by Rose, Kristi
I cut my eyes to Precious. Boy, did I ever know what she meant. I checked my phone screen. “His name is Lason Dell. He works as an assistant manager at Ralphs?” I glanced at her.
She nodded. “The northern Vancouver store.”
Ralph’s was one of the bigger grocery stores on the west coast. You needed anything, Ralph’s carried it. New couch? Got it. Shelf liner? Aisle forty-two. An assortment of candles to take the stink out of an Airbnb? Household Goods section. They had rows of wine, organic food, and their bakery had éclairs and lemon bars that could make a person weep with pleasure.
“Okay,” I said, “I’ll dig around in his closets and see what I can find. Give me a week.”
Marni’s brow knitted, and I couldn’t read what her concern was.
“Maybe two,” Precious said. “With the funeral prep and all.”
“Oh, right, the funeral,” I said. Guessing Marni’s look was curiosity, wondering why I was working and not grieving. We humans had a funny way of expecting people to react like we would in a certain situation. Like with the death of a spouse. Only I was afraid that by giving in to my emotions, a mixed bag of disbelief, anger, fear, and raw sadness, I might behave in such a way I could get arrested. I didn’t want this experience with Carson to shape my life forever.
“Denial,” I said. “It’s way easier to cope with this.” I tapped the space above my heart.
“Understandable.” Marni nodded. “I think I can put Lason off for a week or so. Especially if you find out he’s playing me. I’m not interested in becoming the other woman. What’s broken inside a woman who takes that role?” She stood and ran a hand down her smooth skirt.
No words. Not one. Just a mouth hanging open like some mouth breather unable to make cohesive thoughts.
“C’mon,” Precious said and took me by the arm. She said to Marni, “We’ll be in touch.”
Outside in my car, I let my head fall back against the seat. “What will she say when she learns about Carson?
“Why does she ever have to know? Why does anyone have to know? We stuff that urn, and when the ceremony is over, we put this behind us.”
“Leo knows. And that lawyer Lockett. And I know.”
“Want me to pick up some scarlet letters for you to put on your clothes?” Precious rolled her eyes. She didn’t tolerate self-pity well.
“Yes, we can make it modern and do O.W. Other wife.” I crossed my arms, and stared out the window, not looking at anything. “I know zilch about surveillance or digging through people’s backgrounds. I mean, I married a married man. That pretty much guarantees I’m too dumb for this job.”
Precious grunted her frustration. “I need to get to the office.”
Frustrated, I turned over the engine then punched the gas, and we shot out of the parking lot. When we merged into traffic, she popped me upside the head.
“Ow,” I said rubbing the left side. “What was that for?”
“You said the pity party was over? Suck it up time. You have to compartmentalize. What Carson did is on him. What you do from here is on you. You’re a ginormous dumb-dumb if you continue to take responsibility for his actions. You were played. Simple as that. Marni Edgar is a smart woman who knows that being played could happen to her.”
She had a point. I pointed to her purse. “Pull out your phone and pull up those YouTube videos. I know nothing about surveillance.” I pictured the space over Carson’s office and all that superspy cool equipment. Maybe this job wasn’t so bad after all.
13
Monday
Three videos later, I had a plan. Goal, to find out if Lason Dell was a dirtbag. Objective, see the man in his natural habitat.
I was going undercover, sorta.
My first act was to stalk Lason on social media, but he had his accounts locked down tight. Only things I could see were a variety of memes. No Instagram or Twitter.
I drove to Ralph’s. According to Carson’s notes, Lason Dell was the assistant manager of the online shopping department known as Click and Go. I’d called ahead, asked for that department, and he’d answered the phone.
A stroke of luck finally. He was working.
I made up some bogus question then quickly got off the phone and entered the store. Once inside, I wasn’t sure how I could draw him out. The Click and Go wasn’t like the deli or bakery with a “storefront.” The entrance was a single door painted to blend into the wall with an employees only sign. I couldn’t walk up to the front desk and ask to speak to Lason.
I strolled through the aisles of the store, contemplating my options, when I struck gold in produce.
A woman, easily no more than twenty, stood before the beets with a handheld scanner in one hand and a clear produce plastic bag in the other. Her lips were moving as she read off the scanner. Another person who wasn’t a swell reader. #MyPeople. She sported a pixie cut of blond hair dyed a light pink, her brows were pierced three on each side, and she wore skinny jeans and a Beatles T-shirt under her mustard-yellow Ralph’s vest. Next to her was a pushcart, the kind you see at lumberyards, stacked with four plastic crates, each loaded with a variety of foods. A Click and Go sign hung from one of the crates.
“Hey,” I said and picked up a beet.
“Hi,” she said and raised one pierced brow. “Do I know you?”
I shook my head. “I was wondering about Click and Go.” I wasn’t sure where I was going with this, but I hoped I could bring the conversation around to Lason at some point or another.
She scrunched up her nose, looking puzzled. “Wondering how it works or about the job opening?”
Shazam! Sparks of joy burst inside my head. “Yeah,” I said. “Curious about the job. What’s it like?”
She gave a one-shoulder half-shrug, her spine straightening with what I assumed was a coolness factor. She believed she instantly had it over me. She had the job she thought I was interested in.
She leaned toward me and said softly, “It’s easy. Takes no brain power.”
“Sweet,” I said, putting the beet back. I pointed to her handheld. “So you get a grocery list or something on that and go out and shop?”
“Yeah, totally. That’s basically it. Sometimes we don’t have what the customer wants, so we have to make substitutions. I just go with the more expensive product. That makes everyone happy.” She smiled. “Customer service is key.”
Why hadn’t I ever used this service? I hated grocery shopping, and the idea of someone else doing it for me sounded like nirvana.
“Really cool,” I said.
Her attention was on something over my shoulder, then she pointed with her chin. “Here’s the guy you need to talk with.” She called out, “Hey, Lason, come here a sec.”
Lason Dell stood slightly over six feet with broad shoulders like a swimmer. He had dark brown hair and light brown eyes and was the sort of guy who always had a smile. He said hi to several customers on his way to us and even stopped to help an older lady reach an item on the top shelf. I was instantly suspicious. Lason Dell was one of those guys. A nice one. And it was my job to find out if his Mr. Boy Scout persona was an act.
Like my new friend, Lason was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. Only his jeans were dark-washed, a more professional look, and his T-shirt was a plain light blue that actually complimented the hideous yellow vest color.
I liked the look of him and understood why Marni was scared she might fall for him. Lason Dell was the boy next door, jovial and easygoing. How could he possibly break a girl’s heart? But then, I never expected Carson to have another family, so my judgment and first impression skills weren’t to be relied upon.
“What’s up, Kylie?” Lason asked my new friend. Kylie. It suited her.
“This woman here was asking about the job opening.” She nodded to me. The way she said woman told me she thought I was old. I was guessing the dark circles under my eyes were making me appear older than my youthful thirty.
Lason stuck out his hand. “Awesome, you have time to
fill out an application now? We’re only looking for twenty hours of help at this time. That could go up. Unfortunately, twenty hours doesn’t give you benefits if that’s what you’re looking for.”
Well, I hadn’t been until that moment. Crapola. I’d forgotten about benefits. I’d had benefits with the photography studio but Carson had said if I left, we could get a family plan. He was…had been…self-insured.
We shook hands. His grip was firm but not overpowering. “I don’t need benefits,” I lied and silently prayed I wouldn’t need a doctor visit until I got this issue sorted out.
He waved for me to walk with him. “So you’re good to do everything now?”
Falling into step with him, I shrugged and said, “Why not?”
“Great, let’s go back to my office. You can fill out the application while we talk. That’ll be the interview. What’s your name?”
“Samantha,” I said.
“Samantha. Awesome.” He held open the Click and Go door for me and gestured for me to precede him.
Behind the door was a short hallway that opened into a larger room. On the right, two registers were against one wall. Several carts like the one Kylie had been using were lined up in rows in the center of the room and stacked high with groceries. Some had large signs hanging from them, reminding workers there were items in the freezer. On the left, and across from the registers, were the steel double doors to a freezer. Directly across the hallway were glass floor-to-ceiling windows and a large sliding door. Covering the windows were graphic decals. I could see out of them, but those on the other side couldn’t see in. On the other side of the windows and doors was the parking lot.
“This is where customers pick up their order. They call in when they arrive, tell us their spot, and we bring it out to them. Because it’s done online, the order is already paid for. If they have coupons, we come back in and adjust the price. Easy peasy.” He pointed to an opening along one of the walls opposite the glass doors. “Let’s go in there.”
The room was a small office with a desk and two chairs. Inspirational sayings and promotional sales flyers were tacked to a large bulletin board. Lason sat behind the desk, made some clicks on his computer, then swung the screen to face me. He handed me the keyboard.
“Typically, you can fill out an application at home or up at the customer service desk, but I figure if I have a fish on the hook, which is awesome, I should strike while the iron is hot.” He gestured for me to start typing.
So far there were two things I would tell Marni. Lason used mixed metaphors and “awesome” a lot. His desk was devoid of pictures of any kind. No signs of kids or a woman.
“Is this your office?” I kept my attention on the online form and answered the personal questions.
“The company intended it to be, but I share it with everyone. Sometimes the staff needs to make calls and have a place to work. Why should I hog the desk, know what I mean?”
I nodded like I did, assuming he was either super nice and thoughtful or really crafty.
“I’m going to step out and check on a few things, give you some peace to complete the application. If you have your driver’s license and social security, I can copy those now and make this move along faster.” He stood.
I dug into Carson’s backpack and pulled out the cards he wanted, then continued to type in the pertinent info like my birthday and home address.
“I’ll give you a few,” he said and stepped out of the room.
The location of the room and the way the desk was positioned, no one could see in unless they were by the freezer. I finished the application as I listened for the sound of his footsteps to fade. I contemplated my next move. The room was sparse on places to look for anything that might incriminate Lason. No filing cabinet. No shelves or credenza. Just the desk and bulletin board. I quickly shifted through the papers on the board. Nothing. Only a picture of what I assumed was an employee, their new baby, and their spouse, who was not Lason.
Out in the large room, employees were chatting. I stuck my head out and scanned the area. No sign of Lason. No sign of a copier either. Best guess was he went to customer service to copy my stuff. This gave me a few minutes to snoop. I scuttled to the desk, one of those metal and faux wood-top jobs with two drawers to the side and one center. The bottom side drawer might hold files, so I tried there first. Nothing. Mostly blank manila file folders and a couple marked schedule and emergency contacts. I pulled the latter out and flipped through the pages. Lason’s emergency contact listed a woman and supplied an address and number. I used my phone’s camera to take a picture, then stuffed the file back into the drawer.
Frustrated at how technology now made snooping super hard, or possibly easier if one were tech-savvy and could do it from their house in their jammies, I was slamming the center pencil drawer closed when Lason entered the room.
Easily I jumped ten feet, springing back from the desk as if it were on fire.
“What are you doing?” His brow furrowed.
“Looking for a pen,” I said, going with the first thing that popped into my mind.
“A pen for what?” He crossed his arms.
“To sign the application.” I pointed to the screen.
“It’s digital.”
“Yeah, but don’t I print it and sign it? There’s a print button on the screen.” When in deep water, keep treading.
Lason laughed. His arms dropped to his side. “We don’t keep anything paper anymore. You can digitally sign the application now.”
To my ears, my laughter sounded false. “It’s been a while since I filled out an application.” At least that was true.
Lason gestured for me to go back to my chair, which I did, and he took a seat behind the desk. He handed me my license and social security card. Swiveling the screen back to face him, he scanned the screen.
“Wow, nearly ten years at the same place. Why did you leave?” His focus was back on me.
Hm… “Because my boss was the king of all buttheads” was likely not the best answer. “I wanted to start my own business. From my house.” Let him think I was talking about photography. Then, inspiration struck like a lightning bolt. “That’s why this job is so appealing. With the part-time hours, I can also work on my own business, and there’s no conflict of interest. That’s important to me. Being honest.”
“Me, too,” he said. “If you want time off because your favorite band is coming to Seattle, tell me. We can work something out. I hate when people call in sick and say their Uncle Bob has died, and we all know they don’t have an Uncle Bob. Those people don’t last long here. We all get along here. We treat each other like family, and family doesn’t lie to family.”
I snorted with bitterness.
He pointed his index finger at me. “I like you, Samantha. I like that you’re chasing your dreams but not so proud to do other stuff while in that fight. I think you’d be a good fit here.”
“Have you had a lot of applicants?” This had been too easy.
“Nope, not really. Corporate does a sucky job of getting the word out about our department. Won’t even hang a sign from our door, but they’ll put signs all over deli or bakery when they need help.” Now he was the one with bitterness in his voice.
I smiled and took a leap. “How soon do I start?”
“Three days. Background check takes twenty-four hours. If that goes well, then I’ll call you with information about training. After which we’ll get you on the schedule.”
“Awesome,” I said using his term.
“Yeah, for sure.” He glanced at my hands. “I noticed you’re married.”
This was it. This was going to be the payout. Lason was gonna hit on me. My expectations were that he was a dirtbag and had to prove otherwise.
“Is that a problem?” I asked and hid my ring under my other hand.
“Not if it’s a problem for your husband. We do have some later hours in the evening, and we’ve had people quit because their spouses don’t like them to work
nights or weekends. I try to manage the schedule so you aren’t repeatedly getting the non-preferred hours, but we all take our turn.”
“That’s not going to be a problem,” I said.
He raised his brows. “You sure?”
“Positive.” No need to go into the whole dead not-husband story.
Lason planted both hands on his desk and rose. “Awesome then.” He stuck out a hand.
We shook, and I exited from the sliding glass doors.
From inside my car, I called Precious to give her the rundown and then Toby to run a check on the name and address. I made notes about Lason in my handy journal to help with later recall. Then I plugged the address from Lason’s emergency contact into my GPS and headed out.
Samantha True was on the case.
14
Monday
Via an all-caps text message from my mom, I was told to join my parents for dinner in downtown Wind River. It was the last Monday of the month, which meant my mom had held a town hall meeting, and she and Dad were following it up with dinner at the Frontiersman. My mom always had good stories of townfolks after a meeting. Bonus, she’d be pleased that my hair was washed and brushed and I wore a skirt. I arrived at the Frontiersman five minutes late. My parents were at the table when I slid into my seat.
“How’d the town hall go?” I asked Mom. This was a topic she could lament on for hours. My mom was a mayor that most people liked, but those who didn’t like her showed up to the meetings with long lists of complaints. She handled these meetings with swift precision and didn’t drag them out.
“Same. James Janikowski is still upset about sharing parking with the library.”
Mr. Janikowski owned the real estate company next door to the Frontiersman. His wife taught ballet.
“Good job this evening, Elizabeth,” Mrs. Peterson said as she walked by our table.
“Thanks, Joanna,” Mom said with a smile. Mrs. Peterson had been my reading teacher through elementary school. She’d volunteered to learn the new reading program mom had found that was specifically for dyslexics and taught it to me, Hue, and others over the years. She’d also been a key staff member who partook in the annual fifth-grade week-long pilgrimage called Cispus, also known as outdoor school. A rite of passage for all fifth graders in the Wind River school district and an event that fueled my love for being outdoors. To this day, I had nothing but warm fuzzy thoughts about Mrs. Peterson.