My mentor placed her dark, rough-looking hands on her hips. “It kinda depends on you. If you demonstrate you’ve got the hang of pickle packing this morning, we can wrap it up and I’ll take you over to help inspect the jars after brines been added. The jars can’t be sealed unless the pickles are completely immersed in brine.”
The chance to move on to another area and get chummy with other employees energized my sore body immensely. I stepped up to the conveyor belt where space had been left for another worker and tried to stuff loose cucumber slices into the jars as fast as my fingers could without shorting a jar of product.
Fifteen minutes into the job the conveyor belt shut down abruptly. “What happened,” I quietly quizzed the gal from Mexico standing to the right of me. She shrugged her slim shoulders.
I glanced at Anita, standing on the other side of me. Her eyes looked like they were ready to pop out of their sockets. I threw up my hands. “I didn’t do anything, honest.”
“I know.” She rested one hand on her hip and with the other pointed to the end of the conveyor belt. “We’ve got a serious situation.”
“Oh, my, God. That guy’s hand is stuck in a jar of pickles. Will they break the jar to free it?” I asked.
“Beats me. I’ve never witnessed anyone doing that before.”
I felt sorry for the little fellow from Honduras. I’m so clumsy it could’ve been me. Forgetting my surroundings for a second I went into instant teacher mode. I wasn’t going to stand by and watch a jar get busted especially one with a hand tucked in it.
A year ago a similar incident occurred in my classroom when two boys stuck their hands in a jar containing crayons at the same time. It took grease and cold water to resolve the problem. Thinking of the baloney and mayo sandwich I’d packed and the ice cube maker in the lunchroom freezer, I yelled, “Don’t break that jar yet. I’ll be right back,” and I ran off to gather what I needed.
~25~
Getting Jose’s hand out of the pickle jar paid off big time. Not only did my quick thinking get high fives from the employees working alongside me, but Paul Mason, the first shift supervisor, whom I had hoped to bump into during lunch, showed up after the fact to pat me on the back.
“Mary, I heard what you did for Jose. If we’d resorted to smashing the jar with a hammer, his hand could’ve been cut severely and this year’s perfect safety record would’ve gone down the tubes as well.” His thick brows rose when he glanced over at my mentor standing about a foot away. “According to Anita this is only your second day here. Is that right?”
Pretending to be embarrassed about all the attention drawn my way, I cast my eyes downward. “Yes.”
“Well, I appreciate your fast reaction. I only wish Don Hickleman would’ve been around to witness it.”
“It was no big deal. I’m sure someone else would’ve behaved the same way.”
Paul’s gentle tone suddenly turned cold. “Afraid not. Don was pretty set in his ways. He liked everything the way it was, including safety procedures. Breaking a jar to release a hand has always been the way to go.”
As I nonchalantly brushed off his comment and stored it in the old memory bank for later recall, I noticed employees slowly snaking their way towards the conveyor belt, hinting that the show was over.
The minute the conveyor belt kicked in Anita leaped into action and squeezed her plump body between Paul and me. Working around women as I have in the teaching field, I got the feeling Anita split Paul and me apart to convey some sort of hidden message. But what was it? Was she simply showing me she didn’t like my spending time with our shift supervisor, merely demonstrating she was in charge of this new hire, or something entirely different? Her tone was authoritative and coarse when she spoke. “Sorry, Paul, but pickle packing needs all hands on deck, including Mary,” and then she hooked her hand around my forearm for emphasis.
Paul gave us a wink and stepped aside. “Of course. Catch you later, ladies.”
“Not if I can help it,” Anita murmured.
Anita’s sharp words quickly brought to mind the “Old Boy’s” network she’d spoken of yesterday. Clearly she did not like Paul. Did the gals at the plant have trouble with him too? What if my mentor’s words referred to something deeper, more sinister? Could Paul possibly be the murderer? Womanizer or murderer didn’t matter, both spelled trouble, which meant I’d better remain on guard when he’s around.
WHEN LUNCH BREAK CAME, there was no need to seek out Paul Mason. He caught my eye the second I stepped into the lunchroom with Anita, nodding at me with his sultry, pale blue eyes. I politely smiled back at him, knowing full well what was coming next.
Paul swooped his jet-black bangs lightly sprinkled with gray off his eyewear and signaled me over to his table. Talk about making it easy for me. Safety wasn’t a concern here, not while I was surrounded by other employees. How could I refuse? Unless Anita throws a hissy fit and prevents me from chowing down with him. I guess I’ll tempt fate.
“Hey, girl, where are you headed?” she questioned sharply, wrapping her thick hand around my wrist. “Are you sure you want to mess with him? He’s like a wolf in sheep’s clothing. You never know what’s going on in that thick head of his.”
“I’ll be fine. I think he just wants me to fill in the details regarding what I did earlier. But if not, my two brothers showed me a couple moves I can use where the sun don’t shine.” They hadn’t, but my safety instructor did.
Anita rested her hands on her wide hips and shook her head from side to side. “I sure didn’t expect that coming from you. You’re one tough cookie. I’m glad I don’t have to worry about you. Enjoy your lunch.”
“Thanks. I’ll try.”
When I reached Paul Mason’s table, he shoved out a metal chair for me and then picked up his half-eaten sub sandwich filled with an abundance of toppings and various meats. “I’m glad I caught you, Mary. I still can’t believe your quick thinking this morning. I hope you don’t mind rehashing what you did.”
“Not at all, but like I said, it was nothing,” and then I sat and proceeded to empty my lunch bag on the small round table, which now only consisted of a slice of bologna and a cut up apple.
Paul set his sandwich down and stared at my meager lunch. “I hope that’s not a new diet fad. If it is, you’re going to fade away before the end of the day. At least get something to drink for cry’n out loud.”
“I will in a bit.” I unwrapped the wax paper holding the single bologna slice, still peppered with mayo here and there, broke it into bite size pieces, and ate a few. “By the way, I don’t usually eat like this, but I promise it’ll make sense to you once I explain what I did for Jose.” Now, I stacked a few more pieces of bologna together and ate them too.
“Go ahead, I’m all ears.”
You heard him. He wants to know what I did for Jose. Well, that’s going to include a whopper of a story.
I cleared my mouth and began. “The minute I saw Jose’s hand in the jar, a newspaper article from a while back came to mind. It concerned a four-year-old who’d gotten his hand stuck in a baby jar. The mother said when she saw her son’s dilemma she immediately went for the jar of mayo, took a handful, and rubbed it on the part of his hand that was exposed, but nothing happened. So then she put ice and water in a bowl and submerged the jar in it. Presto. The cold reduced the swelling in the hand and it slid out.”
Paul chuckled. “So that’s what happened to your sandwich.”
“Yup.”
“Hmm. After hearing your story, I think you deserve a dessert.” A huge piece of apple pie ala mode came to mind. My mouth watered. But when Paul reached in his back pocket, whipped out his wallet, and handed me a dollar I wasn’t impressed. You can’t get anything with a dollar these days. “Here, treat yourself to something chocolaty from the candy machine.”
“Thanks. That’s very kind of you,” I lied. “Don Hickleman must’ve instilled the generous spirit in his employees or you learned it from the cradle. Which was it?�
��
Paul’s mood changed considerably as he leaned back in his chair. “I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, but old man Hickleman was a penny pincher. Any raise you got around here you had to fight tooth and nail for. He never even threw a company picnic or a Christmas party for us.” He shifted his body and sat forward again. “But things are going to be quite different from now on. Wait and see. By the way, I’ve already arranged an employee Christmas luncheon for next week, so come hungry.”
“That I can do.” If his luncheon is as cheap as my dessert, the employees will probably be served canned tuna.
While I chewed on a piece of apple, I pondered what Paul had said and what I dared ask next. His words clearly indicated to me that he didn’t like Don Hickleman. But did he dislike the man enough to destroy him, by means of murder or theft. If I wanted to find out about Butch’s first arrest, I’d have to circle around to it by way of another story.
“A major news broadcast company, I forget which one, recently covered a story about a big food company, similar to General Mills, suing an employee for stealing company secrets. Does stealing secrets in the food industry actually happen as frequently as it does in Silicon Valley?” Thinking Paul required a couple seconds to produce an adequate response I munched on another piece of apple.
The first shift supervisor slid his half empty Styrofoam cup closer to him and fidgeted with it. Bingo: The first sign of hitting a nerve. Tiny bits of Styrofoam fell to the table within seconds. A minute later Paul’s words drifted my way. “I really wouldn’t know, Mary. I’ve been working here since high school.”
“How about at this particular plant? Anyone you ever worked with get their hand caught in the cookie jar?”
His face grew grim. Obviously, he hadn’t expected me to shoot him another serious question dealing with a subject closer to home.
I took my eyes off the man for an instant and glanced at the clock on the wall above the coffee machine. “Geez, lunch breaks almost over,” I said, acting as if I hadn’t noticed the change in his facial features. “I’d better grab that candy bar and beverage before I have to clock-in. Thanks again for the dessert.” When I stood, the chair dug into the floor making an ear-splitting noise. No one seemed to care.
“Sure,” Paul replied. “Hope your afternoon goes well.”
“You too.” Anxious to get away from the man, I took a couple steps in the opposite direction, but didn’t get far.
Paul called out to me. “Hey, Mary.”
Oh, oh. Did he put two and two together already.
I spun around and braced myself for what might come. “Yes?”
“You dropped something.”
What could’ve possibly fallen out of my pockets? The stun gun, dummy. I rested my hand on the section of lab coat covering my pant pocket. It felt lumpy. Phew. What else could I’ve dropped? I scanned the floor surrounding the chair I had sat in. Nothing. Hmm? I put my palms face up indicating I needed a little help from Paul.
He pointed to an object near his shoes.
Thinking it was food, I said, “I must’ve missed some apple, huh.”
“No. I don’t think it’s from an apple.”
Clueless, I treaded over to the table, stooped down, and picked up what Paul had pointed to, a green earring. It perfectly matched the ones I’d put on this morning, but had chosen not to wear them after Aunt Zoe suggested I didn’t. In a hurry to get going, I stuffed them in a pant pocket instead of the jewelry box.
Paul Mason’s thick brows arched when he caught a glimpse of the earring I plucked off the floor. “You didn’t have earrings on earlier did you?”
“No. I planned to put them on at the end of the day. I’m glad you noticed it.” I opened my hand wider, allowing him a better view of the earring. “It’s one of my favorite pair of earrings,” I explained. “I would’ve been devastated if I’d lost it. My grandmother gave me them.” With that said, I scurried off with the knowledge I hadn’t blown my cover.
~26~
“Mary, I’m so glad you’re home,” Aunt Zoe said, rushing to greet me.
“What’s the problem?” I asked, taking my jacket off and hanging it up. “You look like you’re ready to burst at the seams.”
“I am, but not because of the outfit I’m wearing.”
“That wasn’t what I meant. Oh, never mind.”
Since my aunt mentioned clothing, I thought I’d better examine what she had on before interrogating her further. I knew for a fact a particular Dashiki she brought back from West Africa, the one with a lion’s head painted on the front, could easily scare the crap out of anyone, including a cop. All right! She passed inspection. The magenta and black outfit she’s wearing from Lands’ End is perfect. “So, what’s going on, Aunt Zoe? Has Trevor phoned? Did he cancel the date?”
“No, dear.”
Pleased to hear he hadn’t, I said, “Good. Then I’ll change into my dressy shoes while you tell me what’s going on.” I grabbed the shoes from the hallway where I’d left them this morning and found a spot on the couch to sit and change out the tennis shoes for the nice pair.
“We ran out of milk,” she slowly began, standing in front of the coffee table now. “So I walked to the corner grocery store three blocks down. You know the one.”
I straightened up. “Yeah, what happened? Did Marty’s get robbed while you were there?” I teased, sincerely hoping that wasn’t the case. Although I could picture Aunt Zoe getting in the middle of something dicey going down and taking things into her own hands, like clobbering a robber over the head with the humongous purse she carried around town.
“It’s best if I show you, Mary,” she said, more excited than I’ve ever seen her. She hastened to the other end of the couch and picked up her purse.
Oh, oh. I hope she’s not going to demonstrate on me.
Luckily, it wasn’t the purse Aunt Zoe wanted after all, it’s what it contained, her cell phone. As soon as she retrieved the phone and clicked it on, she carried it over to me and pressed the phone’s photo icon. “Take a look at this picture, Mary. Do you recognize the guy?”
Receiving the shock of my life, I left my mouth agape, leaving room for any little critter to waltz in. “Of course, I do. He’s the one who stole the sunglasses from Singi Optical. What was he doing? Buying groceries with his old timers’ gang?”
She smiled. “You’re not going to believe this. He was selling sunglasses.”
“Outside the grocery store in this sub-zero weather? Is he crazy?” Aunt Zoe’s mouth cracked open. “Don’t waste your breath,” I said, slipping on the good shoes and tucking the tennis shoes under the coffee table. “One has to be a little nutty to take what doesn’t belong to them in any kind of weather, hot or cold. You didn’t talk to the thief, did you?”
“Sure,” she replied like it was an everyday occurrence. “Did you ever catch the show Golden Girls?”
“Yup. I’ve seen reruns.”
“Well, I pretended I was Maude’s roommate Rose. You know the one who asked umpteen questions and everything had to be spelled out for her.” Hmm. Sounds like you. “Step 1: I explained to him how I was interested in a pair of sunglasses for my ninety-year-old mother. Step 2: I wore the guy down by asking him to repeat the benefits of each pair of sunglasses over and over. Step 3: I hit while the iron was hot. I asked where I could find him after getting sufficient funds together. Unfortunately, he didn’t offer an address. But the dumb guy told me to take a picture of him. ‘That way,’ he said, ‘you’ll have an easier time finding me around here again.’”
“Auntie, you’re a genius. I take back all the crummy thoughts I’ve ever had about your idiosyncrasies. Not only do we know where to find the guy, but we have a photo of him to give the cops.”
She fluffed the decorative pillows resting in the middle of the couch and then sat. “At least you understand why I was busting at the seams.”
“Ah, huh.” Before I could say more, there was a knock at the door.
Aunt Zo
e clasped her hands. “Mary, I believe that’s the charming fellow you’ve been waiting for. Should I let him in or do you want to?”
I jumped up. “Stay put. I’ll get it,” and I scrambled to the door. The moment I opened it, Trevor and his K9 Duke bounded in. They both looked the same since I last saw them; neither ones girth had changed a fraction of an inch. See that, Mary. Working out does payoff.
Trevor continued to hold the bag of dog food he’d brought with while he stood in the archway between the living room and hallway and gave our apartment a serious once over before greeting us. I figured the examination was due to the cop side of him kicking in, being aware of his surroundings at all times, but it wasn’t. It turned out he was concerned about something else. “Gracie must be putting on the shy act. Say, she won’t mind if Duke relaxes here while you and I go to dinner, will she? He needs a break from working.”
I choked up at the mere mention of Gracie’s name. “Well, I, ah. It’s like this, Trevor. My brother’s dog’s not here, but if she were I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. She’s pretty laid back.”
Aunt Zoe tapped my arm, her way of giving comfort without speaking.
My date picked up on her gesture. “Obviously, something’s going on here, and I’ve put my foot in my mouth. I’m terribly sorry.”
“No need to be,” Aunt Zoe replied. “I’m sure Mary will explain everything over supper.”
“I certainly will. I could use an expert’s input.” Now I reached out and patted Duke’s head without asking first if he was off duty yet. When I realized my mistake, I asked Trevor if it was okay that I’d given the K9 attention.
Trevor ran a hand through his thick, wavy cinnamon-colored hair. “Sure. He loves his down time as much as us cops. By the way, where would you ladies like me to set this dog food, in the kitchen?”
“Yes,” Aunt Zoe replied, “We can put it next to Gracie’s dishes. Mary, why don’t you get your hat and coat on while I show Trevor to the kitchen, then you two can get going.”
Death of the Pickle King Page 13