Detective Jack Stratton Box Set

by Christopher Greyson

  “But I can.” He leaned against the cubicle wall. “Think of it as a ‘welcome on board’ bonus.”

  She crossed her arms tightly.

  “What’s it been, almost three months now? Happy anniversary.”

  He opened his hand as if he were giving her a gift, and she flinched—just the tiniest bit, but he saw it, just as she saw the hot flush of male rejection that rose up his thick neck.

  He took a moment to clear his throat loudly and adjust his tie. He resumed, frostily now, “It’s only an hour, and you’re doing great work. I believe in rewarding a job well done.”

  Maybe it was his choice of words—Happy anniversary. Her thoughts immediately shifted to Michael, and she missed her husband so intensely she had to close her eyes to keep tears from forming. But when she looked up again, Leland Chambers was still standing there, his GQ slouch replaced by an aggressive pit bull stance.

  “Thank you,” she said, too loudly, “but I really have to be heading home. I’m just going to finish up the Right-A-Way Shipping report and call it a night.”

  “What?”

  “I noticed they were spending a large amount of money on insurance.”

  “Right-A-Way Shipping?”

  “Yes. At my last job, this same level of coverage was a quarter of this amount—”

  “That report is done.” His tone had changed yet again. He stepped forward and glared at her monitor. “What are you doing with it?” His thighs pressed against her chair, pinning her in place.

  She’d gotten a glimpse of his “other side” before—everybody knew about it—but it had never been directed at her. “But I’m supposed to review the report and—”

  “No,” Mr. Chambers snapped. “You’re supposed to review your section of the report, and you assured me that you had. Are you changing what you submitted?”

  She cleared her throat. “No. But I found a discrepancy with—”

  Mr. Chambers banged his hand down on the desk. “No! You should have nothing to do with that. I’ve already reviewed and approved the report myself.”

  “Umm …” She shuffled some papers around on her desk, her hands trembling and suddenly ice-cold.

  “Is this why you’re working late? When I approved your overtime, I thought you were catching up on tasks, not just making busywork for yourself so you can get paid time and a half.”

  “I’m not! I was just—”

  He thrust a finger at the monitor. “Close the file and send me what you’ve done to it.”

  Stacy nodded. She opened the mail program. “I haven’t changed anything.” Her mouth was so dry, it came out almost a croak.

  Mr. Chambers spun his keys around his finger again, like an outlaw gunslinger twirling his pistol. “I’ll take a look at it in the morning.” His voice softened somewhat, but he still stood with both feet planted wide just behind her chair. “You couldn’t know, but once these reports are submitted, it’s a nightmare to make corrections. I’d rather get a public flogging than have to request to change it.”

  “I…I only highlighted the line. I didn’t alter the report.”

  His keys chimed as they spun round again. “I’ll review it later. No harm, no foul. Like you said, you didn’t change anything.”

  Stacy nodded, but didn’t turn around.

  “Are you sure you won’t reconsider? O’Flaherty’s makes a heck of a Long Island Iced Tea.”

  Are you kidding? No way, Mr. Hyde. “No, thank you.” She made a point of taking out her pocket calendar and a pen. “Have a good night.”

  “Well, I’m sure we’ll be at O’Flaherty’s for a while if you change your mind. If not, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Feeling like a prisoner in a cell, Stacy listened to his keys jingle as he walked away, tapping each cubicle wall as he passed it. She closed her eyes and tried to calm her breathing, slow her heart. She wanted to call Michael, but she wasn’t sure if he was free or having dinner with clients. He had called earlier from his hotel room to let her know that he’d arrived and that their old car had held up on the long journey. And considering nothing had really happened, she figured there was no reason to get Michael upset, too.

  She pushed the incident with Mr. Chambers aside and got back to work. She dealt with the requests in her inbox quickly and finished all her reports within forty-five minutes. After clicking the last report closed, she triumphantly sent it off. Now, with her focus off her work, she heard the deep hum of a vacuum cleaner in the distance.

  As she shut down her computer, her eyes fell as usual on the framed picture beside the monitor. Their honeymoon in the Bahamas. She was lying on a lounge chair next to Michael, her husband of three blissful days, with the glittering sand and shimmering sea behind them. Had it really been seven years already? Everything was changing so fast. New house, new job, and now … She gently laid a hand on her stomach. “My little miracle,” she whispered.

  Longing and need and anxiety—a familiar cluster of emotions lately—washed through her. She had to get home and under the covers and call Michael, now. Her escape was close enough that she had a little giggle, imagining herself snarling like a rabid dog at anyone foolish enough to interrupt her in her mission.

  She pushed in her chair and grabbed her favorite handbag off the floor. It was damp, and she smelled the pungent scent of carpet cleaner. Oh, shoot. Hope it dries okay.

  But this small setback was quickly forgotten in her elation at leaving the office. On her way out, almost skipping through the corridors, she passed her coworkers’ cubicles, bedecked with photos of happy families, smiling kids, and hugging couples. Week by week, as she got to know her coworkers better, she was growing fonder of them. She was certainly not alone in disliking Leland Chambers.

  The air conditioner had already turned off for the evening, and an airless heat had settled through the offices, but a strong shudder ran through her. She could almost feel her hormonal balance shifting, yet again. One second she was hot, the next her teeth were almost chattering and she had goose bumps.

  But it wasn’t just the hormones, it was the thought of the silence, the cold stillness, she faced at home without Michael. She had grown up a latchkey kid in a quiet house with no brothers or sisters, her parents always gone. Some kids grow up to relish solitude, but Stacy hated being alone. She suddenly felt so, so tired as she punched the elevator button one more time and the industrial roar of the vacuum cleaner came closer.

  What looked like a small Zamboni rounded the corner up ahead. At first, the burly custodian kept his eyes focused on the area directly in front of the machine, but then he noticed her and turned the machine off.

  “Hello, Mrs. Shaw,” he called from about ten feet away, with an awkward wave. His eyes darted all around, never meeting hers, as he came closer.

  “Hi, Jeremy.” She always tried her best to make polite conversation with Jeremy; he had few friends, and was clearly a little challenged mentally in some way, but he was very sweet. Most of the women in the office tried to avoid any contact with him, but even though Jeremy towered over Stacy, she’d never been afraid of him.

  She spoke carefully. “You’re working late.”

  “Like you.” Jeremy smiled lopsidedly. He spoke deliberately, but his speech was slurred and hard to understand. He wiped his hand on his coveralls.

  She nodded. There was something she wanted to ask him, and after a moment, she remembered what it was.

  “Jeremy, did you clean my carpet again last night?”

  His eyes brightened. “You saw?”

  “Yes. But…didn’t you just clean it on Monday?”

  “I cleaned your office extra.” Jeremy looked at the ceiling. “You like it? It smells nice?”

  Stacy sighed. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings. “Yes. But next time maybe you can just vacuum?”

  “Okay. T’ank you. I’ll do that.”

  “Well, have a nice night, Jeremy.”

  Finally, the elevator chimed its arrival. Jeremy awkwardly offered his h
and to shake. As she shook it, she tried not to recoil at the touch of his rough calluses and thick fingernails.

  “See you tomorrow,” Jeremy said.

  “Good night.”

  Jeremy watched her until she disappeared through the door. She heard the vacuum cleaner turn back on, then quieter and quieter with each floor as the elevator descended.

  Outside, the warm, moist summer night air felt wonderful on her skin. The sun had set, and faint stars peeked out from behind dark clouds that were rolling in. Every step put the office further behind her, and just as suddenly as it had come on, the anxiety of loneliness was whisked away by the exhilaration of freedom. She’d get used to this roller coaster. It wasn’t so bad, after all. She was free and alive and pregnant and sweaty (okay, the body temperature thing was pretty annoying) and in love with her life. She wanted nothing more than to take off her bra, slip into one of Michael’s T-shirts, and curl up on the couch with a pint of ice cream.

  A voice behind her made her jump.

  “Is the job making you crazy yet?”

  Stacy’s hand flew to her chest.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” Betty Robinson crunched her cigarette butt under her heel and walked over. “Did Mr. Happy Pants chain you to the desk, or are you working late, fixing one of his mistakes that he’s blaming you for?”

  Stacy chuckled. “Chased me around the desk would be more accurate.”

  Betty was on the north side of fifty and looked like she’d probably always been tough. Stacy couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like—as a woman—to be so tall and … imposing might be the best word. In heels, she loomed over Stacy. And she sure did like high heels, usually boots, unlike five-foot-two Stacy, who pretty much had to add a couple of inches just to be treated as an adult but would have preferred slippers if she could have gotten away with it. When she first met her, Stacy wondered why Betty always wore outfits that seemed to draw attention to her height and huge feet and thick shoulders. After she came to know her a little better, she realized that Betty dressed to intimidate.

  “You haven’t asked any questions for a few days,” Betty said. “Does that mean the torch has been passed?”

  “Hardly,” Stacy said. “I think it’ll take me another three months to get the hang of everything you were doing. How’s upstairs?”

  “Living the dream.” Betty smiled coyly. “Make sure you keep up on the Henkle filing or the end of the summer will be killer for you.”

  “I will.” Stacy cleared her throat. “Hey, did you work on the Right-A-Way Shipping report for Mr. Chambers?”

  Betty slipped a cigarette out of the pack. “I still work on it. Don’t tell me something’s wrong with the report or I’ll scream.”

  “You work on it now?” Stacy asked, confused.

  “I approve the PO section. Leland does the insurance.” With a click of her lighter, she was all business. “Is there an issue?”

  “No. But I did notice we overpaid the insurance premium again, and from my records check, it was at least the second time it’s happened.”

  Betty let a stream of smoke drift from her mouth, then exhaled through pursed lips. “Hmm. It happens. They’ve shifted the payment dates before. As long as the insurance doesn’t lapse. That would be a complete nightmare. Do me a favor and forget about it. If you touch it now, five people have to sign off on it again, including me.”

  She looked down at Stacy’s stomach. “You’re going to be showing soon. When are you going to make the announcement?”

  “Soon. My obstetrician says everything looks good, but please don’t say anything. Michael wants us to wait until after the first trimester just in case something goes wrong. You’re the only one who knows.”

  “I won’t say a word. But no complications?”

  “None. Our own little miracle.”

  “With everything that happened before, that’s wonderful news.”

  Stacy nodded emphatically. There’d been times when she’d wondered whether it was a good idea to confide in Betty about the past, but right now she felt very lucky to have her as a friend.

  An older blue BMW pulled up to the curb and the taller woman gave Stacy a quick squeeze. “Do you need a lift?”

  “No, thanks. My car’s right in the company lot.”

  “Bruce and I would love to have you two over for dinner again,” Betty said as she got in the car. “Wouldn’t we, Bruce?”

  Her husband, a tall man with a friendly grin that softened his square face, leaned across the front seat. “We’d love to. We can get something delivered and I’ll get a decent meal. How about tomorrow?”

  Betty smacked his arm. “Bruce! You could cook once in a while, you know.”

  “She won’t want to come if I cook.”

  “It’ll have to be next week,” Stacy said. “Michael’s coming home tomorrow.”

  “Michael’s out of town?” Betty asked.

  “For work.”

  “Oh, is he…” Bruce said.

  Bruce and Betty exchanged a quick glance.

  “If you’re free”—Bruce kept his eyes on his wife until she nodded—“then why not just come tonight?” He reached a long arm over the seat back to open the back door. “How about a low-key, intimate dinner for three? How does Chateau de Mama Mia’s Pizza sound?”

  “If you want the company,” Betty added.

  Stacy pictured the lonely, echoing house and almost jumped in the backseat. But she had a home to-do list two pages long.

  “Not tonight. Actually, I’m trying to take advantage of the time to myself, so I was looking forward to doing some tidying up before Michael comes home. And I’m beat.”

  “The job’s making you crazy,” Betty cautioned as she clicked her seat belt. “Or you’re nesting. Don’t overdo it.”

  “I won’t.”

  Stacy waved as they pulled away from the curb, then walked around the corner of the building to the nearly deserted company parking lot. There were only a couple of cars there and her Civic was one of them.

  The door squeaked as she opened it. She mentally added Lube car door to her honey-do list. Michael had suggested they get her another car, but Stacy knew they couldn’t afford it. Right now, every penny was going into the savings they would have to tap in a few months.

  She turned the key, but absolutely nothing happened. Not even a click.

  She turned the key again. Nothing.

  “Oh, no. Not now.” She pushed on the gas pedal and turned the key again. The engine didn’t so much as sputter.

  Fighting back tears, she laid her head against the steering wheel. If only she had gone with Betty and Bruce, she could be ordering pizza toppings now. Her phone rang, and she jumped. What now? she wanted to scream, but when she saw the caller ID, her smile returned. “Are you psychic?”

  “That’s right. Let’s see … you’re about to tell me that you love me,” Michael joked.

  “I do love you. And I’m so glad to hear your voice.”

  “Why? Is everything okay?”

  Stacy hesitated. No, she wanted to say, but she knew that would only worry him, and he was already a bundle of nerves because of the pregnancy. “Everything’s fine.” The car was stifling and she opened the door for some air.

  “Oh, okay. You sounded a little upset. Rough day?”

  Maybe he really is psychic. “Nothing I can’t handle. Really, I’m fine. You’re the one with a big day tomorrow. Is everything ready for your presentation?”

  “Yup. I just spent an hour at the copy store making handouts,” Michael said. “I’m hoping that if I throw in a few boxes of doughnuts, they’ll stay for the whole presentation.”

  “I’m sure you’ll knock their socks off.” Stacy took the keys out of the ignition. “You sound tired.”

  “Actually, I am. The long drive was brutal,” Michael admitted. “It’s been an exhausting day. Tomorrow looks like a beast too.”

  “Then go get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow night. I love you
.” Stacy blew a soft kiss into the phone.

  “Love you too. ’Night.” Michael hung up.

  Stacy slumped back into the seat and stared across the road to the park. A warm breeze blew through the open door; it was a beautiful night. She took a deep breath, enjoying the balmy summer air.

  If she cut through the park, it was only a twenty-minute walk home. She could leave the car overnight, then Michael could fix it when he got home and they’d save the money for a tow. Satisfied with her plan, she grabbed her handbag, locked the car, and crossed the street.

  The entrance to Hamilton Park was marked by a beautiful stone archway. Modeled after Roman architecture, the twin stone columns towered fifteen feet on each side, forming the base for an ornately carved arch. The thick, pitted iron gates were always open.

  Inside the grounds, old-fashioned streetlamps lit the paved main paths. A web of smaller unlit paths also crisscrossed the park, but Stacy elected to stick to the lighted areas. As she walked, she went down the list of all the things she would need to buy over the next few months: nursery furniture, baby clothes, one of those instant thermometers. She pretended that Michael was beside her, on one of their lunch breaks they took in the park.

  “In a little while, we can buy an affordable car. Reliable. Maybe a minivan. If we get a used one…”

  She felt a little ridiculous talking to herself, and suddenly realized that beyond the sporadically lit path it was completely dark. Her happiness dissipated as she remembered Mr. Chambers saying, “It’s a beautiful park—during the day.”

  During the day …

  Stacy was passing by a monument, a neoclassical column that stood twelve feet high. The top of the column was decorated with four busts facing in each of the four compass directions, four men scowling at her in stony, silent judgment as she passed.

  The park felt different now. The rolling hills and groomed grounds no longer reminded her of families strolling and children playing. Now they reminded her of a cemetery.

  The faster she walked, the louder her heels rang on the concrete, and the tap-tap-tap of her shoes matched the rapid pace of her heart. A bench ahead drew her attention. At first it looked like her couch on laundry day, covered in a mound of clothes. But as she drew closer, the mound moved.