QUEENIE BABY: On Assignment (10 page)

“What!” I exclaimed. “Who would do that?” I asked.

“I have a couple of ideas,” Mark replied cryptically.

I went about getting the office back in shape as quickly as possible. I had just under an hour to get to Mr. Pyres’ hotel. I found the note I had taken yesterday before Carol fell still attached to the notepad. I ripped it off and took it back to Mark. I reached out to hand it to him. He looked me over closely, narrowing his eyes. “What’s that?” he asked with a nod.

Suddenly self-conscious, I patted my hair and rubbed under my lip to make sure I didn’t have smudged lipstick. “What?” I asked.

“On your neck,” he said. “Right there.” He pointed and I had a sudden terrible suspicion. “Is that a hickey?”
 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I countered. “Of course not. I have a little bug bite that I scratched. I think Max might have fleas.” I scratched at what I hoped was the spot.

He raised an eyebrow. Didn’t look like he was buying it. “You’re scratching the wrong spot,” he said dryly.

“I’m itchy all over just thinking about the fleas,” I said. “Never surrender” was my motto.

“Uh-huh,” he murmured. “So what did you do last night?”

“Oh,” I began. “Took Granddaddy to my sisters, worked on some songs, turned in early. Nothing exciting.”

The door opened noisily behind me. “I took this message yesterday,” I said handing him the note. “But in all the excitement I forgot to give it to you.”

He glanced down. “Great,” he said, “just great.”

I turned around and headed to the front of the office. A well-dressed man stood at the front counter. “Well, aren’t you lovely,” he said with a charming smile.
 

“Can I help you?” I asked, not impressed by the come on. I was a good head above him in heels and he was just too pretty for me to find him attractive.

“You sure can, sweetie. I’m Mr. Greene,” he said.

“What?” I stuttered.

He looked at me like I was addle-brained and spoke slowly, saying, “I am Mr. Greene. The owner. You understand you are working at Greene’s Staffing, right dear?”
 

I nodded. What the hell was going on? “But. . .” I stuttered, “Mark Greene is here already.”

Mark walked out of the back office looking ready for a fight. His mouth was set in a grim line. His fists balled at his sides.

“Oh, no, dear,” the man said smugly, flicking imaginary lint off of his expensive suit. “I am David Greene, the owner. That man is an impostor.”

C
HAPTER
E
IGHT

“GET THE FUCK out of here, David,” Mark growled as he stalked up to the front of the office.

“Oh, no, Cousin,” David Greene said confidently. “It’s you who are going to get out of here.”

“I’m here at the request of your father,” Mark ground out. “Because you have fucked up every project he’s ever put you on.” Mark stepped closer, invading David’s space.

David waved a hand dismissively. “He’s had a change of heart. You know how old people are,” he glanced over at me and smiled. “And what is your name, lovely lady?” He put his hand out and, of course, I took it. Impossible to resist, remember.
 

“Diana,” I croaked trying to pull my hand back.
 

He held it firmly. “I am so glad we are going to be working closely together.”
 

Mark stepped forward threateningly. “Enough!” he yelled. “Get out!”

David removed his coat and walked back to a desk. He laid his brief case down. “I don’t think so, Cuz,” he said removing a paper from the side pocket of the case. “Here’s the lease with my name on it. You have five minutes to get out before I call the police. Your services are no longer required,” he added snidely.

Veins bulged in Mark’s temple as he glanced over the document. He stalked back to his desk and gathered up his things. He came out and towered over David. He set his things down on the desk and placed his hands flat on the desk top. Leaning in he said, “This isn’t over. My next call is to Ed, and then to the police. There’s some pretty interesting accounting going on around here and I’m sure you have something to do with it.”

David stopped buffing his nails and glanced languidly up at Mark the way a cat would eye its prey. “Those are pretty strong allegations, Cuz. I’ll look into it directly. Perhaps our dutiful office manager knows something about all this?”

Mark banged his hands on the desk. David flinched slightly, but said nothing. Mark grabbed his things and headed for the door without a word to me.

“So sorry for all that unpleasantness,” said David. “Perhaps you can help show me the ropes?” he asked.

“Well, I’m on an assignment that starts at ten so I need to get going. Mr. Greene . . . I mean, Mark asked me to come in the first two hours each day this week to cover for Carol until she is back.”

“Well, dear, I’m not so sure Carol is coming back, so it looks like the job may be up for grabs,” he smiled suggestively, “to the most qualified candidate, of course.”
 

I shrugged into my coat. “Well,” I said, “I’ll be back first thing in the morning to help you.”
 

“That would be fine, dear,” he said walking me to the front. My phone announced a text message from inside my purse. I scrambled out the door and heard the lock click behind me. From the street I could see him turn the Open sign to Closed and draw down the shades.

I paused to catch my breath at the corner and check my phone.
Mark: Meet you at your car
 

He was leaning against the door as I approached.

“Everything go okay?” he asked.

“Better than it did for you,” I responded. “What is going on?”

“That guy is my Uncle Ed’s stepson, David,” he said. “He’s been in and out of trouble all his life. The last couple of years I’ve been hearing from Uncle Ed’s wife about how
dear
David is doing so well. It looks like he’s wormed his way back into their good graces.”

“But why is he here with his name on the lease, if your uncle sent you here?” I asked.

“That’s what doesn’t make sense.” He nodded. “I’m a real estate developer and my uncle specifically asked me to come here and see if there was commercial development potential.”

I held up a hand. “You mean he owns the building?” I asked.

“The block,” Mark said. I looked at the prime downtown space. “Technically the property is owned by Independent Commercial Partners, Inc. My uncle is the majority stockholder. Greene’s Staffing, a separate entity owned solely by my uncle, leases the space from the parent company. I can’t believe he’s waited until now, making pennies on the dollar with the staffing agency and a few tenants,” he added.

That fired me up. “Oh, so Mr. Hot Shot Developer was on his way down here to shut us down and so he could rake in the big bucks! No concern for all of Carol’s hard work or for all the people that depend on Greene’s for jobs and for employees.”

Mark held up his hands. “Calm down. There will certainly be space in any new structure we develop for Greene’s Staffing, if it makes business sense.”

“So that’s why you’re here checking out all the numbers. Seeing if it ‘makes sense’ for us to keep our jobs,” I said hotly. “I have to get to work now. I actually have to work for my money.” He moved aside as I reached for the door handle.

He waited for me to settle in and fasten my seatbelt before rapping on the window. I rolled the window down. “What?” I demanded.

“I need to see you after work,” he began.

I cut him off. “I don’t think so, Mark.”

“You can’t keep working for David. He’s dangerous.”

I rolled my eyes. “I don’t believe anything you say.”

“Believe this—he doesn’t give a shit about you or Carol or that business. And you heard him say he was going to pin the missing money on Carol,” he said leaning in the car.

He looked earnest. He smelled amazing. He was right. David was a creep. “Okay,” I conceded. “Come over at six. I’ll make us something to eat. Bring wine and a lot of answers.”

“How about a lot of wine and a couple of answers,” he teased.

“Don’t push it,” I warned. “I’m doing this for Carol.”

He started to pull out of the window and then leaned back in. “Diana?”

“What now? You’re making me late,” I complained.

“That’s a hickey on your neck, isn’t it?”

I rolled the window up without a word and drove off.

*****

I was dying to call Carol, but I didn’t want to be late for The Count and the ten-minute ride was nowhere near enough time to explain everything that had just happened. I reached the hotel with two minutes to spare. I opened the vanity mirror. Great. A hickey. I dug some cover-up out of my purse and dabbed lightly at the mark. Why was I so stupid last night! I completely let nostalgia and six-pack abs seduce me.
 

I rushed into the hotel and up to Mr. Pyres’ room. He opened the door with a flourish. His bat radar must have detected my presence.

“Ah, Diana, so glad you are here,” he said ushering me in. His cape was back to black today. “I must admit that I am excited about today." He rubbed his hands together gleefully.

I wasn’t as excited, but I said enthusiastically, “Great! Let’s get to work. I guess we’ll be working down in the office, since all of your information will have to be entered into the computer.”

He shook his head. “I have a new attitude, my dear. If I am ever going to meet my soul mate, I have to be open to new experiences,” he said with a determined nod. “Even if it means being in the same room as a
computer
.” He waved his arm with a flourish, indicating the small workstation containing a laptop and printer next to his giant desk.
 

“Wow!” I said impressed. “This will certainly make things easier.”

His brow lowered. “Now I have to make clear that this is only for our special project. I still prefer you work on my manuscripts downstairs. I want no more exposure to those things than absolutely necessary.”

I shrugged. I hadn’t expected anything less from him. “Okay,” I began. “First, we need to set up profiles, including pictures, on a couple of the major dating websites.”

“Pictures?” he said with concern. “You want to photograph me?” he asked. I nodded.

 
“No, no, no,” he said dismissively. “Out of the question.”

Why wasn’t I surprised? “We need pictures to encourage responses. No woman in her right mind will respond without seeing a picture of you.” Actually, maybe I had that backwards, I thought watching him settle his cape out around him. “Why don’t you want your picture taken?” I asked. This ought to be good.

He fiddled with his pen and quill for a few seconds. “Let’s just say I don’t photograph well and leave it at that.”
 

The old-fashioned clock ticked off ten-fifteen over his shoulder. Does he really think he’s a vampire? I wondered. Like, as in he has no reflection and doesn’t show up in a photo? On impulse I fumbled in my purse and found my phone. I picked it up, flipped it around, and snapped a picture of him before he could protest. He made a strange screeching noise and dove under his desk. I looked at my phone. Man! He was fast for an old guy. Nothing but cape!

“Ms. Hudson!” he said sternly from under the desk. “One more stunt like that and you are fired! Put the camera away!”

Feeling a little foolish, I dropped my phone back into my purse. “Sorry Mr. Pyres,” I said. “I just thought you were being shy about having your picture taken. I thought if you saw yourself in a photo, then you would get over the whole photo phobia thing.”

He rose from under the desk and flipped out his cape. He pointed his finger with its strange, pointy fingernail at me. “No pictures!”

“Okay,” I said meekly. Disproving his delusion that he was a vampire was not worth losing this great paying job. “Let’s just start with completing the profile on the first site.”

He nodded. I filled out all the basic info, stopping to find out his age, 59, and his height and weight, 5’ 10”, 175 pounds. I determined he was interested in dating women 35-60 in the Annapolis/D.C./Baltimore area. He had no preferences as far as physical characteristics. So far so good.

“Okay, now we need to tell your potential matches about your hobbies, favorite things to do, etc.” I said. “Specific is better. Give examples. So what’s your favorite book?” I asked

“The History of Medieval Crockery, Cooking, and Husbandry,” he replied.

My fingers paused over the keyboard. I typed
I enjoy experiencing authentic international cuisine.
“How about pets?” I asked hopefully.

“I raise silk worms in Yugoslavia,” he replied. “But I don’t suppose they count as pets.”

I stared at the screen. Close enough, I said to myself, and checked off animal lover. “Any special talents?” I asked.

His brow furrowed in thought. Finally, he snapped his fingers. “I play the hurdy gurdy quite well.”

I shook my head. “The what?”

“A hurdy gurdy. You know it was used extensively in medieval times and is still popular today. It’s a bowed string instrument. It looks like a violin, but sounds something like a bagpipe.” He seemed surprised that I had never heard of it.

Actually, I think I had heard the name before, but had no idea what the instrument looked or sounded like. I quickly Googled hurdy gurdy and pulled up a picture. “That?” I asked, pointing to the screen.

He nodded. “I should have my housekeeper ship it to me. Good call, Diana,” he said enthusiastically. “Women are always interested in musicians. You play the guitar, right? Maybe I could sit in on your next gig.” He chortled over his use of the musician’s vernacular.
 

I wanted to bang my head on the keyboard. “Next,” I said, clicking on the What I Do section. The next thirty minutes went smoothly. He had a strange and interesting resume, but it was perfectly respectable and probably his best selling point.
 

“Now we need to come up with a paragraph to introduce you. This is important because we aren’t using your picture. Women are going to have to like what they read or they will never contact you.”