After Hannah hung up with Scott, she called Joyce and gave her the night off. Then she phoned her apartment building manager. After some haggling, she persuaded him to let her change the locks on her front door, and add a second dead bolt. Then Hannah called a locksmith and made an appointment for that afternoon.
“I’m sorry.” The twenty-something Asian man with the Seattle Mariners sweatshirt shook his head at him. “I can’t give out anyone’s phone number.”
Ben stood at the counter, in front of an open sliding glass window. The man refusing to help him was alone in the community college’s administration office.
“I understand,” Ben said, drumming his fingers on the countertop. “But this woman and I are in the same film class, and last night she accidentally left her Palm Pilot on her desk. I want to get it back to her. Her name’s Hannah, but I’m not sure about the last name—”
“Tell you what, leave the Palm Pilot with us,” the clerk said. “We’ll call her.”
Ben shook his head. “I don’t have it with me right now. I—”
“Then leave us your name and a number where she can reach you.” The man slid a pen and a pad of paper across the counter at him. “We’ll phone her for you.”
Running a hand through his blond hair, Ben sighed. “Listen, I’ll be honest. I’m in the same film class with this woman, and I really want to ask her out. I was hoping you might give me her phone number—or at least her last name. Could you throw me a bone here? I mean, I look like a decent enough guy, right?”
The clerk frowned at him. “No, not really. What’s your name, anyway? Whose film class are you in?”
Ben took a step back. “Forget about it. Sorry I bothered you.”
He turned away from the counter and almost bumped into a tall, thin black woman with tangerine hair. “Excuse me,” he muttered, continuing down the hallway.
“Well, hello, Ben!” the woman called. Her tone was singsong, teasing.
He stopped and stared at her. “Oh, hi. How are you doing?” He recognized her from the class. She sat in the back row.
The woman sauntered toward him. She wore jeans, a white peasant blouse, and gobs of silver jewelry. The orange-colored hair was done in a pageboy flip with bangs. It looked like a wig. Her eyelashes were false, too. In fact, Ben had always figured she was really a man. This close, he could see her Adam’s apple.
“You don’t know my name, do you, Ben?” she asked, one hand on her hip. “Are you embarrassed at the social faux pas?”
He stole a glance at his watch. He didn’t feel like chatting, but didn’t want to be impolite, either. And there was the whole gender-bender thing that made him slightly uncomfortable, but eager not to offend. Ben tried to smile. “Well, um, I know we’re in the same film class, but I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”
“You’re Ben Sturges. I made it a point to find that out three weeks ago when you started the class. I said to myself, Dede, you are going to get the name of that gorgeous man with the blue eyes and the wavy blond hair.” She snapped her fingers. “And, child, I knew your name by the end of the break that first day.”
“Well, that’s very flattering, thanks, um, Dede.” Ben looked back over his shoulder at the door.
“Dede Liscious,” she said, patting his shoulder with her man-sized hand. “But what do you care, Ben? You only have eyes for Miss Hannah, the ice-queen blonde. Am I right?”
Ben gave her a wary grin.
“Oh, I saw you try, try, and try again with Miss Thing last night. And I couldn’t help overhearing just now. Why do you want that girl’s digits? She’s not buying or selling, honey. The market is closed. Hannah is the teacher’s property.”
Eyes narrowed, Ben stared at her.
She nodded, then placed her hand on her chest. “It’s been going on for a few weeks now, ever since she started class.”
“Well, you certainly know a lot,” Ben said, with a forced laugh. “Um, you don’t happen to know Hannah’s phone number, do you?”
She smiled. “No, Ben, but I can tell you where she works. If you want your heart stomped on by an ice queen, that’s your business. You can call Hannah at Emerald City Video. You can call her, Ben. But she won’t call you back.”
“Is Hannah working today?” Ben asked.
There were only a couple of customers in the video store. Behind the counter was a petite young woman with long, curly blond hair. She gave Ben a little flirtatious pout. “Hannah called in sick today.”
“Sorry to hear that,” he said. “Do you know if she’ll be in tomorrow?”
The woman shrugged, and flicked her hair. “Not until Monday.”
“Oh, she’s that sick, huh?”
“No, she has weekends off. She’s probably okay. Often when Hannah calls in sick, it’s actually because her little boy isn’t feeling well or something.”
Ben nodded. “Oh, yeah. It’s been a while. How old is he now?”
“Four, I think. She brings him in the store every once in a while.”
“Have you ever met the father?” Ben asked.
“No,” she whispered. “Hannah never talks about him. Did you know him?”
Ben shook his head.
“I think he died a couple of years ago,” the young woman said.
“Oh,” Ben said. “Well, I guess Paul comes in here quite a lot.”
She frowned. “Paul?”
“Paul Gulletti. Isn’t he kind of seeing her?”
The clerk laughed. “That’s news to me. I don’t think Hannah’s dating anybody.”
“Really? Huh,” Ben said, raising his eyebrows. Then he smiled at her and casually leaned on the counter. “Listen, it’s been forever since I’ve seen her. You don’t happen to have Hannah’s phone number, do you?”
“My coworker probably has it. Want to hold on for a sec?”
“Thanks.” Ben watched her retreat to the back room.
The young woman glanced over her shoulder and gave him a big smile. She opened the door to the break room, where Scott sat at the desk, labeling a new shipment of videos.
He looked up from his work and squinted at her. “Cheryl, who were you talking to out there?” he whispered.
“I think he might be an old boyfriend of Hannah’s or something. He was asking about her—”
“Yeah, I heard. I was about to come out there. Listen, Cheryl, I don’t think Hannah would be especially thrilled that you’re telling strangers all about her personal life. Is he a customer? Did you get his name?”
Cheryl frowned. “God, do I have to get, like, a security check on somebody just because he asks a couple of questions? He’s cute, and I’m just trying to help. All he wanted was Hannah’s phone number.”
Shaking his head, Scott got to his feet. He brushed past her and stepped out of the back room. “Um, can I help you—” he started to say, making his way toward the counter. Scott stopped in his tracks.
No one was there.
She was deciding whose Sunday newspaper she’d steal this morning. Dressed in a lavender jogging suit, and with her black hair pulled back in a short ponytail, Cindy Finkelston stood at the mail table in the lobby of her apartment building. She hadn’t been jogging. Cindy had power-walked to the coffee shop three blocks away for her usual Sunday morning latte to go.
Some asshole in line at the coffee place had given her flack, because she’d cut in front of him while he was glancing out the window. She’d dished it right back to him, claiming she hadn’t known he was in line. He’d called her “rude” and “obnoxious.” But, ha-ha, she’d gotten her coffee before him.
Cindy set the hot, heavy-duty paper container on the mail table, and studied the pile of newspapers. She ignored the note that had been taped by the mailboxes about three weeks ago:
