Read Online Cash & Carry (Mayfield Cozy Mystery Book 4) by Jerusha Jones - Free Book Online
Authors: Jerusha Jones
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hand so I could shake with the others, although Laney’s limp, barely-there grip left something to be desired. She refused to make eye contact with me.
Mr. Bigelow made a fuss over Emmie, calling her ‘little lady’ and patting her on the head too hard.
She wrinkled her nose but dredged up a display of good manners which made me proud. “We brought cinnamon rolls to say thank you,” she said in a tiny voice, pressing against my side. Better than kicking him in the shins, which is what I wanted to do. I gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze.
“Well, well, well.” Mr. Bigelow rocked back on his heels. “We’ll just have to share these goodies with the guys, eh, Rod? That’s mighty kind of you.”
“Are you in the transportation business, Mr. Bigelow? I own the freight terminal two exits south of here along I-5.” I figured I’d offer what was already public knowledge in an attempt to get a few more details about my benefactor.
“Call me Shane, please. We can certainly be on a first name basis.” He bunched his lips and sucked in air as though making sure all his teeth were in place before continuing. “Repairs, mostly. You saw the trailers out in the lot? Got quite the backlog, but we’d be happy to expedite any business you send our way, if any of your freight contractors need structural work done on their trailers.”
“You have a great location, so near the freeway. Do you deal with emergency repairs too?” I aimed my question at the operations manager, Rod Kliever, but he appeared to be mute, his ears now almost as red as his hair.
“Sure, sure.” Bigelow was all smiles. “Anything you need. Anything at all.” His palm landed, hard and demanding, right between my shoulder blades, and he pushed while flipping the deadlock on the steel door and opening it with his other hand. I was scooted out of the office in record time.
Loretta guided Emmie out right on my heels, forming an ignominious little caravan. Her face was pinched into a suspicious frown.
“Bye now,” Bigelow called with what was supposed to look like a friendly wave before he slammed the door shut.
I flinched, and my ears popped as though the air pressure had dropped with the slam. The bolt shifted back into place with a loud click.
Loretta and I jumped again, in unison this time, as the garage door at the far end of the building also came clattering down.
Sealed up tight. No signs of life. I stood there shivering in the cold, feeling as though I’d just been startled out of a bizarre dream.
“Not exactly customer service oriented,” Loretta grumbled as we climbed into the Datsun.
“And no work crews. What guys was he talking about?” I added. “They can’t only work nights.”
Emmie sighed. “We should have kept the cinnamon rolls.”
Loretta trilled a delighted giggle. “I won’t tell you I told you so, sweetheart. Where to next? Someplace nicer, I hope.”
I chewed my lip as we headed south, stewing. I still didn’t know the name of the business to which I owed gratitude for a non-lawsuit. Why didn’t Bigelow hire more people if the business was that busy? With the unemployment rate in Woodland, he would have had a line of applicants out the door—provided the door was unlocked—if he advertised positions.
And all that scrap metal inside the building—I hadn’t spotted a single piece that appeared to come from or belong to a semitrailer. But I’m not a journeyman welder or carpenter or whatever type of skilled craftsman I would need to be to recognize the materials and tools of the trade. If the company did, indeed, repair semitrailers then it made sense they wouldn’t mind so much about needing to repair the one I’d helped wreck the evening before.
Still, it seemed fishy. Absolutely fishy. I agreed with Emmie—what a sad waste of cinnamon rolls.
I wondered if Selma had details about her daughter’s employment. But I didn’t want to worry her. She’d been so relieved when Laney had finally
Mr. Bigelow made a fuss over Emmie, calling her ‘little lady’ and patting her on the head too hard.
She wrinkled her nose but dredged up a display of good manners which made me proud. “We brought cinnamon rolls to say thank you,” she said in a tiny voice, pressing against my side. Better than kicking him in the shins, which is what I wanted to do. I gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze.
“Well, well, well.” Mr. Bigelow rocked back on his heels. “We’ll just have to share these goodies with the guys, eh, Rod? That’s mighty kind of you.”
“Are you in the transportation business, Mr. Bigelow? I own the freight terminal two exits south of here along I-5.” I figured I’d offer what was already public knowledge in an attempt to get a few more details about my benefactor.
“Call me Shane, please. We can certainly be on a first name basis.” He bunched his lips and sucked in air as though making sure all his teeth were in place before continuing. “Repairs, mostly. You saw the trailers out in the lot? Got quite the backlog, but we’d be happy to expedite any business you send our way, if any of your freight contractors need structural work done on their trailers.”
“You have a great location, so near the freeway. Do you deal with emergency repairs too?” I aimed my question at the operations manager, Rod Kliever, but he appeared to be mute, his ears now almost as red as his hair.
“Sure, sure.” Bigelow was all smiles. “Anything you need. Anything at all.” His palm landed, hard and demanding, right between my shoulder blades, and he pushed while flipping the deadlock on the steel door and opening it with his other hand. I was scooted out of the office in record time.
Loretta guided Emmie out right on my heels, forming an ignominious little caravan. Her face was pinched into a suspicious frown.
“Bye now,” Bigelow called with what was supposed to look like a friendly wave before he slammed the door shut.
I flinched, and my ears popped as though the air pressure had dropped with the slam. The bolt shifted back into place with a loud click.
Loretta and I jumped again, in unison this time, as the garage door at the far end of the building also came clattering down.
Sealed up tight. No signs of life. I stood there shivering in the cold, feeling as though I’d just been startled out of a bizarre dream.
“Not exactly customer service oriented,” Loretta grumbled as we climbed into the Datsun.
“And no work crews. What guys was he talking about?” I added. “They can’t only work nights.”
Emmie sighed. “We should have kept the cinnamon rolls.”
Loretta trilled a delighted giggle. “I won’t tell you I told you so, sweetheart. Where to next? Someplace nicer, I hope.”
I chewed my lip as we headed south, stewing. I still didn’t know the name of the business to which I owed gratitude for a non-lawsuit. Why didn’t Bigelow hire more people if the business was that busy? With the unemployment rate in Woodland, he would have had a line of applicants out the door—provided the door was unlocked—if he advertised positions.
And all that scrap metal inside the building—I hadn’t spotted a single piece that appeared to come from or belong to a semitrailer. But I’m not a journeyman welder or carpenter or whatever type of skilled craftsman I would need to be to recognize the materials and tools of the trade. If the company did, indeed, repair semitrailers then it made sense they wouldn’t mind so much about needing to repair the one I’d helped wreck the evening before.
Still, it seemed fishy. Absolutely fishy. I agreed with Emmie—what a sad waste of cinnamon rolls.
I wondered if Selma had details about her daughter’s employment. But I didn’t want to worry her. She’d been so relieved when Laney had finally
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