Miss Magnolia’s in a Mash (Pine Ridge Ranch #1)

Chapter 1 Magnolia

Magnolia

Screech! Wheeeeoooooo!

I’ve always wondered how a fire alarm works in a large building. I wondered if it would be too quiet to hear on all the floors.

Now I know. It’s loud enough to wake the dead.

The alarm goes back and forth from a loud, repetitive, one-toned beeping to a whooping siren sound. It’s so loud that it feels like an ice pick hitting my head repeatedly.

This isn’t how I thought my day at the office would go. The panic in the room is palpable. And I’m not immune to it. My heart beats hard, and the blood rushes loudly in my ears.

The boardroom I’m sitting in erupts into a frenzy.

Professionals, who I’ve never seen change facial expressions, much less walk faster than a snail, are sprinting around the room, shrieking.

Coffee cups tumble off the table, splattering brown liquid on the industrial carpet.

Good thing it’s a dark gray—it will help hide those stains.

The CFO of the Burlinson Restaurant Supply Company grabs his laptop and hobbles out the door, the charging cord dragging behind. Assistants frantically decide whether to grab their tablets or leave them to burn.

One woman in particular, scoops an armful of laptops and papers off the conference table. Her usually perfect hair has made a successful escape attempt from the claw clip.

She’s my boss, Isabel Conwell. Her frantic eyes land on me, and she yells, “Get the Very Important Papers from my safe!” right before she dashes out the door, the claw clip falling to the ground behind her.

Thanks, Isabel. I’ve always wanted to risk burning in a fire for your papers.

I glance around the room, seeing no sign of smoke. I walk to the window that offers a clear view of the street below. There are no fire trucks or even sirens.

I take a deep breath.

It’s probably a fire drill. If it were real, there would be other signs of a fire. With that thought in mind, I turn to get the papers that my boss asked me to bring.

Every time Isabel needs a specific folder, she refers to them as the Very Important Papers. She tries to keep them a secret from the other board members. I’ve never actually seen what the Very Important Papers say, even though I’m the one who constantly hands them to her.

The conference room is empty now, and I try my best to regulate my breathing. The tipped chairs, spilled coffee cups, and oddly-still air in the room lend a creepy vibe, fire drill or not.

Screech! Wheeeeoooooo!

The alarm spurs me into action, and I have the forethought to grab my phone and slip it into my skirt pocket as I leave the conference room.

The lobby of our office is already empty, making it easy for me to dash down the hall and reach Isabel’s office.

Hurrying through the open door, I speed past Isabel’s glass desk, past the watercolor portrait of her, and to the corner, where a faux Van Gogh hangs beside a plastic fiddle leaf fig plant.

Slipping my hand behind the imitation painting, I flip the latch that lets me access the code box on the hidden safe.

I punch in the all-access code. There is a set of folders inside the safe, with the words FOR ISABEL’S EYES ONLY scrawled in bold Sharpie.

The thick manila folder is well worn from frequent handling.

When I first started working for the Burlinson Restaurant Supply Company, I had no idea there would be secrets. But apparently, the restaurant supply business is very cutthroat. There are contracts and trucking routes that Isabel keeps secret from pretty much everyone.

I grab the folder and tuck it under my arm. I don’t bother to shut and lock the safe since it’s completely empty now. Whatever she has in these papers must actually be important if they warrant alone time in a safe.

Turning to the office door, I hurry out into our small waiting area. The eerie sound of the alarm, the overturned chairs, and the papers knocked to the floor attest to how quickly people fled.

Maybe I should be more worried than I am, but that has never helped me before.

Recalling our exit map, I head for the nearest one and aim for the narrow service stairwell, not the main one that I’m sure is full of people fleeing down the wide staircase. The elevator probably doesn’t work when the fire alarm is going.

I hurry to the end of the hall, my pink shoes in contrast with the dark gray carpet, and stop in front of the rarely used service door.

There’s a stainless steel handle I push on with all my strength.

I nearly fall down as the door swings open.

Luckily, my office is located on the eighth floor out of ten, which means I don’t have to battle a herd of people running down the narrow stairwell.

Since I’m the last one up here. That thought sends a chill down my spine.

What if it isn’t just a drill?

Stepping inside, the metal door slams shut behind me, and I realize the fire alarm is much quieter in here, and there’s not a single whiff of smoke. The heavy, steel door mutes the soul-shattering alarm down to a mere hair-raising level.

Breathing deeply for the first time in several minutes, I step out of the doorway toward the top step.

Nothing could have prepared me for the freight train that plows into me. My life flashes before my eyes as I propel toward the flimsy metal railing between the flights of stairs.

My body is moving too fast to stop. I’m tumbling toward the open space that goes all the way to the ground floor.

This is the end. No trip to the Grand Canyon. I will never learn to watercolor. My dream of opening a distillery and bakery—gone.

My dream of falling in love and having a family—that definitely won’t happen because the only falling I’ll be doing is to my death.

The manila folder in my hands sails in front of me over the rail and down to the landing a floor below, scattering papers everywhere.

They foreshadow what my body is about to do. Wearing my pink high heels on a day when the building caught fire was a terrible idea.

I frantically try to regain my footing, but I’m still sliding toward the railing.

With one more desperate attempt, I plant one foot, but with zero tread on my heel, my body continues forward.