always been a quiet life, and that still suited her. Working for Lauderdale’s enabled her to keep living that way.
Well, except when Bob Troutman’s scaly bad self was on the prowl. On the swim. Whatever. But if he was the worst thing that ever happened in her life—and so far, hands down, he was—Marnie would die a happy, tranquil woman.
The music flowed from her fingertips for the three hours she was scheduled to play—interspersed, it went without saying, with periodic directions to the bathroom, the elevator and better dresses. At closing, she straightened up for whoever was scheduled to play in the morning, tidying with what a couple of the other pianists had called her obsessive-compulsive neatness. Well, could she help it if she liked the sheet music alphabetized? And then put in numerical order according to the year it was written? Things like that brought order to a troubled civilization. The world would be a better place if more people took a few minutes out of their day to alphabetize and put stuff in numerical order.
But Marnie had to take more than a few minutes that evening, because whoever had played over the weekend had really fouled things up. That was why, when she finally found her way to the employees’ exit at the back of the store, there was no one left for her to walk out with. Not that Lauderdale’s was in a bad part of town—on the contrary, this part of Cleveland was quite upscale—but no woman relished entering a dark, deserted parking lot alone. The presence of a few cars indicated there must still be a handful of people around somewhere, so she decided to wait.
Fifteen minutes later, she was growing impatient. She could see her car from where she stood, she reassured herself, right in the middle of the lot beneath a streetlight, with nothing parked near it. Pulling her keys from her purse, she jingled them merrily in defiance of the unwelcoming darkness.
There. Take that, Mr. Bogeyman.
But Mr. Bogeyman snapped back when she took her first step through the exit. The night was heavy and damp from rain earlier in the day, and even darker than usual thanks to thick clouds looming overhead. The streetlights dotting the parking lot radiated fat, milky halos of light that never quite reached the pavement, trapping moisture within. Something about the sight made Marnie feel trapped, too. A faint shudder of apprehension stole down her spine, and goose bumps rioted on her arms beneath the sleeve of her sweater.
How strange. She was one for neither whimsy nor portent, never succumbed to omens or premonitions or shudders down the spine and goose bumps under the sleeve. Whatever she was feeling now was unfounded and silly. Today had been like any other day. Tonight would be no different.
With her purse dangling from one bent elbow, she buttoned up her sweater against the cool April evening and squared her shoulders. This was silly, this unfounded aversion to nothing, and honestly, she’d walked through this door and into this parking lot hundreds of times without suffering so much as a stubbed toe, and I mean really, stop being so ridiculous. Marching forward with renewed purpose, she strode into the night. And she got almost all the way to her car before she felt a hand clamp down on her shoulder. Hard.
She cried out as she spun around.
Then halted at once when she saw that the hand was attached to the arm of a tidy, wizened little man who was shorter even than she. And since Marnie stood no more than five-three on a good day—in one-inch heels—that was saying something. The man wore an aged brown suit, and his gray hair was slicked straight back from his face, though whether that was due to the damp air or some kind of hair goo favored by elderly men, she couldn’t have said. His features gave him the appearance of being kind, sweet even, and he smiled benignly at her reaction.
“I’m so sorry,” he said gently. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
Marnie smiled back, though the gesture was less a greeting than it was a reaction to profound relief. This guy probably didn’t weigh much more than she did, and couldn’t possibly be dangerous. Probably, he was a shopper who’d lost his way to his car and wanted help finding it. Certainly he wasn’t menacing.
Until he said, “I’m so relieved to have found you, Lila. I was beginning to think they weren’t going to send anyone. I was beginning to think they didn’t even believe me.”
That was when Marnie began to suspect that the guy, however unassuming, might just be a stark raving lunatic, and maybe it was something other than his car that he was looking for, and maybe it would be a good idea for her to throw up her hands and run screaming like a ninny in the other direction.
Not wanting to be an alarmist, however, she replied instead, “I beg your pardon?”
The man smiled his kindly smile again. “I wasn’t expecting them to send you, though, Lila, since this is something one of the junior operatives could have handled. Still, using a department store for the exchange is quite ingenious. I just wish I’d had some warning. I couldn’t believe it when I saw you working last night. One minute, I was looking for a birthday present for my daughter—she loves those big flannel pajamas, you see, especially the ones that have some kind of happy-hour motif. Though I myself kind of worry about her in that regard. She really does drink too much sometimes, and…” He blinked rapidly a few times in succession, as if he were confused—thank God, Marnie wasn’t the only one—then asked, “Where was I?”
“Um, happy-hour pajamas?” she prodded. Though, really, he was someplace that Marnie would just as soon not visit. La-la land.
“No, before that,” he said, tapping his head lightly, as if that might stimulate his brain. Good luck on that, Marnie thought.
“Oh, I remember now,” he finally said. “One minute I was shopping for my daughter, and the next minute, I saw one of the most dangerous women in the world straightening underwear at Lauderdale’s. Obviously, when I saw you, I knew you were waiting for me to make the exchange. Though it would have been nice if someone had told me you’d be here,” he added in a chastising voice. But before Marnie could utter a word in response—not that she had any idea what to say—he hurried on, “Anyway, I stayed up all night last night getting my opus together, and I waited until closing time tonight to give it to you. I didn’t want anything to interrupt us.”
He spoke so quickly—and so strangely—that Marnie was feeling dizzy by the time he paused for breath. What little sense she did make of his speech left her even more confused. Clearly, the man had mistaken her for someone else. Possibly, he was a tad delusional. Conceivably, he was quite mad. Suddenly, the parking lot seemed a lot more menacing than it had before. Suddenly, her aversion to leaving the store by herself didn’t seem silly at all.
A quick glance around indicated she was still well and truly alone—alas—so it might serve well to just play along for a minute and pretend the guy was making sense. At least until she figured out how she could make the short sprint to her car without giving him enough time to whip out a carving knife.
“I beg your pardon?” she asked again.
The man’s eyes went wide, and he covered his mouth with one hand in an uh-oh-what-have-I-done gesture. “Oh, of course,” he said in a chastened voice. “I’m not supposed to call you Lila, am I?” He made a fist and gently tapped his forehead. “Silly me. I’ve been out of the service too long. And that little run-in with the KGB years ago didn’t help.” He smiled at Marnie again. “What name are you going by on your current assignment, dear?”
Current assignment? Marnie repeated to herself. Run-in with the KGB? Oh, yeah. Definitely delusional. “Uh…Marnie,” she said without thinking. But that was probably okay, wasn’t it? As long as she didn’t give him her last name, she should be fine, right?
He
