lucky to have Evan in my life, and putting a debt of money into the equation would complicate every single one of them. No, no matter how much money Evan had, borrowing money was out of the question. I’d just hope that Claudia and her followers wouldn’t last long. Maybe this really would blow over.
“And maybe the Tarver Foundation will give the kids comic books for Christmas,” I said. Then I put a solid smile on my face and went out to cheer up the troops.
The rest of the day went by with a constant ebbing and flowing of sign holders and a total of zero customers coming in the door. The second day was an exact replica of the first day, and by closing time I knew exactly what I had to do.
There was only one small detail to take care of.
Actually doing it.
Marina and I sat in my cramped office at the back of the store. “Here.” Marina reached across my desk, four slips of paper in her hand. Thanks to a rash of colds and flulike illnesses, all of Marina’s daytime day-care charges were home in bed. And thanks to a Henry Vilas Zoo field trip, the schoolkids wouldn’t arrive at her house until five o’clock. “Pick one,” she said.
“You can’t be serious.”
“As a plate of corned beef. Pick one.”
“Why is corned beef serious?”
“Have you ever taken a close look at the stuff? Please.” She shook the papers and they fluttered in her self- created breeze. “If you don’t pick one I’ll do it for you.”
“Fine.” I plucked one at random.
“Don’t tell, don’t tell!”
Sometimes Marina acted about eight years old. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” I said.
She grinned. “I know. I’m acting like a ten-year-old.”
“The thought never crossed my mind.”
“Oh, sure. Now pick a second one and we’ll work out a plan.”
When we smoothed out the papers, Marina held Wheeler’s Autos and Croftman Accounting. I had Stull Systems and Bluegrass Construction. Four PTA connections to Sam’s shredding business, four companies to investigate.
“So what’s the plan?” Marina looked around. “Where’s your list? I know there’s one here somewhere.” She lifted the stacks of publishers’ catalogs scattered all across my desk and looked underneath.
“No list.”
Marina whacked her ears lightly with the palms of her hands. “Houston? Our communications are garbled. Can you repeat?”
Last night I’d lain awake with Spot snoring on my right side and George on my left, trying to fight off my fears, trying to think of a way to keep Yvonne from being convicted without benefit of trial, trying to figure out how to find a happy ending for everyone. All I’d gotten for my efforts were a lot of sleepless hours and pet hair all across the flannel comforter cover.
“There’s no list,” I said. “And cut the dramatics.” She’d started the motion of clutching her hands to her chest in fake heart attack symptoms. “Without knowing more about these four, we can’t make a plan.” I put my fingers on my two pieces of paper and shuffled them back and forth. “My idea is this: We approach the companies as if we were prospective customers and—”
“And turn the conversation in the proper direction.” Marina nodded. “Gotcha.” She made faces at her picks. “Cars are easy, but how on earth am I going to come up with a reason to need an accountant?”
I smiled. “I’d planned to take that one and say the store was thinking about switching accountants, but oh, no. You needed to make a game out of it. You were the one who said we had to draw papers. And we’re not switching,” I said as she started to take on a wheedling look. “Picks are picks.”
She sighed. “I suppose you’re right.”
Being right should have made me feel good, or at least made me feel something, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the protesters on the sidewalk, Yvonne’s pinched look, and the cash register that hadn’t rung in almost three days.
But all of that was eclipsed by the memory of the bleakness on Rachel’s face.
“Hello?” I looked around the empty front office of Bluegrass Construction. Empty of people, anyway. There were rolls of blueprints, stacks of tile samples, piles of siding samples, even buckets of various-sized stones, but I didn’t see a single human.
“Hello?” I called again. “Is anyone here?”
A sense of creepiness curled around my neck, and it occurred to me that it might have been wise to tell someone about the white van. It had been an accident, of course it had, but I could have told Marina.
Somewhere in the back a door slammed. A young woman walked into the office with long-legged strides. The scent of cigarette smoke clung to her clothes, and she was whistling as she unzipped her coat and tossed it over a chair.
“Oh, hi.” She smiled. “Sorry. Have you been waiting long?”
“Not a bit.” I smiled back, almost laughing at my silly self for getting all worked up over nothing. Mom had been right: My imagination was going to get me in trouble someday.
“Good.” She held out her hand. “Gina. Office manager, head of sales, janitor, and lowest person on the totem pole.”
I laughed. “At least you know where you stand.”
“True enough.” She sat down behind a desk covered with small squares of carpet. “What can I do for you?”
The half-truths I’d fabricated on the drive over started to slip away now that I was facing a real person. “Well,” I said, “there’s some work on my house I wouldn’t mind having done.” Which was true. I wouldn’t mind hardwood floors on most of the main level. And I wouldn’t mind a spa tub in the master bathroom. And I really wouldn’t mind a sunroom like Erica’s.
Gina was taking notes. “We do remodels all the time. Matter of fact, that’s most of what we’ve been doing the last couple of years. What are you thinking? Kitchen? Bathroom?”
“Both would be wonderful,” I said honestly, “but before I start anything, I need to get a rough idea of how much things cost.” Also true.
“Sure. That makes sense,” Gina said. “Costs are all over the map, though, depending.”
“On what?”
I listened with half an ear as she talked about the variations in cabinet prices, windows, flooring, and fixtures.
When she paused to take a breath, I jumped in. “And what about labor costs? That can add a lot to the price, especially if the crew isn’t experienced. How long have your guys been in the construction business?”
“Great question,” Gina said approvingly. “Lots of people wouldn’t think to ask that. Do you mean all the guys, or what?”
“Let’s start with your foremen. The ones who run the crews.”
“There’s Bob Lowe. He’s been with us for, oh, geez, forever. Ten years? And what’s-his-name is new this year, but he worked as a finish carpenter for years and years.”
“How about Floyd Hirsh?” a nonchalant Beth asked.
“Floyd’s been here about three years. He started here just after I did.”
I frowned. “And he heads up a crew?”
“Oh, he’s been in the business a lot longer,” she said easily. “Matter of fact, his dad ran a construction company, but retired a few years ago. Floyd came here because he didn’t want the hassle of owning his own business.”
“Makes sense to me,” I muttered.
“Yeah?” Gina asked. “Do you know Floyd?”
“His daughters go to the same elementary school my children do.”
“Oh, sure.” Her gaze drifted down. “Then you probably knew Sam Helmstetter.”
