“And how long will all that take?” Drue asked.
“It takes as long as it takes, Drue. The wheels of justice grind slowly sometimes.”
“If at all,” she said. “Was that what you wanted to talk to me about? I guess I better get out there to the phones.”
“Don’t worry about the phones,” Brice said. “Just finish up whatever you were working on and ship it over to Wendy. She’s set up a command post in our bedroom. For today, we’re routing calls over to the offsite call center, and in the meantime, Wendy has posted openings for two positions online.”
“Two?” Drue said.
“That’s what I wanted to discuss with you,” Brice said. “Jimmy’s been talking about slowing down for a while now, and after yesterday, he came over and we had a couple of drinks and talked about a succession plan.”
She let the phrase sink in. “Does that mean what I think it means?”
“If you want it to,” Brice said. “I admit I had my doubts about it, but Jimmy insists you’re more than capable. You’ve got good people skills—he claims yours are much better than his, by the way—a strong work ethic and, the most important thing, at least according to him, killer instincts. What do you say?”
She looked up at the ceiling and down at her hands, then across the desk at him. “Let me think about it, okay?” she said.
Her reply obviously took him by surprise. “What’s to think about?”
“Well, I’d like a job description, for one. And I’ll need to know about the compensation and benefits package.”
His face began to redden beneath the pancake and he began to sputter.
She balled up a piece of paper and tossed it at him. “Just kidding, Dad. Yeah. I’ll take the job. But it does come with a raise, right? I really have to do something about my roof.”
“Did I not mention your signing bonus?” Brice asked. “How does twenty-five thousand sound? That should buy a roof and replacement doors for the cottage, right?”
Drue found herself grinning despite herself. “A roof, and maybe even central air.” She stood up and stuck out her hand.
Brice laughed, shook her hand and went to give her a hug.
“Brice, please,” Marianne protested. “Your shirt! You’ll get it wrinkled and then it’ll look like you slept in it.”
After Brice left for his press conference, Drue went back to her cubicle. She had paperwork to finish up, and calls to field from the firm’s newest television ad campaign. At one point, she looked up and saw Zee walking through the bullpen. She reached out and snagged him by the fabric of his shirt.
“Dad told me about the new succession plan,” she said. “Can I take you to lunch today? There’s some stuff I need to ask you about.”
“Can’t. Brice wants me to do follow-up interviews with some of those other current and former housekeepers at the Gulf Vista. He thinks there’s a potential for a class-action lawsuit against the hotel for sexual harassment. That place is the gift that keeps on giving.”
“Okay. Then how about a drink? After work tonight?”
“Maybe. Text me when you leave here and let me know where you want to meet.”
Drue stopped at Target on her way home from work and picked out several more coloring books and a Little Mermaid bathing suit and beach towel.
When she got to Yvonne Howington’s house, she saw the Plymouth parked in the driveway. The hood was open and the vehicle, which was missing two tires, was raised up on concrete blocks. Drue got a very intense sense of déjàvu.
“Come on in,” Yvonne said, after Drue knocked on the screen door.
“What’s wrong with your car?” Drue asked, following Yvonne into the living room.
“What’s not wrong with it?” Yvonne said, seating herself in the recliner. “Needs new tires, new battery, new everything. My nephew’s supposed to start working on it, when he gets the time.”
“How do you get to work?” Drue asked.
“Sometimes I get a ride from somebody, but mostly I just take cabs,” Yvonne said resignedly.
Drue handed her the Target bag. “This is for Aliyah. How’s she doing?”
