What You Don't See

by Tracy Clark

It appeared to satisfy him. “There were a few of them on her private line, but we didn’t know anything about those until we heard her chew Chandler out about them. Ms. Allen figured Chandler should know how the guy got her number in the first place, but Chandler said she didn’t. When he called the main number, I was covering the desk for Pam.”

  I eased in closer to him. “Tell me about that call.”

  “He wanted to talk to Ms. Allen. I guess she’d blocked him by then. He asked if his flowers got here. Then he wanted to be put right through to her.”

  “What’d you do?”

  “I asked for his name and everything, like we’re supposed to, but he wouldn’t give it. I asked what the call was in reference to, and he said it was personal. He got a little huffy at that point, saying she and him went back almost thirty years and that she’d know what it was about. I transferred him right to Chandler.”

  “Allen ever mention it again?”

  Kendrick shook his head. “It was Chandler who had to know what time it came in, exactly what the guy said and how he said it. She made me go over it at least five times before she let up. I thought for a second she was going to fire me straight-out. If he calls back, we’re not supposed to even talk to him, but to transfer it right to her.” He eyed the doorway. “If she catches me talking to you . . .”

  “She won’t. She’s in her office. A couple more. How did the caller sound, besides being insistent? Angry? Dangerous?”

  He thought for a moment. “He didn’t sound like anything. Just normal, I guess I’d say. But he wanted to talk to her bad.”

  So Chandler was doing her job, standing in as a buffer between Allen and the flower guy, trying to work things out, hold them down. “Allen and Chandler. What’s with that?”

  Kendrick blew out a breath. “I’d say they make a good team. Only, a few weeks ago they had some kind of falling-out. We heard them shouting.”

  “You know what it was about?”

  “No. But things were real cool around here for days. Then, just like that, whatever it was blew over, and Chandler was Team Allen again.”

  I thought back to the exchange I’d seen earlier in Allen’s office, how rudely Chandler had been dismissed. If that was normal operating practice, I would have hated to see Allen and Chandler during their period of open hostilities. Had they argued about the threats? “Anybody else here on Team Allen?”

  Kendrick snickered derisively. “Publicly, sure.” He shook his head. “We’re all just marking time. Meanwhile, we keep our heads down.” I could tell Kendrick longed to be rid of me. He tapped the folder nervously against his thigh, bit down on his lower lip. He knew Chandler wasn’t going to stay in her office forever. We’d already been in here too long.

  “Last one. Promise. What do you think about Allen?”

  The tapping stopped, the lip biting, too. His dark eyes locked on mine. I didn’t think he was worried about Chandler or Allen at that moment. I think his mind was somewhere else entirely. “She hits that button like she’s calling for her houseboy, and I have to come running. Cappuccino, whatever. For the first six months I worked for her, she called me Tony, the guy before me. I don’t think much of her, but until I can make my move, I stay and eat it.” He paused a moment. “Only I got full a long time ago.”

  I rejoined Ben. He sat with his legs outstretched, his hands clasped and resting on his stomach. Chandler’s door was open; her office empty. I looked to him for an explanation, and he cocked a thumb behind him. “Royal summons. Couple minutes ago it sounded like they were having a little tiff. It’s quiet now, though. And a few people have come by to check me out like I’m about to perform magic tricks, or something. I saw you peeking down here. Subtle. You ran into the kid?”

  I nodded. “Chance meeting.”

  “That’s how you’re playing it?”

  I waved him off. “Kendrick took a call from the flower guy, who said he knew Allen from way back and knew she’d remember.”

  “Obviously, she doesn’t.”

  “Oh, I think she remembers just fine.”

  Ben rubbed his chin. “So, it’s an ex? Then why doesn’t she just tell him to buzz off, or let her lawyers do it for her?”

  “Maybe she did, and he won’t take the hint, or maybe, like she said, she doesn’t want to raise a stink, blow the whole thing up. You heard her. She’s scandal averse.”

  “Wouldn’t it be something if all this was some stupid lovers’-knot crap? Flowers, pissy letters, and us two sitting here like a couple of hammers ready to clobber the world’s smallest nail.”

  “Yeah, about that . . . There’s also a theory going around the office that Allen and Hewitt are a thing, and that whole push-and-pull thing we witnessed between them is an act.”

  Ben grimaced, shook his head. “I don’t buy it. The guy hates her guts, and for good reason. She treats him like he’s got one brain cell working.”

  “I don’t buy it, either. I don’t see Vonda Allen climbing off her high horse for Philip Hewitt. She goes after senators and CEOs. What’d be in it for her?”

  Ben sat upright, winked. “Besides the obvious?”

  “She doesn’t have to fish around her own office for that.”

  Ben slid back down in his seat, closed his eyes again. “If you say so.”

  “Kendrick had a bunch of personal letters,” I said. “I caught him feeding them into the stamp machine.”

  “You get a look at them?”

  “I couldn’t very well wrestle them out of his hands, could I?” I slid my hands into my pockets and watched Ben lounge. “He’s no fan of Allen’s desk buzzer.” He made a noise, something between a grunt and a growl, confirmation he’d heard me. “So, we’re just going to stand here?”

  He twiddled his thumbs, grinned. “I’m sitting and choosing to think optimistically, which you refuse to do. I’m the bodyguard. My body’s out here watching out for the body in there.” He jabbed a thumb at Allen’s door.

  I waited, thinking there was a but coming. A “But I see your point, Cass,” or a “But I think we should dig deeper,” but it didn’t look like Ben was going to make a move. I gave his foot a light kick. “Ben? One of us should check out Hewitt.”

  He opened one eye. “What?”

  “Hewitt. Are you going to take him, or am I?”

  He reached into his pocket, pulled out a quarter, and flipped it into the air. “Call it.”

  * * *

  I rapped on Hewitt’s glass and entered his office. He looked up, and then sneered at me. “I was wondering how long it’d take one of you to make it down here. Call your boss a psychopathic witch, and suddenly you’re the new ‘it’ man.”

  “I’m—”

  “Yeah, skip it,” he said, cutting off my introduction. “Bad news travels fast.”

  Hewitt looked to be about my age, midthirties. He was of average height, thin, dressed neatly in a shirt and tie, the cuffs rolled up to his forearms. Brown eyes peered out of a brown face. Nothing notable about him. I sat down across from his desk.

  “Why bad news?” I asked. “Security is a good thing, isn’t it?”

  “For Allen, unless you two are following me home tonight, too? No? Didn’t think so. Look, I’m going to make this easy for you. I didn’t write that viper any hate letters. If I had, I’d have signed them. And there’s absolutely no way I would lift one nickel out of my pocket to buy her anything, let alone flowers. We done?”

  I perked up. “Who told you they were hate letters?”

  Hewitt offered up a wicked little grin. “Good news travels fast, too.”

  “I asked who, not how.”

  “Don’t remember, and even if I did, I wouldn’t tell anyone connected to her.”

  “You two aren’t close, then?”

  The smile he gave me was slow to form, like he took time to think about it first before he went for it, but he said nothing.

  “And by close, I mean on an intimate, personal level,” I added.

  He let a moment go by,
then burst out laughing so loud, so deep, I thought he might strain himself. I waited for him to reel himself in. On the bright side, the sneer was gone. “Unbelievable. That’s your angle? Oh, man. I wouldn’t touch Vonda Allen even on a bet. I’m too good for her. Honestly, if it weren’t for me, this whole place would have gone belly up already. But does she appreciate it, even acknowledge it?” He snorted. “And that show she’s getting ready to launch? My pitch. My idea. But do I get a slice of the pie?” He stopped, stared at me. He expected an actual answer.

  “No?” I said.

  “Right. We work for her, so our ideas are automatically her ideas. She gets rich, and we get the privilege of working at the pleasure of the queen.”

  “Why not quit, then?”

  He reached down and came up with a briefcase, which he slammed on the desk. He then pulled a drawer open and started tossing files and paper into the case. “I have my reasons. You want to go after someone, go after the guy who called her, like, a million times. Some jilted half-wit, no doubt. But if you’re looking for enemies in general? Lady, you’ve got your work cut out.”

  “I would think she’d rub a lot of people the wrong way.”

  The grin he gave me was dark, sly. “Ask around. You’ll see.” Hewitt dipped into the drawers, then tossed pens, pencils, a tape dispenser, scissors, legal pads and, finally, a silver letter opener with the magazine’s logo on it right into the case. Like he was packing up for good and leaving town, or something. I had to make sure to mention the letter opener to Ben.

  I raised my eyebrows. “Clearing out?”

  “For the day, yeah, and taking my fair share.” He rolled his shirt cuffs down and buttoned them. “But if the shrew wants to prosecute me for the paper clips, she knows where I live, as if I have to worry. Vonda Allen doesn’t go slumming.”

  He slammed his briefcase shut, picked up the phone, and dialed an extension. “Kendrick, I’m out.” He listened for a bit but didn’t appear to like what he heard. “Man, you can mark it down however you want to. I’m taking the rest of the day.” He slammed the receiver down, then slid me a look. “Wait for it.”

  I was about to ask what I was waiting for when the phone rang. He smiled and picked up. “What took you so long, Chandler?” He listened. “She’ll get the story when I’ve finished with it.” He slammed the phone down again, grabbed up his case. “Nothing goes down around here that she doesn’t know about. Remember that.” He straightened his tie, glared at me. “If someone caps her before the morning, have Chandler call me. I’ll wear my red tie tomorrow.”

  I watched him storm out and head toward the exit, gone for the day with all Allen’s stuff. That would be a no on the love-connection idea. That was no act. I stood, eyed Hewitt’s near-empty office. Between Kendrick pilfering stamps and Hewitt pinching practically everything else, how did Allen keep her office operating? Was Strive operating in the red or in the black?

  I glanced out toward the hall and didn’t see anyone, so I checked Hewitt’s file cabinets and drawers, one eye on my task, the other peeled for Chandler. Nothing in either place jumped out at me as being suspicious. Of course, it would help if I knew what to look for, which I didn’t. I was flying blind, and I didn’t like the feeling. My body’s out here watching out for the body in there. That was what Ben had said. I blamed myself. I knew this job was going to be a dog the minute he proposed it to me. I was too nice. That was what it was. I was a sucker.

  Just sit in the chair, Cass. Sit and watch, and that’s it. If Ben could do it, I could do it. That’s it. I’ll just sit. Cash the check and sit. I gave Hewitt’s office one last look, then headed out.

  “He does that at least twice a week. Did he take the tape dispenser again?” I nearly bumped into the woman standing in the hall. She gave me a world-weary half smile.

  “And a lot more,” I said.

  “He’ll bring it back.” She hovered in the doorway across from Hewitt’s, her arms crossed against her ample chest. She was short, well dressed, and had an easy way about her. “He always does. I’m Linda Sewell. You’re Detective Raines.” She shot a look toward Allen’s office. “Does she know you’re talking to the serfs?”

  “She will if we keep standing here.”

  Sewell’s office was identical to Hewitt’s, Lilliputian, merely functional. I saw no signs that she’d done anything to personalize it, except to display a framed five-by-seven photo of a tiny child on a desk piled high with file folders, paper, and notepads. She pointed me to the chair, then sat behind her desk and folded her hands on the desktop.

  I sat down across from her, eyeing the piles of paper. “Hewitt didn’t have much of anything on his desk.”

  “They’re trying to frustrate him until he up and quits, and me, they’re trying to overwork. Same goal, though. That’s my punishment for suing the Great Vonda Allen . . . and winning.” She straightened the piles absently, like she really didn’t care whether they were straight or not, but needed something to do with her hands. “That doesn’t mean I’m after her. I know that’s what you’re thinking.” She glanced out at the hall. “They think she’s got a secret admirer—notes, flowers—like we’re in some dippy rom-com. It’s darker than that.”

  I slid my chair a little closer to the desk. “How do you know?”

  “No one is that jumpy or paranoid over love notes. She’s scared and trying to hide it. Either way, admirer or not, she’s not getting a lot of sympathy around here. She’s burned too many bridges.”

  “Why’d you sue her?”

  “Still thinking it could be me?”

  She watched me for a reaction. I didn’t think I offered one. But she was right. Why couldn’t it be her? I waited for her to answer my question. Instead, she drew a business card from beneath the corner of her desk blotter and slid it toward me. I picked it up.

  “My lawyer’s card. I’m not supposed to discuss it, but since I’m the one everyone suspects, I figured I’d head things off. If Philip had any smarts, he’d do the same, but he won’t listen to anyone with breasts.” She pointed at the card. “My lawyer’s good. I can call him now, if I need to.”

  I stared at her, then at the card in my hand, wondering what Sewell was into that she needed a lawyer on speed dial.

  “Did I miss something?” I said, a bit bewildered. Usually, I had to pull information out of people, like I was a dentist yanking out a rotten molar, but here was Sewell offering it up, taking the lead, shaking up the game. I needed a moment to readjust.

  “I am the number one suspect, right? No one could hate her more than I do.”

  I read the card. I didn’t know the lawyer, but I knew the firm by reputation. It was one of the best in the city, with a roster of notable, well-heeled clients, and their sharks didn’t work for chump change. If I ever needed a lawyer, I’d want one from this firm, though I’d have to sell my soul to pay for the billable hours. Had Allen handed me the card, I’d have thought, Well, sure, of course. Linda Sewell? Allen’s employee, toiling away in a glass zoo cage? It didn’t fit.

  “I’m sorry. Can we back up? What are we talking about?”

  “Vonda Allen’s on someone’s hit list. Secret’s been out for weeks, and everyone’s making themselves scarce, working from home, at the printing facility, on the off chance he comes for her and misses. She can afford to hire people like you to watch her back. Me and the others? We’re all we’ve got.”

  I held the card up, wedged between index and forefinger. “You still haven’t said why you sued her.”

  “Vonda Allen’s a user, a drafter. If she can get away with buying you cheap, she will. All of us make well below what we could get anywhere else for the same job we’re doing here, and for that she expects us to be at her beck and call twenty-four /seven, with no exclusions for holidays, family time, or even your own mother’s funeral.”

  I eyed the card. “Pittance?”

  “I reported her for unfair work practices. She fired me. I went to them, and they jumped at the chance to go u
p against her . . . high-profile celebrity, high-profile case, their firm’s name in all the papers . . . right up their alley. She settled. I was back, full pay, with a little extra. Now in order to fire me, she’ll have to prove I’m derelict in my duties.” Her eyes scanned over the mountain of work at her elbows. “She’s stacking the deck in her favor. You want to ask why I’m still here?”

  I sat back in the chair, nodded, deciding to just go with it. If Sewell was going to give me stuff without my having to fight for it, I’d take it. “Okay.”

  “Because it kills her to see me walk in here every day, knowing that she couldn’t beat me, that she can’t break my spirit. That’s some small satisfaction. Also, because I need the job and the health insurance that comes with it. Another reason it isn’t me.”

  I looked at the child’s picture. “Your son?”

  She smiled. “Jarrod. He’s eight. He’s why the insurance is so important, and why the settlement, while it was a victory, got used up fast. He’s special needs. I’m a single parent. I have only the one paycheck, and therapy, his school, they’re expensive.”

  “I get it. Any idea why Hewitt doesn’t quit?”

  She chuckled. “He thinks he’s smarter than all of us and that if he just sticks it out long enough, the universe will right itself and he’ll come out on top. He isn’t so smart. He’s a gambler. He likes the casinos, blackjack, mostly, but he isn’t lucky. He’s probably headed there now.”

  “Does Allen know?”

  “There aren’t many secrets around here. Information is currency. The more you have, the safer you are. We know something’s happening. We’ve seen the flowers. We just don’t know the details.”

  I paused, fingering the card. “So if it’s not you, who do you think it is?”

  “Someone she’s crossed. Someone she’s taken something from. It’s how she does business.”

  I watched Sewell trying to figure her out; she appeared to be doing the same to me. She glanced down at her son’s picture, a wistful look in her eyes. “You asked about my son. Vonda hasn’t once asked about him. She wouldn’t know the first thing about any of us if you walked down there and asked her. We’re staff, resources, about as important as that copier across the hall or the telephones on our desks. Did you find her charming?”