“You’re wasting your time,” he says. “My blind is shut. I am complying with the requirements, and you’re only harassing me because I dared to speak up against injustice.”
“No, the requirements are that, in the event of a lockdown, you need to close your blindandyour shuttersanduse only your small lantern.”
“The battery is dead.”
“And, as I told you, closing the shutters will be sufficient. If you’d like to step outside and see how much light is getting past your blind—”
Dalton steps from beside me. “Lights out. Shutters closed. You forgot to recharge your solar lantern. Not our fault.”
“So you brought in the big guns,” Arturo says. Then Rory squawks and his gaze drops to her. His brows knit. Then hiseyes narrow, as if this is some kind of trick. Maybe holding a baby means Dalton can hit him and Arturo can’t hit back.
“Yeah.” Dalton lifts Rory and holds her out. “Thisis the big gun. Close the fucking shutters or I unleash the teething infant.”
“You shouldn’t swear in front of her,” Arturo says. “And you’re telling me to turn off my light when you have ababy? If she starts bawling, all the closed shutters and dimmed lights won’t help. They’llhearthe town from ten miles away.”
“Let us handle Rory,” I say. “Now, light off or shutters closed. We will speak to Muriel in the morning about adjusting your shifts to even them out.”
His blink tells me I hit the bull’s-eye. He’s not protesting the general unfairness of the lockdown changes—he’s thinking of himself. Something tells me that if he was the one with the short shift, he wouldn’t say a peep about it.
“You will each work three and a half hours tomorrow,” I say. “Ifyou close those shutters.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Yes.”
That sets him back. Apparently, I was supposed to say no, not at all, think of it as an incentive.
I continue, “You don’t need to start until one thirty. Then you’ll be done at five. Acceptable?”
“No.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Dalton says. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”
“I want the early shift. In fact, I want the early shift permanently.”
I frown. “You had the early shift, and you hated it. Muriel swapped with you.”
“I’ve changed my mind. I’ve had enough of her slacking. IfI’m on the early shift, then she has to show up on time, and she has to do her damn job because I won’t be coming in afterward to do it for her.”
I motion him back inside. Then Dalton and I follow, and Dalton shuts the door behind us.
I lower my voice. “This really isn’t the time for a labor dispute, Arturo. Can you agree, for tomorrow, that you will work the later shift, and we’ll sort this with Phil?”
He crosses his arms again. “No. I want it resolved now, and since you want my shutters closed, I have your attention. I’m not giving it up.”
Dalton makes a rumble that’s two seconds from becoming a snarl. My look tells him to let me try resolving this.
“You’re having a problem with Muriel not doing her job,” I say. “You seemed fine with her last month when you switched shifts. In fact, you made a point of telling Phil what a good coworker she was.”
“Because she’d agreed to take the shitty shift,” he says. Then he shifts his weight. “Fine. Also because shewasa good coworker. When I came in for my shift, everything was always done, and sometimes she’d do extra. But that changed a couple of months ago, and every time I think she’s cleaned up her act, it starts again. She does a half-assed job. She says all the plants are watered, but a bunch of them are dry. If I’m lucky, she does the bare minimum. And she’s not showing up at six, like she’s supposed to. One of the kitchen guys came by for herbs last week and when he stopped by at nearly seven, the greenhouse was still locked tight.”
I exhale. “Okay, we’ll deal with this.”
I’ll need to inform Phil, but more importantly, I’ll be telling Kendra that Muriel might be in need of counseling. This sort of thing can happen—someone comes into Haven’s Rock,giddy with the relief of escaping their situation, determined to go above and beyond, but then the isolation and the cooling weather sets in, along with bouts of depression. That would explain shifting moods—from working hard to barely doing her minimum.
If that’s the case, she needs counseling, not disciplinary action.
“You think she’s showing up late regularly?” I say.
