Chapter Twelve
I’m already anticipating my lunch with Mr. Buchanan when I arrive at the Dominion the next morning.
My first stop is the subbasement, because after seeing Paul at the Sixes yesterday, I’m more eager than ever to figure out this mystery.
The mountain of Montey crates has been replaced with a similar but smaller stack of the same.
I’m seeing the name everywhere I go, and my lack of knowledge is making me uncomfortable.
I know construction. I know what should be where.
Beyond that quick peek at the Sixes, I haven’t seen what’s in the boxes yet.
I want to compare them to what I know, and I want to know why the standard hardware has been replaced. I have questions.
Now that the pile is smaller, I can see the mysterious door more clearly. Is it just storage, like Gary said? If so, why isn’t it in the blueprints? Smuggling, Mr. Buchanan tentatively suggested. I wonder.
Or maybe this door was simply installed recently and someone forgot to include it in the blueprint, but that’s doubtful.
One of the most basic jobs of blueprints is to account for every door and every space behind.
A building inspector has to know what’s going on behind the scenes of a building, so I’m justified in chasing this down.
Still, I’m glad that no one else is here.
I shouldn’t worry, but I don’t want to answer any awkward questions.
As the inspector, I’m within my rights to check it out, if only to make sure it’s safe.
I head toward the door and, with a little effort, slide the crates out of the way.
“Miss Kelly?”
I twist around, startled. It’s Gary. He strides toward me, his expression apologetic, but resolute. With a firm grip, he pulls me out of the room, closes the door, then checks that it’s locked.
“I’m sorry, Miss Kelly. This has to stay shut.”
“Why? It’s just a storage room.”
“No one is allowed in there. It’s the rule.”
“Who made the rule?”
“The boss.”
This is getting painful. “Mr. Samson?” I guess.
“Uh, no… his boss.” He licks his lips nervously, but his arms are folded. “Listen, Miss Kelly, I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t want to get in trouble.”
My curiosity is piqued. Besides, this is my job. “Do you have the paperwork for the Montey Series Industries deliveries from last night? I see the crates from yesterday are gone, but now there’s twice as much inventory, just smaller boxes.”
“I… I don’t.”
I smell a lie. “What’s going on? Of course you know.”
“This shipment came in last night, after I’d gone home, and…” He shrugs, basically nailing his coffin shut.
“This is ridiculous.” I punch a number on my phone. “Jack, this is Bridget.”
“Ah, Inspector,” he says, and I flinch. I hear so much plastic attitude coming through those veneers of his. “How are you on this beautiful day? I’m out around the city, hoping to pop by there in about an hour, so maybe we could meet up then? Buy you a coffee?”
“No time. Sorry. I want to know about this supplier, Montey.”
He fluffs around about Montey being a new company they’re trying out, but what I hear is that he’s uncomfortable with the topic.
“What am I missing?” I demand.
“Nothing, Bridge.”
I hate being called Bridge. Just inserting that little fact here. He must have picked that up from Claudia.
“I need information, Jack. Please send along the manifest as well as some information about this company. I smell something fishy.”
He exhales, long and dramatic. “You’re making a mountain out of nothing, Bridge.
It’s nuts and bolts. Nothing more. It’s a new company out of China, offered us a great deal.
We’re over on some of the reno budget this month, and this made sense.
But trust me. There’s nothing wrong with the hardware. ”
I hang up, frustrated. I do not trust him. I head to the plumbing area, which is next on my list. Nothing seems amiss there. I stop in front of Gary before I leave the subbasement, and I point behind me, indicating the now-locked door.
“Last chance. Is there anything I should know about this? Why can’t I inspect it?”
He shakes his head. “There’s nothing special about the hardware.”
“Then why’s it off-limits? I’m the inspector, Gary. If I find out you’re lying, you should know that I won’t hesitate to report you. You and Samson and whoever else.”
He doesn’t meet my eyes. “I get it. Yeah. Sorry. I got nothing for you, Inspector.”
Maybe I’m the one with the problem, but everything about this feels wrong. “I’m writing it up.”
“Whatever you gotta do.”
My good mood is gone, swept away by Gary, Jack, and the mysterious Montey Series.
Having been dismissed, I climb the stairs to the Empire Room, and I see Paul standing by a table at the other end of the space.
He offers a half-hearted wave, then Gary barges into the room behind me and goes directly to Paul, avoiding me.
I don’t think he likes me, and I wonder if he is telling Paul about my prodding into that supply room.
I’m annoyed at being scolded, but I don’t feel like fighting right now.
My mind is focused on my lunch with Mr. Buchanan. I can hardly wait.
“Is this the outlet I’m here to inspect?” I call across to Gary. “The clicking?”
He nods, then turns back to his work, and I pull a screwdriver from my bag.
It’s a GFCI outlet, which stands for ground fault circuit interrupter.
These things became mandatory back in ’71, to protect against fire and electrocution.
If the outlet detects a ground fault in the flow of current, it automatically clicks once and cuts the power.
It’s a little spring. In cases like this, where the spring keeps clicking and clicking, the outlet is burned out or malfunctioning.
I’m surprised the hotel included this simple problem on my list. A couple hundred bucks for his time, and an electrician could fix it right up.
“Hey, there,” Paul says, approaching with a nervous smile. I get the feeling—again—that something’s being kept from me.
“Hi, Paul. Why’d you guys call me in for this? Seems weird.”
“It was a new part, so I guess they were wondering if it might be something else. New supplier, you know?”
“Nope. Just a regular GFCI misfiring.” Seeing an opportunity to find out more, I squint into the outlet, then pull out a broken piece. “MSI. Huh. I don’t suppose that would be Montey Series Industries, would it?”
He’s watching me closely, like he did when we discussed ghosts. I stare back at him.
“What?”
He hesitates, so I very quietly ask, “Is there something I should know?”
“These Montey parts are crap,” he whispers. He glances at Gary, who is busy elsewhere, then back at me. “All you gotta do is touch them and they break.”
I keep my voice low. “Then what are we doing with them?”
His face changes suddenly, and he turns his head slightly.
“Yeah. I thought so, too, yeah,” he announces, loud enough for Gary to hear.
“We’ll just call Jay, the electrician. No problem.
” Then he whispers, “It’s not up to me. I did ask, but nobody wanted to tell me nothing.
I’m close to retirement, and I need my pension, you know?
I don’t want to get in trouble, so I just do as I’m told.
I just thought you should know. Somebody should fix this before anyone gets hurt. ”
“Who’s approving this?”
“I can try to get you copies of a few orders, but the thing is…” He winces. “Don’t ever tell anybody I told you this. I mean it.”
“Okay. What?”
“You’ll recognize one of the signatures on the orders. It’s your boss.”
“What?” I hear my shock echo around the room and drop my voice immediately. “Sorry. Can I see those? I need to speak with Claudia and find out what’s going on.”
“I’ll try to get copies. Best I can do. But don’t mention me to nobody. Promise.”
I’m thrown by his obvious fear.
“I promise. Who’s behind this Montey company?”
“I don’t know. It’s all real quiet. Gary’s afraid to say anything about it. Guess we all are.”
“What about Jack Samson? Can we ask him?”
He shakes his head slowly. “Jack knows a lot of things, but I ain’t gonna ask him about this. You shouldn’t, either, unless you got an escape plan.”
“Oh, come on.” I laugh. “Jack’s no big deal.”
“Maybe not, but whoever he works for is, and I’m not talking about the hotel.” He rubs his brow hard. “I probably shouldn’t have told you any of this, Miss Kelly. Forget I told you. If you get into it, you’ll be digging into some dangerous dirt.”
He turns away when Gary calls him, and I leave the room feeling dizzy. What I need is food, to stabilize myself. I make my way to Reign and the reservation I’d made yesterday. Despite my eagerness to see Mr. Buchanan, I can’t get Paul’s words out of my head.
To my surprise, Mr. Buchanan is already standing by the entrance. He’s wearing a navy jacket over a blue shirt and holding a weathered brown leather briefcase.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Kelly,” he says, bringing light to my dark day. He hesitates, then decides to hold out his hand.
I shake it. “I can’t wait to hear what you’ve found out.”
The hostess appears, and we follow her through beautiful lit archways that soar over the corridor, then past walls of rich Canadian walnut with crushed velvet and gold accents.
All around us stretch murals of farmland in a beautiful salute to Canadian farmers.
At our table, I order coffee, and Mr. Buchanan does as well.
There’s a nervous pause, then he dives in.
“I came across some information that I thought you might like to see.”
“Oh, yes, please!”
He starts to unlatch his briefcase and dig inside, but he stops when the coffee arrives.
“Are you ready to order?” the woman asks.
Mr. Buchanan’s reaction is one of alarm. It’s like he never leaves his office.
“Not yet,” I tell the server. “A few more minutes, please.”
She walks away, and he sags with relief. “I guess I’d better read the menu first.”