Random Ramblings: February 2013

Thursday, February 28, 2013

Secrets of the Boss 5

As the door closes on unseen, watching eyes, I hurry to slide the deadbolt into place. I lean over to peer out the tiny crack between the curtain and the window frame. Nothing moves in the deserted parking lot. I glance out the window one more time to be sure before making my way to the kitchen in the dark. The darkness brings a strange comfort so I don’t flip on any of the lights.

I fumble for some bread and peanut butter in the soft glow of streetlights through thin curtains. After choking down my sandwich in a hurry, I stumble to my bedroom. Between cops and documents, this day wore me out. I barely bother to slip out of my clothes before throwing myself onto my firm mattress and staring up at the ceiling.

With a million thoughts buzzing around in my head, sleep eludes me. My weary eyes close only to pop open again. I stare at the squares of light thrown onto the ceiling from the streetlight below. Numbers dance across my mind as I try to figure out the meaning behind the discrepancies on the pages Larry left for me.

I should have brought the documents with me, but I’d have to turn on a light to read them. I can look at them again when I go back to work. I muddle through some of what I remember reading, but it doesn’t get me any closer to a solution. I still can’t grasp hold of a pattern that will reveal some motive for Larry’s murder.

I sigh heavily. Despite my love for mystery novels, I make a poor detective. This sad fact crosses my mind for the millionth time as my eyelids finally slide together.

“You have to help me.” Larry’s voice shocks me into wakefulness.

As my eyelids flutter open, I look up into Larry’s pale face. He leans closer, repeating his plea for help. I push myself up onto my elbows. As I begin to sink backward, I look down to find my body nestled in the tan sand of the batting cages.

“Help me up.” I whisper cautiously.

He reaches out to pull me to my feet, but his fingers slip through my arm. Where his fingers pass through me, a chill lingers. Despite the first failure, he reaches for me again. This time his grip lands. It only lasts for a second. Then it loosens and he falls away from me in a spray of blood.

I scream as a shadowy figure steps toward me. I can’t see a face, just the dark barrel of a gun.

I wake up in my own bed, soaked in sweat. The touch of icy fingers lingers on my wrist. I rub it with my other hand until the chill dissipates. When I stop shaking, I slowly lower myself back onto my pillow and close my eyes. Sleep comes slowly.

More nightmares pull me from sleep throughout the night. Sometimes I dream that Larry speaks to me. At other times, I just see his body lying on the gurney and feel cold breath trickling down my neck as a soft echo of his voice begs me to help him. Finally, weariness drags me down to a sleep without dreams. I seek solace there until the alarm sounds.

Harsh beeping wakes me and I enter autopilot. So tired that I forget what I have just done, I wash my hair at least three times before I step out of the shower. I grab the first outfit that my hand touches from the closet. I don’t even bother to look in the mirror to check my appearance. I run the brush through my hair and pull it back from my face. Grabbing my purse, I peer out the window and see nothing to justify such caution. I step outside and pull the door closed.

My jaws stretch as far apart as possible. As they slowly come back together, I turn the key in the lock and check the knob. Reassured when it doesn’t turn, I face the parking lot and sigh as I see the thin layer of mist creeping along the slick, black pavement. I yawn again as I step toward my car.

A car door opens behind me. I pick up the pace, stopping at my car to dig for my keys. I laugh as I realize they never left my hand. Footsteps draw closer as I insert the key in the lock.

As I turn toward the shuffling footsteps, a bomb explodes in my head. Lightning crashes across my vision and darkness claims me.

The Saga Continues

I know. I know. We all want so much more, but I wrote and rewrote these three sections many, many times to get them to this state of presentability for you. So be kind but honest. If the two can't coexist be honest, are you anxious for next week?

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Wednesday, February 20, 2013

Secrets of the Boss 4

Start Here

Part 2

Part 3

“So you had no idea why you were at the batting cages?” Officer Wason asks gruffly, holding the paper inches from my nose.

“I’ve never seen this before.”

My name has been splashed across the page in Larry’s tight script. The question mark that follows leaves me with questions as I scan the paragraph next to it.

“Maybe he wanted to purchase the batting cages. He may have wanted me to research the figures quoted there.”

Officer Wason raises an eyebrow and looks back to the paper. “Shouldn’t he have an accountant do that?”

“An accountant would charge him. I have a bachelor’s degree in business management, so he sometimes asked me questions to save money.”

“The plaque on the door says he was a department head?”

“Even department heads aren’t exactly rolling in money in a small library like this.” I gesture to the chipped paint on the file cabinet and the wear marks on the carpet.

Officer Wason shakes his head. “You aren’t telling us something…”

“I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”

Officer Polsen steps forward to place a hand on his partner’s arm. “How about we let Miss Holden get back to work?”

“Yes. I should do that.” I agree turning toward the door.

Officer Wason opens his mouth to speak but quickly closes his lips around whatever question still burns inside him as his partner speaks again. “I’m sure she’ll call us if she thinks of anything that can be of use to us.”

“Yes, sir…sirs?” I feel my face flush as I look for the right word.

As they exchange another look, I step backward out the door. I pause for a moment just outside the door, but they don’t speak to each other. I hear another drawer slowly slide open as I reluctantly walk away.

I glance down each aisle as I follow the familiar route back to my desk. I don’t catch sight of the man in the ball cap, but the disconcerting feeling of being watched haunts me. I glance over my shoulder so many times that my neck aches. I rub it gently as I sit down at my desk and lose myself in my work.

I don’t see the officers again even though I make a few book deliveries to the shelves outside Larry’s office. When I drop off my third batch of books, a closed door greets me. I spend the rest of the day working through one pile after another. I don’t bother looking up when my mail arrives. I don’t even glance at it. I remain equally uninterested when a coworker drops off another pile of books, repopulating the one clean surface on my desk. She lingers for a while, wanting to gossip, but I pretend not to notice her until she trudges away.

When the sound of the door at the far end of the room assures me of her retreat, I turn away from the string of words on my computer screen. Most of the books in the pile are the same vivid orange, rebound for maximum attention grabbing, but one stands out with its pale brown cover.

I reach for the book. A chill flows across my hand. I draw my hand back, looking up at the ceiling.

“That’s odd.” I observe to myself as I note that the nearest vent doesn’t circulate air into my cubicle.

I reach for the book again. This time my hand connects with the book before the chill washes over me. I pause but don’t release the book. I pull it free from the others. As I begin to turn away, an interdepartmental mailer slips out of the horizontal file I use as a mailbox.

Grabbing it with my free hand, I start to place it back in the file. The bold handwriting on the last filled rectangle gives me pause. I place the book back on the top of its stack and gently undo the string holding the envelope closed.

A thin pile of printed documents slides out into my hand. Neat handwriting flows across a sheet torn from a yellow, legal paper, clipped to these pages. My eyes swallow the neatly scripted words as blood floods to my face and ears.

Theresa,

If you are reading this, something terrible has happened to me. I apologize for the cliché. I never wanted to be one of those. I actually wanted to be a journalist, but I never found anything to write about. Somehow I ended up just another shadow in the background of the library.

Then my research of local baseball clubs revealed a story that my journalistic side couldn’t resist. I wanted you to check out a few of these documents for me since you have a background in accounting, but I was afraid you wouldn’t believe me.

You’re supposed to meet me at the batting cages in the morning. I want you to meet me. Hopefully, I can prove that I haven’t suddenly developed paranoia.

If I don’t get to see you, please be careful. I don’t think they know that I am onto their scheme, but I can’t be sure.

See you on our shared byline,

Larry

I flip through the printed pages. I quickly find the discrepancies between assets, earnings, and posted profits, but Larry gave me too much credit. I have no idea what it means.

Shaking my head, I dial the number that the policemen left for me. No one answers, so I leave a message and tuck the envelope into the back of my desk drawer until I can show the contents to them.

I am the last person to leave my department. Only a few people remain to answer questions at the reference desk and check out books at the front desk. I wave to both of them and hurry to my car as the feeling of being watched brings goose bumps crawling up my arms again.

There you have it, my friends, another step closer to some answers. Hopefully, I am weaving all the elements of this story together in the best possible way. I have a couple things going on here that I still need to completely decide the future of. What do you think?

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Thursday, February 14, 2013

Secrets of the Boss 3

Start Here

Part 2

The landline rings insistently, pulling me out of my thoughts. I reach for it, bringing the receiver to my ear reluctantly.

“Theresa?” A familiar voice asks.

“Yes?” I try to place the voice.

“Why didn’t you answer your cell? What are you doing at home?” Cara’s sharp questions help me place the voice.

“I…um…” I don’t know what I should and should not tell her.

“Just get back to work.” She snaps impatiently.

“Why?”

“Something’s going on. A couple of policemen just showed up here. They’re talking to Viviane.”

“Do you know why they are there?”

“Not yet.”

“I’ll be there shortly.” I mumble, hanging up the phone before she can say or ask anything more.

I slip on my shoes sluggishly and grab my purse. I slam the door in my wake and fumble through my keys. As I turn the key in the lock, my eyes scan the parking lot. Nothing seems out of the ordinary. An old man three doors down waves from his usual perch on his tiny, concrete stoop. I nod my head and rush to my car.

By the time I reach the library, the buzz has already begun. I walk past the front desk and shake my head as the voices of the small group gathered behind it reach me.

“I hear he was meeting a hooker at the batting cages.”

“I always said that man needed to get married.”

“Too late for that now.”

They laugh lightly, as if they didn’t just hear that one of their peers had been murdered. I roll my eyes and head for the narrow stairway leading up to my office. I make it halfway across the open study

space on the second floor before being accosted by a familiar face.

“Miss Holden, are you feeling better?” Officer Polsen and his partner effectively block my path.

I offer a weak smile. “A little.”

He offers a disapproving look. “Did you think of something that might help us?”

I shake my head. A skinny man with a baseball cap pulled down over his eyes catches my attention. I quickly look back at the officer, but my eyes wander back toward the other man. With his head tilted toward the floor, his eyes could be peering up into the underside of his bill or at me.

“So who called you?” I turn back to the second officer, reading the name on his tag, Wason.

“Pardon?”

“Someone called you about us being here.”

A warm flush infuses my cheeks as I lower my head and stammer out. “Yes…um…my friend…Cara Nelson.”

Officer Wason grunts in satisfaction.

“We were actually waiting for her to show us to your boss’s office.” Officer Polsen offers me a warm smile as he takes my elbow.

I reflexively start walking toward Larry’s office. As I duck between a couple bookshelves, I glance over my shoulder. The man in the baseball cap has disappeared. I shake my head and turn my attention back to the wooden door on the far side of the shelf.

“He locks his door when…” I begin.

“We have the keys.” Officer Wason jingles them to punctuate his assertion.

“This is the door.” I gesture as gracefully as any model trying to sell a new car.

Officer Wason offers me the first warm smile I have seen cross his face. It passes so quickly that I wonder if I imagined it. He throws the door open with more force than it requires, stepping into the room in a defensive stance. I wait for him to relax before stepping into the room. Officer Polsen joins us and begins rifling through the tall filing cabinet.

“So why didn’t they send detectives?” I ask idly as I look around the room to see if anything looks out of place.

Officer Wason turns away from a bookshelf lined with baseball memorabilia that includes a couple of autographed balls, Little League trophies, and baseball cards nestled in plastic cubes.

“It’s been a busy day.” Officer Polsen offers as he closes the first drawer.

I step closer to the desk to push a couple of sheets of paper around with the back of my finger. My eyes skim a few lines before losing interest. I push a few more pages out of the way to look at the last sheet in the stack.

“Hmmm.” I lean over to inspect the page more closely as I notice my name emblazoned across one margin with an arrow pointing back to the text.

“Don’t touch anything.” Officer Wason steps toward me.

“I think I may know why Mr. Chase wanted to meet me at the batting cages.” I inform him as I draw my hand back.

He reaches past me to pick up the paper with latex-encased fingers. Blue eyes scan the words on the page.

“You may have found something.” He says as Officer Polsen comes to stand at his shoulder.

Continue Here

I bet you thought I wasn't going to post today. I tend to be a holiday slacker, after all. I did get this little piece ready for your consideration. Do you like it? Do you want answers? I do, too, but they aren't ready yet. Soon, my friend, soon.... In the meantime, share your thoughts below:

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Thursday, February 7, 2013

Secrets of the Boss 2

Start Here!

Soft beeps and whirs pour in at me from every direction. I stare down at the yellowed tiles on the floor, forcing down every thought except the number of tiles. When that fails me, I begin memorizing the simple pattern of mauve and cream squares along the top and bottom border of the heavy linen curtain separating me from the next patient. The soft murmur of voices from every side keeps me from eavesdropping on the officer wearing shiny leather shoes with thick soles and the nurse shod in white canvas. They have been discussing me for quite some time, but I can’t worry about that.

Curiosity about why Larry wanted me to meet him at the batting cages keeps wandering back into my mind. Confusion over the voicemail that came after he was already dead chases it into my head and back out again. I return to counting the squares on the curtain.

“One mauve. One cream. Two mauve. Two cream…” I count on and on and on, hoping to stem the tide of my own fears.

My dry mouth quickly goes hoarse and my whispered litany fades. As some semblance of silence sinks around me despite the white noise of the daily workings of the emergency room, I force myself to relax.

Something brushes my shoulder and I jump, crashing to the floor as my knees give way. I look up toward the examination table, seeing nothing. As footsteps stir outside the curtain, I hear the soft echo of a voice.

“Theresa, you have to help me.”

I shake my head, trying to clear that voice.

“Miss Holden, are you okay?” The nurse glances at my chart for my name as she kneels beside me and gently runs her hands along my arms and legs. “Doesn’t feel like anything is broken. Let me help you up.”

The policeman looms over us for a moment before kneeling down to help me regain my feet. Together, they return me to the examination table. I glance warily into every rounded corner of the space, reassuring myself that a ghost doesn’t lurk within the curtained walls. Then I face forward, composing myself as much as I can while the nurse and police officer scrutinize me.

“Is it okay if I ask a couple of questions?” The officer looks from my face to the nurse, unsure who to ask for permission.

I begin to nod my head but stop and turn my own eyes toward the nurse. She glances at the chart again before placing a hand on my wrist and looks upward as she counts silently. Then she gently places a stethoscope to my chest, listening again.

“You’ll be okay, Miss Holden. You just had a shock. Try to relax. Let someone else drive you home.” She nods to the officer and steps through the opening in the curtain to pull it back.

“This one’s free.” She calls out as she heads back toward the emergency room desk.

“I can give you a ride home, ma’am. If that’s okay?” The officer offers me his arm.

I try not to lean on him too heavily as I glance at the name on his uniform. “You just want to ask me more questions, Mr. Polsen.”

“I do. But you also need a ride.”

“And a note for work.” I add as my phone rings and I glance at the caller ID.

I turn the phone off as a nurse joins us with a wheelchair. “It’s hospital policy that you leave in this and we suggest you call us immediately if you experience any odd symptoms.”

The severe look on her face assures me that her suggestions should be followed.

“Yes, ma’am.” I square my shoulders and raise my head, coming to attention.

The officer hides a grin behind his hand until the nurse walks away with one last reproving glance at me. Then he places both hands firmly on the handles of the wheelchair and pushes me toward the elevator.

As the car door closes behind me, I turn to watch the officer circle the car. He glances up and down the street slowly even as he approaches his door, taking in everything with suspicious eyes. I take one last deep breath as his door opens. Composing myself as much as I can, I offer a timid smile in anticipation of a barrage of questions.

“Feel up to some questions?” He begins.

“Yes.” My voice cracks, denying the truth of my word.

“Lean your head back and rest. We’ll talk when we get to your house.”

I lean back and close my eyes, muttering. “Over a cup of cocoa?”

“Sure.”

My mind goes blissfully silent as I focus on the soft sounds of the engine. Occasionally, a gruff voice breaks the silence from the radio, but I ignore it. By the time we reach my apartment complex, I have almost forgotten what put me in this situation.

“Miss Holden?” Officer Polsen says softly as he opens his door. “Wake up. We’re here.”

I open my eyes, blinking back the light as he circles the car. I wait for him to open my door. Then I slowly get out of the car. He offers me his arm. I lean on him as we cross the lot to my apartment. I ignore the inquisitive glances of a few late-rising neighbors.

“Let me help you.” He offers, reaching for my keys as I fumble through them.

He continues to help me as I prepare hot cocoa. Finally, we sit down at the kitchen table. I wrap my hands around my warm mug and stare at melting marshmallows.

Officer Polsen clears his throat. “I just have a few questions right now. I may have more as the investigation continues.”

I nod understanding and sip slowly from the mug.

He pushes his cup away untouched and continues. “You work for Mr. Chase?”

“Yes.”

“What kind of business are you in?”

“We work at the local library.” I look up from my cup now.

“So why were you meeting him at the batting cages?” His eyebrows meet as he ponders this.

“I don’t know.”

“But you were meeting him there?”

“Yes. He left me a message telling me to.”

“Can I have a listen?” He stands up and walks over to my answering machine.

“Sure. I’ll have to call into work though.”

“Oh?” He picks up the phone and brings it to me.

He waits in silence as I dial the library. He begins to tap his foot as I wait for the mechanical voice on the other end to recite her message. Then I hit a series of numbers to get into my own mailbox. At the prompt, I put the phone on speaker and replay the message.

“That doesn’t tell you much. You’re sure he hadn’t discussed some project involving the batting cages or baseball with you?”

“Positive. I know he follows baseball. His office is a shrine to the local league. But I’m not really athletic…” I take a longer draw of chocolate comfort as my words run dry.

“Hmm.” He pulls out his cell phone to make a note before turning his attention back to me. “Did he have any enemies?”

I shrug my shoulders. “I really didn’t know him outside of work. I know he could be demanding at

times, but that’s not a reason to kill him.”

I can tell by his face that he thinks I am holding something back as he asks a few more questions to which I have no answers. Finally, he slips his phone back into his pocket and offers me a card.

“Thank you so much for your help. If you think of anything that might be relevant to the case, call me immediately. Okay?”

“Of course.”

As I stand to see him to the door, he motions for me to remain seated. “Please don’t get up, ma’am. I’ll see myself out.”

I watch him go before switching seats and taking a sip of his untouched cocoa. The warm liquid fills me with warmth and comfort as my thoughts wander. I search for some piece of information that would make today make sense.