Unraveled (11 page)

Jayleen’s shock turned to a mixture of sorrowful resignation as she put her head in her hand. “Oh, Lord. What’d she look like? I mean, as she drove past your car?”

“We only caught a glimpse. She looked like someone in a hurry.” Kelly shrugged. There was nothing else she could say.

Jayleen closed her eyes. “Lord, Lord,” she whispered.

Steve
pulled his truck into an empty space along the street bordering a strip mall and got out. A white-and-gray Samuel Kaufman Construction truck sat parked behind him. He spotted several of his company’s construction workers carrying a cart filled with wallboard into the front door of a sprawling fitness center. Steve could see one of the electricians inside, while another worker motioned the cart inside. Both glass entry doors to Fit 4 Life were propped open, so workers and materials could move in and out of the beige stone building in north Denver. Steve waited for the men to safely push the heavy cart through the doorway, then he followed them inside the building.

Carpenters, electricians, and construction workers were scattered around a huge, high-ceilinged space. Electricians balanced on ladders, surrounded by colorful cables and wires that dangled from the ceiling. Most of the ceiling was open, Steve noticed, which told him that the electrical wiring was yet to be completed.

Steve passed a carpenter who was nailing a panel of drywall into place as a smaller side room took shape. Carved out of the open space. Another worker was applying a grainy gray compound over the seams between the drywall sheets. Steve noticed two other side rooms had already been framed in. Carpenters appeared to be on schedule, he noted as he walked through the crowded fitness center, looking for his boss Sam Kaufman.

Gym goers were everywhere—running and walking on treadmills and elliptical machines, cycling on stationary bikes, and pulling, pushing, or stretching on weight machines. Exercise equipment was wedged into every spare corner of the large space, shoved cheek-by-jowl beside other equipment. Practically every machine was being used. The gym goers didn’t seem to mind all the hammering and the dangling wires, or the shrill whirr of the electric saws. In fact, they seemed to barely notice, so intent were they on completing their exercise routine in the prescribed time period. Lunchtime was always busy.

Steve spotted several men playing basketball on one of the renovated courts. Remembering how much he’d enjoyed getting back into the gym with Greg and Marty last weekend, Steve paused for a moment and watched the pickup game. Five guys lunged and dove for the ball, fighting for it. When one grabbed it, he’d dribble down the floor, heading for the basket while fending off guys who were trying to steal the ball. All of them slammed together under the basket, leaping and blocking shots.

He was going back to the gym this week. He had to. He’d forgotten how good it made him feel. Plus, he slept like a rock afterward. No worries and no disturbing memories kept him awake. One of the guys he’d met at the developers’ meetings had invited him to join a group of guys for some pickup games with other developers. Blow off the pressure from the project. There was a gym near the Thornton project. Steve had declined at first, but after last weekend, he was going to give the guy a call. He was in.

Steve turned in a slow circle, trying to spot his boss amidst all the people crowded in the huge space, working out and just plain working. As he walked toward the area with the free weights and benches, Steve saw short, silver-haired Sam Kaufman talking with one of his workers. Beside them was a middle-aged man who was flat on his back, bench pressing a formidable amount of weight on the barbells. Steve watched him slowly raise the barbell above his head, his face flushed with the effort.

“Hey, Sam,” Steve said as he walked up to his boss.

Kaufman turned and acknowledged Steve with a smile. “Steve, I was just about to call you.”

“I’ll tell Johnny you want to see him, Sam,” the construction worker said as he walked away.

“Thanks, Alfredo,” Sam called after him before turning his attention to Steve.

“I wanted to stop by and see if you had any more instructions,” Steve said. “They’ve scheduled another meeting for tomorrow afternoon and thrown in a dinner speaker, so I’ll be gone all day.”

“Yeah, I want you to talk to Bill Daniels if you see him and ask if he’s got some extra drywall. I swear he said he had some in stock that he was not using and wanted to sell it. We’ll need it out here.” Sam gestured toward the rooms taking shape.

Steve looked around with an experienced eye, grown even more discerning thanks to all the varied projects he’d worked on at Sam Kaufman’s company. “Looks like it’s coming along pretty well.”

“Better than expected. Everybody’s working their tails off, so we’re a little ahead of schedule.” Sam’s sun-creased face frowned. “Wish I could hire more guys, but I can’t. Not and stay on budget.”

Steve fell in step with Sam as he walked around a cluster of weight machines. “You’re doing good, Sam. This project is on target and will come in a little under budget if we’re lucky.” He glanced up into the ceiling where several panels were gone and wires dangled. “Working inside helps, too. No snow in here,” he joked.

“Ain’t that the truth,” Sam said with a laugh. “Listen, Steve, while you’re there tomorrow, keep your ear to the ground and find out if there are any medium-sized remodeling projects in the planning stages. If so, we’re gonna bid on them. See if we can snag any from the bigger guys.”

“Will do. I’ve been grilling some of the guys I’ve met there to see what their companies have got in the pipeline. They’re a good group of guys. A couple of them from Overby Associates asked me to join them in a basketball league a couple of nights a week. I may take them up on that.”

“You should, Steve. You’ve been putting in some pretty long hours these last few months. You need to relax more. I don’t want you burning out. I’ve got plans for you,” Sam added with a laugh as he slapped Steve on the back.

Steve felt Sam’s praise wash over him and allowed himself to bask in it for a few seconds. “I appreciate that, Sam. You’re a good man to work for.”

Sam paused beside a ladder with a man on top. “How’s it going, Rudy?”

“Goin’ good, Sam,” the man answered, still concentrating on the wires above his head.

“You heading back to the office?” Steve asked as they continued weaving a path through the exercise machines. One middle-aged woman was slowly pulling down the curved bar on the lateral pull down. Judging from her closed eyes and clenched face, Steve figured she was getting a really good workout.

“No, I have to meet with the plumber this afternoon. Lots of things to oversee.” Sam’s bright blue gaze swept the huge room.

Steve could tell Sam loved every minute of the “overseeing.” Steve understood. He still felt a sharp jab inside whenever he went to a building site to confer with contractors. He’d spent his entire career tracking across building sites, overseeing his men while they built houses. The smell of lumber, freshly sawed. The sound of nails hammered into two-by-fours as rooms took shape. There was nothing like that feeling of satisfaction when he stood and watched a completed house rise from the dirt. He wondered if he would ever get to feel that again. The renovations on this fitness center had some of the same sense of accomplishment connected to it. But this project was Sam’s to oversee. Steve only hoped the Thornton renovation project would be more compelling once they started knocking out walls.

“Okay, I’d better head back to the office and get some work done. Tomorrow will be another Denver day. And night.”

Sam clapped him on the shoulder. “I know you want to be out digging in the dirt somewhere, Steve, but we just have to hunker down and get through this downtime. It’ll get better. Meanwhile, this Thornton project will really help. For us, and for these guys too.”

“Yeah.” Steve allowed himself a sigh. “You’re right. I’ve actually started to get ideas about some unique remodeling projects. Particularly with older homes. That’s happening more and more. According to one of Overby’s guys, they’ve done a couple of those projects, and they are really lucrative. A lot of specialty consulting involved.”

Sam looked over in surprise. “Overby has been doing that? Those are smaller jobs. Sounds like they’re scrambling, too.”

“Well, this guy Vic suggested the idea to Overby and they went for it. Old man Overby even sent Vic to an institute in San Francisco for some special seminars.”

“Hmmmm, that bears watching. Good work, Steve. Looks like you’re keeping your ear to the ground at those meetings.”

Sam slowed as they approached the entry doors. “Plus, you get to spend all day listening to some guy or gal drone on, so I can stay back here and enjoy myself.” Sam let loose a guffaw.

“You got that right,” Steve said with a grin as he turned to leave.

Eight

Kelly
sipped the mediocre white wine as she stood outside the hotel banquet room doorway. Two small bars had been set up in the hotel’s circular atrium, and both had long lines of people waiting to order drinks. After an entire afternoon of presentations and charts and panel discussions and charts and more talking followed by even more charts, the entire mini mob of developers, builders, and staff were beyond thirsty.

She slowly strolled away from the crowds around the two bars. There were less people in the plant-filled atrium, so Kelly headed toward the greenery.

White-jacketed hotel staff pushed carts with large closed metal serving dishes. Kelly sniffed the air, trying to guess what the hotel caterers were serving. She couldn’t tell, which she figured was a bad sign. Two more carts followed, also carrying metal servings dishes. Another rubber chicken banquet, Kelly thought ruefully.

She’d had way too many banquet meals lately. Since Warner started including Kelly in his top echelon of staff, she’d lost count of the bland meeting meals she’d consumed. With the recession putting a squeeze on companies’ costs, hotel kitchens had clearly cut back on whatever expenses they could and not risk losing their clientele. Consequently, Chicken Served a Thousand Ways was usually the main feature.

Kelly touched the bright red hibiscus plant blooming inside the atrium, safe from Colorado’s snows and winter cold. The large bugle-shaped blossom opened wide beneath the protective bright lights. Hibiscus was a tropical plant. Only a protected setting allowed it to bloom in its vibrant splendor. It would be May before temperatures were warm enough to allow planting equally vibrant annual flowering plants outside. Mid-May was actually safer, Kelly had found. And even then, there were no guarantees. Light snows on Memorial Day had happened more than once at Colorado altitudes.

But soon, April would be here and would bring its own special spring colors that were hardy enough to push through snow-covered ground. The spring perennials—tulips and jonquils, larkspur and daffodils. Kelly never had been able to tell the difference between daffodils and jonquils. They were both bright yellow and had those cheerful trumpet-like heads that braved Colorado’s chilly early spring temperatures. Mimi had persuaded her to plant some of the yellow sunshine last fall in the flower boxes and containers bordering her front walk. They would be Kelly’s first sign that spring was coming, despite the snow’s capricious behavior.

“Hey, Kelly, I’ve been looking for you,” one of her Warner colleagues said as he walked up, beer bottle in hand.

“Hey, Ralph. You ready for Chicken Surprise?”

The older man chuckled. “You got that right. Listen, I heard that Fred Turner didn’t kill himself. Someone did it for him. Is that true?” He took a long sip of beer.

Kelly nodded. “That’s what the newspapers say. Did you know Turner?”

Ralph’s mouth twisted. “Hell, yes. If you were involved in real estate in any form in northern Colorado, sooner or later you ran into Fred. Later, if you were lucky.”

“It sounds like you weren’t a fan. I didn’t know him.”

“You were lucky. I ran into him when I was working with some guys up in Northglenn on an apartment development years ago. We were trying to get a piece of land that bordered the parcel we had, but that bastard Turner wanted to gouge us on price. After he jerked us around for six months.” Ralph drained his beer.

Curious, Kelly probed some more. “Up in Northglenn. Was Arthur Housemann involved in that project? He’s another of my clients, and he told me he helped with a large Northglenn apartment complex years ago.”

“That was the one. Art was involved, all right. In fact, he tried to persuade us not to try dealing with Turner. Said he’d had a run in with him and didn’t trust Turner.”

Intrigued, Kelly pressed. “That’s funny. Did he ever say what it involved?”

Ralph shook his head. “Naw. But I always had the feeling there was some bad blood between Turner and Art.”

Kelly was about to follow up on that until Ralph’s cell phone rang. Insistent, jangling.

“Excuse me, Kelly,” Ralph said as he dug his phone from his pocket and turned away.

Curious as to Ralph’s “bad blood” comment, Kelly looked across the atrium and noticed more of her Warner colleagues clustering near the banquet room doors. That meant it was almost time to go inside and see what Chicken Surprise the chefs had prepared tonight. Kelly drained her glass and slowly strolled to the edge of the atrium, ready to rejoin her colleagues and enter the banquet room. Then, she stopped. Held in place by the sight of a familiar face.

Steve stood near one of the bars, holding a bottle of what she guessed was his favorite ale. He was smiling and talking to a very pretty blonde woman Kelly had seen at these meetings before. The woman was smiling back at Steve as she talked. Only twenty feet away.

An old ache started deep in her gut. A forgotten ache. One she hadn’t felt for a while. The last time she’d seen Steve, it was a fleeting glimpse as she and her colleagues were leaving one of the early joint project meetings. He was all the way across the room. Farther away.

Apparently proximity made a difference. Kelly felt old memories dig their way out of the sands at the back of her mind. They danced in front of her eyes again, bringing their sharp sting. Bittersweet. Steve and her together. Kelly pushed the images away again, back to their hidden corners. They were the past. They weren’t real. Not anymore.