A horrible thought occurred to me then, which I immediately voiced, “Y’all don’t work a twenty-four seven operation here, do you? I’m lookin’ to get me some overtime.”
Hayden, their informal leader, responded, “Right now, we operate mainly during regular hours, but some of the product lines are growing so fast, with ours being the number one product line …” at this point several team members raised their fists in the air, clutching their cigarettes and cheering, using words like woohoo and yay! A mix of sarcasm, but also a lot of pride. I figured this boded well for the future success of Gloria’s business.
Handsome Hayden continued, “And if I could get a word in edge-wise among all you slackers, as Larry calls you, I could better inform the lovely Miss Parker Bowe here. It is Miss, is it not, Parker?”
“Oh My God, Hayden, she’s only been here a few hours and you’re already hitting on her. Give it a rest,” Tanya spat venomously at him, her tone dark and guttural.
“Yeah, give it a rest,” several chimed in.
“I never give it a rest,” Hayden retorted, swaggering about, rotating his hips, and imbuing the word it with suggestive connotations. “Exercise strengthens our body parts, so it gets a lot of exercise. That’s why it’s more powerful than any one of your body parts.” Hayden spouted pointing to the crotches of the other guys who hooted, but didn’t contest his claim. Apparently they were used to his bravado.
Out of the corner of my eye, I observed Tattooed Tanya, as I’d nicknamed her, seething on the sidelines.
“Well, regardless of how much exercise you’re giving your body parts, Hayden, I still don’t know if anyone works overtime.”
Murmurs of, “Ooooh, she got you there, Hayden,” from the group. I might have to take up smoking. This was a fun group.
One of the other females in the smoker’s group chimed in, “The answer to the lady’s question is that, yes, occasionally, we work weekends and overtime. In fact, they’re considering adding a second shift if our product line continues to grow at its current rate. Some of us worked the last three Saturdays in a row for time and a half. The overtime pay’s pretty good, Parker.”
Most of this group looked to be in their mid-twenties, but this girl seemed even younger, barely of working age. African American, with big brown eyes, glistening pink lipstick and a voice like honey, she’d stepped forward to offer up the information. She stood about five foot two inches tall, so I towered over her. Hayden had introduced her as Trinity, the one who had worked two positions before I came on board. I figured I’d remember her unique name, but I decided to call her TMI Trinity. Her forthrightness might come in very handy. Or was it all a cover up? My intuition suggested not, but I’d have to keep that in mind.
“Trinity, you are so helpful! Since I’m new here, I’m hoping I can come to y’all with my questions as I try to learn the ropes.”
“Of course, Parker! I’d love to be of help. Any time,” Trinity replied in her melodic voice.
Hayden, not one to be preempted, jumped in, “If you want to learn the ropes, Parker, I’m an expert who can teach you all about the ropes. Chains even, if you’re interested. I’d love to be of help too,” he cooed, drawing out the word love and mimicking Trinity’s honeyed tones. “Keep that in mind,” Hayden bounced forward, inserting himself in front of Trinity.
“Give it a rest,” someone shouted.
Another shot back, “For god’s sakes, don’t say that, you’ll get him started all over again with his it speech. Spare us.”
While everyone was hooting, I was thinking there was something about TMI Trinity that was a little off. Her voice seemed almost professional quality and she was, in a certain sense, very sure of herself—articulate beyond her years. Of course, I hadn’t been around her for more than a few minutes. I’d just have to see, over time, as in one brief week, what was going on with her.
Hayden, on the other hand, would require a measured approach. I wanted to keep up the flow of communication but not send out too strong a come-on message.
The last of the seven dwarves was named Inez. Inez sat quietly smoking at the edge of the group, and she hardly registered with me she was so quiet and withdrawn. Of course, quiet and withdrawn could translate to secret acid spiker. I decided to dub her Inez the Introvert and not ignore her quietness until Geo had run a thorough background check on her, which reminded me that I needed to text Geo before the break was through. Time for a graceful exit.
“Thanks for the smokin’ and jokin’, y’all. It’s been real. Real fun,” I smiled. “But I gotta make a few texts before break’s over,” I bowed toward Hayden and bowed again in the general direction of the group. Then I wandered off alone, anxious to text all the names to Geo and dump the cigarette somewhere out of sight. My throat felt like I’d been performing a knife-swallowing circus act and the knife had been roasted over an open fire just before the performance.
I wandered around the corner of the building, quickly stubbed out my cigarette in a sand basin full of other dead smokes, and began texting first and last names furiously to Geo. I knew last names because everyone had been wearing a name tag when I met them. Mine said Temporary, but I was promised one with my own name on it in a week. I hit Submit just as Break Time ended and I had to return to the line.
Chapter Nine – Lunch at Carl’s Junior
The rest of the morning passed uneventfully because my job really did require attention, and I couldn’t just go wandering around talking to people trying to figure out if they were evil enough to lace Yellow Flower with acid. The more I thought about it, the more worried I became: discovering anything significant in a week seemed impossible. And what if the perpetrator struck again? These fears flew round and round in my head as the capper machine played out its monotonous whir, thunk, whir, thunk tune. When lunch time arrived, I was so happy to break the monotony of whir, thunk and negative thinking, I almost jumped up in the air for joy, just before I galloped off once again to the lab coat room to discard my smothering cocoon of over-clothing.
When I reached the lab coat room, others from my team had beaten me there, even though I’d nearly run the whole way. Handsome Hayden had already slipped off his outer clothing exposing his lithe body. He ambled over, “Monday’s are Carl’s Junior days for lunch for a bunch of us. Wanna come?”
“Sure,” I brightened, especially since packing a lunch had never occurred to me. “Who’s drivin’?”
“Moi,” he said, placing his hand on his chest. “And a few others, but that’s of no consequence, since you’re riding with me.”
“And me,” Tattooed Tanya interjected in a flat, hard tone. “I need a ride too, Hayden, in case you’d forgotten, I come by bus to work.”
Hoping to deflect her anger and not encourage Hayden too much, I piped, “The more the merrier, Tanya. Let’s go.” I grabbed my handbag from my little locker, tried to perk up my spikes in the mirror, gave up and exited the lab coat room with my new buddies, stepping out into the sunny, November day. One of those gorgeous, mild Phoenix days, at least in the winter months. I sucked in a breath of fresh air and coughed. My throat still burned from the cigarette and the air smelled like exhaust, probably from the nearness of I17 and the remnants of Monday morning traffic still lingering in the polluted air. I noticed both Hayden and Tanya were once again tearing into their cigarette packs to suck down a smoke before lunch.
Hayden led us through the parking lot to a black Dodge Ram with a quad cab. I’m only sort of up on cars and trucks, but this looked like a relatively new model—gleaming and well kept up. An obvious source of pride for Handsome Hayden. I quickly volunteered to sit in the back seat, wanting to befriend rather than offend Tanya, if at all possible, since she was a likely candidate for “poisoner of the month” club and I wanted to get to know her better. What her motive could be, I was unsure, other than an I hate everybody attitude. The thought that she hates herself too pulsed through my intuition. Someone with nothing to lose. I wondered why Hayden hung out wit
h her, since he seemed relatively sure of himself and a lot more balanced.
Well, maybe all would be revealed at Carl’s Junior, the fast food restaurant we were now speeding towards. What a spot for revelations I thought as we careened along Magnolia, all the windows down, twenty miles an hour over the speed limit, my red spikes flattening even further on my skull, and Hayden and Tanya smoking happily away in the front seat, the smoke wafting back over me. I’d declined an offer of a cigarette from Hayden, claiming I was trying to quit. Truth be told, quitting was easy after only half a smoke that morning.
We all hopped out at Carl’s Junior. I did a quick scan. Lazy Larry, TMI Trinity and a couple more, who must have been from other lines, had shown up too. Everyone followed Hayden inside to line up and place their orders. I ordered a cranberry apple chicken salad and Tanya a turkey burger. The guys mostly ordered double bacon burgers and large fries. Then we trotted outside to sit in the sunshine and scarf down our lunches in the scant hour allotted us. People were mostly eating, talking, joking and enjoying the sunshine. Acid lacing seemed far away, like a dream from another land. Even Tattooed Tanya had settled down now that I’d taken a backseat, literally and figuratively, on the ride over.
I swallowed some of my salad and asked, “So why don’t ya’ll go to McDonalds? I noticed we passed one on the way over. Though we were going so much faster than the speed limit, I almost missed it, since my eyes were blurring.”
Hayden smiled at this remark. His mouth brimming with burger.
“Oh, we go there tomorrow,” chirped Lazy Larry.
“Followed by Taco Bell on Wednesday,” added TMI Trinity, “followed by Carl’s Junior again on Thursday and we rotate to some nicer places on Fridays. Sit-down Mexican, Chinese buffet. Stuff like that. We sometimes have Happy Hour together after work on Fridays too, Parker, if you want to come.”
Good ol’ TMI. I could count on her to divulge a lot.
“And, this Wednesday, there’s a barbeque at my house after work,” interjected Hayden, “and all of you are invited. It’s a Hump Day party.”
“Since when did you come up with that idea, Hayden?” growled Tanya suspiciously.
“Since just now. It’s BYOE.”
I’d never heard of BYOE before. “So what’s BYOE stand for, Hayden?”
“Bring Your Own Everything, and I’ll provide the humor. And the house.”
The group laughed. Most lifted their soft drinks in the air in a kind of toast, “We’ll be there!”
“Me too,” I lifted my Diet Coke up high. Clinked it, or rather thudded it, against Lazy Larry’s paper cup, who was sitting next to me. It’d be a lot easier to learn more at a party where people were loosened up and available to talk, rather than watching the bottle capper thunk and whir, thunk and whir endlessly back on the line. Before we headed back, everyone gave me their cell phone numbers to enter into my cell’s contact list. We were all getting downright chummy.
The return drive to the plant was uneventful except for one incident. As I slid into the back seat, I heard a ripping sound from the floor of the truck. I leaned down to discover the origin. Several issues of Guns & Ammo magazine were stacked neatly on the floor, or rather, they had been stacked neatly until I scattered them all over and ripped the cover off the top issue. I picked up one of the magazines and leafed through: page after page of automatic assault weapons of all shapes and sizes, all about the glory, power and ego-high of owning semi-automatic weaponry. The address on the back cover read: Hayden Malouf. The plot sickens. I’d better dig into this right away I thought.
I own two handguns myself. After all, my dad’s a cop and both my brothers are cops and my on-again off-again boyfriend is a cop. I grew up with guns and knew my way around a shooting range. I could handle a gun with accuracy, but I respected its power to harm and kill. I also knew that the propensity for higher criminal behavior goes hand-in-hand with a fascination with guns, especially semi-automatic assault weaponry.
“Hey, Hayden, I accidentally ripped the cover off one of your gun magazines. I’m sorry.”
“No problem, Parker,” he tossed the words over the back seat while he kept his eye on the right turn he was about to make.
“I love guns of all kinds and I practically grew up on a shooting range in Texas,” I lied through my teeth, well, about the Texas part, anyway, to see if he’d divulge more. “I think semi-automatics are just a kick. What a turn-on, huh?”
He executed the right turn onto Baseline Road and didn’t say anything. Hmm … maybe I was onto something. Then I realized he was trying to light his ever present cigarette and it required all his concentration.
Once he got it lit, sucked in a big drag of nicotine, and blew out a billowing cloud, he replied with uncharacteristic seriousness, “Actually, my dream is to be a law enforcement officer. I want to know my way around a gun, so that I’m ready to prove myself when the time comes.”
Good answer, or maybe he was just blowin’ smoke to throw me off track. No pun intended—as I watched him blow his second big puff out the open window.
“So what’s stopping you from trying to become a cop right now?” I asked adding, “Besides all the speeding tickets you must accumulate?”
“In the economic downturn, they aren’t hiring,” he said flatly.
I knew this to be a true statement from my dad, so I let the subject rest while we sailed back to work. I was suspicious, though. Every word Hayden had uttered since I’d met him had been a joke or playful in nature. His response now displayed no evidence of humor. It was almost too serious, and it raised my hackles into the alert stage.
The rest of the day passed swiftly. I stayed inside with the non-smokers during the afternoon break, just to check them out, but no one attracted my attention like a few of the smokers had as far as potential suspects. I’d decided that with a thousand people working at Glory’s Organic Lotions, the best I could do in a mere week was to trust my instincts and my people radar, plus look closely at those who had most access to the Yellow Flower product line. Right now my people radar was on Hayden the Handsome or Tattooed Tanya, who was a smoldering bag of insecurity and anger ready to explode. Her motive might be “just for the hell of it.”
Chapter Ten – Motive Monopoly with Geo
I rushed home after work because Geo had agreed to be there when I arrived, rather than with Kathy Keach. As I burst into the kitchen, Geo was busy working away on his laptop at the kitchen table and Snack greeted me with wild enthusiasm. I would have been honored, except that Snack greets everyone with wild enthusiasm: the UPS truck, the cable guy, anyone who comes to our door, and robbers, if they were to sneak into our house. I checked his food and water and threw him a few balls in the backyard, then hurried back inside to sit next to Geo.
“Want a Diet Coke?”
“Mmm … yes,” Geo murmured.
It wasn’t my style to play servant to anyone, but I needed Geo focused on this job. Anything I could do to coax him into that focus was worth it to me. I knew the sounds and signs of concentration when Geo was working on a case. I dutifully jumped up to make him a giant Coke with plenty of ice. Meanwhile, I found my yellow legal pad where we’d made a few plans of attack on Sunday night.
Geo took a big sip, then looked up from his laptop, “Let’s review the possible suspects. I suggest we go in the order you texted them to me. I’ve conducted background checks, scanned all their social networks, and attempted to hack into some of their personal and work information with varying degrees of success which I’ll explain later.”
“Works for me. Let’s start with my first encounter: Marissa Blount, the one I’ve dubbed the Schizoid Admin.”
“Well, you dubbed her right. Marissa’s a weird one. Her online social presence displays an intense fascination with vampires, zombies, and sadomasochism. She seems somewhat unhinged and I question why anyone in HR would hire her for the front office in the first place. However, if she has a record, I can’t find it in the cursory background check
I made so far.”
I’d written Marissa, the Schizoid Admin: vampires, zombies, S&M, unhinged on my legal pad. Nice start to an investigation!
I continued, “Next, I met Fake Freddy, as I call him, but he calls himself, Fredric Gadston the Third, the HR guy who actually hired Marissa.”
“I did find something intriguing about Fake Freddy—he has a long history with Gloria.”
“Really?” I said as I reached for Geo’s Coke and took a big sip. Snack had returned from the backyard with two tennis balls side by side in his mouth. He looked up at me with a goofy, two-ball smile, like he’d grown two huge, dirty, lime green teeth with a little saliva dripping down. I patted him appreciatively. “I wonder why she didn’t tell me.”
“They started a previous business together, some kind of administrative concierge service for small businesses, that went belly up. They both took a huge hit on it, but, of course, Gloria can survive a huge hit a lot easier than Freddy can. The failure nearly took him down for the count as far as I can tell. He’s still trying to recover.”
“So is Fake Freddy part owner of Glory’s Organic Lotions?”
“Nope, just the head of HR.”
“Well, the combination of the failed business and the exclusion from the current business may be motive for trying to destroy Glory’s current success.”
“Agreed. It might be. He’d lose his only source of income, though, if he took the business down. That being said, let’s keep a close watch on Fake Freddy.”
“That’s going to be hard when I’m stuck out on the manufacturing line all the time. Maybe I can make an appointment to see him on break.” I moved to a new question, “Were you able to figure out who Marissa was e-mailing during the time I texted you? Her admin job is the last thing on her mind, she’s so busy typing hate mail to some poor recipient, and when she finally did talk to me, it was as if she dropped into some phony alter ego. Her voice and demeanor became singsong, like a recording.”
Trudi Baldwin - Sammy Dick, PI 02 - Acid Test for Yellow Flower Page 6