Chapter Fifteen

The day after the party, I wandered around the apartment waiting for a phone call from A. Wellborn. Would he call me? Should I call him? If he did, then what?

This was the stupid dating game part.

I hated this game.

His call never came.

Jenny and I talked about the engagement party and our respective after parties. Hers sounded way more fulfilling, considering how she floated around on cloud nine. When Sunday afternoon passed, neither of us held much hope for me. I found myself on the well-known emotional roller coaster, and as a consequence, an emotional overeater. Translation: chocolate consumption hit an all-time record.

Jenny felt compelled to eat chocolate as well. Good pals do sympathy eating. Tossing back another handful the colorful peanut candies, she observed, “He must be over his masochist phase.”

Like that observation made me feel better.

On the way to work Monday morning, I prepared for my meeting with Lester. I had some concern about Opal and her thinking I’d meddled by doing something not required, and possibly, I’d broken an unspoken and undocumented B. R. A. guideline. An angry Opal could be a dangerous Opal.

I reviewed some more and came back to Buy Rite Employee Guideline #3: Show initiative. Oh hell, since the report was already done, I might as well go for broke and give it to Lester. After all, I was only the temporary. The worse that could happen was termination and rejoining the ranks of those searching for employment—again.

I watched Lester sequestered behind his desk, reviewing settlement checks against estimates. When I’d asked, he said he liked to do a “check and balance thing” on occasion, sorta like an internal audit. After I knocked on the doorframe and waved a little finger hi, I spotted him beckon me in.

Cough, cough. Outrageously thick cigarette smoke hung heavy in the air. A desire to flap the door back and forth to clear the room seized me, but I didn’t.

Lester pointed to a once yellow vinyl armchair, now tinged gray with smoke, located in front of his early dental desk.

I sat on the edge to avoid contaminating my clothing. “On Saturday,” I began, “I did the data entry left unfinished when the computer crashed on Friday. Opal spoke to you about it and obtained a key for me to use.”

Lester nodded.

“While working, I suddenly realized... I can’t explain... I had an odd feeling. It’s like this: I entered a lot of Jeep claims.”

“We discussed this the other day,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Some models of cars are stolen more than others. Sometimes, we have a rash of claims on a particular make because of its popularity.”

“I understand. However, the number of claims is increasing, even whole ones are stolen. Gone. Whatever. The whole thing bothers me.” I waved my hands around for emphasis.

“Bothers you? In what way?”

I heard curiosity in his words and continued, “Like I said, I had a funny feeling. This is probably because I have a car with stolen parts. A couple of weeks have passed, and I’m still waiting for my settlement check.”

He took a thoughtful hit off his cigarillo. “The ol’ check is in the mail.’”

As an offensive cloud wafted around me, I held my breath and discreetly fanned the air with the papers I held. A cough threatened to erupt. “Must be. Anyway, the thought stuck with me. I checked the program to see if a special report might be generated, and sure enough, found one I could use.”

“So, let’s review here. You ran a special program to generate a report, one which detailed all the Jeeps which were stolen or Jeeps which had stolen parts.”

“Yes.”

“Over what time frame are we talking here?”

“The last three months, but you could run it longer.”

He strummed his fingers on his desk. “What did you find?”

“I found more than fifty models were missing parts or had been stolen.”

“None were involved in any accidents?”

“Only one.”

“Only one.” Lester leaned back in his arm chair. His brows scrunched together and his fat lips pursed. He flicked his cigarette in an ashtray.

God, if only he’d stop smoking. And instantly, I knew I could never be employed with Buy Rite for the long term. “I found some more claims in Opal’s inbox and processed those, too. As of now, the report is up-to-date.”

“Please leave me a copy, and I’ll look it over.” He sat taller while he straightened his reading pile. Picking up his stinky stick, he tapped ash into the ashtray and then dismissed me with a wave. “Thank you for your attention to your work.”

“Sure.” I put the report in his in-box. As I walked to the door, I remembered what we’d talked about before and turned back. “Excuse me, Lester, I’m curious about something else.”

“What, Hattie?”

“What did Buy Rite’s internal squad say when you called them?”

“Internal squad?”

“The other day you said you would call them about looking for an unusual number of Jeep claims.”

He smacked his hand on his desktop hard. I jolted. “I knew I had forgotten something. Must have had a senior moment. I haven’t called the Internal squad yet. I’m definitely putting this on this reminder pad.” He scribbled something on the yellow ledger next to his phone. “How’s your court case going?”

“Fine, I guess. We meet later this week, hopefully to conclude.”

“Well, good luck, and thank you for the reminder.”

“You’re welcome.” Hurriedly, I exited Lester’s office, coughing and waving my hands to clear away the smoke. In my haste, I almost ran into Opal who dallied outside his office. She had probably smashed her ear against his door so she could listen in on our entire conversation.

Precisely at noon, when I staffed her desk to answer the phones, the outer office door opened. A. Wellborn entered as silently as an exotic feline stalking his prey. Interesting, I widened my eyes, displaying my disbelief. First, because I hadn’t heard from him, and second, because I hadn’t anticipated him showing at Buy Rite. “What are you doing here?”

His gaze flicked around the office. “I need to talk to you.”

He seemed different. I couldn’t put my finger on it. Edgy. Dark. His tone sounded somewhat… preoccupied. “Oh? What about?”

“Stuff.”

“I haven’t a clue as to what ‘stuff’ is.”

While pacing the floor in front of my desk, he brushed his fingers through his hair. Frustration took over his eyes when he stood squarely in front of me, legs spread, hands on hips. “Hattie, quit fooling around. We need to talk about your job at Buy Rite.”

My left eye squinted, giving him the You Did Me Wrong After Almost Wild, Almost Sex eyeball. “My job? Why the big interest in my job? You know everything there is to know because I’ve told you everything there is to know. It’s just a plain-o, no big deal job.”

“I can’t explain and”—he darted his look around the office again—“won’t explain here.”

I arranged the items in Opal’s pencil jar, careful to avoid being punctured by her letter opener. “I need more specifics than that.”

“The report.”

“The report? Why would you care about the report?” I reshuffled the papers on Opal’s desk into neat stacks. “I told you I was giving it to Lester.”

“You gave the report to Lester?”

I patted a manila folder into place then looked up to meet his gaze. “Yes.”

“The same report you told me about on Saturday?”

“Didn’t you hear what I said? I gave it to him first thing this morning.”

“What did Lester say?”

“Thank you.”

“Smart aleck.”

I made a whatever face which involved rolling my eyes and crossing my arms across my chest.

“Did he call the internal squad?”

“Not yet. He said he’d forgotten and thanked me for the reminder.” All this interest in the stupid report messed with my brain. I planted my hands on the edge of Opal’s desk. “What’s really going on here?”

“We need to talk,” he said.

Obviously, he was evading my question. I leaned across the desk and papers. “What about? Oh, I know.” My finger went to my heart, and I plastered a firm look on him. I hoped he felt bad because I certainly did. “How about we talk about Saturday night and the phone call I didn’t get on Sunday?”

“Sorry. I’ve been”—he searched the ceiling for the appropriate word—“uh, busy.”

“What a news flash. Everyone’s busy.”

“I told you I had to go to work when the office phoned,” he said, and paced a three-foot path and returned.

“Well, why don’t you just explain something so little ol’ ignorant me will understand better what came up?”

“When do you go to lunch?”

“I go to lunch, let’s see,” I consulted my watch, “in precisely fifteen minutes when Opal returns in precisely fifteen minutes. Are you asking me to lunch?”

“Yeah. Sorta.” He swiped a hand through his hair again, his irritation showed in his jerky, abrupt movements. “How about I meet you outside?”

A. Wellborn seemed preoccupied with something and his “something” had piqued my curiosity. Not every day Mr. Hunky Detective sorta asked me to lunch. He’d quizzed me hard about the report, Buy Rite, and Lester. Maybe over some food he would relax and tell me what all the questions were about.

“Okay, out front, by the main doors in fifteen minutes. But the wait may be more like twenty as I can’t leave until Opal returns and the elevator—”

“I get it.” He departed as silently as he’d entered.

I watched the door shut behind him.

How long can fifteen minutes take?

In this case, it seemed to be forever.

****

Thankfully, Ms. Exact-on-Time-from-Lunch returned early. “I saw the cutest guy standing outside the building entrance, pacing about while waiting for someone.” Opal sighed, her eyes tilted with a wistful look. “Wish a boy waited for me.”

The temptation to say in “your wildest dreams” almost popped from my lips. Instead, I said, “I think you might be referring to my lunch date.”

“The tall, dark, handsome man who kept staring at his watch?”

“That’s him.”

“Is he the same detective you told me about, the one who wrote the ticket?”

“Yep, you just missed him. He popped by a few minutes ago. He seemed agitated.”

“Better hurry along,” she ordered.

I made my quick exit. While waiting for the elevator to come, I tapped my right foot. Talking about Saturday night and him not calling me back felt uncomfortable. Sorta like high school feelings. We had a grown-up relationship which needed to be sorted in grown-up way.

After pushing through the revolving door, I scanned my gaze from left to right to locate him and did. Whether dressed casual, formal—or even better, naked—easy on the eyes best depicted A. Wellborn. Resting his shoulders against the exterior wall, he waited, tension clearly showing in his crisscrossed arms. His glance took me in as I made my way over to him.

“Hey.” His remark had been stated in an off-handed style, like a guy would to his football buddies.

“Hey,” I replied in my lame jock voice.

“You look nice.”

I did. Today, I’d revisited the late sixties in a short red dress without sleeves, banded in white around the neck and armholes. On my feet were matching shoes with a white pinstripe, and I carried a handbag woven like thick, white lattice work. “Thanks. You do, too.”

He wore khakis, a white shirt tucked inside, a navy blazer, black belt and shoes. I wondered when paired side by side, if we resembled Barbie and Ken dolls.

“I’ll drive,” he said. Companionably, we walked to his truck where he helped me inside. He moved to close the door.

I said, “Opal saw you standing out here.”

He made a soft snort. “I thought I heard a funny swish-swish sound.”

“Ha.”

He drove to the nearest fast food restaurant. It looked crowded and sounded loud with little kids running in and out of the gym area. I fell back on my favorite remedy, a large diet drink, to assist me through our conversation, and the restaurant’s newest offering, chicken Caesar salad. We sat in red, molded plastic chairs near the kiddy section, the only available seats. He looked out-of-place as his size dominated the smaller-sized chair. Not my usual kind of setting but it didn’t matter. Being with him was more important.

He chomped on a bite of burger while I tore into the salad dressing packet and squeezed every drop on the chicken and lettuce. After a couple of bites, he wiped his hands on a napkin and began his apologizing up front. His hand slid across the table. With a couple of fingers, he stroked my left hand. “Regarding Saturday, I’m sorry about Lucky and the phone call. Sorry how they interfered. What we shared was indescribable. I want you to know I had a hard time taking you home. I missed you. I can’t stop thinking about what might have happened. I want to finish what we’d started.”

My heart stopped with a hard thump. Funny, how his confession resembled mine. “I missed you, too. I didn’t sleep well.”

“Me, neither.”

Our fingers laced, squeezing, absorbing each other’s admissions. Our gazes fixed, and I saw care and concern for me in his.

The noise level increased, and gradually, awareness of our surroundings brought us to the present. Our hands released, and automatically, we resumed eating. I shoved my fork around the salad and speared a soggy crouton.

He said, “I have another problem, though, and it means I won’t be around.”

“Why?”

He bent closer, nearly touching his fries with his chest. “For your ears only, I’m working on a hush-hush case.”

This sounded interesting. Not wanting to miss any of the good dirt, I scooted my chair nearer to the table. My boobs almost rested on the table top.

“I have to tell you something.” He inhaled. “The case I’ve been working on is investigating the death of June Short, formerly an employee of Buy Rite Automobile Insurance. The police believe she was murdered.”

Murder. My eyes went large and wide. I stopped chewing to lean back in the plastic kiddy chair. “No way. No freaking way. I don’t believe it.”

“Believe it.”

“It can’t be true. You’re lying.”

A. Wellborn laid on me a Don’t Be Stupid look. His head tilted aside as one brow lifted.

No, not with that face, he wasn’t lying. The white plastic fork I held plopped into the lettuce as my taste for food vanished. “How? Who?”

“The only thing I can say is her death was very nasty.”

“Oh my.” My hand circled my throat. “Lester and Opal haven’t said a thing.”

“Right now, they don’t know about the investigation.”

“How could they not know?”

“’Cause we’re good?” He shook his head. “Sorry. They think her death has been ruled a suicide.”

I took in this new information. June Short had been murdered. June Short worked at Buy Rite. A. Wellborn was investigating June’s murder. This seemed surreal, like the Salvadore Dali painting with the wilted pocket watches. “Do you have any suspects?”

“We’re interested in a couple of people.”

“Who?”

Sighing, he eased back in his chair. “Honestly, Hattie, I can’t tell you anymore.”

I bit my lower lip. “But I work at Buy Rite.”

“I know.” His hand scrubbed his forehead. “This is just a big, fuckin’ coincidence. What I need from you is the Jeep report to see if something’s there, something which could connect us to the killer, a possible link.”

He could have any and everything he wanted if it solved June’s murder. “Sure.”

I’d made two copies and removed mine from my handbag, passing it to A. Wellborn.

Interested, he thumbed through the pages, stopping sporadically to do a speed reading scan.

I waited with silent screaming tolerance for him to let fall a crumb or even better, a tidbit. Instead, I occasionally heard a hmm. He handed back the report.

“Keep it. I can always print another.”

“Thanks.” Carefully, he folded the report and tucked it in his inner jacket pocket. “This is intriguing.”

“It’ll help?”

“It’ll help.” He gave a brisk nod.

“You think June knew something about stolen cars?”

“Anything’s possible. Gotta go.” He stood, ready, his body twitching and itching to take off. He wanted to take this new information and resume his investigation. Unable to confess how scared I felt, all I could do was stare.

I really needed hold yous.

I really needed more time.

We looked at each other, unsure what should happen next. Finally, my silly girl attitude took over, and I gathered my handbag and box of lettuce, trailing him to the truck. He drove me to Buy Rite’s building.

While parked at the entryway, he bent across the console and kissed my forehead, resting against me for a moment.

I closed my eyes, never wanting the sensation of closeness to end. However, nothing does last forever, and we drew apart.

“I’ll call,” he said. “I promise.” His gaze connected with my questioning one. “I don’t think you need to worry about anything.”

As the whole scenario dawned on me that this was for real, I shifted my gaze to the building and back. My pulse jumped a notch. Completely mystified, I pretended to have courage when I said, “Sure.” The word came out like a mouse squeak.

I climbed out of the truck and watched him wave and drive away. Waiting fifteen minutes before going to eat lunch with A. Wellborn had been hard to tolerate.

Going back to Buy Rite’s office afterwards was the hardest thing I’d ever done.