“Yes.”
She sighed. “It’s so horrible what happened to him. We didn’t have much paperwork for him to shred, but I was told to give him whatever we could. ‘Nice guys shouldn’t always finish last,’ the boss said, ‘so let’s help him out.’ ”
I was sure both of us were thinking the same thing, that this time a nice guy had indeed finished last. “That was generous,” I said.
“Yeah, the boss is okay. He was upset about Sam’s murder. Well, everyone was.”
“Where I work it was all anyone talked about for a week.”
“Same here,” Gina said. “Bob said it must be some random thing because no one had any reason to kill Sam, but I don’t know if that makes it better or worse. The boss figured it was some crazoid.”
“What did Floyd say?”
“Oh, Floyd and his crew were at a site up in Sheboygan that week.”
There was probably something appropriate for me to say, but nothing came out. “Um, I didn’t know you worked that far away.”
“Anywhere in the state,” she said. “If you have funding, we’ll travel.” She rubbed her thumb against the tips of her fingers. “To get back to your renovation, how do you feel about granite countertops? They’re kind of expensive, but they sure do look nice.”
I tried to make appropriate noises while she talked on about my theoretical project, but all I could think was grateful thoughts that Floyd was in the clear.
As I was getting into the car, my cell phone rang. “It isn’t Janis Velona,” Marina said. “Turns out she was in the middle of selling a whole freaking fleet of cars to some company in Madison and was there half the night working.”
I told her about Floyd. “Well, I didn’t think he was right for it, anyway. Have you seen his stuff at the art shows? No one who takes pictures that pretty could kill anyone.”
Before I could start arguing against her theory, she clicked off. Almost immediately, the phone rang again. Evan this time. I pulled Marina’s list out of my purse and eyed it. “Hullo. What’s up?”
“You have the kids this weekend, don’t you?” he asked. “Do you have plans for Saturday night?”
The weekend was days away. How could I possibly know what was going on? “I’d have to check the calendar.”
“I propose—”
Suddenly, I stopped breathing. Stopped thinking, stopped seeing, stopped everything.
“—that I take all four of us to dinner.” He named a restaurant in Madison.
My breath started whooshing through my lungs again. “Jenna and Oliver have never been there.” Mostly because eating there cost more than a weekend trip to Door County. “Are you sure? Oliver might be a little young for this.”
“He’ll be fine,” Evan said. “He’s a good kid. They’re both good kids.”
I knew that, but it was pure pleasure to hear other people say so. “Then it’s a date.” We set a time, chatted a little more, and when I hung up, I found a pen and drew a line through Wheeler’s Autos.
Two down, two to go.
The front door of Stull Systems, Inc., stumped me. I stood in front of it, a damp cold breeze ruffling my hair, puzzling over how to get into the building. My knowledge of architecture was limited, but even I knew that the exterior doors of most commercial buildings opened outward. There should be hinges and a doorknob visible to the casual observer. Instead, what I saw was a mass of computer parts. Circuit boards and hard drives and fans and who knew what else covered every square inch of the door. There was nothing to indicate which way the door would swing, and no particular part shouted “Use me for opening!”
Whoever had designed the door had a warped and twisted sense of humor. On a nice summer day this might have been fun, but with a November wind breathing up my pant legs, I wasn’t laughing.
I took a few steps backward. Doorknobs were all set on doors at roughly the same height, just a little higher than was comfortable for the average-sized woman, which made the most likely candidate for an opener to be . . . I put my gloved hand on a squarish chunk of circuitry, turned it, and was rewarded with a smooth click and a feeling of Open Sesame.
Inside, the lobby had hard surfaces that echoed each of my steps. Tile floor, hard drywall walls, and a ceiling of unrelenting white made the room feel cold and sterile. I checked the floor behind me to make sure I hadn’t tracked in anything. Clean, which was good. Because I was already feeling guilty about the lie I’d prepared: Would Stull Systems consider creating special children’s bookstore software? If so, how much might it cost? So much? Oh, dear. Thanks for your time, but I really can’t afford that.
“Hi,” said the young woman sitting behind the counter. “Can I help you? My name’s Devon.”
“Interesting door,” I said.
“Mr. Stull says it’s a test.” Devon fiddled with one pen, had another pen tucked over one ear, and yet another pen shoved into her thick auburn curls. “Like, if you can get inside, then you’re smart enough to use our software.”
“I see.”
“Not that it works.” She smiled. “Just last week—” Her story was interrupted by the electronic ringing of a phone. “Stull Systems, this is Devon. How may I help you?” Listening, she put down the pen, picked up another, and made a note.
“I’m sorry, sir,” she said, “but Mr. Stull is out of the office.” She took his name and number and hung up. “Anyway, last week, this guy comes in and—” The phone rang again. “If that phone rings one more time this morning,” she said, “I’m going to pull my hair out.”
As she took another message, I wondered idly why she didn’t send the caller to voice mail.
“Shoot.” Devon had hung up and was frowning at a mark she’d made. “Wrong color.”
“Color?” Then I noticed that her pens had inks of different colors. Red over her ear, black in her hand, and green in her hair.
“We have different colors for everything.” She held up her hands and started ticking off on her fingers. “There’s six. Red, black, green, purple, brown, and orange. I have to write down everything in here.” She thumped a thick three-ring binder.
“But you’re a software company,” I said. “Why aren’t you using computers for all this?”
She rolled her eyes. “Tell me and we’ll both know. I’m just a temp, and I’ll be really glad when this assignment is over. They make me use a typewriter. And look at this.” She waved a pink message pad.
“No voice mail?”
“They have it, but Mr. Stull says it can’t be trusted. I have to write everything down, then make sure it’s shredded later on.”
The hairs on the insides of my ears sprang to attention. “You shred a lot of papers?”
“We used to, but now that—” The phone rang. “Excuse me again, okay?”
I looked around. A hallway behind her led to what I assumed were other offices. When she got off the phone, I gestured to the nether regions. “You seem awfully busy. Isn’t anyone else here to help?”
“Don’t I wish.” She slumped a little. “Most of the programmers are at a conference. The vice president is home sick with the flu, and the only other person here is such a computer ge—” She stopped. “I mean, he’s so into his work that he’s not supposed to answer the phone.”
I looked at her approvingly. Young, but tactful. If she knew anything about children’s books, I’d have hired her myself. “Are you working a lot of hours with so many people gone?”
“Yeah. I’m supposed to be doing the books, too.” She glanced at a teetering stack of papers. “My little sister, Tara? Her birthday is next week, and all I do is work. It’s her sixteenth birthday and I wanted to help Mom make it really special.”
“Tara?” I asked. “Tara Pettigrew?”
Devon cocked her head to the side. “Do you know her?”
I knew of her. She’d been the star forward on Jenna’s hockey team when she was Jenna’s age. Though she’d been gone from the team a few years, her legend lingered on. “My daughter is goalie for the Rynwood Raiders.”
