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gifted technically. He’s also in the IT area with Barb. Reports directly to Mr. Van Zee.”
    I interpreted that to mean Robbie didn’t do very much of anything, but that Fredelle obviously liked him a lot.
    “Is Barb in the picture?”
    “Sure, right there.” Fredelle pointed to a woman in jeans. Her back was turned to Dyan. I couldn’t make out her face clearly, but she appeared to be talking to Robbie Van Zandt in the second row. Somehow this didn’t surprise me. Photos can reveal a lot about the dynamic of a group. Barb and Dyan wouldn’t have been a good mix.
    “And Dyan George?”
    “Admin support. Accounts receivable mostly. Other accounting duties. Payroll. She’s been here for a few months and she thinks she can take over as office manager, push me out the door into an early retirement. But I’ve been here since Quovadicon was founded, and she won’t get this job without a fight.”
    Well.
    I glanced at my watch. “And where is the desk you want me to see? I should keep moving.”
    “It’s in the next area. We call it the IT section, but really there are just a few computers and things, lots of wires, monitors, and printers and extra drives. It’s not pretty, though, so it’s better to keep it out of sight. But there’s no way we can keep people from noticing Barb’s desk. They have to walk right past it to get to the staff room. It’s causing all kinds of friction, as I said. Dyan’s using the whole situation to undermine my authority.”
    That was interesting. Fredelle seemed more like the office mom than an administrator. It was hard to imagine her having any authority to undermine. But I knew enough about office moms to realize that they have their strengths and their supporters, and sometimes the ambitious new-comers learn that the hard way. With luck, this Dyan would, too.
    Fredelle said, “No point in putting it off, I suppose. Let’s go.”
    We strolled around the office, with Fredelle describing who sat where and what they did while I pretended to take notes. Quovadicon’s offices contained solid, good-quality furnishings in pale wood veneers. The new-looking baffles dividing workstations were in a soothing shade of sand. There was nothing much to note: Dyan had a heavy vase with tiger lilies on her desk and an animal-print cover on her ergonomic chair. Not a scrap of paper anywhere in the office. Aside from an oversize photo of herself sunbathing poolside in a minuscule bikini, there was nothing on the wall. I figured she couldn’t resist a chance to display her enhanced pectorals. Other than that, the Quovadicon offices presented a sea of neutrals—smooth, well-functioning, and just a bit boring. I found myself anticipating the drama of the messy desk in the IT area.
    As we entered an enclosed area with two workstations, Robbie Van Zandt glanced up and dropped the paper he’d been staring at. From where I stood, it looked like a photo. He snatched it up and pushed it into a file folder. He flushed beet red and thrust himself out of his chair. Before Fredelle could say a word, he barreled past us down the corridor and through a door. Fredelle uttered a nervous gasp. I glanced at the desk he’d abandoned: a laptop, and a workstation, plus a telephone and one file folder. Behind the desks and under a long window, a trio of bookcases lined the wall. Like Robbie’s desk, it seemed neat, functional, unremarkable. That just amplified the sheer height of the chaos that sat on the desk opposite it.
    It took my breath away.
    That surface was completely buried in a hill of papers, no two of which seemed to point in quite the same direction. I blinked in surprise at what looked like a sock protruding from the top tier. Perhaps it went with the pair of slightly dirty sneakers, sticking out, on the side. Here and there the tails of candy bars were visible, as were copies of People , Us , and Soap Opera Weekly . If there was an in-basket or an out-basket, they were well and truly buried.