“I have a kachina for you.” She stood in a crowd in the Flagstaff courthouse lobby.
He touched her arm. A withered slip of a Native American, he wore a long, threadbare tunic, leggings and moccasins that reached to his knees. Deep wrinkles lined his face like wadded parchment and skin sagged around his eyes.
“I have a kachina,” he repeated in that soft voice cracked with age.
“I don’t want to buy a kachina,” she said.
“Not to buy.” He reached into a canvas bag and pulled out a doll carved from cottonwood root. “For you.” The doll had a scary mask with slit eyes and a plug mouth. A bright blue sash fastened across his shoulder…
Her two right wheels dropped off the pavement and Nora jerked the steering wheel to pull the Jeep back on the road. It fishtailed but righted itself.
“Nora?” Abigail’s voice squawked from the phone in Nora’s lap.
Nora grabbed the dropped phone. “Had some traffic.”
“Where are you now?”
Nora spotted a road side. “A couple miles past Settler’s Park. About to the Trust.”
Nora braked and turned left. She rumbled across a wood-planked bridge over the creek. Loving Earth Trust occupied a rambling old house in Boulder Canyon, butted up to the mountain side. Gables and windows, extensions and extra rooms jutted out at weird angles giving the place a disjointed feel. The picturesque front porch descended to a sparsely grassed front yard with a rail fence separating it from the packed dirt parking area. Only three other vehicles sat there. Beyond the lot, a one-lane road ran along the creek bank, but it petered out after a couple hundred yards. A large wood barn stood behind the house. Towering mountains and pines assured that the house stayed in shadow most of the time. It was beautiful, of course, but a chill goosed Nora’s flesh.
“Here we are,” Nora said. “Gotta go.”
“Have a good day, dear. We’ll talk soon.”
Too soon, no doubt. That wasn’t fair. Abigail had been supportive and encouraging since Nora had moved from Flagstaff a year ago. At times, Abigail had been Nora’s only human contact.
Now it was time to start over. Be normal. Have a job. Friends. Maybe a social life. “Hold on, Cowgirl. Just start with a job, okay?”
If that went well, maybe she’d stop talking to herself.
She ran her fingers through Abbey’s fur. Good thing first days of work didn’t last forever. Too bad second days and then the first week, and month, full of anxiety and nerves followed. In no time, say a millennium or two, Nora would feel right at home.
She filled her lungs, imagining the air had magical powers to make her appear confident and smart. “Let’s go,” she said, pretending she talked to Abbey.
Abbey jumped out as if he’d been coming to work here every day for years. Nora leaned into the back of the Jeep and hefted out a bushy potted plant. She rested the terra cotta pot on her hip and steadied it with her arm. She had larger and heavier pots at home but thought this would work in an office. The long, wide, deeply green leaves rose from the pot and cascaded, leaving her room enough to peek over the top. She slammed the Jeep door shut.
5
Nora and Abbey crunched along the frost-skimmed dirt of the parking lot and up the old wooden stairs. The wide porch creaked as they crossed. Nora balanced the plant on her hip and opened the door, letting Abbey take the first step into their new digs.
Although Nora had bosses and structure in jobs before, this was her first Real Job. She’d gone from her undergrad to business school and right into running the ski resort in Arizona without the entry-level introduction to her career. Now she held a management position and answered to the Executive Director and the board. Gulp. But she needed to act like that was no big deal to her.
They stood in what appeared to be a large living room, complete with a stone fireplace on one end, window seats on the front porch side, a flight of stairs off the other, and some Mission style padded chairs scattered about. Whoever built this around the turn of the century must have had means to make it so spacious. As it was, the cost of this sucker, with the size and location along the creek outside of Boulder, could probably save the earth and a few other planets.
Mark Monstain, Executive Director, walked into the room carrying a take-out cup with a Mr. Green Beans logo. Nora gave him the benefit of the doubt and assumed the green in Green Beans meant the cup was recyclable. He stood about five eight, all rounded edges, with a belly in the early stage of drooping over his belt. He wore the same ensemble as he had at her interview, a white, short-sleeved shirt, tucked sloppily into black dress pants. Despite thinning hair at the crown of his head, he had to be about Nora’s age. Not the typical build and dress of an outdoorsman and rugged environmentalist. More like a grocery store clerk without the apron.
“Good. Right on time.” He punctuated the unfunny remark with a giggle. Nora noticed in the interview he tended to insert an annoying high-pitched giggle into nearly every sentence. She’d teach herself to ignore it. For this job, she’d ignore a roaring grizzly bear.
“I see you’ve brought a plant to liven up your office.”
Thank you, Mr. Obvious.
“And your dog.”
He’d told her bringing Abbey would be fine. “Did you say my office was upstairs?” The plant bit into her hip and she felt awkward standing in the lobby/living room with both hands full.
He didn’t move. “You don’t remember me after all, do you?”
Uh-oh. Awkward Alert. She hugged the plant. “I’m sorry.”
“From Earth Club at Boulder High?”
“Oh, of course.” Mark Monstain? She had no clue.
She wracked her brain to recall the flabby lips and chubby cheeks. Earth Club was little more than a group of idealists handing out flyers on weekends and railing against what they thought of as humankind’s war on the environment.
“I’m not surprised you don’t remember me. You were a senior when I was a freshman.” He giggled.
At the interview she’d felt a vague sense of familiarity, similar to the way she felt about anchovies. She’d tasted them once as a child, had a lingering memory of nausea and never wanted to try them again.
The pocket of Nora’s jacket vibrated. It had to be Abigail calling back. Even if her hands weren’t wrapped around her plant, she wouldn’t answer.
He sipped his coffee and began as if she’d asked. “I went to CU after Boulder High and graduated in environmental engineering. I started here as head volunteer coordinator and worked my way up. I’ve been here longer than anyone else.”
“You’re doing a great job.” What else could she say?
He nodded. “Well, let me show you your office, then.” He led the way up the stairs.
A sunny mezzanine opened on her right with a shared area and several offices lining it.
“This is where the volunteer program lives.” Giggle, snort. “They log about four thousand man hours a year on our various projects from trail maintenance and open space restoration to range research and of course, the beetle kill problem. They’re all out in the field this week taking advantage of the weather before the snow flies.”
The plant tugged at Nora’s arms, a heavy accessory to drag around on a house tour. Abbey followed, not acting impressed.
They wound around a hallway that opened into an office area with a large desk. A copier and other office machines sat on a counter. “This is the copy room. This computer has a graphics and design program to make fliers and whatnot.”
If this tour lasted much longer Nora’s arms would give out and the plant would crash in a heap of terra cotta and roots.
A narrow servant’s stairway opened to her left. “The kitchen is down there. Three years ago we added a sweet addition for Sylvia LaFever. You’ve heard of her, I’m sure.”
Nora hadn’t. A faint odor of burnt toast wafted from the stairwell.
“She used to work for the government at the HAARP facility in Alaska. You know, doing all sorts of r
esearch on the ionosphere and weather and things.” He rushed along as if Nora understood what he talked about. She had heard of HAARP, of course. But didn’t know much about it.
Mark rubbed his hands together. “We’re lucky to have her. She’s doing landscape modeling in regard to beetle kill and climate change. Real cutting-edge research.”
Nora didn’t know how cutting edge since she’d read studies showing the slight increase in temperatures facilitated an extra breeding cycle each year for the deadly beetles. If Nora knew about it, it couldn’t be all that new. Maybe Sylvia LaFever’s research dug deeper.
Mark pointed but kept them on the winding maze of odd-shaped offices. The old floor groaned as they wandered down the hall. The rooms probably served as bedrooms once but now walls cut them into tiny offices. “This place is enormous.”
“But you can’t beat the location.” Snort. “Sometimes when things get hectic I go out on the front porch and watch the creek. We’ve had this building about five years now. A donor left it to us in her will.”
Mark stopped at an open door. Finally, she’d be able to set the plant down and see her office.
“This is Thomas. He works on air quality.” Mark lifted his arm to indicate a tall man with bushy dark curls and hairy legs leaning back in his chair reading. A bike propped on the wall in the corner. His orange Life Is Good t-shirt, cargo shorts and stocking feet indicted a casual dress code. His office smelled of the oatmeal he scraped from the bowl resting on his chest. “Thomas, this is Nora, our new director of finance.”
Thomas peered at them over his reading glasses. “Welcome.”
Mark pointed across the hall. “This is Bill’s office, but he’s at meetings today. He’s our litigator.” More offices opened up along the foyer creating a labyrinth. “Fay, She’s in charge of Open Space.” Another thirty-something with blonde hair smashed into a nest at the back of her head and wisps spilling down her back. Braless in an olive green t-shirt and hiking pants, her firm muscles showed regular physical activity.
Fay turned from her computer and spoke in a creaky voice. “Nice dog!” Abbey responded by trotting in and allowing Fay to pet him.
Panic swelled in Nora. She’d never remember the names and faces and jobs. She swallowed and forced calm.
First day. Don’t be overwhelmed.
Eventually she’d figure this out and make friends. It wasn’t life or death in one day.
Despite the at least four people and a dog, the house felt empty. Maybe it was too early in the day for environmentalists. They wouldn’t necessarily keep the same hours as corporate drones. “Seems like lots of space.”
Mark giggled. “Most of the staff comes and goes a lot. Our work takes us to the field and meetings. It’s not unusual for the admin staff to be here alone.”
More pocket vibrations. Tenacity, thy name is Abigail.
“Just a minute.” Mark poked his head in Thomas’s office and spoke about meetings and legislation.
The plant dragged on Nora’s arms. A window offered a narrow ledge and she stepped to it and rested the pot. Below, a jumble of flowing fabric bounced into the parking lot on a rusted bike. If the window was open, no doubt she’d have heard the clank and rattle of a chain needing oil. The mass of dreadlocks hid Petal’s face. Plastic flowers wove through the old bike’s front basket and streamers hung from the handlebars. The whole affair resembled more of a circus act than another day at the office.
Petal jumped off the bike, her flowered skirt fluttering around her ankles. She grabbed a satchel from the basket, flung the strap over her shoulder, and sprinted to the front porch.
“That’s our Petal,” Mark said from behind her. He scowled and checked his watch. “She works for Sylvia.”
“Seems like there are a lot of different activities going on here.”
He grinned and motioned for her to continue down the hall. “We’re proud we’re involved in all kinds of matters affecting the environment. We’ve got a great board and lots of funding.”
Nora heaved the plant back up to her hip, switching sides. “Must be complicated accounting to keep so many programs and funds straight.”
A shadow darkened Mark’s face. “Darla wasn’t up to the job. You’ll get it in top shape in no time. From what I remember, you’re super-smart and a great organizer.”
That’s a lot of confidence based on her presidency in a high school club. But Nora knew numbers. She understood accounting and could retreat into the safety of spreadsheets, where mistakes could be corrected and everything made sense.
“Do you mind me asking why the last Finance Director left so abruptly?”
They approached the end of the hall. Her office had to be close. Mark reached into his pocket and brought out a jangling set of keys. “Frankly, Darla was a flake. I’m not surprised she bugged out.”
No one checked up to see why? That seemed strange.
Mark inserted a key into a heavy wood door that was probably original with the house. He giggled as he pushed the door open and stood back for her to enter. He opened his arm with a flourish. “Ta da.”
Nora inhaled and stepped into the office. The long walk, talk of a disappearing Financial Director and locked doors had her expecting some kind of Exorcist moment with papers swirling through the air, maniacal laughter, darkness and debris filling a sulfuric atmosphere.
No overactive imagination there.
Windows lined this large corner office. Lavender paint with mint green trim brightened the walls. Plants sat on the window sills that accented a view down Boulder Canyon. A wicker chair with a chintz seat pad was tucked into a corner next to a cute patio table with a reading lamp. A large cabinet sat in the corner with the doors open. One side held shelves full of office supplies, and the other side was a coat closet. The desk and work space filled up one wall. File folders, papers, notebooks, and documents jumbled across the sizable countertop workspace. After Nora straightened and filed and got the rhythm, the office would be comfortable and pleasant.
Her pocket vibrated again. Never say die. Abigail.
Mark worked her office key off his ring and handed it to her. He pulled a crumpled notebook page from the pocket of his white shirt. “Here are the system passwords. If you change them, let me know. Make yourself at home. I’ve got to run.” He sped away.
“Well, what do you think?” she asked Abbey.
He responded by plopping down next to a filing cabinet and watching her.
“Go ahead and act exhausted, I’m the one lugging this plant around.” She eased the plant onto the corner of the counter, shoving papers aside.
“So you’re going to replace Darla? Didn’t take Mark long to write her off.”
Nora whirled around to see Fay leaning against the door jamb. See? Normal colleague chatter. Not a threat. Remember casual conversation? “How long has she been gone?”
Fay shrugged. “Less than a week. Maybe Mark knows something we don’t.”
Nora surveyed the room. Two painted white wooden shelves above the work surface held porcelain figurines of bunnies and kittens painted in pastels. A snapshot showed a grinning woman, presumably Darla, shrouded in winter gear next to a Pawnee Pass sign on the Continental Divide. Several framed posters with inspirational sayings and landscapes peppered the walls. “Looks like she planned on coming back,” Nora said. “She left a lot of personal things.”
Fay walked into the office and peeked into the coat closet. She picked up a book from a shelf above the rod. Her voice had a cracked quality, as if she’d been yelling at a soccer match for two hours. “I don’t know Darla very well. She kept to herself.” She returned the book and picked up another. “Really, I thought she was weird.”
Nora shrugged out of her coat. She didn’t want to gossip. “How long have you been at the Trust?”
Fay wandered over to the decorative shelf and plucked Darla’s picture off the shelf. “I didn’t know she was a hiker.” She set it back down. “I’ve been here about five years. I’m won
dering how long I’ll last.”
Nora studied a bulletin board mounted behind the computer. It was strewn with multicolored sticky notes. “Why is that?”
Fay retreated to the door jamb and leaned against it, crossing her arms. Her voice croaked. “You’ll see. Used to be all the projects were important. But now days, we’ve got one star and that’s all Mark can see.”
Nora leaned her backside on the work counter. She wanted to dive into the mounds of paper. “If the board doesn’t like the job Mark’s doing as executive director, they can replace him.”
Fay’s laugh sounded like a rusty door hinge. “Right. Mark isn’t ED because he’s so brilliant. His daddy is on the board. Mark’s not going anywhere.”
That answered the question of why someone so…icky… could have such an impressive job.
“So if any of us want to actually do any good, we’re gonna have to make an exit.”
An uncomfortable silence dropped into the office.
Fay gave that creaky laugh again. “Sorry. I’ve never learned the art of subtlety. I’ll let you settle in. Maybe we can do a hike next week or something.” She walked away with a groan of the floor.
A hike sounded way better than dipping down in the dregs of bad attitude. A hike sounded pretty good, actually.
Her phone jumped again. Might as well answer it, Abigail wouldn’t stop until she did. “Mother.”
“So how’s it going? Did they seem to mind you wearing jeans? What about this Mark Monstain?”
Nora kept her voice down. “I’ll call this evening and tell you all the details.”
“Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
Oh no. That tone. It meant trouble for Nora. “Not now, Mother.”
“Nora.” Mark appeared as if from magic. “I’d like you to meet our star here at the Trust.”
Busted talking to her mother on the first day. “I have to go,” she said into the phone.
“What I was saying is that you don’t need to call me later.”
Nora smiled at Mark and the attractive, petite woman standing next to him. An expensive black business suit draped perfectly over her compact frame, complete with four-inch pumps. Her dark hair curled around an ageless face. She looked like money all dressed up.
The Nora Abbott Mystery series Box Set Page 31