Baby Bones. Donan Ph.D. Berg

course. I can refresh my memory with the assessor’s Internet site aerial map.” Jonas retraced steps to a fence gate that led to the front parking lot. With head cocked sideways, he watched Ms. Stark stroll toward metal stairs he presumed entered the warehouse. An imprisoned Webster’s low-pitched barks erupted across the parking lot as Jonas slid into cruiser’s driver seat.

      * * *

      The eight a.m. Monday morning sun escaped between two billowy clouds to warm Noel Henderson’s face. He stood idle in an open Jove Foods warehouse bay door waiting for a yard spotter to maneuver a fifty-three foot trailer for unloading. Despite aching muscles, and less than normal sleep before night shift start, he welcomed the extra two hours of overtime pay.

      “Mr. Henderson.” The high-pitched feminine shout startled him. Within twenty seconds he heard his name repeated, “Mr. Henderson.”

      From afar he recognized the gray, pinstriped suit of VP Stark. She, since last month, had become a daily vision. When within two steps of him, he watched her stretch shorter five-foot-four body vertically and walk on tiptoes as she tried to engage him face-to-face. Standing six-foot-one, Noel’s downward gaze noticed the front bottom jacket corner appeared ripped.

      “May I speak with you a moment?”

      The constant hum from banks of outdated overhead fluorescent tubes intermingled with braking and bumping sounds of near and distant forklifts to make words hard to decipher. “With whom?” Right hand set invoice clipboard on a loaded, wrapped pallet.

      “With you. Are you on the clock?”

      “Yes, ma’am. Foreman ordered three of us to stay and help unload the extra trucks.” He gazed at still emotionless facial expression. She unbuttoned jacket. To his unobstructed view, the lacy white blouse frills framed deep exposed cleavage, enough to make him uncomfortable. He heard a digestive tract gurgling from within. A yearning for a crate to sit on went unfulfilled.

      “I’m curious. Did you attend the union’s meeting yesterday?” She glanced behind and to both sides. “You weren’t scheduled to work. I checked.”

      No one lingered or lurked within earshot to his knowledge. “I don’t know...”

      “Mr. Henderson. May I call you Noel?”

      “Okay.” He shifted weight to left leg.

      “Well, Union President Dino Vikolas spoke up for you when you were hired.” She buttoned the two jacket buttons to cover bosom cleavage. “I assume you’re friends and I’m not here to destroy friendships. If there’s any turmoil between the warehouse workers and the company, Mr. Vikolas couldn’t alter your job standing. You must guard your own interest.”

      He failed to understand what she meant. Seniority controlled job assignments. The union contract spelled that out. Neither he nor Dino had personal control any which way. Noel sighed.

      She stepped forward and back. Two fingers fidgeted with a jacket button.

      He whispered, “Yes, I was there.” He shifted weight onto right foot.

      A loud crack caused both to flinch. Noel, by instinct and with the hope VP Stark would depart, ran to the adjacent bay door to observe damage. He saw none. The spotter unhooked yard tractor and waved before departing. Noel unlatched the trailer’s rear door and heaved it upward. As the door rolled up on its tracks, he saw the closest two pallets had tipped inward.

      VP Stark stepped to his side. “Visit me tonight at my house, say six o’clock?”

      “I don’t know.” His stomach knotted. Guys snidely called her an octopus, and he didn’t want to become entangled. Besides, male or female, she wore a “suit,” and work buddies issued a caution not to trust any company executive. His body shift resulted in their being face-to-face.

      “I’ll make sure there’s wine, spaghetti, and garlic bread for two.” Fingertips again hovered to undo a second jacket button. A loaded forklift zoomed by.

      “I don’t know...” Stomach uneasiness gurgled at the back of his throat.

      Melanie’s released jacket flapped wide to expose previously flashed cleavage. His eyes focused on a freckle below her throat. He began to feel like they starred in a cheap drama until the body warmth generated within rotated gaze to the forklifts.

      “Noel, what can it hurt? If you’re worried about others seeing you, don’t.”

      He gazed above her head. “I’m not. Really not. I might have plans.” He sorta lied. He didn’t have plans except to go fishing. No big deal not to fish. He could fish any day.

      “My home driveway’s long. Park behind the house. Knock on the kitchen door. I’ll expect you at six.” She pivoted and departed with jacket sides fluttering.

      He should have declined. His silence likely made Melanie expect him. He’d probably regret it if he honored her invitation. With a left leg swing, Noel straddled a forklift seat. He’d decide after he unloaded this last truck. What punishment could she inflict if he failed to show?

      * * *

      Jonas, after a detour to lock Webster into sister’s backyard, arrived last for the strike preparation meeting in the Sheriff’s Office main interrogation room. The chair to the right occupied by Deputy Bonnie Walsh, the newest member at two years. To his left sat a ramrod Sergeant Paul Anderson and across the table from Jonas the craggy face of Sergeant Elmer Cannon.

      Jonas gazed into Sgt. Cannon’s eyes. “If the union strikes, it will mean long hours requiring physical ability to respond at a moment’s notice. This will be a great challenge for all of us.” Jonas harbored doubts about Sgt. Cannon. Four years previous an escaping robbery suspect’s bullet had broken Elmer’s left thighbone. Surgery helped, but the leg never quite recovered.

      “Don’t you worry about me,” Elmer said. “If I can handle a sick grandchild for twenty-four hours, I can be a nursemaid to whiny strikers.”

      “Didn’t say you couldn’t. Tried to emphasize it would be a challenge for all.” Jonas sensed the other two waited for Paul, former sheriff’s selected heir apparent who bypassed special election.

      “You forget these are our neighbors?” Paul asked.

      “Of course not. I’ve a meeting scheduled with Dino, union president, to put emphasis on our neutrality and urge nonviolence.”

      “I’d be careful trusting hotheads like Bill McNamar,” Paul said.

      “We needn’t make snap decisions. Let’s see how it plays,” Jonas replied. While Jonas didn’t challenge Paul possessed the strength the other two lacked, he questioned Paul’s personal dedication and willingness to be a team player. Paul cut corners, did only enough to avoid reprimand. Jonas expected his subordinate would challenge him in the upcoming sheriff primary or general election. Jonas handed out updated duty sheets. “If there’s a strike, this schedule supercedes normal patrols.”

      “Twelve-hour shifts,” Bonnie muttered.

      Jonas noticed Paul reading and shaking head side-to-side.

      Bonnie engaged Jonas’s eyes. “Why?” Her voice pitch higher than normal.

      “Between us here, I’m going to ask Jove Foods to limit in and out truck traffic to between eight a.m. and six p.m. That may allow us to be on call for the overnight twelve hour shift.”

      Elmer leaned closer to Bonnie. “Don’t worry. My wife can baby sit your cute little girl.”

      Bonnie faced Elmer and smiled.

      “We’ll all have to make sacrifices,” Jonas continued. “I understand that. As a temporary backup measure I’ll deputize one of the dispatchers. The state police will be on standby. Today I’ll also notify the National Guard.”

      “Do you think that’s all necessary?” Paul asked. “Seems rather drastic if you ask me. All these Jove Foods employees are