Death Comes Knocking (The Thea Kozak Mystery Series, Book 10)

by Kate Flora

  “No. You’re not.”

  “But should I be telling you this? I mean, it’s not really my business Only I know it upset Bobby, because he was counting on Jason for something, and then Jason blew him off and…” She stopped. “It’s just…you know…I really like working at EDGE. Bobby is a prince, and I don’t think Jason’s being fair. I feel kind of like I’m tattling, though, especially after I already told you about the…uh…him touching me.”

  “Thanks for telling me. It’s not your job to worry about us. We’re supposed to be worrying about you. But the information is helpful.”

  I wondered if she had some useful insights into Marlene as well, but asking her wouldn’t have been right. She was an intern. We were supposed to be guiding her. Training her. Teaching her about the working world. Encouraging her to gossip about fellow employees should not be part of that training.

  We rode in silence for a while until I said, “Did you want to tell me the rest of the story about your accident? It’s fine if you don’t.”

  “I…uh…well, I guess I do. I mean, I started to, so I should finish.”

  “There’s no ‘should’ here, Lindsay. It’s what you want to share. What you’re comfortable with. How we handle our traumas is up to us.”

  “Yes, Dr. Kozak,” she said.

  “I’m not trying to analyze you. It’s that I’ve been in a traumatic accident. I know how hard it can be to get back in a car.”

  She didn’t need to know that in my accident I’d been forced off the road by someone trying to kill me. Nor that a lot of my trauma was because people wouldn’t believe me. I was met with a wall of disbelief and people judging me for being careless. Nor that there had actually been two such times. Two accidents, two traumas, due to my unfortunate habit of trying to get answers that lead me to bad people.

  She stared straight ahead, not looking at me. “Devon was driving too fast. I kept begging him to slow down, which only made him drive faster. He put his hand on my leg and was squeezing it. He had a huge grin on his face, saying how he couldn’t wait ’til we got home. We were driving through a residential area, and there was a kid, a teenager, out walking his dog. He was in the crosswalk, and Devon was looking at me instead of the road.”

  She stopped to catch her breath. “I yelled, ‘Devon, watch out! Stop!’ but it was too late. He swerved, but he still hit the kid. He wasn’t going to stop. Thea. It was so awful. He was just going to drive away and leave that kid and the dog lying there in the street. I grabbed the key, turned off the car, and jumped out. I ran back to help the kid, and he was really messed up. He kept asking if his dog was okay, and I didn’t want to tell him it was dead.”

  She mopped at her face with a tissue. “I called 911, and I sat down beside the kid. I was talking to him and holding his hand. I still had the keys in my other hand, and Devon came up and snatched them and got in his car and drove away.”

  “Did the kid survive?”

  “He did.”

  “And Devon? What happened with him?”

  “He lied to the police. Said I was driving. It was awful. They were able to establish that he was lying, but…” She sighed. “You know what it’s like the first time you realize how utterly dishonest a person can be? It’s like a trap door opens under your feet, and you never quite trust solid ground again.”

  “I do.” Which was so true. There had been the accidents—like my own, and my husband David’s friend driving drunk and killing the man I loved. There had been people I’d trusted who’d turned out to be far from who I thought they were. In fact, too much of my life had involved working with the dangerous and dishonest. That was how I got my white hat and my reputation as the person called in when trouble struck school campuses, as well as within my own family.

  “It’s hard to know who to trust, difficult to rebuild after your trust has been betrayed,” I said.

  She nodded. “Here’s a good thing, though. There was a cop…uh…police officer who showed up at the scene, and while everyone was treating me like a suspect while they checked out Devon’s lie, he believed me. I mean, you know, he didn’t say a whole lot. He was kinda far down the pecking order. It was just the way he was there, kind of a comforting presence, and he’d kind of keep me up to date on what was happening when no one else would. And then when it was over and I was cleared, we…uh…we started dating.”

  I usually liked to use these long drives to think. Mull over what I’ve heard and plan out where to go next. I used my phone to take messages and memos. I could get a lot of work done while I was driving. Today I wasn’t going to get any work done. It was clear that Lindsay needed to talk, and so Dr. Kozak was in.

  “Are you still seeing him?”

  “I am.”

  “Your parents know?”

  She laughed. “I guess you know what that’s like, telling your parents you’re dating a cop? I’m not sure I knew what snobs they were until I brought him home to meet them.”

  I flashed on multiple conversations with my mother. She kept hoping I’d dump Andre—she insisted on calling him Andy—and marry a suitable man.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I’ve been there.”

  Traffic was heavy. The Maine turnpike in July and August is packed with people heading for vacationland, their cars crammed with recreational gear—kayaks on the roof and bikes on their tails, along with boats and jet skis in tow, and giant motorhomes. Oblivious to the challenges of driving these vehicles, drivers were happily chatting on phones or changing lanes without looking. It made driving such an adventure.

  Amidst this normal summer chaos, a black SUV came up behind me way too fast—unnecessary since the passing lane traffic was already going over eighty. I moved over a lane to let it pass. I did not have anything to prove out here. It flew past, then braked and jammed itself into the lane in front of me. “Hold on!” I said, hitting the brakes.

  I changed lanes and floored it. The Jeep, with its gas-guzzling V-8 engine, responded with a delicious burst of speed just as an 18-wheeler rolled up beside the offending car, trapping it. Truck drivers can often be white knights on the highway.

  I kept my foot down for the half-mile until the next exit, then got off and promptly hid myself in a Walmart parking lot. If this was another one of the people looking for Charity Kinsman, they were going too far. I would not tolerate anyone whose behavior threatened MOC.

  Eighteen

  As soon as I got my breath back, I got on the phone to Andre, telling him what had just happened. “Lindsay and I were rescued by a truck.”

  “But you’re okay?”

  “I’m okay. We’re both okay.”

  “You get the plate?”

  I gave him what I had. “It happened so fast I didn’t get it all. I was focused on getting out of there.”

  “Where are you?” It was almost a growl, though I knew his anger wasn’t meant for me.

  I told him where I was, which was about fifteen minutes from the office, that I’d stay off the highway, and that I would be there at least for the next few hours, meeting with Suzanne.

  “Call me when you’re ready to leave,” he said, from which I inferred that I would likely have a police escort for the journey home. I was grateful. I could be both brave and foolish when it came to protecting myself. I wasn’t taking chances with MOC.

  Well, I suppose someone might think excessive speed constituted taking chances, but I’ve been trained in getaway driving by the best.

  “Whew!” Lindsay said, when I was off the phone. “That was scary.”

  “The black SUV or my driving?”

  “Both.”

  “I’m sorry. Something weird is going on with my new neighbor, and scary guys in black SUVs are involved.” That was enough explanation. Maybe more than enough. I could have left her thinking it had just been a bad driver.

  I took the back roads to the office, and though I vigilantly watched my mirrors, no racing SUV appeared. Before I parked, I drove around to be sure there was no one lurking in
the parking lot. We went upstairs, Lindsay eager to dig into her new project, me for a sit down with my partner. What I wanted, and could not have, was a stiff drink and lots of chocolate. Well, I suppose I could have chocolate, if there were some around, but my traitorous companion MOC doesn’t always like chocolate.

  Suzanne was looking flustered, which wasn’t like her. She is the most controlled and composed person I know. Her clothes are always impeccable, and her hair is never out of place.

  “Shut the door,” she said.

  I shut the door and sat in one of her comfortable guest chairs. “What’s up?”

  “It’s Jason. Or it’s Jason and Marlene.” She sighed. “We were careful. We took our time. Vetted them. Did good interviews. So how could we get it wrong twice?”

  “I haven’t had a chance to look at Marlene’s draft yet. Is it awful?”

  She shook her head. “There’s hope. But it’s not good, and neither of us has time to train someone who claimed to already have the skills we need.”

  “So mostly it’s Jason? Did he disappear again?”

  “He’s here. But when I asked him what happened, he said a bout of stomach flu, which I don’t believe. And he’s spent a lot of the day on the phone and hunched over his computer looking devious, so when he went to get lunch, I checked. It’s not our work he’s doing.”

  “I thought it was a girlfriend having a meltdown. You confronted him yet?”

  She shook her head. “Wanted to talk to you first.”

  “Lindsay says he’s still running his own web design business. That he had to leave to meet with a dissatisfied client.”

  “Not on our dime,” she said.

  “I’ll get him,” I sat, heaving myself up. “We might as well get this over with.”

  I crossed the room to where Jason was hunched over his desk. When I got close, he blacked out the screen.

  I reached past him and opened what he’d been working on. It was a website for a pizza restaurant. It looked pretty good and reminded me that I was hungry. I was supposed to eat regular meals to keep MOC—and me—from getting cranky. A scone several hours ago wasn’t enough. Now food would have to wait.

  “Really, Jason?” I said. “Remind me. Which one of our client schools also runs a pizza business?”

  “I’m on a break,” he huffed. “I’m entitled to work on my own projects when I’m on break.”

  “No,” I said. “You are never entitled to use EDGE computers or the EDGE office to run your personal business. Can you come to Suzanne’s office now, please? We need to talk.”

  “Right now is not convenient.”

  He’d been so polite and businesslike during the interviews. Where was this Jekyll and Hyde stuff coming from?

  “I’m confused,” I said. “You’re doing someone else’s work on our time, but it’s not convenient for you to talk about that?”

  “Oh, all right,” he said, as though he was doing me a big favor. “But…” He checked his watch. “I’ve only got a few minutes.”

  “Before what?” It was only two o’clock.

  “Before I…uh…have to get back to what I was doing.”

  Which thing, I wondered. His or ours?

  I shook my head. It was bad enough to trouble-shoot at client schools and deal with thuggish people in black SUVs at home and on the highway. I didn’t have the patience for dealing with childish and unprofessional behavior in the office.

  Together we walked to Suzanne’s office. He sat. I shut the door and took the seat beside him.

  Suzanne gave him her deceptively sweet, warm smile. “Jason, do we have a problem here? We were so excited by your credentials, so pleased you were coming to work here.”

  A pause. “Just so we’re clear, you did understand that this is a full-time job? A professional job?”

  He shifted in his chair like something was poking him in the ass. “Of course.”

  “So why do you feel entitled to do other work while you are here?”

  He shrugged. “I was in the middle of some projects when I got the offer. I need to finish them.”

  “You didn’t think that you should have informed us about that? Discussed them with us when we were finalizing the details of your employment?”

  “It was my personal business.”

  “I see.” Suzanne waved a hand, indicating her office. “And this is my personal business. Where I expect my employees to be doing my work. Leaving abruptly during the workday without telling anyone where you’re going, and pursuing your private business while you’re here, do you understand that is not acceptable?”

  “Hey,” he said, like he was disagreeing with one of his buddies and not speaking to his employer, “I told that woman out there, the one with the accent, where I was going.”

  “You told her you were leaving to spend the afternoon meeting with a client from your side business?”

  Jason didn’t answer.

  Suzanne looked at me. “Can you ask Magda to step in?”

  I asked Magda to step in. She brought her straight back and her dark-eyed glare. Jason hadn’t been with us long enough to realize not even Suzanne or I messed with Magda.

  “Ah. Magda,” Suzanne said. “Jason says he told you he was leaving for the day when he disappeared for the afternoon two days ago. Is that the case?”

  She had such a talent for keeping it friendly and light when her stiletto was poised.

  “That boy?” She glared at Jason. “He didn’t say a word to me, he just walked out. I doubt that he even knows my name.” She leaned toward his chair, those fierce eyes looking directly at him. “Do you know my name?”

  Like many others who have skated on charm and looks and rarely been challenged, who’ve spent their lives being patted on the head and told they’re special, who figured if it was important to them, it was important to everyone else, he was nonplussed. Secret confession: I love the word nonplussed. Like seeing it in action. Suzanne, Magda, and I waited to see what he’d say. He didn’t disappoint us.

  He said, “It doesn’t matter. I don’t work for you.”

  “Ha!” Magda said. “Good luck with that.” She looked at Suzanne. “I may go now?”

  “You may go now.”

  When the door closed behind her, Jason said, in a mocking tone, “May I go now?”

  “I have a question,” Suzanne said. “Why did you take the job if you didn’t want to do the work?”

  “I did want to do the work. Your work. I just have to get this other stuff done first.”

  “Do it on your own time,” Suzanne said.

  She surprised me. I thought he was going to be sent packing. She was sensing there was more to this than loutish youth.

  “Can you do that? Because otherwise, you might as well leave now. Bobby needs someone to pick up the slack and to train to work with client schools. If that’s not going to be you, because you’re too busy, then leave. We have too much going on here to put up with an employee who doesn’t want to work.”

  Jason sat there, looking at her like she’d spoken in a language he didn’t understand. After a minute, he said, “But…”

  “There are no buts,” she said. “Work? Or leave?”

  He mistook graciousness for weakness. She hadn’t built this business by being soft.

  “But I…”

  Suzanne looked at me. I nodded. She was giving him a second chance, and he was totally missing it.

  She sighed. We both sighed, because we really needed someone with internet expertise and the ability to write short and punchy material for client media.

  Then she waved a hand. “Go.”

  “But…”

  She and I were already mentally reviewing our resumes, wondering if we had any other promising candidates.

  “Jason,” I said, “just checking. You do speak and understand English, don’t you?”

  He nodded.

  “So you’ve just been asked to leave. Do you understand? And don’t say ‘but’ again. Just get your stuff a
nd go.”

  He shook his head, like he was dizzy or stunned. “But…”

  Suzanne and I burst out laughing.

  “I don’t get it,” he said. “It’s just for a couple weeks, until I get some things done…”

  “Can’t you do them at night? When you’re done here?” I asked.

  “Yeah, but…”

  He should be gone already, but I was curious about his thinking. Still, inspired by Suzanne, I was looking for something redeemable in the kid.

  “But what? What is keeping you from finishing your projects in the evening?”

  He looked at the floor, like answers were written on the carpet. “Uh. It’s a personal thing.”

  “Maybe we understand personal things,” I said. Sometimes people could be too proud to share information that made a difference. It might be something he could have told us at the start, but thought he couldn’t. Or something that had come up since?

  “It’s…I…”

  We waited.

  “My mom’s in the hospital. My dad works nights. I have to take care of the twins.”

  “How old are the twins?”

  “Eight. Cassie’s easy, but Moira…she’s disabled. And…”

  He shrugged like he didn’t know how to explain it. “When I took the job, I thought I could finish at night. And then this happened.”

  Suzanne and I are both pretty good truth barometers, but Jason was a hard read. I didn’t know if we were hearing truth.

  “And you didn’t tell us this because?” I said.

  “I didn’t want to look unprofessional. I’ve been told you don’t bring your personal life into the workplace. And I didn’t want to lose my job, because I need it. I…” He stopped. “I was just trying to be a guy, you know? But it’s all so overwhelming, and I got scared, and I got stupid, and I’m sorry. I’m uh…sorry about Magda, too. Of course I know her name. It’s just…uh…she scares me to death.”

  That we could both relate to.

  “Try getting your personal work done at lunch and after work,” Suzanne said. “If you need more time, our time, talk to me. Now get out. Go back to work. Our work. Going forward, if you have issues, tell us. We’re not dragons. You need to be able to talk to the people you work for and with.”