At least the mouth tried to close over mine. One of the things martial arts is supposed to do, if you're paying attention, is train your reflexes, so you react quickly and effectively when you think someone's attacking you. As Michael found out rather painfully one day when he decided to drive up and surprise me upon my return from a craft show. Unfortunately, he decided to surprise me by sneaking up behind me and grabbing me.
“I won't ever do that again,“ he'd said, nursing his bruises.
“Don't,“ I'd replied. “Because if you do it again, I'll react the same way. If someone grabs me, I can't stop to worry about whether it might be someone I know.“
It was nice to see my reflexes were still okay. In fact, better than okay, I thought as I flipped on the light switch and looked down at my would-be assailant. Or, perhaps, would-be admirer. I made a mental note to call my karate instructor and thank him. Then again, maybe not; he was sure to want a blow-by-blow description, and I was already having a hard time remembering exactly which technique I'd used to shake off the clutching arms, and exactly how I'd knocked the attacker to the floor. I could report that the side kick to the groin worked splendidly, though. The intruder kad curled into a fetal position, his face almost touching his knees, and he was making faint whimpering noises. I didn't recognize him immediately, but then, what little I could see of his face was starting to bruise. And, wonder of wonders, I didn't seem to have reinjured my left hand in the fray.
George, awakened by the light, blinked sleepily at the sight of me.
“Okay,“ I said to the groveling intruder. “Who the hell are you, and what do you mean by attacking me like that?“
I had to repeat myself several times before he stopped whimpering and looked up.
“Why did you do that?“ he asked.
“You attacked me in the dark,“ I said. “I defended myself.“
“I thought you were someone else,“ he said, heaving himself up on his knees.
“I figured out that much. Don't get up just yet,“ I said, turning my body slightly so I was ready to deliver another good, solid kick.
George added to the effect by choosing that moment to shriek rather loudly. I knew he had just recognized me and assumed, in his single-minded way, that I had arrived to feed him, but it must have sounded rather ominous to the intruder. He dropped back to the floor and curled up again, watching me warily.
I recognized him now – a therapy patient. One of Dr. Lorelei's flock, a small, plump, graying man who could have been any age between thirty and fifty. This was the first time I'd seen him unaccompanied by his wife, also small, plump, graying, and of indeterminate age.
“You thought I was Dr. Lorelei?“ I asked.
He reduced his chances of getting kicked again by blushing.
“So you were coming to see Dr. Lorelei.“
He nodded.
“Why?“
“I'm a patient of hers,“ he said.
“Her office hours were over a long time ago,“ I said.
“This was urgent,“ he said.
“Men usually seem to think so, yes.“
“I needed to talk to her. Urgently. She agreed to meet me here.“
“Right,“ I said.
He could see I didn't believe him – he didn't look as if he expected me to. But at least he stopped babbling inanities.
“Show me some ID,“ I said.
He reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet, and handed over a driver's license. The picture matched his face, or would when the swelling went down, and the name sounded vaguely familiar – about the way it would from seeing it on the visitor's list a couple of times. I pulled out my notebook-that-tells-me-when-to-breathe and wrote down his name and address; my handwriting was somewhat more ragged than usual because I was still keeping one eye on him.
“I think you should leave now,“ I said as I flipped the driver's license onto the floor beside him. “If you still need Dr. Lorelei, why don't you meet her in the College Diner? It's open twenty-four hours, and they didn't have a murder on the premises yesterday, so the waitresses are probably a little less apt to kick first and ask questions later. I can send the doctor over when she shows up.“
“No, no. I'm feeling much better,“ he said. “Just apologize to her for dragging her out so late, okay?“
Somehow he didn't look better. He looked a little traumatized. I'd probably set his therapy back years. I'd feel sorry if it wasn't clear that the little swine was cheating on his wife.
He looked relieved. Perhaps he was expecting me to call the police. Which I still could, later, if I decided it was a good idea. Like if I checked the visitor's logs and found out he was at the office Monday.
I stood at a safe distance as he hauled himself to his feet and staggered out of the suite. I kept my eye on him for the whole five minutes it took for the elevator to lurch up to our floor and drag its doors open so he could limp inside.
If he really was expecting Dr. Lorelei, it might be interesting to catch her off guard when she arrived. Which might be very soon, if he had mistaken me for her. I turned out the overhead lights and my flashlight, and was about to hide behind the partition that separated the reception area from the rest of the office when it occurred to me that Dr. Lorelei might already be inside her office. But no, surely if she'd heard the commotion in the reception area, she'd have appeared already.
While I was debating where to hide, I heard a noise out in the hall. I pulled open the coat closet door, only to find the space in which I was planning to hide filled with a giant cardboard box. Dammit, nothing was supposed to be in the coat closet but visitor's coats and the fire extinguisher. I made a mental note to figure out tomorrow who had junked it up. Meanwhile, I ducked under the reception desk, barely making it out of sight before the door opened.
I heard cautious footsteps.
“Randall?“ a voice called. “Are you here?“
I stood up, turning on my flashlight as I did, and aiming it toward the voice. Dr. Lorelei stood, bunking, in my beam. She was wearing a slinky black dress and four-inch heels – which made her about six feet four inches.
“Fancy meeting you here,“ I said, putting one hand on my hip while keeping her pinned with the beam.
She looked uncomfortable but didn't say anything. Was she too surprised to talk, or was she trying to figure out what to say? Or perhaps just trying to wait me out. Two could play at that game.
But long before the pressure of my withering glance had a chance to demoralize Dr. Lorelei to the point that she would confess her rendezvous – heck, if she wanted to confess to Ted's murder while she was at it, I wouldn't complain – the office door popped open behind her, and I saw the pasty face of the rabid fan who had been trying to sneak into the offices all week.
“Aarrgghh!“ I yelled, and flapped my arms, much the way I'd do to chase squirrels off Dad's bird feeder. The fan reacted much as the squirrels did: after a moment of frozen shock, she turned and ran.
And like the squirrels, she would probably lurk just out of sight, waiting for a chance to come back and steal something. I turned angrily to Dr. Lorelei.
“You see!“ I said. “That's why we can't have people leaving the doors unlocked all the time. I don't know whether it was you or one of the other therapists who told my brother that playing Lawyers from Hell was a silly, useless way for grown people to spend their time – well, fine, no one's forcing you to play it. But you have to realize that there are people who take it very, very seriously, and will stop at nothing to get some kind of inside information about the new release, and if you persist in leaving the doors unlocked, it's going to cause problems. For all we know, these crazy fans could have had something to do with the murder!“
Dr. Lorelei didn't say anything, but I saw her eyes dart sideways a couple of times to glance at the door. Did she think I was so unbalanced that she'd need to make a run for it?
