Trudi Baldwin - Sammy Dick, PI 02 - Acid Test for Yellow Flower

by Trudi Baldwin

  “Marissa Blout.”

  “Marissa Blout!” See, if you waited long enough and patiently enough, Geo eventually got to the goods.

  “That’s what I just said: Marissa Blout, the Schizoid Admin, as you call her.”

  “But she doesn’t strike me as someone who could supervise her way out of a paper bag.”

  “I know, Sammy. That’s why it’s interesting.”

  “Hey, guess what, that reminds me, I forgot to tell you something that might be important. When I purposely misplaced my badge and was sent to Security, Security turned out to be none other than Fredric Gadstone the Third AKA Fake Freddy, and, even more interesting, when I knocked on his door, Marissa scurried out shoving her sheath back down around her knees.”

  “How could you forget to tell me that, Sammy?”

  “Well, I don’t know, Geo. It could be that you weren’t even here that day, so I didn’t have a chance to relay the news.”

  Geo chose to ignore that comment and observed, “A lot of incestuous stuff goin’ on in the ol’ lotion factory. No separation between Security and HR. The admin may be doing it with the head of HR or, wait, the admin may be doing it with the head of Security, all at the same time, another great corporate practice. I can certainly see, too, how Ancient Annie could hold a grudge against Gloria, Fake Freddy, and/or Marissa for screwing up her life.”

  “Yeah, and screwing up her life in ways that don’t make any sense at all. I’ve seen Annie in action and I’ve seen Marissa in action. Who, in their right mind, would substitute Marissa for Annie as a Line Leader?”

  “Apparently, Fake Freddy would, and, worse,” Geo continued piggy backing on my thought, “who, in their right mind, would then double the size of Marissa’s span of control at the same time and place her on their number one selling product line? No wonder the business began to fail.”

  “And where was Gloria the whole time? Certainly not overseeing her business while it went down the tubes, almost into extinction.”

  “Gloria was probably focusing on some other start-up business,” Geo interjected.

  “And placing way too much trust and faith in her old business partner, Fredric Gadstone the Third, to run things effectively in her absence.”

  Geo added to my thoughts, “I agree and Gloria’s still placing way too much faith and trust in her old business partner. I’m not sure Fake Freddy has anything to do with the acid lacing because that puts him out of a job, but Marissa seems worthy of further scrutiny. The way you describe her, she’s so unhinged, she might not even grasp the connection between her own potential joblessness and acid lacing.”

  “I don’t know, Geo, she doesn’t really seem competent and collected enough to plan out the acid attack.”

  “It would require forethought and careful planning, so she may not be the culprit. Still, I think you should keep your eye on her, Sammy—even though I didn’t vote for her in Motive Monopoly.”

  “You may live to regret that, Geo. So, what’s your second item of interest? I agree that the Marissa Blout finding is very intriguing.”

  “Cover your eyes,” Geo commanded.

  “If I cover my eyes, Snack will lose his petting action.”

  “I think it’s about time to give Snack’s petting action a rest. His moaning is starting to get obscene.”

  “Okay, you win, Geo. I’m covering my eyes.” Truth be told, I love silly games like this. “How long do I have to cover my eyes?”

  “Until I say you can uncover them.”

  Tick, tick, tick. “How much longer, Geo?” I could hear rustling sounds nearby.

  “Ten, nine, eight, seven, six …”

  I uncovered my eyes.

  “Sammy, you cheated. You had five more counts to go.”

  “I know, Geo, but I was too interested in what you’re doing,” I sat staring at a big oblong package wrapped in brown paper sitting on the kitchen table between Geo’s laptop and me. “Wow! What is it?”

  Geo began ripping away the plain, brown paper and throwing it to the floor. Snack picked up a big, long strip of paper and began prancing around proudly. I told Snack he was a very good, smart boy which is what he likes to hear during these peak moments in his life.

  Geo likes to hear this kind of stuff, too, so I said, “You’re a very good, smart boy, too, Geo.”

  Geo actually laughed out loud at that. Of course, a lot of Geo’s happiness in life is gathered through his on-again, off-again intense relationship with electronic gadgetry, which is what I suspected lay under the massive layers of wrapping. If I have an on-again off-again relationship with Mountain, Geo has a similar one with electronics. Sometimes things work smoothly and sometimes they don’t. It remained to be seen how successful Geo’s and my relationship with this new piece of gadgetry would be.

  When the layers of plain brown paper wrapping were finally removed, an equally anonymous cardboard box appeared, taped to the hilt along the edges. I dashed into the kitchen to get Geo a knife and Snack dashed with me waving the paper up and down like a cheerleader guiding the human wave.

  Geo sliced through the tape and pulled away the white styrofoam protection layer. When all the styrofoam had been pulled away a gleaming instrument loaded with dials, speakers and what appeared to be four channels sat before us on the table. Geo practically trembled in anticipation: a virgin instrument!

  “I spent a good portion of our last bonus check on this baby,” Geo informed me with his eyes gleaming.

  “What does this baby do, Geo?”

  “This powerful baby enables us to listen in on and record four simultaneous conversations.”

  “That is powerful, Geo. So what’s the hitch?”

  “What do you mean What’s the hitch?”

  “When we buy new electronics, we usually have two issues: Number One—I usually have to run the damn thing at some point, and Number Two, this is the killer point here, Geo, Number Two—the new electronics don’t usually work. Oh yes, and let me add Number Three. I forgot about Number Three.”

  “You’re only allowed two points because that’s what you started with.”

  I ignored him and continued, “Number Three—almost everything we do with electronics is flat out illegal. Oh yes, and Number Four is…”

  “You’re way beyond your two points now, Sammy!”

  “Number Four is even if it were legal, which it’s not, it’s still not admissible in court. Okay, I’m done. I’ve made my four points.”

  Geo looked disheartened. He hung his head for a moment, then he sat up straight and played his trump card, “One of the main reasons I work for the Dick Agency and help you with your investigations is so that I can try out new high-tech electronics like this.” He sat there staring me down with his arms folded across his chest letting all the implications of his statement hang in the air.

  I decided to back off. I needed Geo too much, and, who knew, maybe his four channel gadget would crack open our stalled case. I extended the peace branch, “How does it work?”

  He smiled and said, “I don’t know yet, but we’ll soon find out. Let’s practice.”

  “Geo, I have to get ready for the BYOE Hump Day Party pretty soon.”

  “We’re going to use this during the BYOE Hump Day Party, Sammy, so you’d better learn how to do your part right away.”

  “Holy shit, Geo, I need to know how to use this by tonight?”

  “No, I’m going to be out in my car using it—listening in and recording four conversations.”

  “What do I have to do?”

  “You have to figure out your four top suspects and then plant a bug on their clothing during the party.” Geo rummaged around in the packaging and came up with a package of adhesive monitors. They looked almost like the electrode patches the doctor attaches to the patient’s chest during an EKG heart monitor or a brain scan, but much smaller in size.

  “Wow, those are tiny, Geo.”

  “They are amazingly tiny, Sammy, and very sticky. Your job is to get
near each potential suspect, put your arm around them or something, and stick the monitor in some unobtrusive place near their mouth.”

  “Sounds impossible and fraught with danger and intrigue. I like it!”

  “We’ll drive in separate cars in case someone sees you getting out of your vehicle, so we won’t raise anyone’s suspicion. Then I’ll listen in on four simultaneous suspects the best I can, all the while independently recording each one on tape. I need to be within a half city block range for the monitoring to pick up but the closer I can get the better.” Geo began inserting four tapes.

  “Geo, this might be just the surveillance instrument we need to crack this case wide open,” I said as I stood up. “But now, I really do need to get ready for the Hump Day Party and try to look my sexiest, bad-girl best—and also figure out what I’m bringing for BYOE.”

  Geo barely heard me, he was so involved with his new instrument, as I trotted down the hall to get ready for our big night.

  Chapter Fourteen – BYOE Hump Day Party

  I’d done my best and my best turned out to be more than good enough. I was the belle of the ball at the Hump Day Party. I’d washed and unspiked my hair, blown it dry with a little gel, then brushed it back over my ears and hot curled the front in a simple, sexy wave, Charlize Therone style with a little Miley Cyrus thrown in for good (or bad) measure.

  I’d scrounged around in my closet until I found my pushiest, push-up black bra and donned that. I swiped all my clothes along the hangers to the left side of my closet, the few clothes that were actually hung up, and found just the blouse I was looking for, a black, very revealing top with rhinestone studs outlining my cleavage and circling up around my neck. After sorting through a mountain of clean clothes on the floor that had never made it all the way to the hanging-back-up stage, I found some jeggings, my dark gray washed out leggings sewn to look like jeans but fit like skin. Perfect!

  I’d slid those on, sloshed on a ton of mascara, and used my new black eyeliner to paint thick shiny lines along each lid, extending out past my eyes in sweeping upward swooshes, until my face looked like a Nike ad or more like two Nike ads. To top it all off, I daubed on some midnight blue eye shadow under my brows and rubbed a touch of silver shadow across my lids. Voila! The belle of the ball dressed to the hilt in her full regalia was ready to go.

  One little problem confronted me, though, how to carry the electrode-like listening devices in a pair of jeggings with no actual pockets since they were secretly skin-tight leggings? A solution appeared, or rather was dug up in the far reaches of my closet in a box where Delilah and I keep odds and ends purchased at garage sales: a tiny silver chainmail purse that I could sling over my shoulder, conveniently slip my hand into unnoticed, and pull out listening devices to stick on unsuspecting suspects. Problem solved. At least until reality set in.

  Oh, and let’s not forget the shoes, the crowning glory of this outfit: to-die-for black spiked stilettos, unspeakably high, with all kinds of leather straps wrapping around my slender feet and up my slender ankles, stopping at my rock-hard and very well defined calves. I didn’t work my ass off for nothin’!

  Decked out in this blaze of glory outfit, I strode into Hayden the Hipster’s house, fashionably late at eight forty-five. I have to admit, I stopped the party. As I walked through the door, the men stared and the women glared. I smiled graciously all around and winked at Hayden. I thought Tattooed Tanya was going to leap out of her skin and strangle me on the spot. Since Tanya was one of the suspects I needed to play ‘pin the tail on the donkey’ with tonight, I knew I’d better figure out how to appease her quickly, so I could sidle up and attach a sticky little listening device unseen.

  For my BYOE, I’d brought Skinny Girl Cosmopolitans in three ice-cold, slim frosted bottles. I sashayed through the crowd, pulled my bottles from their paper sack and placed them on the counter with the mountains of other BYOE paraphernalia: chips, dip, beer of all kinds, brownies, pretzels, four kinds of candy, sodas, and near the fridge some rolled cigarette-like objects that looked suspiciously like joints of marijuana. I seriously hoped I wouldn’t get arrested tonight. I found a suitable long stemmed Cosmo glass in Hayden’s surprisingly neat and well-kept cupboard, poured myself some Skinny Girl, and oozed my way into the crowd. Let the games begin!

  I knew Geo was huddled in what we called his NDE Camry—his near-death-experience, two-hundred and fifty-thousand miles on the speedometer, chipped paint Camry—less than a quarter block away fiddling with the dials of his brand new recording device. He was probably going to get cold in the chilly November night. I hoped he’d brought a blanket but I doubted it, since he’d been so excited about the shiny gadgetry nothing else entered his mind. More importantly, I hoped the new equipment would actually work. I gave it a fifty/fifty chance based on past experience with this gray market equipment. It wouldn’t work at all, though, if I didn’t do my part. Time to get crackin’…

  One of the hard parts about going undercover is that it becomes all too easy to lose oneself completely in the current scene. Yet, if you were to play your part well, that’s exactly how you had to come across: one hundred percent immersed and present in the current scene, in this case the party. Simultaneous immersion, while staying alert and doing your real job, required a delicate, ever-changing balance. Luckily, achieving that balance was one of my specialties.

  After greeting me, Handsome Hayden returned to his seat on the sofa. Skinny Cosmo now in hand, I smiled at the crowd, who were both sitting and standing, watching Lazy Larry and Handsome Hayden battle it out in some kind of car race video game that appeared to involve lots of crashes, racing pedestrians and good and bad flying pterodactyls, depending upon whose side you were on. Apparently, the crowd had placed their bets on one or the other players because stacks of dollar bills with a few coins thrown in sat in front of each player. Handsome Hayden appeared to have the higher stack. I rummaged around in my chainmail purse, careful not to disturb my electronic monitoring devices, grabbed a five dollar bill and threw it on Lazy Larry’s pile, just to taunt Hayden a bit and maybe win over Tanya. Maybe.

  Handsome Hayden saw my bet out of the corner of his eye, “Ooh, girl, you are so going to regret that misplaced bet! Is that the kind of loyalty I get after driving you to lunch all week?”

  His eyes never leaving the huge screen where his car careened through the streets and his hands furiously working the controls, Lazy Larry chimed in, “Hayden, you are good at many, many things, I’ll grant you that, but you are not going to beat me in this game, so Parker’s just placing her money on the smartest pile.” To illustrate his point, Lazy Larry pressed something on his controls and shot ahead of Hayden’s car. The crowd cheered, both on and off the screen.

  “Weak move, weak move. Watch this, Larry!” Hayden somehow called forth the powers of one of his pterodactyls that flew with huge flapping wings across the screen and descended onto Larry’s car, clutched it in its talons and swooped up high to deposit it on top of a tall building that imploded very realistically. As the bricks cascaded down and Larry’s car tumbled and spun through the air, Larry worked his controls frantically until he landed upright on the road again. With focused concentration, Larry shifted into high gear. Still fully intact, Lazy Larry’s car sped up and flew by Hayden’s.

  “You sneaky son of a bitch, Larry!” yelled Hayden and everyone laughed and cheered.

  I took my opportunity to make my way through the crowd and over to Tattooed Tanya. She looked very attractive in a tight red top with spaghetti straps, fully displaying her multitude of tats. Her long blond hair hung straight down past her shoulders. A clasp with rhinestone studs held her side-parted hair out of her eyes. She watched me warily as I approached.

  “What’s up, Parker?” she said in a stand-offish way.

  “Nothin’, looks like a pretty cool party. I like your top. It really shows off your tats.”

  “Thanks,” she mumbled, not really trusting me.

  “Go ahead and help
yourself to some of my Skinny Girl Cosmos, if you like that sort of thing. Only ninety calories a glass, not that you need to watch your weight in any way.”

  “I’m a beer drinker myself,” Tanya responded, warming to me a little. She lifted her stein up, filled with a golden ale, to clink it against my Cosmo glass.

  I tried to stay on track, “So do your tats have stories behind them? They certainly look like they tell a story or maybe many stories.”

  “The many sordid stories of my life,” she said clinking her stein against mine again. “I can drink to that.”

  “I can drink to that too,” I agreed. She was warming to me even more.

  I stared at her outfit trying to imagine where I might place a listening device that was near her mouth without exposure. The spaghetti straps and low bust line top made it very challenging. Pretty much nothing but tattooed skin from her bust line up. No logical landing place for a listening device anywhere near her mouth. I decided to try and place the little listening device firmly on her spaghetti strap on her back under her hair where it wouldn’t show. A nearly impossible task.

  Bide your time. Bide your time, I said to myself.

  “So I know the stories of one’s life can be very personal. Most of mine are, but is there one series of tats where you’d care to share the backstory?” I was trying to remember to keep my southern drawl up.

  This time Tanya actually turned away from facing the raucous game and gave her full attention to me, “I didn’t think you had any interest in me at all, you being the new queen bee on the block.” She always had an undercurrent of pent-up anger in her voice that she never seemed able to shake.

  “To tell you the truth, Tanya, I haven’t been in Phoenix that long, and I’d like to make some new friends. Like you, I have more sordid backstories than you might think. Since we both work in the same place and on the same product line, I thought you and I might have quite a bit in common.”

  My little speech gave her pause. I could see her processing it for validity and assessing if she could trust me with anything personal. My infamous intuition, as Geo called it, was banking on her pride in her tats and every human being’s need to tell their personal story to win out over her distrust and dislike of me.