Charlotte's Revenge Page 3

  Traci hopped off the van immediately upon arrival and watched out of the corner of her eye as the KMP squad car pulled into the striped “No Parking Zone” in front of Dewey Station. She hated being under constant police surveillance, but she was tired of arguing with Randall about it. He had convinced her it was necessary for her protection and agreed to only send a car if he wasn’t with her. The matter was settled between them, for now, but she couldn’t wait for this business to be over.

  She flashed her employee badge to Jim the security guard and then swiped it in the reader to gain access to the company’s alcove. She grabbed a maple glazed donut from the coffee hutch and headed to her office which was the last door on the left in what had been from all appearances a utility closet. There were no windows and no carpet. The metal drainage hole in the center of the floor and GFCI electrical outlets mid-way up the wall gave it away. Probably an old janitorial room or a vending machine break room. She never asked, it was more fun to imagine and guess what could have possibly fit in the tiny space and how she was giving it a second life. Traci had taken a piece of paper, folded it in half and then half again, and taped it to the door. Then, with her best handwriting she wrote in all capital letters with a green sharpie:

  Tracinda Simmons

  Friends of Magnolia Grove

  She had bought a cast-off piece of carpet at the local thrift store and a small fan that hummed under her desk almost constantly, which she didn’t mind because the noise helped her not feel so isolated. When the room got too stuffy, she would open the door slightly for ventilation with the added bonus of being able to hear what her coworkers were whispering as they walked by. The root cuttings of the indoor plants from the McClendon Library that Kay McGee had given her had grown, filtering the air and filled in the corners nicely. The fluorescent tube lighting had given her headaches, so she added a couple candlestick table lamps, along with a large art deco mirror that someone had set on their lawn for the trash pickup. It always amazed her at what some people considered “trash”. The carpet remnant was too long because she had forgotten to measure properly so she folded it under on one side of the small room. “I always forget to measure,” she thought and rolled her eyes. The door dragged across it and got stuck in the nap every time someone opened it, which happened again as Donna, the office manager pushed her door open to announce, “Mr. Kinsey expects you at the mid-morning meeting today. Don’t be late.”

  “I won’t,” Traci said with a side-eyed glance.

  Donna could have called and made that announcement over the phone but for some reason she took delight in the rug fiasco. Traci had overheard her co-workers labeling her as “that bike delivery girl.” Well, whatever. She was a Research Analyst for Simon, Kinsey and Co., now. With an office.

  “Every step better. Every day brighter,” she said and sat down at her desk. She opened her backpack and started arranging the journal and stack of documents in priority order. Grant submission status reports, Requests for Proposals, responses to partnership inquiries from compatible foundations and non-profits, media kits, advertisement templates and press releases.

  “My Heart, My Everything” ringtone streamed from her pocket. It was Randall calling at 9:02 a.m. on the dot.

  “Yes, I’m here. Yes, I’m safe. Yes, I have my coffee and a donut,” she answered before she was asked.

  “Alright, good,” he said with a soft chuckle. “You should have had a real breakfast with me.”

  “If I had done that, I wouldn’t have made it to work this morning.”

  “Ahh, well,” he chuckled again, “You’re probably right about that. How are they treating you?”

  “Well, I just got here, so nothing to complain about yet.” She laughed. “Oh, yeah. I got a text from Moe. He’s going to drop by and pick me up for the Heritage Days photoshoot. So, no need for you to take off early.”

  “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea ...”

  “No arguments, Ran-dall.” she said with an exaggerated mocking tone, then giggled.

  “Alright, alright, I’ll meet you over there as soon as I can.”

  “Perfect. I’ll see you then. Gotta go, big meeting.”

  “Go get ‘em.”

  Traci stopped by Ray Winston’s corner office on the way to the conference room. He wasn’t her boss, but he enjoyed acting like it. And, although Randall would never understand it, she didn’t mind. Ray helped her navigate the company protocols and the funding searches that garnered results not only for the CDC but also for herself and Moe. She had just scratched the surface for what was available for the Hazelton House restoration project and Mr. Kinsey was very pleased with her performance. “Mindfulness Mondays” was offered thirty minutes before office hours with guided meditation and Reiki massage. That was her idea. Absenteeism had dropped and productivity had risen. She was the company darling now.

  Ray met her at the end of the corridor wearing a perfectly tailored white shirt, dark gray tie over houndstooth slacks and ever-present smug expression. The administrative staff said he always looked Red Carpet ready, so they called him “Ready Ray” and finally to “R&R” for more dubious reasons. She smirked at their jokes but really liked how he dressed. His sense of style made her step up more in her wardrobe choices and search for the right designer labels at Nina’s consignment shop. Her co-workers’ sideways glances and whispers were a constant around the office. They were comfortable commenting openly like that around her. Was it disrespectful assuming she was one of them and not going to inform the higher ups about their gossip and misconduct? She decided that she didn’t care.

  Ray escorted her into the Ruby Alice Simon Memorial conference room. His long stride made it appear as if he owned the place. She scooted past the creepy bronze bust of Miss Ruby, Mr. Simon’s mother, that was mounted near the entrance while the others touched her pearls for luck. So weird. She took a seat next to Ray in one of the custom “Freedom Ergonomic Vegan Leather” chairs that was dialed up so high that her toes barely touched the floor under the high gloss teak conference table. She could never figure out how to adjust those things, so she didn’t dare touch the handles under the seat. At least she was at the same level and could make eye contact with everyone else, although she didn’t know their names. At her previous jobs, everyone wore a name tag of some sort. Here she was expected to remember everyone’s name, their birthdays, their kids’ names and their kids’ birthdays. She was still working on that but not very hard.

  Traci opened her notepad and promptly zoned out during most of what was being discussed. Instead she was fixated on the wall map of an “upcoming” project, or “potential” project, or “projected” project. She always got the terms mixed up. Whatever. It was something they wanted to do but didn’t have all their “ducks in a row” as Mr. Kinsey always put it. He was such a nice man. She enjoyed finding out the behind the scenes and fun facts at the CDC, like how these guys Simon and Kinsey were business rivals and actually got in a fist fight at City Hall once over a land contract dispute. Now they were the most successful partnership in the county. “How does that even work?” she thought. One more thing intrigued her that morning, how this new upcoming-potential-projected project development thing was adjacent to and almost totally swallowed up Wyman’s Campground.

  After the meeting, Ray treated her to lunch at the Brunch and Brew next door. A conversation with Ray was sometimes cordial but more often condescending and difficult to follow, like he was talking in code or something.

  “What do you think about Charlotte Carter escaping from jail and still being out there somewhere?” She figured the best way to approach a subject with him was head on. She wondered how far the news had spread and she knew Ray had his ears open to everything happening in the community.

  “Interesting,” he said, “but hardly surprising.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  He sighed, slowly lifted the monogrammed coffee cup and sipped his Americano. He was busy looking out the window and sca
nning the amphitheater construction site that was already a year behind schedule. “Try the salmon. It’s fresh on Tuesday,” he said flatly and glanced toward her ever so briefly. “And today is Tuesday.”

  She opted for the salad niçoise and managed to squeeze the lemon half without pelting herself with the seeds. The lunch crowd was thinning out and she wondered if the officer watching her from the parking lot was hungry too. What was his name again? Walter? No, Willis. No ... Ugh, she would never get used to seeing that car out of the corner of her eye everywhere. She had to talk to Randall about this again. If Ray noticed it, he made no indication. He probably did notice, but just didn’t find it “interesting”. She knew in her gut that Ray had more information about Charlotte Carter. The whole thing was crowding her thoughts too much. “Focus, Traci,” she told herself and shook her head. She decided to switch the subject and discuss in potentially more detail the plans outlined during the meeting with Mr. Kinsey.

  “So, there’s going to be a casino. How can they do that when gambling is not allowed in Faucier county?”

  “The casino build-out is part of it, yes. Phase One of the development starts with the luxury resort, forty-eight seat fine dining restaurant, and spa. Plenty of outdoor attractions and activities within a ten-mile radius. With the surrounding hillside, trails and pristine waterfront, it will be a delightful tourist location for people tired of the high prices of traveling to the coastal states.”

  “I know Josh St. John and he would never sell the campground,” she snapped. “Plus, Bear Falls River can be treacherous at certain times of the year. Flooding even. Have you been there?” She stopped nudging the yolk centers out of the hard-boiled eggs to the side of her plate and looked up at him. “And, you still didn’t’ answer my question. Gambling is not allowed here. How can you get permission to build it?”

  “Nothing is permanent, especially where politics are concerned.” He rested his elbow on the table and tilted his head toward her. He used his voice like a tool to draw her into a topic that she was probably not prepared for. But she followed every time. “It starts with a few helpful people in key positions around the region. Moving the old stale bread off the shelf, so to speak. Starting with the mayor.”

  “Mayor Gundry? What does he have to do with anything?”

  “He’s part of a silent coalition, the old guard, if you will, along with the county commissioner standing in our way. Gundry will be out this year once the election is over. It’s all very complicated but not insurmountable. A check with the right amount of zeroes and signed with the right name fixes almost anything. But,” he sat back and straightened his tie. “you wouldn’t want to get involved in that kind of thing, would you? Or, would you?” He lowered his eyelids, wet his lips and let a smile curl slowly across his face. That move didn’t work anymore.

  “Well, I vote, if that’s what you mean.” She bristled at the idea that one of her strongest allies would be under attack. “And, I’m for Mayor Gundry and so is Randall. He said the mayor is a fair guy and I believe him. He’s always helped the Friends of Magnolia Grove and the restoration of Hazelton House ...”

  “Yes ...” he said with a deep sigh that turned into a hiss, “that monstrosity in the middle of the most promising parcel on that side of town.” He squinted at her and lowered his voice, “Did you know there are some people that would like to see Hazelton House torn completely down instead of this partial “reveal” demolition you’re trying to pull off?”

  “By ‘some people’, you actually mean you. Right?”

  “Yes, that’s right. Me. And others ... far more powerful than you and I put together. But never mind that.”

  “All I’m saying is ...”

  “My dear Ms. Simmons don’t clutter your mind with all of this,” he waved his fingers toward her and turned away. “Just come to the meetings, take a few notes, nod your head now and then, and stay out of the way.”

  Traci could feel her face heating up and those tears of frustration ready to betray her.

  “Would you like another donut for later, sweetheart?” He said lifting his coffee cup.

  “Every step better, every day brighter,” she thought, then stood up and squared her shoulders. “Sure, I like donuts. They’re my favorite things ... one of my favorite things. You wanna know something else about me?”

  “What is that?” Another sigh.

  “I have a photoshoot today with Faucier Homes magazine for Heritage Days. I’m going to be on the cover representing Simon, Kinsey and Co.” She wiped her hands on the napkin and tossed it down. “And about that multi-million-dollar restoration project in Magnolia Grove. I’m the spokesperson. Some other people wanted to be, but they were not chosen.”

  “Well ...” he rolled his eyes toward her and straightened his tie again.

  “And by some people, I mean ... you.” She picked up the lemon wedge, dropped it in his coffee and left Ray sitting alone brushing off his sleeve and his ego.

  She pushed through the line of customers. Then doubled back to the “Order Pick-Up” station and emptied her pockets of all the sugar and catsup packets that she had swiped and whispered a quick, “Sorry.” She had to remember to stop doing that now that she could afford to fill her own pantry. She headed back to her little utility room office and pushed past Donna who was throwing dagger eyes at her the entire time. All the females under thirty would kill to have lunch with “R&R” but they had no idea what an absolute pain in the ...

  Randall’s “My Heart, My Everything” ringtone interrupted her thoughts, this time with a video chat request. Traci wiped her face and accepted.

  “Hey babe, I just got back from lunch,” she said closing her office door.

  “Yeah, I know,” he said in a low voice. “Everything okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she sighed, “just as fine as I was three hours ago when you last called me.”

  “Listen ...” he took a deep breath. She could tell he was gearing up to lecture her about something.

  “Just because you bought me this phone doesn’t mean you get to call me all day,” she said trying to derail the argument before it started.

  “Oh, I think it does,” he chuckled and gave her a warm smile. She couldn’t stand it when he did that. It sounded so ... adorable. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. She would drop her defenses and just go along with it, as usual

  “Officer Williams said you just left the coffee shop and seemed upset. I’m just checking in,” he lowered his voice even more. “Do I need to step up in Dewey Station, my angel?”

  “No, of course not,” she blushed. “I want to keep this job, Randall. Plus, it was nothing serious. I’m over it now.” They laughed. They both knew he was just kidding. Or was he? Well, one thing they both understood ...

  “Besides, I can take care of myself.”

  “Yeah, about that ...” he whispered and shifted the phone to his other hand, “that business at the gun range the other day. You want to explain how you managed that level of accuracy for someone who doesn’t want to handle a gun?”

  “Ummm, not now ... I’ve got to get back to work.” She propped the phone on her desk and jotted down a note to ask Josh if anyone had approached him about adding a casino near Wyman’s Campgrounds. Seems like someone would have mentioned it or at least stopped by to survey the terrain. She wouldn’t want him blind-sided by someone like Ray Winston.

  Remember I’m going to skip yoga and ride to Hazelton House with Moe. So don’t rush over to get me.”

  “Right, got it. That’ll give me time to try out a new piece of equipment at the gym, the TundraCycle. Sounds like a beast.”

  “Great a new toy for you to play with.”

  “Aww, don’t be jealous. You know you’re my favorite toy.”

  “I am not a toy, sir. I am a successful career woman, now.”

  “Oh yeah, I forgot that part. So fancy.” She melted inside when he teased her like that.

  “Yes, I am,” she giggled, “so fancy.�
� They sat smiling at each other. “Seriously, I’ve got to get back to work. Don’t be late for my photoshoot.”

  “I won’t.”

  “And don’t call me again today.” She smiled and wrinkled her nose.

  He leaned in closer to the screen and smiled, “Oh, I will be calling you again today.”

  She ended the call and watched the screen fade into the photo of the two of them sun-kissed by the water at Austin Cove, her head resting on his shoulder. It was her first and last fishing trip with Randall. It took him two hours to catch a record-breaking large-mouth bass. She felt so sad looking at its mouth gasping for air, in pain on the end of his hook. He threw it back and took her to Queen Street for Jamaican Jerk Shrimp and Pineapple salad. She rested her chin on her hands and stared closer at the picture. Those shoulders were always available to her. His touch and whispers of affirmation exactly when she needed them.

  “How did I get so lucky?” She wished he wouldn’t work all those extra hours searching for crazy Charlotte Carter. That woman had robbed the community of their beloved Rowena Garrett. And now she was stealing away time Traci could be spending with the love of her life. She wanted all of his time. She looked at the pile of documents waiting for her attention and patted her cheeks that were sore from grinning so hard.

  She turned on the fan under her desk and walked over to open the door, then paused to look at her dress hanging on the hook. She unzipped the clear vinyl garment bag and held it up against her body. She had really liked a red and black polka dot A-line dress with a large billowy tulle collar but was afraid she might look like a giant ladybug. So, she chose a simple pale pink colored knit sheath dress covered with a ruched nylon mesh, and scoop neck that showed just enough cleavage. She added a shawl of vintage lace that reminded her of a wedding dress. She decided to keep everything sealed inside the bag and wait until she got to Hazelton House to change, just in case Moe’s delivery truck smelled like Louisiana crab boil and catfish grease.