Put It In First

By Kathleen Westlake

Gracie Peyton's list of problems keeps growing, but she should have seen it coming. After all, she's been seeing it coming for years. Suddenly tasked with running her father's car dealership, it isn't long before she crosses paths with hapless Officer Mueller, an ambitious police constable trying unsuccessfully to get promoted. When a string of arsons threatens the city, her psychic vision problem kicks into high gear and she's got her hands full. As the fires get a little too close for comfort and Officer Mueller turns up the heat, can she manage it all without getting burned?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kathleen Westlake
• Release date: Aug 7, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476433929

Kathleen Westlake

Kathleen Westlake is an avid fan of Broadway theatre, a passion she shares with her daughter, Samantha. A children's science program entertainer, "Extreme Kathleen" lives in Tecumseh, Ontario with her long-suffering husband, Gerry, their daughter and their dachshund named Fred. "Put It In First" is her first novel.

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Put It In First

By Kathleen Westlake

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 Kathleen Westlake

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

* * * *

To Samantha

Never give up on your dreams, no matter how long it takes.

* * * *

CHAPTER 1

Standing in the parking lot outside the accounting firm of Krups, Peterman, Masse and Gobel, I found myself unable to move. This would be my third new job since the beginning of the year and it was only the Tuesday after Memorial Day.

I tried to walk away from the car, but it was no use. Finally, I clicked the button on the remote and the car unlocked. I wrenched open the driver’s door and pulled the back of my skirt free from the latch.

Inspecting the damage, I found a large grease mark dead center at the back. I grabbed my waistband and tugged the skirt counterclockwise a quarter turn. Now all I had to do was keep to the right in the hallways and no one should know the difference.

Regardless of the skirt incident, I was still optimistic about the new job. This would make three jobs in five months and it was a personal best, even for me. It wasn’t that I was a bad employee. I just had really bad luck with businesses.

Like back in January. After just three weeks at a soft drink company, I arrived at work one morning to find that overnight a giant sinkhole had opened up under the factory. The building had collapsed into the void, putting a dozen people out of work. The owners were devastated and for the next couple of months, I couldn’t drink a diet soda without feeling a little melancholy.

By the time April rolled around, I had landed a job with a small weather instrument company. They made high end electronic sensing devices for the nation’s television and radio stations. Ironically, the manufacturer was destroyed by a tornado two weeks later. No one was hurt, but the newspaper editorials had been less than kind.

The only upside, if it could be called one, was that between employments, I had a guaranteed job working for my father at his auto dealership. Having paid my way through college with occasional part-time jobs changing oil and doing tune-ups, I was never really out of work.

That brought me to where I was today. After the last two jobs, I had incredibly high hopes for this one. Good solid foundation and not in a high risk tornado path.

The receptionist showed me to my office and I ran my fingers across the smooth, almost wood-like surface of my new desk. Okay, it wasn’t actually new, but it was new to me. In the top drawer there was a brand new box of bright yellow number two pencils.

I loved the promise of a new box of pencils almost more than I looked forward to the start of a new job. It was as though there was a fresh beginning with every box that could wipe away all the previous failures.

Looking around the office, I noticed that I hadn’t yet been given any files. I figured that in the absence of my first client, I should do something productive, so I spent the first fifteen minutes of my new job sharpening every pencil in the box. You never know when an accounting emergency will prevent you from reaching a sharpener at a crucial moment.

I loved the smell of freshly sharpened pencils and I was caught off-guard when Ira Peterman, senior partner and my new boss, walked into my office and caught me with a bouquet of pencils in my hand, inhaling deeply.

Gracie, he began hesitantly. His eyes moved to the pencils, which after vigorous sharpening now read ‘ups, Peterman, Masse and Gobel, Accountants’ to my face and back again. Can you follow me to my office?

Damn. This couldn’t be good. Notwithstanding natural disasters, I usually lasted more than fifteen minutes at a job before the end of my employment. Usually. Not always.

Of course, Mr. Peterman, I said. I deposited the pencils in a holder on the desk, trying to do so quietly, but the resulting plinking of the points on the bottom of the cup made so much noise that Mr. Peterman, who was half-way back to his office, looked back over his shoulder and cringed.

Please sit down, Gracie, he began. I noticed that there were two chairs on my side of the desk. I picked the one closest to the door in case there was a need for a quick getaway. You know, like the rapture or something.

Is everything okay? I asked.

No, he said, I’m afraid it’s not.

I waited. How much money had my fifteen minutes of pencil sharpening cost the company? Was it actually billable time that I had been using? Could I charge it out to a client if he gave me another chance?

Your mother called, he continued.

Oh, boy.

Oh, please don’t worry about her, I pleaded. She was probably calling to see how my first day at work is going. I’ll have a talk with her and make sure she stops right away.

At twenty-four, you’d think that I’d have outgrown my mother’s reach. After all, I lived on my own in a tidy, one-bedroom apartment. Never mind that the apartment was a rental unit in the basement of my parents’ house, a nice mid-sized place that had three bedrooms and two baths upstairs.

Of course, this isn’t the house I grew up in. No, my parents bought the ‘big’ house two years ago after my brother and I finally decided to move out after years of sharing one bathroom among the four of us. Nevertheless, my place had its own entrance around back and that was good enough for me. Apart from the family, but still close enough for weekend barbecues on short notice.

Across the street from my parents, my brother, Houston, had bought a little house with his salary from working at our father’s car dealership, so on Sunday night for dinner, it was almost like nobody had ever left home.

Which brought me back to my mother’s call. I suspected another stint at Peyton Motors was just minutes away.

Mr. Peterman stopped talking. I gave my head a shake and looked at him.

Did you hear me, Gracie? he asked.

I shook my head, embarrassed that I had been caught already planning subsequent employment.

Your father had a heart attack at work. They’re bringing him to the hospital by ambulance. He seems to be okay right now, but you have to go and meet your family there.

I sat in the chair not knowing what to do. My legs felt like gelatin. Not the good strawberry kind with the fruit in it; more like the crappy diet lemon-lime one that everyone claims tastes great but there’s a box of it in the back of the cupboard that has been there since the early 1980s.

Mr. Peterman came around his real wood desk and took my arm by the elbow. He stood me up and piloted me to the door of his office.

Go, he said.

I nodded silently.

The company will be here when you get back, he said, reassuringly.

I hoped he wasn’t betting any money on that.

I returned to my office and took one last look around. No matter what Mr. Peterman said, I knew I had very little hope of ever returning to Krups, Peterman, Masse and Gobel. The Peyton Curse was back.

Running my finger along the top of my faux wood desk, I thought about my fifteen minute career with the company. This was one of the best I’d ever worked for.

I picked up my purse and headed for the door. I stopped and turned back, quickly selecting a newly sharpened pencil from the cup. I was going to miss ups, Peterman, Masse and Gobel, Accountants.

The drive to the hospital was slow. Apparently at 9:30 am on a Monday morning, there are a lot of people with important places to go. As far as I was concerned, if it was so important, they should have been there already.

I finally made it to the hospital and by the time ten o’clock rolled around, my father was already in Emergency and my car was earning the hospital six bucks for every hour it was parked in the lot nearest to the door. This was going to be an expensive day.

Inside, I frantically searched the waiting area. I spotted Houston with his back to me, sitting in a row of chairs designed for the ultimate in discomfort. He was still wearing his mechanic’s uniform from the dealership and looked relatively clean for this time of the morning.

I silently slid into the chair next to him and he turned around, surprised to see me.

Houston was three years older than me. My parents named him after the city in which he was conceived and they often took great pride in explaining his name to relatives, neighbors and the checker at the mini market.

When he was in fifth grade, Houston had suffered enough agony and began insisting that everyone call him Ho for short. The only problem is that Ho is pronounced, well, like Ho. My father insisted that he pick another name. Quickly. That summer, he became Hu. That’s all. Just Hu.

And even that was short-lived. By the time September rolled around, Hu was in the sixth grade. On the first day back to classes, his teacher, a woman nearing either retirement or death, announced loudly to the class that Hu didn’t look Asian. When he explained that his full name was actually Houston, she remarked that he didn’t look Texan, either.

From then on, he went by Huey. But, to me, he’d always be Hu, my non-Asian sibling.

How’s Dad? I asked.

They took him in right away, Hu said. Mom’s in there with him. I guess we’ll just have to wait.

What happened?

He had just started his Monday morning ‘Sell a Car Today or I’ll Kick Your Ass’ rant to the sales reps. He was really giving it to them. Suddenly he went really pale and collapsed. Paul from Used Cars called for an ambulance.

Is he going to be okay? I asked.

He was definitely conscious when they brought him in. You could tell by the way he was shouting at the paramedics to give him back his cell phone so he could call the office and finish his meeting, Hu said.

I’m surprised the paramedics didn’t give him something to make the ride in more comfortable. For them, I mean. Maybe something to knock him out, I said. It must have been an awfully loud ride.

We sat in silence for a few minutes.

Hey, he said. How did you get the time off work? Isn’t today your first day?

Ummm…let’s just say Mom arranged it for me, I said.

Ouch, he said. Lost another job, then?

Not yet, I said. But I’m sure it’s just a matter of time.

Hu and I waited in shifts. We were afraid to leave the waiting area together in case our mother came out and neither one of us was there. Instead, Hu made a coffee run, announcing quite loudly upon his return, that the girl at the counter could put cream in his coffee anytime. Several older women waiting in the room gave him a dirty look. The guy across the room gave Hu a wink.

I had finally decided to take a chance and move my car into the cheaper lot when my mother pushed through the doors to the waiting area. She looked stressed and worried. Her usually well-coiffed hair had odd furrows in it and parts were sticking straight up, as though she’d been running her fingers back from her forehead. I could tell she’d been crying. Hu’s eyes shifted between us and he took a small step backward. He had never been good with females in distress.

Is everything okay? I gulped. Her appearance worried me and I braced myself for bad news.

Your father has to have emergency heart by-pass surgery. They’re almost ready to bring him to the operating room right now, she squeaked.

Will he be alright? Hu finally asked.

They say the prognosis is good, she said. Except…

I waited. Hu waited. The old ladies and the winker in the waiting room waited.

Except, what? I asked.

My mother twisted a wad of soggy tissues in her hands. She looked from me to Hu and I suddenly knew what she was going to say.

Except that he has to take three months off of work while he recovers. He has to stay home with me! she sobbed.

This wasn’t good. My father had never missed a day of work in his life. And, so far, today was no exception. Tomorrow was bound to be a family crisis.

I want to see him, said Hu. To wish him good luck before he goes in.

I nodded mechanically. I knew I should go in, too and tell him I loved him and that everything would be okay. I wondered if he could also loan me twelve bucks for parking.

My mother linked her arm into mine and we trouped into the treatment rooms. My father was in a bed three curtains down on the right. Hu and I each took a side around the bed. I made sure not to step on any hoses or cords; I was having enough trouble today.

Even in a nightgown with his butt hanging out, my father still looked domineering. There was a nurse by the foot of his bed adjusting things in preparation for his trip to the operating room.

I leaned close to the bed and bent my face towards his. I kissed his cheek and whispered, I love you, Dad.

Yeah, I love you, too, Gracie, he growled. Houston, come here.

Hu moved closer to our father. He leaned in to give him a hug.

Don’t be a pansy, Houston. I want to tell you something, he said.

Okay, said Hu, looking rather relieved that he didn’t have to come across with a hug.

Houston, he began, "I’m going to be out of the dealership for a bit and it’s pissing me off. I need to know that the business will be taken care of while I’m