The Snow White Christmas Cookie

CHAPTER 5

Des was just pulling into the shopping plaza directly across from the A amp;P when little Kylie Champlain came sprinting out the door of the Village Bootery with a pair of Ugg boots clutched under one arm and a look of total panic on her young face. Kylie jumped into a silver Honda Civic with the boots, started up the engine and took off. Or tried to-her wheels just kept spinning. The blizzard had dumped ten inches of the white stuff on the pavement by now and her daddy’s plowboys hadn’t hit the parking lot for a while. Then Des saw Joanie Tooker, who owned Village Bootery, come staggering out the door, clutching her elbow in pain. Des found out later that as soon as Kylie spotted Des’s cruiser she’d shoved Joanie, age sixty-one, roughly to the floor and escaped out the door. Joanie, who’d known Kylie for the girl’s entire life, suffered a dislocated elbow.

Des climbed out of her cruiser and motioned Kylie to get out of her Honda. “Come on, Kylie, let’s talk this out!”

Kylie floored it, the Honda’s wheels spinning and spinning. She was absolutely determined to rabbit on Des.

“Kylie, stop this, will you?”

No use. Kylie’s wheels caught hold and she went skidding out of the lot onto Big Branch heading way too fast in the direction of Old Boston Post Road. Des considered letting her go. Simply putting out a BOLO alert. She had Kylie’s license plate number. Knew where the girl lived. But she was concerned. Kylie was so panicky that she might crash into somebody. And so, reluctantly, Des took off after her, hoping that the reality of seeing flashing lights in her rearview mirror would jolt some sense into the little fool.

It was the most pathetic high-speed chase Des had ever been involved in. Not that it qualified as a high-speed chase, since neither of them could do more than twenty in the dense snow. And Des wasn’t even trying to gain ground. She didn’t want to make Kylie drive faster in these blizzard conditions. Just wanted her to know that it was pointless to keep going and that she ought to do the sane, adult thing and pull over.

Good luck with that.

At the intersection with Old Boston Post Road Kylie ran the red light, which ranked as the least of her worries right now, and attempted a sharp left turn. Instead, she made a full 360-degree doughnut in the deep snow before she came to a complete stop right in the middle of the intersection. Thankfully, there were no other cars around. Des came to a halt twenty feet away and gestured for Kylie to get out of the Honda.

And good luck with that.

Kylie floored it again and went slip-sliding her way north on Old Boston Post Road in the direction of Uncas Lake. Again, Des thought about leaving her be. But the girl presented a clear danger to herself and others. Des couldn’t just let her go.

The Post Road had been plowed within the past few minutes. Or at least a single lane had. Kylie powered her Honda all of the way up to thirty as she headed north in the center of the plowed lane. Des continued to give her plenty of room, praying that they didn’t encounter any oncoming traffic. As she went past the turnoff for Frederick Lane Kylie caught up with the town’s big orange plow truck and began to overtake it. Reality alert: Only a total nutso tries to pass a snowplow in the middle of a blizzard. Kylie Champlain had gone total nutso. Actually veered around the plow truck and started to pass it. Until, that is, she practically drove head-on into the oncoming Dodge Ram that was inching its way down the Post Road. The Dodge Ram had to slam into a snowbank to avoid her as Kylie hit her brakes and spun out in the middle of the road. The plow truck driver had no chance to stop. Roared right on past her-missing her Honda by no more than six inches. Des brought her cruiser to a stop as Kylie sat there behind the wheel, eyes bulging with fright. The Dodge Ram’s driver climbed out, waving his arms and cursing.

Des got out of her cruiser. “Please stop this, Kylie! Someone’s going to get hurt!”

The girl was busy reaching for something now. Rolling down her window and throwing something out of the window into the road-the Ugg boots that she’d stolen.

“That’s a good start, Kylie! Now why don’t you get out of the car, too?”

But the little fool floored it again. Skidded around Des and started her way back down Old Boston Post Road in the direction they’d just come from. Des made sure that the Ram’s driver was unhurt and had a working cell phone. Then she tossed the damned Ugg boots in her cruiser and took off after Kylie.

Now she had her siren on. Now she was pissed.

Back down at the intersection with Big Branch, Kylie tried to make a right turn and spun out again-only this time she caromed hard off of a Lexus that was waiting at the stoplight. But Kylie didn’t stop, wouldn’t stop. Just revved her engine until her wheels caught hold and slid her way back toward the shopping district, picking up speed as she went along. She was going way too fast when she arrived at the intersection where Big Branch dead-ended at Route 156. Directly across from the stoplight sat an old wood-framed house that had been converted into commercial office suites.

Now the girl had a choice to make. If she turned right she’d be heading north alongside the Connecticut River toward Dorset’s bucolic farm country. If she turned left she’d be on her way down to the beach.

Left. She decided to go left.

She never made it.

Her Honda went into an uncontrolled spin and barreled head-on into the ground-floor suite of the office building. The sound of the crash was like a bomb going off in the snowy quiet.

Des radioed for emergency backup, then jumped out and ran to the Honda, which had hit the wooden building so hard that it ripped through the exterior and interior walls. The car’s front end was inside the front office.

Kylie’s door had popped open and her air bag had deployed. “My ankle!” she howled in pain. “My ankle!”

“Just try to relax and breathe, Kylie. Help is on its way.”

“I’m sorry, Trooper Des! I’m so sorry!”

“It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”

“No, I’m not! My mom’s gonna kill me!”

“Just keep breathing in and out, okay? I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t leave me!”

“I’m not. I’m right here, I promise.”

Des rushed inside the building. The ground floor front office belonged to Josie Cantro. The life coach’s office door was locked but the frame had been knocked off-kilter by the crash, as if an earthquake had struck. Des shoved the door open with her shoulder and found, well, what she found was Josie groping around on the floor next to the office sofa for her jeans. Josie was naked. So was Casey Zander, who’d been getting busy with Josie on the sofa before Kylie and her Honda had so rudely interrupted them. Josie’s camisole and panties were on the floor next to her jeans-ripped to shreds. Her left eye was swollen half-shut. She looked as if she’d been punched. Looked plenty dazed, too. So did Casey, whose forehead was bleeding. Fallen ceiling tiles were everywhere. Apparently, one of them had hit Casey, who was someone Des could happily have gone her entire life without ever seeing naked. Paulette’s son didn’t seem to be constructed out of muscle, bone or sinew. Just jiggly, moon-white blubber. He reminded Des of one of those grubs she sometimes dug up in the garden and had to squash.

She stood there in stunned silence, listening to the old building creak and groan around her. Steam hissed from the Honda’s blown radiator. The baseboard heating pipes had ruptured and water was streaming from them onto the floor. Sheetrock powder wafted down from up above. Off in the distance, she could hear the sirens of the emergency responders.

“I–I thought the roof had collapsed,” Josie stammered finally. “From the weight of so much snow.”

“It may just do that. You’re not safe in here. Get your clothes on and get out of here.”

Neither of them moved. Just stared at her, blown away.

“Listen to me, if you folks don’t get your clothes on now the firemen are going to find you this way. Everyone in town will talk. Do you understand?”

Josie nodded her head, blinking.

“Good. Now hurry up and get out. I have to search the rest of the building.” Des darted back out into the hall. Josie’s downstairs neighbor, a seamstress who did alterations and tailoring, was closed due to the storm. So were the accountant and home computer consultant upstairs. Josie and Casey were the only ones in the building. They were dressed by the time Des made it back down. Josie was rummaging through her desk drawers.

“Josie, what do you think you’re doing?”

“I have to collect my files,” she explained, her swollen eye twitching.

“No way. Not until the building inspector says it’s okay. Let’s go!”

The Jewett girls and two of Dorset’s fire trucks had already made it to the scene. The volunteer firemen were attempting to extract Kylie Champlain from behind the wheel of her car. But Kylie was so freaked out that she was fighting them. Madge had to subdue her with an injection before they could wrestle her out of the car and stabilize her ankle. It was a bad break. Des could see bone sticking out of skin.

The rest of the men were preparing to search the building. Des assured them it was unoccupied. She also ordered them to stay out of Josie’s office-which, as of right now, she was regarding as a potential crime scene. Though she saw no need to tell them that.

A second EMT van arrived now from Old Saybrook and took charge of transporting Kylie to the nearest emergency hospital, which was Lawrence and Memorial in New London. Highway I-95 was closed right now to all but emergency vehicles. If the plows were keeping up they might get her there in a half hour. On a normal day it would take ten minutes.

Des watched the EMT van take off, knowing she would have to prepare a detailed incident report for her troop commander. And this whole stupid mess would have to be reviewed by Internal Affairs. With the benefit of twenty-twenty hindsight they would demand to know why she hadn’t just put out a BOLO and let Kylie go. But Des stood by what she’d done.

In the back of their van, The Jewett sisters tended to Casey’s head wound and Josie’s eye. While they did that Des called Tina Champlain to notify her that her daughter had just been injured in a one-vehicle accident while fleeing the scene of a crime. Tina took the news surprisingly calmly. She even thanked Des for calling before she rang off.

By now Josie was standing there in the snow with a cold pack pressed to her swollen eye.

Des showed her a smile. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” she answered shortly. “But I need my files.”

“I know you do. But you can’t go back inside until we know it’s safe. Sit with me for a minute, okay?”

They got into the front seat of her Crown Vic. Des cranked up the heater.

“Not my best morning ever,” Josie said with a rueful shake of her blond head. “First my boyfriend kills himself. Now my office is toast. Who was that behind the wheel of the car?”

“Kylie Champlain.”

“Is she going to be okay?”

“I’d rather talk about you, Josie. Want to tell me what was going on in there?”

“It … wasn’t what it looked like,” she responded quietly.

“Does that mean you don’t want to swear out a criminal complaint?”

Josie looked at her, mystified. “A criminal complaint for what?”

“When I walked in that door your left eye was swollen and your underwear was in shreds on the floor. Was Casey sexually assaulting you?”

Josie let out a laugh. “No! Casey’s been a client of mine for the past two months. No sexual assault of any kind was taking place.”

“So what was?”

“A role-playing exercise.”

“Does this type of exercise usually result in you getting a black eye?”

“He didn’t mean to do it. He just got carried away.”

“By what?”

“Casey lacks confidence when it comes to women. I’m doing what I can to empower him.”

“So the sex was consensual.”

“It was an exercise.”

“Josie, are you romantically involved with Casey?”

She heaved an exasperated sigh. “I just told you-he’s a client.”

“I’m old-school when it comes to this life-coaching thing, so please forgive me if I come off as a bit dense. Are you telling me that consensual sex-consensual rough sex-is some kind of a teaching tool?”

“That’s exactly right,” Josie affirmed. “Sometimes the healing process calls for an unconventional approach on my part. But I’m willing to go there for my clients.”

“I see. Just out of curiosity, how many other men with confidence issues count on you to ‘go there’ for them?”

Josie lowered the cold pack from her swollen eye, glaring at her. “I can’t believe you’d ask me that.”

“You’d believe it if you saw what I just saw. How many, Josie?”

Josie gazed out of her window at the snow coming down. “Any information regarding my clients is strictly confidential.”

“Girl, you’re not a medical practitioner. You aren’t shielded by doctor-patient confidentiality.”

“Look, what you walked in on was something that you can’t comprehend,” she said, her cheeks mottling with anger. “And you-you immediately jumped to the wrong conclusion because that’s how your mind works. You make judgments about people. You sit there in your uniform and you decide who’s good and who’s bad.”

“This isn’t about me, Josie.”

“Yes, it is. You’re trying to make me out to be some kind of a hooker!”

“I’m trying to understand you.”

“Nothing bad was going on in there! I’m trying to help that poor slob, okay? He needs to feel better about himself if he’s ever going to have a productive, rewarding life.”

“Did Bryce know about these role-playing exercises of yours?”

“I never discussed my clients with him,” she answered quietly.

“Bryce had been a client himself. Were exercises part of his treatment?”

“I have nothing more to say to you,” Josie replied. “We’re done.”

“Okay. Please stay here. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Des got out of her cruiser and hopped into the back of the EMT van, where the Jewett girls were bandaging the wound on Casey’s forehead.

“How are you feeling, Casey?”

“I’m fine,” he grunted.

“It’s just a superficial wound,” Madge informed her. “His pupils are normal and responsive to light. He has no dizziness or nausea.”

“I’m fine,” he repeated, this time with a whiny, hostile edge to his voice.

Casey Zander happened to be a whiny, hostile guy. Also an immature one. He was twenty-eight going on fourteen, a petulant, overgrown fat boy with a jowly face, a weak chin and a sulky, almost girlish rosebud mouth. He dyed his hair a garish henna color and wore it in a peculiarly retro Meet the Beatles mop top, complete with bangs that he combed down almost to his close-set eyes. The dye job contrasted starkly with his dark brown sideburns. He was dressed in a he-guy plaid wool shirt and corduroy pants. The shirt didn’t flatter him. Fat boys should never do plaid. It also didn’t go along with his transgendery do. Des really, really didn’t know what was up with that hair.

“Would you like me to notify your next of kin for you?” Des asked him. “That would be your mom, right?”

Casey tensed visibly. “Why do you need to call her?”

“You’ve suffered a head wound. Maybe you shouldn’t be driving home.”

“I’m not a kid.…”

“Didn’t say you were.”

“And I don’t want you calling my mom, bitch.”

Des raised an eyebrow at Madge and Mary. “What did he just call me?”

“I believe he called you a bitch,” Mary replied tartly.

“He is one fierce customer,” Madge chimed in. “Better watch out.”

“Would you ladies excuse us for a sec?” Des asked them.

The sisters left them alone in the back of the ambulance.

“Want to tell me what was going on in there, Casey?”

“What did Josie say?” he demanded, fingering his bandaged forehead.

“I’m more interested in what you have to say.”

He shrugged, his girlish mouth tightening. “We were having our regular weekly session. She’s been trying to help me with-with…”

“With what, Casey?”

“I don’t want to talk about it!”

“Has anybody ever told you that whiny never scores cool points? Women don’t like to be around whiners-unless you’re paying them to be with you.”

“Look, you just shut up,” Casey shot back. “You don’t know anything about Josie and me.”

“So school me.”

“It’s none of your damned business.”

“Actually, it is my business, Casey. Bryce Peck took his own life this morning, but Josie wouldn’t stay home to mourn his loss. She told me she had a client who needed her. That client would seem to be you.”

He blinked at her in shock. “I–I didn’t know. She didn’t say a word.”

“Pretty good deal for you. The field’s clear now.”

“Field?” He shook his mop top at her. “What field?”

“We’re all adults here. If you and Josie have been getting busy behind Bryce’s back that’s your business. And if you two like it rough, well, so be it. Not my thing at all, let me tell you. Any man used his fists on me he’d be picking his teeth up out of the carpet for a week. Josie’s had a real bad morning. She’s upset. She’s vulnerable. I’m wondering if I should be worried about her. You know her a lot better than I do. What do you think?”

Casey considered his answer carefully. “I think she’ll be fine. I’ll take care of her. I–I love her.”

“Have you told her that?”

“Not exactly, but she knows how I feel. I mean, she must know.”

“And what about Gigi Garanski? I hear you date her.”

He let out a derisive snort. “You don’t ‘date’ Gigi.”

“Just use her for sex, you mean?”

“I’m not the only one who does,” he said defensively. “But it’s Josie who I want to be with. Josie’s … She’s wonderful.”

Des studied this man-boy curiously. He was definitely bizarre, but what flavor of bizarre? Harmless or the other kind? “Okay, Casey. Thanks for your insight. I appreciate it.” She hopped out and found Madge and Mary jawing in the snow with a couple of firefighters. “Is he okay to drive home?”

“I don’t see why not,” Madge replied. “Assuming he can dig out his car.”

“Casey’s a real catch, isn’t he?” Mary said. “It’s a shame he doesn’t find himself a nice girl.”

Des looked over at Josie Cantro, who was still sitting in the front seat of the Crown Vic nursing her swollen eye. “The boy’s way ahead of you, Mary. He thinks he has.”

Dorset’s Post Office was located in a squat, brick-faced building that was plunked down all by itself in the same shopping center that was home to the A amp;P and to the local branch of First Niagara Bank, which had formerly been the local branch of New Alliance Bank and before that New Haven Savings Bank. Des thought that a side from the flagpole out front, the Post Office bore a remarkable resemblance to a Friendly’s family restaurant.

She parked her cruiser out front and strode inside, allowing herself a sigh. She’d already seen a week’s worth of action and it wasn’t even 11:00 A.M. Days like this required stamina. Not the physical kind, which she had in abundance. The emotional kind. If she wasn’t careful she could lose her patience with people. The public didn’t care for snappish behavior from its sworn personnel. Especially sworn personnel who happened to be women of color.

There was a mud rug on the floor just inside the door of the vestibule. Flyers were tacked to a bulletin board there for the upcoming Dorset High production of Fiddler on the Roof. Inside the lobby, which was painted pea-soup green, a tinny sound system was playing Christmas carols. Tinsel was draped here, there, everywhere. But thanks to the blizzard there wasn’t the usual crush of holiday customers waiting in line to send off presents. No customers waiting in line, period. There wasn’t even anyone behind the counter. Billie, the counter clerk, had left a hand-lettered sign there that read, “I’m out back. Holler.”

Des didn’t have to holler. The postmaster’s office had a window that overlooked the parking lot. Paulette came right out of her office to escort Des in. The village’s mail carriers hadn’t left on their routes yet. Des could hear them out in back, joking with each other while they finished their sorting.

“Casey just phoned me,” Paulette stated stiffly as she led Des into her small, spare office. There was a desk. There was a safe that was almost as big as the desk. There were no personal flourishes of any kind. No photos or Christmas cards. No invitation to sit down, either. “He was extremely upset. It seems he’s had quite an ordeal.”

“He has indeed. He got a cut on his head but he’s okay.”

“Did I hear him right? Kylie slammed her car into Josie’s office?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Tina and Lem have had nothing but trouble with that little airhead. She’s so irresponsible.” Paulette raised her chin at Des. “Casey told me you were extremely abrupt with him.”

“I’m sorry if he felt that way, but it was an emergency situation. Kylie suffered a serious injury. The building was in danger of collapsing. I had no time for kid gloves.”

Paulette studied Des, her eyes crinkling. “And you had a job to do. I understand. Casey can be a bit thin-skinned sometimes. Hank thinks I babied him too much. He has trouble sticking to things. Gives up too easily when someone says no to him. And then gets all down on himself. I’m hoping Josie can help him find some direction. She sure worked wonders with Hank. Hank was a heavy smoker for thirty years. He quit when his doctor warned him that he was in the early stages of emphysema. But then he had some personal setbacks and before we knew it he was reaching for the nearest Marlboro. Josie helped him kick the habit again. Hank thinks she’s a miracle worker. Mind you, we knew Casey would flat-out reject the idea. So we had to be a bit devious. Josie arranged to ‘accidentally’ bump into him at the flu clinic back in October. He’s been seeing her ever since.”

“And do you think she’s helping him?”

“Damned if I know. He seems a bit more confident, but it hasn’t translated into any concrete changes. He hasn’t moved out of the basement. He hasn’t taken charge of his life. We’ll see. These things don’t happen overnight.” Paulette bit down hard on her lower lip, studying Des once more. “Did you come here to tell me about Casey?”

“Actually, I’d like to speak with Hank.”

“Absolutely. I believe he’s still here. Shall I?…”

“That’s okay, I’ll find him.”

Hank and the others were at their workstations loading bundles of mail and parcels into big rolling carts. A ton of parcels. Big boxes, the kind that Christmas toys come in. Small boxes, the kind that books and DVDs come in. And a whole lot of those bubble-wrapped pouches that prescription meds come in. The carriers were a casually dressed group of four women and six men. The standard outfit appeared to be fleece tops, jeans and snow boots. Most of them appeared to be in their thirties and forties. Hank was the oldest of the group. They were an upbeat bunch. Chatting and laughing with each other. If there was tension in the room Des wasn’t sensing it-until they caught sight of her approaching them. The uniform had that effect on people. Especially when something nasty was going down. Clearly, they all knew about the grinch because they got real quiet.

“Morning, Hank. Have you got a minute to talk?”

“Sure thing, Des,” he said easily.

The others decided that now would be a really good time to start rolling their carts toward the loading dock.

“You seem to have a lot of parcels today,” Des observed.

“That’s pretty much all that we have. The seven A.M. truck made it here from Norwich with our parcels and our flats but then they had to-”

“I’m sorry, ‘flats’ are?…”

“That’s what we call our catalogues and junk mail,” he explained. “Usually, a second truck shows up at 8:30 with our machine-sorted letters, but the governor had closed the highway by then.” Hank fished a package of Nicorette gum from the pocket of his fleece top and popped a piece in his mouth, going to work on it with his crooked yellow teeth. “That was sad news about Bryce Peck. How’s Josie holding up?”

“It hasn’t been one of her better mornings. I understand it was your idea to put her together with Casey.”

He shot a wary glance in the direction of Paulette’s office, lowering his voice. “Believe me, that kid needs help. He’s in a deep hole.”

“What kind of a hole?”

“Let’s just say he is one messed-up puppy, okay? Does nothing all day but sit in the basement watching TV. I thought maybe Josie could light a fire under him. She’s such a supportive person. Believed in me so much that I didn’t want to let her down.” He cleared his throat uneasily. “I take it that Paulette’s spoken to you about what’s been going on. I’m glad. It’s about time.”

“What can you tell me, Hank?

“Not much, to be perfectly honest.”

“You have no idea what’s happening?”

“None. And it’s putting me in a really uncomfortable position. Like last night at Rut’s party-Mrs. Tillis went to the trouble of baking me a marble cake and she thinks I’m rude because I didn’t thank her. I never got the darned cake.”

“It’s not just marble cake that’s going missing from your route. Paulette told me about the batch of mail that was found on Johnny Cake Hill Road.”

He nodded grimly. “That’s serious business. Stealing Christmas tips is one thing, but Paulette can’t tolerate-we can’t tolerate-someone stealing the U.S. Mail. If you can figure out who’s doing it I’ll take my hat off to you.”

“Would you mind schooling me a little?”

“Not at all. Ask me anything you’d like.”

“How long does it usually take you to complete your route?”

“Three, four hours. Depends on the volume of mail and the weather.”

“Do you keep to the same schedule every day?”

“Paulette’s real good about letting us make our own schedules-just as long as the folks get their mail. I’m usually here sorting by eight o’clock so I can get onto the basketball court with my high school girls by 3:30. Some of the others start later and stay later. And whether we want to take a lunch break or not is up to us. I just pull over somewhere quiet and have a quick sandwich in my truck. A lot of the others take a full hour off. Three of the girls drive their trucks back here and power walk to the health club at The Works. They’ve got a weight-loss contest going on. Whoever takes off the most pounds by New Year’s Day wins a weekend in New York City.”

“Hank, do you ever leave your truck unattended?”

“Well, yeah. Every time I have an accountable to deliver-that’s your certified mail and express mail. If it has to be signed for and scanned then I have to get out and knock on the front door. Same thing’s true when I have a parcel that’s too big for the box. Like a lot of folks get those forty-pound cartons of Florida oranges every month. I swear, those oranges all show up here on the same day. Hernia Monday, I call it.” He flashed a toothy grin at her. “If nobody’s home I try to stash the parcel out of the elements. Or bag it in plastic.”

“Do you leave the truck unlocked while you’re busy doing that?”

“Never. Not a chance. You never, ever leave your truck unlocked.”

“Do you drive the same truck every day?”

“Yeah, we all do.”

“So your truck is your truck?”

“Well, it is but it isn’t. It’s not like they let us drive the danged LLVs home. We’re not even allowed to keep a set of keys on our key rings. The truck keys and scanners spend the night in the safe in Paulette’s office, along with any accountables that we weren’t able to deliver. That’s standard operating procedure. This is the U.S. Mail, Des. There’s nothing slipshod or haphazard about anything. It’s a secure operation. And this is a secure building. It’s locked-down plenty tight at night.” Hank glanced up at the clock on the wall. “Listen, I really should load up and run. How about we talk some more later?” He hesitated, his jaw working on the nicotine gum. “And also maybe?…”

“Maybe what, Hank?”

“Can we keep it just between the two of us?”

Des narrowed her gaze at him. He had something on his mind. Something that he wished to tell her in private. “Sure thing,” she said, handing him one of her business cards. “Call me any time, day or night.”

“I’ll do that.” He pocketed her card just as Paulette came striding toward them, a clipboard clutched to her chest. She raised her eyebrows at them curiously.

“Hank’s going to contact me directly if he sees anything out of the ordinary,” Des explained, showing her a smile.

Paulette showed her a smile right back. Or tried to. It came off more like a pained grimace. “Excellent. And I’m glad I caught you, Hank. I need to know how the transmission is doing on that old ’94 of yours.”

“The tranny on my LLV is okay.”

“I thought you told me it was getting balky in the cold.”

“It’s okay,” he repeated.

“Are you sure? Because I’ve been ordered to report on the mechanical status of all ten of our vehicles by the end of the year.” She tapped at a form on her clipboard. “Money’s tight. If yours needs retrofitting now’s the time to speak up.”

“It’s okay,” Hank barked at her. “How many times do I have to tell you?”

“Well, you don’t have to bite my head off. I’m just doing my job.”

“And now I’m doing mine.” He rolled his cart off toward the loading dock.

Paulette watched him go, stung. “I’m afraid things are getting a little tense around here. Sorry.”

“No need to apologize, Paulette. I’ve given some thought to your situation. Officially, my feeling is that we ought to notify the postal inspectors right away.”

She looked at Des hopefully. “And unofficially?…”

“If you want to wait a day before you notify them I’ll do some nosing around. Does that sound okay?”

Paulette let out a sigh of relief. “I don’t know how to thank you, Des.”

“No need to. I haven’t done jack yet.”