In a Heartbeat (18 page)

“Can you see anything?” she shouted up. The rain finally started to ease up, but cold blasts of wind chilled her to the bone.

“Not really.” The beam flashed along the perimeter of the building.

“I’m not close enough. From this angle, all I can see is the ceiling.”

“Then come back down before you fall.” Angela called, disappointed.

“Easier said than done.” Max looked back the way he came and opted instead to jump off the container. He landed in a crouch splashing water in all directions, including the front of Angie. “Sorry,” he apologized.

“A little more water isn’t going to make any difference at this point.”

She scrubbed at her face with the sleeve of her coat. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” She shivered. “This place gives me the creeps and I’m in desperate need of a hot shower.”

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“Now that’s something I think I can definitely help you with,” Max said, slipping his arm around Angie’s shoulders.

“Max,” she pushed him away from her side. “You’re incorrigible.”

* * *

The phone rang in the Wilsons’ household.

“I’ll get it,” Tom called up the stairs, switching on the light in the den.

He picked up the receiver on the second ring.

“Hello?”

“Tom, it’s me. I just got back. She was there just like you thought she’d be.”

“Are you sure? How do you know it was her?” He lowered his voice to a whisper and pushed the den door shut with his free hand.

“There were two of them, a man and a woman. The hood on her coat fell off and I got a good look. It was her all right.”

“Did she see you?”

“No, I made sure of that.”

“Could you tell if they saw anything?”

“They were climbing around Argo’s trash bin. I couldn’t hear what they said, it was raining too hard. But I don’t think they could get close enough to see inside.”

The man was probably that assistant of hers. Wilson gnawed at his upper lip. But what if it wasn’t? What if it was Renard? Angie and Renard had been thick as thieves lately, and then there was that business about—

“Tom? What do you want me to do?”

“Go home.” He groused into the receiver. “Go home and go to bed and act like nothing’s happened.”

“But what if—”

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“Go home,” he ordered. “Let me think about this. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“All right then. Good night.”

Tom hung up without returning the sentiment. He rubbed his forehead. The Ritchton street building was locked up tighter than a bank vault. That nosy auditor’s expedition probably turned up nothing more than a wet wino or two. But still…

“Tom? Is everything all right in there?”

Wilson opened the door for the flannel-encased woman who

represented little more than a joint tax return. “Everything is fine, Alice.

Go on back to bed.”

“I heard the phone. I thought maybe one of the kids…”

“No, it was just business.”

“Are you coming to bed soon?”

He looked at her homely face and generous proportions. The years hadn’t been kind. “You go ahead. I’ll be up shortly. I have some work I need to finish.”

Was it doubt that flashed across her face before her lips turned up in a sad smile? A pang of guilt shifted in his gut. She couldn’t know about the other women. He’d been too careful. It must be a trick of the light.

She turned and padded silently up the stairs.

“Good night,” he called up after her.

She didn’t return the sentiment.

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“Good morning,” Max greeted Angie in the conference room the next morning. “You look about as good as I feel,” he added with a yawn.

“That bad, huh?” She would have liked to deny the truth of his statement, but a glance in the mirror that morning had suggested otherwise. “Both my mother and my brother called to check up on me after you dropped me off last night.”

“How’s your mom doing?”

“Fine. My aunt Ceal is mending so well that Mom thinks she’ll be coming home the week after next.”

“That’ll be nice. I suppose it gets lonely in that house all by yourself.”

“I’ve kind of enjoyed it, actually.” Angie said. If nothing else, her experiences over the past two weeks confirmed that it was time she moved away from home. “But I need to snag that promotion to have any hope of finding a place of my own.” She took a sip from her bottled water.

“And that means we have to put together an excellent letter of recommendations so we can convince Renard to hire us to do more work.”

“What do you want to do about that warehouse last night?”

“Let’s draft up the letter without reference to the warehouse and see what we’ve got.” She picked up a legal pad and positioned it in front of her. “Then, if we’re still not sure, I’ll take it up with Falstaff.”

Max nodded and they spent the rest of the day pulling together their notes and drafting their recommendations. Contrary to his comment at the game, Falstaff didn’t meet with her on Monday. Instead, he suggested they review everything on Wednesday with a thought of scheduling a www.samhainpublishing.com 135

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meeting with Hank at Hayden Industries on Thursday. That only gave her a few days to design a program of procedures for the additional services and figure a budget.

Concentrating was difficult, though, as her mind kept drifting into daydreams centered on the upcoming ball. What kind of costumes would Hank find? Where did one even find costumes? Would she make a complete and utter fool of herself on the dance floor? Hank promised to teach her, but what if she was unteachable? She needed practice, lots of practice. That need drove her to calling Stephen later in the afternoon.

“Hi, sis. I’m glad you called. I have some good news.”

“What’s that?”

“I found a new driver. Now you don’t have to worry about helping me out with the homecoming traffic.”

Actually, she hadn’t worried about it at all, she thought with a twinge of guilt. Stephen had been so insistent that she couldn’t handle his ladies with her ankle cast that she’d assumed he wouldn’t have asked her to drive under any circumstances. That and the fact that she had so many other things to worry about, her brother’s business had fallen low on the list.

“…you’ll like him. His name is Raymond and he just came into town.”

“That’s great, Stephen, I know you were worried about finding someone.”

“Yeah, just in time too. So what did you call me for?”

The audit room was empty but she lowered her voice just the same. “I was wondering if you could teach me to dance.”

“Dance? What on earth do you need to know how to dance for? What kind of dancing?”

His voice was so loud it hurt her ear. Yet she didn’t want to hold the receiver away for fear someone else would overhear their conversation.

“Sssh. Ballroom dancing.” She assumed that’s what they did at a ball.

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“
Ballroom
dancing.” He laughed and Angie wanted to reach through the phone line and shake him. “I don’t even know if
I
know how to ballroom dance.”

“Well, slow dancing then.” She looked furtively right and left, checking to make sure no one could hear her. One of the secretaries and another associate stood at the other end of hallway by a soda machine.

“That depends. Who’re you planning to slow dance with?”

“Stephen!”

“Okay. Listen. Normally I’d be happy to teach my little sister to dance, but right now isn’t the time. With Raymond coming on, I’ll be tied up with training. I want him to be able to run dispatch and scheduling as well as drive the ladies. Maybe we can do this in a couple of weeks.

Hey, maybe after you get rid of that ankle cast. You probably couldn’t dance real well in that thing anyway. Okay?”

“Sure, Stephen. Thanks. I’ll talk to you later. Bye.” Leave it to her brother to add that last little uncertainty to her quickly dwindling confidence. It was a mistake to call him. She replaced the receiver on the phone next to her computer. If she needed to learn, she’d have to do it herself. After all, she taught herself about football. She glanced down at the computer. Maybe she could do the same with dancing.

* * *

It had been a long day. Oreo’s enthusiastic greeting at the door practically knocked her over. As expected, the answering machine beeped that messages required her attention. She hit the play button, jotting down the messages meant for her mother. Hank’s voice on the machine jarred her attention.

“Angie. Just wanted to let you know that I’ll be out of town for a few days. What do you say we get together Saturday for those dance lessons?

If you come early enough, I’ll make you dinner. Did I tell you I’m a good cook?” Yes, he had, she remembered with a smile. “I understand Falstaff has set up a meeting for Thursday. I’ll see you then. Bye.”

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That gave her a whole week to fret about dancing. All in all, she looked forward to crashing in bed early and recapturing some of those lost hours of sleep. After dinner, a little TV, and Oreo’s walk, she checked to make sure the house was locked up tight. Then she took her evening medications and talked long-distance with her mother before climbing into bed with a good book and a comforting dog. In short order she fell fast asleep.

* * *

The dog was barking.

“Oreo. Be quiet,” she mumbled, still half asleep. She slid her hand across the mattress, searching for Oreo’s furry body. The dog wasn’t there and the barking continued. She squinted her eyes at the fluorescent digital clock on the nightstand. Three o’clock a.m. “Oreo,” she yelled a little louder. “It’s just Mrs. Kravitz’s cat.” Still, she sat up, pulled on a robe and turned on the light.

Following Oreo’s frantic barks, she went downstairs toward the kitchen, turning on house lights along the way. Oreo stopped the frantic barking, substituting a few threatening growls and intermittent barks.

Angie flipped the switch that flooded the room with light. Oreo turned, tail wagging and tongue dripping from the side of her mouth to greet her.

“What are you doing down here?” she scolded. “Come on, you’ll wake up the neighbors. Come on.” She patted the side of her thigh, but Oreo wouldn’t leave her post. “Come on, puppy.” She grabbed a dog biscuit from the pantry. “It’s time for bed.” With one last hesitant glance at the door, the dog came to her side for the treat. “That’s better,” she said.

“Now, no more barking.”

She turned off the light and started down the hallway back to the stairs. Oreo issued one more warning semi-bark then followed slowly behind her. “Stupid dog,” she half-uttered under her breath. Loyal to a fault, but stupid for barking at some similarly inclined cat.

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What if it wasn’t a cat? It was pretty close to Halloween. What if some kid was trying to scare poor Mrs. Kravitz? Pulling her robe more tightly around her, Angie walked over to the kitchen window and peered into the yard beyond. Nothing. No movement that she could see. Nothing out of place. “Probably a cat.” She yawned and retreated back to the bedroom in hopes of pursuing an abruptly interrupted sweet dream.

The next morning, Oreo ran to the back door the moment Angela stepped into the kitchen. “You want out, girl?” Angela opened the back door to let the dog into the fenced back yard. “Not too long, it’s still pretty muddy out there.

Oreo immediately dashed outside, sniffing the ground in erratic circles as if pursuing some trophy animal. Angie watched from the warmth of the kitchen, waiting for the dog to drop down into her morning squat. Oreo continued investigating the yard.
That’s odd
, she thought.

Normally Oreo was quick to finish and come in for a morning treat.

Angela grabbed a sweater from the coat stand by the door before stepping out on the stoop and down the two steps to the small patio behind the house. Brown and yellow leaves liberated by Sunday’s storm clung to her slippers as she crossed the concrete. She stopped at the perimeter.

“Come here, girl.” She slapped her side. The dog ignored her. Angie reached down to remove one dew-damp leaf from her heel when she saw a clearly defined footprint in the dirt of her mother’s perennial garden. A large man’s footprint, judging from the size. Goosebumps rose up on her arms. Was Oreo barking at an intruder last night? From the direction of the footprint, he may have even tried the back door. A shiver danced down her spine.

Oreo trotted up next to her. Angie reached down to pet her head.

“Good girl,” she praised with newfound respect. Maybe Stephen wasn’t so far off the mark after all. Together, she and Oreo walked the yard, searching for new clues. She didn’t find any more footprints, nor did she find any evidence that the intruder tried to enter the house. “Probably scared him off with the lights,” she told the dog. Still, she checked the locks on all the windows and doors before leaving for work.

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* * *

“Hey Angie, what’s up? You look like you’re a zillion miles away,” Max said, leaning over her cubicle. “Planning how to decorate your new office?”

She offered a weak smile. The constant reference to her not-a-sure-thing promotion was becoming more of a nuisance than a compliment. “I think I might have had a visitor last night.”

“You don’t know?” Max moved around to sit on the radiator that created the third wall of her cubicle.

Angie described the previous night’s proceedings.

“What are you going to do?” he asked.

“What can I do? Other than one footprint, there’s no evidence anyone was there. It’s not like they caused any damage or anything.”

“How do you know? Maybe they went down the street and broke into someone else’s home. Maybe that footprint is the best evidence of another break-in.”