Sanskrit Cipher by C.M. Gleason

Author:C.M. Gleason [Gleason, C.M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Avid Press
Published: 2021-06-14T22:00:00+00:00

Twenty-Eight

Cleveland, Ohio

July 10

Sandy just couldn’t wrap her head around it all. Those poor guys.

It sounded like from what she’d heard that whatever caused those rigs to crash had been weird—as if the bottom fell out of them and everything just sort of collapsed while going sixty-five miles an hour on the highway.

But for three of them to have the same things happen… No matter what Fil Strung said, Sandy couldn’t shake the feeling that it had something to do with that weird cleaner guy.

After all, it was that very same day the trucks crashed. And no one had ordered in anyone to clean or spray down the trucks. Who would’ve done that?

She wanted to push Fil over that, but he looked so tired and stressed that she just couldn’t add to that unhappy light in his eyes. He was a good guy—if a little narrow-minded and a tad sexist—and she knew he really cared about the safety of everyone working there.

So instead of pushing him, she decided to do a little poking around instead.

“Hey, Jim,” she said, walking up to the docks supervisor. He wore the same shell-shocked expression as Fil Strung had. “Did you send anyone out to hose down the tractors yesterday? Out in the yard?”

“Hose ’em down? No,” he replied, holding a McDonald’s hot cup. “What’d’you mean?”

“Some guy was out there spraying down Randy Ritter’s rig, and he was bitching about it,” Sandy replied. “Just before he left.”

“I didn’t see anyone out there.” He shrugged and grimaced like his stomach hurt. “Can’t even believe it. Just can’t believe it.” He shook his head.

“I know. It’s awful.” Sandy wandered off, looking for someone else to talk to about the cleaning guy. She was pretty sure she’d seen him, whoever he was—but she hadn’t paid much attention until Fil started complaining about him leaving the canister out.

The canister.

He’d thrown it in the garbage, hadn’t he? She spun on her heel and rushed over to the trash can she’d seen him pitch it into late yesterday.

There it was, still inside there. She heaved a sigh of relief, then bent over to fish it out of the depths of the garbage.

It was a simple opaque white canister made from plastic, with a black sprayer hose attached. There was no label on the canister, and she realized too late that if there were any fingerprints on it (wow, she was really starting to think like the team on CSI—albeit a little too late), she’d probably smudged them when she dragged it out. Or Fil had when he picked it up and threw it away.

Still, at least she had the canister. It just didn’t make sense that someone no one knew about was out there washing down the trucks. Sandy just knew in her gut that that guy and this canister had something to do with whatever happened yesterday…but now she wasn’t sure how to proceed.

She hefted the canister—it wasn’t heavy and was nearly empty, but something sloshed around inside. Should she tell

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