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And Then She Was Gone(90)

By:Christopher Greyson


Jack had to force himself not to run back outside. He got back into the car and drove it to a spot at the far side of the lot.

“Well?” Chandler said.

“She took the bait.”

Together they watched the events unfold through the windshield, like two kids watching a crime thriller at a drive-in movie.

The brunette receptionist was walking through the cubicle farm, the balloons floating behind her. Like gophers popping their heads out of their holes, several employees’ heads rose above cubicle walls as they stood to watch the parade pass by. Most were no doubt looking around to see who would be the lucky recipient of the gifts; one woman gave a dismissive wave of her arm when the receptionist passed her by.

The longer the brunette walked, the faster Jack’s heart beat.

As Jack had hoped, she stopped at the blonde’s cubicle and held out the flowers and the balloons.

Chandler pounded Jack on the back. “Bam!” he cheered. “Back left pocket, baby!”

Jack clenched both fists and held them high. “They have to be having an affair!”

“You were right. The receptionist knew exactly who to give them to.”

The blonde stood in her cubicle, her phone pressed against her ear. She was slowly twisting back and forth with a bright smile on her face.

“You think she’s calling Michael?” Chandler asked.

“Guaranteed,” Jack said. “Look how happy she is.”

The blonde stopped twisting.

“Uh-oh…” Chandler said. “Looks like this is the part when Michael is saying I didn’t send you any flowers.”

The blonde covered the phone and turned to the receptionist. The brunette looked like an orchestra conductor gone mad. Her hands flew out in all directions.

“Maybe we should go,” Chandler said. “You got your proof.”

“Not yet,” Jack said. “Right now we don’t know if she called Michael Fitzgibbits. We’re just guessing. And I’m not talking to Clark unless I’m a hundred and fifty percent certain. But if Michael comes here and talks to the blonde, it will prove that he knows her. Then we’ve got him.”

“Or he gets us. Do you realize you’re luring a man back here who you think could be a killer?”

“It’s not like we’re in danger,” Jack said. “You can’t really see us from the office building. And we’ll see Michael coming from a mile off.”

“So that’s the plan? We’re just going to sit here and see if the psycho shows up?”

“That’s the plan.” Jack grinned.

Chandler didn’t.



The minutes ticked away. Cars came and went, but the silver Toyota was nowhere to be seen. Jack drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

“How long are we gonna stay here?” Chandler asked.

Jack turned to answer him, but his mouth clamped shut as the Toyota came into sight. Jack pointed, and they both watched as the car zipped into the parking lot and stopped right at the front of the building.

Michael got out, and the blonde and the brunette both came out to meet him. Michael paced back and forth as he spoke with them. Even though they were over fifty yards away, Jack heard Michael yelling, though he couldn’t make out what he was saying.

Suddenly the brunette looked in Jack’s direction. Jack thought the car was pretty well hidden, but when her eyes narrowed, he knew they were in trouble. She shouted something and thrust her hand out—pointing straight at Jack.

“Oh, hell no,” Chandler muttered.

“Uh-oh… Our cover’s blown. Let’s go.” Jack started the car.

Michael was already running toward them.

The tires on the little car squealed as Jack shot out of the parking space. There was only one exit from the parking lot, and Jack drove straight for it.

But Michael got there first. He blocked the exit, and his expression dared them to come closer. His face was bright red and his hands were clenched in fists. In between the string of profanities that flew out of his mouth, Jack picked out the words bloodsuckers and TV trash.

“He’s nuts,” Chandler warned.

“He thinks we’re reporters.” Jack cut the wheel and headed back into the parking lot.

“What are you doing now?” Chandler said.

“There’s another way out of here.” Jack pointed.

“That’s a sidewalk!” Chandler shouted.

“It’s got a handicapped access ramp.”

“It’s still a sidewalk, Jack,” Chandler repeated, his voice rising.

Jack kept going, steering the tiny car right up the ramp and then right down the sidewalk. One wheel hugged the top of the curb while the other crushed the grass along the edge. As they dropped off the sidewalk onto the road outside the parking lot, metal scraped on the curb. Jack checked the rearview mirror to see whether anything had fallen off.