Corner Office (From the Tales of Dan Coast Book 12)

by Rodney Riesel

  “Get a stapler.”

  “For what?”

  “To staple shit together.”

  Dan shrugged. “Okay. Can you think of anything else?”

  Red thought for a second. “Paper clips, maybe.”

  “They do the same thing as a stapler.”

  “Oh, I know—one of those big desk calendars. Maybe you should write this down.”

  “I can't write anything down until I buy the paper and pens.”

  “I'll just text you as I think of things.”

  “Good idea.” Dan hurried out the door, down the stairs, and around the corner.

  Dan passed through the automatic glass doors of the CVS. The old woman behind the cash register smiled and said, “Good morning. How are you today?”

  “Wonderful!” Dan replied. His text message notification sounded and he reached for his cell. “A can of Pringles,” the text said. Immediately after that text came another; “Coke.” Dan put his cell phone away and turned down one of the aisles. He grabbed a package of legal pads, a package of ball-point pens, and a desk calendar that was lying on the bottom shelf. He slowly moved up the aisle and looked at other paper products and office supplies. He saw a stapler, but thought it was too expensive, and decided against it.

  Dan was almost to the checkout counter when he turned around and went to the snack aisle. He grabbed a can of Pringles, then walked to the soda cooler and removed two sixteen-ounce bottles of Coke.

  “Will that be all?”

  “I think so,” Dan replied.

  The old woman rung him up and Dan paid with cash. She stared at the twenty-dollar bill as if it were a dog turd.

  “Not many people pay with cash these days,” she observed.

  “I'm not many people,” Dan replied. “I'm only one people.”

  The fossil held the double sawbuck up to the fluorescent light. Then she picked up a counterfeit detector pen and ran it across the bill.

  “Well, I guess it's real,” she declared.

  “As real as your teeth,” said Dan

  Her boney old hand drifted self-consciously to her mouth. “My teeth are real,” she said defensively.

  “I know.”

  Dan left without a receipt and walked back out onto Duvall Street with his bags.

  He hurried down Fleming Street to his building and sprinted up the stairs. Red was sitting in the secretary's chair with his feet up on the desk. The case board was assembled and standing in the middle of the room.

  “Great job,” said Dan.

  “Ya get my Pringles and Coke?” Red asked.

  “Yut.” Dan placed the CVS bags on the desk.

  Red looked through the bags and pulled out the sodas and chips. “Where's the stapler?”

  “I didn't think we really needed a stapler.”

  “You'll regret it.”

  “I'll take that chance.”

  Red twisted the top off his Coke and guzzled down a third of it. He popped the top off the Pringles and reached his meaty fingers inside the can. “We forgot to bring the dry-erase markers,” he commented.

  “Dammit,” said Dan. “I had them right on the dining room table.” He pulled out his cell phone and looked at the time. “She should be here any second.”

  “Who's coming first?” Red asked.

  “Voldemort—I mean Valdosta. Dammit! Why did you put that in my head?”

  Red laughed. “I hear someone coming up the stairs.”

  Dan grabbed the bags off the desk and hurried into his office. “Show her in when she gets here.”

  “I'm not your secretary.”

  “You are today, pal.” Dan shut his office door.

  A tall, skinny, flat-chested brunette walked through the open door. She had on a long white sundress with a sunflower pattern. She wore gold flip-flops, and carried a large white purse slung over her bony shoulder. A pair of heart-shaped beach sunglasses sat atop her head. The woman, who appeared to be in her mid to late forties, wore no make up, which, if she did, would have gone a long way to cover up the large zit on her long, witchy chin.

  “Dan Coast?” the woman asked.

  “Please, come in,” said Red, standing. “I'm Red Baxter, Mr. Coast's associate. I'm not his secretary.” All Red could focus on was the zit.

  “I'm Marilyn Valdosta. I have a ten o'clock appointment with Mr. Coast.”

  Red motioned to the chair in front of his desk. “Please, zit down—sit down, and I'll tell him you're here. Red walked around the desk and pulled out the chair for her.

  “Thank you,” she said, and sat. She placed her pocketbook on the floor beside her.

  Red turned and walked into Dan's office, closing the door behind him. “She's here,” he said. “Are you ready?”

  Dan sat at his desk and adjusted his desk calendar and straightened his legal pad. He picked up the ball point pen and scribbled a circle on the pad to make sure it worked. “Am I forgetting anything?”

  “A stapler.”

  “One more goddamn word about a stapler … ” Dan threatened.

  “I'll show her in,” Red left the room. He returned seconds later. “Ms. Valdosta,” he announced.

  “Thank you, Red,” said Dan.

  Red stepped back and Marilyn Valdosta walked through the door. She was not what Dan had expected. Just based on the name Marilyn alone, he thought for sure a platinum blonde bombshell with fair skin and ruby-red lipstick would be entering the room. He cocked his head and raised an eyebrow, searching the horse face for a beauty mark. Finding none, he focused on the pimple that looked like it might spew at any moment.

  “Please, have a seat,” Dan said.

  “Thank you.” Marilyn sat and placed her pocketbook on her lap.

  Red walked into the room behind her and stood in front of the window, just out of her peripheral view.

  “What can I do for you, Ms. Valdosta?” Dan asked.

  “Please, call me Marilyn.”

  “Okay,” said Dan. “What can I do for you … Marilyn?”

  “As I told you on the phone, my husband has gone missing.”

  As Marilyn spoke Dan could see Red out of the corner of his eye making a hand gesture. Dan diverted his eyes toward the big lug. Red was pointing at his own chin, and nodding his head toward Marilyn. Dan gave Red a quick, wide-eyed shake of his head.

  “When was the last time you saw your husband?” Dan asked. He picked up the pen and prepared to start taking notes.

  Red leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Four days now,” Marilyn responded.

  “When did you and Branson arrive in Key West?”

  “Wednesday afternoon.”

  “And Branson disappeared the following morning?”

  “Yes.”

  “You say you haven't called the police?”

  “No, Branson wou—”

  “Wouldn't like it,” Dan said, finishing her sentence. “Four days ago would be Thursday. Did he not come home from work?”

  “Oh, Branson … he, um, doesn't really work.”

  “How does he live?” Red asked. “Did he win the lottery or something?”

  Dan ignored Red's dig.

  “What was Branson doing the last time you saw him?” he asked.

  “Eating a piece of toast.”

  “And he just disappeared?” Red asked.

  “I walked out the front door to get the morning paper, and when I came back inside, he was gone. I searched the whole house, but there was no sign of him, and the back door was standing wide open. Branson didn't get home until around midnight. We went to bed, and then he was called away around three in the morning.”

  “Called away?” Dan asked. “For what?”

  “Um … business. Then he didn't return until almost eight o'clock.”

  “Called away on business? I thought you said he doesn't work,” Dan asked.

  “Branson has family money.”

  “Family money,” Dan repeated. He made some notes on
his pad. “And would that family be the Valdostas?”

  “No. Branson's last name is Pudgewheat.”

  “Ah,” Red said, “the Pudgewheat fortune.”

  “You've heard of them?” Dan asked Red.

  “No,” said Red. “Pudgewheat. Pudgewheat. That's a pretty cool name though. Has such a musical ring. Pudgewheat! Say it, Dan.”

  Dan shook his head and returned his attention to Marilyn. “Why didn't you take Branson's last name?”

  “We're not legally married.”

  Red nodded knowingly. “Commonwealth marriage.”

  Dan rolled his eyes. “Common law,” he corrected.

  “Yes,” said Marilyn. “It's a common law marriage.”

  “Are common law marriages even legal in Florida?” Dan asked.

  “They're not legal in Florida any longer, but Florida does recognize common law marriages from other states, where it is legal.”

  “What state would that be?” Dan asked.

  “Kansas,” Marilyn replied. “Colby, Kansas. That's where Branson's family was from.”

  “Was from?”

  “Branson is the only surviving member of his family.”

  “That comes in pretty handy when there's family money involved,” Red commented.

  “Where did this family money come from?” Dan asked.

  “Originally?”

  “Yes.”

  “Business.”

  “Um … yeah, but what kind of business?”

  “I'm not really sure. I think it had something to do with breakfast cereal.”

  “Shredded Pudgewheat,” said Red, smirking.

  Dan bit his lip. “How long have the two of you been married?” he asked.

  “Six weeks.”

  “How long did you live together before you declared yourself married?

  “A little over a year.”

  “You lived in Kansas?”

  “Yes—well I did. Branson traveled a lot.”

  “Why did he travel?”

  “I'm not supposed to tell you that.”

  Dan leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk. “Marilyn, anything you say inside this room will remain here.”

  Marilyn took a deep breath and exhaled. “Branson is a spy.”

  Dan and Red looked at each other.

  “Branson is a spy,” Dan said.

  “I heard,” said Red.

  “What kind of spy?” Dan asked.

  “He works freelance, like James Bond.”

  “Does he have a license to kill?” asked Red.

  “I'm not sure,” Marilyn replied.

  “Did you bring a picture of Branson?” Red inquired.

  “Oh, yes.” Marilyn reached inside her pocketbook and pulled out a 5x7 photograph.

  Red stepped forward and took the picture from her. He looked at it for a second, and then handed it to Dan.

  “This is your husband?” Dan asked quizzically.

  “Yes.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Thirty-one.”

  “And you are?”

  “Forty-seven.”

  “I see. Marilyn, do you also have family money?”

  “I have a small inheritance left to me by my father.”

  “How small is small?”

  “Mr. Coast, I know what you're thinking.”

  “What am I thinking?”

  “That Branson only married me for my money, but he didn't even know I had any money when he met me.”

  “Where did you meet him?”

  “In the grocery store—just by chance.”

  “Just by chance,” Dan repeated. He turned his note pad around and slid it across the desk to Marilyn. “I want you to write down your address here in Key West as well as your address in Kansas.”

  Marilyn took the pen from Dan and began writing.

  “By the way, Marilyn,” Dan said, “do you have life insurance policy on Branson?”

  “Yes, and he has one on me. We each have a five hundred-thousand-dollar policy.”

  “Did Branson ever tell you how he began his spying career?” Dan asked.

  Marilyn stopped writing. “The government recruits young, wealthy, good-looking men,” she said. “They train them to be spies, and then they travel around the world undercover, posing as sophisticated playboys.”

  “I bet Branson is really good at it,” said Red.

  “Oh, he is. He has so many stories.”

  “I bet he does,” said Dan.

  “I can't repeat any of them, for your own safety—and Branson's, of course.”

  “Of course,” Dan responded.

  Marilyn finished writing, laid the pen on the pad, and pushed it back across the desk.

  “Okay, Marilyn, I think we have everything we need for now. If I have any more questions, I'll call. And if you think of anything else, you give me a call.”

  Marilyn zipped her pocketbook closed and stood. “Thank you, Mr. Coast—and thank you too, Mr. Baxter.”

  Red motioned toward the door and followed Marilyn out of the office. Dan heard the front door close, and Red returned a few seconds later.

  “Wow,” said Red. He circled his ear with his index finger. “What a wack job. Husband is a spy?”

  “Freelance, just like James Bond,” Dan added.

  “Was James Bond even freelance?”

  “No, he worked for MI6.” Dan picked up his note pad, opened the top drawer of his desk, and dropped it inside. He opened one of the side drawers and pulled out a fresh legal pad. “On to round two.”

  “You see that zit on her chin?” Red asked.

  “No, I didn't notice.”

  “Seriously? I think that thing had it's own heartbeat. If it hadda popped—”

  “Yes, I saw it! How could I miss it?”

  Red pulled out his cell phone and looked at the time. “The other lady won't be here for another hour and fifteen minutes,” he noted. “Can we go grab something to eat quick?”

  “Yeah, why not,” Dan replied. He slid out his chair and got up. “Let's make it quick.”

  “Willie T's?”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  Dan and Red walked out of the office and down the stairs to the street.

  “What if he really is a spy?” Red mused.

  “He's not,” Dan assured him.

  “Ya never know.”

  “I do know.”

  “I think I would make a good spy.”

  “No, you wouldn't.”

  “Ya never know.”

  “I do know.”

  “I would make a better spy than you, that's for sure.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “There's only one way to know for sure,” Dan said.

  “A spy competition?” Red asked.

  “Just ask The Amazing Gary next time you see him. I'm sure he would know who would make the better spy.”

  “I'm gonna ask him.”

  “I bet you are. And while you're at it, ask him which one of us is the most gullible.”

  “I will.”

  As the two men rounded the corner onto Duval Street, Dan glanced over at the two burn marks on the front of Red's T-shirt, and then down at the front of his shorts.

  “What are you looking at?” Red asked.

  “You should start bringing an extra shirt and pair of shorts whenever we go anywhere.”

  “Why?”

  “Just in case you get tased or piss yourself.”

  “It happened one time!” Red shot back.

  “You're gonna tell me you've only pissed yourself one time?”

  “Well, I've only been tased one time.”

  Chapter Ten

  At Willie T's, Dan, with Red in tow, breezed up the concrete steps past the Please wait to be seated sign. He took a quick left and grabbed a table on the patio, near the sidewalk.

  “We're supposed to wait to be seated,” Red said.

  “That's for tourists,” Dan said.


  “Is it?”

  “I don't know, but no one was standing there.”

  A waitress brought drinks to a table near them. She turned and looked at Dan. “Did someone seat you there?” she asked suspiciously.

  “Yes,” Dan lied.

  “Who?”

  “The lady with the dark hair and big nose.”

  “Oh, okay,” she said. “I'll be right with you.”

  “Take your time,” Red said, and she walked away. “Who's the lady with dark hair and a big nose?”

  “I have no idea. I just got lucky. Why did you tell her to take her time?”

  “Just being polite.”

  “Now she's gonna take her time. We have to be back to the office.”

  “Ha-ha. Back to the office.”

  “That does sound funny,” Dan agreed.

  The waitress came back right away. Dan ordered a tequila, Seven, and lime, and Red ordered a bottle of Bud Light.

  “See?” Red said. “She didn't take too long. She probably came back a little quicker because I was polite.”

  “Don't expect me to start being polite.”

  “Don't worry, I won't.”

  The waitress returned with their drinks. Dan ordered the nachos, and Red ordered a burger. When the waitress left the table Red said. “What was it you wanted to tell me about Maxine? What did you find in the bathroom?”

  Dan reached into his back pocket and pulled out the flattened cardboard box and tossed it on the table in front of Red.

  “First Response?” Red asked. “What's that for?”

  “What do ya think it's for?”

  Red looked a little closer. “Early results pregnancy test.” His eyes left the package and moved upward to meet Dan's. “Holy crap.”

  “Yeah,” Dan agreed. “Holy crap.”

  “When did she take the test?”

  “I don't know.”

  “Was it positive, or negative?”

  “I don't know.”

  “Did you ask her about it?”

  “Nope. I found it late last night in the bathroom wastebasket, after she went to bed.”

  Red recoiled. “Bathroom wastebasket? And you're laying it on the table? We're about to eat here.”

  “Said the man who has drunks puking on his bar just about every night.”

  “Actually, my bar has only been puked on four times, and all four times it was you.”