The Fall Girl

by T. B. Markinson

  She was in the kid’s clothing store holding a sweater up to her chest.

  “It may be a tad too small.”

  “Anyone ever tell you you’re a hoot?”

  “Hoot, no. A riot, yes.”

  Claire shook it off. “Do you think it will fit?”

  I glanced down at Mia, sound asleep in her stroller, doing my best to take measurements with my eyes.

  Claire whacked my arm. “Not for Mia. For Clover, Marion’s daughter.”

  “Aren’t we shopping for Mia and Ian for Christmas?”

  “Mia needs to buy Clover a gift. She’s going to her surprise birthday party next weekend.”

  “How old is Clover?”

  “She’s turning one.”

  “Gosh, I hope I don’t slip and tell her about the party.”

  Claire laughed. “I didn’t plan the party. We’re just going.”

  “We?” I tapped my chest.

  “Yes. You, Mia, and I are going. I cleared your schedule with Avery.”

  “What about Ian?”

  “He’s going to the Broncos game with Darrell and your dad.”

  My father and Darrell hadn’t been the best of friends while they worked at Mile High together, but since learning Darrell was Ian’s father, Pops had welcomed him into the family. Secretly, I think he was happy to finally have a family member who enjoyed sports, especially the Broncos.

  “I’d rather go to the game,” I pouted.

  She took a step back to look me full-on. “You’d rather go to a football game?”

  A child off to the side screeched, and I visibly flinched. Settling my galloping heart with a swallow, I said, “If it’s between the party and football, yes.”

  “You hate surprise birthday parties that much?” Claire, blatantly ignoring the child throwing a tantrum, picked up another sweater and held it aloft, squinting one eye.

  I leaned against a column, my arms crossed. “I hate parents who plan a surprise birthday party for a child who doesn’t even understand what a birthday is yet.”

  “What died and crawled up your asshole?” she whispered. “Moments earlier, you wanted to buy a Santa outfit for Darrell. Now you’re pitching a fit about attending a birthday party for a one-year-old, who is the daughter of one of my friends and coworkers.”

  Janie, Mean Heather, and Avery’s suspicious behavior—to name the top three issues dogging my mind, but I couldn’t tell her that.

  “Nothing. I’m sure the sweater will be perfect.”

  “Which one?” She now gripped both, doing her best to accept a ceasefire in public.

  “The purple one.”

  “You mean blue,” she snapped, setting it onto the pile of clothes we picked out for Mia, who was growing like a weed, and replaced the yellow one on the rack.

  A wisp of a woman rang up our purchases. “Anything else?” She looked hopeful at my empty hands.

  “No, that’s all.”

  “Socks?”

  Really, the woman was trying to upsell me when the grand total was already $576. “Don’t believe in socks. They make kids soft.”

  Claire jabbed an elbow into my side and whipped out her credit card.

  The clerk’s face reddened, and I sensed if the baby socks were long enough, she’d strangle me with one. She ran Claire’s card through the machine and then said, “Oh—”

  It was my turn to blush, not from anger but embarrassment. Fearing the card was denied, I blurted, “I have cash.”

  The clerk eyed me with suspicion. How many in Fort Collins walked around with that much cash? “That’s okay. I forgot to ask if you needed a gift receipt.”

  “No worries, we’re fine,” I said as breezily as possible. First, I’d been rude about the socks, and then I’d made a fool of myself thinking someone was screwing with my finances, thanks to some nefarious internet user out for the lulz. How was I going to explain that to Claire?

  Outside the store, Claire muttered, “Was that really necessary? The sock comment?”

  I massaged my neck. “I’m sorry.”

  “And why are you carrying that much cash?”

  “Uh, it’s a work thing.”

  “Paying off a source in the bathroom while we’re out shopping for our daughter, perhaps?” She put a hand on her hip, and the expression creeping across her face was nothing short of You need to explain.

  “Of course not. I usually do that stuff in a deserted alleyway in the dead of night.”

  She didn’t crack a smile.

  “I’m getting a bit of a headache. I haven’t eaten a thing all day. Can we grab lunch?”

  She dropped it, but I could tell the incident bugged her.

  The Mexican restaurant that had opened earlier in the year was one of the latest additions to the complex. We were seated at a booth, with enough room to park Mia’s stroller next to us. The fire pit, antique décor, and art from Mexico were impressive. Browsing the menu, I immediately picked up on two things. They had over one hundred types of tequila, of which I’d like to try a flight but couldn’t, and this wasn’t the type of Mexican food my grandparents ate. Chipotle mushrooms in white wine. Strawberry salad with agave vinaigrette and goat cheese. And even ancho wings.

  “Let’s get the calamari to start.” Claire continued to study the menu.

  Christmas music played softly, a stark reminder of time zooming by, and we weren’t any closer to nailing Mean Heather. Earlier had been my first interaction with Janie since seeing her in the motel. Occasionally, I received information, via Avery, with nuggets about new victims, but the nitty-gritty aspects were intentionally kept from me. The method worked for Katharine Graham, the publisher of The Washington Post during Watergate, and I strongly believed in staying out of the loop, trusting the source. At one point, Graham asked Woodward to identify his Deep Throat source, but she was only kidding, claiming not wanting the burden of knowing. I understood that.

  Of course, I was confident neither Woodward nor Bernstein had attempted to blackmail Graham, and they were genuine and trained journalists. I had to place all my trust in Janie, a professional character assassin.

  Claire said something, and I had to ask her to repeat it. In frustration, she tapped the menu, indicating she wanted the taco salad. I nodded in agreement, and when the waiter arrived I ordered for both of us. Somehow Mia, in her stroller, slept through the music and hubbub of the restaurant brimming with holiday shoppers.

  When the calamari arrived, I scarfed down several chunks of the fried squid before Claire ate one.

  She sipped her iced tea. “Want to talk?”

  I reached for her hand. “I’m sorry. Something at work is making me miserable.” I mimed inserting a pin into it. “It’s forgotten for now.”

  “Can I help?”

  “I wish you could. You, I would trust.”

  Claire’s forehead crinkled. “Surely you trust Avery.”

  I shrugged, wolfing down more calamari.

  “Drowning your stress with food?” She chuckled, lightly. “It’s amazing how you stay so thin and eat fried food for most of your meals.”

  “My wife refuses to cook for me.”

  “Wife, huh? Last I checked, we aren’t officially married. Haven’t even set a date.”

  “June third,” I tossed out.

  Claire consulted the calendar on her phone. “That’s a Saturday.”

  “I know.” I bit into an extra chewy piece.

  “What’s so special about June third?” Mia stirred, and Claire pulled her out of her stroller.

  It still took me by surprise sometimes to see Claire holding our daughter. She smiled as if in tune with my thoughts.

  “It’s a date that’s haunted me for years, and I want to chase the ghost away.”

  “With our wedding?” She half-laughed, shaking her head.

  “Exactly!” I stabbed the air with a roasted poblano, knowing that would rile her even more and hoping she’d fo
rget about the ass I’d made of myself over the past hour.

  Claire, not a fan of spicy food, made a face, and I popped the poblano into my mouth.

  Our salads arrived.

  “Why would I agree to a date to chase the ghost away?” She made quote marks in the air with her free hand, the other holding Mia, just in case I didn’t catch the sarcasm.

  I wasn’t deterred. “It’s special to you, as well.”

  “Oh, really.” She shoved all the jalapenos off her salad onto my plate, before taking a bite.

  “Sorry, I should have asked them not to put any peppers on yours.”

  “I don’t mind. I know how much you like them. You have a knack for seeking dangerous situations.” The waggle of her eyebrows was her way of giving me some leeway for my behavior.

  Mia reached out, and Claire gave her a tomato slice. Juice dribbled down her adorable chin.

  Smiling at our daughter, I said, “Back to June third. It’s the day we graduated from college, which incidentally is also the day we made love for the first time. And the day you broke my heart for the first time.”

  She chortled. “And how many more times have I broken your heart?”

  “Every day since that night until we made love again twenty-something years later.”

  She shook her head. “Come now. I know for a fact you weren’t always thinking of me while we were apart, or is your memoir full of exaggerations?”

  “Truth derives from the teller.”

  “Yeah, right. And you act like you’re completely innocent. I stayed put in Colorado, while you ran all over the world. Why didn’t you come back for me?”

  “Why didn’t you chase me?”

  Our eyes met. I wondered if mine mirrored Claire’s mischievous merriment with a dash of sadness. She kicked my leg under the table, catching me by surprise, and I tightened all the muscles. A pain burned in my neck.

  “It must be a doozy.” She motioned with a hand. “I can always tell when a story’s about to break.” Mia clapped her hands and made the most precious cooing sounds. “That’s right, Miss Mia. Mommy’s neck is more accurate than The Weather Channel.”

  “Are you mocking my stress levels in front of our daughter?”

  “Yep. Even Ian’s already figured out your moods, hence why you can’t go to the football game, paying off sources or whatnot there.” She narrowed her eyes. “Besides, it’ll be good for him to have time with his father and grandfather.”

  “Really, you’re pushing male bonding?”

  “Are you arguing it’s a bad thing for Ian to spend time with male family members?”

  She had me there. “I would never. I’m not completely thrilled about the surprise party, and that has nothing to do with work stress.” I stabbed my fork in her direction. “Besides, it wouldn’t hurt me to learn more about football.”

  “I can teach you a couple of things about scoring.”

  “What about the person who… feeds the quarterback the ball?” I shrugged off not knowing the position. “I would love to put my hands between your legs.”

  A lone blonde woman across the restaurant caught my attention. She wore a dark navy hooded sweater, and I tried to remember if that was what Janie had worn.

  “Is that right?” Claire hitched an eyebrow, following my eyes.

  I stopped staring. “And slapping your ass after a good play. Bare of course.”

  Her eyes returned to mine. “Naked football. Maybe that can be arranged for tonight.” She handed Mia off to me. “My turn to use the loo.”

  “I might turn you into a Brit yet.”

  The blonde woman got up from the bar and tailed Claire. I moved Mia to my left leg and retrieved the crumbled paper from my right pocket. Janie had scrawled my home address on it and indicated midnight with a crude drawing of a clock with both hands on the twelve. “Very funny,” I said to no one in particular.

  But someone answered, “I thought so.” A figure dashed by the table, and I made out a different blonde woman with a black hoodie. Coincidence or not? And had she been at a table nearby this whole time? I seriously needed to up my spy skills.

  Whipping around, I caught the backside of Janie as she ran for the exit. Before disappearing completely, she flipped me the bird with a gotcha smile on her face.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Several minutes before midnight, I left Claire sound asleep in our cozy bed. I was fairly certain Janie wasn’t going to show, but thought I’d better prepare on the off chance she hadn’t been just fucking with me earlier. It seemed everyone wanted to take part in the Drive JJ Insane campaign.

  Or had something come up? One thing I trusted about Janie, maybe the only thing, was her total commitment to a job once she started. However, I wasn’t entirely convinced she had been completely forthcoming about all the parameters of the Mean Heather hunt.

  On some level, I believed Janie was a damn good operative. She had trapped me. And anyone willing to invade the sanctum of Alcoholics Anonymous meetings had zero scruples. The perfect candidate for her line of work—character assassination.

  At one, while I hovered over my laptop scanning articles on our site and responding to e-mails in my home office, a breeze outside kicked up, blowing some debris into the window overlooking scrub oaks, large boulders, and pine trees.

  Another gust of wind scattered granules against the windowpane. I stood, stretched my arms over my head, and wandered to the window to see if a storm was brewing. On the rock retaining wall, edging a small patch of grass, stood a fox, not facing the house. The moonlight shimmered on his reddish pelt, making him stand out from the snow.

  The fox rounded and stared right at me as if trying to tell me something. His pointy ears seemed to be at heightened alert, and his eyes bored into mine. For several seconds, an odd sensation gripped me as I stared into his face. Was he warning me? Then the fox broke off contact and trotted over the ridge. I lost sight of him in the dark as the moon slid behind a wispy layer of clouds.

  A coyote howled in the distance, and movement behind one of the pine trees caught my eye. The figure, much larger than the average coyote, made me groan. Even in the limited moonlight, I caught the unmistakable blonde head.

  Janie.

  It was 1:47 in the morning, and she was approaching the back of my house without a care in the world as if dropping by for lunch. She even had the audacity to wave once she spied me grinding my teeth at her through the window.

  Not wanting to but afraid she’d bang on the front door, I deactivated the security system and opened the door in the walkout basement. “I expected you hours ago.”

  “Claire was still tossing and turning in bed.”

  “How’d you know that?”

  “I have my wicked ways.” Her wink made me shudder. “Mia is adorable when sleeping.”

  I backpedaled, crashing into my bookcase and knocking a Chinese Mudman figurine onto the carpet. Luckily, it didn’t break. Ian had purchased it for me at a gift shop in Georgetown, saying the man fishing reminded him of me, the world traveler.

  “Are you hacking into my daughter’s baby monitor?” I returned the Mudman to his proper place, wishing it was that easy to deal with Janie.

  Janie put her hands up. “Relax. Cora’s orders. You and your rainbow brood are to be protected twenty-four hours a day.”

  I ignored the rainbow comment, not wanting to know if she was referring to the lesbian aspect or Mia’s Chinese heritage. More than likely a combination of both. “Cora instructed you to hack into my daughter’s monitor?”

  She flicked some debris off her sleeve. “Not in those words. But she made it clear I had to keep an eye on you. What would you do?”

  “Is that why you’re patrolling the perimeter of my property at this time of night?”

  “Got any coffee?” She rubbed her hands together. “I think more snow is on the way.”

  Slightly annoyed she didn’t answer me, I swallowed the squeamish ta
ste in my mouth. “Stay here,” I commanded.

  A few minutes later, I returned with two cups. “Sorry, it’s instant. I didn’t want to wake up—what are you doing on my laptop?”

  “Nothing much. Couldn’t even find any naughty websites. You may be the only person I know who doesn’t watch porn on your laptop.” She sat in my cozy desk chair behind the dark cherry desk. She accepted her cup and cradled it with both hands, childlike. “I don’t recommend using your kids’ birthdates as your password to exit the screensaver mode.”

  I inhaled deeply before responding. “I’ll take that under advisement. Just because we’re working together, doesn’t give you the right to poke around on my computer.”

  She jerked her head to the keypad by the back door. “And your anniversary with Claire as the security code isn’t wise either. Laziness could bite you in the ass someday.”

  “How do you know that anniversary?”

  “The first time you slept with her?” Janie set the mug on the desk, not bothering to use the coaster next to the mouse pad, and leaned closer. “Don’t you remember all those long nights when you cried on my shoulder about losing the best thing that ever happened to you?” She retreated back into the chair, swiveling side to side, her grin wide. “Events are very important to you; you don’t ever forget one. Granted, it was a big one for you. Was it for Claire?”

  Had she eavesdropped on the wedding date conversation earlier?

  “Ha!” She gently slapped the top of the desk, not loud enough to wake anyone, but the motion grated on my nerves.

  I was tempted to ask if she was the one who’d hacked Claire’s e-mail; however, I didn’t want to play that card. If she was, let her think I had no clue. I might need to use that to my advantage.

  “Why are you here?” I slurped my coffee, not meaning to but my hands shook.

  “Project GT—”

  “GK,” I corrected.

  She rolled her eyes. “Whatever you want to call it. It’s ramping up.”

  I studied her face as she sipped coffee, which leeched the pink from the cold out of her cheeks.

  “Ah, one sugar and just the right amount of half and half. You remembered.”