You’re not doing your job right if nobody’s screaming at you.
Charlie parked in her usual space behind the office she shared with her father. She got out of her car. Every single step she took toward the building, she found a visual reminder of how dangerous her father’s detractors could be: the rolling security gate that required a six-digit code to open, the twelve-feet high fence with razor wire, the multiple CCTV cameras, the thick bars on the windows, the security gate on the steel back door, the lighted alarm panel beside it.
Charlie punched in the code. She used her key to engage the giant bar lock that bolted the door into either side of the steel jamb.
The first thing she smelled was the odor of her father’s unfiltered Camels. Then the weird dampness that permeated the carpets. Then cinnamon buns.
Charlie followed the delicious smell to the office kitchen. Lenore was standing in front of the refrigerator. She was almost thirty years older than Charlie, but she was dressed in a pink miniskirt and matching heels. Her eyes were on the television set mounted on the wall. The Young and the Restless. This time, Katherine Chancellor was screaming at Jill Abbott. Charlie was only mildly ashamed that she knew the characters on sight.
Lenore said, “You look like hell, baby.”
“I’m off my feed,” Charlie said, even as she eyed the cinnamon buns on the table. “Do you know Maude and Leroy Faulkner?”
“I wish I didn’t.” Lenore put her hand to Charlie’s forehead. “You don’t have a fever. Were you sick?”
Charlie did not answer, but Lenore’s frown indicated she had figured it out.
Lenore said, “Stay away from the Faulkners. He’s an oily turd and that bitch will cut you with a knife.”
“Good to know.” Charlie sat down at the table. She picked at the edge of the cling wrap on the cinnamon buns. Lenore always made them with apple sauce and almond milk in deference to Charlie’s lactose issue.
She told Lenore, “Maude’s granddaughter wants to be emancipated from her grandparents.”
“She gonna pay you?”
Charlie laughed.
Lenore took over on the cling wrap, expertly removing the film without messing up any of the frosting. She found a plate in the strainer by the sink. “What about Dexter Black?”
“What about him?” The man’s name had taken on a Voldemort quality. “You’re not going to tell me anything that I don’t already know.”
“When has that ever stopped me?” Lenore opened a drawer. She found a spatula and slid a cinnamon bun onto Charlie’s plate. “I saw on your call log that you had a message from Visa.”
“Crap.” Charlie had forgotten about the phone message at home. She dug around in her purse and pulled out the statement. She should call them back, but she suddenly felt too tired to do anything. She stared at the pages, yawning so hard that her jaw popped.
Lenore asked, “Baby, are you okay?”
“I’m—shit.” Charlie saw the problem with Visa now. The minimum amount owed was $121.32. According to Charlie’s own handwriting, she had made the check out for $121.31. She was going to get hit with a late fee because of a freaking penny. She scanned the statement until she found the grace period. She was one day off. “If I had seen this yesterday, I could’ve paid them without being penalized.”
Lenore studied the bill over her shoulder. “Not last week, baby. Two weeks ago. Today is the eighth.”
“No it’s not.”
Lenore pointed to the wall calendar.
Charlie stared at the date until her eyes blurred. “Shit.”
“This will make you feel better.” Lenore pushed the plate toward Charlie as she sat down. “You want to know about Leroy Faulkner?”
Charlie had to force her gaze away from the wall calendar. “What?”
“Leroy Faulkner, Maude’s husband. He’s one of Rusty’s repeats, started using him back in the eighties.”
Charlie folded the Visa statement in two, pulling a Scarlett O’Hara so she could think about it tomorrow.
Or maybe the day after.
Or next week.
Lenore continued, oblivious. “Leroy was into mostly petty crimes, boosting weed eaters and mowers from weekenders’ cabins, but then he went over the line with a John Deere golf cart, which graduated him from misdemeanor theft to a felony.”
Charlie silently played back Lenore’s words in her mind so that she could understand what she had been told. In the end, she was not surprised by the escalation. Most people did not wind up in prison because they were smart. She asked, “What happened to his leg?”
“He was working maintenance at the blue jean factory before it moved to Mexico. Climbed one of those old wooden ladders to change out a light bulb, but the ladder broke. Leroy fell straight down, feet first. One of his legs was longer than the other, so it took the full weight of the fall. Crushed the bones up to his hip.”
“How tall was the ladder?”
“Thirty feet.”
“Good Lord.”
“Yeah, it wasn’t pretty. I saw the X-rays from the hospital. His foot was folded up behind his calf like a clam shell.”
Charlie thought about the brace on Leroy’s leg. Was he too disabled to chase after his granddaughter? Flora was young, but she looked like she could handle herself. All she had to do was briskly walk away. Then again, if she was being assaulted by her grandfather, a man who had taken over as her father when her own father had died, then she might not feel like she could run away from anything.
“About his injury.” Charlie looked up at Lenore. “I was wondering if—”
Lenore held up a finger to stop her. The woman’s hearing was bat-level precise. Three more seconds passed before Charlie heard the humming and snapping and clicking that announced her father walking up the hallway.
“What warm delights!” He clutched his chest at the sight of them. “Two beautiful women in my kitchen. And cinnamon buns!” Rusty helped himself to a pastry. “Tell me, ladies, what does a thesaurus eat for breakfast?”
“A synonym bun,” Charlie answered. “I was asking Lenny about Leroy and Maude Faulkner.”
Rusty raised an eyebrow as he took a messy bite of bun. He had no qualms about talking with his mouth full. “Last time I dealt with those two, Maude had sliced open Leroy’s face with a switchblade.”
Charlie felt a chunk of broken glass pump through her heart. “Any particular reason?”
“The magic of inebriation, I assume. Leroy refused to press charges once he sobered up.” Rusty took the paper napkin Lenore shoved in his face. “It’s a love/hate relationship. They love to hate each other.”
Charlie asked, “Do you think they’d ever turn on each other?”
“Absolutely, but then they’d turn right back.” Rusty grinned around another bite of pastry. “Those two are the proverbial finger and the asshole. You can never tell who’s fucking who.”
Charlie had long become anesthetized to her father’s colorful remarks. She did not want to, but she looked at the calendar again. She could feel a sheen of sweat on the back of her neck. She worked to stay with the problem at hand, asking Rusty, “What do you know about their granddaughter?”