An Unsound Premise: Ellen Sparks Mysteries, #3

By Karen Fields

What happens when things start to fall apart?

These days, Ellen Sparks has more on her mind than her job in Human Resources. Her best friend could end up as a murder suspect; her new boyfriend wants her to start working out (seriously?)… and it looks like some very bad people want to blow up one of her corporate events.

Now, she must push herself to new limits to solve the crime, and prevent an attack of terrorism before it's too late.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Karen Fields
• Release date: Oct 6, 2014
• ISBN: 9781502209696

Karen Fields

Karen Fields is a dynamic and results-driven professional who has left an indelible mark on the world of corporate learning and development. Serving as the President of Learning-Dynamics, LLC in San Diego, CA from 2012 to 2018, Jane exemplified excellence in delivering top-tier learning solutions to corporate clients. She was the driving force behind the creation of specialized eLearning modules designed to support a major information technology upgrade for an esteemed international automobile manufacturer. Karen’s expertise also extended to crafting comprehensive Instructor Led and eLearning modules for a prominent West Coast financial institution, covering a spectrum of subjects from sales and business systems to federal regulations and human resources. Karen now lives in Chicago, Illinois. She is semi-retired and pursues projects of personal interest. She has authored several mystery novels, and content related to teaching and training. In addition she works with artificial intelligence to produce dynamic images featuring people and animals in setting that could not possible occur in real life. As someone who was involved in the hiring process for countless individuals, she had lent her expertise to this short book filled with practical, action-oriented tips for job seekers.

Book preview

Prologue

JUST KEEP YOUR MOUTH shut, he said. Don’t get into stupid arguments with people. Stay out of everyone’s way. Don’t call attention to yourself, and above all—don’t do anything that might jeopardize the mission. Am I making myself clear?

1

Saturday, November 8th

ARE YOU SERIOUS? ELLEN said, rolling her eyes. The old Jacoby place? Why in the world would Noel even consider buying that rat trap? The city's already condemned it, and the back yard is basically a canyon full of brush—a fire waiting to happen. Don't even get me started on the rats. Have you driven by there recently? It's a disaster. The roof is practically falling off and it looks like someplace a cult waiting for the next comet would love to hang out.

The prospects of a lazy Saturday appeared to be shrinking. Seated around a table filled with coffee cups and the remains of a basket of pastries were Ellen Sparks, and her friends, David Chapman and Louis Ryan, life partners, as well as the owners of Chapman’s Bakery in Encinitas, California. The aroma of fresh baked cinnamon rolls and raisin bread filled the air. David alternated between focusing on what Ellen had to say and keeping an eye on what was going on around him.

The pastry shop had been a small operation until recently when Java Hut, a regional coffeehouse franchise began to carry their pastries. The switch from running a single store to becoming a major supplier had been a huge adjustment over the past months. David was glad for the extra income, but his first love would always be the bakery. David looked back at Ellen as she continued.

Listen, I know that Noel's looking for something to do with his time, and I'm sympathetic, I really am. I just hate to see him jump into a project that could end up costing him his nest egg.

Ellen paused and brushed her hair out of her eyes. Dressed in jeans and a faded T-shirt, she could have passed for mid-twenties instead of mid-thirties. For the past year, she had been the guardian to her thirteen-year-old niece, Whistler Benton. Whistler’s parents were both dead and so were Ellen’s, so Whistler was her only surviving blood relative. The reverse however, was not true, as Whistler had a grandfather, Noel Benton. who'd recently moved from Arlington, Virginia to San Diego in order to be closer to his granddaughter. Noel wasn’t ready to retire, and he'd gone through a number of ideas about what his next career was likely to be. Opening up a Bed and Breakfast was his latest idea.

The bell above the bakery door rang. Everyone looked up to see who had come in, and speak of the Devil,  Whistler and Noel came into the store and headed to the back where everyone was seated. Whistler sported a new denim jacket along with an aura of teenage insouciance. Over the past year she'd come into her own as a California girl - without the mean streak, for which Ellen was eternally grateful. She and her grandfather scooted into chairs as Noel started to speak with enthusiasm.

So, what do you think about the house? he asked. It's a great opportunity, don't you think?

YUCK, Ellen exclaimed, I’m on board with the B & B idea, but not with your choice of property.

Noel pulled back in surprise. I know it’s kind of a mess now, but I have a soft spot for the place, he said. I don't know if you knew this or not, but I used to be friends with Walt Jacoby, I remember hanging out with him in that house when we were kids.

Which one was Walt? Was he the one who was killed in the plane crash?

Noel nodded yes.

When was that? David asked.

Walt and I weren't really in close touch by the time we were both grown, but the plane crash was in 1982, Noel said. I’m sure about the date. I remember it was the same year as the Tylenol poisoning, which was all over the news, and I remember how bizarre it was to listen to the news because the coverage kept jumping back and forth between the two stories.

What was the Tylenol poisoning? Whistler asked.

Noel looked at his granddaughter in astonishment, then realized it made perfect sense that she’d have no idea what he was talking about.

He turned to Ellen, "PLEASE tell me that you know what I’m talking about. I can’t be the only person in the room old enough to remember that story."

Ellen gave a wry smile, I hate to break it to you, but you almost are. I don’t actually remember the story myself, because I was a little kid—but I know what you’re talking about because I heard people around me talking about it.

Noel shook his head in quasi-amazement.

Hey, she continued, It was a big deal at the time, but think about it – that was over thirty years ago. A lot has happened since then.

TURNING TO WHISTLER, Ellen said, You know how all the products we buy now, like food and medicine, all have double and triple seals on the packages...you know, they’re either shrink-wrapped, or they have paper or plastic that you have to peel off the first time you use them? Well, a long time ago that wasn’t the case, so pretty much anyone could walk into a store, open a bottle of pills, or a bottle of ketchup, dump some poison into it and then stick it back on the shelf.

That sounds pretty dumb, Whistler said.

"It sounds dumb now because we know better, Noel continued. But until something bad happened—which in this case was someone putting poison into Tylenol capsules, nobody ever thought about a thing like that happening. In fact, the whole idea of tamper-proof-packaging didn’t even exist because it wasn’t needed."

So the bad thing had to happen first, and then people figured out how to fix it? Whistler surmised.

That about sums it up, Ellen said. The bad thing had to happen first.

Okay fine, but let’s get back to the house, Louis said.

I’m just going to take a look, Noel said. If the place is too much of a wreck, I’ll move on to checking out other places. Hey, where’s your sense of adventure? Who wants to come along?

2

Sunday, November 9th

DAVID WOKE UP FEELING annoyed. He and Louis were looking forward to a well-deserved day off from Chapman’s Bakery, and he couldn’t shake the feeling of dread regarding a business matter that he’d need to deal with on Monday. All things considered, the arrangements Noel had made to outsource the Java Hut baking had worked well. It was gratifying that sales were strong, and that his name was being associated with products the public enjoyed. However, the quality of the scones from Best Bake Wholesale seemed to be declining, and David was definitely not pleased. He’d spent quite a bit of time with sure that everyone who would touch the products  understood his recipe and methods. Part of the secret to the way his scones tasted was because they were baked in small batches. Somehow, increasing the size of the batches altered the taste, even if the proportions of ingredients were exactly maintained. He’d been specific with Mel Lowenstein, the manager, about this detail and had been assured his instructions would be followed to the letter.

Still, something wasn’t right. David had gotten into the habit of doing random drop-ins with both of the wholesale operations they were using. Best Bake produced Chapman’s scones and muffins and another company, Sweet Treats, produced their gluten-free bread twists, as they maintained a gluten-free facility. Both locations were in San Diego—in the Little Italy and San Diego State areas respectively. Since it was time-consuming to drive down from Encinitas, David had gotten into the habit of checking in at both locations once a week, but not always on the same day.

David’s visit to Best Bake on the previous Friday had not left him happy. He was more disturbed about the lemon scones than the cinnamon, although both were a bit off. To make matters worse, Mel had been out of the building on Friday and David was unable to state his concerns right then and there—which would have been his first choice. Instead, he had to wait through the entire weekend before having the conversation and knowing that this unpleasant task loomed in front of him was ruining his weekend. He could have let Noel, as his business manager handle the matter, but since the issue had to do with actual baking, he knew that he was the best qualified to describe the problem in detail, and figure out what had to change in order to get back on track.

Coffee and bacon smells were wafting in from the kitchen—Louis had already started breakfast. David padded into the kitchen, still a bit sleepy.

Morning, Louis said, looking over from the stove, Toast’s already on the table. Did you want eggs too, or just fruit?

Eggs, David mumbled as he opened the refrigerator and took out the carton. With the seamless precision of those who know each other well, David cracked eggs into a bowl and began to whip them with a whisk. As Louis finished putting the last of the bacon strips onto paper towels to drain, and poured the grease into a jar, David poured the frothy egg mixture into the already hot pan. He then put the empty bowl into the sink, poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table.

You’re not very talkative this morning, Louis said as he stirred the eggs. Is everything ok?

Oh, sort of—maybe not. I don’t know, David said.

Good, Louis answered cheerfully, which one of those shall we start with, since they all contradict one another?

He placed the eggs and bacon on the table and sat down.

Okay let’s hear it, he said. What’s wrong?

Oh, it’s just that meeting tomorrow over at Best Bake, David sighed. "I know it’s not a big deal, but I hate having those kinds of conversations—you know, the kind where you have to complain, and tell someone that something is wrong. I’m not good at that kind of thing."

And Noel can’t handle this for you? Louis inquired.

Not really, David said, I mean, technically he could, but I don’t think he’d be able to describe the problem specifically, and he won’t know what suggestions to make, so I think it has to be me.

Louis nodded and chewed on a slice of bacon. You know, you could call Ellen and ask her to rehearse with you. She helps people with stuff like this all the time—you know, managers who have to tell employees their work needs improvement—or that they stink to high heaven, all sorts of uncomfortable stuff.  She’s used to telling people things they don’t want to hear. I’m sure she’s got some special tricks to make those conversations easier.

I hadn’t thought of that, David said. Okay, I’ll call her after breakfast. I’ll tell her I need some of her HR mojo—she’ll like that.

===

Ellen and Whistler were clearing up their breakfast dishes when Whistler’s cell phone started quacking like a duck (her signal that a text message had arrived.)

It’s Grandpa, she said. He’ll be by to pick me up in an hour to go look at the house. Do you want to come with?

Sure, Ellen said, Sounds like fun. Let him know that we’ll both be ready when he gets here. Are you going to take pictures?

Don’t I always? Whistler replied.

Of course, Ellen said with a smile. I don’t know why I even asked. Say, speaking of pictures, weren’t you and Lucy working on a photography project together, the one about feet?

"SHOES, Ellen—it’s about Shoes, Whistler said with exaggerated patience. We’re making a collage with close-ups of people’s faces and their shoes. It’s supposed to go up in the cafeteria at school once we finish and get everything printed."

Sorry—shoes, that’s what I meant to say, Ellen apologized. It sounds like it will be wonderful when it’s finished. So, how is it coming along?

Not so great as it turns out. Lucy doesn’t have her cell phone to take pictures anymore, and I don’t want to do them all myself because we said we’d do it together—so we’re kind of waiting until she gets a new one.

What happened to her phone? Ellen asked.

Whistler frowned. It kind of got stomped on.

Stomped on? Ellen said.

Lucy’s been having some trouble with this girl in her English class who’s a total jerk.

And the girl destroyed her phone? Ellen said in alarm.

Yeah, among other things, although this was the worst.

What other things? Ellen pressed.

Oh, she and her friends are just on Lucy’s case—you know, they call her names, they spill stuff on her desk, one time they ripped some pages out of one of Lucy’s textbooks. But I have to admit, stomping her phone was really over the top.

Whistler, is this girl— she sounds like a ...

Wait, hold it, Whistler interrupted, "don’t even say it. She’s a bully. We know. We’ve all seen the ‘After School Special’. Lucy and I both understand that she’s a bully."

Ellen was taken aback. Okay, so you know she’s a bully, but what’s being done about it? What does Lucy’s mother have to say?

Nothing at the moment, Whistler acknowledged. Lucy hasn’t told her.

That’s outrageous! Ellen said. Do you want me to call her?

Whistler looked alarmed. No way! You have to promise that you won’t do any such thing.

But your friend needs help, Ellen went on, you can’t expect me to ...

Ellen, Whistler said with conviction, "you can’t expect me to trust you, if you’re going to take whatever I say about my friends and turn around and call their parents."

Ellen sighed. She heard herself sounding just like her own mother and she was appalled. Okay, you’re right. You shared this in confidence and I promise I won’t call Lucy’s mother, okay? But I want you to do something for me. Will you bring Lucy over here tomorrow so the three of us can talk about this together?

Whistler groaned. I’m not sure that’s a great idea. She’s not going to be happy when she finds out I told you.

You might be surprised, Ellen said. She has to know that the situation is getting out of control. If for some reason she doesn’t want to go to her mom, she might welcome input from another adult. Tell her I won’t interfere; I only want to listen.

All right, Whistler said reluctantly. "I’ll see if she wants to come over for dinner tomorrow night. Would that