“Be good,” I whispered as soon as I was close to her. We were waiting for our purses to make it through the scanning process along with a man in a suit who tapped his foot constantly as he waited. Something about him seemed familiar, then I realized it was the other jerk from the California Mission Society. Oscar. I turned to face the man, catching him by surprise.
“Hello there. We just keep running into each other. Are you following me?” I smiled and turned it up a notch as he stared, then quickly shook his head.
He reached over in front of me and grabbed his wallet and keys, stuffing them into his pocket, then took the handle of his briefcase and tucked it under his arm. “Believe me, Miss Gardner, I have much more pressing business than to follow a shopkeeper from South Cove around all day.”
I watched him stride away, aiming toward the bank of elevators.
“Friend of yours?” My aunt stood next to me, holding out my purse.
I slung the tote over my neck. “Member of the Mission Society. I don't think the man has a friendly bone in his body. He's been rude and snide every time I've met him.”
We stepped toward the elevators, but by the time we checked the directory, the man was gone. As we waited for our ride to the fifth floor and the Business Records Department, my aunt watched the floor indicators on the various elevators. “Some people just don't know how to be nice.” She nodded to the far elevator, which had stopped on the top floor. It was also the elevator that Oscar had taken. “Especially those who think they are above everyone else.”
A woman with a cheery smile and a name tag that read
Madeline
greeted us as soon as the elevator doors opened on the fifth floor. Apparently the Business Records Department took up the entire floor. South Cove records were filed in a basement room with one light and a table. And what I assumed were mice, due to the traps Amy had to clear out once a week.
This looked like a modern doctor's office with a large waiting room and a receptionist who could schedule your next appointment and take your payment for your bill.
“Welcome to Bakersfield Records Department. What can I do for you this glorious day?” Madeline gave us her entire attention as we stepped off the elevator. As we approached, she held up one finger and answered a phone call using her headset with a built-in microphone. She routed the call and then refocused on us. “Sorry about that. Anita is supposed to be on the phones, but she hasn't shown up yet.”
My aunt leaned close to the reception desk. “We need to review the business filings for a”âshe pretended to stop and check her notesâ“oh, there it is, Promote Your Event?”
Madeline handed her a clipboard with a pen. “Fill this out and provide the twenty-dollar copy fee and we'll have copies ready for you by two.”
“That's it? A form and a fee?” I couldn't believe we were getting this lucky.
The receptionist took another call before she answered. “I'm going to kill that woman when she finally gets in. Seriously, who can't get to work by nine?” She shook her head. “Sorry, you don't want to hear about my problems. Anyway, if Anita was here, I could get them done as you wait, but a girl only has two hands.”
We went to the lobby area to fill out the form. “I guess I'd better call Amy and change lunch to tomorrow.”
Aunt Jackie didn't even look up from the magazine she was studying. “I told you so.”
CHAPTER 11
A
fter leaving our request form and the mandatory copy fee with Madeline, we headed over to check out the building where Promote Your Event was housed. The Jeep was parked in the county parking lot, so we walked the two blocks to our next stop. The smell of flowers masked the traffic fumes even though Bakerstown had ten times as much car activity as South Cove. It almost felt like walking down Main Street at homeâwith a lot larger buildings and more people. South Cove businesses called Wednesdays the dead zone. Typically we only had those few vacationers who had booked an entire week at one of the bed-and-breakfasts in town wandering through. And most of those were heading to the beach to relax for the day.
“It's nice here.” I dodged an oncoming pair of women in suits heading toward the courthouse. “In a formal business kind of way.”
Aunt Jackie sniffed and made a face. “You can't smell the ocean here. It's just a nice little town with summer flowers lining the streets.”
“Can you believe Josh wants to put air fresheners up on the street lamps? You'd think he'd just focus on buying dehumidifiers for his shop rather than say something that stupid.” I laughed, but when I saw the look of anger on my aunt's face, I started walking faster.
“Can we not talk about that man?”
“Sure, sorry. I wasn't thinking.” I paused at a restaurant that had their menu posted. The place was a bar and grill but seemed to turn that definition into something a lot more upscale than the dive places where Greg and I liked to eat that lined the coastal highway. I pointed to the menu. “This place looks good. Maybe we can stop here on our way back.”
Yes, it is all about the food for me
. My stomach grumbled at the thought of crab cakes and a lobster roll, topped off with a dark craft beer.
“Maybe. I'd rather have sushi if there's someplace close.” My aunt looked at the wrought-iron fence enclosing the patio. “I guess they are afraid of walk offs.”
I hurried to catch up with her. “A lot of places enclose their outdoor seating. There's a lot of good reasons to do it besides walk-off customers.”
“Get the money up front, makes people honest.” My aunt paused, touching the black grate fence. “Reminds me of a prison yard, not a place to relax.”
Boy, I was striking out on acceptable conversation starters today. I scanned the area, but it took a few minutes before I found a new topic. A woman passed us carrying a small toy Maltese. I pointed at the dog. “I think Harrold's getting a replacement for Tiny, finally.”
My aunt turned her head. “Harrold?”
I nodded. “The Train Station owner? Over by Diamond Lille's? Haven't you met him yet?”
She shook her head. “I don't believe so. When I moved here, he'd just lost his wife, so he wasn't attending any of the committee meetings. I think the last time I stopped by with a marketing basket from the shop, a young man was running the shop.”
“That must be his grandson. I'm going to invite him to our next Business-to-Business meeting to talk about websites. I guess The Train Station is getting most of their orders online these days.”
Aunt Jackie looked thoughtful. “It makes sense. People are too busy with their lives to visit a hobby store. Unless it's in the same place as the normal weekend errands, ordering online would be much more convenient.”
We walked in silence for a while. I thought about the bookstore part of the shop. We could do announcements and book club meeting schedules on our website. Currently the page had a picture of the shop, a pickup order menu for the coffee selections, and our address and phone number. I'd seen better sites for estate attorney's offices when I was researching the building last night. “Do you think we should increase our web presence?”
My aunt nodded. “Let's see what he has to say and talk to Sasha about this. She's always on that tablet of hers. She could give us some practical advice.”
One more thing for my to-do list, but at least this one I was starting to get excited about. I started listing off all the possible things we could add, when my aunt held up her hand.
“Stop. We're here.” She pointed to the address in gold block letters on the side of the all-white building.
I held open the door and went to the directory posted by the elevator. I found the listing for the Ashfords' office. “Seventh floor, suite seven-fifteen.”
When we arrived, the elevator doors opened onto a white hallway. As we stepped out, a glass-windowed sitting room dead-ended to our right, so we turned left. The hallway stretched out in front of us.
“Remind you of something?” My aunt took a step toward the end.
As we passed office after office, I tried to place my unease. “Crap, this setup is just like
The Shining
. If two little girls ask us to play, I'm throwing you in front of them so I can escape to the elevator.”
She giggled, grabbing my arm like a vise grip. “You'll drag me with you. Either both of us are getting out, or neither.”
“You're very selfish.” I fake-winced under the grip. “But strong.”
“I've started lifting weights with a video at home. You should try it.” My aunt stopped me at a glass door. The lights were off, but
Promote Your Event
was written in black paint on the door. Along with
Sandra and Michael Ashford, Owners
. “Here we are, but I don't think it's open.”
I jiggled the door. Locked. A handwritten sign had been taped on the inside of the door.
Closed due to a death in the family. Reopening soon. Leave a message on our phone machine and we'll get back to you.
I'd had to write one of those
closed because of death
notes before, but boy, this guy had even left the phone number on the bottom. “He sure didn't want to miss out on any business.”
“It's a little odd, I'll grant you that, but it's amazing customer service.” My aunt tapped the bottom of the door, where mail had been shoved through a slot. “From the looks of it, the place has been closed for days. Look at all that.”
Sandra had been dead less than a week, and the office floor looked like there was at least two months' worth of bills piled up. I heard a door open behind me.
“Sorry, they're closed,” a woman behind us said.
We turned to see the blonde dressed in a conservative dress with a blazer over the top. I put on my best
just wondering
smile and asked, “How long have they been out of the office?”
The woman locked her door, putting the keys in a bag that I was sure was a knock off. If she was one of the attorneys at that law firm, they weren't pulling in any money. “I can't be sure, but it's been a couple of weeks now. My husband and I went to Mexico for our anniversary at the first of the month, and when I got back, they were gone.”
“I guess I'll just call and leave a message then. Thanks for your help.” I wrote the number down in my notebook.
“No problem. I hope you reach them. That brunette's been here quite a few times this week and says Michael never calls her back.” The woman waved and headed to the bank of elevators.
“Brunette?” Aunt Jackie glanced around the hallway, then pointed to an upper corner where a camera with a blinking light was situated. “Maybe your boyfriend should check out the security feeds for the building.”
Sure, I'd get right on asking him to do that. And right after he gave me a lecture about staying out of his investigations, he'd probably just break up with me to solve all of these types of issues in the future. “I'm sure Greg's already on it. Let's go check out the other five businesses.”
We split up the names and agreed to meet at the bar and grill we'd passed on our way at noon. “Just don't seat us outside in the cage. I've spent my time behind bars, I don't need a reminder,” my aunt said.
“You were in there less than twenty-four hours, it's not like you did time,” I reminded her. Aunt Jackie had stolen a secret account book from a guy who made his business setting up phony travel plans for gullible seniors. The guy had pressed charges, but changed his mind once the book was discovered and proved his shady business practices. My aunt had been telling tales of the big house ever since.
“Still traumatic.” She claimed the first elevator that was going up for her two stops. I waited for another one that would take me down to the sixth floor.
“Still dramatic,” I countered to myself as I stood looking out the window at the sunny day.
It took me less than an hour to talk to the three businesses on my list. None of them had even known Promote Your Event was housed in the same building. At my last stop, I did get an offer from the CPA in 502B to take over our accounting and tax filing. The guy handed me a folder with a couple of handouts including
Five Reasons You Need an Accountant
and
Top Ten Warning Signs Your Business Is Failing
. He also had his business card and a 10-percent discount coupon on our first month of services tucked in the promotional handout. I thanked him for his time and hurried out to meet Aunt Jackie for lunch.
I found her at a table near the window, an iced tea already waiting for me. “How'd Operation Ashford go?”
My aunt rolled her eyes. “Seriously? That's all you got? Operation Ashford? You'd never be a good spy. You might as well call it Operation Digging Up Dirt to Find Sandra's Killer.”
I scanned the menu. Crab cake appetizer, check, but no lobster roll. I settled on a fish-and-chips basket to go with my crab cakes. I set the menu down and took out the folder, handing it over to Aunt Jackie. “Here, in case we want to hire an accountant.”
She raised her eyebrows but took it. “Do you think I'm doing a bad job?”
I spit out the sip of tea I'd just taken. Grabbing a napkin, I mopped up the liquid. “No. One of the names on my list was a CPA, and in order to get what I wanted to know, I had to listen to his sales spiel.” I tapped the folder. “And we get ten percent off his services.”
“We don't have an accountant now, so that's a ninety percent increase in costs.” She shook her head. “Honestly, until the shop starts making some real money, we're better off hiring and supporting our staff with a livable wage than adding on costs like this.”
“You don't have to convince me. Like I said, I had to listen to a twenty-minute sales pitch just to find out the guy had never even known the Ashfords had an office in the building.” I sipped my tea. “How did you do?”
“I talked to Amanda Forest, who runs an organizational design consulting company. She knew about the Ashfords and had talked to Sandra about doing some joint cold calls on local businesses. I guess she thought the two services worked well together, but from what Amanda said, Sandra wasn't interested in any partnership.” Aunt Jackie leaned forward. “Amanda got the impression that Sandra was closing the business.”
“That doesn't make any sense. When we met with the Mission Society, Adam made it very clear that we would be working with Michael's company next year if we chose to host another run.”
Our waitress came and took our orders just then. Me with my fried food delight. Aunt Jackie with a fresh salad with grilled tuna on top. As she walked away, I noticed the tourist guy from yesterday's lunch at Diamond Lille's. He was sitting at the bar, his lunch appearing to be almost finished. I waved, but he turned away, apparently not recognizing me from our short conversation yesterday.
“Who's that?” My aunt smoothed her napkin on her lap.
“I met him in town yesterday. We were talking about books and I gave him my special discount card. Let me know if he comes in and uses it during your shift, okay?”
My aunt stared at me. “Why?”
I glanced back at the man, who was now laying cash on the bar for his meal and leaving the restaurant. “I don't know. There's just something off about him.”
“He's very attractive.” She watched as he exited through the door farthest away from our table and turned down the street away from our window.
“I'm not interested in him that way. I just think it's odd he's here at lunch and he was at Lille's yesterday. Doesn't he have a job?” I pulled out my notebook and wrote down everything I could remember about the guy's appearance.
“You were in both places having lunch yourself. Is there something odd about you?”
“That's not the point.” I started to explain, but then our waitress arrived with our food and my attention turned to eating. Especially after my stomach growled as the smell of French fries distracted me.
I'd already polished off the crab cakes when my aunt paused from her salad feast. “Did you get his name?”
“The tourist, no. But Carrie said she's seen him in the diner before.” I started attacking my fish and chips. “It's probably nothing. Something about him just feels off, you know?”
She nodded. Pausing her fork midway to her mouth, her eyes widened. “I forgot to tell you about the second person on the list. It was a campaign office for a local county commissioner.”
“They might have used a PR firm.” I considered all the political ads that had just finished running for the primary elections last month. You couldn't turn on a local station without hearing about one or more candidates who were going to clean up the county or state or federal government. Match a name to the office, and you had the same commercial, over and over.
He's bad, I'm good. Vote for me.
“Exactly.” My aunt took the bite.
I waited for her to finish her thought, but when she didn't continue, I prompted, “So, did they hire the Ashfords?”