by Lizz Lund
“The fast food chain?”
I shook my head. “It’s an unfortunate coincidence. Apparently Buddy’s an old pal of Vito’s.”
“This smells like trouble. You better keep your left up. You might want to fill Mike in later. Or Appletree.” She unwrapped another piece of gum, and popped it in her mouth.
“Didn’t you just put a piece of gum in your mouth?”
Trixie shook her head. “Anti-smoking gum. Smoke-Done. Right now I could use double strength.”
Trixie and Mike waited to make sure I drove off okay (thank you, “Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer”) and they took off for the Yankee Music Theater. Dusk was falling, and the rosy pink sky grew dark quickly. I made my way home with nary a Crown Vic in sight.
CHAPTER 8
Monday
I said it before, and I’ll say it again: I hate Mondays. I shuffled downstairs and into the kitchen with all the enthusiasm of a minimum wage laborer.
“I guess I got a little carried away.”
Vinnie agreed. He thwacked his tail against a pot on the floor. I sighed and wiped some sauce off of it. His tail. Not the pot.
As promised, last night Vito stood waiting for me on the front porch, looking as anxious as a dad on his daughter’s first date. Miriam compounded the mix by insisting on inviting me over, and producing cocktails. That’s when I discovered Miriam’s mixology skills keep an even pace with her recipe replacements. How the heck can you screw up a Bloody Mary? Oh, I remember: substituting rum for vodka (they were all out) and cramming burnt bacon strips for stirrers into it (they were also out of celery).
After insisting I was fine dining solo (“Gosh! I almost forgot! I already ordered a pie to be delivered! Sorry!”) I was finally released. It was my second virtual kidnapping for the week and I was feeling a bit nervy. As soon as I got inside the front door, I got cooking. I had to— otherwise I’d break out in hives.
Yesterday had been an off-putting day, at best. Especially with visions of Dexter dancing through my head. Quicker than I could put a finger to the side of my nose, I’d whipped up several pans of roasted vegetables, a creamy cauliflower casserole, homemade pickled red cabbage and a pork tenderloin with reduced balsamic vinegar and raspberry gastrique. It took a while to make and by nine o’clock I was feeling hungry. Luckily I had last night’s lasagna at the ready.
But as quickly as I’d become possessed by the culinary crazies, I crashed. I’d wimped out big time in the clean-up department and now there were dirty pots and pans karma to pay.
I set to washing until Vinnie stood up, patted my hip and sauntered over to the pet food cabinet. He sat in front of it, gave me his silent meow, and nodded his chin toward the cupboard.
“Oh, geez.”
Marie piped up in agreement from upstairs. Another county heard from.
I made the rounds and got them happy, then decided to make myself happy with some gourmet coffee I’d been saving. This morning might not be a special occasion but it sure needed something to get the lead out.
I no sooner got my hands submerged in the sink, when the phone rang. I glanced at the clock and muttered an oath. It was just past eight o’clock. I really, really hoped Barry wasn’t calling in sick again.
“Mina Kitchen?”
“Speaking.”
“This is Lori, from the Kinzers Employment Agency.”
My heart did a flip-flop. Could a normal job actually be on the horizon? “Yes?”
“You interviewed with us several months ago. Are you still available for temporary assignments?”
Oh. Temporary. Well. But, maybe it would lead to something? “Yes, unfortunately, I am; ha, ha.”
The joke fell flat. I heard papers being rustled. “Wonderful. Do you do transcription?”
I assured her I could, and she quizzed me about the technical details.
“Now, the rate for this assignment is eighteen dollars an hour. It’s marked as an ongoing assignment, so it could be through the end of the week, the end of the month, or longer. Are you okay with that?”
Eighteen bucks an hour! After what I’d been getting paid at my part time jobs, I felt like I’d moved into the next tax bracket. Hey, maybe I could quit the Sidekick job – woot! “That would be acceptable.” Jersey girls never let you see them sweat.
“Now the law firm is located on Lime Street, just before you get to Orange.” She gave me the address of the firm.
“Oh, yes. I know where you mean. When do I start?”
“Actually, this morning. They open at nine. Can you be there?”
I stared at the clock, wishing it were in a time warp. “Wow, this is cutting it close.”
“I understand. If you’d rather decline the assignment…”
“No! I definitely want it. Can you let them know I’ll be there as soon as I can?”
We hung up, and all Vinnie saw of me was my dust as I flew upstairs.
I raced downtown and parked at the Duke Street garage. My high-heels clicked along the pavement, and I felt a little ill at ease. It’d been a long time since I’d worn heels, or worked in an office. I hadn’t really missed it – but my creditors had. Luckily, I had tons of nine-to-five outfits that still looked cute. Even though I berated myself for wearing the heels. They’re not appropriate footwear if I seriously thought I was being followed by a psycho like Dexter. But it was daylight, and besides, vanity won out. What kind of a psycho attacks first thing in the morning?
I stepped out of the elevator and into a large reception area. I walked toward the receptionist to introduce myself.
The gal at the front desk was hissing into the phone. “I told you I mailed them! Two weeks ago! What do you mean, they’re not there?”
“Excuse me?”
“I can’t track them. I don’t have the stupid number. They sent it.”
“Pardon?”
“Look, I am not going to buy those Xbox games again! They cost a fortune!”
“I’m here to see…”
“Fine! Go ahead and tell them I’m the meanest Auntie in the world!” She slammed the phone down and clasped her forehead.
“I’m here to see Mr. Hamilton?”
She looked up and noticed me for the first time.
“We don’t accept solicitations.”
I sighed. “I’m not selling anything. I’m here to work for Mr. Hamilton.”
“Oh. You’re the temp. Just a minute.”
She buzzed the inner sanctum. “Madeline, our office manager, will be out in a minute. Have a seat.”
I sat my temp butt down in a temp wing chair and waited. Temp. Feh. But I reminded myself it was a way to get my foot in the door. You never know. Although I was not digging the office vibe.
Madeline Craybill came out and introduced herself. She escorted me past a series of cubicles and offices with uptown furniture and downtown views. She stopped in front of a secretary’s station. “This is where you’ll be working. There’s a coat closet, just there,” she pointed.
I hung up my coat.
Then she walked me over to the nearest office door. “Mr. Hamilton, your temporary assistant, Mina, has arrived.”
“About time. We start work here promptly at nine, miss.”
I stared at them both. “I’m sorry. I thought the agency told you…”
“They did. Mr. Hamilton, Mina was contacted just this morning.”
“I see. Well, see that you’re here on time tomorrow. You do transcription?”
“Yes.”
“Here.” He handed me several micro tapes - the old fashioned kind. I took a deep breath. It was going to be a long day. Week. Month. Yes.
“Thanks.” I plastered on a smile and turned to leave.
“Oh, and while you’re at it, take this and get me some coffee.”
Get him coffee? Was he joking? What did he think this was, 1964?
“I’ll show you to the break room, Mina.” Madeline walked out and waited.
Well. I stood corrected. I wondered where to
buy my pill-box hat. As well as what they’d make of the internet and Priuses if they ever ventured outside the office doors.
I took the coffee mug, dumped the cassettes on my desk and followed. Madeline gave me the run-down of the office schedule and made the usual small talk. Was I from Lancaster? How long have I lived here? Cold winter this year, yes?
“This is regular, and this is the decaf,” she pointed toward the pots. “We have extra mugs in this cabinet, in case Mr. Hamilton has a visitor. He usually doesn’t.”
“Thanks.”
“Oh, and feel free to help yourself to coffee.”
“Oh! Thank you.” Huh. I guessed I’d been a tad judgmental.
“Certainly. The donation box for staff is just there, to the left of the creamers.”
I stood corrected — again. A certain lyric from bygone days of “The Music Man” sprang to mind, from the song “Iowa Stubborn.” Musical theatre buffs take note. ‘Nuff said.
Madeline left as I went to toss the leftover coffee into the sink, but found it wouldn’t budge. That’s because it was held back by a giant green stopper. This, in fact, was a thick, round layer of mold. It had taken apparently taken residence inside Hamilton’s mug since dinosaurs roamed the Earth. Yick!
For a moment, I considered pouring the new coffee on top of the putrid growth. I took a breath, counted to ten, and decided to make eighteen-bucks-an-hour my new mantra.
I scrubbed out the gunk, poured Hamilton’s coffee, and grabbed some creamers and sugars and stirrers for him. Just to be on the right side of karma.
Outside Hamilton’s office door, I heard him yelling into the phone. I placed his beverage and fixings on the desk and fled. I sat at my new desk and started transcribing. After several false starts, mostly because I couldn’t hear the tape above his ranting, I got up and quietly closed his door.
Lunchtime came, and I’d finally finished the first drafts. I bundled them up and went to his office and found the door still closed. I knocked. No answer. I went back to my desk, and saw his line was still busy. Was he still on the same call? Couldn’t be.
It was almost one o’clock and I fretted about fitting into Madeline’s lunchtime parameters. I walked back and knocked timidly on the door. “Mr. Hamilton? I’ve got your drafts.”
Silence.
“I thought I’d go to lunch, if that’s all right?”
Not a peep.
Well, this was a conundrum. I couldn’t just leave. I had to give him his drafts. Otherwise he’d think I hadn’t done my job, right?
I thought for a moment and figured the best bet would be to leave a note on top of the stack letting him know I was leaving for lunch and when I’d return.
I finished the note and walked back to his door. I knocked once again – for luck? No response.
I was a bit nervous about getting HA’d (hollered at) for interrupting a private conversation, but there wasn’t much choice.
I turned the door handle and stepped inside. Hamilton sat in his chair, with his back to me. I walked over and quietly put the papers down on the desk. His head leaned forward, slack on his chest. This made sense, given the fact that his 23-inch monitor was blinking full tilt with a gambling site that flashed a 54 font sized message: he’d just lost $96,000. That, and he appeared to be dead.
I flew out of his office and slammed the door shut. I leaned against the door, panting.
“Hey, are you all right?”
I whipped around to find a woman walking briskly toward me.
“Uh, yes.”
She shook her head, and lowered her voice. “You don’t want to be slamming doors around here. Especially Mr. Hamilton’s.”
I nodded.
“You’re his new temp, right?”
I nodded again.
She motioned me to follow her. “I’m Amber. I started out as a temp here, too. It’s not so bad.”
“It’s just that Mr. Hamilton, he’s umm…”
She rolled her eyes. “Let me guess. Told you to get him coffee, screamed on the phone at his wife for an hour, and then locked the door.”
“He didn’t lock the door.”
“Holy crap! You walked in on him?”
“I didn’t mean to.”
Amber looked around a little furtively. “What was he doing in there?”
“Not much.”
“What did he say?”
“Nothing.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Why?”
“He’s dead.”
“What?”
Amber ran into Hamilton’s office, with me hot on her heels. “Oh. My. God.”
“I know! I know! Who starts a job and her boss croaks on the first day?”
Amber put a hand to her forehead. “C’mon, let’s get out of here. We better call Madeline ASAP.”
I glanced at what remained of Hamilton and his coffee. I had an uneasy feeling that maybe the last coffee maid had ignored the mold.
We walked over to Amber’s desk and she dialed Madeline’s extension. “Yes, dead! Really!” There were a few more uh-huh’s and she hung up. “Madeline wants us to meet her.” We walked back and waited outside his office.
She looked at me. “We all knew he was doing something personal in there, especially after the daily fight with the wife. We figured it was porn. But gambling? Who knew?”
“It sure looked like he lost a bundle.”
“Really? How much?”
“The screen was blinking $96,000.”
“Holy crap. You’re right. Do you think he had a stroke?”
“I would have.”
Madeline whisked around the corner and faced us. She pointed toward Hamilton’s door.
We nodded.
She opened the door and looked inside. We peered in behind her.
Yep, he was still there. Dead as a doornail.
Madeline walked over to the computer, maneuvered the mouse from beneath Hamilton’s death clasp, and closed the web page.
“Umm… isn’t that some kind of tampering?”
Madeline whirled around and glared at me. “The reputation of this firm will not be compromised by a momentary lapse in judgment. Nor would this be respectful of Mr. Hamilton’s legacy with this office.”
Amber elbowed me hard in the ribs. I coughed and nodded.
“Amber, I trust you will treat this with the utmost delicacy?”
“Of course!”
“You must have had quite a shock. I’ll understand if you would like to take some compensatory time for the rest of the day.”
“Great! I mean, sure, thanks.”
“It will be understandable if you wish to remain at home tomorrow.”
“Gee!”
“I’ll need to call HR to find out what to do next. I mean, about him.”
We nodded in tandem.
Madeline made her way past us – and the corpse.
“Sorry to bother you,” I began, “but I was wondering if you don’t mind if I take my lunch now? I could be back a little after two?”
Madeline swung around. “Two?”
“Well, it’s after one now, I got kind of delayed on account of…” I nodded toward Hamilton.
“Oh yes, of course. Never mind.”
“Thanks.”
“No, really, never mind. There’s no need for you to return now.”
“Huh?”
“Just fill in your time sheet for up to well… I’ll be generous because of the shock. Let’s say one-fifteen. Then you’re free to leave.”
“Oh. Great. Thanks.”
Madeline’s shoes clicked away.
“Too bad you’re not full time,” Amber said. “I bet you she would have comp’d you the rest of the day, and tomorrow, too.”
I stared at her.
“Well, better luck next time. Maybe I’ll see you around? I’ve got to dash – wow, maybe I can finish up my Christmas shopping!”
Clearly, Hamilton’s life had made a lasting impression upon t
he staff.
Amber skipped away while I dug around for a timesheet to fill out and retrieved my coat. I wandered around and eventually found Madeline on the phone.
She motioned for the time sheet and signed it, and pulled away her carbon copy as she hung up the phone. “You understand that you are not to say a word about Mr. Hamilton’s internet activities, yes? This is a law firm – we could sue you substantially for defamation of character.”
I gaped at her. I hadn’t deformed his character. He had. But I didn’t want to test the waters, either. “Gotcha.”
I walked into the lobby and noticed a conversation at the receptionist’s desk growing loud. I looked. Myron was shouting at her.
“Nice try. I know Hamilton’s in his office. He called me and told me to meet him here. You tell him I need to see him now.”
The receptionist rolled her eyes. “I told you – our office manager said he’s been taken ill, and he’s gone!”
“Did you see him leave?”
“No…”
“Precisely. I’ll wait right here. I’ll probably catch him on the way out to lunch.” Myron made himself at home in a leather club chair. The receptionist seethed.
Then he spotted me. “You! What are you doing here?”
“I…”
The receptionist piped up. “She’s just a temp.”
“Who are you temping for?”
I sighed. “This firm. Mr. Hamilton.”
“See?” Myron pointed at the receptionist. “I told you he’s here!”
“In a manner of speaking.” I leaned against the wall. Wait for it.
“You see? He hasn’t left.”
“Nope. He’s gone. But not like on a trip.”
“Not like on a trip?”
The elevator doors opened, and an EMT unit – not in very much of a hurry – rolled in with a gurney.
“Oh my gosh! Is someone sick? I better call Madeline!” The phone buzzed and she picked it up. There was a lot of uh-huhing.
I looked at Myron. “I think that gurney’s for Hamilton.”
“You’re kidding, right? Well, he gets points for being creative. But he’s not getting out of this one.”
“I think he kind of did.”
“What do you mean?”
The gurney slammed back out, with a sheet draped over the corpse.