“It looks like you’re fighting a losing battle,” Anita said. “Do you want some help?”
“Nope.” I took a deep breath and pulled in my stomach. “I just ate too many free sweets in the breakroom this afternoon.” I tugged on the zipper one more time. It finally went up. “Okay, I’m ready to go if you are.”
“Any idea what it’s doing outside?” Anita asked as we headed towards the exit.
“No clue. I never checked my phone.”
“That’s all right. We’ll find out soon enough.”
When I pushed opened the door, my stocking cap blew off. Strong wind mixed with heavy snow was to blame. I picked it up off the ground before it took flight again. “Crap. I thought the weatherman said not to expect a shift in weather till this weekend. You can barely tell which car is which.”
“Who ordered this anyway?” Anita complained, yanking her wool scarf loose and pulling it up over her head. “Girl, I’m thinking we’d better forget hanging around here, don’t you?”
I nodded. “I’ll come in a little earlier tomorrow before the rest of the crew. We can talk then.”
“All right. Drive safely,” Anita said, tightening her grip on her scarf. “I want to see you in one piece tomorrow.”
“You too,” and then I stomped off to find the VW, knowing I’d be out of the parking lot long before Anita found her snow covered car since she owned a mid-sized sedan and half the vehicles peppering the parking lot were similar to hers.
However, when I reached the car, I was in for a surprise and it had nothing to do with the battery. The two tires on the passenger side were flat. I guess Anita will make it out of the parking lot before me. Who knows how long it’ll take a tow truck to get here. I unlocked the car and slipped inside.
As I sat behind the steering wheel watching the snow wrap its angry claws around everything in sight, two persistent questions pricked the recesses of my mind. Did I have a current VISA card? And, what were the chances of having two flat tires on the same day? Since the money situation ranked higher in importance than the other, I immediately dug through my purse, whipped out my wallet, and found I did indeed have a valid card to pay towing expenses.
No longer concerned about paying a bill, I moved on to the second question which required Google’s services. Recalling how treacherous the freeway could be leading into downtown Minneapolis on a night like this, I quickly vetoed any unnecessary use of cell phone energy that might be needed later and simply stated the obvious. “Not likely. Something fishy was going on here.”
I flipped the cell phone open, researched the nearest tow truck company, made the call, and then waited and waited. Fifteen minutes later a real human spoke and told me with the crazy road conditions I’d be lucky if I saw anyone in an hour. I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. I might as well wait in the building instead of wasting gas.
I shoved the phone and car key in my purse and trudged back to the plant with no regard to being in the building by myself. Why should I? Hadn’t several people informed me that the clean-up crew comes in after we leave?
~56~
Expecting to bump elbows with the clean-up crew when I stepped in the building, I was surprised to find the bright lights I worked under on the first shift had been dimmed considerably and no employees were roaming around. It freaked me out. That is until I realized the cleaners had probably been told to stay home due to the snowstorm. But then, why wasn’t the building locked up?
Despite the eeriness surrounding me, I ventured forth, taking the path that led to the lunchroom where I could at least feed my fears. My stomach growled noisily. I took it as a sign it agreed with my decision.
As soon as I got to the lunchroom, I took off my jacket, opened my purse, and whipped out the phone along with a few bucks. The money was for treats: Snicker bar and Coke. The phone to let people know I’d be late, namely Aunt Zoe and Sgt. Murchinak.
After my stomach enjoyed a huge piece of the Snickers bar, I picked up the phone and punched in the number for the apartment. Once again, I was forced to waste precious phone usage, waiting for the dumb answer machine to kick in. Aunt Zoe, it’s Mary,” I finally said. “I wanted to let you know —” Shoot! Either the tape ran out, I lost cell power, or the phone battery died.
Before I bothered trying the apartment number again, I glanced at the top of the screen. Verizon was doing its part, but the battery displayed RED. Not good. It cut out even though it had shown half used when I called the towing company. This wasn’t the first time the battery had let me down. I guess that’s what I get for putting off updating the phone, but a new one is so dang expensive it would cut off my Christmas shopping before I even started, and I certainly didn’t want to be thought of as Mary Scrooge.
Hoping I might have stashed the portable charger in my purse when I left for work that I share with Aunt Zoe, I dug through it once more. The only object I found that dealt with power was the stun gun. Aunt Zoe and Sgt. Murchinak would not be hearing from me after all.
Frustrated, I dropped my butt in a cold chair, chomped on the rest of the candy bar, and contemplated who was behind the cruel joke played on me. If the weather hadn’t been so crummy to hinder the activity of a person on crutches, I’d have been inclined to rethink my thoughts on Chip’s innocence.
Roseanne Harsh, on the other hand, still floated to the top of my suspect list. The trucker’s timely arrival this morning and delayed departure had given her the perfect opportunity to damage my car tires. I’m such an idiot, letting her persuade me to ride with her to Tioni’s. She probably came up with that scheme to keep me from discovering the flat tires too soon.
I’d just finished off the Snickers bar and had popped open the Coke can when I heard the clicking of high heels in the hallway, traveling my way at a rapid pace. Perhaps an office person stayed late to lock up. But what if it was the killer?
The minute the heels went silent I panicked. Was the wearer of the shoes merely weighing snack options, changing their route, or deciding how to deal with me? With nowhere to hide, I stuck my hand in my purse and wrapped it around the stun gun.
“Mary?” Sharon Sylvester said, flattening her hand against her chest as she burst through the doorway. “What are you doing here?”
“Two flat tires,” I said, tensing up as I recalled the extremely expensive coat Sharon wore at Paul Mason’s viewing and her so called friendship with Roseanne. “I already called a roadside service. They said it’ll take at least an hour or more before they can tow my car out of here.” There. Making sure Sharon knew someone expected to find me at the plant should be enough to safeguard me from any devious plans she might have had.
She dropped her hand to her side, acting as though the news didn’t faze her. “Well, you certainly don’t need to sit in these uncomfortable chairs. Grab your Coke and join me up in my office. It’s warmer up there and I’ve got plenty of magazines for you to peruse while you wait.”
I released the stun gun. Noticing Sharon didn’t make a move towards the snack machines as I collected my jacket and purse, I said, “Did you come down here to get something to eat?”
“Ah, yes, but I changed my mind. The food in those machines can kill you.”
Or someone at the plant. As I trudged up the steps behind Sharon, I wondered who else might be waiting for me and hoped I wasn’t like a lamb being led to the slaughter.
THE MOMENT I ENTERED the HR office I scanned every inch of it, looking for any indication that another individual had been keeping company with Sharon. I didn’t find anything. Even so, every bone in my body told me to stay on guard.
As the mousey-looking woman breezed past the front of her cluttered desk to claim her swivel chair situated behind it, loose papers the size of spreadsheets fluttered in the air. Her hand shot out to catch them before they floated to the floor and then she sat.
“Hang up your belongings,” Sharon’s reedy voice suggested once she settled in. “And when you’re done, check out one of the new leather c
hairs I purchased.” She pointed to the ones she’d passed getting to her chair.
I hung the ski jacket on the coat rack, but not the purse. I’d keep that close by my side in case things suddenly turned ugly.
A gallon jar of whole pickles caught my eye when I sat. Probably because it seemed out of place in this particular work space, the corner of Sharon’s desk. Not exactly a safe spot to store it. The pickles must be a new addition to her minimalist decorating scheme. Surely I’d have remembered seeing those six days ago when she told me I’d be getting a raise.
Catching my interest in the jar, Sharon said, “It was a birthday present.”
“Oh?” I clasped my hands around the Coke can and rested it on my lap, patiently waiting for the woman to hand over the reading material she mentioned. As it turned out she never did. Apparently the offer of reading material was a ploy to snare me.
“Have a pickle,” she said.”
I questioned the offer. It wasn’t exactly chocolate. “Ah, no thanks, I don’t care for any.”
“Have a pickle,” she insisted more forcefully.
I took one. Little did I know how significant eating one dill pickle could be.
Sharon’s honey-brown eyes lit up. “Taste it. You’ll find it’s quite delicious.”
I bit into the huge pickle, hoping it hadn’t been soaking in poison all day.
“My friend makes them especially for me.”
Funny, hearing those words didn’t make me feel warm and fuzzy all over. Although, after the huge pickle’s slimy juice dribbled from my hand to the elbow, leaving the arm smelling vinegary, soaking in a bath crossed my mind. I rested the half-empty can of Coke on Sharon’s desk and then I dug in my pant pockets for a Kleenex.
Sharon leaned her heart-shaped face over the desk and shared a wicked grin. ”I hate cleaning up messes, don’t you?”
I thought I knew where Sharon was going with talk of messes, but I wasn’t in any hurry to get there. Instead, I pretended to be on a different page than her. “I definitely do. Especially the ones my roommate makes. Some nights when I get home after work the kitchen looks like a tornado whipped through it.”
“That’s not what I’m referring to,” she snapped. “I know you’ve been snooping around, but who convinced you to do it? According to your resume, you haven’t got the right background to be a PI.”
I pretended her accusations shocked me. “I’m not. Whatever gave you that idea?”
“Let’s just say I’ve heard things from others, but walls have ears too. And video cams come in mighty handy also.”
“I don’t know what walls can tell you, but you know how easy it is for jealous people to ruin someone’s reputation. What exactly have you heard or seen?” I asked, noting Sharon’s handwriting on a form lying on her desk. Another important piece of evidence I could use to prove who killed Paul.
Sharon rested her narrow chin on her hands. “Fine, have it your way. It’s not going to matter in a few minutes anyway. Paul and Roseanne mentioned how uncomfortable they felt around you. According to them the new hire was asking way too many questions about the deceased, which gave me plenty of cause for concern. So I gave you a little rope to see what you’d come up with.
“This morning one of the video cams caught you using a door off limits. The only people I’ve ever seen using that exit door are smokers. But you’re not a smoker, are you? Why would you go out that door, I wondered? Thanks to a certain air vent in the hallway on the main floor, it didn’t take long to get the answer. I heard every word you spoke on your phone. You got a cucumber and wanted it analyzed. Too bad you told some cop your list of suspects was extremely short. You’re a good worker, Mary. I would’ve liked to have kept you around longer, but you gave me no choice. I’m going to have to kill you.”
I screwed up royally. Why didn’t I transfer the stun gun from my purse to a pant pocket when Sharon led the way upstairs? I glanced at my purse on the floor. Could I get it to my lap in time? My hand tingled as I slyly slid my hand to the floor to retrieve the purse. What did Sharon add to the pickle brine? I have to get to the heart of the matter before I collapse.
“I didn’t need to quiz you about Don and Paul’s deaths,” I said, as my purse flopped over on the carpet and the stun gun fell out. “Sure you had the means and opportunity, but I couldn’t put a finger on your motive until recently. This all started with the theft of the pickle recipes, didn’t it?”
Sharon glared at me. “How did you figure that out?”
I yawned. “Selling company recipes would give you enough money to do whatever you wanted. Buy an expensive coat or even a pickle company. Before you could take over Pickledom though, you’d have to get rid of Don Hickleman first and his illegitimate son.” I leaned over the arm of the chair, but couldn’t quite scoop up the stun gun. Thank goodness Aunt Zoe bought me one that looks like a camera. At least there’s no chance Sharon will use it on me.
“If you’re reaching for your phone,” Sharon said, “don’t bother. It’s too late.” She got out of her chair and came around to the front of her desk.
My tongue was growing heavier as the seconds ticked by, but I wasn’t going to let that stop me from talking. When the bad guy corners the good guy, the good guy always stalls for time until help can arrive. Not that it’s going to make a difference for me. No one knows where I am. “Paul Mason was blackmailing you, but not just over the theft of the recipes. What else did you find in the vault that day?”
“The new will Don had recently drawn up.” When Sharon leaned over to help my ragdoll-like body out of the chair, she spotted the object that had fallen out of my purse. “Is there any incriminating evidence on that camera of yours?” she quizzed before kicking it under her desk.
“Maybe.”
“Well, you’ll love where I’m taking you then.” She pulled twine out of her pant pocket, tied my hands together, and led me towards the stairs.
~57~
Chills ran through my body as I remembered where Don and Paul’s bodies had been dumped, a vat and a walk-in fridge. One had to walk towards the other end of the building to get to those locations. So when Sharon dragged me down the dimly lit hallway towards the distribution area, I was caught totally off guard. What could she possibly have in mind? There was no place to hide a body there.
When we reached our destination, Sharon turned up the overhead lights and set my sluggish frame down. Sitting here in this particular spot by the desk brought to mind the nausea I experienced this afternoon after watching the pallet wrapper in action. I never wanted to feel that way again.
In my weakened condition, I was finding it hard to remain upright. Sharon clutched my shoulder to keep me from falling. “I understand a certain machine in this department has left an indelible impression on you. Lucky for you, Mary, I’ve put in enough time at this plant to know exactly how every machine operates and can offer you the same thrilling experience again tonight.” She helped me out of the chair and brought me over to the pallet wrapper machine.
“Look at that,” Sharon’s voice shrilled in the range of High C. She plucked up a long piece of wire that hadn’t been tossed in the trash. “How thoughtful of the men to leave me something to wrap you up in. Shall we get to it?” she asked not waiting for a reply.
Holding me and the wire with one hand, Sharon used the other to push a movable ladder up to the wrapper machine where a customer’s order sat waiting to get wrapped in the morning. “I’m so tired of cleaning up messes,” Sharon sighed. “If only Don had kept his promises to me. But no, he’d rather be a chameleon, changing his tune whenever he saw fit. He was supposed to marry me after his wife died. Do you see a ring on my finger?” She flashed her left hand in my face. “Of course not.”
Sharon forced me up the steps and unto the platform. After she wrapped the wire around me and the jars of pickles, she climbed off the platform and flipped the switch to run the pallet wrapper.
The stretch wrap whizzed past my feet and kept going. The
re was no stopping it.
This is it. Death was knocking at my door. I didn’t expect to pass over to the next world this soon. Incredible as it may sound, my life didn’t flash before my eyes, like I’ve heard it’s supposed to. I also didn’t feel the need to make things right with my Maker. Which one could take as a good sign or not, depending on how you looked at it. What did cross my brain waves then? I’ll tell you. What a way to go out, wrapped up as a Christmas present. Won’t the company receiving this order be surprised.
The wrap was gaining ground on my upper torso. It was only a matter of minutes before it suffocated me. Too bad no one knows where I am.
“What the heck is going on here?” a male voice shouted.
Lack of oxygen must be affecting my brain. The guy who asked the question sounded like my brother Matt, but that’s impossible. He’s not due to arrive back in the States till next week. Maybe it’s the tow truck driver. I waited to hear more.
“Shut that machine off now,” he commanded.
Whoa. This dude could definitely pass for Matt. He cuts to the chase, doesn’t waste a single word.
“Not until this order is finished,” Sharon screamed.
“Fine. I’ll take care of it myself.”
Pressed too tightly against the pickle jars and pallets, I couldn’t witness the battle below, but I could hear it. Chairs and tools were being tossed about. Then nothing except the noise of the machine until it went dead too.
I couldn’t believe it. I’d been saved. Whoever my hero was deserved a big smackeroo.
“Mary, are you okay?” my brother asked, as he tried to cut through the stretch wrap under my armpits with a utility knife.
“I feel woozy and itch all over. We gotta find out what Sharon added to the jar of pickles in her office. What did you do with her?”
“I knocked her unconscious.”
“Well, at least she’ll snap out of it.”
Death of the Pickle King Page 26