Noote didn’t have a clear view of her. For once, she blessed the clutter in the customer care office. If security came after her, they’d have to squeeze past Cam and Jessica’s bulky desks and tall chairs and step around purses, file boxes and wastebaskets. Three big men couldn’t fit in the narrow aisle. They’d have to wait for Helen to come out.
Good. She needed a moment to think.
Noote was an ex-cop from Boston, and he’d think like someone in law enforcement.
Quick, Helen asked herself. Do I have anything that would make a cop curious?
My fake driver’s license.
“Ah-hah-choo!” Helen faked a juicy sneeze and palmed the license out of her purse. Then she pretended to search for a tissue in her desk drawer. Customer care staffers could not keep anything personal, even a tissue box, on top of the antique desks.
Helen was about to slide the license into her middle drawer when she realized human resources would pack up her things if she was fired.
She didn’t want them finding that fake license.
“Ah-choo!” she said again. “Jessica, may I have a tissue?”
Jessica, deep in a phone conversation with a difficult member, nodded absently. The actress had incredible concentration. She could build an invisible wall around herself.
Helen slipped her fake license into a side pocket in Jessica’s purse, then unzipped the purse and grabbed a tissue. She blew her nose noisily. Cam, the big hypochondriac, reached for his spray bottle of alcohol to ward off her airborne germs. “Now, Miss Hawthorne,” Noote said. It was a command.
“Sorry,” she said. “Allergies.” That excuse worked any time of the year in Florida.
Helen squeezed past the desks and chairs to join Noote. The security guards surrounded her. She breathed in Old Spice and sunbaked wool. She felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room.
Helen didn’t trust herself to say anything else, not even good-bye to her colleagues. She was afraid her voice would shake. Jackie looked more frightened than Helen felt, as if security might come for her next. Jessica was still oblivious, locked in her phone conversation.
Xaviera was frantically punching numbers on her phone, probably calling Steven for inside information. Cam was spraying his phone with alcohol.
Brenda came out of her office and gave Helen a triumphant smile.
“We’ll call you if we need you, Brenda,” Noote said.
Brenda, was it? Helen thought. Definitely a lynching party.
Outside, the bright sun nearly blinded her, and she stumbled on the flagstones. The burly guard on her left took her elbow. Helen shook him off.
Security escorted her around the back of the main building to a courtyard that was more like a tropical alley.
HR, Helen thought. My job is definitely toast.
Noote opened the door for her. She climbed the narrow back staircase to the office marked director — human resources. One security guard was in front of her. Two were behind her.
The HR office had been hacked out of a corner of the hall, an awkward arrangement of odd angles, a dusty window, and white paint thick as cake frosting. The director, Paige, sat at a beat-up wooden desk.
It was old, but definitely no antique. Paige was a thin blonde with prominent teeth and a wide lipsticked mouth. The effect was oddly sexy.
Helen had met her a week ago when she’d been hired. Now Paige was going to fire her.
“Let’s go in here where we have privacy,” Paige said, opening a door to a bare room that might have been a former closet. It was just big enough for a folding table and three plastic chairs. On the table were a blue pen and a yellow legal pad.
Paige showed her to the table and said, “Helen, we understand there was a problem in the parking lot last night with one of the guests. We’d like you to write down your side of the story. I’ll be back in a few minutes. If you finish before I come back, just open the door.”
Helen had worked in HR in her other life. They’re going to fire me
Good. She needed a moment to think.
Noote was an ex-cop from Boston, and he’d think like someone in law enforcement.
Quick, Helen asked herself. Do I have anything that would make a cop curious?
My fake driver’s license.
“Ah-hah-choo!” Helen faked a juicy sneeze and palmed the license out of her purse. Then she pretended to search for a tissue in her desk drawer. Customer care staffers could not keep anything personal, even a tissue box, on top of the antique desks.
Helen was about to slide the license into her middle drawer when she realized human resources would pack up her things if she was fired.
She didn’t want them finding that fake license.
“Ah-choo!” she said again. “Jessica, may I have a tissue?”
Jessica, deep in a phone conversation with a difficult member, nodded absently. The actress had incredible concentration. She could build an invisible wall around herself.
Helen slipped her fake license into a side pocket in Jessica’s purse, then unzipped the purse and grabbed a tissue. She blew her nose noisily. Cam, the big hypochondriac, reached for his spray bottle of alcohol to ward off her airborne germs. “Now, Miss Hawthorne,” Noote said. It was a command.
“Sorry,” she said. “Allergies.” That excuse worked any time of the year in Florida.
Helen squeezed past the desks and chairs to join Noote. The security guards surrounded her. She breathed in Old Spice and sunbaked wool. She felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room.
Helen didn’t trust herself to say anything else, not even good-bye to her colleagues. She was afraid her voice would shake. Jackie looked more frightened than Helen felt, as if security might come for her next. Jessica was still oblivious, locked in her phone conversation.
Xaviera was frantically punching numbers on her phone, probably calling Steven for inside information. Cam was spraying his phone with alcohol.
Brenda came out of her office and gave Helen a triumphant smile.
“We’ll call you if we need you, Brenda,” Noote said.
Brenda, was it? Helen thought. Definitely a lynching party.
Outside, the bright sun nearly blinded her, and she stumbled on the flagstones. The burly guard on her left took her elbow. Helen shook him off.
Security escorted her around the back of the main building to a courtyard that was more like a tropical alley.
HR, Helen thought. My job is definitely toast.
Noote opened the door for her. She climbed the narrow back staircase to the office marked director — human resources. One security guard was in front of her. Two were behind her.
The HR office had been hacked out of a corner of the hall, an awkward arrangement of odd angles, a dusty window, and white paint thick as cake frosting. The director, Paige, sat at a beat-up wooden desk.
It was old, but definitely no antique. Paige was a thin blonde with prominent teeth and a wide lipsticked mouth. The effect was oddly sexy.
Helen had met her a week ago when she’d been hired. Now Paige was going to fire her.
“Let’s go in here where we have privacy,” Paige said, opening a door to a bare room that might have been a former closet. It was just big enough for a folding table and three plastic chairs. On the table were a blue pen and a yellow legal pad.
Paige showed her to the table and said, “Helen, we understand there was a problem in the parking lot last night with one of the guests. We’d like you to write down your side of the story. I’ll be back in a few minutes. If you finish before I come back, just open the door.”
Helen had worked in HR in her other life. They’re going to fire me
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