White Crest
By Rod Mertes
Copyright 2006
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is completely coincidental. They were all born in the mind of the author.
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the hard work of this author.
CHAPTER ONE
NEW DIRECTIONS
The compact disc in Mackenzie Mason’s dashboard was bellowing out the last notes of a soothing classical rhapsody, as she glided into the underground parking lot of her upscale Atlanta apartment complex. She skillfully maneuvered into her yellow numbered space, narrowly missing the concrete pillar immediately to her left. She looked at those stinking yellow numbers painted on the wall each time she parked and sometimes referred to herself as 3397 when alone and frustrated.
She had been parking there for the past three years and only slightly bumped the pillar one time. Number 3397 was always open and for the rent they were sucking out of her, it damn well better be. The last place she lived, parking was always a hit or miss situation. If she lucked out, she could park within spitting distance of her front door. If not, she had to walk nearly a block to get home.
Her position as a district sales manager required her to travel extensively and leasing, rather than buying, was almost a necessity. No leaves to rake, no lawn to mow and no problem if the sink leaked. Whenever there was a problem with her two bedroom unit, all she had to do was pick up the phone, dial maintenance, and the problem was resolved within twenty-four hours.
She completed the routine rapist scan of the parking area and perceived no imminent danger. Then she straightened her ruffled, shoulder length, brown hair and stepped out of her red company car. Mackenzie was greeted by the familiar smell of exhaust fumes and the burnt oil that tattooed the concrete. The incredibly hot, humid summer air kept all odors close to the ground, like a lid on a cooking pot. At times, the air was so thick it was difficult to breathe. Sometimes, because of the stagnant mass of putrid air, you didn’t want to breathe.
When she was younger, and there were no emissions controls, she enjoyed the smell of gasoline exhaust. The new unleaded exhaust, however, was slightly revolting.
Mac, as she was known to friends, closed her car door and smoothed the fabric of her blue pin-stripe suit. There were never any wrinkles or bunching of the material anyone else would see or care about, but they were certainly there and Mac could see them. That was enough.
As she turned toward the elevator, she felt a tremendous blow to her stomach. The punch knocked the wind out of her and dropped her to her knees. She reflexively clutched her stomach with one hand and steadied herself on the concrete with the other. Moments later she vomited up what was left of the deli sandwich she ate at the mall before driving home. Burnt oil and soggy lettuce - what would Martha Stewart say?
Mac wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and tried to remember where she was and sort out what had just happened. Her brain demanded an immediate explanation and ordered the body to stand and take a defensive posture. She tried to comply with the order but only made it halfway. She fell back against her car door and slid slowly until her butt hit the pavement. It wasn’t the best position to be in, but at the time it was the most comfortable.
When she regained her bearings, she saw a figure standing a couple of feet in front of her. She couldn’t determine if it was a man or woman and at that point, couldn’t think of a valid reason why it even mattered. It would be helpful to police at a later point, but her immediate concern was breathing and keeping the remaining contents of her stomach right where they were.
The figure was of medium build and dressed in black clothing, a black ski mask, and black sunglasses. It was standing erect, silent and motionless. For a crazy moment, she thought of the black monolith in the movie, 2001, A Space Odyssey. She was never quite positive as to what it represented. Unlike the monolith, she at least knew that the figure in front of her represented pain but to what measure was still unknown.
Mac worked her way to her feet cautiously, using her car to help steady her ascent. When she was fully upright, the figure stuck a hand in its pocket and held it there for a couple of minutes. Mac wasn’t sure if the delay was meant to savor the fear in her eyes and enjoy the moment in a twisted way, or if it was merely waiting for her to recover enough to understand what was to follow.
The veins in Mac’s neck were bulging and started to ache as they tried to keep up with all the blood her hypersonic heart was pumping. Her stomach was cramping and she wasn’t sure how much longer her legs would able to support her. Fear had become her master.
Finally, the figure jerked its hand from its pocket and thrust it into Mac’s face. She closed her eyes and wanted to scream, but the muscles in her throat were so stressed, she could barely breath. Instead, she clenched her teeth and meekly awaited the explosive sound of a gunshot. While she waited, she thought, Oh sweet Jesus, don’t let me die, oh sweet Jesus, don’t let me die. Then a vague thought crept in. Perhaps prayer might not be enough to handle the situation. Her father always told her to be true to her faith in her everyday life, but to rely on herself in times of stress or physical danger. “…you never know if the one you’re praying to is listening”, he’d explain. “By the time you figure out no one is listening, you could be in deep trouble.”
Despite her father’s advice, she found herself powerless to do anything but pray and wait for the next phase. It occurred to her that the figure had more than enough time to kill her. But there was nothing. She didn’t die. There was no additional pain or attacks. There was no gunshot and in fact, there was no sound at all. She survived. Maybe someone was listening this time.
Mac squinted and saw the motionless figure still standing in front of her, with an arm extended straight out that stopped inches from her face. There was a small piece of paper in a gloved hand with some words printed in bold, black letters.
Mac opened her eyes fully and looked closer at the print. It read, “This time it’s only paper. Next time it won’t be. Next time you’ll die. Nod if you understand.”
Mac nodded and the figure crumpled the paper, and returned it to its pocket. The assailant turned and disappeared at a normal pace between some cars.
Mac exhaled deeply and realized it was over. She quickly unlocked her car, jumped into the driver’s seat, and locked the door as she slammed it shut. If getting into a car and locking it were an Olympic event, she’d have taken the gold.
She put both hands on the steering wheel and cradled her head between them. A few tears dripped slowly to the floorboard like water running down a melting icicle.
Finally, she composed herself sufficiently to retrieve her cell phone and dial 911. She was immediately connected to a female operator.
“Relax, Sweetie, everything is all right now,” chimed the operator in a monotone voice. “Don’t worry, Sweetie, a police unit is on the way.”
Mac hated to be called “Sweetie” by anyone; male or female. She thought it was a condescending word that should be reserved for children and not adult, female professionals.
Mac had composed herself by the time the police arrived, and was able to provide an accurate account of the assault. The two officers seemed indifferent
and took few notes. One officer, who looked like he was still in his teens, handed her a business card with a case number, his name and telephone number. He scribbled something in his notebook, and without looking at Mac, said, “If anything else develops, blah, blah, blah... You can also call that number to get a copy of the police report.”
Mac managed a half-smile, shoved the business card in her purse and headed for the elevator. The two officers returned to their car and watched until Mac made it safely into the elevator.
When she got to her fifth floor apartment, she took her shoes off and placed them neatly next to the others in her closet. She hung up her suit coat and loosened the buttons of her white blouse.
The apartment was a little over a thousand excellently planned and spacious square feet. It had a wide balcony and a steel entry door.
There were many nights she would sit on her balcony in a lounge chair and feast on the beauty offered by a small nearby lake. It didn’t matter what season or time of day, the lake and chair combination were cherished aspects of her life that she used to combat her daily stress.
Mac always loved anything associated with water. As a child, she welcomed her bath time and would play in her backyard pool beyond exhaustion. It didn’t matter if it was day or night, bugs or no bugs, or if it was warm or cold water. There were several occasions when the water in the pool was so cold, Mac’s lips would turn blue. Even then she wouldn’t get out voluntarily. She was a very determined child.
When she was seven, her father took her night fishing with him on an ocean pier in Florida. It was the beginning of her love affair with the sea. She discovered an uncommon peace, tranquility and bond with it. While other kids her age grew bored in minutes, she was content to sit back against the railing, breath in the salt air and stare at the stars. When she tired of the stars, she’d move under a pier light, open her paint box and create great works of art, (at least that’s what her father called them), with charcoal pencils and oil paints. Hours would pass like minutes and she was always saddened when it was time to pack up and leave.
It had been many years since she had been back to her beloved saltwater friend. Time has a habit of going to the right while you’re looking to the left. Before you can finish saying your ABCs, it has blown right by and you didn’t even feel the breeze.
She walked by her telephone and noticed the message light flashing. Mac wanted to call someone and share the night’s experience. She wanted to hear a friendly voice and have someone tell her in a soothing, reassuring voice that everything would be all right. She wanted to call someone and ask them to come rushing over and give her a warm embrace, but there was no one to call. There was no husband or boyfriend. The only friends she had were either business acquaintances or other district managers. How sincere would any of those people be? Certainly, none of them would race over and comfort her through the night.
Mac decided to have some red wine before making her dinner. In fact, the way her stomach felt, she was content to let the wine be her dinner. This time she poured a full eight ounce glass, instead of the usual half glass. She escorted the glass to the living room and sat back on her couch. She propped her feet up on the coffee table, took a sip of wine and tried to make sense of what had just happened to her in the parking lot. It was obvious that someone was angry as a hornet with a headache, but whom? And what the hell for?
It was inevitable, that as a results oriented district manager, with twenty-two retail stores, she had made some enemies along the way, but who could she have pissed enough to want her dead? Or, maybe they didn’t really want her dead. Maybe they just wanted to scare the living crap out of her and keep her scared for awhile as a payback for something she had done somewhere in time.
Mac came up with two or three possibilities. She once fired a female manager in Chattanooga, Tennessee for working employees “off the clock” to save payroll and look good for evaluations. Good evaluations in line with company goals meant generous pay raises and substantial bonuses. Managers who ran efficient stores, while controlling their payroll, were ideal candidates for promotion as well.
Elaine Keller, the manager, would insist that certain employees punch the time cards after their shift ended, but continue to work without pay. Elaine would say anything to con the employees into helping her out. One of the employees saw through Elaine and complained to Mac. It took awhile, but Mac was able to verify that allegation and several others. She confronted Elaine and fired her without giving her a chance to change her ways. Elaine violated company policies, as well as state and federal labor laws. There were no excuses, no second chances. Elaine had to go.
The termination did not go well. Elaine reacted like a startled rattlesnake and made numerous verbal lunges at Mac that culminated with a line from an Arnold Schwarzenegger movie - “I’ll be back!!”
Then there was Chad Nuxhall. He was the manager sent by Satan to run one of Mac’s stores in Dunwoody, Georgia. Mac inherited him from the previous district manager. She would never had hired anyone like him. If you could mix genes from Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, and at least three other sadistic, cold hearted, narrow minded, egotistical bastards, then you’d have Chad Nuxhall. He was a liar, a thief and everything bad someone could be. Mac was sure he was skimming cash from the receipts and manipulating the books. He was such a great liar; he was able to pull the wool over most people’s eyes. He was even successful with Mac for a short time. He slipped up one day when he got sick. Chad decided he was too ill to come in, so he tried calling his first assistant manager, but wasn’t able to get in touch with her. He then called his second assistant manager and told her to open the store and take care of things until he could come in. However, the assistant ran into childcare problems and couldn’t open the store on time. She panicked and called Mac, who cancelled her routine for the day and rushed to the mall. Once the assistant was able to cover the childcare issue, she came in to relieve Mac. On her way in, she stopped at the bank and picked up the deposit receipts from the previous night. The assistant took over store operations, while Mac remained in the office and completed the required daily paperwork. When she compared the deposit tickets to the day’s receipts, she was surprised to see that no cash had been deposited. Then she looked at the register tape displaying the cash register total from the previous night. Chad was the closing manager and he should have deposited over eight hundred in cash. But he was clever and he knew that the bank didn’t tally the check total prior to validating a deposit. It only verified the cash total and sent the checks to another department for verification, which could be days later. He could write any deposit total on the slip and no one would catch it. That way, his deposit total and his daily paperwork would always match and nothing would appear inappropriate. The corporate office had twelve people to sort through receipts from 1700 stores. It was such a mess and such a time delay, manipulating individual store receipts was actually quite easy.
Mac’s confrontation with Chad and subsequent events got very ugly and nearly lead to his termination. He was placed on probation until the corporate asset protection people could pin something concrete on him. They didn’t want to risk a lawsuit for wrongful termination.
Chad’s anger and hatred for Mac soared like a thermometer dropped in boiling water. As you might guess, he made numerous, private threats against Mac. However, there were no witnesses and it was only her word against his.
There were several people who could have perpetrated the attack. Mac certainly couldn’t rule out her ex-husband either. In many ways Frank was like a mirror. He read people well and reflected back what they wanted to see and hear. He also had a dark, blank side that reflected and yielded nothing, like the back side of a mirror that you don’t usually see until it’s broken. In reality he was a shallow, deceitful, greedy, and selfish bastard.
They met on a flight to Miami. She was on her way to a three-day sales meeting at her home office and he was going to attend an insurance seminar.
Frank was i
mpeccably dressed and perfectly groomed. His nails were manicured and every hair on his head had an assigned place and was in that position.
They engaged in small talk during the entire flight and Mac found herself smiling as they did. She was impressed with how eloquently and intelligently he spoke. During the course of the conversation, it was decided that they would dine together on their first night in Miami. Such a plan meant that they would both have to feign illness to avoid corporately sponsored group dinner arrangements. Mac hated those company dinners because the food was always as bad as the people she was seated next to. She also hated listening to the boastful tales of managerial greatness each possessed.
Mac and Frank had a successful dinner. They both laughed and flirted with each other.
Afterwards, they had drinks at a local club and then took a walk in the cool, evening ocean air. Mac was delighted with everything about the encounter and knew Frank experienced the same emotions.
When their respective company meetings concluded, they continued to see each other on a regular basis. The two had dated a mere four months and decided their futures would be greatly enhanced spiritually, emotionally and financially, if they lived together. But Frank insisted that living together as a couple out of wedlock would be morally wrong, so they decided to get married. Frank’s moral reservations once again put a huge smile on Mac’s face and reinforced her positive feelings about him.
The marriage started out great and the two shared many happy, meaningful moments
together. But Frank re-directed the relationship and it crashed and burned after three years.
Mac was always a one-man woman who was perfectly satisfied with a routine, (and by some of their friend’s standards, boring), lifestyle. Frank, however, was somewhat more ambitious and giving. Why limit him to only one woman and deprive other women of his charm, wit and greatness? Think of the good and happiness he could share with the female populous.
While Mac was gone on business trips or interstate store visits, Frank collected girlfriends like some men collect stamps or coins. They proved to be just as costly. He was a big spender and needed a constant cash flow to support his lifestyle.
Finally, after three years, Frank announced that he needed more space. He also needed more cash. Mac’s income was too limited, so someone with greater earning potential would better suit his needs.
He left Mac and moved in with a girlfriend who had very deep pockets. She wasn’t the prettiest woman he had ever met, but love is blind when it comes to money.
The divorce shifted Mac into an emotional tailspin. She was very trusting, and despite her many experiences in life, perhaps somewhat naïve. Mac always believed in tomorrow and that happiness would prevail. She had no clue that Frank’s business trips were more geared to improving his girlfriend base and not his client base.
To make matters worse, he ran up over eighteen thousand dollars in credit card debt and siphoned every last penny from their joint savings. Her marriage was over, her emotions shattered and her future was smoldering in the remains of financial devastation.
Mac had to wait nearly a year to file for divorce, simply because she couldn’t afford an attorney until then. She hadn’t been involved in a relationship of any kind since the day Frank moved out.
The wine served its purpose, allowing Mac to slide back into a calmer, more controlled state of mind. Her shaking had faded away and her heartbeat returned to an acceptable rate. She had no particular reason to smile but she found herself smiling. Maybe it was because she survived another day.
Mac had become more critical over the past few years and smiling was an infrequent event. Some people said she had toughened up, while others merely thought her naïve, idealistic thoughts had given way to reality and she had grown up.
One of her friends walked up to her after the divorce and said, “Sorry to hear the bad news about you and Frank. Remember, honey, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”
Mac smiled and said, “My dad used to say, what doesn’t kill you, doesn’t make you any stronger…it just hurts like hell!”
Mac’s friend offered a faint smile and quickly changed the subject. She asked Mac where she could find shoes at a decent price. The games we play, thought Mac. She often wondered why people say anything at all when you have a problem. It never helps and few people heed unsolicited advice or appreciate words of comfort. Oh well!
She put her empty wine glass on the kitchen counter and looked at the flashing red light on the answering machine. She rubbed her tender stomach and had a flashback of the attack. It had happened. Nothing could change that fact. It didn’t kill her …and she certainly didn’t feel any stronger. It was just like her dad had said, “It just hurts like hell!”
She tapped the machine and said, “You’ll have to wait your turn. I’m taking a hot shower first.”
She stood in the shower until the bathroom turned into a steam room and all the hot water was gone. Even in the heat of an Atlanta summer, she loved the soothing effects of a hot shower. Keeping her thermostat set at a very cool, sixty-four degrees enhanced the shower effect.
Mac stepped out of the shower, dried off, and slipped into her full-length bathrobe. It was one of the few things from Frank that she truly enjoyed.
She grabbed her day planner and went to meet the challenges offered by her answering machine. The first four calls were fairly routine. Then she listened to call number five.
Call number five was from her boss, Danny Fisher. She exhaled and pushed the play button.
“Hi, Mac. It’s Dan. A situation has developed that we need to address. We really need to provide a proactive response. Don’t bother to return this call, just plan to be in my office at two o’clock tomorrow afternoon. See you then.”
Mac sighed and said, “It just gets better“.
A proactive response to a situation was Dan’s way of saying Mac was in the direct path of some hot shit rolling down a tall mountain.
Dan Fisher was a regional manager with a personality that was hung on swinging doors. He was a careful man who could be any person he needed to be for any situation. If the president of the company loved to drink straight whiskey, so did Dan.
Dan’s motto was, “Look the best, wear the best, be the best!” He had all of his suits custom made by a high priced tailor in New York. He had five pair of custom made shoes, each pair costing as much as Mac’s monthly rent. Mac could only guess about the rest of Dan’s wardrobe.
He was attracted to Mac and occasionally engaged in cautious flirtation whenever they were “off the clock” and in a public setting. He never lost sight of the consequences he would face if she ever became offended by anything he did or said. It wasn’t an issue of right or wrong with him. He just didn’t want to face unemployment, embarrassment, and alimony.
Mac played back the remaining messages and after making the appropriate notes, poured another glass of wine. She paused for a second and tried to remember the last occasion that she consumed two glasses of wine in such a short time span. Then she realized she couldn’t remember the last time she finished a single glass that big.
Her normally sharp focus had accumulated some rough edges. Another glass of wine would certainly make them rougher, but it seemed like the thing to do.
“I’ve had enough of this day,” she said while gently rubbing her hand across her tender stomach.
Mac took the wine to her bedroom, set it on the nightstand next to her bed and turned on her reading light. Then she removed her robe and threw it over her wooden chest at the foot of the bed. She changed into an old, over-sized t-shirt and randomly grabbed a paperback from her bookshelf. She rendered a casual glance at her canvas and easel in the corner and thought, I’ll get back to you! She had to have a clearer mind to tackle painting.
With book in hand, she turned off the main light and settled into her bed. Before long, the words lost their meaning and she was dozing. Mac let the book drop to the floor and pulled her c
omforter up. As she did, a muffled voice said, “Oh, Mac. My dear sweet, Mac.”
Mac’s eyes sprang open and she shot straight up. Mac was certain she saw a shadowy figure head toward her bedroom door. Fearing her attacker had returned, she scrambled out of bed and scooped up an industrial size can of pepper spray standing next to her glass of wine.
She entered stealth mode as she crept to the door. Her heart began racing again, but this time with a healthy blend of fear, anger and excitement. This time she was prepared to fight back. This time it would be on her terms.
“Time to board the payback train, jackass,” she shouted angrily. Mac shook the contents of the can and said, “I’m ready to punch your ticket!”
She inspected her apartment with the skill of a commando; ready to blind her attacker at a moment’s notice. All her skill and technique yielded was several dust bunnies and a dead bug that had been toast so long, its body crumbled when she flicked it.
Mac ended the search and destroy mission at her front door. It was very odd. Her deadbolt and chain hadn’t been disturbed and were still secured from the inside. She overcame her puzzlement, breathed a sigh of relief and wiped a thin layer of sweat from her forehead.
“What a night,” she exclaimed as she returned slowly to her bedroom. “I’m not doing the wine thing again; that’s for sure.” She recalled a line from one of her music CDs and recited it aloud, “…voices, voices….she heard voices,” as she walked limply back to her bedroom. She couldn’t remember the artist who recorded it, but the line echoed in her brain for several minutes.
Mac returned the pepper spray to its ready position and eased back into bed. She resumed her position under the comforter and replayed the events of the evening over and over in her head, until she finally drifted off to sleep.
Waking up the following morning was somewhat rough. The wine had induced a deeper than normal sleep. Luckily, the previous night’s events had settled in a rear memory bank. She had a new day of challenges to face and she had a dreaded, “proactive” meeting with Dan.
After a quick shower and equally brief breakfast, she headed to the parking lot with a new sense of awareness and security consciousness. She wasn’t panicky but rather more prepared then ever before. Mac upgraded her own terror alert level to high. That meant that she walked briskly, looking all around her as she walked. It also meant that she carried her back-up pepper spray at the ready, with one finger on the spray button.
As Mac drove to her home store which housed her office, she decided a hands free cell phone would be an additional asset. If she was attacked again, she could get an emergency call off immediately.
Hands free cell phone, thought Mac. She could remember going to a telephone store with her dad as a child and bugging him to get a cat-shaped telephone for the house. Any event or celebration that called for a gift, Mac would politely ask for anything cat or kitten related. She had a pink toothbrush in the shape of a cat, pajamas with several different breeds of cats on them, cat slippers, etc. Her favorite cat was an incredibly soft, stuffed animal that she slept with every night. She held on to that toy as if it were a priceless treasure and still had it tucked safely away in a storage box in her closet.
Mac made the trip to her office without incident and after completing her morning routine, decided to get some lunch before heading to her meeting with Dan at the regional office.
Since her terror alert was hovering at high, every person in the food court was subject to her scrutiny. She only excluded young children from observation.
Mac carried her tray to a table where she could keep her back to a wall. When she set her tray down, she realized she was so intent on her surroundings that she forgot napkins. The napkins on the condiment stand were less than thirty seconds away, but it was enough time for someone to walk by and drop an envelope on top of her hamburger.
She sat slowly and maneuvered the ominous, blank white envelope with all the care taught to her by television crime shows. Judging by the size and shape, Mac surmised that it was a greeting card of some kind.
Mac propped the envelope up and opened it with her plastic lunch knife. She held it by each side with her palms and shook it until the card slid out.
It was a pink pastel card with a dark red rose and two green leaves on the cover. The saying on the inside of the card read,
“Roses are red,
And this card is light pink,
I love you more now,
Than you’d ever think.”
It had a bunch of x’s and o’s and was signed, “Distant Lover”. There was a red heart with an arrow through it drawn under the signature.
Mac laid the card down and rendered an inconspicuous scan of the people in the food court. She didn’t really expect to see anyone staring at her, but once again, her television shows indicated that many criminals like to linger around the crime scene to admire their work.
She didn’t see any prime suspects, so she gingerly put the card in her briefcase; preserving the evidence as best as she could.
She finished her lunch and drove to the regional office without any further incident. When she pulled into the parking lot at the Ragsdale Office Complex, another car pulled in slowly behind her. When she stopped, it stopped.
Mac eased her car into a parking space, grabbed her cell phone and entered nine-one- one. She positioned her finger on the dial button and readied the pepper spray.
The driver of the other car rolled by, its male operator smiling devilishly as it did. Then he turned out of the parking lot and sped off.
“This crap is getting really old,” said Mac anxiously.
The driver made no attempt to disguise his appearance, but Mac could not recall ever having seen him before. Mac was hoping the parking lot security camera caught the car and license plate.
When Mac entered the office building, she wasn’t nearly as nervous or upset as she thought she should be. It was like her third trip to the dentist when she was young.
The first trip was absolutely terrifying. The second spawned some nervous moments, but by the third visit, Mac was a veteran and ready for anything the dentist could throw her way.
She walked the long, non-descript white corridor to the regional office and walked in with a smile.
“Good afternoon Nicole. How’ve you been?” asked Mac.
“Hi, Mac. Good as anyone can be. How about you?” replied Nicole without looking away from her computer.
“I’ve been better. How are the kids?” asked Mac knowing that it was a nearly required question but a dreaded question at the same time. Nicole Langston was a devoted, overly talkative mother, who loved to chat endlessly about her two children.
“They’re fine. Thanks for asking. I’ll let Dan know you’re here,” said Nicole, still maintaining her monitor trance.
Mac was surprised by Nicole’s distant attitude and wasn’t sure how to react. She hesitated a moment and said, “By the way, would you check with security and see if they have footage of parking lot C, row twelve, from about ten minutes ago? There was a suspicious car behind me and I’d like to see if they might have captured his plate.”
“I’ll see what I can do, Mac. You can go in now,” said Nicole after pressing a small red button by her telephone.
“Thanks, Nicole,” said Mac as she strolled toward Dan’s office door.
When Mac walked into the office, Dan was sitting back in his black leather chair with a telephone pressed against his ear. The person on the other end was getting quite an earful about their weekly sales results.
He ignored Mac as she sat in his “electric chair”. It was so named by visitors to his office because it was an incredibly uncomfortable, short, wooden chair placed directly in front of his desk. If you were in trouble, it felt like he could pull the switch any minute.
If you were a visiting vendor, you learned to make your pitch quickly and move on. Dan’s time was important to him and he didn’t like wasting it with “wordy” people. Dan wan
ted people to say what they mean and mean what they say. He didn’t want to hear about social ills or the climbing price of crude oil. He could hear all of that on the news if he wanted to. It had no bearing on the business at hand.
Dan finished his call, hung up the phone and ran his hand over his thinning gray hair. Then he leaned forward and shuffled some papers on his desk until he uncovered a manila folder.
“Morning, Mac,” said Dan automatically. “You had some very good numbers again last week. Your sales increases are still leading the region and you’re third in the company.”
Mac looked at Dan and smiled but Dan didn’t notice. He was staring at the manila folder.
“Unfortunately, we have an issue here that’s tarnishing the luster somewhat,” said Dan as he handed the folder to Mac.
“Take a few minutes to review the contents while I get some coffee,” he said as he rose and walked to his coffee maker. He returned to his desk and shuffled some more papers around on his desk. He reserved any further comment until Mac had finished reading the folder’s contents.
Mac opened the folder and counted five different letters. Each was stapled to its accompanying envelope. Each was addressed to the corporate headquarters in Florida and forwarded to Dan.
Four of the letters were customer complaints alleging misconduct and mistreatment by Mac during customer disputes she had been dragged into at the store level during official visits. The fifth one was a graphically detailed love letter allegedly written by Mac to a male store manager.
Dan took a sip of coffee and watched silently as Mac read the letters. He liked Mac and was impressed with her performance but she was becoming poisonous to his career.
She finished reading the documents, closed the folder and handed them back to Dan.
Dan held his palm up like a crossing guard stopping traffic and said, “No those are yours. I already have copies in your personnel file.”
Dan leaned back in his chair, clasped his hands behind his head and said, “Comments?”
Mac looked him in the eyes and said, “You know it’s all fabricated. I can’t believe you would lend any credence to those pages of crap. It’s obvious someone is out to get their ‘pound of flesh’.”
Dan maintained his expressionless stare and waited for Mac to continue. He had worked with Mac for a number of years and was often impressed with her professionalism in dealing with store personnel and customer issues.
“Come on, Dan. The incidents referred to in the complaint letters simply didn’t happen. The letters contain similar phrases and were undoubtedly written by one individual.”
Mac leaned to one side, smiled and said, “And the love letter. Please! Give me a break!! First of all I wouldn’t type it. Nobody types something as personal as a love letter. And I never use words like ‘love slave’ and ‘sweet lips’ when I refer to someone. Furthermore, I guarantee you that I have never ‘lusted’ for any man’s penis. I can’t recall ever lusting for any part of a man’s anatomy.”
Mac looked out the window and watched a jet flying overhead. For a moment she wished she was on it heading for anywhere but where she was. She turned back to Dan and continued. “Greg Harris, the manager I supposedly wrote this to, is marginal at best. He’s on ninety days probation and will probably be terminated. He thinks he’s district manager material and that I’m being overly judgmental and holding him back.”
“I assumed as much, Mac,” said Dan as he reached forward and retrieved another manila folder. He handed it to Mac and asked, “What about this one?”
“Good grief! There’s more?” asked Mac in disbelief.
She took the folder from Dan and opened it slowly. It was another letter supposedly written by her, only this time it was addressed to Steve Carter, the vice president of operations. The subject was Letter of Resignation. The body of the letter was a scathing review of company policies, direction and future. There were some harsh statements about the president and his executive staff. Additionally, there were some particularly ugly statements about Steve Carter.
The last sentence of the letter read, “In view of this intolerable work environment and widespread, upper management incompetence, I hereby tender my resignation to be effective immediately”.
Mac closed the letter solemnly and said, “I really don’t know what to say.”
“Well, you could begin by saying you didn’t write it,” replied Dan.
Mac looked at Dan in disbelief. “Give me a break, Dan!! Of course I didn’t write it! Anyone with a computer, printer and scanner could have written it. There is any number of store visit reports with my signature that someone could have used to scan or forge my name. You know damn well that if I had a problem with the company I’d share those thoughts with you before I’d document and send them to headquarters.”
“I’d like to think so, Mac, but I still have to ask. You know I need to hear it in your own words. Whenever you think you really know someone, sometimes they end up doing something outrageous or bizarre. Then you sit back, gasp and tell everyone how shocked you are to hear about it.”
Dan’s voice was growing colder and Mac could feel him pulling away. She realized Dan was distancing himself from trouble. Her ship was sinking and he didn’t want to be sucked down with her.
Mac looked at the expressionless face of a stranger. The man that she knew for years and had laughed with, traveled with and shared many personal feelings with was gone. She glanced out the window again and said, “What did corporate say about all of this?”
“Steve Carter nearly melted the phone in my ear. He’s as rigid with company policies and guidelines as they come. He had human resources work up your severance package faster than you could spell his name,” replied Dan.
Mac looked back at Dan and said, “Over these silly letters? I’ve never made waves with the company before. I’ve given this company my all. Whatever happened to loyalty? It’s so unbelievable!”
“It wasn’t just these letters, Mac. There were others that I don’t have copies of. Letters that were sent to the assets protection people. They won’t divulge the contents, or the exact number they received. They will only tell me that you’ve been under investigation for several months and that there have been allegations that you have been involved in theft of company funds and merchandise. I’ve also been informed that there is a possibility of a sexual harassment lawsuit somewhere around the corner. I have no idea how many other ugly word bugs you’re dealing with right now.”
Mac shook her head, leaned back and clasped her hands together in her lap. She stared out the window again, not really looking at anything in particular, but a cloud that looked like a huge dog caught her eye. She thought that this would be a logical time to cry. It was an excellent opportunity to let it all out and maybe even scream at Dan a little. Anyone in her position would certainly be depressed and frustrated enough to shed a few tears. And if she did cry, who could fault her? It would be understandable…expected. Dan was probably waiting for the explosion. She didn’t cry or scream though. Not a single tear. Not a single utterance. She simply felt like an inflated balloon with a slow leak.
“Mac, I don’t need to tell you that you’ve got damage control like the Titanic. I know you can rectify the situation and I also know it will take some time. I’ll throw some water on Steve before his fire burns the forest down. He wants an immediate end to this. His only concern is company image going into the fourth quarter. A media leak of any kind could hurt us. You know that any bad publicity sends sales down the toilet.”
“Okay, Dan. I’ll take care of it. How much time can I have?” she asked.
“Let’s start with two weeks. Do what you need to do. If it means hiring a private investigator, then that’s what you’ll have to do. It may be expensive, but think of the money you’ll lose if this results in your termination.”
Mac wanted to tell Dan about the attack from the previous night and get a little sympathy. She wanted someone to come in the room
at the last minute with an urgent message saying the culprit has been apprehended and it’s all over. But neither happened. Dan didn’t want to hear more of Mac’s bad news. He was separating himself from her. More bad news would simply drive the wedge deeper.
“Do you want me to arrange coverage for my district?” she asked.
“Put out a voice mail directing all emergency calls to my office. You should be able to handle the routine calls. I feel it would be best for all concerned if you made this a working vacation. Agreed?” said Dan.
Mac nodded and said, “Anything else, Dan?” She was hoping he’d crack a joke or share an amusing story with her like he always did after they covered matters of a serious nature. But not this time. All she got was a blank stare.
“That’s enough, don’t you think?” said Dan as he looked down at his desk and started shuffling more papers around.
Mac gathered her things and walked toward the office door. She put her hand on the doorknob, turned toward Dan and said, “My best to your wife.”
Dan nodded and picked up his phone. “Nicole, get Steve for me.” Then he swiveled his chair around, putting his back to Mac and stared out his window.
When Mac left Dan’s office, she stopped and waited for Nicole to get off the phone. Then she looked at Nicole and said, “Did security have anything on the camera?”
“Just a blur,” she replied. Truth be told, Nicole didn’t even bother checking with security. Mac had fallen from grace and had already made a down payment on a one way ticket to Nicole’s gone and forgotten list.
When Mac got home, she found a blank envelope taped to her door. She stuck it under her arm and went inside; throwing it on the drop-leaf table in her dining area. There were lots of phone calls to make, people to see and things to do. The envelope would wait.
Mac called all of her stores and provided the necessary information they would need in her absence. Her next priority was to find a good private investigator that could help her clean up the mess and put her life back in order, if that was actually possible.
How do you find a good private investigator? Where do you start? How do you know? thought Mac. She opened the phone book and decided to call whoever had the biggest advertisement. Surely, whoever had the biggest ad would be the most successful. Those advertisements are expensive.
She’d get their rates, credentials and terms, then check them out with the Better Business Bureau. You have to start somewhere, she thought. And I have to remember to ask for referrals.
She decided the place to start was the medicine cabinet and get something to take for her throbbing headache. The anxiety and wine of the previous day, blended slowly with a shitty night’s sleep and stirred well with her chilly meeting with Dan, will always yield a headache supreme.
She read the dosage label and decided the pounding in her head warranted double the recommended dose. She looked wearily in the mirror, rubbed her head and said, “I’ll spoil you with four tablets today and today only. I don’t want you thinking I’ll do this for you every time.”
Mac took her pills and searched out the telephone book. She flipped through the pages and located the largest and nicest looking ad for private investigators.
“Breson Detective Agency. Agents on duty twenty-four hours,” she read aloud. Mac gave them a call and made an appointment for the following morning. Then she called her apartment manager, Carrie Wiggins.
“Hi, Carrie, this is Mac.”
“Good afternoon, Mac. How are you doing this wonderful afternoon?”
Mac liked Carrie. She was an outgoing, sincere and friendly manager. She always had a smile on her face. It didn’t seem natural for anyone not on drugs to smile that much. There were days it drove Mac crazy. How anyone dealing with the public could smile so much was a mystery to her.
“That depends, Carrie. Would you like the truth or the standard, stock answer?”
“Judging by your response, I’d be better off going with the standard reply. If you need an ear though, I’m available.”
“Thanks, Carrie. I appreciate it. I’m okay. I called because I’m leaving town for a couple of weeks on Friday, and I need someone to pick up my mail and keep an eye on my place. Will that be a problem?” asked Mac.
“Not at all. Just drop by the office, fill in the exact dates you’ll be gone and sign the authorization form anytime before you leave. Anything else we can do for you?” asked
Carrie.
“No thanks. That should do it,” said Mac. “I’ll stop by sometime tomorrow.”
“We’ll see you tomorrow then, Mac,” chimed Carrie. “If I’m not here, I’ll make sure I leave a folder with all you need in it. That way anyone can help you.”
“Great,” replied Mac. “Catch ya’ tomorrow.”
Mac had never heard a smile on the telephone until she met Carrie. She wasn’t even sure how it was possible to hear a smile, but Mac could hear Carrie smiling.
She finished up the last of her phone calls and prepared to pack. Her flight was still two days away, but the following day would be pretty full and she had to plan for two weeks.
There was a lot going on in her mind. Thousands of thoughts and details were swirling in her brain like vegetables in a blender. When she looked in her closet, she started daydreaming and couldn’t remember what she was looking for. She knew she was going to Florida but fall was approaching and it would be cool at night. What was I looking for? Gotta’ focus, she thought as she grabbed some plastic hangers with various blouses on them. She packed five blouses and decided to use t-shirts and other various casual items as fillers for the remaining days. She packed one dress and one suit, just in case. The rest of the time she would wear pants, sweaters, t-shirts and sweatshirts.
On her way to the dresser next to her paint easel, she planted a bare foot on the business end of a paint brush. “DAMN!!” shouted Mac. She picked up the brush and wanted to throw it through one of the sliding glass doors leading to her balcony. Instead, she gritted her teeth, lowered her cocked arm and took a deep breath. She gently put the brush back on its tray and counted out sufficient underwear for the trip.
Mac put everything in three suitcases and stacked them by her bedroom closet. She sat on the edge of her bed, went through a mental checklist and was satisfied that she had packed well. Her stomach reminded her of the hour and a glance at the clock verified that it was dinner time.
She rose and as she approached her bedroom door, she heard a faint, masculine voice say, “Don’t forget the paints.”
Mac spun around and saw no one. She was sure she heard the voice, or was she? She had been having problems concentrating and she rationalized that stress can be very disruptive. Perhaps she was simply thinking of packing the paints and didn’t really hear anything except her subconscious speaking out. It was unsettling but manageable. At least it was just voices she heard and voices were easy to explain away. She wouldn’t worry seriously until she started seeing people that weren’t really there.
Mac looked around the room carefully and still didn’t see anyone. She even managed a cautious peek under the bed. Nothing. Nothing at all. She was under extreme stress, her blood sugar was low, she was tired and there wasn’t anyone in the room. Therefore, it was just my imagination, was her answer and motivating force to move on.
Gotta’ get a grip, Mac, she thought as she marched to the kitchen.
Mac didn’t feel like doing dishes so she only had a sandwich and diet drink. After dinner, she made a pot of coffee and took a cup to her living room. On the way, she picked up the mysterious envelope that was taped to her door.
She opened it with the same care used in the food court, figuring the best chance for fingerprints would lie on the paper inside the envelope. Mac remembered she had a pair of rubber gloves in the kitchen so she went and put them on before going any further with the envelope. She assumed the Breson Detective Agency would be equipped to examine the evidence and she wanted to give them every chance to look at untain
ted material.
She tore open the flap, unfolded the contents and revealed two typed pages of text. She took a sip of coffee and began reading.
“My dearest Mac. Ever since our first meeting when you tried to help me make a purchase, I realized what a treasure I had happened on. The warmth in your eyes, the glow around your shapely body and your lovely skin, convinced me ours was not a chance meeting. Destiny brought us together. I am convinced there is no such thing as chance. I know that someday we’ll be together and spend many beautiful evenings in fond embrace. You will love the way I use my fingers to stimulate every part of your body; from your beautiful brown hair down to the tips of your toes.”
There were several more paragraphs explaining what a terrific lover he was and the divine pleasure he would gladly provide, simply by using his tongue.
Mac knew she should be concerned, but she found herself shaking her head in disbelief and smiling. “Why do men think like that?” she said aloud as she took another sip of coffee.
Mac made it through the rest of the letter and saw that it was signed, “Distant Lover”. Underneath was the same red heart with an arrow through it that was on the card in the food court.
“P.S. I think we should meet. I like the romance part of these secretive letters, however there is no substitute for human touch. I long to hold you in my arms. Why don’t you pick a place you feel comfortable with and e-mail it to me at the address below? I promise you won’t regret it!!”
Mac was glad he provided an e-mail address. It would be more evidence for the agency to follow-up on.
She folded the letter, returned it to its envelope and put the envelope in her briefcase. She scooped up her coffee and went to the balcony. She rested her arms on the railing and admired the moon’s reflection on the lake. She took a sip of coffee, looked at the cup and recalled one of her managers asking how she could drink so much coffee, even on hot days. Mac replied, “Why not? A drink is a drink and the caffeine has never been an issue with me,” was her reply.
Mac smiled as she recalled the conversation. It was with a new, young manager just out of college. The manager was bright and energetic. She was also still naïve and believed in several, popular urban myths.
Mac shifted her attention to the night sky and said, “I wish you could hear me, Dad. I wish you were here. Do you remember the time I was scared about being in the school play and we made a secret code no one else knew? You made it a point to be in the first row and never took your eyes off of me. You never stopped smiling either. When I looked at you, I remember you taking your index finger and touching your eye. Then you touched your heart and pointed to me. It made me feel secure and special. It took the edge off of my fear. I sure miss you, Dad,” said Mac as she touched her finger to a teary eye, then her heart and finally pointed toward the sky.
Mac composed herself and sat in a deck chair next to the railing. She watched the tops of the moonlit trees brushing scattered clouds in the sky and listened to locusts chiming in the distance. All the while, she remembered the good days she had as a child with her father and pushed aside all of the recent, ugly events.
Her headache had finally gone away and she began to feel drowsy so she left the balcony and took a long, hot shower. Afterward, she dried her hair and went to bed. This time she decided against a book. This time, as she covered up, there were no voices. There were no shadowy figures. Just darkness, quiet and a peaceful sleep.
The following morning, she put on her blue, pin-stripe business suit. She ate a quick instant breakfast she picked up from the frozen food section at her supermarket and reviewed directions to the Breson Detective Agency. Then she double checked her briefcase and made sure she had the documents Dan had provided and the material from her “admirer”. She knew the papers were in there, but she was always very thorough and left little to chance.
She snapped-up her briefcase and headed for the parking lot elevator; making a mental note to stop by Carrie’s office on the way to the agency.
The elevator doors opened on the garage level like curtains on a stage in an empty theatre. An eerie quiet and stillness awaited her. Mac proceeded as if she were walking on ice. She moved slowly and cautiously to her car. She had one hand on her briefcase and the other on her cell phone; her thumb maintaining a holding pattern over the dial button.
By the time she got to her car, her palms were sweaty and her hands unsteady. She dropped her car keys and nearly suffered an anxiety attack. Her nervousness yielded several unsuccessful attempts to unlock her car door but once unlocked, she jumped in, slammed the door shut and locked it in record time. She exhaled deeply and collected herself. She reached her car without incident and felt silly when she considered her actions. If they ever make getting into your car an Olympic event, I’d never make it through the qualifying rounds! she thought as she looked at herself in the mirror and chuckled. Mac was so occupied with all-consuming thoughts, that she didn’t realize what a beautiful day it was until she got to Carrie’s office.
Mac entered the main office to the apartment complex and saw Carrie sitting at her glass desk. She was talking to someone on the phone, smiling and motioned for Mac to come over.
Mac sat in a very soft, bergere armchair in front of Carrie’s desk and listened as Carrie was bitching to the owner of some landscape company. She was complaining and obviously angry about the quality of some recent work and sure enough, she did it with a smile. How in the world can someone still smile when they’re angry, thought Mac.
When she finally finished the harangue, she looked at Mac, smiled from ear to ear and said, “What a great morning! How are you today, Mac?”
“I feel pretty good, Carrie. Much better than the other night.” Mac explained the assault on her in the parking lot and offered her a copy of the policeman’s business card with the case number on it.
Carrie sat motionless and for the first time Mac could remember, didn’t smile. “I’m stunned, Mac. Why didn’t you let me know right away? That is so horrible. I’ll notify our security staff immediately.”
“Thanks, Carrie. I don’t mean to be short with you but I have an appointment to keep. So if you don’t mind, I’d like to go ahead and sign the mail pick-up authorization.”
Carrie nodded and handed Mac the necessary paperwork. Mac signed and returned them.
Carrie blinked her eyes several times, like she was coming out of a hypnotic trance, started smiling again and said, “So, you’re leaving tomorrow for Florida?”
Mac gathered her things and said, “Yes. I have a two-o’clock flight.”
“Do you need a ride?”
“No, I’m going to catch a cab. Thanks anyway.”
“Well, if you change your mind, you have my number.”
“I appreciate the offer and I‘ll definitely keep it in mind,” said Mac as she headed for the door. Mac turned and looked back to see Carrie on the phone again. She was holding the copy of the policeman’s business card as she talked.
Mac smiled and said, “You go, girl!!”
Mac drove for some time and had no problem finding the detective agency. The huge, gray business building was depressing looking. She had seen photos of prisons that looked more inviting.
The lobby wasn’t much better. There was a cold, gray marble floor, with no plants or accent pieces to brighten the place up. The air conditioning was at full blast and it made her feel like she was walking through a meat locker.
Mac located the name of the detective agency on the lobby directory. It indicated that it was on the seventh floor. As she waited for the elevator, a woman walked over and stood next to Mac. The woman looked at Mac, smiled and said, “Are you going up?“
Mac returned the smile and nodded. What an idiot. They’re on the ground floor. Where else can you go! There’s not even a down button! Mac turned her head slightly and noticed the woman had blond hair. Oh my God!!! she thought as she smiled. Mac continued to smile but avoided eye contact as they boarded the elevator.
<
br /> The elevator was between floors when the woman next to Mac sneezed. Mac heard a faint male voice say, “Bless you.”
Mac twisted her body slightly to the left and then slowly to the right. She was startled and puzzled. The elevator was empty when they boarded and as far as Mac could tell, it still just had the two women on board.
Mac turned to the woman and said, “Did you hear that?”
“No,” replied the woman as she sidestepped away from Mac without so much as casting a glance at her. Good grief, thought Mac as she continued to examine the elevator.
The elevator doors opened on the fifth floor and the woman scurried out, muttering something as she left.
Mac continued to the seventh floor and searched for suite seventy-one. Each door had a small black sign with white letters identifying the occupants. There was another small black square above that with the suite number. She was able to find the office rather quickly but thought it would be very difficult for people with limited vision. When she opened the door, she saw six desks. Three of them were empty and two were occupied by average looking women engaged in some form of computer work. A tall, thin man was standing in front of a sizable copy machine.
The woman closest to Mac ceased what she was doing, looked at Mac and said, “My guess is that you’re Mackenzie Mason.”
Mac raised her eyebrows and said, “Yes. I have an eleven o’clock appointment.”
The woman came from behind the desk, extended her hand and said, “Welcome to Breson. My name is Donna Garrison. I’m the lead investigator who will be working your case, if you decide to go with us and we decide to accept your case. The investigator to my right is Marcia Labonte. The investigator at the copier is Robert Munford. There are two other operatives who work here, but they are out of town on assignments.”
Mac smiled and nodded at each agent as they were introduced. She noticed that Donna was wearing black slacks with some type of hand gun holstered to the belt. Her white blouse had so much starch that it looked like the white cardboard Mac used as backing when she mailed pictures. And every hair on Donna’s head was pulled tightly and perfectly back into a ponytail.
Donna had a beautiful face and exactly the right amount and kind of make-up to enhance that beauty. Mac assumed her beauty probably played a key role in getting information when others might not be able to. She also thought Donna would have a promising career in modeling if the detective job ever failed her.
“Have a seat there Miss Mason and I’ll tell you a little about myself,” said Donna as she gestured toward a chair with her hand. Donna returned to her chair and asked, “What name do you usually go by?”
“I prefer to be called Mac. My dad called me Mac as child and it just stuck with me.”
Donna sat completely upright and continued. “Well, Mac, I went to Northern Illinois University, majored in Police Science and graduated in the top five of my class. I have been an investigator for seventeen years now. Four of those years were as a police homicide detective and the remainder has been spent as a private investigator. There aren’t any investigators with Breson who have less than ten years of experience. We are not the best in the industry but we are ranked in the top fifty nationally. Our first consultation today is free. Thereafter we charge different rates according to the needs of the client. Our rates are competitive and we document every expense. We guarantee one hundred per-cent confidentiality. Any questions so far?”
“Not yet,” replied Mac.
“Tell me a little about yourself and why you need our help,” said Donna.
Mac went into great length about her failed marriage to Frank, her position and responsibilities as a district manager and the assorted problems she had with different managers. Then she elaborated on and almost relived the attack in the parking lot of her apartment. She paused to clear her throat.
“Would you like some water?” asked Donna.
“That would be great.”
Donna spun around and walked briskly to a small white refrigerator sitting on a small table in the corner of the office. Minutes later she returned and handed Mac some bottled water, and opened one for herself.
“Would you like a cup or glass?”
“No thanks,” said Mac.
“By the way…there’s no charge for the water!” said Donna with a smile.
Mac chuckled slightly and continued. She told Donna about the letters to the corporate office, the ultimatum from her upper echelon, and her secret admirer. In fact, she spent forty-five minutes telling Donna everything except her bra size and the voices she had heard. It didn’t seem to be the right time for that sort of information. Especially the voices.
By the time Mac had completed her narration, Donna had penned three pages of notes on a yellow, legal size notepad.
“After listening to your story, it’s evident that we will need two investigators on this case. One to provide twenty-four hour surveillance and one to do background investigative work. We generally ask for a six hundred and fifty dollar retainer fee. Surveillance fees are fifty dollars an hour and thirty cents a mile, plus expenses. We’ll need to run criminal record checks, phone record checks, etc. You’re probably looking at ten thousand dollars for the first week alone. Now we could cut some of that off by limiting the surveillance if you desire.”
Mac leaned forward, started rubbing her forehead and chuckled. She looked at Donna’s puzzled face and said, “Damn! It just gets better and better!!”
“Are you financially equipped to handle these expenses?”
“Do I have a choice? “
“You could check with another agency,” offered Donna.
Mac shook her head no and said, “I hope you have an installment plan.”
“We can arrange a payment plan for you, financed over twenty-four months.”
Mac sighed and said half-heartedly, “Looks like the main staple of my diet will be water and hotdogs!! Oh well, let’s do it.”
Mac was just starting to build her savings up again and had a little over eight thousand dollars in her account. She would have to dip into her company retirement plan or get a loan to pay the tab. She might even have to get a second job.
Donna started pulling out various forms for Mac to read, fill-in and sign. While Mac started the paperwork, Donna went to Marcia’s desk and had a brief conversation with her. When she returned, she waited for Mac to look up and said, “Marcia and Robert will be working the case with me.” Donna handed Mac three index cards. Each card had a small photo with typed information.
“Hang on to those cards, Mac. Each one has the photo of the investigator who will be working the case. It also has their regular contact and emergency telephone numbers.”
Mac looked at the picture of Donna and then at Donna. “This actually looks like you.”
Donna smiled and said, “We prepare new cards once every three months.”
Mac completed the required paperwork, handed over copies of everything she had pertinent to the investigation and said, “What’s next?”
“I’ll need a check or credit card for the six hundred and fifty dollar retainer and then you can leave and get ready for your trip. One of us will catch up to you sometime tomorrow or Saturday.”
“Any other questions?”
“Do you take blood as a form of payment?” asked Mac with a dry smile as she pulled a credit card from her wallet.
Donna returned the smile and said “Not yet!”
After everything was done, Donna walked Mac to the door, shook her hand and said, “Don’t worry, Mac, we’ll clean this mess up for you and get you back on track.”
“I wonder,” said Mac passively.
CHAPTER TWO
FLORIDA