Cross-Check

by Phil Lollar

  “As I said, there’s more to this establishment than meets the eye.”

  “I guess so,” Maxwell said, nodding. “You know, I use a lot of computers where I’m working now. If you want, I can put in a good word with my boss.”

  Meltsner shook his head curtly. “Thank you, but I have quite enough intellectual stimulation where I am. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really must clean these tables.”

  Maxwell snickered.

  Meltsner huffed, brushed the hair from his eyes, and headed toward the main room. But he was stopped by the muffled ringing of a phone. He looked in the direction of the ringing—the kitchen—and then back at the dirty tables in the main room. “Oh, dear . . .” he said.

  Maxwell inched up beside him. “Hey, you go get the phone, and I’ll clear off the tables.”

  Meltsner glanced at him and looked torn. The phone rang again. “Uh, that won’t be necessary—”

  Maxwell clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s the least I can do!” The phone rang again. “G’wan, g’wan! You don’t want ’em to hang up, do ya?”

  Meltsner frowned and then said, “Well, all right.” He made his way behind the counter and toward the kitchen’s swinging door, calling back as he went, “Just put the dishes in the sink.” He pointed to a location behind the counter.

  “No problemo!” Maxwell called after him with a wave.

  Meltsner frowned, then exited into the kitchen.

  Maxwell smiled. It’ll give me a chance to take a look at what’s back there, he thought. He moved quickly to the nearest table, scooped up two syrup-stained sundae dishes, and then followed Eugene’s path behind the counter. He wasn’t quite sure what he expected to find there, but what immediately greeted him was a disappointment: Two large, horizontal ice cream freezers on rollers sat next to a messy food preparation ledge, complete with rows of sloppy sundae toppings tucked under the top counter. In the middle of the prep ledge was a sink full of dirty dishes.

  He scowled, peered farther down the counter, and saw something that looked more promising. At the end, under the cash register, were several small shelves stocked with neat stacks of what appeared to be forms.

  He added the dishes he was carrying to the ones in the sink, then crept to the kitchen door to make sure Eugene was still on the phone. Satisfied, he slunk toward the register, glanced around to see if anyone was looking, and then ducked down. He riffled through the papers rapidly. They were forms, all right—inventory forms, ice cream order forms, repair and maintenance forms, and a box of receipts. Nothing helpful.

  Maxwell was just about to rise up again when he heard the bell above the front door tinkle and several kids call out greetings:

  “Connie!”

  “Hi, Connie!”

  “It’s good to see you!”

  “Hey, when are you gonna start workin’ here again, Connie?”

  A high-pitched, teenaged voice responded, “Hi, guys! It’s good to see you all again! Uh, I hope to start back here again soon!”

  As she and the kids continued to talk, Maxwell rose up just enough to peer over the counter at her. So this is the infamous Connie Kendall! She was a cute high schooler, with a heart-shaped face, green eyes, and brown hair pulled up into a long ponytail, wearing a green blouse and surrounded by kids.

  He sank down again and considered how to play this. He knew Connie had been fired the same day Meltsner had, but she didn’t know that he knew. And Meltsner was working here again and she wasn’t—though it sounded as if she wanted to. He smirked. There may be an opportunity here, he thought. At the very least, I can have a little fun.

  She had stopped talking with the brats and was mumbling to herself as she left them and approached the counter. He could just make out what she was saying: “Well, at least the kids want me back. I wonder who’s here . . .” She called out, “Hello?”

  That was his signal. He popped up, feigning fright. “Wha—?”

  She jumped and barked out, “Oh!”

  Maxwell put his hand on his chest and gulped a deep breath. “Don’t sneak up on people like that!” he said. “You could give a guy a heart attack!”

  “I’m sorry! I—I didn’t see you back there!” Her expression changed instantly from startled to worried. “Are—are you the new employee?”

  He stifled a smile. “Me? You gotta be kidding!”

  Now she went from worry to suspicion. “You don’t work here? Then why are you behind the counter?”

  He shrugged. “I’m just helping out the guy who does. He’s on the phone back in the kitchen.”

  He had timed it perfectly. At that moment, the kitchen door swung open and Meltsner entered. “All right, Richard, thank you for your help,” he said, “but I can handle—”

  Connie’s look was exactly what Maxwell hoped for: shock, hurt, and anger. Her jaw dropped. “Eugene!”

  And for an added bonus, Meltsner looked completely nonplussed. “M-Miss Kendall!” he stammered. “Uh, hello!”

  It was all Maxwell could do to keep from busting out laughing.

  Chapter Seven

  “How touching,” Maxwell said with a smirk. “I take it you two know each other?”

  Meltsner fumbled with his vest. “Uh, yes. Connie Kendall, this is Richard Maxwell. Uh, Miss Kendall and I, uh—”

  “I used to work here, but then Eugene and I were both fired,” she cut in flatly.

  Maxwell’s eyebrows rose. “Oh?”

  Connie ignored him and glared at Meltsner. “I didn’t know you were working here again.”

  Meltsner swallowed hard. “Uh, yes . . . Mr. Whittaker rehired me a fortnight ago.”

  Maxwell leaned toward Connie and muttered, “That means a couple of weeks.”

  “I know what it means,” she snapped.

  Meltsner tugged at his shirt collar and took a deep breath. “Miss Kendall, I know this may look suspicious to you, but there is a logical and rational story behind my rehiring.”

  Connie held up a hand, cutting him off. “You don’t have to explain anything to me, Eugene,” she said quietly. “This is Whit’s business. He can hire whomever he wants.”

  Maxwell could barely keep his composure. Inside, he was jumping up and down with glee at the discomfort he was witnessing.

  It grew even worse a moment later when Lucy ran up and said, “Eugene—” She all but froze when she saw Connie, and her sweet voice turned Arctic cold. “Oh. Connie. It’s you.”

  Connie shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Yeah . . . hi, Lucy,” she murmured.

  Interesting, thought Maxwell, his gaze shifting between them.

  Meltsner piped up: “What is it this time, Lucy?”

  “Something’s wrong with the Noah’s Ark display in the Bible Room,” she answered. “The lions are mooing, and the cows are barking.”

  Meltsner turned to Maxwell, eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Really?” Meltsner asked.

  Maxwell said with a shrug, “Hey, don’t look at me! I’ve been right here behind the counter since you left!”

  “Hmph,” Meltsner grunted. “Very well, I shall examine it. I’ll return shortly, so . . . everyone, please refrain from touching anything.” He gave them each a quick but stern glance, lingering a bit on Connie, and then huffed and headed up the staircase.

  No one said anything for a long moment, and the tension between Lucy and Connie was thicker than molasses on a freezing day.

  Oh, this is too delicious! thought Maxwell, suppressing a grin. And here I thought this trip would be for nothing! What is going on between these two? Aloud he muttered, “Somebody tell a joke or something . . .”

  Connie forced a smile and said lightly, “So, Lucy, how ya doin’?”

  Lucy looked straight ahead, her voice still icy. “Fine.”

  Connie took a breath and tried again. “I haven’t seen you since you got back from camp.”

  Now Lucy slowly turned and glared daggers at her. “That’s ’cause I’ve been on restriction.”

  Co
nnie’s face flushed, and she stared at the floor. “Oh,” she said quietly.

  Lucy pressed on, getting heated. “Yeah, my parents were very upset that I was sent home early. So they grounded me.”

  Connie met her gaze, sympathy in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Lucy, but . . . I had to send you home. You said you understood.”

  Lucy looked away again. “I thought I did, but now I’m not so sure. It’s one thing to get into trouble when you do something wrong, but when you get in trouble for trying to keep somebody else from doing wrong—”

  “Lucy, we went over this at camp,” Connie interrupted. “You did do something wrong! You broke one of the rules—twice, in fact.”

  “It was a stupid rule,” Lucy muttered.

  “Lucy—”

  “You didn’t have to send me home, Connie. You could’ve given me another chance.”

  “When you break the rules, you have to suffer the consequences! That’s why Eugene and I got fired—because we broke the rules!”

  Lucy crossed her arms. “Then how come Eugene is working here again?” she said cattily.

  Connie took a breath. “I—I don’t know . . .”

  “Because Mr. Whittaker gave him another chance,” Lucy answered, leaning forward slightly. “Mr. Whittaker knows what compassion means.”

  Oooo! Knockout punch! Maxwell thought. That one really hurt!

  Connie withered visibly, to the point where he almost felt sorry for her.

  Time to step in and play referee. Maxwell pulled on an imaginary cord and made a sound like a boxing bell. “Ding, ding, ding! End of round one!” he said jovially. “Maybe you should both go to neutral corners and cool off!”

  Lucy’s arms dropped to her sides, and her back stiffened. “I don’t have to cool off, but going away sounds like a good idea. See you later, Richard.” She tromped away.

  Connie turned and called after her. “Lucy!” But the younger girl was already halfway up the stairs. Connie’s shoulders drooped. “Oh, Lucy . . .”

  Maxwell gave it a moment, then said softly, “She was pretty mad, huh?”

  “Yeah. I didn’t know she felt that way. I thought everything was all right.”

  Push it a bit, he thought. “She really let you have it with that crack about Eugene and Whittaker.”

  Connie sighed. “Yeah, well, she was mad. She didn’t know what she was saying.”

  And a bit more. “Maybe . . . then again, you know the old saying: ‘Out of the mouths of babes . . .’”

  Connie turned to face him. “What are you talking about?”

  “Nothing,” he replied innocently. “Just that . . . there may be more truth to Lucy’s statement than you think.”

  “Like what?”

  Careful! “Well . . . there must be some reason Whittaker hired ol’ Meltsnerd while you were at camp . . .” Now—plant the idea. “Maybe he’s playing favorites.”

  Connie’s head snapped back, and she scowled. “No way! Whit’s not like that!”

  He nodded casually. “If you say so . . . But you gotta admit, both of you were working here, then both of you got fired, and then Whittaker hires Eugene back while you’re out of town? Sounds pretty weird to me.”

  She shook her head. It was obvious the thought had occurred to her, but she was fighting it. “You . . . you don’t know what you’re talking about, so . . . why don’t you just be quiet.”

  He shrugged again. “Hey, it’s none of my business. But if I were you, I’d definitely consider my alternatives.” Time to reel her in. “After all, Whit’s End isn’t the only place in town to work, you know.”

  She looked almost startled. “Yeah,” she muttered, “that’s what my mom said too.” She blinked and stared at him for an instant as though she had never seen him before. Then recognition returned to her expression, and she stammered, “Um, i-it was nice meeting you . . .” and headed for the front door.

  Oh, no, you’re not getting away that easily, he thought. Aloud he said, “Leaving? I was about to go too. I’ll come with you.”

  He sidled up next to her, his mind racing. If he could get Connie Kendall to join them—What a coup! She could tell us all sorts of things about this place—and Whittaker, too! And maybe it’ll make Blackgaard forget about the other stuff he wants me to do.

  They were almost at the front door when it opened, the bell above it tinkled, and in walked the man himself: John Avery Whittaker, and right behind him, Tom Riley. This keeps getting better and better! thought Maxwell.

  Riley’s face broke out in a big smile. “Well, looky who’s here!” he said. He stepped forward and clasped Connie’s hand, shaking it heartily.

  Connie greeted him warmly: “Hi, Tom.”

  Whittaker was also smiling. “Connie!” he said. He looked as though he wanted to hug her.

  But once Riley dropped her hand, Connie remained still. If anything, she became even more reserved. She nodded slightly and said simply, “Whit.”

  They all looked at each other awkwardly for a few moments, then Riley piped up again. “It sure is good to see you back here, Connie! This place has been mighty empty without you.”

  Connie smiled. “It’s good to see you both again too.”

  Whittaker shifted his gaze from Connie to Maxwell. He frowned and said, “Richard.”

  Maxwell smirked. “You remembered. I’m flattered.”

  Connie’s eyebrows rose. “You know each other?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Maxwell nodded. “We met at the college a couple of weeks ago.” Time to beat a hasty retreat, he thought, and aloud he said, “Well, I’m sure you all have a lot to talk about, so I’ll just make my adieu.”

  He moved past the others to the front door, opened it, and stepped outside. He immediately squatted and pressed himself against the door, straining to hear their conversation. He could barely make out what they were saying.

  “Nice feller,” Riley drawled.

  Whittaker grunted. “Hmph. I wonder what he was doing here.”

  “I think he was visiting Eugene,” Connie replied. “He said they knew each other.” She cleared her throat softly and continued nervously, “Um, speaking of Eugene . . . I noticed he’s working here again.”

  “Yes, he is,” Whittaker said evenly.

  There was a pause. Maxwell pressed his ear against the door harder.

  Riley again broke the silence. “Were you planning on working somewhere this summer, Connie?” he asked.

  “Maybe . . .” she answered. “I’ve already worked at Camp What-A-Nut.”

  “Did you have a good time up there?”

  “Yeah. I learned a lot.”

  “Really?” Whittaker said, suddenly sounding very interested.

  But Connie sounded even more subdued. “Yeah . . . and I’ve learned a lot since I’ve been back, too.” Another pause, then she added, “Listen, I’d better be going—”

  Maxwell jumped up, vaulted off the porch and down the front steps, and crouched behind a bush alongside the building. He had barely made it when the front door opened and Connie stepped outside, closing it behind her. She stopped there for a moment, looked back at the door longingly, and then turned and strode off the porch and down the sidewalk.

  Maxwell smiled, then jumped up and followed her. When they were near the street, he quickened his pace and sidled up next to her. “Hey!” he greeted her.

  She started slightly, frowned at him, and said, “Oh, it’s you.”

  They kept walking.

  “Uh-oh. I take it Whittaker didn’t offer you your job back?” Maxwell asked.

  “No, he didn’t.”

  Excellent! “Aw, that’s too bad. That happens to friends sometimes.”

  She swallowed hard. “Yeah, I know.”

  He reached out and grasped her arm softly, stopping her. He channeled every ounce of sympathy he had into his expression. “Listen,” he said gently, “like I said before, Whit’s End isn’t the only place in town to work, you know. I could introduce you to my boss . . . if you’
re interested.”

  She looked at his hand on her arm and then up at his face for a long moment. He could almost hear the war going on inside her mind. Her face was a study in anguish. Then, like the sun breaking through the clouds after a storm, determination replaced the anguish.

  This is it! he thought.

  She nodded slowly, took a deep breath, and said, “All right. Let’s go.”

  Chapter Eight

  “Here we are!” Maxwell announced.

  He opened the front doors of Blackgaard’s Castle, made way for Connie to enter ahead of him, followed her in, and then closed the doors behind them.

  Connie frowned. “This is where you work?” she asked skeptically. “It’s an empty building. Didn’t it used to be a computer store?”

  “Along with other small businesses,” Maxwell replied, nodding. “My boss bought it all, gutted it, and is rebuilding it from the foundation up! See? You’re getting in on the ground floor of a brand-new operation!”

  “Where are all the workers?”

  Maxwell shrugged. “I dunno—lunch, probably.”

  Connie licked her lips nervously. “Uh, I don’t know about this.”

  “I’m tellin’ ya, this is a great opportunity!” He patted her arm. “Listen, you just stay here, and let me go get the boss. He’ll explain everything to you.” He bounded across the room and disappeared behind a door marked “Private.”

  Connie watched him go and muttered, “This is weird.” She took a few tentative steps into the spacious room, scrutinizing it cautiously.

  The place wasn’t really empty but a work in progress. Wires hung from the ceiling and draped the walls. Stacks of lumber, pallets of drywall, huge spools of electrical wire, and other building supplies sat in random places around the space. Enormous upright, misshapen boxes, covered with tied-down tarpaulins, were also scattered around the room. In the dim and shadowy light, the boxes seemed like captured ogres or trolls who a moment before had been strolling around the room and then squatted and turned to stone a split second before she and Maxwell entered. Only when she saw “Zappazoids” written across the bottom of one box did she realize they were arcade video games.