Читать книгу Mistaken for the Mob - Ginny Aiken - Страница 7

“Whatever you say, Trudy Talbot.” Maryanne tucked her work-loosened brown-and-white gingham blouse into the waistband of her dirndl skirt. “But you should have seen the look in his eyes. So tell me. What would make a computer geek look so…so scary? So disgusted? So angry?”

The classy, prematurely gray director of the Children’s Collection shrugged. “Beats me. Maybe his wife served him eggs for breakfast when he wanted Frootie Tooties instead. Or maybe his cat presented him with a dead mouse…just before he swallowed the eggs. The adult male is beyond my comprehension. That’s why I stick to those under the age of twelve.”

“Last time I checked, Ron Talbot was a quite adult thirty-five.”

Trudy slicked on a coat of soft plum lip gloss and dropped the tube into her tailored black leather purse. “That doesn’t mean my husband’s any easier to understand than others of his kind.”

Maryanne tucked her lip balm in the side pocket of her tote. “You don’t fool me. You two have been married thirteen years, you share a mortgage, car and minivan, a dog, four cats and two kids. You must have figured him out at least a little.”

“Three.”

“Three? Three what?”

Trudy’s fair skin bloomed a delicate rose. “Three kids.”

“Huh?” Maryanne glanced at her friend’s flat middle. “Oh! Really?”

Trudy’s smile lit up the dingy bathroom in the basement of the New Camden Public Library. “Mm-hmm.”

The two women hugged, then Maryanne held her friend at arm’s length. “That’s wonderful! And you look wonderful, too. When are you due?”

“Sometime in mid-November.”

“A Thanksgiving baby—how perfect.”

“It is a perfect time to give thanks for all my blessings.” Trudy eyed Maryanne. “So much so that you ought to give it a try. Marriage and motherhood, that is.”

“Are you crazy? You just finished telling me men are impossible to understand, and now you want me to hook up with one of them?”

“I said they’re impossible to understand, not impossible to love and live with.” Trudy hitched the strap of her purse onto her shoulder. “Come on. I have to get back. The Thursday story-hour kids are about to get here, and we don’t want them on the loose.”

“And I have to go see what those guys got done on my computer.”

The two women went upstairs to the library’s main level. Trudy gave Maryanne a sideways glance. “You know Uni-Comp’s people are always great. You never know what’s going on in people’s lives. Maybe that one guy had a fight with his wife.”

“Maybe…but he still gave me the creeps.”

“How so?”

Cold gray eyes popped into Maryanne’s mind. So did the flat slash of lips, the rigid line of shoulder, the direct and deliberate gait. “He made me feel like the deer in a hunter’s crosshairs.”

“That makes no sense. You don’t know him, do you?”

“Trust me. I’d remember if I’d seen him before.”

In the warm oak-paneled-and-floored lobby, Trudy placed gentle hands on Maryanne’s shoulders and met her gaze. “Now don’t get mad at me, okay?”

Maryanne went to speak, but Trudy shook her head.

“Listen. Please. Do you think maybe you imagined the guy’s anger because your emotions were already in a tangle over your friend at the nursing home?”

Maryanne’s urge to deny the possibility felt right, but because Trudy was so perceptive, she gave her earlier state of mind careful consideration. She thought back to when she first saw J.Z. Prophet, to that last look in his eyes, to the way he’d made her feel.

“There’s always that chance,” she said, “but I don’t think so. I’d prayed through my tears by the time those two showed up. I’d come to peace by then, and was even bored since there’s so little I can do while the system’s down.”

Trudy looked skeptical, but then, she hadn’t seen the man. Maryanne hugged her massive tote bag and added, “I can’t begin to imagine why someone would look at me with so much…oh, I don’t know. I can’t really describe what that Prophet guy gave off.”

Another frown lined Trudy’s brow. “This isn’t good. Don’t you think someone should do something about it? Someone official, that is.”

“What do you want them to do? And who would you have me tell?”

“Maybe you should speak with Mr. Dougherty.”

“Why? I don’t think the library system’s director knows much about Uni-Comp or its employees. The IT department handles that service contract.”

“Well, then, talk to Morty. He runs IT.”

“What do you want me to say? That a tech from Uni-Comp gave me a weird look? Sure, and then he can call the guys in the white suits to come get me.”

Trudy bit her lower lip. “You’re probably right. All you have is a funny feeling, and that’s nothing to go on. Just be careful. Don’t let the guy catch you alone in your office or anything, okay?”

“That won’t happen. Not even if I have to spend the rest of the day in the bathroom downstairs. If worse comes to worst, I’ll grab what little paperwork I have left and do just that.”

“That’s nuts. You don’t have to go to extremes, you know. You can always head over to the staff lounge or hang out with me and my munchkins.”

“Oh, right. I’ll get a whole lot of work done then.”

“Make up your mind, will you? You said you were bored earlier and didn’t have much to do while the system was down. I can always use a hand with the incoming zoo inmates.”

“Ha! Your Mark is in that crowd, isn’t he?”

When Trudy blushed, Maryanne went on. “Figures. You just want me to watch your son so that you can be the serious librarian.”

Trudy raised her hands in surrender. “Okay. You outed me. But do you blame me?”

“Who can forget his first story hour? You reminded me of Make Way For Ducklings. The seventeen of them looked awfully cute following you around and calling you Mrs. Mommy.”

They chuckled, but then Maryanne squared her shoulders and smoothed a hand over the waist of her shin-length beige skirt. “I really do have to get back to my office—if for no other reason than to see if the Uni-Comps finished their shtick, and my computer’s up again.”

“I still think your imagination ran away with you, but please be careful. You never know what kind of kooks are on the loose.”

“If you get a chance, keep me in your prayers.”

“You know I’ll do that.”

Maryanne approached her glorified cubicle at the rear of the Research Department with apprehension. Were the two men still there?

At her office door, she paused and studied her name in gold letters on the black plaque. If that Prophet man wanted to hurt her he not only knew where she worked, but he also knew her name. With so many search sites on the Web, he’d have her address in no time. Then again, maybe he and his wife had argued earlier in the day. But Maryanne couldn’t imagine a woman who’d put up with him.

“Oh, Lord, help me, please,” she prayed then turned the knob.

The room was empty. A couple of pages covered with computer test gobbledygook in her trash can gave the only testimony of the men’s earlier presence. Maryanne experienced a momentary letdown.

Weird, since she hadn’t wanted to face his—was it anger?—again.

To be honest, she had to admit that the puzzling J.Z. Prophet had sparked her interest—in a crazy, scary sort of way. He’d kicked up her curiosity, and he’d even revved something inside her. Excitement? Maybe. Inquisitiveness? Definitely.

Maryanne sat behind her desk and braced her forehead on the heels of her hands. “Argh!”

She had to be partway to certifiable. No sane woman would be interested in some stranger who’d looked at her funny. A sane woman wouldn’t try to figure out why he’d done it.

It didn’t make sense—she didn’t make sense.

So was Trudy right? Had she imagined J.Z.’s instant dislike?

Now that the Uni-Comp men had left and she was alone, Maryanne began to question her earlier take on the incident. A stranger would have no reason for anger, not toward her.

Oh, well. Trudy probably was right. It wouldn’t be the first time Maryanne let her imagination run wild.

After all, J.Z. Prophet was an attractive man, of the rugged, dark and brooding sort. He would catch her eye, no matter what—any woman’s at that. But of course he wasn’t the kind of man she’d want to get to know. He was not her type at all. Still, no seeing woman would call him nondescript.

Steel-colored eyes above angular cheekbones pierced deep. And the dark hair that tumbled over his forehead revealed a lack of self-absorption. Although J.Z. Prophet’s hair shone with health and cleanliness, as did his pristine white shirt and faded jeans, he wasn’t the blow-dried, manicured, crease-pressed new-jean type, a trend she found disconcerting.

If he hadn’t fixed those stormy eyes on her, she might have been attracted to him.

“Good grief, Maryanne,” she muttered as her computer booted up. “There you go again. No sooner do you decide the guy couldn’t possibly have given you an angry look, than you make a U-turn and think the opposite one more time.”

She sighed. It was time to get back to work. Time to put the enigmatic J.Z. Prophet out of her mind.

The next two hours proved productive. At around three o’clock, when Maryanne felt the urge for her usual cup of tea, she stood, walked around her desk and crossed the room.

At the doorway, she stopped.

A weird feeling crept up her back—hair-raising was the only way to describe it. Someone was watching her.

Maryanne looked up and down the hall, but saw no one, found nothing unusual. Then the door across the hall came to a complete close with a soft, automatic swish.

She stared. The men’s room. Had someone been watching her?

Had that someone—the one she was sure had watched her—just gone in there?

Had J.Z. Prophet spooked her so much that she saw boogeymen all around? Had some innocent guy done nothing more than walk by her office door to use the restroom instead? And she’d let herself freak out.

Or had he been watching her? J.Z’s face materialized in her mind. Why? Why would he want to watch her?

Maryanne’s knees gave. She fell back against her office door. She began to shiver, but refused to give in to fear. She closed her eyes and turned to God.

Why, why, why was she so shaken?

“Your strength is sufficient for me,” she prayed. Over and over again, she whispered the words until the tremors subsided.

But no matter how long she prayed, and no matter how hard she worked, Maryanne failed to erase the memory of J.Z.’s stare.

Trudy was right about at least one thing. Should Maryanne ever see him again, she wouldn’t hesitate to call the cops. Although she preferred to avoid clichés, she felt she was living one right then.

If looks could kill….

The rest of the afternoon crawled by in a blur of stress. By the time five o’clock rolled around, Maryanne’s shoulders had frozen rigid and her temples pounded a vicious beat. She’d accomplished precious little in that time, since no matter how hard she tried, the image of J.Z. Prophet slammed into her thoughts every few minutes.

She couldn’t concentrate on anything she read, and hadn’t been able to type up her notes for the report due next Tuesday. Her fingers shook like leaves in a gale. Even simple filing became a challenge of inordinate proportion.

Ibuprofen did nothing to alleviate her headache—she doubted anything would until the memory of J.Z. Prophet’s intensity melted away on its own. She hoped she never had to set eyes on him again.

In the library parking lot, she waved goodbye to Trudy and Sarah Myers, who worked with the rare collections. Then, because she’d fed Shakespeare the last of his food and the kitty litter was also running low, she drove straight to the grocery store. The ride served to soothe her raw nerves. Her favorite radio station had on a Darlene Zschech special. Maryanne liked the Aussie’s contemporary style of worship music.

At the store, she grabbed feline supplies, romaine lettuce, fresh chicken breasts and an Idaho potato the size of the state where it grew. Dinner would be a simple matter of shredding greens and nuking stuff—about all she could face today.

At the register, Joe Moore, a retiree who augmented his social security with part-time cashier duty, smiled when he saw her. “How’s old Stan doing these days?”

Maryanne arched an eyebrow. “Old? Dad’s two years younger than you.”

The scanner beeped as Joe ran her purchases before the screen. “Age is just a matter of the mind, honey bun.”

“Oh, and Dad’s matured beyond his mischievous adolescent mental age in the last twenty-four hours?”

“A man can always hope.”

They shared a good-natured chuckle, and the pounding in Maryanne’s head began to ease.

“How’s Amelia?” she asked.

“Sore and crotchety, but the doc says the hip replacement went even better than he’d expected—thank the Lord.”

“You two have been married how long?”

Joe puffed out his chest. “Fifty-three years and still going strong, honey bun. You oughta try it, you know.”

Maryanne grabbed the bag of groceries and made for the door. “Don’t you get started. It’s bad enough with Dad and Trudy and a couple of others badgering me right and left. You know how I feel. If God’s got a man for me, well then, it’s up to Him to find me the guy.”

“And how’re you going to see this gift from heaven if all you do is hide behind books at the library or hang out with the oldsters at the retirement home?”

“I’m not hiding,” Maryanne said, her chin tipped a hair higher. “I’m serving where the Lord’s planted me. I’m sure He’ll lead me where He wants me if He wants me to go elsewhere.”

“Whoa, girl! That’s a mouthful there.” Joe shook his head and scanned his next customer’s laundry detergent. “Strikes me you’re a mite defensive on the subject. I suggest you pray a little on it, and see if I’m not right.”

Maryanne sighed. As if she didn’t already pray her way through each and every day. “I’ll do that, Joe. Give my love to Amelia, will you?”

“Of course, honey bun. And you tell that crazy daddy of yours to stay out of trouble at that country club place where he lives nowadays.”

“I will. Why don’t you stop by and see him sometime soon? He’ll get a kick out of it.”

With a nod and a wink, Joe turned his full attention to the young mother of three little girls under the age of six. Maryanne left the store, and then popped open her Escort’s trunk. She balanced the groceries against the bag of sand she always stored there for just in case. When she shut the trunk, a car crawled down the row behind her.

Her neck prickled as it had earlier that day.

She spun, but saw nothing other than the mom and her three girls walk away from the store’s automatic door—and the unremarkable gray car braked ten cars down beyond her. Although she couldn’t make out the driver’s facial features, something about him slammed fear right back into her gut.

She felt just as she had when J.Z. Prophet had glared at her.

A chill ran through her and she shivered. If the stormy computer tech was at the wheel, then she wanted to get as far from him as fast as she could. And if he wasn’t, then she also wanted to leave that parking lot just as fast. Just because.

Frustrated by her shaky hand’s failure to get the button on her automatic keychain to work, Maryanne took a deep breath, clenched her fist around the plastic rectangle, and then prayed a blunt “Help!”

She unfurled her fingers and with deliberation, aimed the gadget straight at the lock. It popped. She slid behind the wheel, flicked the locks back on, and then started the car. As she pulled out, she kept the gray car in sight out the corner of her eye. She sighed in relief when it took the spot she’d vacated.

The adrenaline drain left her even shakier than before, and she had no idea how she drove home without hitting anything on the way. She had to get her imagination under much better control. She couldn’t freak out at even the tiniest thing. That driver had just wanted her parking space.

Later that evening, she watched her favorite home decorating show before she decided an early bedtime would work wonders on her frazzled nerves. Tomorrow would be a better day—it had to be.

She hoped.

And Friday was better. By noon, she’d settled back into her normal routine. With a clear head, she ate a sandwich for lunch at her desk, determined to make up for yesterday’s lack of productivity. By five, she’d caught up and only had the report to do. She’d finish it tomorrow afternoon on her home computer.

Trudy stuck her head in the office.

“Come on in,” Maryanne said.

“No, I’m on my way home. Are you still coming tonight?”

Maryanne logged out of her word processing program and shut down her machine. “It’s my turn with the youth group’s sixth graders this month. I wouldn’t miss the scavenger hunt for the world. I had a blast when I helped out last year.”

“Good. David’s been looking forward to special attention from his honorary aunt.”

She slung the sturdy straps of her large tote bag over one shoulder, flicked off the lights and closed the office door. “He’d better rethink that plan. I’m not about to show your darling son any favoritism. I’m just there to count noses and make sure no one gets left behind in a store at the mall.”

“That’s what I told him,” Trudy said with a chuckle. “Somehow, though, I think you’re going to have to work hard to avoid his charm. That boy’s going places…someday.”

Maryanne nodded. “It’s a good thing you and Ron have channeled that energy and appeal in positive directions. Otherwise, who knows where he’d end up?”

“Thanks. Your opinion means a great deal. And you’re right. David is a handful. It’s hard to walk that fine line between guiding and stifling a child.”

“You and Ron are terrific parents, Trudy. You teach by example, and I think that’s the best thing for kids.” Maryanne thought back on her earlier years. “Mother and Dad were great, even though they had such different personalities.”

“I miss your mom, you know?”

“How could I not? You and I grew up in each other’s homes. Besides, Mother pretty much liked you better than she liked me.”

Trudy pushed on the massive, revolving library door. “You know that’s not true—even though you did give her some pretty good headaches now and then.”

On the sidewalk, Maryanne paused and sighed. “It’s that goofy side of me, the Dad part, that always got me in trouble. But Mother did have a point. When I finally surrendered and did things her way, my life went much smoother. As it has ever since.”

Trudy studied Maryanne. “Maybe it’s been easier, but I wonder if it hasn’t been a lot more boring, too.”

She jolted as if Trudy had pricked her with a pin. “My life’s not boring. Not at all. It’s full and rich and satisfying. I have a great job—a career. And I love my church family. My calendar’s full of wonderful activities, and I even have a fabulous cat. I love my life just the way it is.”

Trudy resumed the walk to the parking lot. “When’s the last time you did something on the spur of the moment? Something unexpected and fun?”

Maryanne scoffed. “That’s what I mean. Mother taught me well. Dad’s nuttiness creates chaos, and I don’t want that in my life. Well thought-out choices and prudent decisions up front make much more sense than to struggle to fix things after you’ve made a mess of them.”

Trudy shook her head and her silver bob swung in a smooth arc. “That’s boring.”

“No way. I don’t want to climb a rock face, travel to strange places where I’ll wind up with malaria or put myself in situations where I might meet people who could do me harm. Even you warned me against the computer clown yesterday.”

Trudy reached the driver’s side of her cherry-red Sunbird parked alongside Maryanne’s tan Escort. She looked over the roof and said, “Read my lips: boooooooring!”

As she unlocked her car, Maryanne gave her friend one last disgusted look. “Nope. Not at all. Just safe, secure, familiar and comfortable. See you later at church.”

She started the ignition and shook her head. She’d had her fill of spur-of-the-moment living, thanks to Dad. What kind of woman would want a steady diet of madness?

J.Z. snapped his cell phone shut. “Joey-O’s not talking.”

Dan looked up from the file folder he’d just picked up. “Did you think he would?”

“His kind usually does—to point the finger at someone else, of course. Especially if it means they can save their sorry skin.”

“Is he denying that he killed Mat? Or has he just zipped his lip?”

“David says no one can get a word out of him.”

Dan’s gaze turned thoughtful. “Latham’s good at getting perps to talk. So if Joey’s not talking, then he’s more scared of what might come his way from the outside than by staying in for…oh, say a hundred years or so.”

“I want to know how Joey got word to Wellborn so she could finish the job. He’s been in the slammer since minutes after he emptied his gun into the Laundromat.”

“I’m telling you, you’re barking up the wrong tree with the librarian, J.Z. There’s nothing, nothing here—” Dan waved the papers from the file “—that even hints at her involvement. Even her bank records are clean—you’ve read it in black-and-white, same as I have. Look at them again.”

Dan held the pages out to J.Z., but J.Z. did know what they said…and didn’t say. He shook his head.

His partner wasn’t ready to quit. “Not a dollar goes into her account that doesn’t come from her paycheck, J.Z. So what would she have to gain? Why would she kill for the mob? What’s her motive?”

“Remember the e-mails. They’re pretty clear. Terminate Carlo Papparelli.” J.Z. ran a hand through his hair. He felt the answers he needed were just on the other side of his grasp. “She’s got to keep her stash somewhere. Maybe Mat did the laundering for her dollars, and didn’t want to cough them back up. We just have to dig deeper than we have.”

“It doesn’t fit,” Dan argued. “She’s clean if you ignore those e-mails. So where’s the connection? A librarian doesn’t just hook up with the mob out of the blue.”

J.Z. shrugged. “That retirement home’s an awfully cushy place for a librarian’s salary to afford. Maybe she saw the chance to get the dough that’d keep her dad there.”

“Sure, but how would she turn to the mob?”

“That’s what you and I are going to find out.”

Dan stared straight at J.Z. A wriggle of discomfort wound through him. “I think there’s nothing for us to find. And there’s a lot of valuable time to waste, time we can’t afford to waste. Your personal bias against the mob in general and the Verdis in particular might just cost us six long months’ worth of work.”

The image of his father’s stony face at the defendant’s table came back to haunt J.Z. “The good ones always look that clean. Only a fool will let himself get caught up in their smokescreen. I fell for my father’s lies when I was too young to know better. I won’t do it again.”

“Just make sure you don’t lose yourself in a fun-house mirror and leave reality behind. Don’t miss the obvious for looking so hard through the filter of your past.”

J.Z. gritted his teeth. He knew what was what.

Maryanne Wellborn’s days as a free woman were numbered.

She was going down.

Maryanne gasped. Her heart began to pound and her stomach twisted.

That same, creepy someone’s-looking-at-me feeling hit her again. She looked around, and she went cold.

A familiar male figure was walking in the direction opposite from where she stood in the mall’s food court. Something about the dark hair, the set of wide shoulders, the taut fluid walk…

Could it be?

But she could only see the man from the back. She couldn’t be sure it was—or wasn’t—J.Z. Prophet.

Coincidence?

She doubted it. Mother always said she only believed in God-incidence. But if that was the case, then what did God have to do with the computer tech? His anger wasn’t the kind of emotion the Lord encouraged. It certainly didn’t dispose her to approach the man. Besides, she couldn’t see herself as a missionary to crazy computer techs.

She’d thought herself safe by going straight to church, joining in the potluck supper then taking her charges on their scavenger hunt. She’d sat at a table in the food court and made sure the teams understood they had to check in with her every thirty minutes—church rules.

The kids were great. And she enjoyed the time their pursuit gave her to work on her needlepoint project. At least, she had until a couple of seconds ago.

That itchy discomfort that seemed to strike so often since she’d met J.Z. Prophet had crept up the back of her neck again. When she turned in the direction of the lingerie store across the way, she’d spotted the dark-haired man propped against a pillar. But because his face had been hidden by shadows, she couldn’t be sure it was J.Z.

If it was him, what could he possibly want?

She didn’t know, but she did know one thing: she’d never felt like a hunted animal until he showed up at her work. She crammed her needlework into the tapestry sewing bag, grabbed that bag together with her tote bag and then slung the handles of both over her shoulder. A quick glance at her watch told her the kids should be back any moment now.

She’d have to get them out of the mall before that madman decided to hurt her, much less them.

“There you are,” Trudy said at her side.

Maryanne yelped. “Don’t you ever skulk up like that again! You just cost me ten years of my life.”

Her friend gaped. “What is wrong with you? I’ve never heard you speak like that before.”

Maryanne’s tremors grew so great that she collapsed back into her chair. The bags slid down her arm and fell to the floor.

“I think he’s here,” she whispered.

“Who’s here?”

She saw concern in Trudy’s eyes. “The Uni-Comp tech with the icy-cold eyes—that J.Z. Prophet guy.”

“You really think so?”

Maryanne nodded, unable to say more.

“Where did you see him? Did you call security? What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do. I can’t even think straight. And of course I didn’t get a chance to call security. I just saw him a moment ago, right before you came up.”

“Show me. Where is he?”

With her eyes shut tight, Maryanne pointed in the direction of the lingerie store, reluctant to again feel J.Z. Prophet’s anger. But when Trudy didn’t say a thing, Maryanne looked up at her friend.

With worried brown eyes, Trudy looked from the lingerie store to Maryanne and back again. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked. “I’ve never known you to be so paranoid.”

“Aside from that guy scaring me half out of my wits, of course, I’m fine.”

Trudy kept silent for long moments. Maryanne looked up at her friend. A frown on her forehead, Trudy said, “There’s no one there.”

Maryanne stood, used the table for support and slowly turned to look across the expanse. As Trudy had said, no one stood by the window draped in frivolous, pastel-lace frills; no one leaned in that distinctive way against the pillar at its side; no one glared at her right then.

“He’s gone,” she said, not reassured. “For now.”

“What do you mean?”

Maryanne met her friend’s worried gaze. “Everywhere I go, I feel someone watching me. I can’t shake the feeling. And somehow, I’m sure I’m going to see him again. I just don’t know when or where. Or why.”