Package Deal(90)
The little cat meowed and crawled onto his knees.
“I forgot about you.” He stroked the stray, her long fur scraggly. “I’ll bet you’re hungry, too.” He could feel her ribs under her fur.
The cat rubbed her head against his hand, beginning to purr.
“You and I—we’re running out of options here. No more food, hardly any money. And I can’t go crawling back home, not after that neighbor child …”
He climbed out of the car and walked down the nearby beach, empty of visitors in the misty morning, and dug through a trash bin. He retrieved the leavings of a cookout for the cat—someone’s half-eaten burger.Had it not had been so covered in sand and grit, he would have eaten it himself. His stomach growled as he watched the little calico daintily lick it and then eat a small piece.
“It’s time,” he told the cat, as he looked at his keys and fondled the two he needed to get into his office.
The cat looked up at him and rubbed against his hand again.
“Time to go back to the office, when no one’s there.” He didn’t care if he ran into a student. They had never much cared for him, and he felt the same about them. But what about the faculty? He didn’t believe anyone in the English department would pay attention to him—or in history, down the hall—and certainly not those snooty psychologists hanging out on the second floor. Always thinking they were better than anyone else. If he went to the office on a weekend—when no one was around, when they were out playing with their kids, when there weren’t any games on the field—he’d be okay. Amanda wouldn’t be there on a weekend, either. She was probably home with Cecelia, that pretty little girl. Maybe Beatrice had left food in the chairman’s refrigerator.
The one person he most wanted to avoid was that elitist chairman who was always asking him about his dissertation. He grimaced, thinking about his last conversations with the man. Taking his food would serve him right. Carlton chuckled to himself.
He picked up the cat, carried her back to the car, slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine. As he drove toward the campus, he thought he saw someone he recognized, someone in running shorts and a Buckley College T-shirt cut short, showing off the man’s muscular torso. As he pulled around him and glanced in the rearview mirror, the man looked like Marcus Dunbar, that journalism professor who was always coming around, sometimes carrying Cecelia’s books and soccer gear after a game, or talking to Amanda in his office. Remembering the questions Dunbar had asked him after Cecelia’s accident, Carlton’s cheek began to twitch.
“For sure, I don’t want to see you again. So nosy, so accusatory.” He knew he was working himself into a frenzy, no longer trying to make sense of his wild thoughts, shouting out loud, though no one on the streets would hear him, not with the windows closed. “Good riddance to you, Marcus Dunbar. Next time I see you on the road, I may just accidentally swerve and knock you down.Serves you right.” He smirked, his hands gripping the wheel until his knuckles whitened and his palms began to throb. “Maybe you’ll have an accident today, if it’s you.”
He stopped muttering to himself when he almost ran a red light. A pickup with students sitting in the bed of the little truck yelled at him. The cat slid onto the floor as Carlton skidded to a stop. He patted the seat, and she leapt back to where she had been perched, close to his leg.
On a whim, he turned the corner and drove around the block, looking for the runner as he resumed his route down the street. There he was, already on the next block. He was sure it was Dunbar from the way he moved, the way his blond hair shone in the sun. Carlton sped up and was within two car lengths of him, his heart pumping faster as he planned his next move. “If you would just head out of town, away from the traffic, so people don’t find you,” he muttered. He smiled to himself at the thought of leaving the man, broken and bleeding along the side of the road.
A compact car pulled in front of him then slowed down to let someone out. He hit the brakes and honked. When the driver gave him the finger, Carlton swore and swerved around him, causing a vehicle in the oncoming lane of the narrow street to blast his horn.
Where is he? Can’t lose him now. There!
Still running and oblivious to Carlton having targeted him, Dunbar was now almost two blocks ahead. Heading out of town and on a straight stretch—perfect. Now to get him—make him fall, hurt him, maybe even kill him. That would teach him not to ask so many questions, not to use Cecelia to get close to Amanda.After the light changed, he sped up, quickly getting closer. He watched as the runner wiped his face with one hand. “You’ll need to wipe off more than sweat when I’m done with you,” he muttered.