“No, I’m right outside the door.”
“Stay put.”
With that he hung up.
What did he mean by “stay put”? Was he merely ordering me to keep guard over the unlocked door? Or warning me not to go back into the office to snoop around?
Probably both.
I rolled the plant to the side, so someone getting off the elevator wouldn’t run smack dab into it. I strolled over to the double doors and took a good long look. The first impression was that the office was suddenly empty. It wasn’t, of course—it was still filled with furniture, lamps, drapes, hideous Pruitt oil paintings, and stacks and boxes of paper. The peace lily had only left a small vacancy on the credenza, and there were only a few empty spaces on the bookshelves. There were even files on the desk and papers in the in- and out-boxes. But it contained no personal touches at all, and it was very clear, even to the casual observer, that Terence Mann wasn’t coming back.
Which probably meant that if he had any secrets, they weren’t here. Or they looked, to the casual observer, like things it would be perfectly normal to pack.
My fingers itched to rummage through the two moving boxes, sitting so casually on the floor, one beside the desk and one by the bookcase.
But I didn’t want the chief to catch me doing it. I felt as if I’d earned a measure of trust from him by not doing precisely that sort of thing.
I deliberately turned my back on the double doors and marched over to a nearby bench that gave me a good view of both the elevator door and the door to Terence Mann’s office. Former office.
While I was waiting, I could check on Grandfather’s condition. I pulled out my cell phone and hesitated. Should I call the hospital or Dad?
Probably less red tape if I called Dad. And his cell phone number was already on my speed dial list.
He answered in the middle of the second ring.
“Meg! You should see this!” he said.
“Hello to you, too,” I said. “See what?”
“Caerphilly’s new police station! Isn’t it wonderful that we weren’t doing anything else with our barn?”
Mother might not think it was so wonderful, since she had plans to convert the barn to a studio for her fledgling decorating business.
“Remember, it’s only temporary, Dad,” I said.
“We’ve got the chief’s office set up in the tack room, and Debbie Anne’s communications console in the first stall, and the fingerprint machine—”
“I’m looking forward to seeing it,” I said. “Later. I just called to ask how Grandfather was.”
He sighed.
“Stable,” he said.
“Stable isn’t good?”
“Stable isn’t bad,” he said. “All his signs are very good, actually. I’d just be a lot more comfortable if he regained consciousness. The longer he’s unconscious the more concerned I become.”
“Should I go over and visit him?” I asked. “On the theory that on some level unconscious patients can still hear what we say to them?”
“Yes, please do,” Dad said. “I’ve been running in every time I go to town to fetch another load from the police station, but it might help if more of us did that. Reassure him that everything’s going just fine.”
Just then the elevator dinged.
“Actually,” I said, “I thought I’d tell him to hurry up and get well so he can keep the mayor from seizing all the animals and exterminating them. If you ask me that’s a lot more likely to jump-start him than telling him everything’s fine.”
“But Meg—” he began.
“Gotta run,” I said, as the chief stepped off the elevator. “I’ll let you know later how my plan works.”
Horace followed the chief off the elevator. The two of them glanced at me. Horace waved. The chief nodded, as if to dismiss me. Horace stuck his hand into the doorway to hold the elevator.
I can take a hint. I shoved the cell phone back in my pocket, reclaimed the peace lily, and trundled it onto the elevator.
“Thanks,” I said as the elevator door slowly closed. “Have fun.”
Back on the sidewalk, the ladies treated me like a conquering hero, and fussed over the plant as if they suspected Terence Mann of dousing it with Roundup and boiling water.
“What took you so long?” the lady with the clipboard asked. “We were frantic with worry!”
“I was just having a little talk with our former county manager,” I said.
“Former!” several garden ladies exclaimed. Apparently this morning’s board action wasn’t yet widely known. The ladies began coagulating into small groups on the sidewalk, voicing their vehement approval, discussing the significance of Mann’s departure, and hotly debating what the county’s next move should be. A posse of overalls-clad Shiffleys lugging file cabinets put down their loads to join in the discussion. Participatory democracy at work. Good. The county needed more of that.