Page 4

Glenn

I had just checked out at the grocery store when a notice on the community cork board caught my eye.

The guy had lost something clearly important to him and was hoping someone might have found it.

If not for the brilliantly colored letters, I wouldn’t have even stopped to read it because there were always lots of things on there that didn’t pertain to me.

Rooms for rent. Bikes for sale. Free puppies and kittens—neither of which Carrot would welcome into our home.

Housekeeping services. And sometimes things that were lost or found.

But this one had something about it that made me continue reading after admiring the colors.

The name of the person to contact if their item was found.

I pulled out my cell phone and called the office to confirm and, yes…

this person who lost something in their move was our client.

I told my assistant to see who had been on the moving crew for this job and have them wait for me when they got back.

I trusted my guys implicitly. You couldn’t stay in the business of handling other people’s belongings if you stole them or carelessly lost them, and I wanted to know what happened to the box the man was looking for.

Tossing my bag of groceries in the back seat, I turned the car toward the warehouse again.

The dinner I planned to cook would have to wait.

“Hi, boss.” Carmel was waiting in the front office, her purse on her shoulder and jacket over her arm. “The crew is waiting for you in the break room. They got back right after you called.”

“Thanks.”

“Mind if I ask what this is all about? Did something get damaged?”

That happened occasionally even though the guys were careful. We carried insurance for anything big, but usually it was something we could just take off the customer’s bill. “No. Just go on home, and I’ll tell you in the morning.”

“All right.” She waved and left, and I headed for the break room, hoping I could get this resolved and go home.

I didn’t cook all that often, at least not anything that didn’t come in a frozen tray or, of course, sandwiches.

Grilled cheese was cooked! I really wanted the steak and salad makings waiting in the car.

One of the things I had been neglectful about in the years on my own was the preparation of nutritious meals, and after my chat with Bridger, I had decided to start picking up the pieces. Finally.

Sally would be horrified to see me living on frozen dinners and fast food.

If for no other reason than all the care we had for one another, I was going to do better.

Funny thing was…she hadn’t even been the family cook.

It had been me, and part of how I showed my love and concern for her.

Always, but once she fell ill, I tried to make sure everything she ate or drank was fuel for healing.

Then, when I failed to keep her with me, I didn’t have the heart for it anymore.

The crew who had moved our customer waited around the break room table, cups of coffee in front of them. They were talking in low tones that cut off as soon as I came in.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen. Thank you for waiting to speak with me.”

They all offered me tentative smiles, but only Barney spoke up. “What’s going on? We didn’t break anything. We always report it if we do.” And it wasn’t very often to be sure.

“No, not at all. But I have learned that your customer from the other day is missing something from his move. A box of some kind? Did anyone find anything left behind in the truck?”

All three shook their heads. “No, boss,” Arty said. “Want us to go out and check, though? Make sure it didn’t end up tucked under a moving blanket or something?”

“Good idea. I’ll meet you out there.”

They left their coffee behind, and I followed them as far as my office, where I stopped to look up the customer’s information and download it on my phone before joining them in the parking lot.

We were very particular about our vehicles and equipment; meaning, after every job, the crew would empty the handcarts and blankets, etc.

, and sweep the truck clean, mop if necessary, making the odds of something getting left behind basically nil.

But, where else could we look? Arty, Barney, and Jeb had been with me for years, and I’d bet my best moving van they wouldn’t steal.

Most likely the client had lost his box himself while packing or misplaced it at his new home.

After giving the guys a twenty each to stop for a snack on the way home as thanks for waiting, I climbed into my car and started for my house.

After a few blocks, I parked and pulled up the client info, noting that the location where we’d loaded everything was just a few blocks out of my way.

What could it hurt to scoot by and look for…

well, I wasn’t sure beyond a box. The logical thing to do would be to email an insurance form to the guy and let him fill it out.

If it wasn’t too much, I’d refund him the difference, and if it was something valuable, I’d just turn it in and let my insurance deal.

When I arrived, I was fairly certain we weren’t going to be talking the Hope Diamond.

Or anything worth too much. The apartment building was eerily quiet and, judging from the empty parking lot, deserted.

I climbed out, wondering if there was going to be anyone to let me in to could look around.

The gate leading into a central courtyard hung on one hinge, though, so getting into the building itself was not an issue.

And a sign posted next to it gave information about upcoming demolition.

I’d noted a lot of that in this area. Older places that had been allowed to run down were being removed in favor of new and expensive townhouses.

Multiuse structures with shops, restaurants, and gyms on the first floor and fancy living units above.

Gentrification on a large scale. It was hard for people, especially older folks who’d lived somewhere a long time, to move to a new apartment.

Without rent control, they were probably going to have to pay two or even three times their old rate.

It made me angry, and I hoped our client wasn’t one of those who was so harmed by the process.

Spotting a row of mailboxes with junk mail and envelopes of all sizes and shapes sticking out of them, I wondered why the former residents hadn’t bothered to put in a forwarding order for the bills and letters mixed in with the throwaways.

Or maybe they had and the post office hadn’t handled it yet.

It had been known to happen, according to my crews.

Sometimes it seemed to take a while. But, in this case, a couple of baskets below the built-in boxes held an assortment of packages, and some people were going to be looking for their deliveries.

Tsking, I was about to turn away when I saw one box that was neither neatly taped closed nor addressed to anyone. It looked like the one described in the flyer, and I picked it up and gave it a gentle shake.

It rattled. Maybe he had some kind of collection here, but to be sure I had the right box, I found his number in my phone and dialed. I wanted to let the client know I had found his lost items—probably—and would bring them right over.

The call went to voice mail.

I could do the logical thing, toss it in the back seat and leave a message telling the client that he could come by the office tomorrow and pick it up.

Or I could continue my knight-in-shining-armor routine and take it over to the poor old guy.

In my mind, he was one of those old people being displaced, and for all I knew, he wasn’t even driving anymore.

After what he’d been through, having his dwelling place slated for destruction, it was the least I could do.