Anyone but Him

by Theresa Linden

  “Where is everyone?” I said.

  He shrugged and nudged me through the doorway.

  Heat billowed through the entrance, making this room considerably warmer than the rest of the building, warmer even than outside. A tall fan stood by an open window, turning and humming, trying to bring in cooler air. The seating arrangement consisted of a few metal chairs with dark-red cushions arranged along two walls. Art nouveau posters decorated the walls, and a life-size wooden statue of Sherlock Holmes held open the door we had come through.

  “The place has character.” Roland studied Sherlock.

  Voices, barely audible over the hum of the fan, traveled from the door to the right of the desk. Roland glanced at me and nodded toward the door.

  “Should we just go back there?” I still felt like a trespasser.

  The voices grew louder and a woman shouted, “Then check again!”

  “Sure,” Roland said. “You work here, don’t you?”

  I gave him a wide-eyed I guess so look. Before I stepped through the door, someone called my name. A neatly-dressed wiry man with shaggy brown hair and a scraggily beard approached me, his arms wide as if he expected a hug.

  “Hello.” Not recognizing him in the least, I put up my hands to block the hug.

  He laughed and glanced over his shoulder at the others in the office, one woman and two men. They huddled together at a desk in the middle of the room, various states of joy and shock overtaking their faces as their eyes found me.

  “Caitlyn!” The woman, forty-something with short black hair and a gray skirt-suit, took one hand from her hip and adjusted her black-framed glasses. She stepped around the desk and raised her arms as if she, too, wanted a hug. Did everybody at my workplace give hugs? Was I that close to my coworkers? “How are you?” the woman drawled.

  “I’m fine and you... Who are you?” I accepted the woman’s firm embrace, but the others would have to settle for handshakes.

  “I—” The woman started to answer, when the shaggy man cut her off.

  “Son of a gun. You do have amnesia.” He checked me out through wide, half-crazed eyes, as if I’d come from outer space. “Well, then, I guess we ought to introduce ourselves.” He stuck out one hand and used the other to swipe the stringy hair from his forehead. “I’m Mitch.”

  I shook his hot, dry hand. “Hi, Mitch. Sorry, I don’t remember you.”

  Mitch chuckled oddly, without showing it in his expression. He motioned me over to the other two men, the woman following.

  The older man remained by the desk. A foot taller than everyone else, his bald head, dark goatee, and grim expression suggested he’d make a good bouncer. He mumbled something to the younger man, who immediately snatched the dress shirt draped over the back of a chair and shoved his arm into it.

  “This is Victor,” Mitch said.

  Expression still grim, the older man reached for my hand. “Caitlyn.” His voice, low and comforting, had no Southern accent. He shook my hand then adjusted his tie.

  “And this is Sean.”

  Sean, a blond about my age, fumbled with the buttons of the shirt he’d just put on over his white t-shirt. His gaze flitted from his shirt to me, to Mitch, back to me, and then to Roland. He finally reached a hand out and gave me a quick handshake and a shy nod.

  “And,” Mitch said, “I probably should’ve introduced her first...” He turned to the woman. “Our boss, Candice Wright. And she doesn’t like to be called Candy.” In a loud, laughing voice, he added, “We do not call her Candy.”

  “That’s enough, Mitch.” The sharp look in Candice’s eye, her short retro hairstyle, and the low waistline of her skirt gave her the air of an old-fashioned Nancy Drew. “We’ve been worried about you since your husband called. He said you have amnesia?”

  Since the others made me uncomfortable, I clung to Candice’s gaze. I needed to trust at least one of them so I could find out all I could. “I do. I woke up Saturday not remembering anything about the past two or three years.”

  Candice blew out a breath and shook her head. Folding her arms, she paced toward the windows. “We’ve been trying to figure what could’ve happened to you. But your workday last Friday went smoothly.” Her eyes narrowed with a look of concentration. “Your husband said you got home late. He was hoping we could give him an idea as to why, but we all left work around five o’clock. No one knows what happened to you after that.”

  With a glance at me, Sean’s face flushed. He turned to the window with the fan and tugged at the front of his shirt. Bothered by the heat or something else?

  “Yeah,” Mitch said. “You spent the morning working with me on the Whitney case. After lunch, you went with Sean to pick up photos and supplies. Uh, what else did she do?” He tapped his lips, thinking.

  “Jarret came up at lunch,” Sean said, his Southern accent heavier than the others. All eyes turned to him, their expressions saying they hadn’t known. In response, his eyelids flickered and mouth opened, the attention seeming to make him uncomfortable. Finally, he shrugged and shook his head. “Well, I saw her get outta his truck, so I reckon they had lunch together.”

  “That’s right,” I said, mostly to Roland. “Jarret told me that. He said we accidentally switched cameras so he came to trade them back. He uses his for work. I guess I do too?”

  Sean nodded. “We took yer camera up to get prints made, y’know, when we picked up the other prints, y’know, after lunch.”

  “She doesn’t know,” Mitch said with a quirky grin.

  Sean shrugged and faced the fan, the breeze rippling through the blond tufts on the top of his head.

  “I don’t think my camera’s at home,” I said. “Is it here?”

  Victor went to the desk nearest the door, the messiest of the six desks, and sat down. How odd that the investigator with the neatest appearance, the only man in a tie, had the sloppiest desk. “Mind if I look in your desk?” he said.

  I jerked back. “That’s my desk?” I huffed in disbelief. Stacks of folders sat on either side of the computer monitor, loose papers and folders in front of the phone, and a pile of reference books in the back corner. Stuffed in between things: a pencil holder, an electric pencil sharpener, a mug, and who knew what else. On the corner of the desk, ready to fall off, lay a little yellow notepad with the name “Adeline” scrawled on it. I picked it up and tossed it farther onto the mess, to where it wouldn’t likely fall. “My desk is a mess.”

  “You’re busy.” Victor gave me a grin and a wink.

  “Don’t make excuses for her.” Mitch snickered.

  I scanned the rest of the room. So maybe the other desks looked neater, but the office wasn’t exactly something I would show to a prospective client. Boxes were stacked everywhere, next to desks, lining walls, on top of mismatched file cabinets. Every desk had a computer and additional strange electronic equipment with tangles of cables and wires that resembled Medusa’s hair. My cluttered desk wasn’t so out of place. I obviously worked hard.

  Victor yanked open a low drawer and dug through its contents. “This is where you keep your camera, but it’s not here.”

  “I think you left with yer camera,” Sean said. “Y’know, at the end of the day.”

  “My, my, my.” Mitch put his arm around Sean’s shoulders, but Sean shrugged it off. “But don’t we keep a close eye on Caitlyn.”

  Jaw twitching, Sean shook his head and blushed. He turned his back to me and muttered something to Mitch.

  Mitch chuckled. “Watch your language, Sean.”

  With a sigh and click of her tongue, Candice marched to my desk. “Children. They’re like children around here.” She turned the computer on and pushed through the pile of loose papers. “Friday was mostly office work for you. You recorded several phone calls for three different cases.”

  Candice patted a stack of folders on the desk. “You should review the cases you were working on.” She flipped open a manila folder. “You’ve kept good records on the computer. Here are the f
ile names of the cases you’ve been handling.” Before I could see them, Candice closed the folder and handed it to me. “Maybe something will ring a bell.”

  She started to walk off but stopped and gave me and then Roland a curious look. “How’d y’all get up here? Did you find your car?”

  “Jarret picked it up today,” I said. “It was at the police impound lot. I guess they found it at a park.”

  “What park?”

  I shrugged, feeling like a child in Candice’s presence. I should know what park, but Jarret hadn’t said. It wasn’t my fault.

  “You’ll want to find that out.” Candice came across like the boss with her you should know that tone of voice, the way she carried herself, and the respectful fear she commanded from the others.

  Candice held Roland in a thoughtful gaze. “Who’s your friend?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I should’ve introduced him. This is Roland. He’s my, uh, my...”

  “Brother-in-law.” Roland reached for Candice’s hand. “Roland West, Jarret’s younger brother.”

  I sighed. Roland said it so easily. Brother-in-law. It didn’t seem fair. I wouldn’t have minded one day saying that Jarret was my brother-in-law, but Roland...

  “Yes, I see some family resemblance,” Candice said. “So you’re helping your sister-in-law get her life back together?”

  Roland smiled, his gray eyes shifting to me. “I’m trying.”

  “Roland’s working on his bachelor’s in police science,” I said with pride.

  “Hmm.” Candice sized him up. “We’re awfully busy. A lot of lawyers depend upon us. Maybe someday you can work for me. And feel free to help Caitlyn look through files. We’ll consider you an intern.”

  She turned away before Roland could reply. “Mitch! I need you back on the phone. Double check the details of the Brooke contract. We needed that information yesterday.”

  Mitch raised his hands. “I’m on it. I’m on it.” He scooted off to one of the desks against the wall.

  “Sean,” Candice barked, “spend a few minutes getting Caitlyn back in the game. Make sure she can find the computer files. Give her a brief overview of the cases she’s been working on.”

  My stomach clenched. I came here hoping to learn more about my life, hoping the place would bring back memories. But I couldn’t remember one thing about performing my job. What could I possibly do with my cases?

  Candice strode toward the door, a commanding air to her. “And you, Victor—”

  “I’m late for an appointment.” Victor jumped up from my desk and the chair rolled into the wall. “I hope you get back to your old self soon. We have another long-term covert surveillance coming up. Of course, if you don’t regain your memory, I could always tell you the same stories. They’d all be new to you.”

  I smiled, not sure how I felt about working on covert surveillance with such a stern-faced man. “That sounds fun.”

  Victor shook his head, amusement in his eyes. “You say that now...” He strode to the doorway. “Mitch, follow up with the HVAC tech. We need that air conditioner repaired.”

  “You’re not the boss of me,” Mitch said, again with the weird laugh.

  “I have an appointment, too.” Candice glanced at the wall behind my desk. A clock hung between two huge city maps. She smoothed her hair and brushed her skirt as she headed for the door. “I’ll be in the next room if you need me. But I’ll be with a client so...”

  I nodded. Candice did not want interruptions.

  Sean pulled up a chair for Roland and one for himself. They sat on either side of me.

  “I don’t feel right digging through your stuff, but...” Sean riffled through a stack of files and pulled one out. He spread pictures and papers on my desk. Reaching for the computer mouse, he rolled his chair into mine.

  I scooted back, not wanting to get in his way.

  He opened a computer file. “This’ll give y’all an overview of Caitlyn’s most recent cases and contacts.”

  Roland and I leaned in to view the list he’d pulled up. Apparently, I’d been working with Victor on a fraudulent worker’s compensation claim. The man claimed a work-related back injury, but after a three-week investigation, they obtained video of him golfing, pictures of him gardening, and more proof that his back was fine. That case was closed.

  “Roland.” Mitch motioned him over to his desk.

  After giving me a glance, Roland got up. Mitch showed Roland something on his computer monitor and said something about South Dakota University’s degree in Police Science.

  “And there’s this one.” All business, Sean directed my attention to another file. I had a new case for a landlord who was suspicious of a tenant’s activities. Some of the pictures I’d recently taken pertained to this case.

  “We’ve got pictures that point to drug activity, but we need hard evidence.” Sean gave a sly grin. “I was going to go in on this one.”

  “Go in?” I said.

  He nodded. “Yeah, if I could get in there and see what they all got going on, you know, get some hard evidence.” His blue eyes hazed over. Though he stared directly at me, he no longer seemed to see me, as if he had stepped into an alternate reality. “We’d have to watch the house, find out when no one was home, then I’d sneak inside. Or, I reckon it’d be better if I could get invited in. We’d have to find out what sorts of people get invited into the inner sanctuary, then I could pose as... I don’t know but I’d bring a micro camera.”

  “A micro camera?”

  He blinked, snapping back to the present. “You’ve used one. They’re so small you can hide them in anything.” He held his finger and thumb about an inch apart. “You clip it in a purse with a hole in it. But I use a pack of ciggies. Takes pictures or video.” He got up and shuffled to a tall cabinet by the windows. A moment later, he returned and handed me a pen.

  It looked like an ordinary black ballpoint pen with a silver clip, band, and tip. “Thanks?”

  He took it from me and unscrewed it. “This half is pen. This half is camera and drive.” He handed me the two parts and pointed to the top of the clip. “Camera.”

  “Wow. That’s cool.” I examined it, then put it back together and returned it to him. He set it on my desk. “It looks like an ordinary pen,” I said. “So, you’d go inside with the drug dealers and start taking pictures or video? That sounds dangerous.”

  Sean shrugged. “That’s the fun part.” After smiling at me for a long second, he flipped open a different file.

  I stared at him, trying to figure him out. I was a detective, after all, so I’d better start acting like one. Sean had seemed uncomfortable at first, but now that we were one-on-one, he seemed fine. Maybe we were friends. “Hey, so…do you know Jarret?”

  Sean glanced, then he focused his attention on the computer monitor. “Jarret? Your husband?”

  Amused by his question, I smiled. Whom else could I mean? “Yes, Jarret, my husband.”

  Sean shrugged. “Sure, I know him. He comes up here sometimes. We’ve had a chat or two.”

  This gave me hope. Sean seemed like a friend, and he and Jarret had talked. Maybe he had some insight into my marriage. “What do you think of him?”

  Eyes to the monitor and hand pushing the mouse around, Sean shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s cool. Maybe sort of the jealous type.”

  Jealous? I’d never give Jarret a reason for jealousy. If anyone had a reason to be jealous, it should be me, what with all the girls he talked to. “What makes you think that?”

  Still not making eye contact, he took his hand off the mouse and started to wrap his lips around a word but then stopped.

  “You can tell me,” I said softly, touching his arm and giving a reassuring look.

  Cheeks turning crimson, his gaze dropped to my hand on his arm. “Well, I don’t know. The things he says, the way he looks at...” He shook his head and moved his arm, reaching for a photograph and breaking my hold.

  “Mitch? Victor?” I laughed. With tousled
blond hair and a nice tan, a masculine jawline and sky-blue eyes, Sean probably turned a few heads. He was the only man at my workplace over which Jarret could possibly be jealous.

  His tan cheeks reddening, Sean shook his head. “No. Jarret’s cool.”

  “Do you think he and I got along?” I held my breath, anxious for the answer.

  His eyebrows drew together, and he finally turned his blue eyes to me. “So, you don’t remember much about him, your own husband?”

  “No, I—I remember graduating from high school.” I blinked rapidly, thinking back. “I...didn’t like Jarret. Then...at all.”

  “Shoot. That’d be rough. Yeah, I guess y’all got along. You never came to work crying.” He smiled but I sensed he held something back. “You never complained about him, not to me anyway.”

  He grabbed the mouse but then let go of it. “Hey, uh, I know y’all saw me Saturday. What were y’all doing?”

  “What? Who? Roland just got here—”

  “Naw, I don’t mean him. You and Jarret.”

  “Saturday? We saw you?” Struck with curiosity, I recalled Saturday. “You must’ve seen us driving around? He wanted to find my car, so we drove to the grocery store and up here, but we didn’t go in. I didn’t see you.”

  He nodded. “You and Jarret both looked right at me. I was skateboarding in the back parking lot.”

  “Oh. You mean at the apartments. You were one of the guys skateboarding?”

  He smiled and lowered his head, peeking at me sideways. “Yeah, I don’t usually fall. I’m rad on a board.”

  I would’ve smiled at his comment but the revelation disturbed me. “Jarret didn’t tell me I knew you, er, that I knew one of the guys skateboarding. I wondered who lived there and why we drove through the parking lot.”

  Sean averted his gaze and swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He reached for a stack of files on my side of the desk as he spoke. “I don’t know, Caitlyn, but don’t ask him about it. Don’t tell him I said anything. I’m sure he had some other reason for being there. You know, probably knows someone else who lives there or something.” He slapped a file down in front of me. “Anyway, this is the big one.”