A ground-floor apartment, she thought in dismay as she locked up. Even after a month, she didn’t feel safe. She could not believe she’d let Allen talk her into it. It might have had something to do with that second-story balcony he’d fallen off.
The April morning air still held the dampness of last night’s rain, and Peri paced to her car, hesitating with her hand on the handle for the car to recognize her and unlock. Allen hobbled to the other side. She liked driving, and the truth was, his cast made her nervous. Sliding in, she felt the car wake up around her, and for a moment, she felt good as she lost herself to the pavement and motion. Allen chatted about getting his cast off and the rehab to rebuild the muscle. He figured it would be at least a month before they got an assignment, and that was fine with her. She wanted some time to do her own research, research she hadn’t told anyone about.
Her fingers gripping the wheel went tight, and she forced them to relax before Allen noticed. Silas. She wanted him dead, and she wanted to be the one to do it—needed to be the one to do it. It was his face that haunted her nightmares, and the growing urge to end his life filled her with more anticipation, more drive than she’d felt in the last six weeks.
Lost in thought, Peri nearly missed the turn into the strip mall where Overdraft was. The parking lot was almost empty, traffic moving fast just a few feet beyond. It was a cold, ugly place this early in the morning. A man in a tight-fitting overcoat stood under the overhang as if waiting for a ride, and she eyed him suspiciously.
“I don’t see Bill’s car,” Allen said as he leaned forward to peer through the front window.
“He’s always late,” Peri said. “Or he might have walked it. He’s been threatening to work out more. I saw him on the track last week.”
Allen’s reach for the handle hesitated. “Bill? On the track?”
She smirked at the mental image of the tall, somewhat prissy yet heavy man in Opti gray sweats lumbering after twentysomething athletes with their ponytails swinging and mouths going as they gossiped and jogged at the same time. Her smile faded. Where had all her friends gone? She had friends, didn’t she?
“No, I was on the track—he was in with the belts practicing his martial arts,” she finally said. Bill excelled at them, his extra mass adding to his proficiency rather than hindering it.
The man at the overhang was gone, but she didn’t put her keys away, holding them between her fingers like claws as she got out. She was on edge, and she abruptly slowed to Allen’s pace when she realized she’d left him behind.
“Peri.” Allen pulled her to a stop at the front door. His eyes were pinched behind his glasses. “Hey, ah, you mind if I go down and get a couple of doughnuts?”
Peri’s breath slipped out as she realigned her thinking. “Sandy wants me alone first?”
He smiled sheepishly, nodding. “Cream-filled? Jelly? What do you want?”
The mental image of red jelly oozing out made her ill. “Just a latte.” She hadn’t yet had her morning caffeine, and that way she’d be able to avoid Sandy’s sludge.
His expression was relieved, but that wrinkle of concern was still there when he touched her shoulder. “One latte, skim milk. I’ll be right back.” He turned once as he walked away to make sure she was going in, and she waved, wondering why she felt so odd. He seemed afraid—not of what Sandy and Frank might say, but afraid of something nevertheless.
Shoving it to the back of her thoughts, Peri yanked open the door and went in, hesitating just inside as the door sealed her in the bar’s warmth and dim lighting. The man she’d thought was waiting for a ride was sitting at the bar, his tailored overcoat carefully folded on the stool next to him. What he was wearing underneath was just as sharp, making her wonder who he was. Frank was tinkering with the floor sweeper, and Sandy was rolling silverware into napkins.
“Peri!” the dark-haired, petite woman said welcomingly. “Where’s Allen?”
Unbuttoning her coat, she wiped off the damp of the street on the colorful entry rug. “He’s next door getting breakfast so you can psychoanalyze me.”
Frank tightened a screw. “Please tell me he’s bringing coffee. Sandy just made a pot.”
“Hey!” the small woman said tartly, but she was smiling as she came around the bar to give Peri a hug that felt both comforting and uneasy. She smelled like strawberries. Something niggled at her memory—an image of Sandy standing on the bar screaming, expression ugly with hatred. Peri stiffened and Sandy pushed back, her smile looking forced.
Frank set the sweeper on the floor, nudging it with a booted foot when it didn’t move. At the tables, all the ordering pads blinked and reset as a sister restaurant updated their menu. “Stupid thing hasn’t worked in six weeks,” Frank muttered, kicking it to a corner, where it made a sad beep.
“Ah, Bill not here yet?” Peri said into the awkward silence.