Color Me a Crime (14 page)

“Do I understand?” There is silence on the other end.

Tick, tick, tick.

“Hailey, what is that?” I press the earpiece and bury it deep in my ear. “Is that the sound of a beer cap hitting the counter?”

“You don’t live my life. You don’t know how hard it is…” She starts to get a little out of control. “I don’t have a drinking problem!”

“I don’t know if you do or not, but I highly recommend you seek help for all the problems you have in your life. And you are going to have to do it alone because Austin has broken up with you. Do you understand?” I ask, seeming a bit heartless.

I’m not. This job might seem a little heartless, but really, I’m helping people who are in loveless relationships become free. Like the girl on my computer who is staring back at me. Sometimes, no matter how badly a person wants out, they just can’t pull the trigger. Splitsville.com (which means me) does it instead. Sometimes it’s not easy, but it’s my job, so I don’t allow my emotions to get into the equation. 

“I can’t do this without him.” She cries into the phone.

I look at the time. Austin had written on the form that her parents were going to be showing up at her house for an intervention with a therapist around noon, and it is about that time now.

“Hailey, you are a strong woman!” I have little tolerance for weakness. “You don’t need him.”

I can hear a doorbell ding-donging in the phone.

“Is someone at your door?” I ask, hoping that is exactly what I had heard.

“Yes.” She answers with a sniffle. “Can you hold on?”

“Hailey, I need you to tell me that you understand that Austin has broken up with you.”

“Fine. He broke up with me and now I bet he’s at the door begging me back. Bastard!” She slams the phone down in my ear.

Shew; it is over and she is going to get the help she needs without Austin at her side.

I type an email back to Austin letting him know that he can go to family functions with his head held high and free of Hailey. I also let him know that if uses my service again, he’s going to have to pay extra for singing the breakup.

“Hello?’ Aunt Matilda hollers through the house. “Anyone home?”

“I’m so glad you are here.” I jump up from my desk and hurry through the kitchen and into the family room. Herbie is on my heels. “I need your truck.”

“What? No hugs, kisses, I’m so glad to see you’s?” Aunt Matilda dangles her keys in front of her, and they jingle right in tune with the bells on her headscarf. She pushes her bracelets up her arm to secure them and throws the keys on the couch. “We are going to have a little chat before you go anywhere. Where is your car?”

I watch her sashay into the kitchen. I grab the keys when she isn’t looking.

“I’ll be right back!” I yell while grabbing my bag and the 4Play envelope and bolting out the door before she stops me.

I’m not prepared to tell her about my morning and new job at 4Play. I’m sure that Joel has spilled the beans to Carl. It doesn’t make sense that she doesn’t know where my car is.

On the other hand, she is probably reading my stressed-out aura. That is one thing bad about having a psychic aunt. You can’t keep anything from her.

There is no way I can leave the envelope in fear she’ll snoop, and she would. Plus, I had all the information I borrowed from Buddy’s cabin in there. The phone number that is scribbled on the piece of paper haunts me.

There are two stops I have to make. The first is Macro Hard.

Spies Like Us,
Paul McCartney sings from my phone that rests in the depths of my purse. I reach over and pull my bag to me, but stop. I’m sure it’s Aunt Matilda. I don’t bother retrieving it. The less she knows the better.

The dashboard clock says it’s a little after noon. There is plenty for her to eat at the house, and it’s time for one of our favorite shows, Murder She Wrote.

I have Angela Lansbury to thank for most of my sleuthing skills. You couldn’t get anything over on Jessica Fletcher. And the same with me. I will stop at nothing to figure out who is setting me up. By doing that, I will figure out who killed Felicia Evans.

Chapter Twenty

It doesn’t take long to get to Macro Hard.

I’m happy that I get to park in the visitor section instead of the employee section like I did a year ago when I had the midnight custodian job. Actually, I was undercover and needed some information that Macro Hard had. It was a night job, which was perfect because the only person that was there at that hour was Harold. That meant I didn’t see all the colliding auras that would have been there during the day, like today.

After putting Aunt Matilda’s truck in park, I dig deep in my purse to get my phone. It makes me feel guilty about not taking Aunt Matilda’s call, but it’s for her own good. I scroll through the menu until I reach the missed calls.

Relief settles in my heart when I see the number and know it’s not hers or my house phone number. It’s a number I don’t recognize and they didn’t leave a message. Quickly, I save the number as ‘don’t know’ so I can research it later.

When you are a suspect in a murder investigation, you don’t throw away a phone number that could be the real murderer, a ransom phone call, threat, or even a clue!

I make sure I lock the truck.

I stop shy of the entrance. The sun reflecting off the huge glass building makes my eyes scan up to the top. There have to be at least ten floors. It’s definitely the tallest building in Park City.

“Welcome to Macro Hard.” The receptionist says to me and then holds up her finger as she answers the phone. “Good afternoon. Thank you for calling Macro Hard. How can I help you?”

I stand with my hands locked in front of me. The building still looks the same. There is a glass staircase on each side of the lobby with the receptionist kiosk smack-dab in the middle. The elevator entrance is right behind the desk.

“How can I help you?” Her eyebrows lift. I imagine a puppet master above her head manipulating strings attached to her eyes. Her aura is so dark that I have to squint to realize it’s a shade of black and not blue. Which explains a lot.

I proceed with caution, keeping an eye on her aura to see if it changes as I talk.

“I’m here to see Harold.” I know he isn’t going to be here, but she might be able to contact him for me while I’m here.

“Nightshift Harold?” She glares at me, her aura staying the same.

“Yep,” I smack the top of her glass desk, leaving fingerprint spots, “that’s him.”

Her nose curls. She grabs a tissue out of the tissue box and cleans off my fingerprints from the glass.

“Sorry.” I tuck my hands in the front pockets of my jeans. “Can you get him for me?”

She leans in. Her aura remains dark, bleak. “No. He no longer works here.” There is a deep tone in her voice and her eyes are even more drawn.

“Is Michael Schultz here?” Even he can help me.

“Hold on.” Her long nails tap away on the phone and she turns her head. I try to get a little closer to hear what she is mumbling, but it’s not going to happen. She is talking far too low and fast for me to understand her.

She turns. I jerk back. Her eyes scan up and down my body.

“Yes,” she speaks into the phone, “fine.” She hangs up. “Is your name Olivia?”

“Yes.” I smile, feeling a little better.

“He will see you now.” She pushes a button and a door behind her swings open. That is something new I take note. “He is in the new IT department. He will meet you down there.”

My eyes follow her long skinny finger in the direction it’s pointing. In the silence, my footsteps echo throughout the reception area

Before I go through the mystery door, I turn back to her.

“Excuse me?”

“What now?” She now makes it well known that I’m definitely annoying her.

“You might want to find a new job that you would enjoy better. Plus you won’t be so depressed.” I have to tell her that, because her aura is begging to be changed. She hates this job and it’s making her depressed.

Her mouth falls open. She snaps it shut and turns back around.

Just as she said, Michael is standing at the end of the hallway.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” His arms outstretch as I approach. His black hair is a little more spiked than I usually see it, but his brilliant smile is still the same with his slightly turned front tooth dead center.

“Can’t I just stop by and see my best friend?” I ask, taking the embrace.

He pulls me out at arm’s length, his purple aura turning hazy as he internally questions why I’m there.

“Alright.” I put my hands in the air. “You caught me. I need to get in touch with Harold.”

“Aw, he quit a few weeks ago. Retired I think.” We step to the side to let some of the other employees walk by. Michael says a few things to them as they pass.

“I know. Miss Friendly out front told me.” I roll my eyes. “I need you to go to HR and get me his address.”

“Olivia, what are you up to?” He drags me into the office directly behind us.

The room has three computers and a large screen flat-panel TV that hangs on the wall, along with some of the security televisions with some footage scrolling through. A grey leather sectional sits off to the side near a large dark brown wooden desk.

“Is this your office?” I ask, my eyes taking it all in.

“Home sweet home.” He nods.

“I’ve seen your home and this is way better.” I walk over to the window and look outside.

Michael lives on the outskirts in a pretty, newly remodeled apartment, where all the old buildings have been renovated into one of the trendy areas to live. It’s not expensive, but the park draws the walkers and animal lovers.

“Back to why you need Harold’s address.” He leans against the wooden desk with his broad arms crossed. Patiently, he waits for my answer.

“I need him to take a security job at 4Play.” I’ve always been up front with Michael.

“4Play? The production company in Cincinnati?” He looks perplexed.

I go into my big spiel about how I have become the latest porno queen. He laughs for a good two minutes before he is alert enough to tell me what he is thinking.

“Erin is my assistant.” I tell him.

He stops. His face goes stone cold.

“What?” He grabs the phone and starts punching numbers.

I hurry over and push the end button.

“She wants to help clear my name and you should too. It’s not like she’s in danger or anything.” I hold my finger in place so he can’t continue to dial out.

“Olivia, this is ridiculous. You need to let the police handle this.” He puts the receiver back in the cradle.

“Oh, and that is exactly what you asked me to do when
you
were a murder suspect a year ago.” I remind him that not long ago, he was in the same boat I am in, and I helped him.

“Mr. Schultz, your one o’clock is here.” Miss friendly receptionist chirps through the intercom on the phone.

He pushes a button and leans down. “I’ll be right there.”

In silence, I watch as he sits down and makes a phone call. He scribbles something on a piece of paper and hands it to me.

“You better be careful.” There is a look of brotherly love in his eyes. “I mean it.”

I snatch the paper out of his hands. “You know I will.” I smile and show myself out of the office, down the hall and out of Macro Hard.

Chapter Twenty-One

“345 Mocking Horse Lane,” I read Harold’s address out loud, but Paul McCartney’s voice makes me jump.

“Oh, oh, what do you do
?”

“I’m going to answer you,” I sing back without looking at the phone. If it’s Aunt Matilda, I can hold her at bay for just a little bit longer. “Hello?”

I grip the steering wheel with one hand and hold my good ole BlackBerry with the other. There is a little bit of static on the phone.

“Hello?” I ask again before turning down Mocking Horse Lane. I haven’t been on this street in years. I do remember trick-or-treating down here when I was a little kid. Aunt Matilda would tell me it was the rich street and they gave out the big candy bars not the bite-size ones. “Hello?” I ask and pull it away from my ear to look at the number.

It’s the same number that had called earlier and I labeled it ‘do not know.’

“Who is this? Why are you calling me?” I scream into the phone. I pull the truck to the side of the street and put it in park. My hands are shaking like a leaf.

The phone goes silent. No static, no noise, no nothing.

“Hello?” I frantically ask. “Is anyone there?”

I look at my phone again, but the screen is back to the home screen. The mystery caller hung up. Jerking my head around, I look out all the windows to make sure that no one is following me.

Harold’s neighborhood is eerily quiet, but that is no different than most of these big subdivisions.

I glance up at 345 Mocking Horse Lane. The all-white brick home sits on at least one acre with a lot of scattered trees. I don’t picture Harold as a colonial house type of guy. I think of him as more of a wood burning stove cabin type of guy; boy am I wrong.

I watch as the fancy Volvo pulls out of his driveway. It’s an older woman at the wheel, whom I can only assume is Harold’s wife. My mouth drops open. She’s the cutest little woman with her perfectly coifed hair and pearls hanging around her neck.

I turn my head so I don’t make eye contact. The less people that know what I’m up to, the better off I will be. I wait until she rounds the corner before I jump out, hoping no one else is in the house.

I peer to my left and right to make sure no one is watching me tiptoe up the stone walkway, being careful not to step on the flowerbeds and ivy that run along the side of it. The tall windows don’t have shades, so it’s easy to see inside. The oriental rugs, ornamental crown molding, and large pieces of furniture scream antiques.

Don’t touch a thing,
I remind myself. I have a tendency to be a bit clumsy around very expensive things. And this is not the time to be out of control. Using the big lion doorknocker, I slam the heavy piece of metal against the door.

When I hear approaching footsteps, I take a step backward, fold my hands in front of me and wait.