Lalla Bains 02 - A Dead Red Heart Read Online Free
Author: RP Dahlke
glad to be able to slide out of doing Mrs. Warren's work, I was rankled to the core at the undeserved insult.
"Mrs. Warren, we've done your work for over thirty years, and if there's one thing I can promise you, we've never had a drunk pilot, or ground crew, working for us."
"Well," she said, a little doubt creeping into her voice. "Mr. Margrave said so, and in consideration of my husband's recent passing, he's agreed to do the job at half the cost."
Junior Margrave? That dirty rat. Because I had to leave before finishing the job, Margrave must've heard it over the VHF, and moved in to pirate the job right out from under me. The sorry bastard would fly a diluted spray on the interior and call it done. Mrs. Warren might become suspicious when she saw her crop was still infested, but Margrave would whine that it was my fault, or the pest control advisor's fault, anybody's but his. The chemical salesmen hated him already, and he hadn't been in business for a year.
"Mrs. Warren, just have your field man check the work, will you?"
I heard her sharp intake of breath. "What do you mean?"
"I did a double pass on all perimeters. It's the first thing I do to make sure the corn blight doesn't bleed into the next field, but please, have your manager check to make sure Junior Margrave finished the job."
I explained to her about how even good companies have to work with weather changes and engine problems, and that even without Margrave stepping in at the last minute, our work would still hold the pest problem and not bleed over to the next field. It's what any competent applicator would do.
The moment of silence on the line held, then, "Well, I see what you're getting at, but the job's been done and paid. I don't think we'll be having Bains Aero Ag do our work anymore."
And to think I was wondering how we could gently get Mrs. Warren to go with another applicator. The poor woman didn't realize what a cheapster like Margrave would do to get her business, and then leave her looking at a ruined crop.
Now I had a vendetta, and since revenge was my middle name, I would have to see what I could do to help it along. Margrave was going to pay for this, somehow, some way
I walked into the kitchen to see my dad daintily cutting pancakes into tiny bites and passing them down to Spike.
"And you wonder why he's getting fat?"
"After last night I think we should live dangerously."
The sarcasm stung, but I still had to tell him about the fiasco with Mrs. Warren and the water truck.
He sawed off another piece and slathered it with butter. "Javier told me. I hope you didn't call the insurance company."
"What? And miss all the fun of putting the truck back together? Are you at least going to take your heart meds, or would that interfere with the heart-clogging butter and syrup?"
He turned in his chair, draping a long arm over the back. "You trail trouble after you like nobody I know, Lalla Bains."
I could feel a lump swell in my throat. "I went there to warn Billy Wayne. I didn't know I was going to trail home a killer behind me."
He tapped a finger on the front page. "If you'da done that job yesterday like I told you, Margrave wouldn't have been able to get his ugly nose in our business, and you wouldn't have been anywhere near that poor boy's killing."
I'd meant to avoid the Sunday paper but decided to point out the obvious. "And you can see how well that worked out."
He put his hand over the page, covering the old publicity photo of me from my brief career as a model in New York City next to the one of Billy Wayne's body as it was loaded into the coroner's wagon, and his voice softened. "You tried to help. Wasn't your fault. Last night, either. I should've set the alarm. Won't happen again. I got my shotgun loaded and from now on I'll be in charge of setting that damn alarm at night."
I took it for what it was, his way of saying he'd been as shaken I was.
"Me and Spike're moving upstairs," he added.
"You don't have to go that
"Mrs. Warren, we've done your work for over thirty years, and if there's one thing I can promise you, we've never had a drunk pilot, or ground crew, working for us."
"Well," she said, a little doubt creeping into her voice. "Mr. Margrave said so, and in consideration of my husband's recent passing, he's agreed to do the job at half the cost."
Junior Margrave? That dirty rat. Because I had to leave before finishing the job, Margrave must've heard it over the VHF, and moved in to pirate the job right out from under me. The sorry bastard would fly a diluted spray on the interior and call it done. Mrs. Warren might become suspicious when she saw her crop was still infested, but Margrave would whine that it was my fault, or the pest control advisor's fault, anybody's but his. The chemical salesmen hated him already, and he hadn't been in business for a year.
"Mrs. Warren, just have your field man check the work, will you?"
I heard her sharp intake of breath. "What do you mean?"
"I did a double pass on all perimeters. It's the first thing I do to make sure the corn blight doesn't bleed into the next field, but please, have your manager check to make sure Junior Margrave finished the job."
I explained to her about how even good companies have to work with weather changes and engine problems, and that even without Margrave stepping in at the last minute, our work would still hold the pest problem and not bleed over to the next field. It's what any competent applicator would do.
The moment of silence on the line held, then, "Well, I see what you're getting at, but the job's been done and paid. I don't think we'll be having Bains Aero Ag do our work anymore."
And to think I was wondering how we could gently get Mrs. Warren to go with another applicator. The poor woman didn't realize what a cheapster like Margrave would do to get her business, and then leave her looking at a ruined crop.
Now I had a vendetta, and since revenge was my middle name, I would have to see what I could do to help it along. Margrave was going to pay for this, somehow, some way
I walked into the kitchen to see my dad daintily cutting pancakes into tiny bites and passing them down to Spike.
"And you wonder why he's getting fat?"
"After last night I think we should live dangerously."
The sarcasm stung, but I still had to tell him about the fiasco with Mrs. Warren and the water truck.
He sawed off another piece and slathered it with butter. "Javier told me. I hope you didn't call the insurance company."
"What? And miss all the fun of putting the truck back together? Are you at least going to take your heart meds, or would that interfere with the heart-clogging butter and syrup?"
He turned in his chair, draping a long arm over the back. "You trail trouble after you like nobody I know, Lalla Bains."
I could feel a lump swell in my throat. "I went there to warn Billy Wayne. I didn't know I was going to trail home a killer behind me."
He tapped a finger on the front page. "If you'da done that job yesterday like I told you, Margrave wouldn't have been able to get his ugly nose in our business, and you wouldn't have been anywhere near that poor boy's killing."
I'd meant to avoid the Sunday paper but decided to point out the obvious. "And you can see how well that worked out."
He put his hand over the page, covering the old publicity photo of me from my brief career as a model in New York City next to the one of Billy Wayne's body as it was loaded into the coroner's wagon, and his voice softened. "You tried to help. Wasn't your fault. Last night, either. I should've set the alarm. Won't happen again. I got my shotgun loaded and from now on I'll be in charge of setting that damn alarm at night."
I took it for what it was, his way of saying he'd been as shaken I was.
"Me and Spike're moving upstairs," he added.
"You don't have to go that
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