Chapter Five
“Crap.” Caitlin spewed angry words at the sight of the white florist box tied with wide, black ribbon as it sat center stage upon her desk. She spied it as soon as she entered her office following an exasperating session with Kirby. She froze, in no mood for dealing with another problem.
Her gut screamed “serious issue.” She walked to her new desk, sleek chrome and black walnut with a black leather inlaid top. Damn it. Her door had been locked. She’d just now unlocked it. Nothing appeared out of place as she scanned the office.
Not a thing. Except...that...box.
A heavily embossed, gold foil label on the package indicated a prestigious local florist. That meant Rachel must have taken delivery and put it on the desk. But who would be sending flowers in a corsage box? Especially one with black ribbon around it? First on her fig tree followed by the ones on her car, which she found after the snow storm, and now here. Black ribbon sightings made her stomach ache, but she’d done nothing to halt them—her failure. She would, when she had time.
Open the card. Her hands shaking, she tore open the envelope. Anticipation? Dread? “Stop it,” she grumbled to herself.
“Stop what?” Rachel breezed into the office and lightened the moment. “What’s that, Catie Rose?” She poked at the box, anticipation sparking in her eyes. “This florist doesn’t come cheap.”
“Don’t say another word,” Caitlin cautioned, her voice gruff. “I know how your mind works.”
“Yep, it’s simple. Flower box equals male interest. So give it up. Who’s the intrepid guy who’s breached your solitary walls?”
“I don’t know.” Caitlin dropped the card onto the desktop. “When did this arrive?”
“How would I know? I’ve never seen this box until this exact moment.”
“You...” The word stuck in Caitlin’s throat.
Rachel shook her head and fingered the lustrous ribbon. “Not me, Catie Rose.”
Caitlin’s temples throbbed. Definitely not anticipation now, but fear. Never! Fear wasn’t an option. She pulled the slippery ribbon, which suddenly looked sinister, not at all glamorous, and opened the box. A whiff of long extinguished smoke stung her nostrils while she peeled away the carefully folded black tissue. Halfway through she glanced up at Rachel who had moved even closer.
“What flower smells that way? Smells more like ashes in a fireplace.” Rachel wrinkled her nose.
“Oh, my God...” Caitlin backed away from the box while Rachel inched further in to peek inside the box, gazing up at her with questions in her brown eyes.
“We’ve found my weeping fig, Rach.” She lifted the box to look more closely, burying a polished nail into its ashy contents. Something solid hid in the ash. Submerging her finger and thumb into the powdery residue, she fished around until her fingers hit a shaped object. She pulled it out.
“This proves it’s definitely what’s left of my tree.” Between her thumb and finger, Caitlin held a tiny ceramic hummingbird, one her sister-in-law had made for her. The bird had hung by fishing line from a branch.
“This isn’t good,” Rachel muttered.
“If that isn’t enough to scare the pants off you, this card sure should.” She handed Rachel the card that held pasted newsprint words.
“’Back off or end up like your tree.’” Rachel growled out what she read, not sounding happy at all. “Okay. That’s it. Time to call in the Calvary. You’ve got to get serious about this situation right now and I don’t mean alerting Horace. You have a definite threat here. This asshole’s going to end up hurting you.”
Caitlin ignored Rachel’s “hurting you” words. “You’re sure you didn’t take delivery?”
“Catie Rose, if I took flowers for you, don’t you think I’d remember? Rachel’s voice implied her hurt and her shoulders shook. “This is serious shit.”
“I’m sorry, but I know I locked the door. When I came back, they were in here on my desk.” She punched the receptionist’s number into the phone, knowing the futility since the woman wouldn’t have had a key for the office. But maybe she had given the box to security, who shouldn’t enter her locked office unless an emergency existed. But maybe for a floral surprise, they might have done so.
No flowers had been delivered. Next, she checked the guard’s office; nothing had come through that way. She rang up Maxine, a real long shot, but got nothing in the way of answers. Rachel slipped from the room as Caitlin asked to be put through to Keith.
****
“This showed up in my locked office.” Caitlin dropped the florist box on his desk while belatedly listing the events leading up to this latest development.
“Where’s the first note?” Keith asked after reading the card
“The first note’s disappeared. I put it in the drawer of my old desk, but my new desk arrived early this morning while I was with Mike firming up this afternoon’s schedule. Rachel transferred my things from the old one. She remembers the first note, but it wasn’t in the materials she transferred,” Caitlin answered while watching Keith’s face. Could it be him? Never! Why would he jeopardize his company? That option made no sense at all.
“Perhaps she inadvertently discarded the note.” He steepled his fingers under his chin, resting on them—his deep thinking mode.
“I asked her about that possibility. She saw me put it into my third drawer when I first got it. She put everything in the corresponding drawer of the new desk but doesn’t remember seeing anything similar to the note this morning. She thought I had put it somewhere else.”
A frown wrinkled Keith’s forehead.
“I did get that note, Keith.”
“I don’t doubt you, Cait, but I wish you had told me of this when it happened.”
Disliking challenges on her decisions, she squirmed at the justified rebuke. “Oh honestly, Keith, so much was happening at the time. Mike arrived, the snow storm hit us, and I was trying to get everything back into shape after my vacation. Actually at first, I really thought the whole thing to be a harmless, though not very funny, prank. Why, I even asked the nurses about it. Now they’re concerned because, as you know, they’ve earned their reputation for practical jokes.”
“Don’t remind me.” He tapped his fingers on his desk. Even he had felt the friendly jab of the infirmary staff’s humor. “Do you think they might have done this, then decided to back off...too late?” He shook his head, swaying his tarnished silver hair. “No, it’s ridiculous of me to even suggest that.” He laced his fingers into his hair. All solid signs he was upset.
“When does our undercover guy start?” he finally asked.
She exhaled and wished life at work could be simple. Well, it wasn’t, and the private investigator was hired to deal with another complicated problem. “Monday, but he’ll be busy ferreting out other information. He’s got enough to discover without working on this matter, but I will alert him to keep his ears open.”
“You do that.”
“Keith, the information we hope to get from him could take several weeks. In the meantime, I’m not about to look over my shoulder or wonder who has an unauthorized key to my office.”
“Why do you think that?”
“How else could someone get in there? My office is so close to the factory floor that I always lock my door when I leave.” Tension rode on her shoulders like one of the Apocalypse horsemen. She sat ramrod straight in the chair next to Keith’s desk. “No sense in asking for trouble.”
“Well, who does have a key?”
“Rachel and Maxine have duplicates and security has master keys for all offices.”
“Get a new locking system. Call an independent locksmith to do it today. Give a key only to Rachel.” Keith combed his fingers through his hair again, even more unusual for him to repeat the gesture. “Damn, I wish we could get your office up here.”
“If wishes were...”
“Yeah, yeah...”
“I’ll call the locksmith this afternoon. Do we keep this between us?”
“Well, we shouldn’t spread it around unnecessarily. However, Mike needs to know, and since you don’t want to rely on the detective, I’m calling the sheriff, right now. I want a report on file.” He picked up his phone and put the call through himself.
While Keith spoke with the sheriff, Mike knocked and walked in. He carried a coffee cup and a vending machine sandwich. He offered Caitlin half. She refused. Food—particularly vending machine quality—intensified the nervous queasiness in her stomach. So much to do that afternoon with tasks needing her undivided attention; yet this florist box distracted her. Was that the intent? Keep her mind focused away from what was to happen this afternoon? Keep her off guard so the new procedures wouldn’t work well? If so, it meant that one of the few people who knew what was going down could be responsible.
“Looks like serious business going on here. Something out of sync for this afternoon? Did Kirby give you any problems this morning after you left me, Cait?” While firing off his questions, Mike plopped into a chair next to her. She bristled at his offhand reference to Kirby. Why would he think she couldn’t handle him?
“We’ve got an issue...” While Mike ate what looked like a plastic sandwich, she updated him on the situation. Protective concern glossed his eyes, but she didn’t want his concern or his protection. She could keep her problems under control.
Keith put the phone down. “The sheriff will send a detective out later this afternoon, sometime after our little cart-and-pony show. He suggested we quit handling the evidence, which is already contaminated. He asked if you called the florist.”
“Rachel did. They have no record of a delivery here today, for me—or anyone else.”
“Could this be a red herring to throw us off stride in our new plans, Keith?” Finished with his sandwich, Mike plunged into the conversation and zeroed in on the topic that worried Caitlin most.
“The timing doesn’t seem right, since the first note and the tree disappeared before we even began to plan these changes. How could someone develop a terror strategy for something none of us had fully developed in our minds?” Keith responded and poured himself some ice water from the carafe on his desk.
“Good point. No one, I guess,” Mike responded unhappily.
Caitlin listened to the two men conjecturing on unlikely possibilities. Enervated, she pulled away from their conversation for a moment. They sounded like players in a childhood game saying something like “the butler did it in the bathroom with a sponge” to solve the murder mystery.
But there wasn’t a murder—except for her tree. She shuddered and closed her eyes. She didn’t need this. And didn’t like the idea of murder popping into her head.
“What about the union?”
Mike’s guess roused Caitlin and she turned to face him. “I knew you’d suggest that, but only the union president, Tom Jaspers, and two committee members know our plans at this point. They’ve more to lose by spilling the beans. We have agreed to reopen the contract. Besides, they are concerned about the problems since lower profits and falling production will ultimately affect jobs and wages.”
“And, Mike, it’s that timing issue again. They wouldn’t have known what was happening when we didn’t. No, this started sooner than that. Caitlin, have you irritated...” Keith held his hand up to stop her sputtering. “...anyone. Think about the possibility for a moment—intentionally or not?” He peered at her.
“If I didn’t irritate people, Keith, I’d not be doing the job you pay me for. I’ve been threatened, sure, just like Joe was before me, and by most of the same people—the ones who have been threatening me or a predecessor for years. Honest to God, Keith, if you weren’t so far removed from the masses, you’d get threatened, too. The only reason Mike hasn’t been targeted yet is he’s too new. That’s the way the system works.”
Both men slumped into their chairs at the truth she threw at them. Sometimes guys, even smart, capable ones, could be so stupid.
“And don’t you say a word, Mike, about that being a good reason I shouldn’t have this position. I handle the work and the threats just fine—even this one.” As she spoke, her tummy protested, but those two would never know it. She refused to consider what her blood pressure might read.
“I have a feeling this one’s different, Cait,” Mike answered, his shoulders tensing in fight mode, ready to defend himself against her assertions.
“Which is why the sheriff will be investigating. Look, we have this resident psycho who’s worked here for thirty years. Periodically, he goes over the edge, quits taking his meds, and his therapist institutionalizes him for a while. That’s why one of our nurses follows up daily to make sure he takes his medication. When he’s not at work, we don’t know what he’s doing. He might have done these things...they are irritating enough, and just weird enough, to appeal to him. Maybe he’s slipping again.” As she finished, she realized the guy had no way to gain access to her office. Plus, his thought processes weren’t that organized.
“Check the infirmary records on that, Caitlin, though, as I remember, usually that guy’s pattern has been all talk until the very end. This situation reeks of some careful planning.”
“That’s true, Keith. Planning’s not something he’s capable of on the downhill slide, but we have a few others. I’ll have Debbie go through the files.” She jotted another note to herself.
“Isn’t that the sheriff’s job?” Mike looked at her when he asked the question, which sounded more like a challenge.
“The less obtrusive the investigation the better, I would think. What’s your take, Keith?” How dare Mike question her methods? Controlling her irritation wasn’t easy, but years of practice rescued her once again.
“We ask the sheriff. Let’s meet here at four or thereabouts. Now, onto other pressing topics. Is everything set for this afternoon, Caitlin?” She nodded and settled back into her chair, rolling her shoulders as she moved.
“Good, you’ve done an excellent job in such a short time. I’m still amazed the union bought the program before negotiating it.”
“Psychology, guys, and facts. Debbie’s record of injuries, absences, and early clock-outs made it very easy to see the pattern. That made conclusions obvious. Lower production cuts into our profits and theirs, too. Plus the union maintains a strong policy against drugs. Stoned workers are dangerous to everybody. Actually, my hard times are ahead. Kirby Metz is my stumbling block in this program. I have to deal with him once I decide how I want to handle him.” Tension edged her voice. That process wouldn’t be easy.
“I met him the other day. Can’t say I liked him though he didn’t do anything outwardly unfriendly. What’s the chip on his shoulder? I had the feeling he’d take a knife to my back if I gave him the opportunity,” Mike offered.
“I once heard Kirby described as an enema. Innocuous at first glance, but capable of producing some definite discomforting aftereffects if kept around too long,” Keith added with a sly smile.
Caitlin’s mouth dropped open at his comment; she couldn’t stop the deep rumbling laugh that burbled from her. Keith joined her, then Mike, and the earlier tension fizzled.
“That’s priceless, Keith. Unfortunately, now every time I see him I’ll be thinking that.” She laughed again, tried to compose herself, and burst into louder peals of laughter.
“Glad to see you laughing. It’s not something we see very often, especially now,” Keith added and joined in the laughter.