The woman’s gaze fell to Becky’s cast, and for a second, she appeared suspended in time, just like Becky.
“You must be Becky!” The woman hurried around the counter. “So glad to meet you! I’m Cookie MacGruen.” The foundation on her forehead creased. “Didn’t I tell you to come in tomorrow? I hope we didn’t get our wires crossed.”
Becky stayed silent.
“Becky’s not starting until tomorrow.” I held out my hand. “Hi, I’m Chloe. We were in the neighborhood, so Timothy”—I pointed to Timothy—“her brother and I wanted to see where she would be working.”
“You chose a good day to come. It’s the end of summer, and our business is winding down for the growing season.”
Her comment gave me pause. If their business was winding down, why did they hire Becky?
“You have to meet my husband.” She turned her head. “Scotch, get out here!”
Nothing. Crickets.
“Scotch!”
Mabel, who sat at Timothy’s feet, whimpered and covered one of her ears with her paw. I wished I could do the same. If Cookie yelled like that one more time, there was a chance we would all be deaf before the day ended.
A chubby man, about a foot shorter than Cookie and who wore denim overalls over a tie-dye T-shirt, limped through the open garage door. “What is all that yellin’ about? Are you trying to give me a stroke?”
“Scotch, we have guests.”
“I can see that,” he grunted and held onto a sales rack of garden tools for support.
“Becky’s here,” his wife said.
One side of his forehead drooped down. “Becky?”
Cookie looked to us and shook her head. “You will have to forgive my husband. He spent too much time restocking fertilizer today, and the fumes have gone to his head.” She put her hands on her hips. “Becky is the Amish girl. Remember?”
“The girl who was in the accident that killed the Amish monk?”
Cookie shook her head. “He was a bishop.”
“Monk? Bishop? Aren’t they all the same?”
Not exactly.
Becky tensed up beside me.
Cookie winced. “My husband’s not one to beat around the bush.”
No kidding.
“If you are Becky, who are these two?” He flicked his thumb toward Timothy and me. “Cookie, I hope you didn’t hire all three of them.”
Cookie scowled at her husband. “Don’t pay any attention to him. He’s only teasing.”
Becky still seemed unable to speak. This time Timothy made introductions.
“Have you shown them around, Cook?” Scotch grasped the straps of his overalls, moving them like puppet strings.
“That’s what I was calling you for, you dolt. I thought you’d want to.”
“’Course, I would.” He looked unfazed by the name-calling. He hobbled in the direction of the greenhouse, then stopped and looked behind him. “Y’all comin’ or what?”
We hurried after him.
We stepped into the greenhouse, the first section under a green roof. Automatic misters spread water droplets that evaporated almost as soon as they hit the hot air. Must be what steamed broccoli feels like.
“This is where we keep all our tropical plants, as well as others that wouldn’t make it three minutes through one of our frigid Ohio winters,” Scotch explained. “Becky, you will be working in here a lot until your arm’s healed. There’s not too much heavy lifting.”
Timothy tapped a finger on a bird-of-paradise, and the leaf bounced back in his face. I hid my smile. He caught me watching him and winked. I blushed and hoped he’d think I was flushed from the stifling humidity. I cleared my throat. “What type of work will Becky be doing, Scotch?”
His eyes darted back and forth. “We haven’t—”
“This and that.” Cookie, who had followed along behind, interrupted her husband. “We’ll have her pitch in where we need help. There’s always watering, pruning, and weeding to do. You’ve done all that before, haven’t you, Becky?”
Becky nodded.
I elbowed her.
“Yes, I helped my mother care for our garden back home and helped my father in the fields too. We grew lots of different vegetables and flowers.”
“See, she will have no trouble.” Scotch waved us on. “Next up is ground covering.” He winced as he started walking again.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
A strange expression crossed Scotch’s face. “Yes.”
“You seem to have some trouble walking.”
Scotch opened his mouth, but Cookie chimed in. “It’s old age. Arthritis.”
Scotch rotated a small cactus pot on the table. “Right.” He laughed. “I don’t recommend getting old to anyone.”
He went on to show us the rest of the greenhouse, including the outdoor plant area, surrounded by a ten-foot high chain-link fence. Dozens of potted trees, bushes of every shape and size, and fruit and vegetable plants filled the area. Scotch rattled off their names, both common and scientific.
Cookie sniffed. “Stop showing off with those fancy plant names.” She pointed her index finger at her husband. “He fancies himself a botanist.”
Scotch scrunched up his nose. “I almost was.” He led us back into the hothouse.
“Until you dropped out of college to follow that rock band,” Cookie said.
Scotch folded his arms over his wide chest. “Says the girl I met on tour!”
I buried a smile, slipped my cell phone out of my purse, and checked the clock. “Gee, look at the time; we should get going.”
Timothy peered at me curiously, before his face split into a grin. “You’re right. We need to head home.”
Scotch held up a hand. “You can’t leave without a plant!” He paced the greenhouse and selected an aloe. “Here. It’s easy to take care of and can double as a first aid kit.”
He set the plant in Becky’s arms as if handing over a baby. Becky cradled the aloe plant to her chest between her cast and good arm. “Thank you. I start at ten tomorrow, right? Thank you so much for hiring me.”
Cookie smiled. “Aren’t you sweet? We’ll pick you up at nine thirty.”
“Do you need my address?” Becky asked.
“No,” Scotch shook his head. “I know where you live.”
I glanced at Timothy, but his face showed no reaction. Was I the only one who found Scotch’s comment odd?
I turned to Cookie. “Are you sure you can drive Becky back and forth to work?”
“’Course we don’t mind.” Cookie sounded huffy, and I was sorry for questioning her. “We are in the neighborhood. Why should you waste the gas by driving her all the way out here?”
Why indeed?
“And we can keep an eye on her that way,” Scotch said.
Why would they need to keep an eye on her?
With travel arrangements made, we said our good-byes. Back in the truck, Becky stared at her plant, her expression serene. “Didn’t you think they were nice, Chloe? I think this job is just what I need.”
I wasn’t so sure. Something about the arrangement struck me as odd. Surely in the current economy they could find someone to work for them who could find her own transportation. I glanced again at Becky, who for the first time since the accident looked genuinely happy, carefree.
So I said nothing.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Monday morning arrived. Becky was already up, dressed, and perched on the sofa, watching for Cookie and Scotch’s car—even though they wouldn’t arrive for another hour and a half.
“If anything comes up at work, call me. I’m sure Cookie and Scotch will let you use their phone. You remember my cell number, don’t you?” I felt like Mrs. Green. How many times had she asked Tanish
a and me that same thing when we were teenagers? I’m becoming my foster mother!
“Yes, don’t worry, Chloe, everything will be fine. I’m going to do a good job.”
“I’m not worried about that.” I moved toward the door. “As soon as I get a new car, we will buy you a cell phone. I don’t like you not being able to call.”
Becky’s eyes sparkled. “Like yours?”
I laughed before heading out the door to work. “Not that fancy.”
On the walk to Harshberger, I decided to put the accident and Becky out of my mind. I needed my wits about me to survive another day with Joel.
Even though I arrived early, Miller was already there. It was the first time I would be alone with the fidgety programmer.
I strode in. “Morning, Miller.”
He jumped up from his seat, and in the same movement turned off his monitor. I pretended not to notice, but stood beside his desk, waiting for a return greeting. None came. “How are you today?”
He blinked at me from behind thick glasses. “Fine,” he muttered.
I swallowed a sigh and walked to my office.
Thirty minutes later, I was engrossed in a report for Dean Klink when Clark and Joel arrived in the office. I could hear them greet Miller, and he in turn returned their hellos. I tried not to take it personally.
Laughter floated into my office.
I e-mailed the report to the dean and emerged from my office. Clark, Miller, and Joel sat around the conference table working on their respective laptops.
“Good morning,” I said and stepped over to the coffee machine. When my mug was full, I turned. “I’ll be sending you all an e-mail later to reschedule our Friday meeting.”
Joel grinned. “Why was last Friday’s meeting canceled? Car trouble?”
Clark shook his head. “Man . . .” He shared a glance with Miller, whose eyes looked the size of silver dollars behind those glasses.
I closed my eyes briefly. When I opened them, the assistant director smirked at me. “Gone on a buggy ride lately?”
I stepped up to him and put on my best Tanisha impersonation. I wouldn’t tell a man Joel’s size off, but my best friend would. “Do you have something to say to me, Joel?”
“No, boss, just making conversation.” He winked at Miller.
Miller licked his lips, his eyes darting around.
“Come on, man,” Clark said.
Joel snapped his fingers as if he just remembered something. “Know anything about Friday’s auto-buggy accident?”
My cheeks heated, but I held my ground.
“The car they mentioned sounded an awful lot like yours.” He wore an unnerving grin. “I didn’t see your vehicle in the parking lot today.”
I squinted up at him. Is he for real?
“Oh, so your car is safely in your driveway at home. No doubt.”
“Seriously,” Clark said.
I folded my arms across my chest. “I’ve lived here long enough to realize just how fast news travels through this town. Yes, it was my car.”
Joel pushed his laptop forward and placed his elbows on the table. “This is the accident that killed the Amish bishop, right?”
Miller gasped.
A smile spread across Joel’s face. “Miller, you didn’t know.”
Clark dropped his pen. “Were you driving, Chloe? Are you okay?”
I could have hugged him. “No, I wasn’t driving. I wasn’t in the car.”
“Well, then, who was driving?” Joel asked.
I suspected Joel already knew the answer to that. In fact, I was beginning to learn he didn’t ask any questions that he didn’t already know the answer to. Every question was a mini-test set so I would fail. I refused to bring Becky into this argument.
I shook my head. “This conversation is over.”
Joel smirked. “If you say so, boss.”
I turned and walked back to my office.
An hour later, Dean Klink’s voice rang through the office. “Hello, hello, hello! I see you are all hard at work. I hope Chloe isn’t too hard of a taskmaster.” He laughed.
A low murmur carried throughout the room, but I couldn’t make out the computer services team’s response.
I stepped out of my office.
Dean Klink smiled from ear to ear. “Chloe, there you are.”
As if I would be anywhere else.
“Let’s go for a stroll. I want to talk to you about your proposal.”
“Great.” I was surprised he read it so quickly. “Let me grab my files.”
He waved that idea away. “No need, no need. It’s all up here.” He tapped the side of his temple with his index finger.
“Gentlemen, keep up the good work,” he said as we exited the office.
Outside, I followed the dean across campus. He didn’t speak for several minutes.
“Do you want me to go over the proposal? I should be able to do it without my notes.”
He stuck his hands in his pockets. “I haven’t read it yet, but I’m sure it’s on point. Everything you’ve done so far has been. I’m impressed.”
I stopped dead still. Dean Klink didn’t seem to notice and kept on going. I caught up to him in three strides. “Thank you, sir, but if you didn’t read the proposal, what’s this about?”
“Let’s walk over to the softball field. It’s a great place to think.”
To think? This doesn’t sound good.
He sat on the lowest bleacher. It squeaked under his weight. “I played baseball when I was a kid. Catcher. I wasn’t any good, but I remember how much fun it was.”
“Dean Klink, what does softball have to do with my department?”
“Have a seat.”
I sat on the same bleacher two feet away from him.
“I need you to cut your budget by twenty percent,” he said.
My stomach dropped. “What? Why?”
His bottom lip stuck out slightly. “Times are tough for the college. We all have to tighten our belts.”
“But Dean, the proposal I sent you was to request more money—a lot more money.”
“I thought as much. That’s why I didn’t bother to read it. No point wishing for resources we can’t afford.” He gave me a weak smile.
“The resources we need are expensive.”
He nodded. “You can blame it on the economy if it makes you feel better. It’s not just your department. All departments will make cuts. Students can’t afford to go to a small liberal arts college out in the country like ours when they can go to the state school down the street and live at home for free.”
“The servers are outdated, and what about the wireless network?”
“I don’t want you to make cuts there. Those improvements are vital so we can compete with other colleges and universities in the state.”
A maintenance worker rode by on a golf cart, and Dean Klink waved at him.
“Where do you want me to make the cuts?” I asked the question even though I suspected I knew the answer. There was only one place cuts that size could be made.
“Personnel.”
I inhaled a deep breath and let it out. “If that’s the area you want to cut, why did you hire me?”
A security guard strolled by on the field and tipped his hat at us.
The dean perked up. “Hey, Norm!”
I gritted my teeth.
He grinned at me now. “Because we needed a qualified director of computer services, and no one here could fill that role.”
“What about Joel? He’s been the assistant director for more than ten years.”
“I think you know by now why we didn’t hire Joel.” He smiled and bobbed his chin. “I want you to be the one to show us who is essential—and who i
s not.”
I swallowed, pausing. “Does the department know I’m doing this?”
“They might not know for sure, but they may suspect something.”
Terrific. That explained the department’s cold reception and Joel’s outright hostility.
“What do you want me to do?” I asked.
“You need to tell me where to make cuts, what to outsource, who on your staff is a keeper, and who is not.”
“You want me to fire someone.”
He slapped his knees with both hands. “Let’s call it restructuring.”
My stomach churned, and I felt as if I would be sick. “Why would the staff suspect anything?”
“Recently, we’ve done this to other departments, and it’s worked out well for the college.”
What about the people working in those departments who lost their jobs?
Dean Klink stood. “I know you’re up to the task and will do what’s best for the college. We’re so excited to have you here at Harshberger.”
He left me sitting on the bleachers.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
A buzzing motor shook me from my daze. The maintenance guy ran a gas-powered bush trimmer up and around an evergreen bush, shaping it into a perfect circle. As Dean Klink had told me on my first day at the college, everything had to be shipshape for the students.
“Dear Lord,” I prayed. “Help me make the right decision.”
Back in my department, Miller and Clark huddled over a laptop at the conference table, their expressions sober. Joel was absent. I can’t say I missed him. “What’s up, guys?”
Clark waved me over. “The college just sent an e-mail to all the staff.” He elbowed Miller out of the way so I could read it.
I skimmed the e-mail, and my stomach tightened. If my staff didn’t suspect something before, they certainly did now. The e-mail was from Dean Klink, with the subject line Tightening Our Belt. Part of it read:
These are tough financial times, but Harshberger College will be leaner and stronger as the result. We will be able to give our students the education they need to be leaders who change the world.
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