The First Ghost

by Nicole Dennis

  This was a relatively small one since the scientists here did mostly field research. And the field research was done primarily, well, in a field. The first and second floors belonged to the laboratories where research assistants and folks in white coats ran around doing goodness knows what with machines that simply went by acronyms such as GSMC. The secretaries were on the third floor. We provided support to the various scientists, RAs and lab techs as needed. Administrative types were on the fourth floor. Third and fourth floor didn’t mix. Likewise, the first two floors required special clearance passes to enter. There was one place where they all came together: the break room in the northwest corner of the third floor.

  Duncan Werner sashayed down the hall and pushed open double swinging doors. “This is where you will take your lunch. Woll Ag is a closed campus, so to speak.” He waved a languid hand at the bank of gleaming stainless steel appliances along the far wall. “There’s a microwave, coffeepot, espresso machine, and a little fridge with sodas and bottled water, which are free. Don’t abuse the privilege. There’s the water cooler, and paper cups are in the cabinet. If you’re a coffee drinker, you can leave your own mug here. You have thirty minutes for lunch. Bring your own or take your chances with the vending machines.”

  On the short wall to my right were three machines stuffed with questionable sandwiches, ice cream and the usual chips, cookies, pretzels, fruit bars and gum.

  He paused and lowered his voice. “You might want to write your name on your lunch in large letters. We’ve had a problem in the past with food disappearing.”

  There were ten small tables with metal and plastic chairs in two neat rows in the middle of the room. Each table had exactly four chairs. Someone had a fetish for symmetry and order.

  Next was a tour of the cubicles and introduction to the other secretaries. The cubicles were around the edges in a big square. In the center was a work area with copiers, printers, scanners, etc. There was a single office in the corner with huge plate glass windows. Duncan stopped there and smirked. “That is my office. I’m your supervisor and boss. You work for me, not Dr. Tamaguchi. If you have a problem with any of the scientists, don’t argue. Just take it up with me. I’m confident you won’t have a problem with any of the girls. All of my girls get on extremely well.” He clasped his hands together. “Ready to meet everyone? Of course you are.”

  We strolled down the row of cubicles. He touched each ‘girl’ on the shoulder as we passed. Most of the ‘girls’ were at least forty. Some were nearing on sixty. “This is Gayle.” A grandmotherly type smiled behind pince-nez glasses. “This is Beth.” Beth graced me with a sour grimace that probably doubled as a smile. And so it went, on around the square until we got to the last desk. “And this is my secretary.” Since when did a secretary need a secretary? “She does most of the transcribing work and assists me in whatever I need.” She had on a headset and was busily nattering away with her back to us. He tapped her shoulder and she turned. We locked eyes and her jaw dropped.

  “This is Ruth.” Duncan stroked his goatee.

  “I’ve gotta go,” she said into her wireless set. “What’s she doing here?” She turned accusingly to Duncan, who surprised me by taking a step backward.

  “This is Portia, the new girl. She’s taking the vacancy.”

  “You mean replacing Corinne? Why? Why her?”

  “I’m perfectly qualified, Ruth. Why shouldn’t I be here?”

  “Did she tell you that she knew Corinne?”

  Duncan glanced around. “Maybe we should go into my office.”

  Ruth leapt to her feet and strode down to his office. Her beady eyes were furious. I wondered idly where she got her nice Anne Taylor twin set and pencil skirt. It fit her a lot better than Corinne’s sweater had. If I wasn’t mistaken, her shoes were Jimmy Choo. I ought to know. Cruella had been seriously addicted to Jimmy Choo. If he made it, she bought it.

  Duncan closed the door. “Now what is this about? I take it you two know each other?”

  “She came to my apartment and forced her way in, claiming to be friends with Corinne.”

  Duncan cocked his head, reminding me of Billy. “I’m not following.”

  “I did know Corinne,” I said. “After she died, I went to get her dog. I promised to look after him.”

  “I told her I gave him away, but she forced her way in.” Ruth’s face flushed. “She was very unpleasant. I don’t know what game you’re running here.”

  “There is no ‘game.’ I was keeping a promise. As for working here, Corinne always said it was a good place to work. We didn’t talk that much about it, but I was looking for a new job and there was one open here. That’s all there is.”

  “I bet she didn’t tell you she knew Corinne. Did she? Huh? Did you?” Ruth’s eyes had taken on a wild light. She had a fresh haircut, and were those new highlights?

  “I don’t think it came up. I didn’t want to get the job that way. I let my credentials speak for themselves.”

  “I’ll handle this, Ruth. That will be all.” Duncan waved his hand. Her squinty eyes bugged in an unattractive way at being dismissed, but she was careful not to slam the door on the way out.

  “I don’t know what’s passed between you and Ruth, but is there going to be a problem with you two working together?”

  “Not with me. I’m surprised she feels so strongly about it. I don’t really know her.” But I hate her. “No problem at all.”

  “Excellent.”

  He showed me back to my cubicle and piled on a stack of work which consisted of turning handwritten correspondence into something resembling the English language. There was a reason these guys were scientists and not English teachers.

  After an hour, I needed to stretch; a nice woman who told me her name was Dawn pointed me in the direction of the ladies’ room.

  “She’s such a mean girl. I should have listened to Billy. He never liked her.”

  I checked under the bathroom stalls before answering Corinne. “So other than Ruth being more hateful than you thought, have we learned anything yet?”

  “No,” she said wistfully. “I’ve been wandering around. I wish I could say goodbye, especially to Dr. Seleman.”

  The door opened and another girl came in, effectively cutting off the conversation. We gave one another polite smiles. I busied myself washing my hands.

  “I’ll keep my eyes and ears open,” Corinne whispered.

  * * * *

  My cubicle sat by the opening into the center of the square housing the community copiers and fax machines. I had read the same paragraph three times when a man wandered by who absolutely had to be a scientist. He had a friar’s bald spot surrounded by frizzy gray hair and glasses perched so far down on the end of his nose that he was forced to tilt his chin upward to look through them. He wore stained khakis, appropriate for field work, but his most striking feature was his footwear: one blue sneaker and one gray one. Perhaps he was colorblind.

  He seemed lost.

  “Can I help you?” It was doubtful since I knew less of the layout than he did, but it seemed the polite thing to say.

  “No...I’m sure...here somewhere... I... Oh. There it is. I was looking for the room with all the faxes and such. Can’t understand why they insist on hiding it.”

  I held out a hand for the papers. “I can do that for you.”

  “I don’t mind,” he said cheerfully. “It’s only two pages.” He went into the copy room, but was back out a few minutes later. “The fax machine doesn’t seem to be working properly.”

  “How about I take a quick look? Maybe it needs toner or something.” I got to my feet. “I’m pretty good with most fax machines.”

  “No, no, no. I can actually repair it myself. Not helpless, you know. Be right back. I’m very good mechanically.” He said this with great confidence.

  True to his word, he was back a few moments later with a small leather pouch of gleaming tools. I rose out of my chair with alarm. “Sir?”

 
; “Why, I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Dr. Seleman.”

  Of course. Corinne had been right. No way this man could be a crazed poisoner. “Portia Mahaffey. Pleased to meet you. How about I call facilities?”

  “You must be new.”

  “I took Corinne Simpson’s place.”

  “Ah, yes. Sad. She was so young.”

  “How about I call the repair company directly?”

  “No need,” he said airily.

  I rushed back to my desk, hunting for Duncan’s extension as Dr. Seleman removed the faceplate off the fax machine.

  When he delved into the guts of the machine, I gave up and ran for Duncan’s office. Duncan looked up in alarm as I bolted into his office.

  “Dr. Seleman is fixing the fax machine,” I gasped.

  “Oh, shit!” Duncan sprang to his feet. “You left him alone?”

  “What else could I do? I couldn’t stop him.”

  We raced around to the far corner to gain access to the copy room. By the time we ran in Seleman had already dismantled the fax machine into little bits and pieces.

  “I’ve almost got it completely apart,” he said triumphantly. He had a huge black smear of toner across his face as he held up a glass tube that looked vitally important. “I’ll have it right as rain in no time.”

  “I’m sure that will be a great help to the service rep.” Duncan bent over and gently took the man’s screwdriver away and replaced it in the leather pouch. “Thank you, Dr. Seleman, but I’m sure you have important things to do.” He helped him to his feet.

  “It was no trouble, really.” Dr. Seleman seemed pleased, but a little bewildered at his tools being put away. “Glad I could help.” He wandered off.

  Duncan pointed upwards with his index finger. “Rule number one. Never, ever let one of the scientists near the fax machine. Or the copier. Or the scanner. They may be brilliant in their fields, but they can’t resist fixing things.”

  “I’m sorry, I--”

  “I know. I know.” He put his hand up. “It was your first day. I should have told you. Your cubicle is guardian of the electronics. You have my permission to do anything necessary to stop them. I don’t care what you do. You work for me, not them. Got it?”

  “There wasn’t anything I could do short of grabbing him.”

  “Next time tackle him. And don’t forget to wrap up.”

  Chapter 11

  I managed to keep the rest of the electronics intact until lunchtime. My reward was the tuna on wheat I'd packed because I sure wasn’t eating anything that came out of the fridge here.

  At the threshold of the break room I had a moment of anxiety. I was back in junior high, going to a strange school and I had no one to sit with at lunch. A group of the ‘girls’ saved me from slinking into the corner. They busily disrupted the careful order of the room by pushing the tables together and dragging over chairs. They waved me into a spot and introduced themselves, not that I would remember many of the names.

  I checked up and down the row at everyone’s lunches. Not a burrito in sight. There were salads in cute little plastic bowls, a variety of frozen diet meals and a scary container of mystery leftovers that smelled faintly of cabbage when Dawn heated it in the microwave. Gayle and Beth locked eyes and rolled them. Two distinct cliques were starting to emerge. The seniors versus the freshmen.

  Gayle smiled winningly at me. “Corinne always sat with us,” she said. The younger ladies were at the far end of the table. Everyone looked at me expectantly as I dropped into the empty chair at the older ladies’ end. I had the feeling I had just been told which team I was playing for. Interesting that Corinne, in spite of her age, had spent more time with the older women. She probably didn’t have much in common with her thinner, hipper counterparts.

  Ruth swished in and carried her lunch down to the younger ladies’ side. She had to get her own chair and wedge in. Beth and Ruth traded glares. Ruth ignored me, and that was fine. Invisible was good in this circumstance.

  A gaggle of men strode in, and all went to the fridge to pull out lunches. Beth leaned over. “Research assistants,” she muttered. The guys took a table by themselves down at the end. “Ted, Tom, Trent and Trey,” Beth said. They were as interchangeable as their names. Brown hair and eyes, khakis and a blue shirt with the Woll Ag logo. I watched them spread out their lunches. Again, no burrito.

  I stood up. “I need a drink from the fridge.” I strode over and opened the door. There it was. A small stack of burritos waiting to claimed and heated. “Whose are these?” I demanded. Blank stares all around. “Whose burritos?” More blank stares and a few uneasy shrugs. “Well, who isn’t here?”

  More stares. I was obviously breaching etiquette, but I pressed on. “Could they belong to one of the scientists? Do they eat with you guys?”

  Finally Beth spoke up. “They eat whenever their schedules permit. I don’t know who those belong to. Did you want one?”

  My shoulders sagged. “Never mind.” I grabbed a bottle of water and turned back to the table.

  I was dealing with an actual murderer here, someone who had been desperate enough to kill, but patient enough to wait for poison. If someone had poisoned one burrito from the stack, they would have to wait until the right one was selected. If they had poisoned all of them, then they didn’t care who might get hurt.

  Ruth stared at me with wide eyes; her whole wheat sandwich paused halfway to her lips; her mouth hung open to receive a bite that hadn’t arrived.

  She knew.

  The look in her eyes said it all. She knew about the burrito.

  And she knew that I knew.

  I had just put a huge target on my back.

  * * * *

  The air outside was still and cold, with that sharp expectant feel that promised precipitation tonight. I was going out anyway. I had a follow-up date with Ethan, and after a tense day looking over my shoulder, I deserved a reward. Poking at a murderer is bad for the nerves.

  Harry was late of course. I was the last person there, a human Popsicle by the time Harry pulled up in the blue van.

  “Sorry,” he said as I climbed in. “I had a pickup on the way. Old Man Biddle finally had a heart attack. Can you believe it? I thought the old freak would live forever.”

  Old Man Biddle had lived down the street from Mother and Walter. He was the stuff of childish nightmares: the old man who lived alone in his creepy house, ranting and raving at anyone who set foot on his lawn. If your ball went over his fence, you could kiss it goodbye. As we got older, a favorite dare was to ring the doorbell and run. Of course the legend was that his house was haunted, but Mother insisted it wasn’t and I believed her. She ought to know.

  He was nothing but a cranky old man, but I shifted uneasily in my seat. “He’s back there now?”

  “Yeah, he’s in the cooler. The weird sisters are going to work on him tonight. His niece is in a hurry for the funeral. Not a lot of warmth there. But first, there’s something I want to show you.”

  He smoked his tires leaving the lot, taking the curve fast enough to fishtail the van.

  “Harry, I need to get to the train station. I want to catch the five-forty.”

  “What? You’ve got a date tonight?”

  He laughed like it was funny. I braced myself against the unexpected lane swerves and held on tight. “As a matter of fact, I do. With the doctor.”

  “Yippy-skippy for you. This will only take a sec.”

  “You shouldn’t drive like this with a body in the back. It could bounce him around.”

  “Like he’s going to complain.”

  “Whatever it is, you can show me another time. Take me to the station and Old Man Biddle to the funeral home.”

  “Don’t sweat it, Portia. I’ll get you there in time.” He stomped the accelerator, and the van leapt forward. I closed my eyes. “And Old Man Biddle’s got nothing but time.”

  “Says you,” yelled a querulous voice from the back of the van. “Damn kid. Always driving like
a maniac.” I sagged back into my seat. Of course he would be a ghost. Biddle was that type of man.

  The tires smoked again as the van screeched to a halt.

  “Jeez, don’t be so dramatic,” Harry said. “Open your eyes.” It was a construction zone, still all wooden beams and large machines. But there was a big blowup picture of what the building would look like when the renovations were done. I looked around. “Well?” Harry said impatiently. “Nice neighborhood, right?”

  It was. “This is where you want us to live?”

  He was already climbing out of the van. “C’mon. Come see the building. If the front office is open, you can look at the brochures.”

  Fighting Harry when he’s set on something is like resisting a force of nature. Hurricane Harry. I trailed after him.

  “Hey! What about me? You can’t leave my body here. What if somebody steals me? You didn’t even lock the van. Piece of shit Mahaffeys. I’m goin’ back to guard my body, since you brats couldn’t care less.” Biddle groused all the way up the steps. I ignored him, pretending not to hear. Maybe he would go away. I wasn’t about to befriend the old bastard.

  The front office was locked, so I had to settle for tromping around the edges. It looked pretty nice, with a castle motif going on. The front entry had two pseudo-towers, and the roof was crenellated. “New construction, you say?” I made the mistake of asking about price and gagged. “You have got to be joking.”

  “It’s okay. Mother said she could help with the down payment. We can get the financing down to something affordable. I already talked to Richard.”

  “Ellie’s husband Richard?”

  “Yeah, he says we can do it. What do you say?”

  “The same thing I said yesterday. I’ll think about it. I want to come back and see the plans and crunch the numbers for real. Then I’ll decide.” My eyes narrowed slightly. “What was here before? Was it residential? Did they knock down a bunch of old houses?”

  “It was commercial. I think maybe a warehouse or something.”

  That sounded safe. Down the street was a cemetery and church, but contrary to popular opinion, Mother swears they aren’t especially haunted. Ghosts tend to stay somewhere important to them, not where their bodies came to rest. With demons roaming, I could see benefits to living near sacred ground.