In A Heartbeat (17 page)

Max joined her with a second flashlight. “What’s the plan?”

Plan? What plan? She wasn’t sure what to look for, much less how to find it. Rain pelted her shoulders and arms and dripped off her nose. If only she could see inside the building, maybe then she’d be satisfied and they could get out of this downpour. “Let’s find a window.”

“Nothing on this side,” Max said, flashing his narrow beam around the front of the two-storied building. Wooden boards covered the places windows might have existed long ago. Angie pointed to an alleyway along the side. “Maybe over there.”

Fortunately, the building blocked much of the wind and stinging rain. The flashlight beams bounced off the thick paint covering the bank of windows along this side of the building. Heavy security bars on the outside of the first floor windows prevented close inspection. They followed the length of the building down the dark alley littered with refuse and broken wooden pallets.

“Bingo.” Max pointed his flashlight beam to a multi-paned section about eight feet off the ground. A jagged shadow in the far middle pane suggested a broken window, at least the light disappeared into the murky interior.

“Great. But how can we get up there?” Angie trailed her light to the base of the building and a few feet further in the alley. The beam found an industrial refuse container on the opposite side of the alley, about a foot from the broken window. “Can we do something with this?”

“We can try.”

In spite of the intense urine and decaying trash scent, they pushed against the sticky metal, trying to move it closer to the window. They only dislodged a few fist-sized rats that skittered out from behind the container. Angie shrieked and jumped back, dropping her flashlight in the process. It rolled underneath the metal box, providing heat and light for a whole generation of rats.

“Don’t worry about it,” Max said, looking at the faint beam shining under the container. “It wasn’t helping much anyway. Besides, this isn’t working.”

She agreed, holding her sticky hands out to catch the rain before smearing them on the front of her coat. She studied the industrial-sized rat home. “Maybe if you give me a boost, I could climb on top of that thing and see through the window.”

“You? No way.” Max shook his head even as she continued her protests. “If anyone is climbing, it makes more sense if I do it. I’m taller and you have a bum leg.” He scanned the bin. “Look, there’s a lid. If we can get it closed, I can stand on it.”

Angie grabbed two wooden planks from a nearby broken pallet, then handed one of them to Max. Together, they pushed the heavy metal lid around on its hinge until gravity did the rest. Bang! The metal shuddered and belched a fetid trash stench.

Max handed her his flashlight.

“Be careful,” she said with unspoken gratitude.

Using a broken crate to give him some extra lift, Max hoisted his lean body to the container rim before bracing himself with the building wall. Feeling helpless below, Angela kept her flashlight trained on the rim of the container. A can bounced on the pavement behind her. She spun around, swinging her flashlight beam erratically at the opening of the alley. Nothing.

“Hey, come back here with that,” Max yelled. “Don’t leave me in the dark.”

“Sorry, I thought I heard something.” Her hood slipped back allowing a trickle of liquid ice to work its way down her back. She shivered. “Probably a cat searching for dinner.”

“A rat more likely. I saw one as big as a cat.” Max balanced himself precariously on the corner of the container. “Can you hand me a light?”

Angie stretched on tiptoes to give him the flashlight. He trained it on the broken window.

“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 then opted to jump off the container. He landed in a crouch splashing water in all directions, including the front of Angie. “Sorry.”

“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.”

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

“Max.” Laughing, 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 his den. He answered 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 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—

“What do you want me to do?”

“Go home,” he groused. “Go home and go to bed and act like nothing’s happened.”

“But what if—”

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

“All right then. Good night.”

Tom clicked off 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?” his wife called.

Wilson opened the door for the flannel-encased woman who represented little more than a joint tax return. “Everything is fine, Alice. Go 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 after her.

She didn’t return the sentiment.

Chapter Fourteen

“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 proved otherwise. “Both my mother and brother called to check up on me after you dropped me off last night.”

“How’s your mom doing?”

“Fine. My aunt Cecilia is mending so well that Mom thinks she’ll be coming home in two weeks.”

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

“I’ve kind of enjoyed it, actually.” If nothing else, her experiences over the past two weeks confirmed it was time she moved out on her own. “I need that promotion, though, to have any hope of finding my own place.” She took a sip from her bottled water. “And that means we need an excellent Letter of Recommendations so we can convince Renard to hire us for more work.”

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

“Let’s draft 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. 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 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 great 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. Given that she had so many other concerns at the moment, 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? Why on earth do you need to know how to dance? What kind of dancing?”

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

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

“
Ballroom
dancing.” He laughed and Angie wanted to reach through the phone line and slap 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 are you planning to slow dance with?”

She heard the snarl in his voice. “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 really 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. If she needed to learn, she’d have to do it herself. After all, she taught herself about football. Maybe she could do the same with dancing.

AFTER A LONG day, Oreo’s enthusiastic greeting practically knocked Angie over. As expected, the answering machine beeped that messages required attention. She hit the play button, jotting the messages meant for her mother on a pad used for that purpose. 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.”

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 got up and pulled on a robe.

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 kitchen with light. Oreo turned, tail wagging and tongue dripping from the side of her mouth to greet her.

“What are you doing?” 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 hallway back toward 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.

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 back 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.