Plain Death

by Flower, Amanda

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 is 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.

  “Wow.” Sarcasm dripped from Clark’s voice. “I feel like the last part should be on a billboard or something.”

  “Don’t even say that,” Miller said. “Klink would be all over it.”

  “Yeah, because a billboard is money well spent.” Clark took a step back from the table and stretched. He was so tall his fingers brushed the dropped ceiling when he reached overhead. “There are going to be layoffs.” Clark’s voice turned sad.

  Miller pulled at his blond spiky hair. “Don’t say that!”

  “Come on, man. Everyone knows that people are the most expensive piece of an organiza
tion.”

  I bit my lip. “I’m sure the college wouldn’t be doing this unless they had no other choice.”

  Clark fell into a seat on the other side of the conference table. “That doesn’t make it stink any less.”

  No it didn’t.

  “What if it’s one of us?” Miller asked. “I don’t know how to do anything else.”

  Clark cocked his head. “I don’t know, man, I think you would fit right in with a bonnet and white apron selling cheese downtown.”

  Miller groaned. “Like that’s my only option.”

  Clark shrugged. “Most of the Amish are better off than the rest of us in the county.”

  Time to change the subject. “Where’s Joel?”

  Miller closed the laptop. “He said he needed to check on something in the server room.”

  Clark rolled his eyes. “Code for coffee run.”

  My brow wrinkled. What did Joel do for the college other than manage the servers, which were too old and in poor condition? If the servers were his sole responsibility, then why didn’t he give them more attention? I gave the men a reassuring smile. “I’ll be in my office.”

  Clark nodded. “Sure thing.”

  By twelve o’clock my eyes were crossed. I’d gone over my budget three times searching for every possible way to cut twenty percent without laying off a member of my staff. Each time, the money saved wasn’t enough—and that didn’t include the proposal the dean had ignored in which I requested an additional seven thousand dollars.

  Concerned my calculator might soon start to smoke, I decided to get out of the office and eat lunch by Archer Pond. I still couldn’t bring myself to call it a lake.

  As I walked the flagstone path to the pond, the mallards and Canadian geese waddled up Archer’s muddy banks. A rotund goose led the pack. He had a white band stamped with the number 789 wrapped round his neck. Some wildlife organization must be tracking him.

  “Don’t worry,” I told them. “Knowing Becky, there will be plenty for all of us.”

  I opened my lunchbox and found two sandwiches, crackers, fresh-baked cookies, an apple, and a carton of milk. My stomach turned. Any appetite I would normally have had was destroyed by the dean’s announcement. I sighed. I should be happy he told me about it before sending the e-mail to the entire college.

  I tore the top slice of sandwich bread into tiny bits and threw it to the birds piece by piece. A blue jay hopped onto a branch on the golden locust tree above me. I forced myself to take a bite from the rest of the sandwich. How will I get my department on track? I was all out of ideas.

  A twig snapped behind me. I recoiled as a large hand clamped onto my shoulder. “Well, hello there, Red. Did you miss us?”

  I turned around to find myself peering up at Brock’s baby face, and the one bite of Becky’s ham sandwich caught in my throat.

  Curt sauntered out from behind his larger friend and sat on the bench next to me. He smelled like a cigarette that had been dipped into a gallon of cheap aftershave. “Is this the sweetest picture? Pretty little city girl feeding the ducks. It almost makes me want to paint a picture. I’m not much of an artist though. All I can do is stick figures.”

  “Come on, Curt, your stick figures are some of the best I’ve seen.” Brock dug his meaty fingers into my shoulder. I flinched and tried to wriggle out of his grasp. His fingertips dug in that much harder. There would be a bruise, I just knew it.

  “Thank you, brother, but I’m no artist. Not like the Amish girl.”

  How would he know about Becky’s art?

  “Too bad she won’t be painting much since she broke her arm and all.”

  I tried to stand up, but Brock pushed down on both of my shoulders. “Don’t you want to stay and talk?” He sneered. “We’re having a nice visit with friends.”

  The ducks and geese seemed to sense feeding time was over and waddled back into the pond.

  I threw everything back into my lunchbox and snapped it shut. “We’re not friends, and I need to get back to work.”

  Curt stood and picked up a flat stone off the ground. He held the stone between his thumb and index finger as if he were aiming to throw it at my forehead. Every muscle in my body tensed.

  “I know we’re not friends. A friend wouldn’t send the police after a pal.” He pasted a mock hurt expression on his face and grabbed my lunchbox. “What’s the rush anyway? Isn’t this your lunchtime?” He handed Brock my lunchbox. “Here you go, buddy. I know you’re hungry.”

  “Always.” Brock let go of my shoulders. I leaped up, but Brock reached out and shoved me back down. “Not so fast.”

  My spine rattled as I landed back on the hard, wooden bench. “What are you doing here?”

  “We were in the neighborhood and saw you sitting here,” Curt said.

  Brock twisted to face me. “Yeah, can’t we stop and say hello?”

  Stay alert, Chloe, stay alert.

  The rock whizzed by my ear as Curt threw it into the pond. It landed in the middle of the water with a plunk, and the birds flew away.

  “Here’s the thing,” Curt began. “Brock and I got picked up by Chief Rose on Saturday morning.”

  “The chief sure is pretty.” Brock leered at me. “Maybe not as pretty as your Amish friend though.”

  My stomach curdled.

  Brock continued, turning to Curt. “She is kind on the eyes. Looks a lot like Cassie now that I think about it. It must be the blonde hair.”

  Curt glared at him. “Shut up about her.”

  “Who’s Cassie?” Maybe if the two start fighting, I can get away.

  “Curt’s ex,” Brock said. “She left him for a Menno.”

  The scrawny one’s eyes narrowed. “I said shut up.”

  Brock circled me. His beefy hand found my shoulder again. “Okay, man. Jeez, you are way sensitive.”

  Curt took a step closer to me. “We aren’t here to talk about my ex-girlfriend or even the Amish girl. We’re here because someone told the police lady we had something to do with the high priest, or buggyman, or whatever he’s called, meeting his maker.”

  I didn’t say anything. My eyes searched the ground for something I could use to defend myself: a stick, a rock, anything. There was nothing. Just pebbles not much bigger than nickels. Harshberger’s groundskeepers were too good at their job.

  The stench of Curt’s breath burned my nostrils. “It wasn’t cool of this person to do that.”

  “Not cool,” Brock agreed. He had downed the rest of the first sandwich and was moving on to the second.

  Curt squatted on his haunches and stared into my face. “We think it might have been you.”

  I forced myself to look him in the eye. “So what if it was?”

  He laughed at me. “Oh, you are saucy. It must be the hair. It makes you spicy. I don’t think your little Amish friend would talk that way. What was her name again?”

  “Becky.” Brock spoke with a mouth full of food.

  Curt whistled through his front teeth. “That’s right. Becky. Pretty girl that Becky. And yeah, she does look a lot like Cassie.”

  Brock reached into the cooler for the bag of cookies and let go of my shoulder. I jumped off the bench before he could stop me. “Leave Becky alone.”

  Laugh lines creased the skin around Curt’s eyes. “Or what?”

  “I’ll have a restraining order placed on both of you.”

  Brock puckered his mouth and looked at Curt. “Dude, your uncle wouldn’t like that.”

  Curt glowered, and Brock popped a cookie into his mouth. “This cookie is amazing,” He mumbled, spitting cookie crumbs into the air. “Curt, you want one?”

  Curt shook his head and shifted closer to me. I could not only smell the tobacco juice on his breath, but I could see it on his teeth. “
How about this, Red? You stop talking to the cops about us, and we leave the Amish girl alone.” He shrugged, his pointy shoulders resembling triangles in his cut-off black T-shirt. “You talk to the cops, and we have a problem.”

  I tried to keep the quiver out of my voice. “Just leave her alone.”

  A grin spread across Curt’s face. Must have heard my voice shake. He stepped so close that if I took another step back, I would have fallen into the pond. He pinched my cheek. “That’s good, Red.”

  Then they turned and walked away.

  I shivered, my cheek aching. I watched the two men stalk in the direction of the woods on the south side of campus and disappear behind the tree line, my lunchbox tucked under Brock’s arm.

  Gently, I wiped the back of my hand across my cheek, longing to wash Curt’s filth off my face pronto. Instead, I reached into my skirt pocket and pulled out my cell phone, scrolling through my contacts until I found Chief Rose’s number. I hesitated, my fingers hovering over the keypad, then stuck the phone back into my pocket.

  I jogged up the small hill to Dennis. Outside, Joel sat in the sunshine sipping from a can of Diet Coke, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. He had an unobstructed view of Archer Pond. The thought of Joel watching my confrontation with Brock and Curt made me sick to my stomach.

  I speared him with a look. “What are you doing out here?”

  He slurped from the pop can. “I’m on my lunch hour. Is that a crime?”

  I inhaled and let it go. “No.” I started toward the building’s entrance, but glanced back to see him grinning.

  “Interesting crowd you pal around with, director.”

  I spun on my heels and faced him again. “They are not my crowd.”

  He shrugged. “If you say so. Who knows what company you keep aside from that Amish girl who plowed into her boyfriend’s father?”

  I crossed my arms in front of my chest. “Joel, if you talk to me like that again, I will report you.”

  He crushed the Diet Coke can with one hand. “Knock yourself out.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  When Timothy showed up at my office at four o’clock, I leapt from my office chair, never so glad to end a work day in my life.