“Sure,” she said somewhat reluctantly, then finally got her butt out of the chair and moseyed away.
What a nightmare. Tracy opened the bottom drawer and pulled out the small locked case within. It held duplicate keys to some of the homes, mostly expensive ones, that Tracy liked to walk through and pretend were hers when she knew the owners weren’t home. No one had noticed when she’d sneaked the keys away and had the duplicates made. She’d only done it a time or two.
Of course, that’s where she’d met him. Handsome, lots of money, dressed well. He caught her coming out of one of them and getting into her car, and he knew she was lying when she said she lived there because he knew the actual owners. She’d been sick at heart. She’d begged him not to tell. What she did was harmless. She just liked pretending. Was it so wrong?
She’d expected him to turn her in, but instead he told her that her secret was safe with him. But he would call her in a day or two and ask her to do something for him. Just a little thing. No big deal.
She’d lived in utter fear those seventy-two hours. Three days, not two. What was he going to ask? She had a feeling it was going to be big, no matter what he said, and she would have to confess to the principals and lose her job. Then he showed up at her work and asked her to lunch. She sat across from him at a bistro while he persuaded her there was no reason to worry. They were friends, he assured her. But the way he’d looked at her, she’d been pretty sure his little ask might be a few times in the sack with him.
She could do that.
So she had a few drinks, just a couple of vodka martinis, and let herself loosen up. He told her he was an investor. Just moved out from New York a few years earlier. He didn’t ask her for anything that day, but she knew it was coming. When a few weeks went by and all they did was have lunch in some out-of-the-way places, she started to think she was wrong. In her fondest dreams she wondered if he really just wanted to date her.
And so she dated him. The lunches . . . a couple of dinners, a few drinks, and finally he came over to her place and they went to bed together. Truthfully, Tracy wasn’t all that fond of sex. Kinda messy and sort of stupid. Half the time she wanted to clap her hand over her mouth to stop from giggling. But she managed to play the part and do a lot of moaning and breathing hard, and all in all, it was okay. She did really like him. He had a way of listening to every word she said that made her feel important.
And then came the day he asked her for the key to the cabin on Schultz Lake.
“That’s what you wanted?” she asked, disappointed.
“And you,” he assured her. “But don’t worry. I’ll bring the key back,” he promised.
“But we sold the cabin. The new owner’s going to move in soon.”
“I’ll only use it for a couple of hours. That’s all.”
Tracy could practically feel her blood freeze. “Don’t make a copy, whatever you do.”
He held up two fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
She’d given him the key, and true to his word, he’d brought it back that same day. She’d wanted to ask him what he needed it for, but something about him suggested that would be a bad idea. So she’d gone on as if nothing had happened. She’d replaced the copy she’d made of that key in her little box.
After that they kind of drifted apart, however, which hurt her feelings. She called him a few times, but he let her know very clearly that he would call her, not the other way around. He’d asked her to dinner on a couple of other occasions, but he’d had to cancel before the plans were hatched, and he stopped coming over for sex.
She’d just been lamenting her boring life when those police detectives had shown up and wanted to talk to Kitsy, who’d had the listing for the cabin. Edie Tindel had been the buyer’s agent, and Tracy had lived in fear that the detectives would want to talk to her, too, but she didn’t know if they had. Edie could tell them about the breakin, which, Tracy worried, had something to do with the key, though she didn’t know what.
Scared, she’d called him after the detectives left. He’d flipped out, but she’d said it wasn’t her fault. There was no way they could know about the extra key. No way. But saying it seemed to remind him of that fact, and he asked her to meet him and bring the key.
So now they had another date. But it was all over the fucking key.
She took the little case in its entirety and left before stupid Heidi could return with the coffee. Let her drink it, the bitch. Tracy hated coffee.
*