Right near where Riley had “tied his shoes”? I hoped so.
“I think I’ll just go get something to eat while I wait for her.”
Ewww. Eat something? From here? Had I taught that boy nothing?
“You need to call her?” Bill asked.
“No, she’s usually late. I’m used to it.”
174
Heather Webber
Hmmph.
Footsteps faded.
“Get some rest, Noreen. Take as much time off as you need.”
Maybe Bill wasn’t such a bad guy after all.
“I’m just going to grab my purse and go. I ran out of here so fast this afternoon, I forgot it.”
“I’m really sorry about Greta.”
“Me too.” Noreen’s voice cracked, and I felt my throat tighten with sympathy.
I heard some rustling of clothes and imagined Bill giving Noreen a hug.
“Call when you’re ready to come back. I’ll put you on the schedule.”
“All right.”
I heard papers shuffling, then a cell phone ringing. I pan-icked until I realized it wasn’t mine. Mine was in my backpack, and that was in the truck.
“Lockhart . . . Yeah, tonight’s fine. My supply is really low.” He laughed. “Yes, business is good, especially now that Russ is out of the picture.”
There went my opinion of Bill, once and for all. Okay, so it wasn’t an admission that he’d had something to do with Russ’s death, but it was clear enough he’d wanted Russ gone.
Enough to formulate an elaborate plan to give the man a heart attack?
I listened to Bill make arrangements for something to be delivered that night. I thought I heard him leave the room, but couldn’t be sure.
How would I be sure? I couldn’t see through the cracks in the door frame. I certainly wasn’t Superman. Woman.
Whatever.
I decided to stay hidden until I hadn’t heard Bill for ten minutes.
175
My thigh throbbed and I desperately wanted to move, to readjust. Then my eye caught that envelope again.
I wiggled slowly, trying not to make a sound, and reached for the envelope. It took some doing, some praying, and lots of patience, but I finally freed it.
A metal clasp bit into my finger as I lifted the flap. Inside were two business-size envelopes. I pulled them out, held them each up to the streak of light.
Each said the same thing in a strange typed font. “Bill Lockhart. Personal.”
My eyebrow went up. Interesting.
There was no way I could read the letters without making a ruckus, so I did the next best thing.
Stole them.
Really, I had to talk with Father Keesler soon.
It took more patience than I thought I had, but I finally got the manila envelope back where it had come from, and stuffed the two other envelopes down my shirt, which was thankfully tucked in.
After exactly ten minutes by my trusty Timex, I pressed my ear to the door to listen for noise just as it swung open. I fell out in a ball onto someone’s feet, my limbs not realizing they were free.
I looked up into accusing eyes.
Twenty
“You can stop saying sorry,” Riley said, climbing into my TBS truck, “and start telling me why you were in Bill’s office in the first place.”
“When does driver’s ed end? Maybe we can look at some used cars.” I held out my hand for my keys. Sure enough, Riley had them. He dropped them into my palm.
“Don’t try to distract me,” he said. “What were you doing in Bill’s closet?”
This was surreal. Grilling
“Research,” I said. “On mushrooms.”
