It’s possible there’s a little too much of Dad in me. Even though they weren’t my plants, there was no reason to let them die on the porch just because I hadn’t bought them myself.
Maybe I could sell them. I rubbed my hands together. “Ha, I’ll make a profit off of you yet, Huntington.”
After I finished arranging the large assortment in my entryway, I turned around and spotted the sewing machine. My glee evaporated. “There isn’t enough money in a few plants to cover your tab of annoyance, Huntington.”
I had to wonder if Mark knew about this. I bet he didn’t. And Huntington would expect me to explain it all.
I tapped my foot impatiently while considering my options. Eventually I decided that my day had been long enough. Tomorrow was Friday, and Mark was coming over. I could tell him all about Huntington’s latest funny business then.
One good thing about the plants and sewing machine was that they didn’t require babysitting while the owner slept or dragged herself off to work the next morning.
Friday was my favorite work day, and this one more so than most because, no matter what, I was not working this weekend. Since I had started at Borgot, the “suggested” hours had put a huge dent in my relationship with Mark. He had been trying to see me for two weeks in a row, but being new, I had been at the office all kinds of odd hours in order to make a good impression.
After slaving away for nearly a month at Borgot, I had started to wonder whether Mark’s choice of a job was as bad as Huntington’s assignments. Of course, that wasn’t possible. But to avoid my boss’s incessant nagging, I planned to steer clear of him until at least noon. Once I ran into him, I’d have to mention my plans to skip coming in during the weekend. The longer I put off notifying him, the better.
Luckily the restroom was on the way to the break room because my boss, Cary Waters, was on guard at the end of the hall pouring coffee from the dribbles of a nearly empty pot. His lack of a smile wasn’t because the pot was dry, either. He spent a good portion of his paychecks on botox shots and face tucks. His skin was stretched so tight he couldn’t smile, not without looking like a feral dog. He generally acted like one too, making it quite clear that I and all other employees were his ticket to the top.
I ducked into the ladies room and slowed the door so that it closed silently. If I continued on to the break room there would be hints that my failure to work overtime this weekend would make for late nights all next week. Never mind that you cannot bake the cake in less time. Turning up the oven just burns the cake, but he’d crank the heat until the project incinerated.
Listening to make sure he wasn’t calling my name kept me from registering the smell of the bathroom for an extra nanosecond. “Good grief.” Had the toilets backed up? Outright exploded? The stench wasn’t exactly urine and excrement. It was more like someone had thrown up and left it to decay in a barnyard.
Our building was three stories; Borgot was only leasing the third floor. I’d have to use one of the bathrooms on the other floors and ask our admin, Kay, to call plumbing. Because boss-man was likely still lying in wait, I dithered over how to leave. It really stank in here, but it wouldn’t be much better if I had to face Cary. I lifted my hand to cover my nose and mouth and glanced toward the stalls to make sure that the sewage wasn’t anywhere close to reaching me.
A pant leg with a shoe attached stuck out from beneath one of the doors.
I gasped. The leg rested at a very disturbing angle. The person had to be…laying down, collapsed…hunched over the toilet?
There is a sound to being alone in a room. It is the absence of breathing, the absence of noise. Not only had the smell led me to believe the bathroom was empty, but the very lack of any presence had given me the impression of being completely alone.
I was still staring at the shoe when the door opened behind me. It was Doll Baby Monique.
“Oh, sorry,” she exclaimed when the door hit me.
I concentrated on breathing and not panicking.
“Oh my gosh are you—” Her face changed as the smell hit her. She tried to cough politely over her shoulder in order to breathe in fresh air.
I swallowed hard, but it didn’t help anything. My brain slowly processed the smell of blood and underlying puke. Without any intention of doing so, I kept parsing the facts.
Monique hadn’t spotted the leg yet. She kept talking, inane stupidities about the cleaning crew.
I pointed and then darted past her out the door. Gagging, I leaned over, sucking in huge amounts of air. My legs wanted to run. Was there anyone else in there? Up on the toilets maybe? Waiting? What if…
Monique babbled. “Sedona? What on earth? Are you okay?”
“We need to call the police,” I heaved out. “There’s someone in there and…” I hadn’t checked to see if the person was alive. All I had seen was the foot. What if they needed help? The stall door was closed. Maybe the person was just sick. Of course, the person’s foot had been at a very awkward and uncomfortable angle.
My father is an agricultural scientist. I knew the sickly smell of blood meal and a lot of other disgusting, decaying smells. This smell was a taint worse than any and all of them.
“The police?” Monique whispered. Her eyes locked on mine.
“And an ambulance.” I was going to have to go back in there to make sure the body was dead and not in need of medical attention. Oh, this Friday had just slapped me right across the face with a Monday. “Call 911.” I straightened from my bent position.
Monique frowned, but she edged around me and headed in the general direction of cube city.
Where the hell was her cell phone now that it was needed? “Please hurry,” I called after her. Maybe she would phone it in, thinking I was ill if nothing else.
I sucked in a huge gulp of oxygen. It wasn’t enough, so I tried again.
Holding my breath, I ventured back into the bathroom. I edged forward as if walking along a cliff. You’re supposed to check the artery in the neck, but the bathroom stall appeared to be locked, and if this guy was dead, breaking down the door wasn’t going to win me any points with the police department.
I knew it was a guy. The pant leg was pulled up enough to reveal an extremely hairy leg. He wasn’t wearing socks. Trying not to touch anything and gulping shallow breaths through my mouth, I forced myself to search for a pulse on his ankle. His face was clearly visible for half a second when I peeked under the door.
Monique must have decided I needed to be checked on. I didn’t hear her until she started screaming behind me.
I nearly split my own eardrums with an answering screech.
I stood up so fast, dizziness enveloped me. The only thing that saved me was the single thought that I would not pass out in this disgusting, smelly pit where Joe Dork had died.
He had no pulse and his body was morbidly cold.
I flew out of that bathroom as if the devil himself were chasing me.
Monique was right in front of me all the way.
Chapter 4
My advice to the young and old: Do not find dead bodies. The police seem to think that if they ask enough questions, you will suddenly blurt out the killer’s name or perhaps admit to the crime yourself just so that you can go home.
Because my brother Sean is a lawyer who works with abuse victims, I was well acquainted with a couple of cops on the force. Adrian, one of the guys I knew, was helping the lead detective, a Detective Saunders. Normally Adrian worked with Derrick, but for some reason, he was with the homicide division today.
When I entered the meeting room being used for the police interrogations, Adrian recognized me. He nodded his dark head of hair, and his tired brown eyes flickered with conflict. Being friends with Sean put him in a difficult position.
Detective Saunders handled the endless questioning. His muscular frame reminded me of a bear—a grizzly, to be specific. His hair was the right color too, a kind of dark brownish cinnamon mess that had probably started out military short, but was
too long now. It stuck up all the way around his head.
At first he tried for kind and comforting. He didn’t play the role very well because he was more war general than kindly uncle. His attempt to soften his voice made the demanding questions come across like a stalker whispering threats.
After we had gone over the questions three times, he finally switched personalities to pushy and insinuating. I relaxed. He fit this role and sadly, in the computer business, it was much more normal for men to act arrogant and demanding, especially around women.
I answered the questions as quickly as he shot them at me, searching my brain for details, but there was little to add. I hadn’t seen Joe since Thursday morning when he’d been on the phone. “Other than mentioning he had moved back in with his mother and that she did his laundry, he only said he couldn’t talk right then.”
“About what?”
“No idea. He said something about being careful. Oh—and he spoke in Pig Latin.” It couldn’t possibly be pertinent, but since I had no other details, may as well give him that.
“The entire conversation?”
“No. Just a phrase here and there. I think the being careful part was in Pig Latin. Maybe a couple of other sentences.”
Before Saunders could repeat himself again, Adrian stood, his chair scraping against the floor. The conference room was one of the few places in the building with actual doors, but it was a cramped space with a large table and too many chairs. “You know to call us if you think of anything else?”
Detective Saunders shot him a look of disgust.
Adrian shrugged. “If Sedona hasn’t thought of anything by now, she isn’t likely to.” He turned back to me. “You aren’t employed here because of the Huntington brothers, are you?”
Well, in a manner of speaking, I was, but not for the reasons he was worried about. “No. I took this job to avoid any investigations that the Huntington brothers might be involved in.”
“Uh-hmm.”
He’d ask Sean about it. My brother would then blow a gasket. Sean seemed to think that me working with Huntington was somehow endangering his wife Brenda. He equated the jobs with catching a cold—stand in the same room with me and suddenly you were infected. It was not my fault the last investigation had been at the hospital where Brenda worked as a nurse.
“I’ll call if I think of anything, but I didn’t know Joe other than seeing him in his cube or at meetings. We never spoke past a polite good morning.” I wasn’t dumb enough to mention the idiot annoyed me. No reason to even hint at a motive on my part.
It was past lunch time by the time I escaped the interview room. Not only was I starved, the entire floor was a no-go zone. Instead of being asked to work late, we were instructed to leave as soon as the police had finished questioning each of us.
Cary wasn’t one to let us depart quietly. He stood at the exit on the first floor with a pile of phones. “They came in from the factory last night.” He handed me a phone and an SD card. “In case you can’t download the latest software over the internet from home, I’ve loaded it on the SD card. Just install the code from the card like we did with the early test units, and you’ll be able to start testing the phones right away.” His white button-down shirt was rumpled and had smudges of dirt smeared across the front. He might have actually carried the box of phones down here himself.
I accepted the phone and latest code because testing it was my job, plus he might chase me into the parking lot otherwise.
“The building should be cleared of police business by tomorrow morning. Too many startups fail. We cannot allow that to happen here. Remember you and every employee here are my early retirement plan.” His chuckle was more of a cackle, held back because he couldn’t stretch his lips properly.
The prototypes were cheap plastic, barely attached to the display. The thing was already powered on, probably running older code. The logo of the company splashed across the front display, mocking me. Cary may not have suspected my plans to play hooky this weekend, but he had not only managed to demand that I work, but that I do so from home.
Really, it’s sad when you are employed at a company where the manager can’t put aside his retirement plans for a day despite the death of an employee. The next rung on the ladder or the next botox shot was all that mattered to him.
I tossed the phone and SD card in my backpack. I’d have to at least load the latest software or risk being fired. Why couldn’t the cops have kept Cary locked in a room somewhere?
On the drive home, I allowed my thoughts to drift to the upcoming weekend with Mark. That lasted right up until I pulled onto my street and saw a car parked at the curb in front of my house. It was not Mark’s motorcycle or SUV. It was my parents’ trusty white Accord.
My first thought was that Sean had called them to report the murder. That didn’t make sense though because they lived hours away in New Mexico. Yet, here they were waiting on my porch.
Hoping nothing was wrong, I rolled the passenger window down while waiting for the garage door of my little patio home to open. “Is everything okay?”
Mom waved. “We had to come see the baby!”
They had visited Colorado right after Brenda gave birth just a couple of weeks ago. My brain scrolled backwards, trying to remember if they had informed me of a visit. “Let me pull in, and I’ll open the front door.” I pulled my Civic into the garage and hurried through the inside garage door. I dropped my backpack near the kitchen counter on my way to the living room to unlock the front door.
As the door swung in, Dad spotted the tomatoes and peppers in my entryway. His eyebrows rose in delight. “You’re putting in a garden this year!” He rubbed his hands together. “Have you ordered the soil yet? You’ll need a raised bed.” He rushed past me without bothering with a hug. He didn’t stop until he reached the window at the back door. Despite seeing no garden bed, he put his hand on the doorknob.
“Hi, Dad,” I said, giving Mom her hug. We both gazed at him affectionately, me without the trace of annoyance my mother exhibited.
“Looks like you need some help,” he said happily. “Have you found a place that sells composted turkey manure? You won’t be able to buy elephant manure here. Hmm. I think I know a guy.” He had his cell phone out before I had a chance to answer.
“Uh, Dad.” I had no intention of putting in a garden.
Mom bustled over to him and grabbed the phone from his hand. She pressed some buttons and then gave it back. “Dear, I’m certain Sedona has it all worked out. You don’t want to interfere with her plans.” She turned to me. “We stopped by Sean’s, but he is at work, and Brenda and the baby weren’t home. So we came here to unload the luggage. We can’t stay at Sean’s since the guest room is now a baby room!” Mom beamed.
“Of course.”
“You knew we were coming to see the baby!” Mom’s green eyes positively glowed. Her strawberry blonde frizz was locked into a curly cap around her head. The fact that she had done such a masterful job of smoothing it down to impress the new baby made me grin.
“Wasn’t that in two weeks?” I asked.
Dad grunted. “Your mother moved all my appointments around so we could come early.”
“Oh, you wanted to come back and see Samantha, too,” she said with a wave of her hand.
Dad mumbled, “We were coming week after next anyway.”
“Well, no time like the present,” my mom responded happily.
My brother, Sean, had his hands full between the new baby and doting grandparents. Served him right. He was always telling me how to live my life. He’d be too busy to worry about me now.
Dad gazed out into the backyard. “She has to have dirt. There’s no dirt back there. It’s too rocky.” He faced me, hope etched across his face. His hand clutched his cell phone, but he refrained from dialing. For a broad-shouldered man standing nearly six feet, barely turning gray and muscles that came from working hard outdoors, he somehow managed to resemble a puppy about to burst with hope and
excitement.
If Huntington had delivered dirt to my backyard, I’d have had no problem burying him in it. He had done more than enough pushing me around. Dad was a different story. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I was far too busy to take care of a garden. With a sigh, I said, “I haven’t found any decent dirt yet.”
Dad could have won a speed-dialing contest.
While Mom and I unloaded luggage and snacks from the car, Dad contacted every man, woman and child who might have the slightest hint of where to buy the best dirt. This wasn’t his territory, but by nightfall, he’d know more about gardening in Denton, Colorado than the internet. Not even Radar, reformed hacker and computer expert that he was, could have found the places faster than Dad.
Since I hadn’t eaten, I helped myself to a piece of the cake Mom had brought.
Mom finished in the guest room and bustled back into the kitchen. She came to a dead stop when she finally noticed the sewing machine sitting on the table in the little dining nook.
“Sedona!” She looked from the covered case to me. She knew that I didn’t sew, had no interest in sewing, and possessed not a shred of talent in that area. “What is this? Can I see it?”
“Help yourself. It was a gift. I don’t even want it. Not going to use it.”
Dad interrupted with, “Do you want to plant blueberries?” He held the phone away from his mouth.
“Blueberries? I don’t think I’ll have room. The yard is very small, Dad.”
“She doesn’t have room for more than two,” Dad said into the mouthpiece. “And make sure they are dormant. It’s too cold to put’em out there if they aren’t. Well, they might make it.”
Mom gave my shoulder an absent-minded pat. “You shouldn’t have invited us until the garden was in.”
I nearly choked on the chocolate cake. I hadn’t invited them. Not that they weren’t welcome, but not only had I not invited them, I hadn’t intended to put in a garden either. Mom took the cover off the sewing machine and gave a happy gasp.
I closed my eyes and stuffed more cake into my mouth.
Executive Dirt: A Sedona O'Hala Mystery Page 2