Page 40 of Her Cadillac Cowboy
CHAPTER TWELVE
On Friday, Sara should have been anticipating a relaxing weekend at home. Instead, she had a pounding headache that only threatened to get worse and a weekend of work looming ahead. She took two tablets out of an opaque white bottle and downed them with a swig of coffee. Yech! The brew was cold and oily. She’d take a quick break and get another cup. Maybe then her headache would ease, and she’d be ready to face Miss Beadle.
The office manager had demanded a half hour out of Sara’s overburdened schedule to talk aboutthat boy.
That boywas all Sara had heard about for the past three days. Several contracts were hanging fire, and the financial estimates for a new RV showroom location were supposed to be ready for review. She should have received daily progress reports on those projects and a week’s end report on the contracts and accounting department’s entire workload. Instead all she’d heard were excuses, each one attributable tothat boy.
The knock came as Sara stood up. “Come in,” she barked and marched to the coffeepot in the corner. She would have coffee. She had to have coffee to get her through the next half hour. She turned back toward her desk, where Beadle stood bristling by the chair that flanked it.
Sara took a breath. “Sit down, Miss Beadle. Coffee?”
“No thank you, Miss Carson,” The clipped words issued from prune-like lips.
Sara repressed a sigh and sat down.
Miss Beadle’s rigid posture accused Sara more loudly than any words.
She pried one hand away from the security of her coffee cup and held her palm out toward the chair. “Please, Miss Beadle, sit down.”
“Thank you.”
Sara watched as the older woman sat without shifting her spine so much as a millimeter.
“I understand you wish to discuss Will Talmidge.”
“That is correct.”
She had given Beadle an opening. What was the woman waiting for? If she had complaints, she’d have to state them outright. Sara refused to guess.
The silence stretched. Sara’s coffee cup neared empty. Should she pour another cup? First, she’d prompt her employee one more time. “Miss Beadle, I know how much you pride yourself on your responsible work ethic. This situation with Will Talmidge is not of your making or mine. Whatever has happened, I hold you blameless.”
“Well,” the prune lips unfolded and formed a thin line, “since you absolve me of responsibility, I’ll try to tell you, but I find the subject distasteful.”
Color flooded Miss Beadle’s pale face; was it anger or embarrassment that caused the flush?”
“In less than a week, that boy has made a shamble of the contracts and accounting department. Today, he was to staple work for the girls in the office.”
“That seems simple enough.”
“He used the stapler as a writing implement with which to inscribe blasphemous comments about the deity’s procreative capabilities on the desktop.” Sara thought she smelled brimstone.
“He used the stapler to write graffiti on a desktop?”
“I believe that is what I said.”
Sara shook her head. “I suppose it could be worse. How much will the repairs cost?”
“I have prepared an inventory of all the damages Mr. Talmidge has caused. And, yes, it is worse.”
How could words escape teeth and jaw clenched as hard as Beadle’s? A set of stapled pages appeared in the woman’s hand and slid across the desk toward Sara. “I see he didn’t use all the staples.”
Beadle frowned.
Sara stared in disbelief at the two-page inventory. “He’s been here only three days. How could one fifteen-year-old boy do this much damage?”
“The second item listed is the copy machine.” Beadle clearly ignored the question. “That machine is practically brand new, and according to the sales rep, indestructible with proper use. I doubt that the sales representative or the maintenance technician would consider seating a proper use.”
“Did you say ‘seating?’”
