13 Reasons for Murder: Politeness Kills: A Britney Cage Novel

Two

I KICKED MY SHOES off as soon as I got home after playing ping-pong in the afternoon Tampa traffic. I didn't live terribly far from the office, only a few miles, but a few miles turns into a half hour or more rather quickly and painfully. Three miles can take twenty minutes or more depending on numerous factors. I was lost in thoughts of traffic and how much I wish the city and county could do more about it when I heard a pitiful meow at my feet. I looked down to see my tiny girl, M, short for Minion of Darkness, looking quite perturbed. Apparently one of my shoes had scared her from her perch in the window, and now it was mommy's duty to pacify the princess. I pet her and sat down on the couch, taking my work laptop out as well as some folders, including Alex's.

"First, mommy changes. Then, we go sit outside," I said to M and scratched her chin.

I went to my bedroom and threw on a pair of lounge shorts and a long-sleeve t-shirt. It may have been warm, but that breeze made me chilly. I'm an anomaly, what can I say. I then opened all the windows to let some fresh air in. February is a fussy month here, and I was taking full advantage of it. M followed me around, yelling at me for mommy time. She even jumped on top of my folders, scattering them everywhere. I simply shook my head. I'd have to rearrange them once I got outside.

I opened the sliding glass door to the screened-in patio and placed my work on the table, pulling up a chair, too. Sitting down, I sighed and giggled, beginning to sort through the mess M created. Employee files were no longer in order; I had to sort papers back into their homes in the correct folders before I could get back to my tedium of data entry. Normally, my assistant, Julie, did all this crap, but as I said, she took the day off. Oh well, sometimes you have to do the things you hired others for when you're a small business.

I'd finally sorted everything when my cell phone rang. I didn't recognize the number—when did I ever, honestly—which meant it was probably one of my temps. I hit the green answer button.

"Passing Through Temp Agency, Britney speaking. How can I help you?" I tried hard to sound like I wasn't annoyed and hoped it came through.

"Oh, uh, I'm glad I got you. I went back to the office, but the lights were out and the door locked. I had another question about starting on Monday. Oh, by the way, this is Alex. Alex Charles? You just hired me maybe an hour ago?"

"Hi, Alex. What can I do for you?"

"Well, I was wondering...it's a surgeon's office...do I need scrubs or..."

"Shit! Ahem, excuse that. I can't believe we didn't go over that. I'm very sorry, Alex. The doctor likes when you're professionally dressed the first day, then he'll tell you what color scrubs to get and where. He's got an account with one of the stores, and his people get discounts. It's very important when you go to the store you tell them you're temping for him. They have the colors he requires on file. The man's a little OCD and likes his people color coded by job function."

Alex was silent on the other end, as those I sent to this particular surgeon usually were. Then he spoke up, "Okay. Professional. Does that mean suit and tie and jacket?"

"Yes," I replied, "a jacket is a must or he'll freak out on you and call me pitching a bitch fit. I want a good report about you, Alex. I know you can do this. Oh, one last thing: be assertive. Don't be afraid to speak up to coworkers, me, or to the doctor. He's not as bad as he seems, just a little eccentric. Anything else?"

"No."

"Well, then let me get back to work, and I look forward to hearing from you next Friday. Remember, good reports, Alex. I picked you for this because I know you'll do well. Have a good rest of your day," I smiled.

"You too, Ms. Cage. Thanks again."

He hung up, and I tossed my phone onto the table next to the laptop. I wanted to do some social media scouring before I started the data entry, so I did. I checked all the popular sites for Alex and couldn't find him anywhere. Did he have friends? He mentioned his parents but not in a tone that would suggest they'd miss him if he went to Dominican Republic and was kidnapped for an organ harvesting operation. I almost felt bad for the guy, but maybe he liked it that way. I like not being tied down and not having kids. But I spend a lot of my time working. It's my business, after all. I have to make sure I'm doing well consistently. I learn from setbacks and have learned from failing with starting the wrong business too many times. This business, Passing Through Temp Agency, is perfect. I don't keep anyone except Julie and no attachments. Even better, I can scope out those with no ties to anyone or anything.

Pulling the stack of files closer, I opened the database to make sure all the information was up to date, like who was still available, on which assignments, emergency contact info, all the boring little tidbits that made up everyone's lives. The devil is in the details, I smirked. Going through the files, I realized how many of my temps didn't really have anyone, not even an emergency contact in town. I wanted to feel bad, and I guess I did in some weird way, but I didn't let it bother me. They know I'm just a phone call away, but they also know I'm not their bestie.

The last folder was Alex's. I went through it slowly, reading everything printed out, taking it all in. His parents lived in Ocala, which was only a few hours' drive from Tampa, but he didn't have much else. A couple odd jobs between high school and graduating college, then onto work in one of the local hospitals as a nurse. I was puzzled. Why would a nurse want to become a paper pusher? What had he seen that messed him up so badly? Maybe one day I'd ask him, but today wasn't it. As I finished entering his personal information, I giggled, a wry grin on my face. I entered his assignment, Dr. Osten, and saved the data.

As I closed my laptop, I grinned again. "Oh, Alex Charles, what have you gotten yourself into?"