Free Death Loves a Messy Desk by Mary Jane Maffini Page A

floor.
    Sometimes the phrase watched openmouthed doesn’t do justice to the reaction of onlookers.
    Fredelle lowered herself onto the chair in her office and pulled out a tissue to dab at her eyes.
    “Excuse me,” I said as I closed the office door in poor little Autumn’s stunned face. “Fredelle, are you all right?”
    “Not really. But don’t mind Robbie. He’s upset. I thought he might have fallen in love with her. And he’s right,” she said. “This is all my fault. I mismanaged everything. I should have gotten rid of that tramp Dyan the first week she came in. We need to get Barb back here.”
    “He had no right to speak to anyone like that, Fredelle, especially not you. He was way out of line.”
    “I understand his feelings, though. Poor boy, he’s never had anyone. Such a shy, lonely boy. Vulnerable. And I could see that he was growing fond of her. It was one of the reasons I wanted to do something about this situation, before she got fed up with the sneers and digs and quit. And left poor Robbie behind, too.”
    I stared at her.
    “You’re right,” she said. “The absolute best thing would be if you went to see Barb and explain that we were just trying to improve the situation without embarrassing her. I don’t want to lose a good employee over this. I think that perhaps we mishandled things and drove her away.”
    I said, “I’ll be happy to.”
    “Once she meets you and sees what you’re like, I’m one hundred percent convinced that she’ll come around.” She added, “I don’t know what else to do. That system upgrade is being installed. I knew that. Why did I ask you to come here yesterday? Why didn’t I wait until things were less stressful? Why didn’t I speak to her about it? I feel like a total—”
    “Okay, I will go and talk to Barb. I will explain and also say how distressed you are. And if I don’t succeed in persuading her to come back, then you can still try. Can I have her address, please?”
    Fredelle just stared straight ahead, imagining Barb’s distress, I suppose.
    “Fredelle?”
    “Hmm?”
    “Barb’s address, please. I think I should do this quickly.” I didn’t add, before I lose my nerve . This was the woman who had almost wiped out me and my car just a day earlier.
    Fredelle opened the left-hand drawer in her desk and fished out a file. She opened it, checked the address, and wrote it out for me without appearing to pay any attention to what she was doing.
    “I am so grateful,” she said, as she put the note with the address on it into my hand.
    The phone trilled on the desk.
    Fredelle glanced toward it and flinched. She picked up the receiver. “Hello, Reg.”

6

    Keep only one agenda,
whether it’s paper or electronic, whatever suits.
Use it for all appointments, business and personal.

    To tell the truth, I wasn’t sure it was such a good idea to approach Barb Douglas. Whatever she imagined I was planning to do to her on my first visit to Quovadicon, she had certainly been extremely upset by it. Never mind. You don’t get anywhere in life by being a coward , I reminded myself.
    I found her building without any problem. Woodbridge is short of apartment buildings and condos, but if you’re lucky you can find, as I did, an excellent unit in an older home that has been converted to multiple units. There are many throughout the city, and you just have to know someone to get one.
    Barb Douglas had hit the jackpot with a place on Lilac Lane, a tree-lined cul-de-sac with just four houses. The white clapboard house looked well maintained, and the fresh green paint on the shutters and porch contributed to the cared-for look. A separate set of external stairs had been added on to the original building and ran up the side to the second floor. The mailbox indicated No. 4B. I recognized the dark-green RAV-4 parked in the driveway.
    Whom had Barb known in town to rate this street and pretty house? I hurried up the stairs, smoothing my skirt. I was feeling