Spruced Up (3 page)

Chapter Four

“So what did you find?” my mom asked as we drove up State Street and parked in front of Molly Branigan’s Pub. 

Rather than telling her I found squat, I asked, “What do you think about Mary Kay, Betty Lou, and Laurel?  They’re newish and I don’t know any of them well.”

“They’ve all be with us for.…” She was quiet a moment as she thought, “probably five years.  I like them all.  They fit in well with the rest of the staff.  They all were hired about the same time and they’ve all become good friends.  Art calls them the
three amigos
.  Gil just calls them
trouble
.  I don’t want you to think he means that in a bad way.  He means it in pretty much the same way he meant it when he called you trouble.”

If those three could give my very Mac-ish brother the same kind of trouble I gave him back in the day they were all right in my book.

“How about the two newest employees?  Joslyn and Carson?”

“They’ve both fit in well.  They’re not exactly new.  Joslyn’s been with us a year and, oh, maybe a half.  Carson a year.”

“That means both of them were there long enough to have something to do with the missing supplies.”  I asked the question I didn’t want to ask but knew I had to.  “Are you sure they are missing supplies?  Maybe someone made it look like supplies were stolen but in reality they were pocketing the money.”

“I’m not sure how easy that would be.  I think someone would notice when orders came in for less than we ordered.”

“Someone did notice,” I told her.  “You and Dad did notice something wasn’t right.”  Looking at the order forms and sheets, I figured someone could have made it look as if they were ordering more supplies than they were.  But odds are, they’d have to have a partner at the suppliers’.  And there was more than one supplier, so they’d have to have more than one partner.

No, I think that might get too complex.  Simple was probably better, and more likely.

My mom shook her head.  “I guess it is possible, but I don’t think it’s plausible.  It would be hard for someone brand new to figure out how to make it work. They’d need a connection at each of the suppliers and.…”  She shook her head.  “No, I don’t think it’s likely.”

“Me either.”  It would have been easier for me.  Money was a motive I could understand.  Office supplies—I couldn’t find a way to make stealing them seem worth it.

Mom and I walked into the lower eastside bar.  Irish music blared over the speakers.  Mom led the way and I followed her through the tight clusters of tables and patrons.  Everyone was there already.

I looked at the table.  My two brothers, Gil and Art, looked like younger clones of my father.  Their wives, Tanya and Marie
, respectively have always been nice to me, but I’ll confess, I don’t know them well.  I see them when I come home for visits, but generally like this…in family situations.  I looked at my mom and thought about how much our relationship had changed over the last few months.  Maybe it was time to see about changing things with Tanya and Marie, too.

“Quincy,” they all said.  It was a rather staid welcome but given that it was my family where even understated excitement was overstated, I felt welcome.

“Hi, everyone.”  I sat on one side of my dad, and Mom sat on his other side. 

I
braced myself for a night of medical conversations and was practically shocked when Gil said, “So, about the forgeries?”

“Yes,” Art said.  “Tell us all about your new case.”

And suddenly, everyone at the table was looking at me and waiting to hear what I had to say.

It was an unusual experience. 

No one in my family has ever asked me about removing a stain or the proper way to polish silver.

It felt nice. 

I dove into the story.  “It all started with a call from Theresa—”

My mom filled in, “The worst employee that Quincy’s ever had.”

“Yes,” I said, then finished the story, most of which had been covered in the paper.  Still, they sat through dinner, listening to my version, and asking the occasional question.

The conversation eventually made it to medicine, but I didn’t mind.  I’m probably the only LA maid who
knows what ankylosing spondylitis is. (Chronic inflammation of the spine and sacroiliac joints.) 

It was actually a very nice family diner.

On Friday I went into Mac-Prac (see, it sort of rolls off the tongue, doesn’t it?) at lunchtime. Mom and Dad had put in a very nice lunchroom with a full kitchen at the new offices.  On Fridays, they have lunch brought in and the office eats in shifts.

I wanted a chance to get to see the new employees up close without being obvious.  Although, having the bosses’ daughter/sister/sister-in-law hanging out in the break room wasn’t ideal, it was the best I could come up with.

I made cookies that morning and brought them in warm.  “My family feel like you all are family, too,” I said.  “Which makes you my family in a step-family sort of way,” I said.

I’d have been less conspicuous if I’d come in to clean the place.

“So tell me about yourselves,” I said to Betty Lou, Mary Kay, and Laurel.  Mom had told me the three of them were hired about the same time and worked predominately for Art and Gil. 

They all looked at me as if I were crazy.  So I tried, “You know my brothers.  They’re not overly talkative.  I remember, when we were little, we went on a car-trip from Erie to Boston.  It was a good day’s travel.  Art read two books and Gil read one, though he argued how much they read should be measured by page-count, not by the quantity of books.  His was some dusty tome on politics.  Ask me what I read?”

Mary Kay obliged.  “What did you read, Quincy?” 

“Ten magazines.  By the time we got to Boston, I was an expert on current fashion—though this was the nineties, so it wasn’t great fashion by any stretch of the imagination.  I also was well informed about everything that was going on in Hollywood.”

They all smiled Laurel said, “My brother used to be infuriating he….” 

All three of them talked about their siblings, about their families now, about my brothers.  They laughed and ate, and they made me feel welcome.

For the life of me, I couldn’t think of a subtle way of asking if they had by any chance purloined a significant quantity of supplies.  But in my gut, I thought I knew the answer.  No.  They hadn’t.

After they finished eating and went back to work, Carson and Jocelyn came in.  They sat together as well.  That made sense since they were a couple decades younger than the rest of the staff.  I took cookies around to everyone, most of them I’d known for years.

I went to Carson and Jocelyn’s table last.  “Hi.  You two are new here.  I’m Quincy Mac—”

“Oh, Quincy, we know who you are.  Your mom has gone on and on about her brilliant daughter, the super-sleuth, business owner, and mother extraordinaire.  Have a seat,” Jocelyn said.  “It was nice of you to make cookies for everyone.  But that doesn’t surprise me.  Your family is very nice.  This is one of the best places I’ve ever worked.  And I’m not just talking your mom’s catered Friday lunches.  It’s the little things.  My son had the flu a couple weeks after I started working here.  I took him to my mom’s, but when your mother heard I’d left him, she sent me home.  She said, W
hen a child’s sick, they want their mom.  There are times you can’t be there, but this isn’t one of those times.  Go.  We’ll all cover for yo
u.  I heard she picked up a lot of the slack herself that day.”

“I remember when I was little.  I must have been in first or second grade.  I got sick in school and Mom came to get me.  I thought she’d take me to our babysitter’s house, but she took me home and spent the afternoon making me tea and toast and watching Little House on the Prairie with me.”  Wow, that was a memory I hadn’t pulled out in years.

There were other times I’d been sick and she’d had surgeries and had to leave me, but that day, she’d juggled her schedule to be with me.  I kinda wanted to find her and hug her.

“Yeah, she’s a special lady,” I agreed.  I needed to turn the conversation back to them.  “What did you do before this?”

“I worked at the hospital but found I wanted something different.  I knew your family from there, and when I heard they were hiring, I put my application in right away,” Jocelyn said.

Carson had been quiet. 

“And you?” I asked.

“Jocelyn told me how much she loved it here, so I applied.”  That wasn’t the whole truth, I realized, watching the two of them sitting across the table.  He’d followed her—and not because he’d heard how awesome it was here, but because he loved her.

I don’t know what I expected, but I’d hoped interviewing the newer employees would give me some kind of clue.  Something that would show me who did it.  But the only mystery I’d solved was why Carson had come to work for my parents.  He loved Jocelyn.

So, I made small talk with the two lovebirds and realized how much I missed Cal.

After lunch, I went back to my parents’ house, plugged in the lights on the tree and called him.

“Hey, Detective, how’s the new case?” I asked.

“Not talking about it,” was his stubborn response.

I wanted to assure him I didn’t need to figure out his case, that I was still working on mine and hadn’t gotten anywhere. 

So, I asked, “Any chance you’ll be finished by Christmas?” 

“Why?”  He still sounded suspicious.

“Because I miss you and would love if you could take a couple days off.”  There.  The truth was out.  Seeing Jocelyn and Carson together had made me miss Cal.

“I’d like that,” he said.  “I’ll see what I can do.  How’s your case?”

“I noticed you won’t tell me anything about what you’re doing, but you’re quick to ask about what I’m doing.”

He simply laughed.  He was convinced I was a danger to myself after my two near death experiences—his opinion, not mine.  I had everything handled in both cases.  Anyway, he’s positive I’m going to get myself killed
with my new avocation. 

I answered him, mainly to put his mind at rest.  “I talked to all the new employees.  They all seemed nice and genuine.  I don’t think they went to work for my family’s practice because they’re pa
rt of some international toilet paper fencing ring.”

“Toilet paper?”

“Yeah, it’s not just medical supplies.  Orders are up across the board.  Toilet paper, hand sanitizer…all of it.”

“So what are you thinking?” he asked.

“Maybe someone’s faking the orders and just pocketing the money.  But the invoices seem legit.  And if they did that, they’d either have to have an accomplice at each company we order from or they’d need to fake the invoices and our payments in a way that I haven’t thought of.  I’ve done our ordering for Mac’Cleaners, but I’m not a forensic supply invoice expert.”  I sighed.  This was depressing.  I found out who stole and forged the missing art, and I found out who killed Mr. Banning.  Why was it so hard to figure out where these supplies went?

“Quincy, don’t put too much pressure on yourself.  You’re supposed to be on vacation.”

“Cal, my mom has faith that I can do it.  She believes in me.”  And that was it in a nutshell.  That was why this mattered so much.  My mother was proud of my accomplishments, and she believed I could figure this out. 

“Then take a step back,” he said. “Go back to the basics.  Ask yourself, what would someone’s motive be?”

“Thanks.  I’ll talk to you later.” 

“I love you,” he said.

  “I love you, too.”

I sat in the warm glow of those words as well as the warm glow of the Christmas lights.  I mulled over what he’d said. 

Cal was right.  Why would people take supplies? 

To supply something.

Like?

Another doctor’s office?

Or maybe to sell?

Money.  We weren’t talking high finance here, but from what I could glean, there were enough missing supplies to make someone a tidy little sum.