Mr. Wolfe by Llewellyn, J. (novels for students TXT) 📗

Wolfe walked across the street and climbed into his SUV, pulling it into one of the three parking spots outside the storage unit. He unlocked the trunk and hauled out the huge steamer trunk that accompanied him on all his assignments. He allowed Virginia to help him lug into the unit.

"Do you need anything else?" she asked. He could tell she'd enjoyed her moment of power. He intended to give her many more, but not right now.

"Hmm?" he responded, already focused on the job at hand. "Oh, no dear. Thank you." He pushed the tiny spectacles on the bridge of his nose a little higher.

She blinked. "Are you sure?"

"Quite." He paused. "I expect my work crew here within the hour. If you would like to stay and meet them, you are most welcome. If, however, you trust the angles and positions of the cameras we are about to install, I'll call you as soon as they are activated."

She blinked again. "No, no. I trust you." She glanced around. "Can you give me any hint what the maple syrup is for?"

"No, my dear. I never divulge my techniques."

She nodded. "Yes, yes, I understand." Her eyes grew large. "I'll let you carry on, then."

"Thank you."

They exchanged smiles. He hated to leave the door open, but the costumes had suffered for years and could wait another hour, especially now that none lay directly exposed to the sun. The summer heat was stifling and his health condition was too delicate to withstand no air at all.

Mr. Wolfe glanced around the unit, dismayed at the task ahead. This was his toughest assignment yet. He took a deep breath, glancing down at his uniform of tight black leggings tucked into knee-length boots, and his formfitting, three-quarter length black T-shirt. He never wore loose or baggy clothing for his work, and neither did his staff.

His long, grey hair was well brushed and pulled into a ponytail. He was ready. He began methodically to move everything Linda had left on the long wooden workbenches. He grouped pens and pencils and office supplies onto a shelf far from the tables. He discovered a few odd bits of hardware and moved those to a plastic storage container left open on another shelf.

Barely able to stifle his disgust, he threw out her hairpins and all the condiment bottles and food scraps she'd left behind. Next, he scrubbed the benches, sterilizing them with a touch of rubbing alcohol. He opened his trunk and pulled out his massive container of acid-free paper and began lining the tables with it.

Glancing at the wall clock, he saw there was none. How odd. It had been there the night before. He'd seen it when Miss Finley had forwarded him the clandestine photos she'd taken of the space before he came down to meet her.

He frowned.

Mr. Wolfe would have Ambrosio attend to this as well as the other things on his list.

The mere thought of Ambrosio stopped his hands moving.

Ah, Ambrosio...

Mr. Wolfe shook his head and refocused his energies.

He never wore jewelry when he worked on his clients' clothing. Nothing that could catch on an irreplaceable garment was permitted. He pushed aside the closed trunks and focused on the ones Linda had left open. Donning his clean white butcher's apron, he slipped on white cotton gloves and began sorting through the first trunk.

His heightened vision and sense of smell revealed that there were no insects in the trunk, but he detected human body odor and makeup. And something else, too. His nose twitched.

Ah, yes. The faint scent of semen.

That made him smile. Zara Finley was a naughty girl.

After sorting through the four open trunks, he put the garments back inside, covering them with white sheets.

Removing the white gloves, he cleaned off what Linda had evidently been using as a lunch table, lining it with paper and fluffy white towels.

He took out a large metal dish, filling it with the contents of a gallon container of distilled water that had been in his trunk. Into this he shook a handful of shaved, pure white soap, adding more flakes to the mix as he swished gently with stroking fingers. Picking up the famous bugle-beaded white gown, he lowered it into the mixture until the entire thing had been submerged. He added more distilled water and smiled as he saw the color of the water changing. Ah, a little progress.

Mr. Wolfe let the dress soak a minute longer as he propped more snow-white towels beside the sink, which stood in the far corner of the warehouse. Lifting the dress out of the metal dish, he transferred it to the towels, laying it just so.

Spilling out the soapy water that carried with it the scent of toxic dry cleaning chemicals into the little sink, he refilled it with water and the flaky soap. He gently put the dress back into the container, letting it soak as he dried off his hands.

Moving faster now, he took out the large, gilt-edged mirror he took everywhere with him and put it on the desk recently vacated by Linda.

He'd already remotely examined the files on the desktop computer and had transferred them to his laptop. He powered down the computer she'd been using and pushed it aside.

Mr. Wolfe had polished the mirror already but he was a perfectionist. Giving it another rub, he painstakingly unpacked the pixie dolls that had become a whimsical addition to his traveling work assignments. He arranged them on the mirror and popped the little hand-written sign in front of them that said,

Please do not touch or play with the pixies. They are hard to handle.

He smiled. People always asked about the sign. He always laughed, but the truth was, pixies were hard to handle.

Mr. Wolfe heard a vehicle approaching. Had he not recognized the low rumble of Ambrosio's Mustang, his tugging heart and groin would have told him the man he found so attractive was here.

Not that anyone in the world would have guessed Mr. Wolfe's feelings for the best