by Ginna Gray
"Jacob took a chance on me when no one else would. I owe him a lot. I'll be damned if I'll stand idly by and let you or anyone else put any additional burden on him in his final days.
"Cause him any grief, Red, and you'll answer to me. And I warn you, I'll do whatever I have to do to protect him."
* * *
Seven
« ^ »
Maggie was still simmering when she reached the cannery.
"Come between Laurel and Martin, indeed," she muttered to herself as she stalked toward the main building. "I'd like to come between them, all right, but not in the way Dan Garrett seems to think."
Did he honestly believe she'd been pining away for that creep all these years? That was about the most insulting thing anyone had ever said to her. Maggie shuddered and made a face. "Yuck."
She didn't know why she had allowed Dan's comments to get under her skin. Or why she had this dull ache in her chest or this stupid urge to cry. It wasn't as though she hadn't dealt with that kind of unfair criticism before. In the past, she'd let it roll off her like water off a duck's back.
The problem was, during the past seven years she'd grown accustomed to being treated with respect and admiration. She'd almost forgotten what it was like to have to defend herself at every turn.
"You're out of practice, Mag," she muttered. "You're going to have to toughen up again. And fast."
What had she expected, anyway? Dan Garrett was her father's general manager, after all. The man knew where his loyalties lay.
Besides, she couldn't fault his reasoning, since she agreed with him. Her father was a decent and honorable man, a scrupulously honest and fair man … with everyone but her.
At least she'd managed to hide her upset with a flippant remark. "Don't worry, sugar, home-wrecking isn't on my agenda this trip. Maybe next time," she'd drawled with a taunting twitch of her lips, though she hadn't felt in the least like smiling.
To her relief, only moments later they had parted company when Dan stopped by his place to change into his work clothes.
Until then, Maggie hadn't realized that Dan lived in the old manager's quarters. The Victorian cottage had been her great-grandmother's home when she'd started the family business, and it had previously occupied the site on which their present home sat.
In 1927, when the big house had been built, the cottage had been moved to the clearing in the center of the orchard, a small patch of ground too alkaline to grow healthy fruit trees, halfway between the original site and the cannery. Ever since, the three-bedroom cottage had been home to the cannery manager and his family.
Over the years the old place had been renovated and kept in top condition. Still, Maggie was surprised that Dan had opted to live there, charming as it was. She would have thought a good-looking bachelor would have wanted the privacy of an apartment in town.
But then again, what did she know? Maybe Dan Garrett was one of those men who conducted his love life someplace other than his home.
Maggie entered the minuscule lobby of the main cannery building and started up the stairs to the second-floor offices. Stepping into the reception room at the top of the stairs, she paused to look around and experienced a sharp tug of nostalgia.
The computer that hummed on the corner of the desk was new and so was the carpet, but everything else was just as it had always been—the same sturdy mahogany furniture, the same paintings on the walls, the same seven-foot-tall bamboo plant in the corner.
An ever-changing geometric shape careered silently around the computer screen, but there was no one manning the receptionist's desk.
The hallway on the right led to various offices and the marketing and accounting departments. Faint sounds of voices and activity came from that direction, but Maggie turned left toward her father's office.
Taking a hard look at the books was going to be a top priority, but she wasn't ready yet to begin any serious digging. Today she would just lay a bit of groundwork—reintroduce herself to the staff and meet any new people, let them get used to seeing her in the office again, maybe get the lay of the land and pick up some useful tidbits of information. And the best place to start was with her father's secretary.
Anna Talmadge had worked for Malone Enterprises for twenty-two years, the last thirteen as Jacob's secretary. Not only did she know the company inside out, she knew all the office gossip, as well—all the rivalries, the petty jealousies and office politics.
Anna was staunchly loyal to her boss and guarded him and his business dealings with the fierceness of a junkyard dog. However, the starchy old woman had always had a soft spot for the Malone girls. Maggie figured if she handled things right, Anna could be a fountain of information.
Without a doubt, she would be of immeasurable help to Maggie on a purely practical level in the coming weeks.
Besides, Maggie knew the pecking order. Dan Garrett might be her father's right-hand man on the production end and Martin probably thought of himself as second in command, but it was Anna who ran the office.
Her father's secretary wasn't at her post in the outer office when Maggie poked her head inside. If she hadn't known the woman to be a "neat freak," she would have thought she wasn't there. There wasn't so much as a piece of paper or a pencil on her desk, not even a paper clip, just a rigidly aligned blotter and desk calendar. Even her computer was covered.
Maggie crossed the room and entered her father's office, but Anna wasn't in there, either. "Maybe she's taking a late lunch," she murmured to herself, checking her wristwatch. If so, she would be back soon.
Deciding to wait, Maggie wandered aimlessly around the room.
No modern office furnishings or wall-to-wall carpet in here. This office retained the look of old-world elegance that Katherine Margaret had given it over seventy years ago—walnut wainscoting topped by embossed ivory wall covering, dark oak floors polished to a satiny sheen, and an enormous wine, blue and ivory Oriental rug anchoring the antique furnishings.
Smiling, Maggie trailed her fingertips along the edge of the massive walnut desk and her father's big chair. She closed her eyes and breathed in the scents that she had always associated with this office—lemon oil, leather and fine cigars. The latter came from the humidor her father still kept on his desk, even though he'd given up smoking years ago.
A distant rumble drew her attention, and Maggie walked over to the floor-to-ceiling glass wall behind her father's desk that overlooked the cannery floor. Heavy draperies could be drawn over the wall to block out the faint sounds, but her father, like his father and grandmother before him, liked to feel connected to the actual work being done in the vast cannery.
The prep rooms, where machines did the work of washing, peeling, scraping, slicing and chopping, and the "kitchens" where the fruits and vegetable were cooked in enormous vats could not be seen from this vantage point. Jacob's office overlooked the part of the operation where the foods were put into cans or bottles, then sealed, labeled and crated for shipment.
Maggie's gaze drifted over the workers and machinery, all of which seemed to be in perpetual motion. Hundreds of times she had stood in this very spot, but she never tired of watching the process.
Her eyes scanned the lines of empty cans and bottles jiggling along on miles of ball-bearing tracks at various levels. She watched the precision machinery fill one container after another, seal them and send them on their way to the next machine, which, in a blink, wrapped and glued a label around each one and shot them out to be trundled away on wide conveyor belts, to be neatly slotted into packing cases.
Her gaze followed the cases of canned and bottled foods as they moved along on conveyors to the loading bay at the back of the building. There they were stacked on pallets and transferred by forklifts to the various storage warehouses around the grounds.
As always, the process mesmerized Maggie, but she was jarred out of her trance when the door to the general manager's office, on the far side of the building, opened and Dan strode onto the cannery floor.
Maggie's entire body tautened and a tingle rippled over her skin. Annoyed, she gritted her teeth, but the sensation wouldn't go away.
Dan was dressed as he had been the day before when she'd first met him, in jeans and a chambray work shirt. From far away he looked big and utterly masculine, even a bit dangerous. Maggie thought of those cool silver eyes that could see right through you, and shivered.
The instant he stepped onto the floor he was besieged from three sides by workers wanting to have a word with him.
Maggie watched him converse with the three men and two women on the fly. All of them practically had to trot to keep up with him as he strode through the maze of machinery and people on the floor. Every once in a while he stopped to say something to one of the workers, or gesture, or inspect a piece of machinery, but he wasted no time.
Even viewed from above at this great distance, Dan Garrett stood out from the rest of the workers. There was just something about him, an innate air of confidence and authority that marked him as the man in charge.
Without warning he looked up, straight at her, and Maggie's heart gave a little leap. In a panicked reflex, she took a half step back before she realized what she was doing and halted the retreat. From this distance she couldn't see his expression clearly, but she felt those pale eyes drilling into her. Squelching the urge to escape his penetrating stare, Maggie smiled and waggled her fingers.
For several seconds he didn't react, but finally he nodded, then continued his rounds. When he headed toward the kitchens and disappeared from view, she let out the breath she hadn't realized she had been holding and pressed her hand against her midriff.
What was it about that man that rattled her so? Exasperated with herself, Maggie pushed the question aside and turned back to the room.
All thought of Dan Garrett flew right out of her mind when her gaze fell on the large, ornately framed photograph of her great-grandmother that dominated the wall opposite her father's desk. Maggie strolled over to stand before the picture, her lips curving into a warm smile.
Katherine Margaret Malone, her namesake and idol.
The photo had been taken when her great-grandmother had been in her mid-forties. As a young woman Katherine Margaret had been a beauty, and even in middle age she had been what in those days had been described as a "handsome woman," but it was the fortitude and intelligence and determination in that clear, steady gaze that had always fascinated Maggie.
Growing up she had been awed by the stories about Katherine Margaret, and it had been her fervent hope to be like her great-grandmother and someday follow in her footsteps as head of the company.
Left widowed and penniless, with a small son to raise, she had done what few women of her day would have dared. Young Katherine Margaret had started a small, in-home business and eventually built it into what was today Malone Enterprises.
"We owe it all to you, Great-gran," Maggie murmured. "And I swear to you, I'll do everything I possibly can to see that the business continues to thrive, and that it remains in the family."
"What are you doing in here?"
The querulous question startled Maggie, and she jumped and turned her head sharply. Standing in the open doorway was a small, prim-looking woman of about thirty-five who was glaring at her as though she were a thief whom she'd caught with her hand in the safe.
The woman wore her brown hair in the straight, chin-length bob that was currently popular, but the severe style did nothing for her sharp features. Her thin mouth was pinched into a disapproving line, and she held herself so stiffly she looked like an advertisement for a full-body corset.
"Hi. I didn't hear you come in," Maggie said pleasantly.
The woman didn't bend a fraction. "I'm afraid you'll have to leave."
Maggie laughed. "You must be new here. Trust me, there's no problem. I'm Maggie Malone. This is my daddy's office."
"I know who you are, Miss Malone," she woman said in a haughty voice, and Maggie could have sworn that her upper lip curled ever so slightly. "Although, I must say, we weren't expecting to see you here. Mr. Howe called the hospital this morning, and your father told him you were leaving today."
So, Martin had called to be sure she was going to be given the boot again, had he? Typical. He must have made the call before her mother and Dan arrived at the hospital. He was going to have a conniption when he found out she was staying. And why.
She almost laughed out loud, imagining it. "Yes, well … my plans have changed," she said.
"So I see. Nevertheless, you still have to leave."
"Excuse me?"
"Mr. Howe is using this office, since he's in charge now. He instructed me to keep everyone out of here whenever he's not around."
"Oh, really?"
We'll just see about that, Maggie thought. No way in hell was she going to stand for Martin commandeering her father's office. Or his company.
"And where is Martin? Perhaps I'd better talk to him."
"Mr. Howe is on his way to the Dallas airport. He's flying to Albuquerque to meet with the buyer for the Thrifty Pantry supermarket chain."
"On Friday afternoon? Isn't that a bit odd? By the time he gets there their offices will be closed."
The woman tilted her chin at an imperious angle. "Business is often conducted in places other than an office, you know. It so happens, Mr. Howe is participating in a charity golf tournament on Sunday that Thrifty Pantries is sponsoring. He committed himself to playing months ago. Of course, had he known you would be here, I'm sure he would have canceled."
Oh, I'm sure he would have, Maggie thought. The last thing Martin wanted was to leave her alone on what he considered his turf.
"Well then, isn't it fortunate that he didn't know? I certainly wouldn't want to interfere with his work schedule." If you could call playing golf work. "So, when do you expect him back, Miss…?"
"Udall. Elaine Udall. Mr. Howe won't be back in the office until next weekend. He's been so busy running the company for Mr. Malone that he's neglected his own work, so he'll be spending all of next week flying around the five-state area, calling on our major customers."
"I see. And just what is it that you do here, Miss Udall?"
"I head the accounting department."
"Really? What happened to Miss Franklin? She's held that job for years, but I don't believe she's old enough to retire."
"Yes, well … Miss Franklin really was past it, you know. The woman never made the adjustment from keeping books by hand to doing them on the computer. A year ago your father gave her a very generous early retirement pension. I was promoted to take over her job."
"I see. Have there been many other changes in office staff since I left?"
"I really wouldn't know. Now, I'm afraid I must insist that you leave."
Maggie waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. "Oh, don't worry about it. I'm sure Martin won't mind me being here. I'm just waiting for Anna to return from lunch."
"Anna doesn't work here anymore."
"What? Don't tell me Daddy retired her, too. I don't believe it. He would be lost without her."
"Actually, uh, Mr. Howe let her go yesterday. He felt that since he will be running the company he should hand-pick his own secretary."
Maggie's eyes narrowed. "He let her go? You mean he pensioned her off like Miss Franklin?"
"Well…" Elaine Udall twisted her hands together and did not quite meet Maggie's eyes.
"Wait a minute. Are you saying Martin fired Anna? After twenty-two years with the company? Does Daddy know about this? No, of course he doesn't," she supplied before the woman could answer. "He would never have approved such a move."
"As acting president, Mr. Howe has the authority to make such decisions. And I must say, he was right to get rid of her. The woman took entirely too much upon herself. Why, the way she acted you'd think she was the one running the company."
Anna probably had been, for the most part, since Jacob's illness began to take its toll, Maggie thought. And no
doubt she'd been doing a helluva lot better job of it than Martin even came close to doing on his best day.
Maggie was so furious she was shaking inside. Martin had been running things only a few days, and already he was wreaking havoc. Had he been there she would have marched into his office and throttled him with her bare hands.
She was careful, however, not to let her anger show, since she was certain that Miss Udall would report this meeting to him, verbatim. She wasn't ready to show her hand to Martin just yet.
"Well, since Anna's not coming back, I guess I'll be on my way. First, though, I'll just pop in and say hello to the rest of the staff."
"Oh, dear. I really don't think that's a good idea," Elaine protested, but Maggie had already sailed out the door, her long legs taking her quickly through the outer office and down the short hall. The older woman hurried after her at a trot, catching up in the reception room.
"Miss Malone, I don't think Mr. Howe would approve of you taking up the staff's time during working hours."
Maggie's patience snapped. It had been her intention to let everyone think that she had no interest in the business, that she'd merely stopped by for a friendly visit, but she'd had more than enough of Elaine Udall.
Coming to an abrupt halt, she whirled on the woman so suddenly that Elaine gasped and almost bumped into her.
"Miss Udall. A word of warning," Maggie said in a voice so silky smooth the other woman's eyes widened. "This is a family-owned company. You would do well to remember that not only am I a member of that family, I'm also a stockholder. Mr. Howe is merely an employee."
"I … he … he's a vice president! And your sister's husband," Elaine protested.
"True. But he's not an owner. Which means, if he's not careful, he can get his ass fired. And so can you." Bending slightly from the waist, Maggie jutted her chin at the woman. "Do I make myself clear?"
Maggie spent the rest of the afternoon at the office. She deliberately took her time, dawdling by each desk and stretching out her conversations in order to needle Miss Udall. The woman pretended she was working, but she hovered close by the whole time, looking as if she'd swallowed a lemon.