Chapter Seventeen

Another week passed. A. Wellborn phoned while I was involved with ironing.

All this time alone gave me plenty of opportunity to ponder things, like almost wild, almost sex. I really wanted to finish what we’d started after the engagement party. My thoughts shifted to the almost kiss in the court house. I really wanted to finish what we’d almost started.

Hell, I wanted to finish something with him.

A. Wellborn asked about work.

I said it was the “same-o, same-o,” and offhandedly, I mentioned the check discrepancies I’d found.

“Tell me about it,” he said.

“Aren’t you tired of Buy Rite stories?”

“Anything you do interests me.”

Whatever. I had a hard time believing Buy Rite would ever be interesting to anyone. Removing a blouse from a hangar, I described the computer crash and entering the new data. I told of finding the appraisals and the settlement checks with discrepancies on Opal’s desk, and how I’d gone ahead and filed those away after making copies.

What I had done seemed ordinary, routine, and efficient. I told him about the special folder I’d made which contained the information. After laying the shirt collar open, I adjusted the temperature on the iron to delicate.

“That’s it?” he asked.

I made a few swipes across the collar. “I guess so. Like I said, I haven’t found any problems since. Maybe the computer glitch cleared up.”

“So, the discrepancies aren’t normal?”

“I don’t think so. Perhaps someone’s computer program messed up, and thank goodness, I found the mistakes.”

“I would like to see the checks to better understand what you’re describing.”

I straightened a sleeve on the ironing board, matching the seams. I passed the iron over the length of the sleeve. “Hmm... What about after work?”

“Can’t.”

I heard pages flipping while he answered. Guess he was multi-tasking. That sorta felt...annoying.

“This case has me tied up. I know. How about you fax me the stuff?”

“Just a sec. I need something to write with.” Setting down the phone and iron, I ran to my desk and grabbed paper and a pen. “Shoot.”

And A. Wellborn rattled off the fax number. “Are you okay otherwise?”

I guessed from that remark he still cared. I decided to go for broke and admit the truth. I set pen and pad on the bed. “A little lonely.”

“Me, too.”

This sounded encouraging. I perked up. I went to my bed and flopped down, watching the ceiling fan turn. “I do know one other thing, but it’s not exactly about B.R.A.”

“Tell me about it.”

I twirled a strand of hair round my finger. “After I finished last Saturday, I found my Jeep had another flat tire. For the second time, I called Dad for daughter rescue. I owe him a lot of cookies.”

“I would have come.”

The twirling stopped. For a teensy sec, I’d contemplated calling A. Wellborn, but felt more comfortable asking Dad. I shifted the phone to my other ear. “I know you would have and thanks for the offer. Dad thinks it’s his duty to rescue his darling daughters.”

“I remember, Harry’s harem.”

“Yes. And Dad likes chocolate chip cookies. He complained Mom doesn’t make them since she began dieting.”

“I like chocolate chip cookies, too—Hint, hint.”

“Poor baby. Hold on.” I returned to my ironing, checked the water level, and added some. After smoothing the other blouse sleeve, I picked up the iron. “I’m back.”

“What are you doing?”

“Ironing.”

“You like to?”

“It’s a Cooks’ graduation requirement.”

“I see. I can’t do daughter rescue, but I can do friend rescue,” he said. “Honest, I won’t mind.”

“It’s a deal. Next time, I’ll call you.” I shifted the shirt to the other sleeve. “Dad said this puncture looked like the other one.”

“Tell me about it.”

I held the iron in mid-air while considering this particular phrase he’d used. He’d said it many times. I reached back, and yeah, he’d said it about the files, the report, the appraisals, and my job. And now, he’d made this same remark about my tires. I found it hard to believe punctured tires were interesting. “You say ‘tell me about it’ a lot.”

“Sorry. Bad cop habit.”

“It’s okay, I just noticed. Anyway, Dad said the cut looked the same as the first one. Both tires had been stabbed in the sidewall.”

“Describe the cuts.”

“About a half inch in width, maybe smaller than, say, the width of a dinner knife. Right in the sidewall, three inches above the rim. You know, on the smooth part that looks super when Armor-alled.” I shook out the blouse and opened it across the board to run the iron the length of the back. Five more to go.

“Why would someone cut tires? Tires aren’t cheap.” He cleared his throat. “I don’t know how to put this without upsetting you.”

“Lay it on me.”

“Do you need some help, you know, with buying new ones?”

Shocking. Label me officially embarrassed. Mom, Dad, and now, A. Wellborn all knew about my financial difficulties. I shouldn’t complain about them asking. They had the best intentions.

Setting down the iron, I draped the wrinkle-free blouse over a hangar. “No, thank you, I have a little money banked. I suppose it’s why I haven’t left B.R.A. yet. I keep bringing home the almighty bacon. You’re sweet to offer.” My hand smoothed another blouse collar across the ironing board.

I heard a huh. All guys wanted to be called sweet.

“Dad’s concerned my tires have been ruined in the same parking space in the same parking lot at about the same time. He wanted to know if I’ve made somebody angry.”

“And have you?”

“I told him no. I didn’t say, well, maybe you.”

“Frustrated is a better word and sexually frustrated is an even a better one.”

So A. Wellborn thought about the almost wild, almost sex, too. I smiled happily, then I stuck out my tongue at the receiver. I repositioned a sleeve to ready for a pressing. “Gee, I hate to hear that.”

“Anything else?”

“Dad asked me to be careful. Ouch.” I shook my burned finger.

“You okay?”

“Just a slight burn.”

“Ironing sounds…dangerous.”

“Sometimes, even I am a klutz. Where were we?”

“Talking about the parking lot. It wouldn’t hurt to check with the property management company for the security records for the Saturdays when your tires were damaged. Did you report anything to security?”

“No, I hadn’t got around to it. Mom asked the same thing. I’d assumed the first time was a random act.”

“Two times are more than random. You need to be careful.”

“Yes, Sir. Anything new concerning June’s murder?” I asked, still nosy about my predecessor.

“You know I can’t talk about on-going investigations.”

After setting down the iron, I paced the bedroom, the phone smashed against my ear. “Oh, come on. I work at Buy Rite, and you’re investigating the murder of a former employee. Aren’t you concerned, knowing I work at the office where someone had been murdered?”

“Of course I am. I told you the other day to be careful.”

Last Saturday’s visit to the office had felt weird with the lights off and me all alone. And now, with another tire ruined, my concern had heightened. Chills raced up my arm. “You don’t have to yell.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” he said. “It’s just this stuff is scary, and you’re too close to the situation. A former employee of Buy Rite was murdered, and the murderer is still on the loose. Don’t forget that, Hattie.”

God, I wanted to wring his neck and squeeze out better answers. “I don’t see how I could forget ’cause I think about it every freakin’ day I go to work. What I don’t get is why you can’t tell me more about what’s going on?”

“I tell you what I can.”

“Like that’s good enough.”

“Tough.”

Unbelievable. This conversation had flipped to the dark side. My grip tightened on my phone. “‘Tough’?”

“You heard me. I have my job to do. I can’t talk about any aspect of any on-going case. I’m not bending any rules,” he said.

This part wasn’t sounding good, not at all. I wish he wasn’t so hard core. I bit my lower lip before venturing to say, “Not even for me, for my safety.”

“You don’t play fair.”

“Fine.” My blown-out breath ruffled my hair. “I know where I stand. I hope you can handle my possible murder.”

“Not funny.”

“Didn’t mean to be.”

“You could always quit.”

“Sure I could, and as the saying goes: money grows on trees.”

“Dammit, Hattie, let’s be serious,” he said. “Watch your back and be careful. Listen to the number one cop rule: If it feels bad, it is.”

Great. Another rule. Little irritations pricked my spine. “Fine.”

“You know the part about frustrating?”

I wondered about this question. With unease, I said, “Yeah...”

“Add annoying.” A. Wellborn hung up.

What? I stared at the phone, so not believing what I’d heard. I wasn’t annoying. Only a man from his perspective would state that. I wouldn’t have said annoying. I would have said...persistent. A good word not used often.

I didn’t want to argue about June and Buy Rite. I would rather argue about a movie or a restaurant selection or a sex position. However, devotion to his work was an admirable quality. Let’s face it, if I was too close to danger, he wouldn’t let me go there.

I returned to my wrinkled clothing. Men.

****

On my Monday morning commute, I stopped at the red traffic lights and reviewed the appraisals and settlement check discrepancies. I continued on and parked my car in a different spot than the one under the problematic tree. I exited and made my way to the building with the folder stuck under my arm.

At the office, while Lester and Opal communed over a morning coffee fix, I fiddled around my desk, adjusting the stapler, pencil jar, and sticky pads just so. When the coast seemed clear, I faxed the discrepancy copies to A. Wellborn like I’d said I would.

I waited for Opal to leave Lester’s office which she did. I carried the folder tight against my chest and knocked on his door.

He signaled for me to enter.

“Eh-eh,” I coughed and took the chair in front of his desk. Hel-loo cancer. I so didn’t love the idea of risking life and limb for a crappy job. “Morning, Lester. I had to come in on Saturday to finish the work I couldn’t complete on Friday when the system crashed.”

“Opal told me about it,” he said. “Thanks for your dedication.”

Even though Lester had a grotesque habit, he always said nice things. “Yes, well, I finished the data entry, and since I had plenty of time, I checked Opal’s desk for settlement claim checks to be copied and filed in the client’s respective folder.”

His brow shot up. “Oh?”

“As I filed the claim checks, I found the settlement checks didn’t match the appraisals. I’m wondering how this could happen?” I opened the folder and handed it to Lester. “Could something be wrong with the machine which prints the checks? Or could someone be entering the wrong amount?”

As he examined the information, Lester adjusted his glasses. “Yes, this is an interesting error. I’ll have to investigate further.”

“Has this happened before?”

“Mmm, I don’t recollect any, but my memory isn’t always perfect.”

“Occasionally, I receive phone calls when I answer the phone at lunchtime, and sometimes, the customers have complained about checks, particularly the sport utility vehicle customers. I collect the pertinent information and pass it on to Opal. I think some of those discrepancies are directly related to these complaints.” I waved my hand toward the documents.

Closing the file, Lester leaned back in his chair, and studied me thoughtfully. “Thanks, Hattie, for a job well done. I’ll call the Home Office, and we’ll uncover what’s going on. Obviously, something isn’t right.”

“You’re welcome,” I said and stood, taking my leave.

Opal passed me in the doorway to Lester’s office as I exited. Surprisingly, her ear hadn’t been plastered to his office door to eavesdrop on our conversation. Cough-cough. I hurried to the corridor for a gulp of fresh air.

The rest of the day, I accomplished more of the grunt work. I checked the files and found no more matching problems between the estimates and the settlement checks. Guess I’d had a computer fluke after all.

****

The week passed quietly. So quiet, I had very little data entry to do—which seemed odd. I asked Opal what was up with that.

She shrugged while looking over her glasses’ rim. “Maybe it’s a slow period. Maybe a hold up with the adjusters. Or sometimes, we don’t have any claims until we have rain. Rain and ice are great for business. Lots of crashes.”

She sounded happy? I said, “No kidding.”

“Yes, the body shops love inclement weather. We call them a Big Money day. I’ll check.” She turned away, pressing the phone to her ear.

Her way of dismissing me. I used the down time to straighten files and dust. Yuck.

****

Later in the evening, A. Wellborn phoned, saying he’d received the fax with the settlement check discrepancies and reviewed the information.

I sat on my bed, hunched over my toes as I applied a second coat of nail polish to my freshly manicured nails.

“Tell me again what you’re thinking about this,” he said.

“I found the settlement checks and the appraisal amounts don’t match. They’re supposed to be identical.”

“So, why aren’t they?”

“Don’t know. I asked Lester, and he said sometimes mistakes occur.”

“Most of the discrepancies are for Jeeps which were stolen or parts which were stolen.”

“I noticed that, too.”

As I shook the bottle of Beautifully Pink, I shifted to adjust my right foot just so. “When I cover the phones at noon, the customers’ complaints seem to be confined to the Jeep owners.”

“Interesting. Did Lester ever call Buy Rite’s internal squad?”

“No, at least not as of Monday. I asked Opal, and she said she didn’t know either, said she would follow up, and thanked me for the reminder.” Quiet on his end. I concentrated to make each nail perfect. “Why are you asking me these questions? What does the fax have to do with June’s death?”

“I didn’t say it does.”

I stopped painting and sat upright, staring at the wall as if I was staring at him. “You know, I’m sick of the bullshit. I’ve asked about this stuff before and all I get is your macho policeman line.” I changed my voice to a superior manly tone, mimicking his, “‘I can’t talk about on-going investigations.’ “

“Hattie, we’ve been through this before. If we can’t talk like adults, I’m hanging up.”

Hanging up? Talk like adults? Are we six years old? This whole line got my back up. “Fine. But somehow, the newspaper seems to know more. An article appeared in The Sommerville Express.”

“I didn’t say a thing to the paper. Any information came from higher up the food chain.”

“You were interviewed for the article.”

“Well...”

Does he actually think I’ll tell the world what he’s up to? “Come. On. I work at Buy Rite, and I need to know if I’m in danger.”

“I told you to be careful. Are you? Are you carrying pepper spray, watching for strangers, and parking in lighted lots?”

How funny. I’d just stashed a new canister of pepper spray in my hand bag yesterday. “Yes.”

“Why don’t you quit? Your friend’ll help you find a new job.”

“I-I...” I was flummoxed. Truthfully, I still wasn’t motivated enough to quit. Incoming cash made my life so much easier. Anyway, I had serious doubts about Opal and Lester as killers. They seemed too ordinary. “I’m not a quitter.”

“Suit yourself. Gotta go.”

I let the phone slip from my left hand and focused on the one remaining toe to paint. If A. Wellborn really cared, surely he would be more concerned about me. And maybe he was. Maybe he just didn’t know what to say. I needed to think about everything.

I twisted shut the bottle and wiggled my painted toes. Beautifully Pink.

****

On Friday, the computer crashed. Irritated, I pushed my chair away from my desk and went to Opal’s desk. “Opal, the computer is driving me crazy.

She pressed her glasses into place. “Oh, how so, Hattie?”

“It’s gone down, a-gain.” I huffed a breath in exasperation. “I’ll come in on Saturday, but for the last time. The computer needs to be fixed, no if, ands, or buts. Or Buy Rite should buy a new one. I am not donating any more of my Saturdays to the freakin’ computer.”

She bobbed her head. “You’re right. The computer needs a thorough check-up. If that doesn’t help, we should invest in a newer model. Yours is the one I used before I got the one I’m working on. I told the Home Office to send two, but they only sent one. I’ll make the call.” She retrieved the spare key from her desk drawer. “Thank you for giving up your time and keeping us on schedule. After Saturday, you will have made up all the time you missed with your court dates.”

I was shocked and amazed she’d agreed with me on anything. I took the key. “I had the same idea.”

“Humpf.” She didn’t move, acting reluctant to release me. “By the way, how’s your detective?”

“Technically, he isn’t my detective.” My mouth curved into a bit of a smile as my cheeks went red and hot. “He’s fine, tho’ lately, I haven’t seen a lot of him. He said he’s working on a murder case.”

“Really? How interesting.” She relaxed back in her chair. “Crime in Sommerville seems to be up.”

“I guess. From what I read in the paper it is. Stolen cars and murder.” Murder made me think of June. “Opal, can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“How did June die?”

“The only thing I know is the police found her dead at home, an apparent suicide.”

“Oh.” Opal’s story about June’s suicide coincided with A. Wellborn’s.

“Yes, Lester and I were-are”—she turned her head aside to conceal her spilling tears—“grief stricken.”

I moved closer and patted her sleeve. Her bullet-proof polyester jacket felt thick and had to be hot. “I can only imagine. June worked here a long time didn’t she? I know she felt like family to you.”

Opal reached for her tissue box on the credenza. Removing one, she tented it and dabbed the corner of her eyes in a delicate fashion. “She’d been with Buy Rite for three years. We were a happy little family. June had always talked about staying with us until she retired. I never thought something like this would have happened. Never.”

June had retired, just not of her own doing. I picked up a pencil, rolling it through my fingers. “By the way, Opal, did Lester tell you about the folder I made, containing information regarding appraisals and the settlement check amounts not matching?”

Her brow narrowed. “No, he hasn’t shown me anything.”

“I also told him about some phone calls I’d received at lunchtime. The insureds were complaining about checks, and how I’d passed the information to you.”

With a short sniff, Opal went back to her prim-and-proper self. After tossing the tissue in her wastebasket, she shuffled her mail into a neat pile. “I clearly remember those messages, Hattie, and I’ve handled them. As usual, you’re your efficient self. I’ll consult with Lester regarding the check discrepancies, and we’ll handle the matter through the proper channels. I’ll correct any errors. Buy Rite and Lester’s reputations could be affected by mistakes of this magnitude.”

I lingered by her desk a moment more. “Opal?”

She slapped down her letter opener on her desk “What-is-it-now, Hattie?”

Yikes. “Did Lester contact Buy Rite’s internal squad today about all the unusual SUV claims?”

“I don’t know. Thanks for reminding me to check with him and thanks for working on Saturday.”

Obviously, she wanted me to leave her alone. Before turning away, I said, “You’re welcome.”

****

Another Saturday and another guilt run. Chocolate consumption ran at an all-time high. I’d purchased the one pounder of chocolate covered peanut candies on sale at a big box store, two for three dollars, and felt compelled to use my money wisely by stockpiling when they were such a good value. After all, as a pro-shopper extraordinaire, I had a reputation to maintain.

But along with guilt consumption came guilt runs. Determined to finish a two-miler one of these days, I repeated my mantra, “No more chocolate. No more chocolate.” But I knew me. This approach wouldn’t stick. I loved chocolate way too much to give it up.

After my run, I took a refreshing shower. Jenny popped in my room to ask what I’d planned for the day. I told her about Buy Rite’s piece of junk, freakin’ computer, and my plan to catch up. She bounced on my bed while I styled my hair in the bathroom.

“Hey,” she said in a loud voice to be heard over the hairdryer. “Are you interested in doing something for dinner, and if not, something else?”

Silencing the dryer, I heard the mattress spring up and down. “Sure.” I gave my hair a quick comb and spritzed it three times with hard-to-hold hairspray. “Anytime. Anyplace. Don’t you have a date?”

She stopped the bed bouncing. “Not tonight. He’s out of town. A bachelor party in Cancun.”

Dressed in my fuchsia capris and white tee, I checked the mirror one last time. “How about I call you after I wrap things up?”

“That’s a plan.”

I picked up my tote bag, a knock-off of a top designer’s. “But be warned, I haven’t had meat-for-the-week in a long time, and I’m thinking steak. A big juicy, nine-ounce fillet mignon at Yahooooo! Ranch. Onion strings are calling me.”

Jenny laughed. “I can deal with it.”

****

My piss-poor attitude transferred to hating every minute of the drive I made to Buy Rite. Seated at outdoor restaurants, happy people enjoyed the fresh air and eating good food. Probably the last time before the wet, fall weather set in. Through the open car window, I heard laughter and the chinking of china and silver.

Passing the independent theater, I glanced at the marquee to see if the features looked worthwhile. “Play it Again, Sam” and “Casablanca” were showing, back-to-back—an excellent pairing.

I really needed to talk to Trixie about another job.

Pulling in the parking lot, I thought about the pros and cons of parking my carbaby in the spot under the lone tree. If I’d parked somewhere else, maybe I wouldn’t have had the punctured tires? I considered moving to a different spot because the corner parking space could’ve been the source of my bad luck.

My alter ego, perched on my shoulder, said, “But the lonesome tree provides the only bit of shade.”

What the hell. Since I was fully armed, and mostly dangerous with pepper spray, I slotted my car in the spot anyway. With summer almost over, I wouldn’t have to worry about soaring temperatures for much longer. The stores had begun to feature the fall clothing lines, and I had an itch to splurge on a seasonal change.

After opening the office door, I flipped the light switch, and did my quick swat team reconnaissance around the workplace. But no bugger bears jumped out to scare the crap outta me. Deep in my gut, I knew nothing would anyway. In all likelihood, I sensed a lack of familiarity when I worked on a Saturday. After snapping on more lights, I made my way to my desk and turned on the computer.

Nothing happened. I clicked, pushed buttons, and in anger, slapped the top of the monitor and the desktop to make the thing operate. Nothing at all.

Damn. Damn. Damn. I checked the cords plugged into the surge protector. Na da. I followed the thick rope to the wall outlet where I tested the plug. Everything fitted nice and tight. I stomped my foot in irritation, hands on hips. I hated when this happened. Machines were intended to facilitate our work, not make it more difficult.

What the hell is wrong? God. Aggravated didn’t begin to describe how I felt.

Crawling on my hands and knees, I rechecked the plugs at the back of the processing unit. At the sound of the office door closing, I peeked over the desk top and spotted...Opal?

Why is Opal at the office on a Saturday?

Startled by her unexpected appearance, I jolted and bumped the side of my head against the side of the desk. My fingers rubbed the sore spot. She’d said nothing on Friday about coming in today.

Uh oh. I bet Miss Plump-and-Proper wanted to check on me. She thought I fiddly-farted around when she wasn’t present to supervise.

I studied Opal. I don’t know why she seemed so, so scary. Her pompous tone of voice reminded me of Mrs. Phillips, my fourth-grade teacher which, now that I thought about it, was scary, especially at Halloween when she spit plastic roaches into her palm.

Office politics were the pits. On one hand, I could have a dysfunctional childhood issue in dealing with adults. Or maybe I have a confrontational issue. I didn’t want to rock the boat ever. Nevertheless, she had come and needed to be dealt with.

“Howdy, Opal.” I stood, brushing carpet lint from my knees. “Nice to see you.”

“Hello, Hattie.”

Opal and I were having our usual social skill issues, meaning she had few. I tried sucking up. I flashed an impressive, almost brilliantly, freshly-brushed, dazzling smile. Leaning forward, I rested my hands on my desk. “What a nice surprise. Are you behind on work, too? I mean, you’re always so efficient, I wouldn’t have ever thought you’d have to play catch up.”

Plopping in my chair, I waved my hand toward the equipment. “I still can’t get the damn computer to turn on. I’ve checked all of the plugs, all of the outlets, et cetera. Do you know what to do? Did you remember to call the service technicians? Are they coming today?”

Opal’s lack of response led me to assume she must be really angry. I took in her appearance as she made her way to her desk. She needed to evolve. Today, polyester jeans in the University of Texas burnt orange covered her legs and matched a flowered blouse, cut western shirt style. Surely, she could pull together a more pleasing ensemble.

She dragged her chair away from her desk with deliberate care and placed her handbag in the seat. Her fingers played with the perfectly arranged pens and pencils. She extracted her favorite letter opener.

From the corner of my eye, I caught her observing my poor attempts to activate the computer. The blade of the letter opener slapped against the palm of her hand and somehow, she managed to do it without cutting herself.

“No,” she said, “I don’t have to play catch up. You might as well stop playing with the computer. I didn’t call the service technicians.”

My fingers halted their scrambling across the keyboard. Opal didn’t seem to be herself at all. I frowned, trying to figure out why she hadn’t called the repair company. As I blinked a couple of times, I sensed confusion encompass me. “I don’t understand. Why didn’t you call? On Friday, we’d agreed you would contact the technicians.”

“I know what the problem is.” Slap-slap sounded the letter opener as the blade hit her hand. She pushed her big butt away from her desk and swished her way to mine.

“Can you fix it? What do we need to do?” I asked. “I’m so illiterate when it comes to computers. I wish I knew better how to repair them. The best I could do was, like I told you, check the cords and the outlets. I’ve pushed all kinds of buttons. I even cursed and slapped the stupid thing. Sorry.”

“I’ll explain.” Opal walked toward me, with an eye on the computer. Unexpectedly, she swung her arm, and the letter opener carved my bicep.

“Ow!” Blood poured from the cut, causing tears to stream from my eyes. Automatically, my other hand closed over the painful wound, squeezing like a tourniquet to staunch the bleeding.

She stepped back to admire her cutwork.

I stared at her, not believing what she’d done. I moved the hand clasped over my arm and took a quick peek. The cut looked big, about three inches in length, and deep, requiring stitches and throbbing with pain. I scooted away from my desk and backed toward the copier. I had to get out of here.

Opal caught the look I shifted to the door and shuffled with surprisingly quick steps to block me.

“What do you think you’re doing, Opal?” I screamed. God, the pain. Little drops of blood seeped from under my grip. “You cut my arm, and it hurts and I’m bleeding. I’m going to the emergency room. I bet I’ll need stitches and a tetanus shot. I know I’m not number one on your hit parade, but you didn’t have to cut me. Now, get outta my way.”

Slap-slap went the letter opener.

Again, she advanced with a look in her eye which definitely was not prim nor proper. Her face looked menacing, evil danced in her eyes. Her grip tightened on the opener as she pointed it in my direction. I swore I saw a drop of my blood on the tip drip to the floor.

“You’ve caused problems from the moment you came to Buy Rite.”

I danced away from her. I surely didn’t want another hack job. Cutting a look to the door, I worried at what she would possibly try next. “Me?”

“You.”

“I don’t think so. I did everything you said to do.” I brushed tears from my cheeks on my lifted shoulder. Red rivers trickled down my arm. The smell was unpleasant. Queasy, my stomach seized.

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did.”

“I’ve never met such a stupid girl,” she said.

She would not make me feel weak. Would not. I stood fast and firm. “I did! I know I did. I did the copying, the filing, and the data entry. I answered the phone,” I said more to myself as my voice trailed off.

“You did. But you did more.”

“What’s wrong with doing more? Your Guideline #3 said: Show initiative. So I did. I put together a few reports on a couple of problems.”

Tears flooded my eyes which in turn, causing my mascara to dissolve. The sludge burned and obstructed my view.

Like a flash of lightning, she struck at me again.

I noticed in the nick of time and flinched to one side. “Stop it, Opal. Stop hurting me,” I said. “I thought we were friends.”

“Friends?” She pushed her glasses into place. “I could never be friends with someone like you.”

Bloody beads plopped to the floor, leaving splotches on the new oatmeal carpet. I peered at her through my watery eyes. “This is not in my job description.”

“You think you’re so funny.”

“I don’t. I am quitting. You can find some other temporary.”

“You aren’t going anywhere.”

Her laugh carried a wicked tone and frightened me. I had to get out of here. I didn’t think my legs could support me much longer. Allan? “Yes, I am.”

“No, you aren’t. I won’t let you.” And again, she jabbed at me with the sharp opener.

I dodged to my left. Now, I was truly scared. She looked deranged and sounded insane. Her perfectly coiffed page-boy stuck out wildly at the crown. Her eyes had narrowed with intent to kill. How does she get her energy? Why is she angry?

Perhaps if I kept her talking, I could convince her not to hurt me. Or maybe, I would slow her down and get away. I took small rearward movements across the room with quick side-to-side glances to uncover a way to escape. I staggered and reeled through the office, trying to put something in her way to stop her. My backside hit her desk chair, and I circled around it.

I heard the slap-slap of the opener striking her palm as she followed my progress and felt her threat. If only I could knock her to the ground. I said, “Let me go to the hospital, Opal. I’ll say I cut myself on a fence. They’ll believe me. I don’t know what you’ve done, but whatever it is, I won’t tell.”

“I told you, Hattie, you won’t be leaving Buy Rite.”

And now! I grabbed her desk chair and flung it in her direction. My hope and prayer was the chair would knock her down like a bowling pin, and I could run. The chair tripped, flipped, and rolled her way in a clumsy effort.

And missed.

Damn. Desperation inundated me.

Opal moved faster than I gave her credit. She smiled at my failure. Now, she stood closer than ever. Her eyes burned with delirium, reflecting more rage. “Your little stunt didn’t work well, did it? I told you, you won’t be leaving Buy Rite.”

Eventually, she had me backed against Lester’s office door. She struck again, this time nicking my neck. More tears poured. God, I hurt terribly. All the icky bloody stuff made my stomach roil again. My head went woozy and I had a tricky time thinking straight because of the vortex circling through my brain. My body tightened. Crisscrossing my arms, I placed hands on all my cuts. “Opal, why are you doing this? Why are you so angry with me?”

“Why?”

I nodded.

“Because you found the checks.”

I felt clueless in America. “What checks?”

“The settlement checks. How dense can someone be?” Squinting, she leaned forward. “Do I have to spell it out to you?”

I nodded.

“You noticed the amount was different from the appraisal, pointed out the discrepancy to Lester in your reports, and told me about it the other day. Just like June.”

“June? I don’t understand. June is dead.” And then, I knew.

I could see from the gleam flaming in Opal’s eyes she knew I knew. My skin went cold.

“Yes, June Short, our former employee, had figured out everything. Everything. She discovered the check discrepancies and caught Lester writing new ones. She confronted him, saying he skimmed off the settlement claim checks. She called Buy Rite’s internal fraud squad.

“I overheard her accusations. Lester would’ve been exposed, ruining him. He would’ve been thrown in jail, and I couldn’t let something disgraceful happen to him. For more than thirty years, Lester has been an upstanding man, a pillar in the insurance community. He would be...humiliated. June had to be stopped.”

For a moment, Opal ended her tirade. Her eyes glazed over with her bizarre obsession.

I said what was obvious, “You love him.” She didn’t reply. She had to love him. What else would explain why she’d done these terrible things?

“I had to stop her. Lester did this for his family. You’ve seen his fat, slovenly body. His constant chain-smoking. Last week, he was diagnosed with stage-four throat cancer. Only a matter of time before he dies, and he knows the end is near. He wanted to leave his family with a secure future. With this plan, he could. Buy Rite would never know. They would never investigate him. Or maybe he would be dead, and they’d leave him alone.

“But June didn’t care. After work, I’d asked her to stay late and help me fix a claims mess I’d fabricated. I offered her a ride home when she missed her bus. She invited me in for margaritas. I watched her cut and squeeze limes. All the time my head was racing. I acted fast and seized my letter opener. I forced her wrists to the counter. The opener is sharp, very sharp. I scored her wrists with fast slices. The cuts were deep and the blood poured out. She opened her mouth and...” Opal swallowed hard, “she slumped to the floor. I-I watched her lying on the floor, unable to do anything, the blood p-pooling beside her, all life draining away.”

Gradually, her voice grew weaker as the story unfolded. “I couldn’t move. I had-had no idea. She slipped to the floor and died. I didn’t know, didn’t know about all the blood...so fast. I just wanted her to stop. To leave Lester alone.”

She wept openly, the tears flowing freely with her remembrance. With the back of her hand, she swiped them aside. “I cleaned up the limes and drink stuff, wiping down the bottles for prints. After I dipped her paring knife in her blood, I dropped it by her hand. The next day, Lester was concerned. June never missed work; so I pretended to call her at home. I knew she wouldn’t answer. After a while, he made me notify the police who got the property manager to open her apartment. They assumed she’d committed suicide from the slit wrists and her single, solitary lifestyle with only a dog for company.” She shook her head. “Lester never knew, never knew.”

Opal seemed to be visiting la-la land, providing me a small window to edge my feet toward the door. But at my slight movement, I saw her blink and focus again, pointing the letter opener at me. “And you. You’re dating a detective, and according to the paper, the same one who came around Buy Rite, sniffing for information.”

My head went from side to side. I would invent any fabrication to save my skin. “He doesn’t know anything.”

“I doubt it. You’re so much in love, you probably told him everything.”

My mind raced around what I could have said to him, but concentration eluded me.

She pushed her face toward mine. “Haven’t you figured this out?”

I must be stupid because all I could think of was how horrible I hurt and how I wanted to get away. “I haven’t figured anything out.”

“You bimbo. I never wanted to hire you, but Lester did. With June gone, he said I needed help because I’d fallen behind. You...” She stabbed the opener at me.

My reflex turned on, and I jerked back.

“You come in here with your fancy clothes, your cute figure, and hair, exuding your young attitude of ready-to-take-on-the-world. How naïve, how stupid, how sickening.”

Horrified, I stared at her. Opal was batty.

“Lester is skimming money off the claims, particularly the Jeep claims. You discovered the discrepancy and made a report. You threatened to tell the police and the internal squad, just like June. I had to stop you. I tried to scare you away with the punctured tires, but you kept coming back just like a homeless dog begging for a last supper.”

She pushed her chubby body forward. She shoved her hand to my cheek to hold me in place.

I squirmed a bit, but couldn’t move much. I heard the draw of her breath as she lifted the arm which held the sharp opener. Instinctively, I raised my hands high, fingers curled in a claw formation for protection. I thrust one punch, rapidly followed with two more. My foot kicked out.

I missed.

With a loud explosion of wood, the office door burst open. I saw A. Wellborn drop to his left side and roll behind Opal’s desk.

He zoomed in on her with his gun, his aim steady and true. “Police! Opal, drop the knife and back away from Hattie.”

Over her shoulder, she turned her gaze on him for a nanosecond. The smile she gave him was malicious. Just as fast, she returned her attention to me. “Your man of the hour has arrived.”

“It’s all over,” he said, his gaze finding mine, then refocused on her. His hands tightened on the gun. “We know everything. I’m warning you. Drop the knife and back away. Let Hattie go. Now.” Standing slowly with his legs spread, he looked in control and sounded every bit a policeman. Briefly, he dipped his head to his right.

I understood his signal and bobbed my head just a tiny bit.

Unexpectedly, he lifted his hands in a surrender posture. His thumb pressed the gun to his palm, a sign of backing off. “Look, Opal. You don’t really want to do this. Put down the weapon. And let’s be done.”

Her nasty smiled deepened.

He took a step forward. “You don’t want to get hurt. You don’t want to hurt Hattie. Let her go.”

She favored me with the vile look, just like the possessed one she’d bestowed on me earlier. Eyes flat, an evil curl to her mouth. She leaned ever-so-slightly toward me. Her breath blew across my face when she said, “Bimbo.”

Her hand holding the letter opener rose.

Repositioning his body, he took aim.

As the letter opener drove down, I jerked from her reach and crashed on my side, landing on my hip.

A. Wellborn shot to kill. The bullet slammed into her head. The impact flung her body backwards. Blood and gray matter exploded from her head, staining the carpet. The letter opener dropped to the floor. Later on in my mind’s rerun, this scene had cop show written over it.

A. Wellborn stole a quick glance my way and then checked on Opal’s dead, dead body.

Scared shitless, I sat up and scooted far, far away. I couldn’t stop weeping and shaking, first with fear, and second, with relief.

I didn’t know gunshots were so loud.

I didn’t know there would be so much blood.

I didn’t know there would be brains.

I didn’t know anything.

Maybe I really was a bimbo. Maybe more stuff was in the big world than what I knew.

Satisfied Opal wouldn’t be going anywhere, A. Wellborn rushed to me, communicating into a radio and requesting an ambulance. He yanked me to my feet. His arms wrapped me close, and he held me tighter than tight.

I continued to sob and sob with great release.

He tied his hanky over the cut on my arm.

My blood.

Opal’s blood.

Her brains.

I took in the distinctive metallic scent of blood. My head began to swim. Pinpricks dotted my vision.

A. Wellborn pulled me firmly into his body. “Are you okay?”

The room went round and round. “She was trying to k-kill me.”

He rocked me back and forth. “I know.”

“I’m bl-bleeding.”

“You’ll be okay. A few stitches and good as new.”

My words slurred. “Opal...said...June found out... Lester...skimmed checks. Said...I wouldn’t...leave...Buy Rite.” My legs felt like rubber. The room faded to black. The whole situation overtook me, and I collapsed to the floor, taking A. Wellborn with me. “I...hate...Buy Rite.”

“I know,” he said.

Turned out, he really did know.