“That’s exactly the attitude that’s caused Nitrozine sales to plummet here,” Sanjay said.
“Yes, it was my attitude,” Birnbaum said. “It has nothing to do with a sales force that sleeps half the day and drinks the other half. Or the fact that no product left the warehouse for a week because some cow had decided to lie down in the middle of the road and no one could bring themselves to disturb it.”
Gus cut in before Sanjay could respond. “There’s no need for recriminations,” he said. “I understand that you can’t work together. So instead of wasting time trying to apportion blame, I’m simply going to give both sales and marketing in the Indian region to our Paris branch.”
For the first time in what seemed like hours there was nothing but silence coming from the speaker. Gus started to count slowly to ten. By the time he reached four, Birnbaum’s voice came over the phone.
“You know, I’ve been giving Sanjay’s ideas a good bit of thought and I have to say he’s got a point,” Birnbaum said. “Perhaps our understanding of the local argot is not quite as complete as the natives’.”
“I must say that we in Mumbai are in awe of the brilliant work performed by our counterparts in London,” Sanjay said. “The wit, the humor, the sheer force of creativity. Perhaps we fail to understand the impact of the whole when we focus on such tiny details.”
“No, no,” Birnbaum said quickly. “The whole is only as good as the details that go into it. You were completely right to focus on the little things.”
“So you two think you can work this out on your own?” Gus said. “Because I’d hate to burden Paris with more work if it isn’t necessary.”
“Consider it done,” Birnbaum said.
“Without a doubt,” Sanjay said.
“Good,” Gus said with a smile. “I’ll be looking forward to next month’s sales figures.”
Before either continent could say anything more, Gus hung up. That should keep them quiet for at least a couple of days, he thought, as he reached into his desk to pull out his file of new ideas. Now if everyone else would leave me alone, I could actually get some real work done.
Gus reread the first few pages of his notes and was pleased to see that even though he’d scrawled many of them down just before he was falling asleep, they presented a clear, precise plan. D-Bob was going to be impressed.
At least he was if Gus was ever able to get the damn thing done. But it seemed like every time he managed to get his file open there was some kind of interruption. If it wasn’t an urgent conference call or a crucial meeting, it was a celebration for an office birthday-D-Bob insisted that everyone attend for singing and cake cutting, no matter what kind of business had to be put on hold-or one of D-Bob’s impromptu pep rallies, which happened at least three times every week.
Maybe this time will be the exception that finally lets me finish , Gus thought as he picked up a pen and started to make notes in the margins of his paper. But before he could complete a thought he heard shouts from the other end of the floor and heavy footsteps running down the corridor.
At first Gus thought he’d stay at his desk and work on his project. If he was needed someone would call him. God knew his phone worked.
But then he got a whiff of roasting meat from the spacious kitchen down the hall. This must be one of D-Bob’s surprise bonding lunches, for which he routinely brought in some of San Francisco’s most famous chefs. Gus hadn’t had the opportunity to experience one yet, but everyone he talked to was still buzzing about the last time, when the entire cast of the current Top Chef season prepared tasting menus for all the employees. There was no way Gus was going to miss that.
He shoved his papers back into his drawer, making a silent vow not to go to bed that night until he had finished, and then wandered out into the corridor.
As soon as he stepped through his office door Gus was nearly knocked over by a sales executive who was racing toward the kitchen.
“It can’t be that good,” Gus said jovially. But as soon as the words were out of his mouth he looked at the faces of the people who were running down the corridor. None of them looked like they were anticipating a once-in-a-lifetime dining experience.
They looked scared.
And then he saw Chanterelle coming out of the kitchen. In all the times he’d entered or exited the building, the receptionist had always been wearing two things-a skirt that barely covered her pelvic bone and a smile so appealing he barely noticed her legs. But now she wasn’t smiling. She was crying.
Gus ran toward the kitchen as fast as he could, slaloming around the other employees like a teenager skateboarding through a packed Walmart. There was a crowd clustered in the doorway, but he pushed through them as if they weren’t there.
Once he was inside the kitchen the smell of roasting meat was overwhelming. But it wasn’t coming from the Viking ovens that lined one wall. It seemed to emanate from the coffeemaker.
More precisely, it came from the coffeemaker’s power cord, which was still spitting sparks where it was plugged into the wall.
Gus followed the sparks down as they landed gently on the still-twitching form of Jim Macoby, Benson Pharmaceuticals’ executive vice president of worldwide sales and the man who was directly above him on the corporate ladder. At least he had been before thousands of volts had coursed through his body. Now, as the smells wafting throughout the building proclaimed, he was meat.
Chapter Sixteen
Detective Juliet O’Hara was only concerned with the work of the Santa Barbara Police Department when she pulled up in her cruiser outside the beachside bungalow that housed the offices of the city’s premier psychic detective agency. Shawn and Gus had helped them out on dozens of cases, and the local prison was filled with murderers who might have gotten away with their crimes if not for them. But since the team had broken up, Shawn hadn’t stopped by the station once. She needed to assure him on behalf of the chief that he was still welcome even if he was on his own.
Not that the chief had asked her to check up on him. Or even, as far as she could tell, noticed that Shawn and Gus hadn’t been around lately. But the chief was in the middle of negotiations with the city council over the department’s budget for the next fiscal year and she might not have noticed if Montecito slid into the ocean.
So this isn’t an official visit, she thought as she walked up to the bungalow’s front door. It’s not like Shawn and Gus had always had a reason when they came to the station. Sometimes they were looking for a gig, it was true, but it was pretty clear that other times they showed up because they were bored and felt like talking to someone.
Not that that was what she was doing here. This was not a social call. She did have some business she needed to talk to Shawn about.
It was the Mandy Jansen case. She still hadn’t been able to bring herself to close it. She just couldn’t sign off on the idea that this young woman had taken her own life. But she also couldn’t find any evidence that suggested anything other than suicide. So the case stayed on her desk, an open file staring up at her every time she came into the station.
She would have to close it soon. Mandy’s mother had already called her twice, asking if she’d found anything new. The poor woman needed to let her little girl go, and she couldn’t until she knew the truth. Every day Juliet kept the case open was one more day of doubt and fear for Mrs. Jansen.
O’Hara hadn’t been authorized to hire Shawn to consult on the case. If she’d tried to suggest it to the chief in the middle of budgeting she’d be lucky if she was only fired. But she and Shawn had always had fun working together and she was pretty sure he’d be willing to take a look at things as a favor to her.
That’s why I’m here, she told herself as she rapped on the bungalow’s green door. Just to get closure on the case. No other reason at all.