Death in a Funhouse Mirror (11 page)

Her small mouth, painted a garish orangey red, pursed into a prissy O and she shook her head. "My my, Thea. That's quite a speech. I'm not sure you want to be so hasty, though. I know my rights under the law." I waited patiently, wondering what rights she was going to assert. "I know I'm protected from a retaliatory firing."

"An employer may fire an employee for unsatisfactory work. There's nothing retaliatory about that."

"That's not why you're firing me," she said, smirking. "You're firing me because I complained about sexual harassment."

"Bullshit," I said, amazed at her brazenness. If this girl had put half the imagination she put into protecting herself into her work, I wouldn't need to fire her.

The smirk sat there, growing wider. "You made advances to me, and I refused them," she said. "I wrote a memo to Suzanne, complaining about it. You'll find a copy in her files and naturally I kept a copy for myself. And now you're trying to fire me." She paused to let her words sink in, and then continued, "So maybe you'd like to think again about firing me?"

I wanted to tell her she was crazy, that I was as heterosexual as a person could be and that even if I was attracted to women, she'd be the last one I'd choose, but it wasn't my sexuality which was at issue here, it was her character. One thing was finally clear. I knew the source of her glowing recommendations, her fine resume. Blackmail. It was certainly true that she could make a lot of trouble for me, for us. Trouble we didn't need. But I wasn't going to be manipulated by an incompetent little sneak. She probably didn't expect me to fight back; it didn't look like the others had. But I wasn't somebody else and I hated duplicity and intimidation. This time Miss Valeria Davie, that arrogant, dishonest, incompetent, illiterate, homophobic despiser of secretaries, had found someone who wouldn't roll over and play dead. "There's nothing to think about," I said. "Your accusations are garbage. I want you out of here. Now."

She was surprised, but maintained the arrogant tilt of her head. "I'll leave," she said, "but this isn't the end, you know, it's only the beginning." She swept out, trying to look regal, but it's hard to look regal when you're wearing ugly, ill-fitted clothes. When the door banged shut behind her, I put my head down on the desk and moaned. This was the last thing we needed right now. A sexual harassment investigation, even though it was bound to result in a finding in our favor, would be a major distraction, and I needed to concentrate on getting business. I had to believe she would carry out her threat.

I buzzed Sarah on the intercom. "I just fired Valeria," I said. "Watch her carefully. Don't let her take anything from the files, and call me when she's about to leave."

"I probably shouldn't say this, but oh goody," Sarah said.

Acting on the theory that the best defense is a good offense, I called my father. The dragons who protect him knew better than to keep me out, and I was connected without delay. After we got through the familial preliminaries, I told him why I was calling.

"Dad, I need some legal advice." Unlike the shoemaker whose children had no shoes, my dad loves to use his legal knowledge to help out the family. He listened very carefully to the whole story, and immediately started planning our defense. By the time I got off the phone, I had a laundry list more than a page long. And that was just the beginning.

I hoped Suzanne was coming back after her meeting with the minister. I needed to talk to her. Badly.

Sarah buzzed. "You'd better get out here. She's heading for the door."

"I'm coming. Tell Bobby to block the door and not let her past until I get there."

"I already did," she said. Sarah had that invaluable attribute of a good secretary, the ability to anticipate what needed to be done. Like me, she'd figured out that even though Bobby was as gentle as a lamb, his imposing size and Valeria's open fear of gays would keep her from trying to pass.

By the time I got there, Valeria was practically frothing at the mouth, screaming expletives at Bobby, who was lounging calmly in the doorway. "Just one more thing, Valeria, before you go," I said. "I need to check the papers you're taking to be sure you aren't violating your employment agreement." I waved a copy of the agreement she'd signed and reached for the briefcase.

"Don't you touch that, you disgusting lesbian," she snapped.

"No problem. If you don't want me to go through it, Mrs. Dillon can do it." Mrs. Dillon, of course, being Sarah. Valeria stood clutching the briefcase a little longer. Finally, she tossed it onto the floor at my feet.

"Go ahead. Search," she said. "You won't find anything."

I took everything out of the briefcase, carefully checking all the pockets, and piled it on Magda's desk. "Magda, can you make a list of everything that's here as I check it."

Magda got her steno pad and a pencil. "Ready," she said.

I started going through the papers, sure that Valeria would try to take something she shouldn't, unless she'd already taken it with her another day. I felt like the central character in a badly scripted spy novel, feeling more and more foolish as each paper proved to be perfectly harmless. I was almost at the bottom of the pile before I found it. But what she was trying to take away was dynamite from a business standpoint. In her pile of "personal" papers, Valeria had copies of our client lists for the past four years, copies of the list of clients we were currently courting, and our target list of potential clients. Lists which are kept in Suzanne's office, in a locked filing cabinet. After that were the file copies of our two most comprehensive reports, and taped to the back page of the second report were two computer disks. By the time I found the disks, I was ready to strangle her.

I held out the client lists, so she could see what they were. "Where did you get these?"

There was that idiotic smirk again. She shrugged. "I forget. They were in my desk. I must have just picked them up with all my other papers."

"What are these computer disks?"

"Just my working disks, the ones I did my drafts on."

Neither disk was labeled. I stuck the first one into Magda's computer and pulled up the index. It was a copy of my personal correspondence disk. The second disk was the corresponding file from Suzanne's computer. I had no idea why she wanted them, but they were none of her business.

I held out my hand. "Let me see your purse."

She clutched it tightly to her side. "No way," she said, "that's personal."

"That's what you said about the papers. I'll give you a choice. You can let me look in the purse, or I can call the police, and we can wait here until they come and then I will look in your purse. They will back me up. I guarantee it. Employers do have rights with respect to employees like you."

"Oh, all right. You can look. But you're going to be sorry you treated me like this. Very, very sorry." She opened her purse, took out her wallet, checkbook, car keys, and makeup bag, and tucked them into the baggy pockets of her jacket. Then she took her purse, aimed it at me with the top open, and heaved. A heavy shower of stuff bounced off my shirt and pants and landed on the floor by my feet. I didn't look at it. I was watching Valeria. She marched up to Bobby, holding her breath, and croaked, "Out of my way, queer." He looked at me. I nodded, and he let Valeria go. We all stood in a stunned circle, listening to the
clackity clack
of her high heels until she disappeared down the stairs.

"Boy howdy," Sarah said, "are we ever lucky to be rid of that little witch. She tried to steal half the office." She looked down at the floor by my feet. Among the loot Valeria had stuffed in her purse were four packets of computer disks, five dozen pens, six printer cartridges, eight rolls of stamps, and the elegant, expensive pen Paul's mother had given Suzanne as an engagement present. "I wonder what else she took."

Magda shook her head sadly. "There have been other things," she said in her slightly accented English. "I was trying to decide whether to bring it up. But Suzanne has been so busy. I didn't want to trouble her just now."

"Didn't want to trouble me with what?" Suzanne said. She stared at the mess on the floor and Valeria's collapsed pocketbook. "What's this mess?"

"I fired Valeria."

"And she tried to steal half the office when she left," Sarah said.

"Worse yet, she tried to take your pen, that you had from Paul's mother," Magda added.

"And worse than that, she tried to steal our client lists, our reports, and our personal correspondence disks, and she has threatened to sue us for firing her, claiming that it was a retaliatory firing."

"Retaliating for what?" Suzanne said. "Incompetence? Since when is that forbidden?"

I figured I might as well let the whole staff in on the problem, so I didn't wait until we were in her office to tell her. "She claims that she will say I made advances to her, and when she complained to you, you refused to act and I fired her." Magda made a disgusted face and started picking up the stuff on the floor. Sarah bent to help her. Bobby, looking extremely confused, wandered back to his desk. "Let's get some coffee, take it into your office, and talk."

"I'll get the coffee," Sarah said. "You'd better sit down, Thea, you don't look so good."

I hadn't realized, until I sank into a chair in Suzanne's office, how much of a strain the last hour had been. It didn't help that it was after three, and I hadn't had any lunch. Suzanne stayed behind to give some instructions to Magda. I waited for her, my head in my hands, experiencing a crisis of conscience. Suzanne didn't need this kind of aggravation right now. Why hadn't I waited until next week? Had I really needed to fire her at all? How messy were things going to get if she really did file a complaint? All the questions that hadn't bothered me before, when I'd been so certain I was right, hammered at me now, and I wasn't sure I knew the answers.

She came in quietly, shut the door behind her, and handed me some coffee. "Come on," she said, "it's not that bad. We would have had to do this sooner or later. She was hopeless."

"I know that." I showed her the list I'd made. "I called my father. Got some free legal advice. Looks like a busy afternoon ahead of us."

She made a face. "And I was having such a good day, too. Well, those are the breaks. Before we plunge in, is there any good news? Proposals accepted, serious leads, anything like that?"

I almost said no, but then I remembered Cliff. "Maybe. Something completely different. I'm not sure it's for us, though." I told her about my conversation with Cliff, and his suggestion that we consider trying a project for him. She listened thoughtfully, tapping her lip with her finger like she often did when she was thinking.

"I don't know, Thea. It might not be a bad idea. The principles are the same, if he could help us identify the client market. It might even be fun to try something new and see if we could make it work. After all, someday we might run out of schools."

I was surprised. "You mean you'd really consider it?"

"Why not? Nothing ventured, nothing gained, you know. There is one thing, though. This is the same man whose wife was just killed, right? He may just be trying to create a smoke screen of work to distract himself from his personal situation. We'd need to be sure he's serious about this."

"I'm seeing him on Wednesday. I can find out then." I picked up my list. "You want to go over this now?"

She made a face. "I'd rather talk about flower arrangements and rings, but I do understand about priorities. Where do we start?"

"You won't believe this," I said, "but the first thing we need is a bunch of those disposable plastic gloves, like you use for painting, to wear while we go through the files, to see if she's planted anything there. And whatever you do, don't touch those computer disks until you put on the gloves."

"You're kidding. We're worried about fingerprints? Our little old consulting firm?"

"What we're worried about is our reputation, partner. That and a quick and successful defense to an investigation. My father is sending us his paralegal, Karla Kaplan, to help out. She's done document searches like this before. She's bringing the gloves. And he wants me to call a computer specialist."

Suzanne rubbed her forehead wearily. "Casting out visions of sugar plums," she said with a wry smile, "or rather, orange blossoms. I'm beginning to see why you look so discouraged. This is more work than I thought."

"Should I have handled it differently?"

"I don't think so. It's obvious she knew she was in trouble and was already planning how she'd handle things when we fired her. She'd already looted the files and the supply closet. I wonder how she got the data on those disks? And why?"

"Sneaked in when we were out of the office briefly? Maybe the computer guy can tell us."

"It's so ugly," she said, shaking her head. "She seemed so nice. Had such fine recommendations...."

"And now we know how she got them."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "Oh, of course. I hadn't thought of that. I'm not usually so naive, am I?"

"No. Naive is not a word I would use to describe you." I handed her the list and stood up. "You might want to look this over. I've got to get a sandwich. You want anything?"

"No thanks," she said, "I had a big lunch."

"All right for you," I said, "but we've got a long night ahead, and I can't fight evil on an empty stomach."

 

 

 

Chapter 7