the furnishings, in the paintings, in the very essence of the building, she remained. Lark whispered a promise to help find her killer and then, with a flick of the light switch, dispelled the shadows and made a beeline for the office.
She spent the morning poring over the books, perusing work schedules, payroll information, and accessory supply sheets. In a ledger detailing shipments and purchases, Lark found some odd numbers scribbled on several pages. From what she could decipher, it seemed Esther tracked all shipments out of Chiapas, not just the ones she made. And the numbers were staggering.
Toward the back of the ledger, Lark found what she was looking for: an inventory record. According to the numbers, coffee on site posed no problem, but warehouse supplies appeared to be running low.
Lark dialed the number on the warehouse inventory list and spoke with someone in the billing department of Commercial Storage.
“I don’t know anything about any coffee supply,” explained the woman in nasal tones. “The way we work things, you pay us for warehouse space, and we give you a password to the main gate and keys to the warehouse at one of our five locations. But, honey, unless you can prove you’re the person who signed the contracts, that’s all the information you get.”
Lark thanked her, then hung up and rummaged through the filing cabinets for a folder containing the code to the warehouse. The key had to be one of those dangling from the key ring Bernie had given her, but it would be totally useless without the password to the main gate.
The code turned up in a file marked “Storage.” The warehouse address was listed as Lyons, somewhere off of Highway 7 and U.S. 36. Lark started a new to-do list: “Check warehouse.”
On a hunch, she picked up the phone and dialed the Drummond.
“Stephen?”
“Lark, thank heavens.”
“Stephen, I need to know who distributes coffee for the Chipe Coffee Company.”
“Where are you?”
None of your business . “I’m at the Warbler, and I need to know who delivers Chipe’s coffee to the Drummond.” She spoke slowly, enunciating each word, hoping he would take the hint and just answer her question. “Off the top of your head, do you remember the name of the delivery company? Or can you look it up in the orders for me?” She paused, then added “please” as an afterthought.
“When are you coming back?”
She heard the rustling of papers. “Are you searching through the invoices?”
“You haven’t forgotten we have the Migration Alliance banquet this evening?”
“No, I haven’t forgotten, Stephen.” Lark sucked in a breath, annoyed by his persistence. “I’m sure you’re dealing with things just fine. Now, did you find the information?”
Velof sighed. “The company is Talley Distributing.”
“Do you have a phone number?”
He rattled off ten digits, and she hung up before he could harangue her anymore. Knowing Velof, he’d still have plenty to say later this afternoon.
The clerk at Talley Distributing connected her with the shipping manager, who connected her with the supervisor, who connected her with Mr. Talley.
“What exactly do you want?” he demanded.
“I’m looking for an explanation as to why Esther Mills canceled Chipe Coffee Company’s Wednesday-afternoon deliveries. From the inventory sheets, it appears that the coffee supply, though dwindling, is still adequate for filling orders.”
“Why don’t you ask her?” he replied. “I can’t hardly wait to talk to her myself.”
Didn’t he know? “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Mr. Talley, but Esther Mills is dead.”
He choked and sputtered into the phone. “Come again?”
“She was murdered two days ago. Shortly after she canceled the deliveries.”
“You’re shittin’me.”
“No.”
Talley let out a long, low whistle. “Hey, you’re not accusing me of doin’nothing, are you?”
“No, I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on with Chipe
She spent the morning poring over the books, perusing work schedules, payroll information, and accessory supply sheets. In a ledger detailing shipments and purchases, Lark found some odd numbers scribbled on several pages. From what she could decipher, it seemed Esther tracked all shipments out of Chiapas, not just the ones she made. And the numbers were staggering.
Toward the back of the ledger, Lark found what she was looking for: an inventory record. According to the numbers, coffee on site posed no problem, but warehouse supplies appeared to be running low.
Lark dialed the number on the warehouse inventory list and spoke with someone in the billing department of Commercial Storage.
“I don’t know anything about any coffee supply,” explained the woman in nasal tones. “The way we work things, you pay us for warehouse space, and we give you a password to the main gate and keys to the warehouse at one of our five locations. But, honey, unless you can prove you’re the person who signed the contracts, that’s all the information you get.”
Lark thanked her, then hung up and rummaged through the filing cabinets for a folder containing the code to the warehouse. The key had to be one of those dangling from the key ring Bernie had given her, but it would be totally useless without the password to the main gate.
The code turned up in a file marked “Storage.” The warehouse address was listed as Lyons, somewhere off of Highway 7 and U.S. 36. Lark started a new to-do list: “Check warehouse.”
On a hunch, she picked up the phone and dialed the Drummond.
“Stephen?”
“Lark, thank heavens.”
“Stephen, I need to know who distributes coffee for the Chipe Coffee Company.”
“Where are you?”
None of your business . “I’m at the Warbler, and I need to know who delivers Chipe’s coffee to the Drummond.” She spoke slowly, enunciating each word, hoping he would take the hint and just answer her question. “Off the top of your head, do you remember the name of the delivery company? Or can you look it up in the orders for me?” She paused, then added “please” as an afterthought.
“When are you coming back?”
She heard the rustling of papers. “Are you searching through the invoices?”
“You haven’t forgotten we have the Migration Alliance banquet this evening?”
“No, I haven’t forgotten, Stephen.” Lark sucked in a breath, annoyed by his persistence. “I’m sure you’re dealing with things just fine. Now, did you find the information?”
Velof sighed. “The company is Talley Distributing.”
“Do you have a phone number?”
He rattled off ten digits, and she hung up before he could harangue her anymore. Knowing Velof, he’d still have plenty to say later this afternoon.
The clerk at Talley Distributing connected her with the shipping manager, who connected her with the supervisor, who connected her with Mr. Talley.
“What exactly do you want?” he demanded.
“I’m looking for an explanation as to why Esther Mills canceled Chipe Coffee Company’s Wednesday-afternoon deliveries. From the inventory sheets, it appears that the coffee supply, though dwindling, is still adequate for filling orders.”
“Why don’t you ask her?” he replied. “I can’t hardly wait to talk to her myself.”
Didn’t he know? “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Mr. Talley, but Esther Mills is dead.”
He choked and sputtered into the phone. “Come again?”
“She was murdered two days ago. Shortly after she canceled the deliveries.”
“You’re shittin’me.”
“No.”
Talley let out a long, low whistle. “Hey, you’re not accusing me of doin’nothing, are you?”
“No, I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on with Chipe
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