A second voice made a comment Eric could not hear.
"…magazine, house, maybe… back now. In no shape… riskier."
More that was inaudible. "The club, yeah."
Eric looked across the diner to the mirror behind the lunch counter. An elderly couple blocked his view of the occupants of the booth, but… there. The couple were finished and got up to pay on their way out. Eric could clearly see two men, one in a fishing vest and plaid shirt, the other in camouflage. Perhaps he had been mistaken about them being up to no good. Those two look like they're about to go camping.
"She's… tonight. I heard her telling… every night this week. I paid. I'll find some way… until she's outside. Or stop by the house, bare spot in the grass, I've looked in so often." Both men laughed.
Eric watched the mirror out of the corner of his eye in horror as the man in the vest pantomimed a camera. The Peeping Tom. Maybe both of them are. But what club was a target? he wondered. His heart began to pound. Magazine. Club. Blonde. Surely, they were not discussing Donna? It felt like more than coincidence. He felt nauseous. What should I do? Should I call 9-1-1? What if I'm wrong?
Eric left his half-eaten meal and casually walked to the cashier to pay. "Keep the change," he said as he walked out quickly. Inside his car, he waited impatiently with the engine running. He would follow the men just to make sure this had nothing to do with Donna. He had to be mistaken. They were harmless. But if he did happen to see something suspicious, he could call it in then. Don't get ahead of yourself.
Ten long minutes later, the two men came out of the diner. Eric's heart sank as one of the men got into a van while the other, into a dark sedan. Which should I follow? The decision was made for him when the sedan pulled out into traffic first. Easing in behind it unobstrusively, he followed the car for several blocks before it pulled into a driveway and parked outside an apartment complex. When the man got out, he waved to someone out on a balcony and noisily greeted him. Obviously, he was not planning anything furtive any time soon.
The van. Eric put the car into reverse and headed back to the diner. Maybe he hadn't left yet. Damn. The van was nowhere in sight. Eric had come there for dinner because it was fairly close by. The apartment was worth a look-see. As he went through the gate of their complex, he slowed down. Eric's eyes darted in every direction, searching for the van. Nothing. He circled all of the buildings before he pulled into his parking spot in front of their apartment.
Oh well. Probably nothing. Eric sighed, feeling a bit foolish. On a whim, however, he walked around the end of the building and stopped outside their bedroom window. Hoping that no one had seen him—he might be accused of being the peeper, even outside his own place—Eric pulled out his phone and enabled the flashlight app.
The light revealed nothing near him, but as he moved the phone around, he saw it immediately—a distinct worn area nearer the window. Donna!
Eric sped toward the club, hurriedly dialing Donna as he drove. She would have the ringer off, he knew, but prayed she'd feel the vibration and answer. Madame X was strict about certain things, and phones were one of them. It made perfect sense—she didn't want members to come out of a room, see someone with a smartphone, and worry they were being photographed or discussed.
Through the car's Bluetooth, the number rang. And rang. And rang. Eric ended the connection before it went to voice mail. Damn. He wasn't even a member at the club. No key. No answer. How would he get inside?
Eric was still blocks away when his phone rang. Thank God.
"What's up, babe?" Donna asked. "I had to step outside to use the phone and it's raining. I'm in the car, but I've only got a minute. Why'd you hang up?"
"Don't go back inside, Donna. Stay in the car." Eric sounded out of breath, but his voice was steady.
Donna was alarmed. "What do you mean? What's wrong? Are you okay? I've got to go back, babe. I'm the only one here. I'm quitting soon, but it's my jo—"
Eric spoke slowly but firmly as he sat impatient for a red light to flash green. "Have you seen a man there in a fishing vest?"
Despite herself, Donna giggled. The question seemed to come from nowhere. "Noooo. Why? We don't really cater to fi—"
"I think there's a man I saw at the diner on his way. In a fishing vest. I think he may be one of the Peeping Toms." He had a thought as the light changed and he sped off again. "Maybe no vest, but just a plaid shirt." What if he changes first? He suddenly felt ridiculous. A damn good stonemason, yes, but what gave him the idea he was fucking Sherlock Holmes?
Donna twisted around in her seat just as she saw the front door closing. "Oh, damn. I've got to go, babe. A member just went inside, and I need to check them in. Bye! Be home in a few hours."
Holding her purse over her head to shield her from the rain, Donna let herself back inside. Hmm. No one waiting after all. Only she and Madame X had a master key… and then she remembered the trouble about her key that second night. She had looked high and low, distraught that she had lost it, only to find it on her desk the next morning at work. She assumed it had fallen from her purse and been covered up with papers. Had someone taken it, made a copy, then returned
