Read Online The Final Arrangement by Annie Adams - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Annie Adams
Tags: Mystery
Ads: Link
leaves that have just been sprayed with needed water, people think they look like they are unhealthy and dying. The American culture’s screwed up perceptions of health and beauty are not limited just to people.
“We’ve got a whole case of ‘em in the plant room. You don’t have to pay for it. Hell, who am I going to tattle to?” The cackle continued with phlegm-induced interruptions caused by a lifetime of smokes. “Just find what you need. I’ll be outside.”
I smiled and watched as she turned to go outside, her waist long, brown-streaked-with-gray braid swaying as she rolled from right foot to left. I had a pretty good idea this would be a long smoke break, so I figured I could look at a few things in the office. I had permission to be there, so what if I just happened to accidentally run into some sales figures or something like that?
Derrick’s office desk was cluttered with papers, yellow envelopes and everything else one might find at a work desk. Nothing jumped out at me and said, “Look this is why I was murdered.” I didn’t see anything that looked like a paycheck, but I did see a three-fold glossy pamphlet with the title “Switch Grass, Bio-fuel of the Future.” I had heard of switch grass before, it was on the list of availability from one of my suppliers. I hadn’t known of its use as a bio-fuel, so I picked up the pamphlet out of curiosity. A picture of a grassy looking plant with a man standing next to it covered the front fold. The grass stood at least a foot taller than the man. I folded the pamphlet in half and put it in my back pocket for later. I didn’t think anyone would miss it. Nothing else on the desk stood out.
It occurred to me that the police had probably already been through things here, since the owner of the desk had been found mysteriously dead.
I walked over to a little room wedged between the design area and the bathroom. It was full of floor to ceiling shelves made of two by fours and plywood. Four and six inch potted houseplants dotted two of the shelves. Most of them were wilted for lack of water. One wall of shelves was completely full with wicker and split willow baskets in all different shapes and styles. A sink, probably never cleaned since the day it was installed, leaned on one wall and next to it, a small counter top where plants were arranged in the baskets. A plastic garbage can full of potting soil rested under the counter. The box next to it looked to be full of sphagnum moss.
I looked all over the crowded little room, not finding the metal cans of leaf shine anywhere. Then I remembered she had said a case of it, meaning there was probably a cardboard box full of them somewhere. I noticed a cardboard box underneath the p-trap of the sink and reached down to open it. Because of the dim lighting in the tiny room, I couldn’t see the water damage to the box where it touched the sink pipe. I reached into a squishy, slimy, wet blob that smeared all over my fingers. Repulsed, my immediate reaction was to jerk my hand out. While gagging, I noticed my fingers were covered in dark green—almost black goo which was probably a product of decomposing plant and cardboard. I decided to be a little more cautious and reached again for the cardboard box. I pulled and slid it out from under the sink. As I did, something fell down and slapped the floor.
I blindly reached under the sink, toward the direction of the sound until my fingers made contact with something on the floor. I pulled out a black three-ring binder full of paper and tabbed dividers. I wondered why anyone would keep a binder full of paper under the sink with the drips and moisture all over the place.
Inside the binder I found a ledger labeled for February’s sales figures. Everything was hand-written. Each day of the month had its own column, and under each column was written a number. It was not uncommon to see $3,000
“We’ve got a whole case of ‘em in the plant room. You don’t have to pay for it. Hell, who am I going to tattle to?” The cackle continued with phlegm-induced interruptions caused by a lifetime of smokes. “Just find what you need. I’ll be outside.”
I smiled and watched as she turned to go outside, her waist long, brown-streaked-with-gray braid swaying as she rolled from right foot to left. I had a pretty good idea this would be a long smoke break, so I figured I could look at a few things in the office. I had permission to be there, so what if I just happened to accidentally run into some sales figures or something like that?
Derrick’s office desk was cluttered with papers, yellow envelopes and everything else one might find at a work desk. Nothing jumped out at me and said, “Look this is why I was murdered.” I didn’t see anything that looked like a paycheck, but I did see a three-fold glossy pamphlet with the title “Switch Grass, Bio-fuel of the Future.” I had heard of switch grass before, it was on the list of availability from one of my suppliers. I hadn’t known of its use as a bio-fuel, so I picked up the pamphlet out of curiosity. A picture of a grassy looking plant with a man standing next to it covered the front fold. The grass stood at least a foot taller than the man. I folded the pamphlet in half and put it in my back pocket for later. I didn’t think anyone would miss it. Nothing else on the desk stood out.
It occurred to me that the police had probably already been through things here, since the owner of the desk had been found mysteriously dead.
I walked over to a little room wedged between the design area and the bathroom. It was full of floor to ceiling shelves made of two by fours and plywood. Four and six inch potted houseplants dotted two of the shelves. Most of them were wilted for lack of water. One wall of shelves was completely full with wicker and split willow baskets in all different shapes and styles. A sink, probably never cleaned since the day it was installed, leaned on one wall and next to it, a small counter top where plants were arranged in the baskets. A plastic garbage can full of potting soil rested under the counter. The box next to it looked to be full of sphagnum moss.
I looked all over the crowded little room, not finding the metal cans of leaf shine anywhere. Then I remembered she had said a case of it, meaning there was probably a cardboard box full of them somewhere. I noticed a cardboard box underneath the p-trap of the sink and reached down to open it. Because of the dim lighting in the tiny room, I couldn’t see the water damage to the box where it touched the sink pipe. I reached into a squishy, slimy, wet blob that smeared all over my fingers. Repulsed, my immediate reaction was to jerk my hand out. While gagging, I noticed my fingers were covered in dark green—almost black goo which was probably a product of decomposing plant and cardboard. I decided to be a little more cautious and reached again for the cardboard box. I pulled and slid it out from under the sink. As I did, something fell down and slapped the floor.
I blindly reached under the sink, toward the direction of the sound until my fingers made contact with something on the floor. I pulled out a black three-ring binder full of paper and tabbed dividers. I wondered why anyone would keep a binder full of paper under the sink with the drips and moisture all over the place.
Inside the binder I found a ledger labeled for February’s sales figures. Everything was hand-written. Each day of the month had its own column, and under each column was written a number. It was not uncommon to see $3,000
Similar Books
