Ginny Aiken - Mistaken for the Mob

Maryanne wiped her eyes with a tissue and then typed the curt e-mail first thing the next day. Terminate Audrey White. She expected a visit once Sandy Rodriguez, the card privilege clerk, downloaded that morning. The young man had learned that each message was written with a fresh batch of tears.

She clicked the Send icon and received the message sent confirmation. Before she signed off, however, the screen went blank. “Rats.”

The system was down. Again. The glitch, no matter how short-lived, would only make what had started out as a crummy day even worse. Since the county library system joined the information superhighway a couple of years earlier, it had become close to impossible to operate without the computers.

She set her sad thoughts aside and reached across the desk for her correspondence folder. She might as well wade through it while the equipment stayed down. Who knew how long it would take to get things up and humming again.

A short while later her door swung inward and two men in jeans, white shirts and navy ties, brass nameplates over their pocket, stepped in.

“Hi,” said the shorter of the two, his brown eyes as warm as his smile. “We’re from Uni-Comp. I’m Dan Maddox, and this—” he glared at his companion “—is J.Z. Prophet. We’re here to fix the system and check the machines.”

Surprised by that odd look, Maryanne took note of the names on the plates and stood. “Be my guests. I can’t do a thing until you do yours.”

Dan Maddox went right to her desk, but the other man, J.Z. Prophet, stayed in the doorway, his gray eyes fixed on her.

“Maryanne Wellborn?” he asked in a deep voice.

“Yes, and if you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave you to your work.”

Maryanne stepped out to the hall. What an intense man. His eyes…so cold. She shivered. With a deep breath, she regained her composure.

But from the other side of the not-quite-closed door, she heard Maddox say, “I’m waiting for that modem card.”

J.Z. muttered a response she didn’t quite catch.

Maryanne’s curiosity got the better of her and she pressed up against the door frame. Holding her breath, she peered through the crack into her office.

Long seconds crawled by, minutes…centuries. No one moved.

Maddox turned to his partner, who still stood, statue-like, by the equipment case. “Come on, J.Z. Before the librarian gets back.”

Gray eyes speared to the door. Maryanne froze under the impact of that icy stare. She suddenly wanted to run, take cover.

J.Z. Prophet, a complete stranger, really, really didn’t like her.

Why?

“Whatever you say, Trudy Talbot.” Maryanne tucked her work-loosened brown-and-white gingham blouse into the waistband of her dirndl skirt. “But you should have seen the look in his eyes. So tell me. What would make a computer geek look so…so scary? So disgusted? So angry?”

The classy, prematurely gray director of the Children’s Collection shrugged. “Beats me. Maybe his wife served him eggs for breakfast when he wanted Frootie Tooties instead. Or maybe his cat presented him with a dead mouse…just before he swallowed the eggs. The adult male is beyond my comprehension. That’s why I stick to those under the age of twelve.”

“Last time I checked, Ron Talbot was a quite adult thirty-five.”

Trudy slicked on a coat of soft plum lip gloss and dropped the tube into her tailored black leather purse. “That doesn’t mean my husband’s any easier to understand than others of his kind.”

Maryanne tucked her lip balm in the side pocket of her tote. “You don’t fool me. You two have been married thirteen years, you share a mortgage, car and minivan, a dog, four cats and two kids. You must have figured him out at least a little.”

“Three.”

“Three? Three what?”

Trudy’s fair skin bloomed a delicate rose. “Three kids.”

“Huh?” Maryanne glanced at her friend’s flat middle. “Oh! Really?”

Trudy’s smile lit up the dingy bathroom in the basement of the New Camden Public Library. “Mm-hmm.”

The two women hugged, then Maryanne held her friend at arm’s length. “That’s wonderful! And you look wonderful, too. When are you due?”

“Sometime in mid-November.”

“A Thanksgiving baby—how perfect.”

“It is a perfect time to give thanks for all my blessings.” Trudy eyed Maryanne. “So much so that you ought to give it a try. Marriage and motherhood, that is.”

“Are you crazy? You just finished telling me men are impossible to understand, and now you want me to hook up with one of them?”

“I said they’re impossible to understand, not impossible to love and live with.” Trudy hitched the strap of her purse onto her shoulder. “Come on. I have to get back. The Thursday story-hour kids are about to get here, and we don’t want them on the loose.”

“And I have to go see what those guys got done on my computer.”

The two women went upstairs to the library’s main level. Trudy gave Maryanne a sideways glance. “You know Uni-Comp’s people are always great. You never know what’s going on in people’s lives. Maybe that one guy had a fight with his wife.”

“Maybe…but he still gave me the creeps.”

“How so?”

Cold gray eyes popped into Maryanne’s mind. So did the flat slash of lips, the rigid line of shoulder, the direct and deliberate gait. “He made me feel like the deer in a hunter’s crosshairs.”

“That makes no sense. You don’t know him, do you?”

“Trust me. I’d remember if I’d seen him before.”

In the warm oak-paneled-and-floored lobby, Trudy placed gentle hands on Maryanne’s shoulders and met her gaze. “Now don’t get mad at me, okay?”

Maryanne went to speak, but Trudy shook her head.

“Listen. Please. Do you think maybe you imagined the guy’s anger because your emotions were already in a tangle over your friend at the nursing home?”

Maryanne’s urge to deny the possibility felt right, but because Trudy was so perceptive, she gave her earlier state of mind careful consideration. She thought back to when she first saw J.Z. Prophet, to that last look in his eyes, to the way he’d made her feel.

“There’s always that chance,” she said, “but I don’t think so. I’d prayed through my tears by the time those two showed up. I’d come to peace by then, and was even bored since there’s so little I can do while the system’s down.”

Trudy looked skeptical, but then, she hadn’t seen the man. Maryanne hugged her massive tote bag and added, “I can’t begin to imagine why someone would look at me with so much…oh, I don’t know. I can’t really describe what that Prophet guy gave off.”

Another frown lined Trudy’s brow. “This isn’t good. Don’t you think someone should do something about it? Someone official, that is.”

“What do you want them to do? And who would you have me tell?”

“Maybe you should speak with Mr. Dougherty.”

“Why? I don’t think the library system’s director knows much about Uni-Comp or its employees. The IT department handles that service contract.”

“Well, then, talk to Morty. He runs IT.”

“What do you want me to say? That a tech from Uni-Comp gave me a weird look? Sure, and then he can call the guys in the white suits to come get me.”

Trudy bit her lower lip. “You’re probably right. All you have is a funny feeling, and that’s nothing to go on. Just be careful. Don’t let the guy catch you alone in your office or anything, okay?”

“That won’t happen. Not even if I have to spend the rest of the day in the bathroom downstairs. If worse comes to worst, I’ll grab what little paperwork I have left and do just that.”

“That’s nuts. You don’t have to go to extremes, you know. You can always head over to the staff lounge or hang out with me and my munchkins.”

“Oh, right. I’ll get a whole lot of work done then.”

“Make up your mind, will you? You said you were bored earlier and didn’t have much to do while the system was down. I can always use a hand with the incoming zoo inmates.”

“Ha! Your Mark is in that crowd, isn’t he?”

When Trudy blushed, Maryanne went on. “Figures. You just want me to watch your son so that you can be the serious librarian.”

Trudy raised her hands in surrender. “Okay. You outed me. But do you blame me?”

“Who can forget his first story hour? You reminded me of Make Way For Ducklings. The seventeen of them looked awfully cute following you around and calling you Mrs. Mommy.”

They chuckled, but then Maryanne squared her shoulders and smoothed a hand over the waist of her shin-length beige skirt. “I really do have to get back to my office—if for no other reason than to see if the Uni-Comps finished their shtick, and my computer’s up again.”

“I still think your imagination ran away with you, but please be careful. You never know what kind of kooks are on the loose.”

“If you get a chance, keep me in your prayers.”

“You know I’ll do that.”

Maryanne approached her glorified cubicle at the rear of the Research Department with apprehension. Were the two men still there?

At her office door, she paused and studied her name in gold letters on the black plaque. If that Prophet man wanted to hurt her he not only knew where she worked, but he also knew her name. With so many search sites on the Web, he’d have her address in no time. Then again, maybe he and his wife had argued earlier in the day. But Maryanne couldn’t imagine a woman who’d put up with him.

“Oh, Lord, help me, please,” she prayed then turned the knob.

The room was empty. A couple of pages covered with computer test gobbledygook in her trash can gave the only testimony of the men’s earlier presence. Maryanne experienced a momentary letdown.

Weird, since she hadn’t wanted to face his—was it anger?—again.

To be honest, she had to admit that the puzzling J.Z. Prophet had sparked her interest—in a crazy, scary sort of way. He’d kicked up her curiosity, and he’d even revved something inside her. Excitement? Maybe. Inquisitiveness? Definitely.

Maryanne sat behind her desk and braced her forehead on the heels of her hands. “Argh!”

She had to be partway to certifiable. No sane woman would be interested in some stranger who’d looked at her funny. A sane woman wouldn’t try to figure out why he’d done it.

It didn’t make sense—she didn’t make sense.

So was Trudy right? Had she imagined J.Z.’s instant dislike?

Now that the Uni-Comp men had left and she was alone, Maryanne began to question her earlier take on the incident. A stranger would have no reason for anger, not toward her.

Oh, well. Trudy probably was right. It wouldn’t be the first time Maryanne let her imagination run wild.

After all, J.Z. Prophet was an attractive man, of the rugged, dark and brooding sort. He would catch her eye, no matter what—any woman’s at that. But of course he wasn’t the kind of man she’d want to get to know. He was not her type at all. Still, no seeing woman would call him nondescript.

Steel-colored eyes above angular cheekbones pierced deep. And the dark hair that tumbled over his forehead revealed a lack of self-absorption. Although J.Z. Prophet’s hair shone with health and cleanliness, as did his pristine white shirt and faded jeans, he wasn’t the blow-dried, manicured, crease-pressed new-jean type, a trend she found disconcerting.

If he hadn’t fixed those stormy eyes on her, she might have been attracted to him.