“Not now.”
“You’re all checked in.” She took another sip.
“You relax and enjoy it. I’ll get settled.”
She couldn’t imagine what he had to do. Men didn’t get settled, they pulled their clothes out of the suitcase and shoved them into a drawer, hung the garment bag, and put a shaving kit on the bathroom counter. It took all of four minutes. “The team-building stuff is in my room,” she said. “I’ll bring it down as soon as I finish this. Did you see anyone else?”
“Sandeep’s SUV was full. And Brent and two of the PMs on his team were just pulling in.”
She stood. “I’ll get everything set up in the conference room.”
“Thanks.” He turned and went out.
She swallowed the rest of her wine. With Hank gone, the room seemed to have less oxygen, everything faded and dull, the fire too hot, too loud, and too overpowering. It seemed as though he hadn’t really come in to talk to her or been pleased to see her. All he’d wanted was to make sure she was doing her job. She left her wineglass on the low table near a discarded copy of the San Francisco Chronicle.
The conference room was dark. It took a few minutes of fiddling with the control panel to get the lights turned on. She spread the shirts, hats, and room keys on a table at the back. She pulled a chair out of the last row and sat down. She felt like a child with a lemonade stand. She wished she’d insisted the clerk check everyone in at the front desk. Why did she have to be involved?
By the time everyone had come through, she was exhausted from smiling and repeating the logistical information over and over, explaining how the teaming worked. A few had had questions about the war game activity, and she couldn’t answer a single one. She wasn’t really sure she understood the rules or the purpose. To her, it seemed pompous. War games? Really? They were employees of a data storage company, not citizens of a mid-sized country with diplomatic engagements they had to be concerned about.
Before Hank’s refusal to join her in a glass of wine, she’d assumed she and Hank would have some time alone throughout the three days. Their rooms were only a few doors apart, and Hank wasn’t part of the teaming activities, so he’d have downtime. He’d been traveling for over two weeks, and then returned to a week of all-day meetings. She felt like she hadn’t talked to him in a month. Something had changed, and she couldn’t figure out what it was or exactly when it had happened.
HANK WAS NOT pleased that the tables in the restaurant’s private dining room were arranged as four-tops instead of the single U-shape Vanessa had requested well ahead of time.
Vanessa was not pleased that Hank chose a seat with Sandeep, Brent, and one of the junior product managers.
Laura was obviously not pleased when it became clear she’d been seated at a table with Janelle and Vanessa.
Laura stood with both hands on the chair back. Her fingertips were white from the pressure of her grip. “What is this, the girls’ corner?”
Janelle scooted her chair closer to the table. She opened the large leather-bound menu and propped the bottom edge on the table, forming a perfect V between the finely polished utensils. The menu blocked her face, obscuring her opinion of the seating arrangements. She read the menu items out loud as she scanned the left side, biting hard on the T’s. “Bru-schett-a; La Caprese with basil and tarragon; arugula topped with goat cheese…”
If there were entrees that included a significant amount of words ending or beginning with T, Vanessa feared she would either laugh or start mimicking Janelle’s quirk. She’d never noticed it before, but she didn’t spend enough time around Janelle to know whether it was a long-standing trait, or something done to mask annoyance over sitting with the admin, being squeezed out of the male-dominated tables, or watching Laura refuse to take her seat.
Vanessa sat down and opened her menu. She glanced over her shoulder at Hank. It was hard to tell in the dimly lit room if his lips were still tight, hardly moving when he spoke. He refused to let his gaze drift anywhere near where she was seated.
Janelle lowered her menu. “Are you going to sit down?”
Laura turned and glanced toward the arched opening that led to the main dining area.
“Get over it.” Janelle raised her menu. “If you make an issue out of it, you’ll look strident.”
Laura turned. “Why are women always accused of being strident?”
Janelle laughed. “We’re not always accused of anything. You’re being strident.”
“I don’t like it that three women are grouped together. Like we’re second-class.”
“Sit down,” Janelle said.
Laura turned to Vanessa. “Didn’t you make a seating chart? To make sure the teams were dispersed? Sandeep and that PM are on the same team.”
“The seating chart was for a different arrangement. They got it wrong,” Vanessa said.
“Why didn’t you get here early to check? Why didn’t you make them redo it?”
“Laura.” Janelle’s voice was sharp. “Sit down and decide what you’re having for dinner.”
“This needs to be fixed,” Laura said.
Janelle closed her menu and placed it on the table. She took a sip of water and glanced toward the sommelier who was talking to Hank. “Do you know what wine choices we have?”
“A Sauvignon Blanc, a Cabernet, and a Zinfandel,” said Vanessa. “All different wineries, so we can get a sampling.”
“Mm. Can’t wait to try them.” Janelle took another sip of water.
Laura let go of the chair. She adjusted her purse strap on her shoulder, turned, and walked around the table nearest them, along the wall to the doorway, and out into the main restaurant. Brent’s head snapped up as she disappeared around the corner. He put his hand on the table as if he meant to stand, then looked at the others. His hand remained on the table. Then, he settled back, picked up his wineglass, and swirled the liquid. It flowed around the inside of the glass, rising dangerously close to the edge. He stopped moving it and took a sip.
“I wonder if she’s headed toward some kind of breakdown,” Janelle said.
“What?”
“Laura. Something’s wrong with her.”
“There is?”
“She’s behaving badly. Very unprofessional.”
“I think she’s attracted to Hank.” For a moment, Vanessa was horrified at what she’d blurted out, but after a pause she realized she was glad of the opportunity. Why not turn the gossip back on Laura? Besides, it was flattering to have a woman in Janelle’s position treat her like a girlfriend. Maybe the whole problem with her job was too many men and not enough women, too few opportunities to have a friendly conversation with the handful of women on Hank’s staff.
“Funny,” Janelle said. “She—”
The sommelier pushed his cart up close to their table and introduced himself. He described each wine—the vintner, the variety, and the characteristics for the year it was bottled. “Will you be tasting all three?”
Both women nodded and he filled their glasses a third of the way.
When he moved to the next table, Janelle raised her glass. “To the girl table.”
They tapped their glasses together and grinned at each other. Vanessa took a generous sip and a warm rush of pleasure ran down her throat.
Janelle continued as if she hadn’t been interrupted a moment earlier. “Laura said the same thing about you. Except more.”
“I know,” Vanessa said. “It’s probably because of the Ops Director job, not that she’s actually after him, but she hangs around my desk all the time. Sort of like a groupie outside the stage door.”
Janelle laughed.
Vanessa took another sip of wine. She opened her menu. She needed to be careful that wine and a hint of friendship didn’t lull her into getting too chatty.
“Do you want to share an order of bruschetta?” Janelle asked.
“Sure.”
“I hope she’s not in the bathroom slitting her wrists.”
Vane
ssa tried not to laugh. It was cruel, and not funny at all, but she still wanted to laugh.
“It’s okay to laugh,” Janelle said.
Vanessa smiled, but her lips wobbled. It was dangerous, this conversation. By no means were she and Janelle peers. Exposing her thoughts, talking trash about Laura, despite how good it felt, wasn’t a good idea. She wasn’t sure exactly how, but she felt it could get her into trouble. She didn’t truly know what kind of relationship the two women had. It was odd that Janelle was saying such negative, bitchy things about a woman who reported to her.
The bruschetta arrived and their glasses had been topped off with a small amount of wine before Laura returned to the dining room. She stood for a moment in the doorway, backlit by the light from the main restaurant. Her hair glowed like dark walnut and her face was hidden by shadows. She’d taken off her jacket to reveal more of her cerulean cocktail dress with delicate straps. The dress was slightly loose. Her shoulders were slim and muscular—she was thin but not bony. Her arms were also well muscled, her waist slim, and her hips narrow. She didn’t look at all threatening. Her slightly meek appearance made Vanessa wonder why she’d put so much weight on the things Laura said. She picked up a piece of bruschetta and took a bite.
Talking to Janelle was shifting her perspective. She spent too much time alone in her cube, didn’t get out enough and talk to the others in Hank’s organization. She was smarter and more interesting than she gave herself credit for.
Laura walked to the table where Brent, Sandeep, the PM, and Hank were drinking wine and eating off a shared plate of sautéed calamari. She tapped the product manager on the shoulder and leaned down to whisper in his ear. The dress fell low, exposing her breasts.
The product manager pushed his chair away from the table, an awkward jittering motion since he was holding his wineglass in his right hand. Brent spoke. Vanessa couldn’t make out his words, but the tone of his voice was deep and commanding. Laura straightened. Her voice, in contrast to Brent’s, was loud, rising above the voices and background music. “It’s more appropriate for me to sit here. I think you can see why, and I don’t think you want me to spell it out in front of everyone.”
The product manager froze, half-standing.
In a loud voice, Brent said, “Sit down.”
The product manager remained motionless.
“Thank you for understanding.” Laura put her hand on the back of his chair.
Sandeep pushed his chair out. He picked up his wineglass and stabbed his fork at a calamari ring. It dangled as if it would slip off, but he moved it quickly to his mouth. “I’ll change tables. No problem.” He strode across the room, pulled out the chair that originally belonged to Laura, and sat down. “Musical tables.” He smiled. “Is there a piece of bruschetta for me?”
“Certainly.” Janelle nudged the plate in his direction.
Laura sat in Sandeep’s vacated chair. She signaled the sommelier to bring her a wineglass. The three men diligently and silently ate the calamari.
Janelle was right. Something was wrong with Laura. She had a crazed look in her eyes. Instead of hiding out in the women’s lounge, it looked as if she’d gone to the bar and fortified herself with a shot or two, or slipped something mind-altering down her throat. Vanessa wasn’t sure what was going to happen over the next few days, but she was pretty sure Laura wasn’t going to get promoted. And she was absolutely sure that Laura was oblivious to that fact.
20
Laura
UNTIL SHE WAS faced with the utter darkness in the wooded resort, Laura had forgotten how much ambient light there was in the suburbs. The pathways and narrow roads winding through the pine trees were lined with small lights close to the ground, but the wattage wasn’t strong enough to illuminate more than a few scattered patches across the pine needles and pavement. Once she turned off the bedside lamp, she couldn’t even make out the shape of the armchair near the window.
She lay curled on her side in the soft queen-sized bed, buried under a crisp cotton sheet and a down-filled comforter. The pillow was cool enough to soothe the inside of her head, dulled by too much wine and rich food. Despite the sensation that her brain had sunk into a can of Crisco, she knew in some inner area where her neurons were still firing correctly, that the evening had gone well. After the initial awkwardness of making sure she wasn’t relegated to a table of gossiping females, things had gone quite well. She’d been a nimble conversationalist, keeping the rapt attention of Brent and Hank, as well as the product manager, although keeping his interest was a trivial task. Now that she could rest, knowing her determination to take charge had paid off, she could return to considering her next move.
That morning, before she’d left home, Charlie had come over with a copy of the weekly paper. As he handed it to her, she saw a glimmer of determination in his eyes.
“There’s a mention of that man who was beaten,” Charlie said. “He died early in the morning. They say anyone with information should contact the police.”
Her wrist felt weak, on the verge of collapsing, as she took the paper. She’d thought for half a second she might drop it. He let go and her hand trembled violently. She hoped he hadn’t noticed. All she could manage was a quiet, “Oh.”
“It’s strange that you never saw him, since you run there every day. I’ve always admired your dedication—running in the dark, the rain, when there’s frost. But you really need to be careful. Going to a deserted location in the dark like that is not a good idea for a woman.”
“So I’ve been told.” Laura tucked the paper under her arm and started to close the door.
Charlie put his hand out. “Why do you think that is?”
“What?”
“That you never saw him?”
“I don’t know. A lot of people come and go. Some people run once and disappear. I don’t pay attention to them. I’m in my zone.” She smiled.
“I’ve heard about that zone thing. Still, I’d think you would have noticed who’s jogging at the same time as you. Even in your zone. It could have just as easily been you, murdered in the dark. Doesn’t that concern you at all?”
“Not really.”
“It should. It concerns Jenny and me.”
“Thank you for looking out for me, but I’m fine.”
“You might have tripped over his body when you were walking to the track.”
“Don’t be morbid.” She started to close the door. “I need to get going. I’m headed out of town for a few days—an offsite meeting for my company.”
Charlie nodded. “Be careful. Whoever killed that guy, with their bare hands…” he shook his head, “…is still out there.”
She nodded. “I told you I haven’t been running.” Why wouldn’t he let it go? His mind was stuck in some kind of worry loop, possibly trying to make sense of what happened. It was unnerving to live in a town deemed safe, then be faced suddenly with the possibility it wasn’t safe after all, with the worst crime imaginable. “I’m sure it was an anomaly. Someone with a grudge against that guy, not a serial killer or anything like that.”
“You don’t know that,” Charlie said.
“I’m sure I’m right.”
“Do you know something you’re not saying? Otherwise, how can you be so confident?”
“I don’t know anything. I just know I’m right. Serial killers have different methods.”
“What do you know about it?”
“Nothing, I’m just saying, they don’t beat people up and leave them under bushes. Look, I really need to start packing.”
Charlie backed away from the door. “Be careful. Please.”
“I will. Thank you for being so concerned about me.”
When he finally turned away, looking reluctant to stop verbalizing his fear, she closed the door and locked it. He couched his fear as concern for her when, most likely, he was worried for himself. Old and watching his strength melt away further every year. Upset that his idyllic retirement was spoiled by something as ugly a
s murder.
Now, lying in utter darkness, everything he’d said echoed in her mind with a suggestion of disbelief on his part. There was no way Charlie could know she’d killed that man. Unless he’d seen her, but then he’d come right out and say so, she was sure of it. She turned onto her left side. Sleeping alone at a resort, a place that was supposed to be a getaway, made her ache for someone in the bed with her. There was no one on her side, no one to ease her fears, no one to keep her safe, no one to talk to.
Charlie’s questions pricked at her mind, telling her she was in trouble. It was possible, a very remote chance, but not completely beyond considering, that the police might be so thorough they would knock on every door in a ten-block radius. She couldn’t imagine them going to the trouble, but it was still possible. She’d better give some thought to a storyline. It had been easy to deflect Charlie’s probing, but the police would be more direct, more persistent. It was not a good idea to be caught by surprise. In the morning, when her mind was freed of alcohol, sharp with an infusion of caffeine, she’d make a list and think through her options.
With a course of action decided, her muscles started to unwind into the welcoming bed. She rolled onto her back. Dinner really had gone very well. She felt calm for the first time in quite a while.
WHEN SHE WOKE, the trees were almost invisible, the entire wooded area misty and quiet, the fog settled close to the ground.
Laura flung off the comforter and hurried into the shower. Before she’d even started shampooing her hair, she abandoned her late night plan to come up with a story for the police. The compulsion to have ready answers was the result of night terrors, demons stalking her brain, preying on her momentary attack of loneliness when she was too tired to think clearly. And, if she was honest, beyond tipsy. She didn’t need a fucking alibi! She didn’t need a story of any kind. There was no way to prove she’d been running at the high school that day, and there was no way the police would consider putting that much effort into finding the killer. She laughed.
The Assistant: A gripping psychological thriller with a nerve-shredding ending Page 19