Agatha Page 3

  TO: All Staff

  FROM: Drake Garlock, CFO

  RE: Agatha Palmer

  Due to an unforeseen family emergency, Agatha Palmer will no longer work for H&S. If you have questions or concerns related to Ms. Palmer’s work or departure, please contact me directly.

  Thank you.

  Wow, that was short and sweet. I guess I should feel relieved that they didn’t announce to the entire company that I was accused of embezzlement. But, according to Camille, that point is moot, the word has already spread. I save the email to my desktop. I don’t know why. It seems self-defeating to keep it, but I just do things like that sometimes. I’m a saver. Searching back through the emails, I see one from Camille: Agatha? What happened? Why were you escorted out? I search again and see several more messages from Camille. I sigh. Poor Camille. She’s really been trying to talk to me. To help me.

  When I see one from Trent dated about a week ago, I’m awash with sadness again. Trent. I had hopes for me and Trent. I click on it.

  TO: Agatha Palmer

  FROM: Trent Archer

  Re:

  Agatha, I don’t know if you can still see this email, but I wanted to tell you how sorry I am about everything. I’m sorry I ever thought you were trustworthy, reliable, and, well, someone I could see myself with in the future. You disgust me. Trent

  A hot tear rolls down my cheek. I’m not surprised he feels that way. I am surprised he wrote it in an email though. Was it necessary for him to do that? No. It was not. I had believed my maximum humiliation quotient was met a couple of weeks ago, but I was wrong.

  When my eyes look at my screen, I see the emails I just read, disappearing one by one. “What the hell?” Clicking frantically, I attempt to open some of the remaining unread emails. But by the time I’ve clicked one email, they’re all gone. All of them. Poof. “Shit,” I mutter. Why would they start disappearing? How could I still access my account and then they get deleted? It makes no sense. Why now?

  After a much-needed nap and quart of double chocolate ice cream, I return to my work. The nap helped me clear my head and put things into perspective. And the ice cream? It’s always good for what ails ya. Sitting back down, I stare at the items on the table. There’s not much I can do right now. I’ve got no proof to my theory that the actual invoices I saved on the blue thumb drives will clear my name because I don’t have them. “Why didn’t I grab those that day?” The proof of my innocence lies in a box in my old office filing cabinet. There are at least five years of saved invoices on those things. Enough to prove that there’s no way I could have paid the fake ones.

  I need to get them. Do I ask Camille to help? No way can I do that to her, but I’ve decided to text her since she’s got to be worried sick. I’ve put off talking to people in my old life long enough.

  Me: Hey Camille

  In less than a minute, she responds.

  Camille: OMG! Are you okay? I’ve tried emailing, calling, and texting for weeks.

  Me: I know. Sorry. I was incommunicado.

  Camille: Is it true? That you…

  Me: No.

  Camille: I knew it! But, why do they think you stole over a million dollars?

  Me: I don’t know.

  My eyes burn. I quickly gather myself and reply.

  Me: Will you do me a favor?

  Camille: What kind of favor?

  Me: I think I left something on my desk. Has my desk been taken away or anything?

  What I really want to know about is my filing cabinet.

  Camille: No. Everything is still there.

  Perfect.

  Me: If you get a chance, I’m looking for a small framed photo of me and my mom.

  Camille: Oh, no! You loved that photo. Of course. I’ll go in there and look around right now. Give me a minute.

  Me: It might be behind my computer. It slid back there a lot.

  It feels wrong to say this, but I do it anyway.

  Me: Or in the second drawer of my filing cabinet.

  Camille: K. I’ll check.

  I wait for her to reply and smile a little bit. I was so clever just then––asking her to look for something in my office. That’s the important piece of this. I need to get my other thumb drives back. They’re in a small box in the back of my second filing cabinet drawer. Why didn’t I think to get those the day I was fired? Oh, I remember, I was a complete blubbering mess, that’s why. I’ve also got a folder of personal notes and letters from people I used to call friends. Now it appears only Camille remains. I hope when this is all said and done, I can sit down with Camille and laugh at all of this. But not now.

  Camille: No photo, hon. But they had a cleaning crew in there over a week ago. Maybe they took it.

  A cleaning crew?

  Me: Well, shoot. I’ll have to see if my dad has another copy. I’ll be bummed if I can’t get it. You sure it wasn’t in my filing cabinet?

  See what I did there?

  Camille: Nope. Just your old files and stuff.

  Good. Very good. It seems they left all of my remaining things intact. Now, how do I get my hands on those thumb drives? I can’t ask Camille to take them. That’d make her an accessory. That means I have to get into the office somehow without being spotted? Oh, and past security. My attention is drawn back to my phone when another text appears.

  Camille: Giiiiiiirl. I’m going to miss you at the anniversary party!

  Right, the party. I forgot about the H&S 50th Anniversary celebration. How could I? I was on the planning committee and now I’m going to miss it.

  Me: Damn. I forgot. Try to have fun without me.

  Camille’s last text is a sad face emoji. I’m sad too. If only I could be at that party. I could sneak up to my old office. Since the party is down in the lobby of our building, everyone would be downstairs. I sit up too quickly and get dizzy. Ignoring that, I say aloud, “If everyone is down in the lobby, that means no one will be up in the offices.”

  Awakening my computer, I type in the H&S web address and see the information about the party, planned for this Saturday, on the homepage. The entire company, reps from every branch from all over the country, will be there. The planning committee decided to transform the atrium of our building into a glamourous wonderland. At least that was my vision for the party. The company spared no expense. With that in mind, I hired a local caterer, a DJ, and rented a portable lighted dance floor that I was super excited about. Trent was in charge of a multimedia presentation about us, their beloved employees past and present, that will be projected on an adjacent wall and is supposed to loop throughout the night. He called it, The Heart and Soul of Heart & Sole Shoes. I laugh at the memory because he was so proud of that stupid title. Sadly, I won’t be able to see it. Any of it. But wait! Maybe I could see it.

  I rub my hands over my face. “How do I get in to that party?” I certainly can’t walk in the front door. “I could wear a disguise.” No, that’s a stupid idea. I’d get five feet into the atrium and get handcuffed by that big, handsome security guy.

  Oh my. I just pictured that handcuffing scenario with the hot security man and it gave me the sexy shivers. Shaking off the fantasy, I growl at myself, “Get your head in the game, Aggie.”

  So I do. I make myself comfortable on my sofa, so I can meditate, a.k.a. think, a.k.a. nap. But I don’t nap (this time) because the idea hits me suddenly. It’s genius. “I could infiltrate the catering staff.” There will probably be a million of them scurrying around since they’re in charge of the cocktail hour, dinner, dessert, as well as the bars that will be set up around the huge room. “There will be so many people, no one will notice little old me.” I could access the building through the back with the caterers. Once everyone is busy, I could sneak upstairs, grab my thumb drives, and BAM––I’d be out of there before dinner is even served; no one the wiser. It’s perfect. Or it will be once I work through the kinks. Fortunately for me, I’ve got three days to prepare. I can do this!

  Chapter 5

 
; Agatha

  “What was I thinking? I can’t do this,” I mumble nervously to myself as I watch the catering staff unload cart after cart filled with metal pans and equipment from their truck. I’m hiding behind a concrete post at the back entrance of the high-rise building that houses H&S headquarters. Somehow, I’ve got to slide into the crowd of about twenty catering staff without them noticing. I peer down at myself. At least my clothes look right. I’m wearing a white button-down shirt and black pencil skirt, the same outfit that much of the catering crew is wearing. I even found a red tie at a thrift store that looked like the ones they were wearing in the photos on their company website. My tie is a deeper red, but it’ll work. It has to.

  Running my hands over my hair, or wig, I should say, I fiddle with it to make sure it’s secure. The blonde wig is from a Halloween costume from a few years back. All five sisters dressed up as characters from Alice in Wonderland. Since it was my idea, I got to be Alice, Lainie was the Red Queen, Sadie was the Mad Hatter; Violet, the Caterpillar, and Keely was, of course, the Cheshire Cat. The wig was originally long and straight, but now it’s shoulder-length. I cut about eight inches off the thing. It doesn’t look perfect, a little uneven, but it will have to do. I added a pair of my glasses to the look since I normally wear contacts. They’re old and oversized so that helps with my disguise.

  “Hey! You! Over there!”

  I hear the words, but it doesn’t register where it’s coming from or that it’s directed at me until I look over at the catering truck and see a woman waving at me. “Are you here to work or just stand around? We need all hands on deck.”

  I stare at the woman, who I’d gather was only few years older than me. “Me?” I squeak.

  “Yeah, come on. We need everyone working. Chop, chop,” she says, clapping her hands.

  Shit. This is it. It’s happening. I quickly walk toward the woman and smile, weakly.

  “You must be new. I’m Beth,” she says, holding her hand out to me.

  “Ag…I mean, Abby.”

  Shaking my hand, Beth smiles. “Nice to meet you, Abby. Now, get your ass to work,” she says with a laugh.

  She seems nice. Maybe this could end up working out for me. Lord knows I need a job.

  Thirty minutes later and I’m having second thoughts about a career in catering. Number one, it’s back-breaking work. I’ve carried chafing dishes, plates, glasses, and silverware from the truck to the lobby. I must have made twenty trips back and forth. And two, my feet are killing me already. I’m regretting my shoe choice, kitten heels, but they are the only black shoes I own. It isn’t lost on me that most of the crew is wearing black sneakers. Smart.

  “Abby?”

  I’m carrying in another tray of water glasses when someone steps in front of me. “Abby?”

  “Oh, hi, Beth.”

  “I’ve been saying your name for five minutes.”

  “Sorry. I’m just super focused on the job, I guess.” I shrug. The tray of glasses is heavy and getting heavier the longer I stand still.

  Ignoring my lame excuse, Beth says, “I need for you to go out and help Mark set up the main bar.”

  “Right. I’ll just take the glasses out and then I’ll find Mark.”

  “Mm hmm,” Beth mumbles. “Thanks.”

  In the lobby, I set the glasses down on one of the large round tables covered in white cloth and peer around the room. It’s beautiful. It really looks like a glamorous wonderland. They pulled it off. The tall atrium space that is the lobby of our building has been transformed with twinkling lights, flowers, and candles on each table. I chose the color scheme of plum and green that’s reflected in the floral arrangements as well as in the center pieces on each table. I feel a sense of sadness looking around the room because, in a word, it’s beautiful and I helped make it that way. Only now I don’t get to enjoy it.

  Shaking off my blues, I get back to work. “Mark. Where are you?” I have no idea who Mark is but if I spot the main bar, he should be nearby. As I slowly scan the room, my breath catches in my throat. Trent’s here and he’s talking to Beth. Of course he’s here, dummy. He was on the same committee. “Shit,” I hiss. Act natural, Agatha. Acting natural has never been my strong suit. I’m a Palmer girl, after all. We’re all a little high-strung. Well, everyone except Sadie. She’s fairly grounded. I run my hands over my wig to make sure it’s still in place. Pushing my eye glasses up, I feel my face heat as I search for a place to hide. I need to relax. I’m in disguise. As long as Trent doesn’t look right at me, I’ll be okay. Spotting the bar, I walk quickly to the station in search of Mark. I don’t see him, so I ask hesitantly, “Mark?”

  Popping up from somewhere behind the bar is a guy. “Yep. That’s me.”

  He’s adorable. I could see him with Violet since he’s younger than me and I’m not interested. He’s got red hair and freckles on the apples of his cheeks. He’s tall too. More than six feet for sure. Yeah, he’d be a great fit for Vi.

  “Hi.” I blink. “I’m Ag…Abby.”

  “AgAbby? That’s a funny name,” he chuckles.

  “Abby,” I correct him.

  “Abby. What can I do for you, beautiful?”

  Oh, stop the presses. He’s one of those. A flirt. Too bad I suck at that game. Besides that, I’m not beautiful. Of all my sisters, I’d say I rank fifth in the looks department. I’m attractive, sure. If you like the boring librarian type. “I’m supposed to help you set up.”

  “Beth?” he says with an arched brow.

  I nod. “Yep.”

  Shaking his head, he mumbles, “She doesn’t think I can do anything.” Or something like that.

  “I’ve no idea what I’m doing but I’m a quick study. Tell me what to do.”

  Mark looks up at me and gives me a sexy smirk, “Can you cut up some fruit for me? I need garnishes.”

  “Sure.”

  “I’ve got everything set up in the back on the stainless-steel table. Do I need to show you how to cut fruit for drinks?”

  “No. I’ve got it.” Awesome. I can go back there and hide away. Trent won’t come back there. At least I hope he doesn’t.

  I trot back to the catering staging area, locate the table in question and begin cutting. I’m in my own little world and almost forget why I’m here in the first place. I use the time remaining to work through the plan again:

  As soon as dinner is well underway, I’ll sneak to the back stairwell and walk the eleven stories up to my old floor. I hope the emergency stairwell doors won’t be locked. They shouldn’t be. Not while the party is going on.

  With the party in full swing, I’m surprised how well my plan is working. I’ve been able to hide, having volunteered to help expedite the food. For those of you not in the food service biz, that means I help get the food out to the waitstaff. As the crew begins to plate dinner, I excuse myself, telling one of the others I’m supposed to help Mark at the bar. No one even questions it. I take the long corridor that runs parallel to the lobby to a set of stairs. I know my way around the building because about a year ago, I was into my Fitbit, so I took the stairs a lot. Taking a deep breath for courage, I pull the stairwell door open and step inside.

  By floor four, I want to die. Why did I ever stop exercising? My thighs are burning, I’ve got an ache in my side, and I can barely breathe. Stopping on the landing between floors four and five, I pant, “This is ri-ri-ridiculous.” Ridiculous or not, I’ve got to keep going. I take the stairs once again and slowly climb. I have to stop to catch my breath every other floor. Each time, I vow to start exercising the minute I’m home free. When I finally reach the door to my old floor, I sit on the step to gather myself. Sweat is dripping down my forehead. The wig is extra hot, so I pull it off and use my sleeve to wipe off the moisture. Using the fake hair as a fan, I let the little bit of air dry my skin. Too bad I can’t take off this damn skirt. My ass is sweaty too. No matter. I stand up, placing the wig back on my head. Reaching for the door I tell myself, You can do this, Aggie.
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  As quietly as possible, I pull the door open and see only darkness. There are a few overhead lights on, but I think those are for security purposes. I hold my breath, so I can listen for any noise. When I hear nothing, I step onto the carpeted floor and make my way toward my row of cubicles. It’s on the furthest side of the office from where I am now so I decide to move down a small corridor created between two rows of cubes. I scan the office and my heart pitter-pats in my chest. I miss this place. It was my home away from home for over eight years. Even though the cubes we worked in were a drab beige color and our chairs were uncomfortable, I still liked the feeling of consistency. I could always count on my days being the same, the people being the same. God knows numbers don’t change. It’s probably why accounting was such a good fit for me. I could always count on numbers. No pun intended. Ha!

  When I finally get to my row, I look around again, making sure the place is empty. There are no sounds anywhere around me, so I slither into my old cubicle. Everything is still there. Well, except for my personal things. My heart twists around in my chest and I feel my eyes burning a little. How can a job elicit this kind of feeling? It was just a job. I scan the desk that holds my computer, then move to the filing cabinet. Quietly, I open the top drawer and see everything is still there. My manuals, folders holding blank forms, and the file with my personal cards and letters. I pull that out and set it on the desk. Next, I open the second drawer. Pulling all of the hanging folders toward me, I reach back and feel the small box that holds my thumb drives. When I lift it, I notice two things: One, it’s not heavy enough and two, there’s nothing sloshing around inside. Bringing it out, I set it on the desk and pop the lid open. “Shit,” I mutter. It’s empty. Who would have taken them? My shoulders slump in defeat. “Now what do I do?”