Wolf in the Shadows - Marcia Muller [9]
In an odd way I empathized with them all, because my own experience bridged the gap. My father had been a chief petty officer in the navy, underpaid and often out to sea. In his absence, my mother’s hands were too full raising five problematical kids to supplement the family income. True, we owned our own big rambling home on a large lot on one of San Diego’s finger canyons, but there were years when we depended on the largess of my uncle Ed, a commercial fisherman who brought us catch after catch of rock cod and sea bass and halibut. To this day I will not willingly eat fish.
In my family, high-school graduation was supposed to be the cutoff date for financial support, and unlike a couple of my freeloading siblings, I’d taken the rule seriously. I went to work in retail security, lived at home, paid room and board, and tried to save toward an apartment of my own. Given my spendthrift tendencies, I suppose I’d still be living there and saving toward the apartment if my supervisor at the department store hadn’t encouraged me to go to college. That, plus incredibly high SAT scores and a small scholarship, had gotten me to Berkeley. But even then college hadn’t exactly been a carefree interlude—not when I was working nights and weekends as a security guard.
Maybe, I thought now, I’d forgotten where I’d come from. Lost sight of who and what I really was. Maybe because I’d achieved more than I’d expected to—a certain professional reputation, a newly remodeled home of my own, a comfortable life-style—maybe I’d lost my ability to relate to people like Gloria and Mike, people who deserved far more credit for their accomplishments than I for mine.
The thought unsettled me. I wasn’t like that—at least not in the self-image I valued.
Hank glanced at me. Whatever expression I wore seemed to sober him. He said to the others, “Okay, let’s come to order again—if possible.” To me he added, “We asked you to attend the meeting to discuss a promotion.”
A promotion. They weren’t going to lay me off, or even demote me. They wanted to give me a better job.
So why had Hank acted so goddamn shifty earlier? Why did he now fail to meet my eyes? Why was Pam staring down at the rug, her face hidden by her shiny wings of black hair? Why did Larry’s waxed handlebar mustache twitch as he burrowed through his bag of walnuts? Only Gloria and Mike looked at me—expectantly, as if they wanted to share my pleasure.
“What kind of promotion?” I asked, trying not to sound suspicious.
Hank cleared his throat before speaking. “As you know, with the growth of the firm, the investigative caseload has become extremely heavy.”
I nodded.
“We want you to hire more investigators. Two, to begin with. You and I can go over the salary budget later. In essence, this creates a department, which you’ll head up.” He paused, seeming to search for words. So far this was all good news; why was he having such a hard time delivering it?
“With the increase in responsibility, of course, will come an appropriate salary increase for you, plus other perks,” he added.
“Does that mean you’ll pay for my car phone?” I asked the question jokingly, but it was one of the perks I’d insist on. Over the weekend I’d had reason to become enraged with All Souls’s stinginess when it came to equipment I considered essential; that morning I’d informed Ted that I was buying a phone, and if they wouldn’t pay for it, I’d foot the bill myself.
Hank’s smile was strained. “I’m sure that can be arranged. Now, in addition to an increase in the investigative caseload, you’ve probably noticed that we’ve come