Page 12 of Always Murder

In a couple of ways, actually.The drive itself was unusually quiet; aside from a few mumbled comments, Millie kept to herself.She was wearing sunglasses, and she had an enormous coffee in the cupholder (there was one for me too, because Millie was always thoughtful like that).A couple of times when I glanced over, Millie was squinting, as though the light were too bright even with the sunglasses—or as though she had a headache.I thought about asking what was wrong, but my general policy—and my specific policy with Millie—was that if she wanted you to know, she wouldn’t be shy about telling you.Still, it made the drive long, and the silence became strangely oppressive.

Clatsop Parcel and Freight wasn’t what I’d expected either.I’d pictured one of those huge Amazon fulfillment centers—cavernous acres of reinforced concrete, the kind of place where youknowzombies would be hiding after a zombie apocalypse.(Yes, I did just bingeThe Walking Dead—why do you ask?) Or maybe something like a FedEx or UPS hub.Heck, I’d even been to some really impressive post offices.

(Okay, that’s a lie.But I’ve been to some reallybusypost offices.)

Clatsop Parcel and Freight, in contrast, looked…provincial.

What must have been the administrative-slash-customer-service offices were located in front, in a single-story frame build-out with clapboard siding.The siding was a beige that reminded me of those creepy “flesh”-colored crayons in the big Crayola boxes.The windows were small and dark.Behind the frame building sprawled a brick warehouse with a pitched roof.The brick was worn and weathered.The glass-block windows were cloudy.Rust and algae competed for purchase on the metal roof.Fifty years ago, it probably would have been considered outdated; now, it was a relic.The only hint of holiday cheer was dollar-store tinsel hung around the office windows; it was so old that it didn’t look particularly tinselly anymore—perhaps the politest word would have beenbedraggled.

A chain-link security fence topped with razor wire surrounded the facility, but when Millie turned down the drive, we saw that the gate was open, and the security booth next to it was unmanned.A handful of cars were parked in front of the clapboard office, but Millie kept driving toward a larger lot farther back on the property.This one, parallel to the warehouse, held more vehicles—cars and trucks, most of them domestic, most of them the kind of thing you saw on the coast.A brown Chrysler minivan.A mint-green pickup that had to be from the 1950s, its wheel wells rusting out.Even an ’80s-era Honda, all sharp angles, with tires that desperately needed air and a bumper sticker that said CERTIFIED SILLY GOOSE.

Broken asphalt ran in an expanse toward the warehouse and the loading docks.The bay doors were rolled down, and there were no trucks pulled up to the bay.

As Millie parked in the warehouse lot, I said, “Okay, what’s the plan?”

“We’re going to find out if that lady, Ms.Hernandez, stole Paul’s packages.”

“Right, well, that’s more of a goal than a plan.I wish Paul had worked here longer; it would be nice to talk to another of the delivery drivers.”I frowned out the window.“I guess we could try to charm our way past the receptionist.”

Millie took off her sunglasses—dramatically enough, as a matter of fact, to make me turn.Something was different, and it took me a moment to understand what: she was wearing makeup.I mean, maybe she always wore a little makeup, but today she’d gone at it shovel and trowel.(Uh, is that an expression?) She looked pretty, don’t get me wrong.Actually, she looked beautiful.And then I added in the other things I hadn’t noticed because I’d been so preoccupied by her silence: she was wearing a cream-colored satin blouse with black pants, and as I watched, she reached into the back seat for a gray blazer.

“Millie,” I said.

And then I stopped.

Because I might not be the sharpest knife in the drawer (that isdefinitelyan expression), but I’d been alive long enough to realize it wasn’t a good idea to say things likeAre you wearing makeup?orWhy are you wearing makeup?or (God help you)You look different today.

“Uh, maybe we should—” I tried.

“We’ll figure it out,” she said and got out of the car.

I said a few choice words under my breath.See, I’d been snooping and sleuthing and investigating for almost a year and a half now.And let me tell you:We’ll figure it outnever went the way you hoped.

On the other hand, Millie was power-walking, and she was already halfway to the loading docks.

When I caught up to her, I was out of breath (probably because these weren’t myjoggingjoggers).Millie, of course, looked as fresh as a spring morning—and she was wearing heels, another first.She charged toward the building, went up a flight of rickety metal steps to the concrete slab of the dock, and yanked on a fire door.If it had been me trying this, the door would have been locked, but for Millie, it opened easily.

It was totally unfair.

Inside, the warehouse was much more modern than I’d expected.Bright industrial lights hung overhead from exposed rafters, and the floor was sealed concrete painted with yellow lines that probably meant something to somebody.Much of the space had been given over to rows of metal shelving, where large wooden shipping crates and pallets of boxes were stored.Smaller sections of the warehouse were clearly workstations of some sort, with tables and equipment that I didn’t recognize.The area immediately around us was cluttered with hand trucks and pallet jacks and a bag that had been cut open and was spilling foam peanuts onto the floor.It was cold, and the smells of cardboard and plywood met us.In the distance, a machine beeped in a familiar sound I recognized assomething dangerous is backing up.To our right, across the warehouse, a door led into what I assumed were the offices.

A handful of men stood toward the back of the warehouse, all of them dressed in matching uniforms, all of them staring up at the rafters.

“—get in here because you leave the door open,” one of them was saying.“Then they build a nest.Then they die and stink up the place.”

“I’m telling you, it’s not a bird,” another one said.

“Find a ladder and we’ll see.”

At that point, one of them noticed us.

“Uh, Millie,” I said.“We’ve got company.”

Millie took off at a brisk clip toward the offices.

“Can I help you?”the man called.

Millie waved at him and smiled and kept walking.

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