“On an average, once a month. Failure is usually stress related. And that's my area of expertise.”
“Did Singh like Vegas?”
“Why are you so interested in Singh?” Edgar asked.
“I'm taking over his job.”
“If you were taking over his job you'd be sitting at his desk doing measurements. Instead, you're floating around, talking to everyone. I think you're looking for Singh.”
A point for Edgar. “Okay, suppose I am looking for Singh. Would you know where to find him?”
“No, but I'd know where to start looking. The day before he disappeared he was in the lunch room calling all the McDonald's places, asking if a guy named Howie worked there. It was pretty strange. He was all excited. And it was the first time I'd ever seen him make a call.”
I looked through the window, into the manufacturing area, and I caught Bart Cone's eye. He was examining a machine, standing with three other men. He glanced up and saw me talking to Edgar.
“That's not a happy face,” Edgar said, his attention shifting to Bart.
“Does he ever have a happy face?”
“Yeah, I saw him smile once when he ran over a toad in the parking lot.”
Bart made a wait here gesture to the men at the machine and marched across the work floor to the test area. He wrenched the door open and asked me to follow him out to the offices. I took my purse since it was the end of the day and there wasn't much chance I'd be returning.
Bart was once again dressed in black. His expression was menacing. I followed him into an office that smelled like metal shavings and was a cluttered mess of stacked catalogues and spare parts collected in tattered cardboard boxes. His desk was large, the top heaped with loose papers, disposable coffee cups, more spare parts, a multiline phone, and a workstation computer.
“What the hell were you doing in there?” Bart asked, looking like a guy who might have murdered Lillian Paressi. “I thought I made it clear that we had nothing to tell you about Singh.”
“Your brother feels otherwise. He suggested I work undercover for a day.”
Bart snatched at his phone and punched a key on speed dial. “What's the deal with Ms. Plum?” he asked. “I found her in the test area.” His expression darkened at Andrews answer. He gave a terse reply, returned the handset to the cradle, and glared at me. “I don't care what my brother told you, I'm going to give you good advice and God help you if you don't follow it. Stay out of my factory.”
“Sure,” I said. “Okeydokey.” And I left. I might be a little slow sometimes, but I'm not totally stupid. I know a genuinely scary dude when I see one. And Bart was a genuinely scary dude.
My cell phone rang as I was pulling out of the lot.
“Stephanie? It's your mother.”
As if I wouldn't recognize her voice.
“We're having a nice chicken for dinner tonight.”
My unmarried sister was nine months pregnant, living with my parents, and had turned into the hormone queen. I'd have to endure Valerie's mood swings to get to the chicken dinner. Valerie's boyfriend, Albert Kloughn, would most likely be there, too. Kloughn was also Valerie's boss and the father of her unborn baby. Kloughn was a struggling lawyer, and he was practically living at the house, trying to get Valerie to marry him. Not to mention Valerie's two little girls by a previous marriage who were nice kids, but added to the bedlam potential.
“Mashed potatoes with gravy,” my mother said, sensing my hesitation, sweetening the offer.
“Gee, I sort of have things to do,” I said.
“Pineapple upside-?down cake for dessert,” my mother said, pulling out the big gun. “Extra whipped cream.” And she knew she had me. I'd never in my life turned down pineapple upside-?down cake.
I looked at my watch. “I'm about twenty minutes away. I'll be a couple minutes late. Start without me.”
Everyone was at the table when I arrived.
My sister, Valerie, was pushed back about a foot and a half to accommodate her beach ball belly. A couple weeks ago she'd started using the belly like a shelf, balancing her plate on it, tucking her napkin into the neck of her shirt, catching spilled food on her huge swollen breasts. She'd gained seventy pounds with the baby and she was all big boobs and double chins and ham hock arms. Unheard of for Valerie, who previous to her divorce had been the perfect daughter, resembling the serene and slim Virgin Mary in every way, with the possible exception of virginity and hair style. The hair was Meg Ryan.
Albert Kloughn was at her side, his face round and pink, his scalp gl
eaming under his thinning sandy hair. He was watching Valerie with unabashed awe and affection. Kloughn wasn't a subtle guy. He hadn't any idea how to hide an emotion. Probably he wasn't great in a courtroom, but he was always fun at the dinner table. And he was surprisingly endearing in an oddball way.