Jingle of Coins

by C. D. Ledbetter

  “Thank God you’re here,” the woman responded. “My name’s Sara, Sara Jones. Glad to meet you.”

  Emily glanced at the remaining customers. “What can I do to help?”

  “I have to finish an order for a wedding, or Clarise’ll have my head,” Sara replied. “Do you know how to work a cash register?”

  “Yeah.” Emily slid behind the counter and stared at the register. “No problem—I’ve worked this kind before.”

  “Thanks. The prices are under the arrangements, and the register automatically figures the tax. Call me if you have any problems.”

  Three more customers walked into the shop, and Emily struggled to keep her composure while answering questions about various arrangements. This must be why Clarise hired her so quickly. If this early morning rush was anything to go by, she and Sara were going to have their hands full.

  Sara emerged with a box filled with bouquets of yellow roses, purple irises, and baby’s breath, and placed it on the counter. She disappeared into the back and returned with a second carton brimming over with ribbons and bows. While Sara inventoried the contents against an order sheet, Emily waited on an elderly man dressed in a black pin stripe suit and orchid silk shirt. Unlike the other customers, who’d either charged their flowers or paid with a check, he laid two one hundred-dollar bills on the counter. Picking up the money, Emily rang up the purchase and handed him eighty-seven dollars and fifty-nine cents in change. He walked away, and she stuffed the hundred dollar bills under the plastic coin drawer that fit inside the register. Just when she thought she had a moment to catch her breath, four more customers walked into the shop. Sara eventually returned from her deliveries, and once the last customer left, the two women took a much-deserved break.

  “Is it always this busy?” Emily asked, glancing at the bare shelves on either side of the room.

  “It didn’t used to be, but since we started the Gondola Weddings, we can’t keep enough bouquets and flowers on hand,” Sara replied. “The couples keep coming in. You should see some of the stuff they buy. We’ve been run off our feet trying to keep the shelves stocked. I’m sure glad you’re here.”

  “I’ll help any way I can,” Emily replied, glancing toward the door. “I don’t mean to change the subject, but Clarise said she’d meet me at ten. Do you have any idea where she is? She said I’m supposed to go to some kind of orientation.”

  Sara reached under the counter, removed a chunk of pineapple from a plastic zip lock bag, and stuffed it in her mouth. “She’s upstairs. Some big management meeting,” she said between bites. “There’s no telling how long she’ll be tied up. Orientation always starts at one and lasts four hours. If Clarise isn’t back by then, I’ll take you. You get to sign a lot of paperwork and watch two or three really boring films, so be prepared to be bored out of your mind.”

  Emily grinned and declined Sara’s offer of pineapple. “Thanks. I appreciate the warning.” She edged off the stool and stared at the flowers sitting in the refrigeration unit. “Do you have any arrangements I can make? I’ll be glad to start on them. I’m kind of anxious to get my feet wet.”

  Sara slid off her stool. “Cool! I hate doing bridal bouquets. We have one wedding tomorrow and two the day after. I’ll pull the flowers and show you what the brides ordered. The bouquets aren’t difficult. I’m no expert, so I only show the brides pictures of the ones I know how to make,” she added with a sly grin. “No sense showing them what they can’t have, right?”

  Emily laughed. “You’re too funny, Sara.”

  “Well, now that you’re here, we can start showing them all the bouquet pictures. Maybe we’ll even increase our sales.” She paused, scratched her head, then glanced back at Emily. “On second thought, maybe that’s not such a good idea. We’re already swamped. What will we do if business increases?”

  Emily shook her head and smoothed the layers of tissue paper stacked on the edge of the counter. “Work harder, I guess. That reminds me. One of the customers gave me a couple of hundred-dollar bills. I stuffed them under the coin tray. Was that okay?”

  Sara nodded. “Sure, that’s fine. You checked to make sure they weren’t counterfeit, right?”

  “Oops. Uh, nooo…Was I supposed to?”

  Sara smacked her forehead with her palm. “Crap. I can’t believe I forgot to tell you about that. I sure hope they’re okay.” She set her bucket of flowers onto the counter, then dashed to the register. Opening the drawer, she pulled out the hundred-dollar bills and held them up to the light. “Oh my God, they’re counterfeit,” she whispered in a horrified voice.

  Emily’s stomach churned. “Oh no. I can’t believe I’m going to get fired my first day on the job.”

  Sara slowly placed the bills back into the register and closed the drawer. “I don’t think they’ll fire you since one of the things they teach you in orientation is how to check for counterfeit money. The easiest way to check for validity is to make sure the money has an inscribed security thread that runs vertically. The other thing you’ve got to watch for is the microprinting. That’s supposed to be on the rim of the portrait.” She sat on her stool and chewed her fingernails. “The hotel’s been getting a lot of phony money lately; there’s been a big push to make sure that anybody who handles money checks to make sure it’s real—before the customer walks.”

  “Damn it. It never occurred to me to check for counterfeit bills.” Emily stared at Sara for a few moments, then snapped her fingers. “If it’s any help, I can describe the man who gave them to me.”

  Sara lifted her head and stared. “We were really busy. Are you sure you can remember what he looked like?”

  “I’m positive. I’m really good at remembering details,” Emily replied matter-of-factly. “It comes from being an artist. I studied people’s faces when I was doing portraits, and it stuck with me.”

  Sara dialed an extension, spoke with someone for a few minutes, then hung up. “I’ve called security.” She pointed to the camera mounted in the corner of one wall. “They can show you the security film, and you can identify him from that.”

  “When do I have to go see them?” Emily asked in a somber voice.

  “Right away.” Sara patted her arm. “Don’t worry,” she soothed as a uniformed guard entered the shop. She pointed to the guard. “That’s Ben. He’s here to escort you to the security chief’s office.”

  Emily’s heart thumped. This was only her first day on the job, and she was already being escorted to the head of security! God, how much worse could things get?

  The guard chatted with Sara for a few minutes, then motioned for Emily to follow. He remained silent as they rode the elevator, and once they reached the security area, directed Emily to a chair in the reception area while he disappeared down a hallway. A few moments later, a short, rotund man with a cigar stuck in his mouth walked over and introduced himself.

  “I’m Dan Keener, Head of Security,” he said, removing the cigar that dangled precariously on the edge of his lip. “Come with me.”

  Emily willed her feet to move forward. She followed Chief Keener into a private office and perched on the edge of a visitor chair. The room fell silent as Keener stared at her, and she clenched her fingers into tight balls as she waited for him to make the first move.

  “I understand this is your first day.”

  She nodded, then found her voice. “Yes. The shop was swamped, so Sara asked if I could help out on the register while she finished up a wedding order.”

  He nodded. “Do you remember who gave you the counterfeit bills?”

  Emily unclenched her hands and leaned forward, resting her fingers on the edge of his desk. “Yes,” she said eagerly, glad finally to be of assistance. “He was an older gentleman, with white hair. The front part of his head was bald, and the sides were slicked over his ears. His eyes were blue, and he had a white mustache and bushy eyebrows. He also had a small scar on his left cheekbone.”

  “You certainly can remember a lot,” the security ch
ief observed in a chilly voice. “Especially for your first day in a busy shop. How’s that?”

  Emily felt an iron fist clamp around her heart. He thought she was making everything up! She counted to ten, then launched into her explanation. “I used to be an artist until a car accident took away my ability to paint. Over the years I’ve studied lots of people’s faces, and it sorta stuck with me. Besides, he stood out like a sore thumb, dressed in a black pin stripe suit when everybody else was in shorts, tee shirts, and sandals.”

  Chief Keener scratched his head. “I see.” He stood up and walked over to a VCR. “We should get the security tape in a few minutes. Would you mind pointing him out?”

  “No, of course not.” She studied his face for a few minutes, then looked down at her lap. “Are you going to fire me because I took counterfeit money?” she asked in a low voice.

  “Not today, Miss Sane. However, if this happens again, you will be fired.”

  Emily lifted her gaze to his, grateful for the reprieve. “Thank you.”

  “You’ll have to talk to the Secret Service Agent who’ll be giving the counterfeit training this afternoon,” he said as he motioned for a guard to bring the tape. “His name is Sam Dozer, and he’s been working with all the employees. Your description of the man, plus the tape we have should be a big help. If nothing else, at least it will give the Secret Service a face to look for while they try to figure out who’s behind all this.”

  Emily waited in silence as the tape started, then walked over to the television screen when the counterfeiter appeared. “That’s him,” she announced, her voice an excited whisper. “Look, you can see him putting the money on the counter.”

  A few minutes later Keener switched off the tape. “Thanks for your help. You can go back to the shop. We’re done.”

  “No problem.” She started for the door, then swung around. “I will never accept another hundred-dollar bill again without checking it,” she said in a low voice.

  “Let’s hope not. We have enough to worry about without people passing fake money.”

  Emily breathed a sigh of relief as she rode the elevator back to the first floor. The shop was empty, and Sara immediately bombarded her with questions. “You’re lucky you got off so easily,” she commented in a low voice. “I got my butt chewed out royally.”

  “I’m sorry I got you into this,” Emily apologized.

  “It’s my own fault; don’t worry about it. Clarise came by a few minutes ago and said she’ll be tied up all day. She’ll get with you tomorrow. I’m supposed to escort you to orientation.” Sara glanced down at her watch. “You still have enough time to grab a sandwich.”

  “What about you?”

  “Don’t worry about me; I’m used to eating late. Do you know where the food court is?”

  “Yeah. I’ll see you in a little while. Thanks.” As Emily walked toward the buffet area, she reviewed the day’s events. Things were not going well. First she’d overslept, then taken the fake money, and now she had to talk to a Secret Service agent. For somebody who didn’t want to make waves, she certainly wasn’t doing a very good job of keeping a low profile. She realized that she was going to have to do a better job of staying under everyone’s radar so they didn’t find out about her talent. In her case, familiarity not only bred contempt—it also meant possible capture and a long prison sentence.

  She thought about her upcoming discussion with the Secret Service agent and decided to tell him everything she knew about the counterfeiter. All she had to do was answer his questions truthfully, and she was home free.

  Chapter Twelve

  At one o’clock, Emily joined thirteen other new employees in the Human Resources Conference room. She signed dozens of forms and then spent the next three hours watching films on safety, sexual harassment, and gaming regulations. As the crowd scattered for a much-needed break, a man carrying a briefcase entered the room and paused at the table in front of the podium.

  She studied him out of the corner of her eye and wondered if he was the Secret Service agent Keener said she’d have to talk to. If so, he hadn’t been in Vegas for long. Anybody who stayed in Vegas for more than a week quickly acquired a tan. This guy was so pale, he looked like he spent most of his time indoors.

  After he placed a stack of handouts on the edge of every table, he walked over and glanced at her nametag. “Hello. I’m Agent Dozer from the Secret Service. You must be Emily Sane,” he began.

  “Unfortunately, yes,” she replied with a wry smile.

  He patted her arm. “Don’t feel too bad about accepting bogus money. Even the pros have trouble sometimes spotting the fake stuff.”

  She hung her head. “I was so embarrassed when they escorted me to security,” she confided in a low whisper. “I’m lucky I didn’t get fired.”

  The rest of the group filtered back into the room. “We’ll talk later,” he promised as he returned to the podium. He tapped the microphone a few times to get everyone’s attention, and began his lecture.

  Dozer droned on for an hour about how to check for counterfeit bills, then compounded everyone’s boredom by moving on to other security precautions. Emily was relieved when he finished, and once the session was over, moved to leave the room, but he signaled for her to stay.

  She watched him repack his briefcase. “What did you want to discuss?”

  “Let’s go to my office,” he replied, walking past her.

  She was surprised when he escorted her into a small, windowless room that looked more like a storage closet than an office. A metal desk and chair occupied one wall, and dark brown carpet lent an air of gloom to the already dreadful space. She shook her head as she sat in the single visitor chair. “What did you do, tick Keener off, and get assigned to the dungeon as penance for your sins?”

  He glanced up. “Let’s just say we don’t see eye to eye. I think he resented my asking him questions about the three agents who disappeared.”

  Intrigued, she edged her chair forward and laid her hand on the top of the desk. “What missing agents?”

  “You didn’t hear about them? It was all over the papers.”

  “I just moved here.”

  He leaned back in his chair. “Two FBI agents and a counterfeit specialist from the Secret Service were brought in to find out who’s behind the counterfeit ring that’s operating in Vegas. Right after they started talking to some of the Emerald Lagoon security guys, they disappeared. I’ve been assigned to find out what happened to them. That’s why I’m so interested in your description of the man in the shop.”

  “I see. What can I do to help?”

  He took out a small notebook. “Just answer my questions and try to remember as much detail as you can.”

  Ninety minutes later Emily returned to her car. She glanced down at her watch and realized that it was six forty-five. Glen was supposed to pick her up for dinner fifteen minutes ago! She backed the Jeep out of the parking lot and rushed home. Hurrying to her apartment, she spotted an envelope with her name on it stuck to her door. She tore it open and removed the note inside. Glen was sorry he missed her and could be reached at his apartment. A nearly illegible number was scrawled under his name.

  Damn it, he could’ve at least had the decency to be late picking her up! She wondered how ticked off he’d be about being stood up, then decided to risk calling him to apologize. Her heart pounded and her hand shook as she dialed his number. When he answered, she panicked and struggled to find her voice. “Sorry. Today was my first day at work, and I got stuck in a meeting.”

  A lengthy silence stretched between them. “That’s okay,” he replied. “I figured you got held up. That’s why I left my number. It’s not too late; we can still go out.”

  “Can you give me twenty minutes to change?”

  “Sure.”

  Emily raced to the bedroom, grateful that she’d been given a short reprieve. She pulled her favorite black cocktail dress off its hanger and tried to think of something positive to say about h
er first day at work. It was bound to come up. She’d already given her word not to discuss the day’s events, and Agent Dozer probably wouldn’t be very understanding if she broke her promise just to keep a date happy.

  Oh well, she thought, what was a little white lie between friends? Surely Glen would understand a little fabrication. Hell, he’d probably told a few white lies himself.

  After Emily’s car disappeared into traffic, Dozer hurried back to his office so he could place his weekly conference call to his boss. As he walked down the narrow hallway, he heard the phone ringing. He quickened his steps and managed to grab the receiver on the fifth ring. “Dozer.”

  “It’s Patrick. You okay? You sound out of breath,” his boss commented.

  “You caught me coming down the hall. What’s up?”

  “I’ve been stuck in Washington in meetings with the Director of the Secret Service and the new Deputy Secretary of Homeland Security, Matt Beaumont, for the past three days. My boss sent me because he’s in the hospital with a broken hip. Evidently Homeland Security’s got a big push on for inter-agency cooperation, and they’re working on setting up a series of meetings between all the strategic divisions that fall under their umbrella.”

  Dozer chuckled. “Sounds like you’ve had your hands full. Better you than me. Maybe you ought to hit him up for some additional manpower and a couple days use of that crack helicopter search team we’ve been trying to bring in.”

  “I tried, but Beaumont cut me off when I suggested it,” Patrick Fulcrom replied. “He’s supposed to be coming to Reno in a couple of weeks for an inter-divisional kickoff meeting. If you don’t have any new developments by then, I’ll talk to him about the helo. What’s going on with you?”

  “We’ve had a break in the counterfeit case. One of the hotel employees got a good look at the man passing the phony money and was able to give enough details for our sketch artist to make a drawing. I’ll fax over a copy of the drawing with my report. This guy’s probably a little fish, but at least it’s something.”