Page 586 of Cold Case, Warm Hearts

Ginger’s mouth pulled down at the corners. “To tell you the truth, I’m not sure what to think.”

An uncomfortable silence passed.

“What does your heart tell you?”

Sydney shook her head. “My heart? I stopped listening to it a long time ago.”

All Sydney hadto do was play it cool. She wouldn’t give too much information, just enough to appease them. She reached in her handbag for her compact and gave herself a quick once-over, applying a fresh coat of lipstick and dab of powder. She hoped the concealer would hide the dark circles under her eyes. In the past twenty-four hours, she’d gotten less than six hours of sleep.

Ginger had taken her to the airport the day before. She’d flown from Dallas to Birmingham where she’d rented a car and driven the remaining three hours to Glendale, a mid-size town located twenty miles from Stoney Creek. She’d thought about trying to get a room at the motor lodge in Stoney Creek but decided there would be a better selection in Glendale. She had purposely arrived early in the evening so she could get plenty of rest, but her mind wouldn’t cooperate. She tossed and turned most of the night and drifted off to an uneasy sleep at 2:00 AM. Her mind plagued her all night long. She was too keyed up about the interview and too upset over Adam.

The plan was for Adam, not Ginger, to drive her to the airport. But he backed out at the last minute. Supposedly, an emergency had come up at the law office, but Sydney knew that was his way of telling her it was over. His caustic attitude madeher wonder if there had been anything between them to begin with. Maybe it was just one more chink in the long chain of illusions she called relationships.

She opened her car door and swung out her legs. It took some effort to pry her mind away from Adam Sinclair and concentrate on her interview that was being held at the Chamberland Paper Mill Division, but if she got the job, she would work at the hardwood sawmill across town.

The entrance to the building was covered in large, double glass doors that sparkled in the sun. Fresh paint and floor polish invaded her senses when she stepped inside and adjusted her suit. The waiting room was furnished with a few chairs and a coffee table. The room’s only décor was a plastic, green fern and two prints, one on each wall. The main wall was bare except for a window with a glass panel. A middle-aged, plump receptionist sat behind it. She peered over her glasses.

“May I help you?”

“I’m here to see the plant manager, Mr. Jake Roberts.”

The lady looked Sydney over from head to toe and then frowned. She glanced at her appointment book. “No, I don’t have you down. You’ll have to call back and make an appointment.”

The hair on the back of Sydney’s neck bristled. “I beg your pardon, but I already have a ten o’clock appointment with Jake Roberts. I’ve flown all the way from Dallas to interview with him.”

The woman huffed. “What did you say your name was?”

“Sydney Lassiter.”

“Just a moment please.” The woman stood and took a couple of steps before turning back toward Sydney who was still standing by the front window. “Oh, have a seat.”

“Thank you,” Sydney said, mostly to herself.

The woman returned a few minutes later. “Mr. Roberts will see you now.” She ushered Sydney down a long hall to an open door at the far end.

“Mr. Roberts, meet Sydney Lassiter.” The middle-aged woman sniggered and looked at Sydney like she was last week’s garbage.

Sydney did her best to keep her face neutral despite the fact that she was seething inside. The receptionist seemed to think her interview was a big joke.

Mr. Roberts came from behind the desk and shook Sydney’s hand. “Have a seat, young lady.” The expression on his face was stern even though he was attempting to smile. He was dressed in a flannel, checked shirt and wore black jeans. His round belly protruded over the front of his pants, making it impossible to determine if he was wearing a belt. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbows of his hairy arms, like he was planning on breaking away from his desk any minute to do manual labor. Heavy brows overpowered his tiny gold glasses, and a short, thick beard covered his face and swallowed his neck.

Sydney felt overdressed in her four-hundred-dollar powder blue suit from Nordstrom. She crossed her legs and cringed inside when she saw Mr. Roberts glance at her expensive leather pumps.

“Ms. Lassiter, you’ll have to forgive Evelyn and me. It never occurred to either of us that Sydney could be a woman’s name. Your resume was sent to us through a recruiter, and arrangements for your interview were made through them.”

Sydney’s eyes met his in a cool challenge. “Is that a problem, Mr. Roberts? My credentials and experience are still the same.”

The furrow between his brows deepened as his reply stumbled out of his mouth. “Oh, no. I mean, it was just a surprise.”

He picked up her resume and skimmed it. “Tell me something about yourself, Ms. Lassiter. You’re from the Dallas-Ft. Worth area?”

“Yes.”

Mr. Roberts scratched his head. “Lassiter … I know a Charlie Lassiter. Do you have any relatives ’round these parts?”

“No.” She cleared her throat. “Both of my parents are deceased.”

There was an awkward pause until “I’m sorry” stumbled out of Mr. Robert’s mouth.

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