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“Mr. Blackbourne?”
He spoke without turning around. “That’s a particularly lovely dress you’re wearing. You should wear dresses more often.”
I was floating where I sat. My heart reverberated in my chest like a violin string had been plucked.
Before I could think of a reply, he stepped away, disappearing into the bookshelves.
SUPER SPY
I was ready to leave the library in less than an hour. Mr. Crowley was boring. He had a very monotone way of speaking. I felt sympathetic toward Mr. Hendricks, who had to spend all of lunch and golf listening to him.
Mr. Crowley talked even if no one else was in the room. He spoke to himself as he worked. He talked to his computer. Most of the time he was telling it to hurry up, but there were instances where he thanked it and then proceeded to tell the computer how it could run more efficiently. The most popular suggestion was to threaten to call IT on it and again demand for them to fix it.
It seemed everyone else in the office he worked in knew his tendency for talking, because the one woman who I understood to be his secretary often excused herself because she thought she heard a phone ringing or she was in a hurry to deliver a paper to someone—anyone—else. She asked only succinct questions to get the answer she needed. It even sounded like she sometimes walked out in the middle of whatever he was rattling on about. He dismissed this, called her a bubble brain and went back to talking to his computer. Sometimes he even told the computer what he’d been telling the secretary about so he could finish up whatever he was saying.
From where I was sitting, there was no way to tell the time. I didn’t have my phone. I had no way to talk to the guys and I didn’t think I should get up and wander around because I was afraid to leave behind the box and didn’t want to disobey Mr. Blackbourne when he’d told me not to move. The book Mr. Blackbourne had planted in front of me was a medical journal from 1973. I studied the diagrams mostly, as most of the text was very blocky and difficult to read, but I suffered through it during Mr. Crowley’s rare silences.
I wanted to sleep. I wanted to curl up in the chair and pass out for a few hours. My body was tired and achy. It wasn’t enough that I was still and quiet. Earlier, even though I’d been tired, I was active and excited so I’d managed to stay awake. Now I felt like I was fighting a losing battle. I wasn’t prone to nodding off while sitting up, but I experienced it for the first time now.
If this was what being grounded with Mr. Blackbourne meant, I would eat and sleep forever just to not do this.
The best I could do was to get comfortable. I kicked off the wedge sandals. Since no one else was around, I allowed myself to sit cross-legged in the chair. I was showing off my underwear to the wall, but I figured it wouldn’t mind.
What I thought was about two hours later, Mr. Crowley started calling for his secretary. She didn’t respond. He grumbled, talking to himself in a low tone that I couldn’t hear.
I gazed out the window, looking across the street. The windows were covered in blinds and the sun caused a glare, so it was impossible to look in on the office.
The lure of the sun outside and noise from the street drew my attention. I got up on my knees, leaning over the edge of the window and looked out onto the street. Cars passed. People walked by. I felt that distance between us. I was supposed to be in school. If I needed to go to the library, I should be where everyone normal was, using computers or reading more modern books. Playing spy wasn’t as exciting as I’d imagined from books and movies.
But the view outside was more interesting than the medical journal or the wall of the library so I spent some time watching the street while listening out for whatever it was I was supposed to be listening for.
Time dragged on. My knees started to ache from kneeling in the chair, but I liked watching the palm trees, different from what I was used to. The bright clear sunshine in late October was particularly enchanting to me, who was used to brown and drab fall from Illinois. How long would it stay so blue and vibrant in the south?
After some time, I realized Mr. Crowley had gotten quiet. I waited, wondering if he went to go find his secretary. Or perhaps a bathroom.
It was ten minutes before I caught sight of him. He was at the corner across the street. I studied him hard, unsure if it was the same person, but it was. Same clothes, same hook nose. I held my breath, worried he noticed me, knew I was listening, and was coming over to find me.
Instead, he crossed the road to the corner of the library, but then turned away, crossing again at the intersection to get to the far corner. He disappeared out of view after that.
Was he leaving for the day? It didn’t seem likely. He would have taken his car, and there was parking behind his building, the lot Mr. Blackbourne had parked at. I was sure he would have parked there. Why was he walking?
I sat back. Mr. Blackbourne had told me not to leave, but he didn’t expect Mr. Crowley to walk off. I left the earbud inside my ear, but left the device. If one of them came to look for me, they would have probably suspected I was nearby if I didn’t bother to bring the black box. Hopefully no one came and took it.
I moved quickly, knowing I had little time. I put my shoes back on and walked quickly. I found my way to the stairs, passed the front desk and dashed out the front door.
I rushed down the street. The sandals made it hard to walk faster. The skirt of the dress also limited my leg stride.
Still, when I got to the corner where I last saw Mr. Crowley, I stopped, gazing in the direction he had gone. There were several different buildings here. One was a wedding dress boutique. There were a couple of art galleries, and a building blocked off for renovating.
I wasn’t sure how far I was willing to wander off. I didn’t know my way downtown and I was probably pushing it by pursuing him, anyway.
I was about to turn around when I caught sight of a Starbucks sign on the other side of the street, tucked behind one of the galleries. Out of everything else down this road, that made the most sense to me.
I waited for the light to change to cross the street, and walked as quickly as I dared to the coffee shop.
Inside, I blinked, adjusting to a dimmer light inside. Coffee, sugar and other aromas filled my nose. There was a short line of people lined up along the display case, waiting to order. In the middle of the line was Mr. Crowley.
I avoided eye contact, heading to the back of the line. My heart pounded as I stood, staring at the menu. When I was sure no one was paying attention, I reached into the cup of my bra, pulling out a twenty and quietly thanking Kota for being so smart.
The line moved slowly. Mr. Crowley, for once, didn’t say much of anything. When it was his turn in line, he ordered an iced coffee and a donut. He took his food order to one of the tables near the windows. I guess part of me had expected him to go back to his office.
When it was my turn in line, I tried to remember the name on the bottle that the boys gave me in the morning. “Mocha Frappuccino... and a coffee cake,” I said, pointing to the first thing that looked good in the display case.
The glare from the display case caught my eye as I waited. I had a reflected view of Mr. Crowley here. He had his head up, shoulders back. The hook nose stood out as an undeniable mark of who he was. He studied other people in the coffee shop, not stopping on anyone in particular. His eyes drifted to the door.
My heart flew into a panic. He was waiting for someone! It could be Mr. Hendricks again.
When my order arrived, no one had joined Mr. Crowley at his table yet. I wound around the line toward the far side of the room and found a table next to his where I could keep my back to his. I remained quiet, and kept myself small. If someone joined Mr. Crowley, like Mr. Hendricks, I’d have my back turned, but could still listen in.
I sipped at my coffee, nibbled at the coffee cake and pretended to stare out the window. My nerves were tight. I’d gone this far, could I turn back now? Mr. Hendricks could be here any second.
“Good after
noon, Mr. Crowley,” said a low male voice behind me.
I stiffened and took another sip of the coffee to give my body something to do. The voice wasn’t familiar to me. I shrunk, hoping I was hiding behind Mr. Crowley’s frame.
“You’re a little late,” Mr. Crowley said.
“Traffic is horrible at this time of day.”
Mr. Crowley gave a grunt. “I tell you what, I won’t miss the morning commute this time next year. It can take an hour to get downtown, even from Mount Pleasant. It’s ridiculous.”
My eyes widened. Mr. Hendricks had previously hinted to something along the lines of this being his last year. Was Mr. Crowley retiring or was something else going on?
“Right, right,” the other man said. His voice was dry, guttural. Like he’d been talking for hours and needed to rest it. “And how’s your wife?”
Mr. Crowley muttered something low enough that even I couldn’t hear.
“Ha ha,” the other man said. “I could have told you married life was never a picnic. It’s all a fantasy. The first year it’s all sugar and sex, after that, you’re lucky to get dinner on time.”
“I’d honestly rather not talk about it,” said Mr. Crowley. “What do you have for me?”
“Nothing much today, I’m afraid. Same routine. Just checking in.”
“We shouldn’t have to,” Mr. Crowley said. “If everything is already in place, we’re just waiting.”
“You’re right,” the other man said. “I guess you could say it’s more making sure no one slips up. We had a little bit of a scare when Mr. McCoy disappeared, but that appears to be more of a blessing. He was starting to get suspicious. He was paranoid about everyone, including us.”
I stared hard at my drink. Mr. McCoy wasn’t in on whatever the others were doing. So why was Mr. Hendricks interested in finding him?
Mr. Crowley’s next few words were mumbled, like he was talking while he was chewing his donut. “At any rate, my job’s the easy part. Sign papers. Approvals. It’s all routine.”
“Smart man. Do your work, and everything will be just fine.”
