“This is the new girl, Cassidy.” Turning to Cassidy, she raised her hand toward the cop. “We have a lot of regular customers. You’ll get to know them pretty quick. C.C. is my favorite.”
Cassidy turned to the police officer. His dark blue uniform fit snugly, stretching over a broad chest and trim waist. He blushed at Amber’s words and extended his hand.
“Clay Cestra. Nice to meet you.”
Handshake number three. This one strong, confident, and quick. Almost enticing. Much nicer than the boss’s.
Amber stepped to the counter with a printed label and handed Clay a pen. Cassidy watched him scrawl his initials on the bottom line and slide a small shipping bag to Amber.
“See?” She showed Cassidy the label. “C.C. That’s the way he always signs.”
“Good luck with the new job,” he said turning toward the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Amber.”
The door chimed again when he exited.
“The police drop off these packages every morning to go to the lab. Some poor drunk got busted last night. These are the swabs. All we have to do is generate this label,” she said, pointing to the button on the computer screen, “and get them to initial it. It’s usually C.C. coming off the midnight shift and he knows the drill. It’s only when he’s off or on the afternoon shift that someone else comes in.”
Amber pointed her forefinger at Cassidy. “Make sure you get this label initialed or it fucks up their chain of evidence. Your initials will show up in this corner. C’mon, I’ll show you where this goes.”
Through the course of the morning, Amber explained how to work the computers, how to pack and ship items, and how to operate most of the office equipment designed to provide printing and copying services for customers. She had an easy way with the regulars, calling most of them by their first names and openly flirting with the men.
Cassidy gasped when Amber offered to cook spaghetti for an elderly man and promised a special dessert. He left the store chuckling.
“You wouldn’t really go out with him, would you?”
“Nah, he knows I don’t mean it. But it makes him feel good to think I might give him a tumble. And I love men. Who knows? If I were drunk enough I might.”
The look on Cassidy’s face made her laugh.
“You might as well know right up front. I drink. I smoke weed. I like to party. I have a good time. Life is too short not to. Most of the girls who work here call me a slut behind my back. I don’t give a damn what they think.”
“How long have you worked here?”
“Four years. The boss keeps threatening to fire me, but he won’t. I always get to work on time and I’m good at my job. I do what he asks me to do. Everything he asks.”
The day passed quickly. By the end of her shift, Cassidy felt comfortable processing the basic shipments, called drop-offs because they had preprinted labels on them. Under Amber’s guidance she also processed ground, air, and high value shipments and performed multiple copying tasks. Amber proved to be a good teacher, letting Cassidy think through the process and correct her own mistakes. They clocked out together. Amber waved cheerfully and said she’d see Cassidy the next morning.
Cassidy flopped into the back seat of the bus for the ride home. Her feet hurt, her back ached, and she’d broken two fingernails. Each time she bent to pick up a heavy package, Amber reminded her to use her legs, but the throb in her lower back screamed she’d have to do a better job tomorrow.
Clay clocked out the next morning and called his sister on the way to ship the night’s saliva samples to the crime lab. He wanted to make sure she’d fully recovered from her suspected food poisoning episode, and if she was still dragging, he’d offer to babysit for the day. He could sleep when Jack napped.
Since his sister had gotten married, the department separated him and Dan Armstrong, giving each man a new partner and, most of the time, keeping them on different shifts. Maggie said she liked it that way. She only had to worry about one man at a time.
Clay often wished he still partnered with Dan. This month, Clay was on the midnight shift and Dan worked the four to midnight slot. Their shifts overlapped, giving them time for “police talk” outside of Maggie’s earshot. Last night, he’d come close to mentioning the new girl at The Packing Place, but he wasn’t sure why. What was there to say except she was a new face at the counter?
As partners, they were already close, but Maggie had strengthened that bond. Dan was more of a brother than an in-law. They both loved Maggie more than their own lives and the instinct to watch each other’s back had intensified.
Maggie assured Clay she was fully recovered from her episode of intestinal distress and urged him to get some sleep. That afternoon, she had a list of minor repairs that needed done in several tenant’s apartments.
Clay and Maggie had inherited two five-story apartment buildings from their parents, who were enjoying their retirement years in Florida. That their parents were still together was like the eighth wonder of the world in his mind. He remembered the day they sat at the kitchen table, each with a pen in hand, poised over divorce papers. He and Maggie had huddled in the hallway, terrified. Their parents hadn’t known they were there.
Maggie buried her face in his chest, muffling her tears, and whispering “Please God. Don’t do this to us.” He’d merely watched horrified. The nightly arguments had escalated, and through the thin walls of the three-bedroom ranch Clay had listened to months of arguing and cursing until finally, the discussion about divorce. He was to live with his father, wherever that was going to be. Maggie would stay with their mom.
He and his sister stood clinging to each other, spying on their parents. Clay heard his father say, “I don’t want to do this. Not really.”
“Me neither,” his mother whispered.
“We have two kids in the other room. If for no other reason, we should stay together for them.”
His mother nodded and tears spilled down her cheeks. Clay gulped as he watched his father reach across the table and shake hands with his mother.
In one swift movement, his dad took the divorce papers, ripped them in half, and tossed them in the trash.
Maggie was jubilant. He was doubtful. He remained doubtful for years, watching them interact with each other, waiting to see something more than obligation. He supposed it happened sometime during his teen years when he was obsessed with cars, girls, and sports. One day he saw them kiss. It was brief but tender.
And as everyone grew older, they grew closer. Seeing them now, in their golden years, outsiders would never know they were once a signature away from splitting up. But he knew. He still had the papers to remind him. Ironically, he had believed his own marital woes would resolve the same way. He’d believed that right up to the second she signed the divorce documents.
When his parents decided to relocate to the retirement community, they turned their apartment buildings over to their kids. Together, Clay and Maggie managed Cestra Chalets I and II, which were actually luxury apartments in an upscale part of the city. Clay lived in Chalet II, which sat directly behind Chalet I, where Maggie, Dan, and six-month-old Jack lived. They each had taken over a major portion of the first floor of their buildings, demolished walls and gutted the insides, and converted the new, enlarged space to their own sprawling apartments with two bedrooms, two baths, an office, formal dining room, and eat-in kitchen. Maggie transformed a portion of her office into a nursery after Jack was born. Clay swore he’d never need to do that. One divorce was enough for him.
He threw himself into being a cop. There had been several fascinating women in his life, but nothing serious. Unlike Maggie, who wore her heart on her sleeve and embraced passion, love, and commitment, he put the brakes on whenever a woman’s expectations got too high. Funny. He always broke up with them at their kitchen table.
Happiness now centered on his role in a uniform helping people and the electrical, plumbing, painting, and other maintenance chores that came with operating two large apartment buildings. All service oriented, he often said. He enjoyed working with his hands, fixing things, and thought after several years of learning on the job he was pretty good at it. Dan also helped with building maintenance; the two of them swore there was no repair or maintenance problem they could not solve with a six-pack of beer and their combined talents.
“Call Mrs. B and tell her I’ll be there this afternoon to change her faucet,” he told his sister. “I’ve got one more midnight shift and then I have a day off. I’ll clean the Osborne apartment then. We weren’t planning to show it before that were we?”
“No. That’s fine. But wouldn’t you like to do something fun on your day off?”
He laughed. “Fun? Ah, I think I had some of that in tenth grade.”
“I keep telling you there’s more to life than work, big brother.”
“Put it on my to-do list one of these days,” he told her. “I’m pulling into The Packing Place to drop off some samples. I’ll talk to you later.”
He gathered the two evidence packets on the front seat and stepped out of his truck. As he approached the store, he saw Amber and the new girl through the storefront windows. He liked Amber, despite her over-the-top attempts to flirt with him and her criminal record. She made him laugh and there was nothing phony about her. She put it all out there for anyone to see, like it or not.
The new girl had seemed a little edgy yesterday. He chalked it up to first-day jitters.
“Good morning, ladies.”
Cassidy stood beside Amber watching her process a shipment. Amber smiled and winked at Clay, then turned to Cassidy.
“You should be able to handle that. Remember to get him to initial the label.”
Cassidy moved uncertainly to the first shipping register and punched the keyboard. She looked at Clay and swallowed hard. He tried to ease her nervousness.
“Don’t worry. By next week you’ll be able to do this blindfolded.” He pointed to a shelf on the back wall. “Take a form from that second slot, punch in the codes on these samples, and then process it. I’ll initial it after your label prints.” He smiled but watched her hand shake when she reached for the shipment form.
He snagged a pen from the pen cup. “Do all customers make you this nervous or just the cops?”
That generated a reaction that surprised him. Her head jerked up, her hand flew to her throat, and the color drained from her face just as Amber walked over.
“You got it, Cass?”
“You better check it,” she whispered. “Excuse me.” She turned and scurried to the back office.
Clay cocked his head and raised a questioning eyebrow. His cop’s instinct had jumped to high alert. “Is she like that with all the customers?”
Amber punched numbers on the touch screen as she answered. “No. She’s doing really well.”
“She talk much?”
“Not hardly. Plays it real close to the vest. We were busy yesterday, so there wasn’t much chance, really.” Amber slid the computer-generated receipt toward Clay. “Don’t get too interested. I might get jealous.”
Clay smiled as he folded the receipt and tucked it in his back pocket. He winked at Amber. “You know you’re the only woman in my heart. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Amber laughed as he walked toward the door. “I wish you meant that!”
A good cop has a sixth sense, always on low, spinning silently in the back of his brain. Even when Clay tried not to notice, he picked up signals from people. Body language. Facial expressions. Eye movements.
Cassidy appeared more nervous than she should. The Packing Place had a high employee turnover. It was hard work for minimum wage and, if Amber’s stories were true, the owner liked to get a little too familiar with his female hires. Clay had seen a lot of workers come and go in the three years he’d been shipping evidence to the state crime lab. Cassidy’s nervousness appeared to be on a different level, more intense than the average new kid on the job.
He shrugged off his thoughts as he turned the ignition and headed home. Whatever was the matter, it wasn’t his problem.
• • •
Lunch offered the first break of the day. Amber jumped up on the packing table, crossed her legs Indian style, and slid a hoagie from a takeout bag. She took a big bite from the heel and eyed Cassidy as she gingerly removed a peanut butter and jelly sandwich from a plastic sandwich bag.
“That all you gonna eat?”
Cassidy smiled at the dressing smeared on Amber’s chin. “Yes. I don’t eat much.”
“Not me. I love to eat.”
That made her chuckle. “You seem to love everything, Amber.”
Amber grinned, her mouth too full to respond. Cassidy nibbled at the edge of her sandwich.
“I saw you walking from the bus stop this morning. Where you living?” She wiped her mouth with a napkin.
“I rented an apartment on Fortieth Street.”
Amber crinkled her nose. “Fortieth Street? That’s not exactly a nice neighborhood. Lot of drive-by shootings around there. It doesn’t seem like a place you’d want to live.”
“It’s all I can afford right now.”
“How’d you end up there? I don’t peg you for a druggie. And that area is a hangout for dealers. Probably why so many shootings.”
Cassidy examined a corner of her sandwich bag. “I’ve heard gunfire. It’s pretty scary. It’s only temporary. Until I can get some money together for something better.”
“Yeah, better. ‘Cause you sure don’t look like you belong there.”
That scared Cassidy. She worked so hard on this disguise. “Why do you say that?”
Amber waved her hand in the air. “Look at you. You’re cleaned and pressed. Your nails are done, your hair is fashionable. The glasses are over the top, but you can’t help your eyesight, I guess. But you reek of class, not someone who came from the poor side of town. Not someone who lives on Fortieth Street.”
Cassidy hadn’t considered the need for a back story, a history she could easily recount if someone asked about her past. Amber wasn’t prying, she was simply being friendly. Still, if she asked too many questions, Cassidy did not have ready answers.
Amber eyed her curiously.