Read Between the Tines

by Susan Sleeman

  He leaned out the half-window, his large belly hanging over his belt scraped the top of the short door. "Help you?"

  "I hope so." I gave him my best smile and tried to act as if I belonged there. "Gary Buzzy's wife asked me to see if his car was in the lot. If you'll let me drive around the parking lot, I can get back to her and put her mind at ease."

  Showing no emotion over Gary's passing, the big man gave me a quick once over. "I'm not authorized to let you in."

  I had to get a by-the-book, kind of guard. Plan B time. "Maybe I wouldn't have to go in. You could just tell me if Gary's car is here."

  He shook his head. "Sorry. I don't know if it's here or not. Employees use an access card at the back gate to come and go."

  Card, huh? Hmm, so if Gary entered the lot with his card it would be in the electronic records. But this Mr. Rules guy, even if he could pull up the records, wouldn't give out that info. "If all visitors have to pass through here then you would know if the police have picked up his Explorer."

  The guard hiked his pants up in the rear, but the front was a lost cause. "Been expecting them to show up ever since I heard about Mr. Buzzy. Haven't seen 'em yet."

  "Are you sure you can't let me make a quick tour of the lot? How about I leave something with you so you'd know I'd come back? Karen would be so relieved to have at least one thing resolved."

  He looked around as if could find an answer in the air and pluck it down. "I don't know."

  Time for a more personal plea.

  I checked his name badge and noticed a wedding ring. "Please, Nick. Looks like you're married. Wouldn't you want your wife to be able to find some closure if this happened to you?" I ended with the pout perfected on my dad when I was young and frequently employed when Lisa and I argued. I'd yet to use it on Adam, but might need to when I confessed.

  Nick flapped open his hand. "Okay, give me your driver's license. But don't take long. I could get in serious trouble for this. If I lose my job, I won't have to worry about my wife. She'll kill me outright."

  I smiled and fished my license from my wallet. "I'll be back as quick as I can."

  "See that you are." He took my ID and punched a button.

  The gate slowly rose, and my heart rate ratcheted up with the white pole. This must be how Moses felt when the sea parted before him. Not giving the guard a chance to change his mind, I zipped through the entrance and immediately headed for the back gate. If the employees entered from the rear, their lot should be in the same vicinity.

  Nearer the building, the tangy scent of pickles in the canning process filtered into my truck. I circled around an area containing ten large vats before spotting a parking lot. If Gary had come in early, he'd surely found a spot in the front row. I crawled along the vehicles and hit the brakes in front of a black Explorer. I checked my notes. License matched. Gary had indeed come to work.

  I knew better than to touch the car, but an up-close inspection wasn't against the rules. Slowly and with small steps, I worked my way around the Explorer. Nothing odd, other than the immaculate interior. Gary wasn't known for his neatness. Karen must have been in charge of keeping his car clean. Rounding the front, I pulled out my phone. There was nothing else I could do here other then let Mitch know about my discovery and hope he'd allow me to wait to see if they unearthed any evidence. Right and maybe gas prices would fall.

  I dialed the police station and asked for Mitch, claiming it was urgent and related to Gary's death.

  He answered in as much of a whisper as the big, burly lawman was capable of. "This better be important. I don't like being pulled out of meetings for no reason."

  I bit back a smart retort. "I found Gary's car in the employee parking lot at the factory."

  "What are you doing at the factory?" His tone now mimicked a screeching monkey.

  "Ah. . .well. . .you see, Karen asked me to check on the car. So I did. I can wait for you to get here if you'd like."

  "You better. And don't touch anything."

  "Relax. I know to keep my hands to myself."

  "I don't even want you within ten feet of the vehicle. You got that. Stay in your truck so you don't contaminate the scene." He disconnected.

  Good thing I'd all ready given the Explorer a quick viewing. I climbed back into my truck and as I did so, I realized calling Mitch might have been a mistake. It could get the guard who'd been so helpful into trouble. I could only hope Mitch didn't even think to question if I was allowed on the property.

  I picked up the legal pad and studied my notes. What really would be helpful was if I could find out Gary's time of death. Then if I discovered anyone who had it in for Gary, I could check out their alibi. I'd ask Mitch when he arrived, but he probably wouldn't reveal that info yet. I could call Lisa's hubby, Perry. As an attorney, he had connections at the police department. No. Not a good idea. Since he was best buddies with Adam, he'd tell Adam I was working on this, and I had to be the one to break the news to Adam.

  I peered out my window at the veranda running the length of the stone building. Was that a security camera mounted by the door? Maybe Gary's movements this morning were on video. I hopped out and rushed up to the wide concrete porch holding groupings of tables and chairs. On the left side of the entrance sat a business-suited woman. Her dazzling black hair glinted in the sun and a cigarette dangled from red lacquered lips.

  Ignoring the woman, I checked out the porch. Drat. It was a light, not a camera. No help at all. I turned to leave and the woman's eyes narrowed.

  "I know you," she said, and her gaze swept over my body. "You're that garden lady, Paige Turner. I saw your demonstration on composting at the park on the Fourth."

  I preened a bit at my celebrity and went over to my fan, figuring she'd want to ask for an autograph. "I hope it was helpful. Are you a gardener?"

  She flicked her ashes into a Styrofoam cup. "Me? Nah. It was either listen to you or go to the livestock booth."

  My ego deflated. Still, I did trump watching farm animals. "Oh, well then."

  She stood, pulling down her black skirt and grinding the cigarette under a spiky black pump. She came forward, one hand clutched around a cigarette case and the other hand outstretched. "Mary Stills, Marketing Manager. You lost or something?"

  Daisy's boss. Interesting. I shook her hand. "Lost? No. I was just helping Gary Buzzy's wife. She asked me to work on finding out who killed him."

  Her heavily mascaraed lashes fluttered then halted with her eyes wide open. "So soon?"

  "Doing something constructive is helping her deal with her loss. Did you know Gary?"

  "Sure, everyone here did. I worked with him on employee issues. Never saw him much at any of our gatherings. He wasn't big on socializing with the staff here."

  Just like Karen said. Work was separate from home. "Was he close to anyone?"

  She nodded. "Nathan Jacobs. But I think that relationship fizzled out a while ago."

  "Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to kill Gary?"

  She tapped a long red nail against those ruby lips and looked up. "No, I don't—wait. . .yes. . .of course, Barney Rubble."

  Did she mean just Barney, or was Fred involved, too? "As in The Flintstones?"

  She dropped her hand and smiled. "Just a disgruntled employee who had a set of parents with a warped sense of humor."

  I couldn't understand the disgruntled employee part, but the bizarre need to give children odd names, that Daisy and I both knew well.

  She looked around then took another step closer and lowered her voice. "I liked Gary and want to help if I can, but this isn't common knowledge. Can I count on you to keep it quiet?"

  My cell rang in the song I'd assigned to Adam. I couldn't talk to him now. He'd want to know where I was, what I was doing. I couldn't tell him on the phone. I hit reject and switched my phone to silent mode. "Sorry about that. Of course, I'll be discrete about what you tell me."

  "Barney Rubble worked on the line. He was fired a few weeks back for violati
ng quality control standards on a regular basis. Soon after several managers received threatening letters from Barney. Gary was one of them."

  Well yabba dabba doo, we have a suspect. "Do you know who else got the letter?"

  "No, I only heard about—" Her eyes widened and she tipped her head at the parking lot. "Figured they'd show up."

  I spun around.

  Lights flashing, a police car barreled around the corner.

  "Hey, listen," she said. "I have to get back to work." She opened her cigarette case and pulled out a business card. "Call me if I can help with anything else. Maybe I'll catch your show one of these days."

  I gave a quick wave and rushed across the lot. Mitch pulled his long legs from the car, and we met near my truck.

  "You touch anything?" he asked.

  "Hello, Mitch." I waited for a civil response but got none. "I didn't touch the car, but I did walk around it before I called you."

  He glowered at me. "Are you planning on sticking your nose in this investigation too?"

  "Karen has asked me to help."

  For a brief moment, his eyes flashed with concern, but he quickly veiled it and crossed his arms. "You must have forgotten how you were nearly murdered when you butted into Bud's investigation. Or you're just plain crazy."

  I laughed. "Neither. I merely want to help my friend."

  "Right, I forgot what a do-gooder you are." I'd expect this line to have a sarcastic tinge to it, but his voice held a hint of admiration. "You've done enough for one day. You can go now."

  "How about if I wait around and see what you find?"

  He laughed in a good-natured playful way. "You can't be serious."

  "Okay, I'll go, but one question before I do. Any idea on Gary's time of death yet?"

  He clamped his hand on his gun and cocked a hip, all the while looking at me in the way he did when I caught him kissing Abby Miller in eighth grade.

  I lifted my hands. "Fine, I'll go. But you might want to think about working with me on this one instead of fighting me all the way."

  A flash of surprise traveled his face. "You want to work with me?"

  "Well, yeah, I mean if it meant I could catch Gary's killer, I'd work with just about anyone."

  His lighthearted expression turned to a scowl. "I'm a law enforcement officer. You're a civilian. We'll both be better off if you remember that." He waved at my truck. "Better be going now."

  Baffled at his waffling mood, I climbed into my truck. I gave him a puzzled look then drove off. I would never, no matter the years I lived, understand the adult Mitch Lawson. For a few seconds there, he'd acted as if maybe he missed our friendship, but then the Grinch of a cop returned.

  I stopped at the gate where the guard shoved my license out his window with a scowl and warned me not to tell anyone I'd been in the lot. Good, that must mean he hadn't gotten into any trouble yet for letting me in. I assured him I would keep quiet and pointed my truck for The Garden Gate.

  The shop was quiet when I entered through the rear door. Adam's muffled voice drifting out of my office was the only discernable sound. A quick smile at hearing his voice broke out but disappeared as my deception filtered in. I had to fess up to my involvement in the murder investigation. Yet, I feared this would bring Adam the dictator back. A man I didn't want to see again.

  At the doorway, I took a deep breath and let it out. Adam stood, his back to me, one hand holding his cell, the other clasped around the back of his neck. I waited by the door as he continued his conversation. His tone was miffed, bordering on angry. A trickle of unease settled in my stomach. Probably not a good time to broach my subject. But a very good time to observe the man who was confusing me as much as Mitch was.

  The rich green shirt contrasted with the warm chocolate of his hair and fit as if tailored for him. Not ripped with a six-pack, he was toned and healthy. Slowly, as if feeling me looking at him, he turned. I expected a smile when our eyes met. Instead, he frowned and clutched a clump of his hair.

  He couldn’t know where I'd been, could he? If he lived here in Serendipity, I'd worry one of the locals had told him I was asking questions around town, but they wouldn't rat me out to a stranger.

  "Keep after it, Rhonda," he barked at his assistant. "Call me back as soon as you know anything." He clicked off and set his phone on my desk mounded in paperwork. "Where have you been? I've tried calling you for the last hour." His testy tone carried over to me.

  Needing a second to gather my courage, I pulled my cell from the belt clip and found five missed calls. I clicked through and deleted all of them before deactivating the silent mode. Looking back up, I sucked in a breath at the thunder in his eyes. I'd never seen him like this. Certainly not a time to announce my duplicity, but I couldn't lie. "My phone was on silent. I was doing something for Karen. So how did the meeting with Mitch go?"

  "He was pretty understanding, but Daisy is still a suspect. The meeting was interrupted when someone called to say they found Gary's car. It was at his office. We rescheduled for tomorrow morning."

  How should I respond to the news of Gary's car? With surprise? Adam would surely expect me to latch onto this comment and ask for more details. Or was it time to tell him I'd kept something from him?

  "What's up with you?" he asked, and let his eyes bore into mine. "You seem kind of jumpy. Is something wrong?"

  "I—"

  His cell rang, literally saving me by the bell. He flipped it open. "Rhonda." He listened intently, his eyes growing tighter and his free hand fisting. "Tell him I'll get there as soon as I can. And not to say anything until then." He clapped the phone closed. "Sorry, I've gotta go."

  "Something wrong?" I stepped out of the doorway to make room for him to pass.

  He came around the desk. "One of my clients. A month ago, he was arrested on murder charges that were dropped. You know how I don't ask my clients if they're guilty. Lets me provide a better defense if I don't know. Well he insisted on telling me he didn't do it. Now the cops picked him up with the murder weapon in his possession." He stopped inches away, placed his hands on my hips and looked deeply into my eyes.

  My heart kicked into gear as it always did when he was this close and I looked up hoping for a kiss goodbye.

  "Nothing worse than someone who keeps the truth from you," he said and my hopes deflated. "I can forgive anything, but misleading me is tops on the list of things I struggle with." He planted a whisper soft kiss on my cheek then pulled me into a fierce hug and hissed out a long breath. "Gotta go. I'll call you later."

  I leaned on the doorjamb, my stomach tight. I was Judas. Well, nearly anyway. I didn't give the kiss, but I was the betrayer. I had to tell Adam the truth. I just had to. But how could I? Simple. I couldn't. Not after I saw how he responded to his client's lie. I not only couldn't tell him, I absolutely couldn't let him find out. Ever.

  Chapter Eight

  To keep my mind off Adam, as truly I wouldn't choose to pay bills for any other reason, I bid Hazel farewell for the night and started writing checks. Watching the checking account balance dwindle, I knew Hazel was right. I couldn't keep hiring the waifs of the world unless I increased business. And I couldn't increase business if I spent all my time searching out killers.

  Killers? Yes, good idea. Put away bills that could wait for another day and look at the Pacific Pickles website to see if it provides any clues to Gary's killer. I'd start with photos to see if Gary was in any of them.

  The first picture showed the executive management team. Gary stood between Mary Stills and a portly man who looked like he was about to burst through his suit coat. All six of the people had forced, sort of practiced smiles that said hurry up get the picture over with.

  I scrolled down the page and searched through candid shots taken at the company picnic and Christmas party. Unless Gary played Santa, he wasn't in any of the shots. At the end of the photos I switched to the About page and pulled out my notepad in case anything of interest showed up.

  I'd start w
ith the company history. Founded in 1947 by Mr. Langley, the company boasted three plants, one in Texas, another in California and the one here in Serendipity, which also served as the main headquarters. Hmm, never knew the factory here also housed the headquarters. So that meant the people pictured in the executive management photo were the management staff for the whole company, not just the local plant. Interesting, but did that have anything to do with Gary's death?

  I flipped the pad to a clean sheet and started a list of questions for Nathan Jacobs. My cell split the silence. I jumped and Mr. T flapped his feathers and squawked.

  "Lisa," I said. "How are things going at Karen's?"

  "I'm about to leave. Perry's already fed the girls and I'm in no mood to fix something for myself. You want to meet at The Bakery to grab a bite?"

  I should stay and go back to bill paying, but I could run the leads I'd discovered past Lisa to get her take on things and that was oh so much more fun than writing checks.

  "I'll be there in a few minutes," I said and logged off the website. I hustled around the small room, depositing the checkbook and bank bag into the safe then snatching up my notebook to continue the list when I got home. Lastly, I grabbed my coffee cup to rinse on the way out and headed to the door. "See you later, old buddy," I said to Mr. T and flipped off the lights.

  "Night, John Boy," he replied, sending a smile onto my face.

  I stopped to swish the mug in water and put it in a plastic bin. Tomorrow, if Daisy came to work, her first job would be to load all the dirty mugs from customers into the dishwasher in the small kitchen. And if it was a really good day, she would break less than two of them.

  I tossed my notepad into the truck, climbed in and set off for The Bakery. I could easily have walked the distance as I lived close by and could stand to stretch muscles that were tight from loading the trailer, but I didn't like to leave my truck at the shop overnight.

  At The Bakery, I pushed open the glass door sporting a days worth of fingerprints and scanned the room. Lisa already sat at a table for two snugged against the far wall. I strode across the room passing vinyl stools fixed in front of a long counter that ran the length of the space. Owner Donna Davis, wearing a white apron over a faded pink nylon uniform, waved to me as she chatted with customers.