wordless inquiry that demanded to know, “What the hell do you want?”
Ari worked up a plausible lie. “Hello. I’m with The New Times and we were hoping for a quote from one of Mr. Thorndike’s associates.”
Like a robot, the brunette shook her head before Ari had punctuated her sentence. “I’m sorry that won’t be possible.” Ari instantly realized she had a better chance of catching typhoid than she did getting past this receptionist.
Feigning disappointment, Ari looked at the wreath and noticed a framed photo situated in the middle. It was an old eight-by-ten of Michael Thorndike during his college baseball days, squatting in the batter’s box. The photo was titled “Lefty.” A chord struck in Ari’s brain. She stared at the photo until a familiar voice floated out from somewhere behind the receptionist.
“Excuse me,” Ari murmured, already heading toward the elevator. Surprised at the ease with which her refusal was met, the receptionist narrowed her brow and watched Ari depart.
Ari pounded on the elevator button. The familiar voice belonged to Molly Nelson who was standing in front of the receptionist’s desk, speaking to a man obviously showing her out. If the detective caught her, she would probably Mirandize her, although it would almost be worth it just to spend some more time with Molly. Ari’s eyes flicked between the detective and the elevator numbers slowly counting up to reach the top floor.
Molly was clearly trying to exit, taking a few steps away from her host, saying all of those little closing remarks that people use to end conversations. Thank goodness, Ari thought, this businessman was a talker. She heard Molly make a final good-bye just as the elevator opened. Ari pressed against the wall, frantically jamming the button for the ground floor. When the doors finally shut, Ari caught her breath. She’d narrowly escaped Molly’s wrath, but she’d found an important clue—she just didn’t know what it was.
Heat radiated from the concrete outside. Her body adjusted from the building’s ice cold air conditioning to the sweltering summer afternoon. She retreated to the shade of the hotdog cart as Joe grinned and plopped a Coney in front of her. She stood there chomping on the dog, waiting for the confrontation that would most likely occur when Molly came out. She wasn’t going to sprint across the mall to avoid the detective. This was a public place and she had every right to be here. In fact, she found herself excited at the prospect of talking with Molly again. A few moments later, the heavy glass doors opened and Molly trudged down the sidewalk. Her shoulders were hunched and she seemed to carry the weight of the world. She headed straight for Ari.
“Ms. Adams, what an unexpected coincidence,” Molly said sarcastically. Her eyes shifted from Ari to the confused hotdog vendor.
“You want a Coney Island?” Ari asked between mouthfuls. “This is great, Joe.” Joe nodded, still unsure about the tension between the two women. He’d given up trying to figure out the female sex long ago. He just did what his wife told him and everything was fine.
Molly continued her hard stare but she didn’t say no. Ari motioned to Joe who busied himself creating an edible peace offering.
“Why are you here?” Molly’s voice was flat.
“I’m just shopping,” Ari offered with a shrug. She paid Joe and handed Molly the hotdog and a soda. The women moved to a bench away from the mall traffic. Ari finished her last few bites and watched Molly. Even eating, her body was rigid, her jaw tense and Ari could see the strain in her neck muscles.
“Did you get my message?”
“Yes,” Molly growled, her mouth chewing the last bite. She gulped the last of her drink, pitched all the trash into a nearby garbage can and leaned over Ari. “I’m telling you for the last time to stay out of my investigation. I have enough trouble without a junior detective nipping at my heels.”
Pride
Ari worked up a plausible lie. “Hello. I’m with The New Times and we were hoping for a quote from one of Mr. Thorndike’s associates.”
Like a robot, the brunette shook her head before Ari had punctuated her sentence. “I’m sorry that won’t be possible.” Ari instantly realized she had a better chance of catching typhoid than she did getting past this receptionist.
Feigning disappointment, Ari looked at the wreath and noticed a framed photo situated in the middle. It was an old eight-by-ten of Michael Thorndike during his college baseball days, squatting in the batter’s box. The photo was titled “Lefty.” A chord struck in Ari’s brain. She stared at the photo until a familiar voice floated out from somewhere behind the receptionist.
“Excuse me,” Ari murmured, already heading toward the elevator. Surprised at the ease with which her refusal was met, the receptionist narrowed her brow and watched Ari depart.
Ari pounded on the elevator button. The familiar voice belonged to Molly Nelson who was standing in front of the receptionist’s desk, speaking to a man obviously showing her out. If the detective caught her, she would probably Mirandize her, although it would almost be worth it just to spend some more time with Molly. Ari’s eyes flicked between the detective and the elevator numbers slowly counting up to reach the top floor.
Molly was clearly trying to exit, taking a few steps away from her host, saying all of those little closing remarks that people use to end conversations. Thank goodness, Ari thought, this businessman was a talker. She heard Molly make a final good-bye just as the elevator opened. Ari pressed against the wall, frantically jamming the button for the ground floor. When the doors finally shut, Ari caught her breath. She’d narrowly escaped Molly’s wrath, but she’d found an important clue—she just didn’t know what it was.
Heat radiated from the concrete outside. Her body adjusted from the building’s ice cold air conditioning to the sweltering summer afternoon. She retreated to the shade of the hotdog cart as Joe grinned and plopped a Coney in front of her. She stood there chomping on the dog, waiting for the confrontation that would most likely occur when Molly came out. She wasn’t going to sprint across the mall to avoid the detective. This was a public place and she had every right to be here. In fact, she found herself excited at the prospect of talking with Molly again. A few moments later, the heavy glass doors opened and Molly trudged down the sidewalk. Her shoulders were hunched and she seemed to carry the weight of the world. She headed straight for Ari.
“Ms. Adams, what an unexpected coincidence,” Molly said sarcastically. Her eyes shifted from Ari to the confused hotdog vendor.
“You want a Coney Island?” Ari asked between mouthfuls. “This is great, Joe.” Joe nodded, still unsure about the tension between the two women. He’d given up trying to figure out the female sex long ago. He just did what his wife told him and everything was fine.
Molly continued her hard stare but she didn’t say no. Ari motioned to Joe who busied himself creating an edible peace offering.
“Why are you here?” Molly’s voice was flat.
“I’m just shopping,” Ari offered with a shrug. She paid Joe and handed Molly the hotdog and a soda. The women moved to a bench away from the mall traffic. Ari finished her last few bites and watched Molly. Even eating, her body was rigid, her jaw tense and Ari could see the strain in her neck muscles.
“Did you get my message?”
“Yes,” Molly growled, her mouth chewing the last bite. She gulped the last of her drink, pitched all the trash into a nearby garbage can and leaned over Ari. “I’m telling you for the last time to stay out of my investigation. I have enough trouble without a junior detective nipping at my heels.”
Pride
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