Thanks to Paulina Ann, Xenitha, max2013, EvergreenDreamweaver, Caranath, hlahabibty, Cherylann Rivers, Guest, BMSH, Barb, Guest2, WindGemini, Man UTD, Joe hardy the tenage detective, SnowPrincess88, Interesting, and everyone who read and enjoyed the last chapter. RL has been rearing its ugly head so updates have been and will continue to be slow. I can promise not to abandon the story, though, so you will all (eventually) get to find out what happens! :) - Leya
Chapter 6
Joe sat at his desk, sliding his computer keyboard back and forth across the top of his desk like an air hockey puck and listened with great enjoyment to the silence blanketing the office.
From the moment he had walked in the door, the phone had been ringing off the hook with calls coming in from one reporter after another looking for a quote or chasing rumors. The first few he picked up at the reception desk, before deciding the chair in his office was more comfortable.
He missed a few calls while trying to figure out how to pick up the calls from the front at his desk, and felt pretty good about himself once he figured it out. For a while. Most of the calls he answered, were from reporters who accepted his repeated, "No comment. It's an ongoing police investigation," before giving up, thanking him, and ending the call.
The one he hung up on had been much less accommodating.
In the ten or so minutes the man had been on the phone, Joe had managed to speak for maybe thirty seconds. Give or take.
Most of which was at the end when I telling him where to go, Joe thought, the tapping on his leg growing more agitated. I wish Patricia was still here. She was so much better at this than me.
That was when he had gone to each phone in the office and turned off the ringers, letting all the calls go to the answering machine.
The silence this produced provided a sense of great satisfaction. For about five minutes. Right up until he realized if the reporters couldn't get through, then neither could any new potential clients.
If we get any new clients with all this going on, he thought.
He stilled the keyboard and started drumming his fingers on the desk for a minute before shoving his chair back and stomping over the reception area. For a moment he stood, a frown etched on his face, looking at the empty chair. The frown deepened into a scowl as he stared at the desk, cleared of the pictures and personal items that had been there only a few days before, then relaxed.
I'll delete this batch of messages, then call and see how she's doing. And her mom.
With a sigh, he sat down and rifled through the desk to find paper and a pencil, then turned to the machine, took a deep breath, and pushed the play button.
In the few minutes he had turned the ringers off, five calls had already come in and were waiting to be answered.
The first one was a hang-up, which brought a smile to his face. The second was a reporter – probably the first caller trying again after a reaming out from his editor – demanding a quote and threatening an unfavorable story if he didn't get one.
Because that's going to happen, Joe thought. Idiot left a voicemail message. He hit 'skip' instead of 'delete' for that one so he could figure out what paper it was and call the editor to let him – Or her – know what kind of tactics the reporter was using.
The third message was a long, annoyed breath followed by a loud crash as the handset on the other end of the line met the phone's base. He figured it was most likely the same guy calling back to see if he could catch Joe unawares.
Not happening, pal, he thought as he deleted that one, too.
There was a pause at the beginning of the fourth message, then a hacking cough.
"Frank? Joe?… It's Liz." The voice was female, tentative and raspy.
Joe started, thinking for a moment it was Liz from the art gallery calling to see how he was doing, before realizing she didn't know Frank, and the voice wasn't right. He turned his attention back to the words coming from the recorder.
"… your side of the story." There was more coughing. "Sorry, I'm home with the flu. Dad would freak if he knew I was working from bed. He still tends to think of me more as his baby then as one of his beat reporters."
Joe's eyes widened. Not Liz Callahan. Liz Webling.
A loud sneeze sounded through the line., pulling his attention back to the call.
"Ah, geez, sorry about that," Liz's voice said. "Hold on."
He heard the sound of tissues being pulled from a box, then a loud honking noise and some sniffling.
"Good thing you guys are my friends." Another sniff. "Anyway, the offer stands." There was a pause. "You might just want to do it over the phone rather than exposing yourself to my creeping crud. Let me know. Bye."
Joe skipped the last message, and reached out for the phone's handset, closing his eyes for a moment as he focused on trying to remember if Liz had moved out of her parents' house after getting the job at the paper. Finally, he shrugged and just dialed the Webling's house, figuring if nothing else whoever answered the phone could give him Liz's number.
It rang three times before a muffled voice said, "Hello?" followed by a loud sneeze.
"Liz, it's Joe. Hey, have you seen a doctor about that?"
"Joe!" Liz's voice squeaked out. "Yeah. Fluids, rest, blah, blah, blah." She sneezed again. "Hold on, I have to..." There was a loud gulping noise, then "… take a drink of tea. Okay, I should be good for a few minutes now."
"Are you sure you're all right?" Joe couldn't keep the concern from his voice. In the whole time he had known Liz, she had never been sick. Or at least not this sick.
There was a breath. "Meh. All that good health in high school caught up with me. It really is just the flu. Which, can I say, sucks." She paused, her voice softer when she continued. "But honestly, Joe, I should probably be the one asking you that question."
Joe sighed. "Back at you with the meh. How'd you find out?"
"Dad called this morning. Some of the city reporters have been calling the paper for background information on you." She sniffed then snorted. "They were digging for dirt. He enjoyed bursting their bubbles."
"Good." Joe felt a particular satisfaction about that. "I'd say I'm crushed, but..."
"Yeah, I get it." There was some more coughing. "Okay, well, I just wanted to check and make sure you were okay."
"And maybe get a story?" He allowed the smile on his face to come out in his voice.
Liz laughed. "I knew I couldn't pull one over on you. You know me so well, Joe Hardy."
"Right now, it's an ongoing investigation, so I can't say much," he said. "But…"
"I get an exclusive once it's not?" Her voice cracked on the last word.
This time it was Joe who laughed. "You know, Liz, that could probably be arranged."
"Excellent!"
She sneezed one more time, and Joe felt a pang of guilt for keeping her on the phone.
"Liz, you should go get some rest. I'll call you once this is all done," he said. "Or maybe I'll take a trip home and take you for dinner."
"I'm tired of rest." She sighed. "But I do feel moderately terrible. Dinner would be great, though. Once I'm healthy again." Her voice was definitely fading. "Is there anything I can do in the meantime?"
Joe thought for a second, then allowed a grin to cover his face. "Actually there is. I need the name of a managing editor out here. Think you can get that for me if I send you the reporter's name?"
"Definitely. Shoot me an email, and I'll look into it. Right after I take another nap."
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
"Knock, knock." Frank banged his knuckles on the edge of the open office door and watched as Liz started in her chair before covering the motion of her arm by smoothing her hair.
"Paul," she squeaked, leaning forward in her seat to place her elbows on the desk, "what can I do for you?"
He cocked his head to one side and gave her a wide smile. "I was thinkin' it's more like what I can do for you," he said. "Your coffeemaker's still kaput, right?"
She let out a long breath. "Yes."
"So, how's about you and me go and grab some coffee and maybe some lunch?" He raised an eyebrow at her. "Are you free for lunch?"
She practically purred at his words.
"As a matter of fact, I am." She leaned over to open a drawer in her desk and pulled out a purse. "Just let me go tell Mr. von Ormond I'm leaving."
Frank nodded, and she sashayed over to the gallery manager's office. He tried to catch a glimpse of the man as the door opened, but all he could see was the corner of a desk. Liz disappeared inside and shut the door behind her as he waited, trying not to grind his teeth in frustration.
Other than the first few phone calls, he hadn't dealt with the gallery manager at all, and he wanted a visual so he could try to get a read on the man's personality.
A second or two later, Liz reappeared, the door shutting behind her as she stepped back into the room. She stopped at a coat rack to grab a light jacket, then smiled up at him.
"Let's go!" she said, a gleam in her eyes as she looked up at him.
He held out an arm to her, and as she molded herself against his side, he shook his head internally, questioning yet again his brother's taste in women. He managed to make light small talk as he led her to a coffee shop down the block. While the coffee wasn't as good as what he could get at his local cafe, it was adequate for what Paul Sorrento would probably drink, and it had a lunch counter. He was grateful that they had a few minutes silence while perusing the menu as he was running out of inconsequential things to say.
I have no idea how Joe does this, he thought. Charming women is definitely more up his alley.
He pulled a chair out for her at a small, round table in front of one of the windows. The look of astonishment on her face at this small courtesy made her look younger and much less predatory, and he found himself wondering if this was what Joe had seen in her.
"So, Liz, how long have you been working at the gallery?" He smiled at her as he spoke, one hand fingering the gold chain around his neck.
Her face fell. "Is this why you asked me to lunch? To interview me?"
Frank cursed internally. Crap. Not a good opening line.
He tilted his head to one side. "Of course not. But if we combine business with pleasure…" He reached across the table and took one of her hands.
"Then you get to submit it as an expense," she said, understanding in her eyes. "Smart as well as good looking. Wow. I hit the jackpot." She squeezed his hand. "About two years. Since I got out of school."
"Let me guess… Art History?" Frank grinned at her.
Liz shook her head. "Everybody says that, and I don't know why…" Her voice trailed off, then she shook her head and refocused her attention on Frank. "No. Business management."
"Really?" Frank blinked as he tried to mask the astonishment he felt. "That's impressive."
"Gallery management isn't what I wanted to get into, but it's turned out to be pretty interesting." She tossed her hair over her shoulder. "And no one cares if I come into work wearing jeans and t-shirt every now and then. So it works out." She shrugged. "How long have you been working with your uncle?"
"Off and on for a year or so," he said. "I want to be a trooper rather than an independent, though. I start at the Massachusetts State Police academy in the fall."
Her face fell. "Massachusetts?"
Frank nodded, sincerity radiating from every pore. "I want to do this without relying on the family. We got cops goin' back generations, and I don't want people treating me different because of who I'm related to. You know?"
"Oh." She slid her hand out from his and pushed her hair off her shoulders. "That's pretty noble. So, what do you want to know?" Her voice became much more businesslike.
"Mostly what happened to the last guy you hired. Uncle Carmine wasn't able to get a lotta detail, and I'd like to make sure whatever it was doesn't happen to us."
"Oh, it was awful. I thought he was dead when I came in that morning." Liz shivered, but her eyes lit up. "He came in the night before the opening to guard the art…."
"Was it vaulable?"
"The art?" Liz looked surprised. "Well..." She pursed her lips. "It was priced high, but to me it didn't look like much. I'm not really into art all that much, so I can't tell if it was good or not, but I thought it looked like a bunch of kids' school projects." She shrugged. "To each his own, right?"
Frank nodded. "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt."
"It's okay. Well, he showed up about ten minutes before we closed. We talked a bit about where we were going to have dinner the next night." Her head jerked up, and a blush covered her cheeks. "I mean… we had talked about meeting up after the opening, but it wasn't..."
"Good looking guy, eh?" He smiled. "Not like Carmine?"
Liz's blush deepened. "You could say that… Anyway, he walked around for a few minutes. I guess he was making sure the cameras were pointed where he wanted them. Then I left."
"What happened in the morning?" He went to grab his coffee and take a sip, realized his hands were trembling, and leaned forward, clasping them together in his lap.
"It was awful." Liz took a sip of water. "I was the first one there. I don't know why. Mr. von Ormond was supposed to be there early. I come in late on the days we have openings, so I wasn't there until after nine-thirty." Her eyes took on a distant look. "When I got there, all the lights were off. I turned them on, and the art was gone. And when I went further into the room, he was… he was..." She closed her eyes.
"Had he been attacked?" Frank wanted to kick himself for making her go through this.
But I have to know, he thought.
"No," she said, opening her eyes and looking down at her plate. "At least I don't think so. He was tied to a chair. One of the office chairs. And he was unconscious. I wasn't sure he was breathing. I think I screamed." She looked up. "That was when Mr. von Ormond came in. He brought me into the office and made me some coffee."
Frank shook his head. Something didn't add up. "After he called the police?"
"What? No. Before. He handed me some coffee then called 9-1-1." Her eyes grew wide. "That can't be right..."
"Did you notice anything else?" Anger was bubbling up in his chest, and it was a struggle to keep his voice steady. "Was the room completely empty?"
She nodded. "Except for him and the chair."
Frank ground his teeth together. Everything was pointing to an inside job. An inside job that is revolving around Mr. von Ormond...
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
It wasn't until Joe got back from lunch that he remembered he hadn't listened to the last message on the answering machine. Talking with Liz, and realizing there were people out there who knew he wasn't the bad guy in this scenario, had allowed him to calm down enough that he hadn't bothered turning off the ringers again. Picking up the phone to call Patricia to see how she was doing, update her on what was happening with the agency, and reassure her that he had not burned the office down since she had left, also helped as it kept the main office line busy for another half-hour or so.
The blissfully phone call free remainder of the time before his tummy informed him it was time to eat again had been taken up going over details of other cases he and Frank had been working and getting the attendant reports started.
As he walked back in the office, stomach full and happy from his burger and fries, the blinking light from the answering machine caught his attention. He growled until he remembered he had missed one call, the one after Liz's message.
He looked longingly at his office, then let out a long breath before walking over to the machine and pressing the play button.
At least it will make the blinking light go off, he thought, pleased to see there didn't seem to be any messages other than this one to listen to. Good. I want to be done answering questions for a while.
He skipped over the message from the reporter whose name was already on the way to Liz's inbox , smirking to himself as he did so, and waited for the last one to start.
"Um… hello?"
The voice was male and very deep. There was the sound of a throat clearing, then a pause.
"Okay, uh, the employment agency told me to call this number and ask for Frank or Joe. It's about the receptionist opening." The caller took a breath, then said, "My name's Calvin O'Brien." He took another breath, then recited a phone number. "If you're still looking for someone, I'd appreciate a call. Thanks. If not, well, thanks anyway." The last few words were tinged with a smile.
Joe sighed, then listened to the message again, this time remembering to grab the pencil and paper so he could scribble down the man's name and number. He hadn't expected the employment agency to start sending applicants to them quite so quickly.
At least not under the current circumstances," he thought, a grimace covering his face.
He sighed again, wishing Frank was here to handle this part, then curled his fingers around the handset, lifted it to his ear, and dialed the number he had written.
"Calvin? Joe Hardy. Thanks for calling. The position is still open." He decided against saying there hadn't been any other applicants. "Would you be interested in coming in for an interview?"
The deep voice rumbled an affirmative.
"Great. I always say no time like the present." Joe glanced at his watch. It was a little after one. "Would three o'clock work?"
"Three o'clock today?"
Joe grinned at the note of surprise in the man's voice. "Like I said, no time like the present."
There was a shuffling of paper from the other end of the line, then one word. "Sure."
"All right," Joe said. "I will see you then." He rattled off the address, then hung up the phone, a smile starting to form on his lips.
Then the phone rang.
The smile disappeared. Joe glared at it, turned the ringer off, and stomped to his office, making sure to slam the door behind him.