“No one in their right mind would dump the rusty gold sitting in your buildings. Those Harley Panhead parts are worth saving.” Denny sipped his coffee and placed it back on the table, his fingers drumming against the warm mug. “It’s the Vincent that will give you a decent retirement fund.”
“What Vincent?” Treasure wracked her brain, trying to remember all the bike parts sitting in the garage and the sheds out back. Every square inch of the place was a veritable maze of miscellaneous steel, aluminum, and rubber. Her head started aching. She gulped coffee and hoped the caffeine worked its magic.
Denny shot her a look of disbelief. “It’s sitting right in the corner. I can’t believe you don’t know what you have there. You say you took all the expensive bikes with you, but the Vincent is worth more than the others combined.”
“I’m still not sure what you’re talking about. You mean the lump of steel behind my dad’s old desk?” She gestured toward the shop door on the other side of the room.
“That’d be it.”
“Huh. I always thought of it as more of a coat rack, or an experiment on how long it takes a motorcycle to return to the earth. At the rate it’s decaying, it won’t be long.”
Denny shook his head back and forth slowly. “I can’t believe he didn’t tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
“That’s your inheritance, Treasure. I mean, you got the whole kit and caboodle.” Denny glanced around the apartment and Treasure understood he encompassed the entire property with his gesture. “But that there Vincent will take care of you for a good long while.”
She squinted into her cup rather than groan at the thought of the mess she owned. “I should thank you for watching out for it, even though I had no idea what it was. You know,” she considered aloud. “There was always a tarp over it, or jackets and coveralls. I thought it sat there because nobody wanted it, or Dad was too lazy to move it.”
Denny let out a small snort and drank more coffee. “He kept it covered so no one would see it.”
“You interested in buying it?” Treasure asked, sounding hopeful. Her car needed repairs and she was running out of savings to keep this place and live in Reno.
“As much as I want to, I’d be stealing it out from under you. I can’t afford something that valuable right now.”
“I smell a but coming.” She waited for it.
“But, I know someone who has the cash and would take if off your hands in a hot minute.”
Treasure’s interested eyebrows shot up. “How much are we talking about?”
“Thousands. Many thousands.”
She sighed. “I guess I need to think about it. Maybe I like having a coat rack in the garage.”
“That’s up to you, darlin’. I thought I’d throw it out there and let you know. But do me a solid and have some kind of alarm installed on this place. You’re lucky you haven’t been broken into.”
“Seriously? No one knows it’s even here.”
“Not true. Your dad did business here for longer than you’ve been alive. A lot of folks know your place is here.”
Treasure let the words digest for a minute. She honestly thought she removed most of the valuables from the property. The way Denny talked, maybe she hadn’t been using the right perspective.
“So, are you still building bikes on your own?”
“Oh, yeah. I’ve got a couple custom orders right now that will see me through the rest of the year.”
“Wow, that’s fantastic. Where are you working?”
“My dad’s place. The set up in your building is a whole lot more comfortable, but Dad’s is all right. He’s not been feeling great. He shut the bar down last year.”
“I noticed. What’s going on?”
“Emphysema and old age. Our pops worked hard and played hard. Being seventy feels more like ninety to those old ball busters.”
“Yeah, I guess,” Treasure said. Her dad died shortly before turning seventy. She was twenty-three at the time. Growing up, Morton Vogle had always been the oldest father at every school event. She never allowed herself to consider his advanced age meant he’d die sooner as well.
“Still have Morton’s Indian?” Denny asked.
“I do.”
“And the BMWs?”
“Yep. I’m riding a BMW now. I haven’t been able to let the Indian Sport Scout go.”
“I’m hearing you’re partial to the BMWs and the Indians. Would you be interested in selling anything out there?” He tipped his head in the direction of the shop.
“Maybe,” Treasure said noncommittally.
“Just curious. I’m asking because I can tell you about every part and piece lying around here. You could catalogue and sell it off.”
She considered the idea before answering. “It’s a huge job. I’m not sure when I could get to it. I rarely visit anymore.”
“You’ve been M.I.A. for years. Well, the offer’s on the table if you want to take me up on it. I’d love to revisit the metal in the shop. It’s like treasure hunting for my warped and twisted gear head.”
She smiled and took the last drink of coffee. “Thanks, Denny. I appreciate it. I suppose you would have first pickins on the goods if you were here as well?”
“Damn straight.” He flashed pearly whites at her through the scruff of red beard.
“Honestly, I might have to sell the building pretty soon. It’s draining my paycheck like you wouldn’t believe. When I’m ready, I’ll call you. Sound all right?”
“Hell yes,” he said and placed his empty mug on the table.
Seven
COLD MALICE emanated from Court’s eyes. A shiver scurried down her spine as he turned his back to her. Relief flooded through her body as she escaped the glare.
Treasure walked through the break room and around the corner toward her boss’s office. The messages she received from Paul had been vague and strangely ominous. The first one was, “Ms. Vogle, this is Paul Fielding. Please call me back at your earliest convenience.” His second message: “Ms. Vogle please come see me in my office before your shift starts on Tuesday night.” When did Paul Fielding ever call her Ms. Vogle? Umm… never.
She knocked and heard a muffled, “Come in.”
“Sorry I didn’t return your call earlier. I was out of town dealing with a minor emergency and my phone died. I didn’t have my charger.”
“Please, have a seat.” He gestured to the chair opposite him.
Treasure worked her lips back and forth. His stiff demeanor added to the foreboding roiling in her stomach.
“I think I know why you called me in here.”
His eyebrows rose slightly. Just enough to let her know he would consider what she had to say.
Treasure swallowed hard. She was so distracted by her impromptu trip to Granite Lake she practically dismissed — or purposely ignored — the incident with Court, the rat bastard.
“I, uh, need to file a complaint, Paul. I’m sorry. I wish I didn’t, but something happened last Friday morning.”
“You’re filing a complaint?” he asked. “That’s interesting. Court Prescott turned in a detailed and disturbing sexual harassment charge against you. He likewise says the incident happened last Friday.”
Treasure sat speechless as she let the words sink in. “He what?”
Paul pulled out a stack of papers from a file sitting on the desk. He handed her the top sheets.
“This is serious, Treasure,” he said. A tiny amount of humanity finally appeared on his face. Paul sat up straight, laced his fingers on the desktop and continued. “I’ve never had to deal with charges like these before. I’m not entirely sure how we’re going to handle this. Human resources is fully aware of the current situation. You can read Mr. Prescott’s statement and get back to me or contact HR. Until then, you’re on unpaid leave.”
“What?” she asked again. Un-freaking-believable.
She glanced at the papers in her hands and read the words, “sexual harassment”, “verbal ab
use”, “sexual misconduct”, and “threatening behavior”. There was also the mention of using pepper spray on him when he declined her advances. Her heart skipped a few beats and her blood drained to the soles of her feet.
“Because you’ve worked with me and the crew for some time now, and have always been a good team player, I’m going to give you a heads-up.”
She stared straight ahead and tried to steady her crumbling world. How could this be happening? She’s the one who’d been assaulted. Too late, she realized, she should have gone straight to the police and filed charges, or, at the very least, reported Court to HR. Treasure wanted to smack her forehead, and then do it a few more times, for not speaking up sooner.
“This is your third strike, Ms. Vogle. You’ve taken more days off than any other medic, then you had the incident in December, and now this. I haven’t been officially informed of your dismissal, but it has been discussed. You might want to start looking for new employment.”
“You can’t be serious? This is all wrong!” She waved the papers in the air. “Court—”
Paul held up a hand, cutting her off. “Like I said, it isn’t official, but I’ve worked with the ladies in HR for thirteen years. They don’t like a third strike.”
“And December? What about December? I hurt my shoulder on the job. Those days off can’t count against me.”
“You ignored protocol and put yourself and your team member in serious danger.”
“I saved a little girl from burning to death in a house fire.”
It was as if Paul couldn’t hear her. “Your shoulder injury was the result of the incident. You’ve called in with unexcused absences on multiple occasions and frankly, we can’t have someone on the team who believes it’s okay to fondle her coworkers.”
“Fondle? Seriously? He pulled his penis out of his pants and expected me to—”
“No.” He stopped her again by raising his hand. Her boss didn’t want the ugly truth. “Ms. Vogle, if you need to contest these charges, I understand. I can’t see my childhood buddy doing something so vulgar, but it’s not for me to say. I suggest you speak with the head of human resources. They are available tomorrow morning. As of right now, you’re on leave.”
“I’d like to say one thing before I go.” Treasure rose from the chair and tried to hold her focus through the red glaze over her eyes. “Screw you. And your ‘buddy’, too. Court is a lying chauvinistic asshole. If you believe this load of garbage.” She fisted the papers. “You deserve each other. Tell him I’m filing my own harassment complaint. Take a good look at the parking lot surveillance videos from early Friday morning and tell me who was assaulted.”
Treasure flung the door open and felt a twinge of satisfaction as it crashed into the wall behind her. She wanted to wring Court’s throat, or, better yet, his tennis Court balls. Instead of acting on impulse, she kept her wits and charged out of the ambulance barn without making things worse. It was already bad enough.
* * *
Treasure trudged down the sidewalk toward the front door of her apartment. The fury of injustice rode her back and she became weighed down by the realization she had no hours at work until who knew when, and that meant no paycheck. She noticed someone walking her way and looked up to see her super. Chatting with the building manager wasn’t at the top of her to-do list right at the moment.
“Hello there, Ms. Vogle,” he called, and waved his arm in the air, a white envelope attached to his hand.
Treasure’s mind groped for the answer to what may be inside the envelope. Did she forget to pay the rent? No, she hadn’t forgotten. The pitiful balance in her checking account was proof of that. Maybe it wasn’t for her and he waved to gain her attention.
“Hi, Mr. Han,” she said with no enthusiasm. Her mind still reeled from what happened at work.
She thought he was a decent man, a little nosy, but she supposed his snooping complemented the job. Her apartment complex was always tidy and her neighbors, for the most part, were quiet and respectful.
“I’m glad you’re here. I was about to let myself into your apartment.”
“What’s going on?” Treasure asked as she dug out her keys and inserted it into the lock. What could be the matter at this time of night?
“Above you in 218, the toilet has been overflowing. Mrs. Van Eaton just arrived home and told me. I need to see what is happening on your side of the mess.”
Treasure balked as she opened the door and scurried across the living room, Mr. Han on her heels. She knew from living beneath the Van Eatons their bathroom was directly above hers. Her feet squelched on the carpet outside of the bathroom and her heart sank. Hadn’t she been dealing with a water problem over the weekend. Were broken pipes her new normal?
Water dripped from the ceiling, down two of the walls, and over the counter top. Drywall sagged and looked like it would burst at any second and crash to the floor. Her toiletries were swimming in what was apparently toilet water from upstairs. She wondered if her blow dryer survived the drowning attempt.
“This is what I thought. Sorry, Ms. Vogle, but you can’t use this bathroom until it’s repaired.”
“This is not happening today,” she said more to herself than Mr. Han.
“You have it worse down here than upstairs.”
Treasure’s eyes glazed over. Where would she go? This is her home. She didn’t want to invite herself to camp out on a friend’s couch. And she couldn’t even hide out at work and pick up extra hours to afford a hotel. Urghh! I’m on unpaid leave, for fuck’s sake!
“How long is this going to take to fix?”
“I’m not sure.” He shrugged and ran a calloused hand over his chin and then scratched his head. “I need to make a few calls in the morning before I can say.”
“Are we talking weeks or days, Mr. Han?”
The older man glanced back into the bathroom and shifted on his feet. The water in the carpet squished and they both frowned at the sound.
“A week. Perhaps two.”
“And I have to magically come up with somewhere else to live? Don’t you have another apartment for me to stay in?”
“Another apartment?” he asked with surprise.
Treasure clenched her teeth so hard she feared they would crack under the pressure when she watched him hold back a laugh.
“No, no. There’s nothing available right now. There’s a waiting list. Oh. That reminds me.” He reached into his back pocket and held out an envelope to Treasure.
“What’s this?” Treasure asked.
“A new lease agreement. Yours expires at the end of the month.”
Treasure pulled out the lease. Had it been another year? If she renewed, it would be the start of her third year. Her world was shifting perilously on its axis tonight. Hanging on to reality was becoming more and more of a challenge.
“What! You’re increasing my rent two-hundred and fifty dollars a month? You’re crazy! How am I supposed to afford that?”
Mr. Han moved away from the bathroom, and away from Treasure’s wrath.
“Don’t shoot the messenger,” he said, throwing his hands up in the air. “Everyone’s rent is going up. The owner needs to keep up with the market on our side of town. Plus, the cost of maintenance keeps going up. Life costs money, Ms. Vogle.”
“Does it?” she asked, but she didn’t think old Mr. Han grasped the sarcasm.
“You’ll still be living in an affordable apartment for this area of town.”
She followed him to the door and wanted to scream.
“Do you have renters’ insurance? Most policies will pay for a hotel in situations like yours.”
“I don’t. I’m going to have to figure something else out.”
“Too bad about the insurance,” he said, but sounded like he didn’t care. “You can’t stay here with a bathroom in that bad of shape.”
“Maybe Jan Petersen next door will let me use her shower.”
Mr. Han’s sparse eyebrows rose with skepticism. “Y
ou let me know what you’re going to do. I’ll be back with some workers tomorrow. You can stay tonight since it’s late, but it’s against building code to let someone live without proper and safe health facilities. I can’t let you stay here without a running commode.” He stepped out into the night and vanished before she could argue the “commode” worked fine.
Treasure slammed the door and spun around, looking for the nearest pillow to scream into. A crash in the bathroom echoed through the apartment and she knew the ceiling had reached its breaking point and shattered into a mess. She could totally relate.
* * *
With very few options available, Treasure felt a knot of anxiety forming between her temples. The new knot joined forces with the ones in her shoulders and quickly created an alliance with the tension in her neck and back. The urge to ingest alcohol was profound. She managed to restrain herself.
The last thing Treasure wanted was to return to Granite Lake and the mess of motorcycle parts. Her entire weekend was spent making a bigger mess than what was originally there. She succeeded in drying out the floor and removing the mud from the front of the garage doors, but then she, Denny, and Melanie had begun the tedious process of organizing and inventorying the bikes and their parts.
The disastrous garage waited for her return. Craptastic, she thought as she began packing her bags. The balance in her checking account didn’t afford her the luxury of renting a hotel room, or even a cardboard box in an alley. She had to be smart with her limited funds. Payday wasn’t for another week and then after that, who knew? The motorcycle shop and apartment would have to do until her bathroom was repaired. There was no better option. It was the only free option. She’d let Melanie know she was back in town for an unknown number of days, but she wouldn’t intrude on her newly rekindled friendship and ask to sleep over. No doubt, Melanie would welcome her, but in Treasure’s mind, invading someone’s personal space was even worse than sucking it up and dealing with her demons alone.
Chasing Treasure: Granite Lake Romance Page 6