Chapter 23
Geoffrey Holder’s place of business was located five and one-quarter miles away from Elm Wood Park and ten miles from his house. A large, square concrete building surrounded by a fenced-in blacktopped parking lot, it was well positioned between the outskirts of the town and a Thruway exit. A big sign proclaiming, You want it fixed right the first time? Come to us, was bolted onto the roof.
Unfortunately, it looked as if people weren’t getting the message because the lot was mostly empty. In fact, Bernie observed as she pulled up in front of the entrance, there were only four other cars in a lot that could have held fifty—easy.
Bernie squared her shoulders, grabbed the basket, and got out of the Caddy. She didn’t know what she’d get out of Holder, but hopefully it would be worth the time. One thing she did know, though. Whatever happened, Libby was going to owe her big for this.
“Things not going so well?” Bernie said to the receptionist, a jowly older woman with blond teased hair that Bernie decided had to be a wig.
She gave Bernie a baleful look.
“We’re going Chapter Eleven.”
“Everyone seems to be doing it these days. Maybe it’ll help.”
The receptionist snorted at the idea.
“My Timmy says it never helps. Just postpones the inevitable. My Timmy says that this is what happens when you get ideas above your station. He says Mr. Holder shoulda stuck with what he knows—fixing cars instead of fancying himself the next . . .” The woman paused for a moment. “I don’t know what . . .
“Who would go to someplace like Dracula Land anyway? Freaks. And I’ll tell you one thing about them. Freaks don’t got much money. The thing never made sense to me. Didn’t make sense to a lot of people. Everyone tried to tell him, but he wouldn’t listen. It was like he was under a spell or something. They did good work here too.”
The woman shook her head and Bernie was fascinated to see that while her head moved, her hair didn’t.
“Good thing I got me grandchildren to occupy my time when this place goes under.” She pointed to a picture sitting on her desk. “Three of them. Two girls and a boy. So, dearie, what brings you here?” she finally asked Bernie. “If your car needs work, take it down the road to Lloyd’s. They do a clean, fast job. Use dealer-specified parts too.”
Bernie lifted the gift basket. “Actually, I want to give Mr. Holder this.”
“Nice present.”
“It’s muffins from A Little Taste of Heaven. His wife wants me to talk to him about the graduation party for his child. I thought this might help sway his mind.”
“Muffins?” The receptionist snickered. “A couple six-packs a beer woulda done ya better.” The phone rang and the receptionist picked it up. “No. We ain’t accepting any new vehicles.” She hung up and got back to Bernie. “And I gotta warn you,” she told her. “The boss ain’t the easiest person to talk to these days. But you wanna try, go ahead.” And the receptionist waved her arm towards a door to the left.
“His car was here when I came this morning, but he wasn’t in his office. I’m not sure exactly where he is. Maybe you should try the paint room. That’s out in the back away from the main building.”
“Could you page him?” Bernie asked.
“Sure I could,” the woman agreed, “if the system worked. But it don’t so I can’t. It’s been down for about a month now, and we ain’t had the money to fix it. Or,” the woman went on, “you could leave the basket here and I’ll give it to him when he comes out.”
“If you don’t mind, I think I’ll go find him.”
“Whatever you say. I’ll buzz you in.” As the door clicked open, the woman said to Bernie, “When you find him, tell him his wife left a message for him.”
Bernie nodded her agreement and walked through. She found herself in a narrow corridor. The sign on the first door said, Geoffrey Holder. She knocked. No one answered. She had her hand on the doorknob and was just about to turn it when a voice behind her said, “Can I help you?”
Bernie jumped and spun around.
“Sorry if I startled you.” The man extended his hand. “I’m Robert Sullivan, but you can call me Rob. Everyone does.”
But Bernie wasn’t listening. She was staring at his intensely green eyes. Finally she tore her gaze away and shook his hand.
“Bernadette Simmons.”
“That’s a pretty name.”
“It comes from the French.”
Now that was an unnecessary bit of information, Bernie thought as Rob rocked back on his heels.
“So tell me, Bernadette . . .”
“Bernie . . .”
He grinned and Bernie could feel her knees turning to jelly. You are taking a vacation from men, Bernie reminded herself as she watched Rob’s grin grow wider. As if he knows what he’s doing to me, she thought angrily.
“I had an uncle named Bernie. So, Bernie, what can I do for you?”
She repeated the explanation she’d given the receptionist. Rob gave a mock bow and extended his hand with a flourish.
“Let’s go find the lucky gent. I’ve been looking for him myself.”
Get a grip, Bernie told herself as she followed him down the corridor. Then, before she could stop herself, she’d offered him a ginger muffin with lemon icing from her basket.
“God, these are good,” he said as he devoured it. “You make them?”
Bernie lied and said yes. Well, she had chopped the ginger, hadn’t she?
She and Rob continued down the hall while Rob peeked into the other four offices.
“Aren’t too many of us left,” he observed as they came to the end of the corridor. He held open the last door, which had a sign on it that read, Work Area. Authorized Personnel Only, and said, “After you.”
“I don’t think I’ve seen you around,” he said as Bernie stepped inside.
She scanned the area. It had spaces for four cars, but the room was empty.
“That’s because I’ve just moved back to town.”
“Lucky for Longely.”
Bernie started to fiddle with her ring and stopped herself.
“I’m not sure my sister would agree with that.”
Rob chuckled.
“Maybe she’s afraid of the competition. Would you be interested in meeting for a drink later?”
“Are you always this quick?”
“Only when I see something I like.”
Bernie could feel herself flush.
“Possibly,” she said, furious with herself for acting as if she were fourteen.
“That’s good enough for me.”
Bernie took a deep breath and tried to concentrate on what she’d come here for.
“Your boss doesn’t seem to be here,” she observed, looking around the room.
“No, he doesn’t,” Rob agreed. “Come on. Let’s take a peek in the paint room,” he suggested, beckoning for her to follow him. “It’s sad really,” Rob said to Bernie as they walked out the side door into the yard. “This used to be a good business.”
“So what are you going to do?” Bernie asked him.
Rob shrugged. “Do computer stuff. Train dogs. Something will turn up. It always does.”
“You really train dogs?”
“I did out in Venice. Venice Beach,” he added. “That’s out in L.A.”
“I know where it is. I was living in Brentwood.”
“Fancy that. So what brought you back here?” he asked as he opened the door to the paint room.
Bernie stepped inside.
“Family stuff.” Time enough to get into the real reason later. “And you?”
“Same thing.”
Bernie glanced around. The paint room was divided into three compartments by clear hanging plastic panels that partially obscured the view. So they could do three cars at a time, she supposed.
“He doesn’t seem to be here,” Rob said.
“Where else could he be?”
Rob gave a quick shake of his head.
“You got me.”
“Have you seen him today?”
Rob rocked back and forth on his heels. “His car was in the lot when I got here, but in answer to your question, no, I haven’t seen him since I got in.”
“Isn’t that a little unusual?”
“Not these days. He probably went off to play golf with one of his buddies. He’s been doing that a lot lately.”
“But,” Bernie objected, “his car is still here.”
“Someone came and picked him up.”
Bernie folded her arms across her chest.
“I don’t know,” she said doubtfully.
A little kernel of unease was growing in her chest. In her experience, Type-A guys like Holder usually drove their own cars to wherever they were going, but maybe she was generalizing.
“Are you always this suspicious?” Rob asked.
“I think the word you want is skeptical,” Bernie replied absentmindedly, “and the answer to that question is yes.”
“Must make relationships hard.”
Bernie didn’t answer. Her attention was focused on the room. She scanned the area again, looking more carefully this time.
“What’s that?” she asked, pointing to a small black shape by the far wall near one of the big barrels. Actually, it looked like the bottom half of one of A Little Taste of Heaven’s takeout containers, she told herself. Nevertheless.
“What?” Rob asked. “I don’t see anything.”
“Over there. At two o’clock.”
“I still don’t see it.”
“That,” Bernie said, immediately sorry that she sounded so impatient with him.
But Rob didn’t seem to notice.
“Oh.” He laughed. “That’s what you’re pointing at. It looks like a piece of trash to me.”
“Maybe, but I’d still like to check it out.”
Rob bowed.
“Be my guest.”
Bernie put the basket she was carrying down on the floor, pushed the first panel aside and started walking. Then she pushed the second panel aside and the third. A moment later she was staring at a black shoe.
“This is bad,” Rob said as he moved up next to her.
“Definitely,” Bernie agreed, tentatively taking another couple of steps forward.
Despite knowing what was coming, she gasped when she saw what was lying on the floor behind the metal drums.
One thing was for sure, Bernie thought. Geoffrey Holder wasn’t going anywhere now, not with a hole the size of a walnut in the middle of his skull.