Wonder Guy (27 page)

She looked like a businesswoman. She probably worked here at ABM. Maybe Gloria would help him get a company directory. Gloria might even know her. That bothered him. This woman might be dangerous, if only judging by her increasingly suspicious involvement in this situation.

Greg sauntered casually past the glass and stone façade of the ABM building, not wanting to attract the attention of company security by loitering too long near the suspect car. Nor did he want to draw his target’s attention when she emerged again from the offices, which she might do at any time.

He needed a plan. As if heading toward a car at the far end, in no hurry, simply enjoying the fine weather, he walked along the verge of the parking lot. Consider the options. Maybe he’d back off to a safe distance, resume his guise as Wonder Guy and fly to a height where he could safely resume surveillance, follow the woman wherever she went next. She might be a workaholic and stay here for hours. Or she might lead him all over the landscape without revealing anything useful.

He kicked a large pebble from his path to send it skittering across the asphalt ahead of him. He could confront her. Make up some story, ask her who she was. Maybe he was a student writing a story or essay on the company? He could ask her about her role there. The plan had its appeal, but he’d rather come armed with some real data rather than vague suspicions.

Better something simpler. He turned, facing back toward the building. It still might be hours before she emerged. He needed to hurry her. He’d caught up with the pebble he’d earlier kicked along his path.

Ah, that depended on the kind of car alarm she had. He bent, picked up the stone and tested its heft. He had a fair arm, born of laziness. When he lived at home, going to school, he’d rather chuck his crumpled wads of scratch paper at a wastebasket than get up and walk across the room. Aggie made him get up and retrieve any failed missiles, giving him all the more motivation for improving his aim.

He scanned the area for security cameras, spotted two trained on the entrance to the building, and others monitoring the parking lot. He moved back toward the street. He passed beyond the range of the cameras, checked to make sure no one looked his way, turned and flung his pebble underhand to strike the handle of the Audi’s door. He faced smoothly away again, never breaking stride as the car’s alarm began to wail.

He reached the sidewalk and looked back, pausing along with a few other passersby, to stare at the car.

The whooping of the alarm cut through all sounds of nearby traffic. In moments, a man in security uniform opened the main door of the ABM entrance, peering out at the disturbance. He disappeared again behind the doors, and shortly reemerged, accompanying the very subject of Greg’s surveillance.

He smiled to himself, holding his phone ready with the camera activated. Good thing he’d sprung for the Samsung with the 3x optical zoom. He waited until she’d come as close as she would. As she reached for the driver’s side door, he snapped her picture, catching her with her mouth tight, a frown line marring her forehead, wincing at the alarm.

The passersby who’d first stopped had moved along by then, but others had arrived. He lingered only as long as they did. He moved away when the alarm went silent and the rest of the gawkers dispersed. So far, so good, for his plan. Now he must come up with a good excuse to show Gloria the picture and ask if she knew the woman.

* * * *

With the moon only a few days past full, moonrise came early in the evening. Thank God for that. Some event at Orchestra Hall had the plaza crowded with men and women in full evening dress, mostly clustered near the main doors where an outdoor bar stood and a few vendors offered light snacks.

Kathleen smelled the skewers of barbecued chicken from halfway across the plaza, where, in the shadows of an upper level, Ms. Ellis sat like an empress on a ledge among the plaza’s multi-tiered pools. Somehow, despite the numbers of people wandering the plaza, none found their way to this particular sheltered corner. Odd how the plaza seemed to grow more hidden nooks and shadowed corners with Ms. Ellis in residence than it owned by daylight among ordinary folk. Odd how the pleasant June evening took on an unexpected chill.

Ms. Ellis might have come for the symphony. Her gown would pass muster with the best of them, silken and flowing with the colors of water and woodland glades at night. Kathleen straightened her shoulders as she faced the other woman’s cool regard.

“There’s been another complication,” she said.

“What sort of complication?” Ms. Ellis managed to scowl without marring the flawless lines of her face. “This is an annoyance. We have more important business than your complications.”

Kathleen told Ms. Ellis about Gloria’s latest round of questions concerning non-existent tax forms. “I thought the first inquiry was a fluke.” She swallowed, keeping her voice barely louder than the flowing of water from pool to pool. “It should never have come up. I’ve taken steps to make sure it won’t come up again, but this girl will know I didn’t actually provide the forms.”

“And what do you expect of me?” Ms. Ellis raised a brow.

“You know people.” Kathleen hesitated. “Nothing can happen to her at the office. It would look too suspicious. Can’t you arrange something...” She let her words trail off in a tone suggesting the dark, final nature of the ‘something’ in question. “...to happen elsewhere?”

Ice glinted in the other woman’s gaze. “Such services can be expensive.”

“There’s enough money in this–”

“Not money.” Ms. Ellis shrugged dismissively. “You will owe me. Personally. Some comparable service.”

How much did she already owe this woman? Kathleen ignored the sick sensation in her gut. “Of course.” She kept her tone cool. “It would be best if it looked like a suicide. The first young woman was this one’s friend. Gloria must be distraught over her death, if she gives in to despair...” Again, she let her tone suggest the rest. “Tragic, but understandable.”

“Yes.” Ms. Ellis’ smile showed more teeth than a person should have, but seemed positively gleeful in contrast to her usual imperious manner. “That can be arranged. Perhaps this very evening.”

* * * *

When Pete called, Gloria told him she had something she’d like to talk about before dinner. He insisted he was starving and asked her to wait until they had their meals in front of them. This meant meeting him at the nearest Perkins family restaurant.

Even though she didn’t feel like eating, Gloria went along with the plan. Maybe a good meal would make things easier on Pete.

She still reeled with the sudden changes in her life. Jo’s death, her changes of heart and mind. How much sense did it make to cancel an engagement because her sense of style clashed with Pete’s? How superficial. Weren’t their feelings for each other the only thing that should matter here?

But that was it. Her feelings expressed themselves in terms of colors and shapes, design and patterns. This aesthetic sensibility said her feelings for Pete weren’t what they should be and his feelings for her weren’t what she needed from him. She didn’t get as much of a thrill from him as she did from a new Cell Shell design coming together in the right materials and colors.

She turned on the MPR news during the short drive. It kept her mind from going through the cycle of guilt and justification over and again. Not much of the news sank in. It all sounded the same to her, more death, more destruction, more threats to national security, more threats to personal liberties, more trouble and strife on every side.

Pete had arrived before her and already sat in a booth, menu opened before him. Gloria ordered hot tea as soon as she’d joined him and told the server she wouldn’t be having anything else. Pete raised a brow at her before giving his order for a Bacon Cheeseburger Supreme and handing back his menu.

“Really, nothing to eat?” He smiled his easy smile. “Must be serious. Okay, so what’s got you all worked up?”

The waitress had moved far enough from their booth to be out of earshot.

“Pete, I can’t marry you.” There. It was out. Gloria waited for the words to sink in, for some sign of the impact this news must have on him. Her stomach churned. Maybe she should have ordered toast with her tea. He met her worried gaze with a reassuring smile.

“You have pre-wedding jitters. Nerves,” he said. “It’s perfectly natural.”

“We haven’t set a date yet. It can’t be pre-wedding jitters,” Gloria spoke with growing annoyance. They had planned to spend their whole lives together. She tells him it’s off and he responds like she’d mistaken a dust ball for a mouse.

Be patient with him. Maybe he doesn’t want to face it.
“I’ve been thinking.” She took a deep breath. “Things between us aren’t what they should be, not for two people to share the rest of their lives together.”

He didn’t look up. He had his latest phone out and tapped on its surface, adding up the bill and figuring the tip ahead of time as usual. When he’d taken care of business, he looked across to her, a look she’d always taken as reassuring, but now seemed more than a bit patronizing.

“Gloria, honey, if this is about yesterday, when I wasn’t free to talk with you after your friend died, you know I would have if I could. Company policies are strict about calls.”

“No, Pete. It’s not about that.” She took another deep, calming breath. The sick feeling had risen higher in her gut. “But Jo’s death made me consider a lot of things. I realized my feelings for you aren’t what you deserve. I’ve been in love with what you can do for me.

“I’ve been in love with what you represent. I think you deserve better. You deserve someone who’s truly in love with you for who you are,” she admitted, embarrassed to realize the extent of her selfishness. Pete would take care of her, had the power to rescue her. He’d be the safe, reliable, stable provider she’d never had. So what did that make her? A helpless child?

Please let him understand.

Pete’s look had sobered as she spoke. He remained silent as the waitress returned with Gloria’s tea and his cola, only speaking when she’d left the table again.

“Gloria. Stop. You’re not making sense.” He reached across the table and grasped her hand. “Nothing’s changed. We’re the same two people we were when we decided to get married. Remember how we worked it out? We’ll get a little house of our own. We’ll have kids in a couple years when I’ve advanced at the company and you can afford to stay home. Don’t you still want our future?”

It made such a nice picture in her mind’s eye. She fantasized about children, darling cherubs she loved like the dickens, even if they were imaginary at this point. That was the problem. It was just a pretty picture, like a TV commercial where all one’s problems melted in the face of the right laundry detergent. He’d end up disappointed if he expected her to play along with a role based more in her feelings for the picture than her feelings for him.

“Pete,” she said, gently disengaging her hand. “It’s not about some plan we made for an ideal future. It’s about our true feelings, mine and yours, and who we truly are to one another. I’ve realized I want something more than what we have between us. You’re a fine man, but my feelings for you aren’t what they should be for the man I marry.”

“Gloria, you’re not making sense. You’ve had a shock. Your friend died. I understand. If you need to take a little time...” He made an uncertain wave of his hand, one that seemed to accept the possibility of needing time without necessarily comprehending why it might be required.

He didn’t get it. His blank look meant her words had run aground before ever reaching the harbor of his understanding. He didn’t see the difference between her acting out the role they’d planned and acting from her heart. She might as well leave a pre-programmed android version of herself sitting here with him. He’d never know the difference. She swallowed the bitter taste of disappointment over her lost dream. Later, she’d deal with her fears of facing the future alone. Pete would only understand if she put words into action.

“I’m sorry, Pete.” Gloria got to her feet. “I don’t need a little time, I need my whole life. You stay, have your dinner. I’ll be going.” She slung her bag over her shoulder and walked away.

* * * *

Gloria had no trouble making it past her father and back to her room. Ike had passed out on the couch. Lying there, dead to the world, stubbled face slack, a spilled beer staining the carpet beside the couch, he reminded her of her stillborn hopes for her marriage to Pete.

Hell. How would she make it out of here now? If not by marrying Pete, then what? She shook her head. She was being ridiculous. She had a decent job. She could get an apartment on her own. Even some tiny efficiency would give her a refuge, a place to call her own. She might have gotten a place like that years ago. What had stopped her?
Dad,
something whispered in the back of her mind. Why should it be any easier to deal with him now than it had been then?