess what it is?”
Her mind racing, Alberta thought back to what the kids used to call Marion when they were in high school, but she hardly doubted that he would use Girly Boy or Sissy Name as his secret password in a professional setting. Since she didn’t know his likes, dislikes, hobbies, or what his favorite anything was, she didn’t have a clue as to what his password could be. However, when he told her the four-letter-word that would open the door when punched into the keypad, she felt like an idiot because it was so obvious.
“Duke,” he replied.
“Of course!” Alberta cried.
If the nickname was good enough for John Wayne, the original Marion, it was good enough for his namesake.
An hour later, while Marion was at a lunch meeting, Alberta finally found the quitclaim she had been looking for all morning. It was a crumbled, three-page document from 1964 that looked to be a carbon copy of the original since some of the typed information appeared to be smudged. She smoothed out the pages, walked over to the copier to make a copy, and returned it to the file on her desk. She stapled the new copy, but when she went to paper clip it to the front of the file before bringing it into Marion’s office, she noticed that the pages were still unstapled—obviously the stapler was shooting blanks.
Alberta didn’t feel like walking to the other side of the office to the supply room, so she opened the top drawer of Beverly’s desk, where she knew her former office mate kept her personal stash of supplies. She found a small container of paper clips, a ruler, a rather risqué Betty Boop pencil sharpener, multiple bottles of Wite-Out, and another stapler that upon further inspection was also out of staples.
When she tried to open the bottom drawer, she was surprised to find it locked. She could have sworn she had seen Beverly open both drawers when she was sitting at her original desk, but maybe her mind was playing tricks on her. Upon second thought she distinctly remembered seeing Beverly grab a piece of special “From the desk of Marion Klausner” letterhead from the bottom drawer, then kick it shut with her foot before spinning around to put the letterhead into the electric typewriter that was behind her.
Alberta spun around in her chair and looked at the typewriter with the same curiosity she did when she first saw Beverly pounding its keys because she couldn’t believe such an old piece of machinery still had a place in a modern office. She laughed to herself because she felt like she was staring at a kindred spirit. Who would have thought that at her age she would have been welcomed back into the workforce?
Unable to resist, Alberta flipped the typewriter’s power button on and watched in amusement as the antique came to life. Various lights flickered until they shined dimly around the edges of the plastic covering, the cylindrical platen inched upward a few times accompanied by a clicking sound while the ribbon cartridge slid slowly to the left and then did a quicker slide to the right and then back to the left where it remained in position. When the typewriter was completely resuscitated, it produced a low hum that seemed to cry out to Alberta and say, “Please use me! I still have some life left in me yet!” She was about to find out the old clunky machine also had a purpose.
Alberta grabbed a piece of regular stationery from her desk and placed it behind the platen. She then held her finger down on the Return key and watched as the piece of paper was sucked into the body of the typewriter to emerge securely fastened to the roller. It was now ready, willing, and able to be struck by the still-eager keys.
For a few seconds Alberta’s fingers lay motionless on top of the thick plastic keys while she wondered what she should type. It was as if she felt compelled to choose words that would be profound and meaningful. After a moment of contemplation, she thought of the perfect phrase. Slowly and deliberately she typed: Alberta & Jinx—Lady Detectives.
She hit the Return key a few times so the letters rose above the metal piece that held the ribbon in place and she could have an unobstructed view. Then the key suddenly jammed and she heard a clanking noise every time she hit the button.
“Oh, for Crise sake please tell me I didn’t break this thing,” she muttered to herself.
She lifted up the plastic top that covered the ribbon and immediately saw the problem. A s
mall key, similar to one that would unlock a mailbox, had been taped to the underside of the cover, gotten loose, and had fallen between the platen and the ribbon cartridge. What an odd place to store a key, Alberta thought, unless it was put there to keep it hidden from prying eyes!
Feeling adrenaline once again pump through her veins, Alberta used the key to open up the locked desk drawer and was overwhelmed with pride when she heard the tumbler click and the drawer slide open. She did it! She solved the mystery of the unlocked drawer. It was a small victory, but she would take it.
She quickly surveyed the contents of the drawer and found that it only contained a box of the special letterhead and a notebook. Why would Beverly keep such mundane contents under lock and key? She opened up the notebook and immediately understood why.
Looking around to make sure she wasn’t being watched, she stuck the notebook into her shoulder bag and tossed the key back into the drawer. Now that she had stolen—well, relocated—the once secure valuable, there was no need to keep the key hidden. She couldn’t wait to share her news with Jinx and the others.
* * *
“I have proof that Beverly’s love for Marion may have been unrequited,” Alberta announced at a table filled with Entenmann’s mini blueberry muffins and blueberry vodka. “I frutti proibiti sono I più dolci.”
“I thought we already agreed that she and Marion were having an affair?” Joyce inquired. “Now you think she considered him to be forbidden fruit?”
“Yes!” Alberta squealed.
“Are you talking about Beverly or yourself?” Helen asked.
“Shut up, Helen!” Alberta snapped. “Beverly loved her boss from afar. Any comment about the two of them doing anything more . . . intimate is just hearsay.”
“Well I say they were having an affair,” Helen said. “I know what I saw at the funeral parlor and I know how these things go, Berta.”
