A few years back, Donna had taken the original restaurant that hadn't been updated in decades and remodeled it into a fifties diner. She installed authentic looking reproductions from the time and the staff dressed in fifties style. I felt like I'd stepped onto the set of Grease every time I came in the door.
"You don't look so good," I said to Lisa and plopped onto a soft padded chair next to her.
"Hah! Neither do you." I hated to admit it, but I'm sure her words rang true.
I was tired of seeing my friends with red-rimmed eyes and haunted looks. First, Daisy then Karen, and Hazel—though for a different reason—and even Verna had a morbid cast to her face.
"Ladies," Donna said. "You two look like you could use a good hot meal." She turned to Lisa. "Heard you've been with Karen all day. How's she doing?"
"Like you might think. In shock. One moment in denial, the next despair." Lisa sounded as if she was recalling her past loss instead of Karen's recent one.
"And you, Paige." Donna pivoted to face me. "Finding another body like that. You've got to be freaked out."
Hello, it was Daisy who found Gary. Why did everyone insist I found the body? "Daisy's the one who had to see him up close."
"You didn't? But everyone's talking about how you saw him." Donna's tone held all the interest of a motorist passing an accident.
I felt like she was training a microscope on me and so were the other diners in the place who were straining to here our conversation. "Look, Donna, can we change the subject?"
Her face flooded with hurt. "Sure. Sure. Why don't I take your order? What looks good to you?"
"Honestly," I said, feeling bad for just being mean to her. "I need a minute." A minute to get over your bringing up the body.
She pulled out her order pad. "I'll just get your drinks, then. What'll you have?"
Lisa and I placed our orders, and after jotting them down, Donna tipped her head at the grill. "I'll be right over there. Holler when you're ready."
Lisa scooted closer and lowered her voice. "Was this how it was when you found Bud? Everyone wanting to know the details like that?"
"Yeah, but worse. Because I did find him and each time they asked if I saw his head lying on my shovel, the sight of it came back. This time I'm a bit detached."
"Like I was when I discovered you and Bud. Funny how no one really asked me about that."
"You were lucky." I didn't want to remember the day I'd stabbed my shovel into a mound of mulch on my construction site and found Bud. Lisa arrived moments later. Now a month later, even when people around me weren't talking about it, the ugly picture popped into my head at the worst times.
Lisa shifted on her seat. "After hearing Donna, I can see why you're so insistent on finding the killer. If people kept coming up to me, asking for details, I'd want to investigate things just to end it and shut them up."
"Maybe that's part of it, but, honestly, I don't think so. With Bud, I had to clear my name. But with Gary, it's an almost overwhelming desire to help Karen that's making me to do it."
"So what did Adam say when you told him?"
"I didn't."
Her eyes flew open. "You didn't—"
"Wait, before you go crazy, I had my reasons." I explained Adam's forbidding me to help Daisy, and his betrayal by his client. "So what would you have done?"
She shook her head. "I don't know, Paige. I hope I would have told him, but I really don't know. You've gotten yourself into another fine mess."
"Thanks. Like I didn't know that."
"Well what did you want me to say?"
"How about, Adam's not acting like himself. He's just stressed, and he'll return to the more rational man I thought I knew."
"Is he? Or is he really like this? He's Perry's friend not mine. For all I know he could be a control freak like you."
"Will you do me a favor? Ask Perry if Adam is usually so bossy."
Lisa laughed, a light tinkling titter. "I'll talk to him, but you know how men are. He probably doesn't know if Adam has this stubborn tendency."
"Just ask, okay?"
"When I get home tonight. Which I need to do soon so let's decide what to order."
We picked up the menus and scanned the selection. Donna came over with our drinks and set them before us. I felt so bad for snapping at her that I sat and smiled at her like a fool, hoping she wasn't mad at me.
Despite her earlier questioning Donna was an easygoing person who didn't harbor any resentment but told people exactly how she felt. She embodied the characteristics of Fennel. Used decoratively, Fennel is light and airy, like her personality. As an herb, Fennel was commonly used in fish sauces to counteract the oiliness of the fish. Donna often had to break up the arguments between the cantankerous men who met here all morning long, fending off the oiliness of some real stinkers.
She took our orders for tonight's special, a hot roast beef plate piled with gravy. Food that stuck to your ribs and, may for a few moments, allow you to forget all about your troubles. Troubles I didn't want to talk about anymore. I needed honest to goodness chitchat that didn't hold deep consequences.
"So what are your plans for tomorrow?" I asked Lisa hoping she'd launch into one of her discourses about raising two babies at the same time.
"I wanted to go see Karen, but I can't take the girls over there. Perry has another interview in Portland. Mom and Dad are riding along to do some shopping. And the girls have dentist appointments." She sighed. "The girls are terrors at the dentist. I'd hoped Perry could come with me, but his interview is important."
Great. She helps me replace my other worries with thoughts of her impending move. "So is this the job, then?"
She sipped on her cola. "I don't think so. It's a big firm, but all they do is corporate law. That's even more boring than what Perry's doing here."
"Maybe with all the bodies showing up, he should expand his local business to include criminal law then you wouldn't have to move." I laughed, but her gaze snapped away. "What? Did I say something wrong?"
She shook her head and leaned across the table. "I didn't want to tell you this until the contracts were signed, but the city has arranged with Perry to do all of their legal work. They don't have enough business to put a lawyer on staff. He'll handle a little bit of everything for them."
"Does this mean you might not move?"
She shrugged. "Maybe. We'll have to see if it spices things up enough for him."
I wanted to shoot my fist into the air but restrained it. I'd done such a good job of hiding my true feelings about the move, I wouldn't give them away now. So I smiled and said, "Tell Perry congrats."
"One thing, Paige. You know how on Bud's case Perry got information for you from his friend at the police station? Since he now works for the city, he won't be able to help you with Gary's case. It would be a total conflict of interest."
Drat. My best source compromised. "He hasn't signed yet, has he?"
She grinned and for the first time since we sat down, I spotted my sunny Shasta daisy. "Stop it, Paige. Don't even go there."
The usual mood between us back, we chatted on about unimportant things in the scheme of the recent tragedy and ate our dinners then headed our separate ways. At my apartment, I made an impressive list of questions for Nathan and decided to call it a night to get my beauty sleep. I wanted to be as sharp as a tack to pin Nathan down tomorrow.
After a thorough scouring of my face and teeth, I returned to my bedroom to the sound of my cell vibrating on the nightstand. I picked it up while glancing at the clock. 10:00. This must be important.
"Paige, it's Karen." Her voice almost breathless gave me pause.
"Karen?" I answered, my stomach already knotting in response to what she might say.
"Please tell me you have news to report."
At her desperate tone, I wanted to shout out that I'd found the killer and he would be brought to justice. And the sobs she was trying to stifle made me think what I had learned today was really nothing.
"I found Gary's car at work, and I have an appointment with Nathan Jacobs tomorrow."
"That's it? That's all you found out?"
I didn't want to tell her about Daisy, but I felt compelled to. "One of the things I was working on was his relationship with Daisy. She's the woman who found Gary."
"Oh, that. I suppose she told you how he shouted at her when she delivered the plants. I was so proud of him, though. He stopped to think about his actions and then apologized." She sighed, and a sob cut it off.
"She really appreciated his apology." I had no idea if this was true, but Karen needed to hear only good things about Gary right now.
"He'd come so far in his walk." She sniffed. "I don't know what I would do right now if he hadn't. He would be in—but he's in heaven now, isn't he?"
"You keep holding onto that, Karen. God is in control of our lives. He knows what's best for us." Good one, Paige. You can spout it, but can you live it?
"Thank you, Paige. And thank you for doing this for me. And don't bother spending anymore time looking into Daisy. As much as I want you to find a killer, that little tiff she had with Gary certainly wasn't reason enough to kill him." She went on, offering suggestions for my search, but she really wasn't making much sense. Her grief had finally taken over, and she seemed to want to talk, so I let her. She rambled on for a few minutes, when I heard her mother urge her to hang up the phone. After she extracted a promise from me to call her tomorrow after I spoke with Nathan, we disconnected.
Still dressed, I fell onto my bed and curled into a fetal position. Karen didn't have another chance to speak with her husband. He was gone forever. And here I'd spent my day worrying about how I was going to confess my duplicitous behavior to my living boyfriend. Well, no more. The next time I saw Adam, I would confess my actions and leave the matter up to God.
Chapter Nine
Today was a new day. A day with the opportunity to fess up to Adam when I saw him and a day to help Karen make that tortuous transition to closure. I was in that place where trusting God was as natural as breathing and nothing seemed too difficult to achieve. Despite the upcoming confrontation with Adam, I felt right with the world.
After completing the smallest amount of paperwork that I could and still keep my business running, I drove to Pacific Pickles eager to meet with Nathan Jacobs. The thought that I was putting too much hope in what this man would reveal was firmly shoved to the recesses of my mind.
Contrary to my cheery mood, the morning sky was overcast and gray. Almost as if Karen got to choose today's weather. Thick clouds obscured the sun and made it feel more like late afternoon than early morning. Still, I resolved to keep my positive attitude and turned into the visitor's entrance at the factory.
Guard Nick leaned out of the booth, but his scowl didn't faze me. Today I was a legit visitor, and Nick would have to throw the gates open in welcome. Dressed in a wrinkled white uniform shirt with what looked like grape juice splotches decorating his chest, he leaned over the door.
"Not you again. I'm not letting you in so don't even ask," he said and frowned at me.
"I have an appointment with Nathan Jacobs at nine," I said.
He drew back into his hut with all the speed of a turtle sliding his head into the shell. He ran a stubby finger down a typed list then looked me over as if I might be a terrorist carrying a bomb. "You aren't here to report me, are you?"
"You mean for letting me in yesterday? No, I don't plan on mentioning that to anyone."
"Good, because Mr. Jacobs is a friend of my boss and he'd be sure to mention me if you said anything. Then I'd get the ax for sure."
I gave him a sincere smile. "Relax. You did me a favor yesterday. I never forget a favor and wouldn't do anything to get you into trouble."
His shoulders relaxed and he curled his thumb and finger in an okay sign. "In that case, go on in and have a nice day, Ms. Turner."
The gate rose, and I sent my truck toward the employee lot. I simply had to satisfy my curiosity about whether Gary's car had been removed or not. At the rear entrance, I scanned the lot. No Explorer. As I suspected, Mitch had impounded the vehicle. Hoping to see Mary Stills again, I glanced at the porch. Empty.
Hopefully my time with Nathan would be more productive. I swung into a visitor's parking spot, slathered a thick layer of gloss on my lips and climbed out of the truck. I'd forgone my usual work outfit of khakis and embroidered polo shirt in honor of my appointment. Why, I don't know. It wasn't as if I expected to find haute couture at a pickle factory. Especially if Briny's outfit was any indication. And it was a good thing, too. My simple ensemble of black slacks and a brightly printed top were not in any designer category.
Feeling good about my wardrobe choice, I entered the lushly appointed lobby that was more appropriate for New Your City than little Serendipity, and the bubble burst. Plump chairs in a deep purple were grouped in a seating area to my left, and an oversized mahogany reception desk filled the right side. Directly ahead, wide marble steps led to a balcony with a long picture window on the back wall. Ornate woodwork outlined the many doors and windows, matching the banister running up the staircase.
"May I help you?" the twenty-something receptionist with sparkling blue eyes and blond waves of hair framing her face called out.
I walked to the desk and returned her infectious smile. "Paige Turner to see Nathan Jacobs."
She giggled then covered her mouth with nails manicured in those little white tips. "Paige Turner," she said as her laughter stilled. "When I saw your name on the list, I wondered what someone with such an odd name would look like. I really had a picture all worked up, but you're normal looking."
I'd heard lines like this far too many times in my young life, but still I tried not to look irritated. "Ah, thanks, I think."
She laid her fingertips over her mouth as her face rushed to match the color of her raspberry lip-gloss. "I'm so sorry. That came out all wrong. And I'll bet you're already sensitive about the name thing." She clapped her hand over her mouth. "Oh, man I just keep putting my foot in it, don't I?"
I waved a hand. "No biggie. After so many years of defending myself, your comments are nothing."
"Thank you for being so kind." She picked up the phone and punched a few buttons with her knuckle. "Go ahead and have a seat. I'll let Mr. Jacobs' assistant know you're here."
Clutching my binder, I crossed the tiled floor, my sandals sending sharp sonar-like pings into the cavernous space as I walked. The wall behind the seating area held a large picture display and a history of the company. A bit nervous, I chose to read up on Pacific Pickles rather than sit and twiddle my thumbs.
The wall didn’t hold anything different from the website, but it finally hit me that the lobby was decorated so expensively because this was the main headquarters.
"Here's Mr. Jacobs," the chirpy receptionist said.
On the balcony, a strapping man dressed in khaki slacks, blue blazer with gold emblem and a striped tie lumbered my way. This was the same man standing next to Mary Stills in the picture on the website. He patted his closely cropped hair with a massive paw and then pushed small wire-framed glasses up his nose. His face looked decidedly uncomfortable until our gazes collided, but then his lips whipped into a smile as fake as the greenery in the lobby. If he was accommodating in our interview, I would suggest he purchase live plants and contract with me to care for them.
He shot out a beefy hand. "Ms. Turner. A pleasure."
I donned the persona I used when pitching landscape projects to corporate bigwigs and allowed his thick fingers to dwarf mine in a more firm than necessary shake while the professional Paige Turner personality settled over me.
"Mr. Jacobs," I said looking up, as he was well over six feet tall.
He released my hand and, after a thorough scouring of the length of my body, he waved. "Please call me Nathan. If you'll follow me, I'll show you where we make our pickles." He spun around, his rubber-soled shoes issuing a high-pitched shriek and then thump
ing up the steps toward those long windows I'd spotted when I'd come in.
Silencing my cell snugged deep in my pocket to avoid any interruptions, I wondered how to start this conversation and followed him. He stopped in front of the picture window and jabbed a thumb at the spotless glass. "Our production line. State of the art."
I looked down on factory workers dressed in white lab coats manning stations spread around polished concrete floors. Large machines moved massive quantities of cucumbers down a belt and into jars that temporarily slowed on a scale. The room looked surgery clean and gave me a hankering for a nice crisp pickle. Dill with just the right hint of garlic. Not a Pacific Pickles brand, but one of those snappy varieties that are found in the refrigerated cases at the grocery store.
Refraining from licking my lips, I looked at Nathan. "Seems pretty efficient."
"Like I said. State of the art." His tone was boastful and seemed to fit well with his boisterous personality. "Mr. Langley wanted the best money could buy to show off to visitors. Maybe you'd like a tour?"
A tour? How odd. I was here to talk about Gary, not watch the jarring of pickles. "I don't want to take up too much of your time. Perhaps we can get right to my questions." Not waiting for him to agree, I rushed on. "I know the factory has been open for eight years, but did Gary work here from the beginning?"
Nathan frowned and gestured down the hall. "We'll be more comfortable talking about this in my office." He lumbered away and I kicked it up a notch to catch up with him. He glanced down on me as if surprised I was still here and said, "Gary and I transferred from our Texas plant three years ago. We both worked our way up to management at that plant. I've known Gary for nearly ten years."
At a windowless metal door wrapped in the same thick wood of the lobby, Nathan swiped a keycard down a reader and when the latch released, he opened the door.
Read Between the Tines Page 7