by Edwin Dasso
Tori had never doubted things between her and her ex-husband would change if either one of them remarried. He’ll cheat on his new wife just like he did on me, and then deny it. Our divorce papers show the cause as ‘irreconcilable differences’ not ‘adultery’. I saw the video, a video that conveniently disappeared the same day I intended to show it to my attorney.
Trying to damp down her negative thoughts, Tori took a sip of water, and then changed the subject. “Does Rylee have a game on Saturday?”
“Yes.” Mandy beamed. “You need to come and watch the four-year-olds play soccer. They are so cute. Last week one of Rylee’s teammates made a goal for the other team.”
Tori chuckled. “Nothing says Saturday morning fun like watching energetic kiddos run haphazard around a field.” She put sugar in her ice tea and stirred it. “What time’s the game?”
“Ten.” Mandy ate a few bites of her sandwich. “Oh, before I forget, can you and Keith come to dinner on Friday night? Max is getting a new barbeque grill that’ll be delivered tomorrow and he’s anxious to try it out. From the way he describes it, it’s huge. I’m also going to invite a couple of our neighbors, people you’ve met before.”
“Can’t. I’m going to an open house. The owner wants to show off his new house that Brandon designed.”
Mandy blotted her mouth, leaving her crimson lipstick intact. “And he invited you?”
“Yes. Fancy invitation and all. It was delivered to Brandon’s apartment building.”
“Maybe I can talk Max into having a Sunday afternoon barbeque instead. Then I could invite more people to enjoy his culinary skills.”
“Is your master chef husband still thinking about opening another restaurant?”
Mandy nodded. “Yes. He’s in the midst of negotiating for a spot with a view of the harbor. I’ll let you know if I can sway him to move the lighting of the barbeque to Sunday. Have you given any more thought about moving into Keith’s place?”
“Even if Keith seems ready to have a serious relationship, I’m not there yet. To tell you the truth, I’m not sure if he is either.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Well…”
“Come on, you can tell me.”
“He’s good company, but he’s a little slow in the romance area.”
A puzzled look flashed on Mandy’s face. “Are you telling me, you’ve been dating the guy for over a month and he hasn’t put the moves on you, not even checked out the shocks in the backseat of his car?”
“Yep.” Tori gazed at Mandy. “Backseat? When was the last time you and Max did that?”
“Sweetie, it’s always fun to play around in different places. You and Brandon used to like that as much as Max and I do. More than drawing up architectural plans went on in his office each time you paid him a visit. Remember the time he forgot to lock his door?”
“How could I forget three guys walking in on us with my legs facing heaven? After that, I avoided them at social events I attended with Brandon.”
“See, it wasn’t so terrible being married to him.”
“We did have some good times. Guess that’s why we’ve remained friends.” Tori glanced at her watch. “I need to get back to work.”
After the ladies said their goodbyes outside the restaurant, Mandy headed to the parking lot and Tori walked along the sidewalk toward the gallery.
A spark of awareness shot through Tori’s body. Someone is following me. With numerous pedestrians around her, she couldn’t identity an obvious tracker. She wanted verification and stepped to a window display. Tori glanced over her shoulder, but didn’t spot anyone who appeared to be looking her direction.
When she was one shop away from the Seashore Gallery, Tori saw the new doorman walking along the sidewalk, going in the opposite direction. They exchanged smiles as they passed each other. Something about him gave Tori an uneasy sensation. Have I ever met him before? Unable to pinpoint that or why she felt suspicious about him, she went through the gallery’s entrance and strolled to her office, greeting some of the frequent customers along the way.
The thought of Brandon getting married kept creeping into her mind as she tried to concentrate on locating a discrepancy in a customer’s account. When he left for England, he’d asked her to go with him. Has he met someone there, fallen in love, and asked the woman to marry him within the two months he’d been gone? Before he’d proposed to her, they’d known each other for almost a year. Tori couldn’t imagine he’d rush the whole process the second time around. Also, she couldn’t picture him suddenly not making the mortgage payments on the multi-million dollar house he’d designed for them, even if he did remarry. Am I just fooling myself, thinking he still cares about me?
Tori forced herself to stop dwelling on Brandon and went back to work. A few minutes later, she smiled when she found the elusive discrepancy in a customer’s account.
Shortly before six, she locked her office door and left the gallery. On her way back to Brandon’s apartment building, she again shivered from that strange sensation that she was being watched.
Suddenly, a towering man stepped out of an alleyway a few feet ahead of her and glared in her direction. Had she been the only person on the sidewalk, she would’ve darted across the street, but people were hustling up and down the pavement. Not a big crowd, but enough where she felt she wasn’t in immediate danger.
The tall stranger came closer and his deep set, steely gray eyes bore into Tori as he strode by her.
Is he the person I sense watching me? Could he be a stalker? Why me?
3
“Good evening, Mrs. Burgess,” said the new doorman as he opened the door.
Tori looked at the man. I’m still leery about him. Have all the crank calls caused me to be suspicious about all strangers? “Hello,” she said, giving him a fake smile.
Stepping into the elevator, Tori spotted the gray-eyed stranger standing outside the apartment building and staring at her. A wave of fear shot through her. She sighed with relief when more residents entered the elevator, blocking his view of her.
As she changed into sweats, her cell rang. Tori glanced at it. Not recognizing the number, she ignored the call and headed to the kitchen. While leftovers were heating in the microwave, her phone rang again. The same unrecognizable number appeared on the screen. She had just pulled out the hot leftovers when the unknown person called again.
Thinking there was a chance it might not be a crank call, she answered, “Hello?”
“Mrs. Burgess?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Trent Rice, an investigator. I’d like to talk to you about Rob Fackrell.”
“I don’t know a Rob Fackrell… Fackrell? Didn’t his wife die last year in a car crash?”
“Yes. And he believes your husband is responsible.”
“Brandon Burgess is my ex-husband, and he wasn’t driving the car when Mrs. Fackrell crashed into it. That’s all in the police report and her insurance paid to have his car repaired. I do feel sorry for Mr. Fackrell, but I don’t see how I can help you with any investigation regarding him. Would you like me to have my ex-husband give you a call?”
“My client mentioned that she had seen you with Rob Fackrell.”
“Like I said earlier, I don’t know him, but I did see a picture of him in the newspaper. He had a full beard and wore a baseball cap. Not very much of his face was visible in the photo. I doubt I’d even recognize him if we both attended the same social event.”
“Now he’s clean shaven and has brown hair with specks of gray in it.”
“That description sounds like several people I know and a large number of the patrons at the gallery where I work. Sorry, I can’t be more helpful.”
“My client must’ve been mistaken. Thank you for your time, Mrs. Burgess.” Rice disconnected.
Putting down her phone, Tori recalled Brandon telling her that the husband blamed him for the accident, but Brandon’s car was parked at the side of the road when it occur
red and he wasn’t in his car. How could Mr. Fackrell blame Brandon? The accident happened when they were still married, about fourteen months earlier. With the police report, eyewitnesses, and the alcohol level in his wife’s blood, Tori couldn’t understand why Fackrell hadn’t been able to come to grips about the truth of his wife’s accident. Maybe that was it—the poor man didn’t want to face the truth. Blaming someone was probably easier.
While Tori ate leftover meatloaf for dinner and watched a movie, Brandon called.
He spoke without saying hello first. “How was your work day?”
“Okay. How was yours?”
“Claire didn’t call Mandy and tell her about the woman I had dinner with last night?”
“Claire? When did you see Claire?”
“Tori, I know that tone. What’s the story? Did she say I was having another illicit affair?”
“Brandon, your affairs stopped being illicit the day our divorce was finalized.”
“I stand grammatically corrected. Someday, I’ll prove that I never cheated on you.”
“Let’s not go into that again.”
“So, Claire told Mandy that I was enjoying the company of another woman. Is that how it went down?”
“Better. She said you were engaged.”
“Engaged?”
“Yep. You gave your new acquaintance a diamond ring.”
He chuckled. “I only met her yesterday, and I couldn’t afford a stone that size.”
“Claire thinks you can.”
“A client asked me to take the woman to dinner. Nothing else.”
“Then why didn’t you say ‘Hi’ to Claire and her husband?”
“If I did, I’d have to introduce the woman.”
“Who is she? A mistress? Someone whose name appears in the tabloids?”
“Whatever you heard from Mandy or Claire, there isn’t any truth to it. Before I called you, I listened to my messages left on the answering machine. I suspect some were meant for you.”
“You mean the heavy breathing guy isn’t one of your admirers?”
“Exactly. When did you start getting those calls?”
“Right after I moved in here.”
“Has he called your cell?”
“Not yet.”
“I’m intending to have a tap put on my landline. Don’t worry, the caller will be identified.”
“Suppose he’s calling from public phones?”
“He probably is, but I know people who can still locate him. You are safe at my place.”
“The calls will probably stop when I leave here. I’ll be back in my house in a couple of weeks.”
“Even if the second floor will be finished by then, workers will be coming and going often. You’ll be more comfortable staying in my apartment. It’s secure and close to the gallery. Better yet, why don’t you come and join me in England?”
“Brandon, I’ve already declined that offer. Last night when I talked to you, it was around 2:00 a.m., your time, and you had female company. If I showed up, it might mess that up for you.”
“Tori, I called you from the lobby and used the phone that belonged to the woman I took to dinner. We were waiting for a friend to pick her up. I wasn’t entertaining her in my room. I have an early meeting tomorrow morning and it’s getting pretty late here. Call me if the heavy breather calls your phone.”
“I will.” I guess that’s the best option since Brandon has means to track down the breather.
After the call ended, Tori pushed the remote play button on the TV remote and started watching her movie again when it dawned on her that she hadn’t mentioned the investigator’s call to Brandon. Trent Rice wouldn’t have contacted her if Fackrell wasn’t up to something. She concluded that Brandon was far enough away, well out of the reach of any scheme Rob Fackrell might have to settle a fictitious score.
As she was getting ready for bed, a loud knock came on the door.
Tori threw on her robe, hurried to it, and peered out the peephole. She couldn’t see anyone. Since the doorman always called to clear a visitor before allowing that person on the elevator, she wondered if someone had knocked because of some kind of emergency. She turned off the alarm system, made sure the chain on the door was securely in place, and slowly opened it. On the hallway floor in front of the door was a long box, the type that held flowers. She bent down, slid it into the apartment, locked the door again and reset the alarm system.
Tori picked up the light-weight box, placed it on the kitchen counter, and opened it. Inside was a long-stemmed, black rose. No note. Staring at it, Tori felt a chill run up her spine. It confirmed what she had feared—the stalker was nearby.
Composing herself, she pulled Brandon’s phone out of the drawer and pushed the button to the front desk.
“Hello, Mrs. Burgess. How may I help you?” said the new doorman.
“A package was just placed outside my door. Who delivered it?”
“Mrs. Burgess, only one delivery man has entered the building this evening. He delivered a couple of pizzas.”
“So, it was a resident who delivered the package?”
“Or perhaps a guest of a resident. Would you like me to check the recorded video?”
“Yes. Please.”
“I’ll call you back after I’ve viewed it.”
“Then I’ll wait for your call.” Tori hung up and anxiously stared at the phone. The second it rang, she grabbed it. “What did you find out?”
Instead of hearing the voice of the doorman, heavy breathing came over the line.
Tori slammed down the receiver.
A few seconds later, it rang again.
This time, she looked at the monitor and saw “Front Desk.” Trying to sound calm, she answered, “Where you able to determine who dropped off the package?”
“During the past hour only your neighbor and her granddaughter have been in the hallway. Neither one of them stopped by your door and I didn’t see any package on the floor.”
“Then how was I able to retrieve a package from the hallway?”
“Mrs. Burgess, maybe I missed something. Charles is much more experienced with the surveillance cameras than I am. I’ll ask him to review the recording tomorrow. Is there anything else I can do for you this evening?”
“No. I’ll wait for Charles to look at it.”
“Good night, Mrs. Burgess.”
Tori stuck the phone back into the drawer and closed it. She went to the box that contained the rose and thoroughly examined it, looking for anything that might help to identity the sender. Embossed on the side was the name of the florist—Golden Blooms. She Googled the address on her cell and saw it was about a mile from the Seashore Gallery. Since black roses were rare, she thought the sales person might remember someone buying one and decided to pay the florist a visit during lunch the following day.
When she was in college, a girl in her dorm had been terrified by a stalker. He had called often, never saying a word—only breathing heavily into the phone, occasionally playing eerie music. He left a couple of printed notes. The police were called in, but the stalker was never located. The calls stopped for a week and then started up again. The frightened student couldn’t take it anymore, flew home and finished her degree at a nearby university. Tori was determined not to let a stalker chase her off, especially since her house wasn’t that far from the city. A stalker could easily follow her when she left Brandon’s place. The more information she could gather, would increase the odds of the police capturing him once she reported the stalker to them. Who could it be?
4
The black rose had monopolized Tori’s mind from the moment she arrived at the gallery. Before she left for work, Charles didn’t have an opportunity to look at the surveillance video, but he told her the new doorman’s name was Jerry. Charles promised to call her after viewing the tape. Good to his word, he called around ten and delivered the bad news—no images on it showed anyone delivering a box to her door. Since a box had been delivered, Tori
assumed a section of the surveillance camera recording must’ve been removed. Is the stalker a hacker or does he know someone who is? Or was it just a fluke?
Unable to wait any longer to find out if the florist could give her valuable information, Tori took an early lunch and left the gallery at 11:00 a.m. She walked at a fast pace to Golden Blooms.
A few people admired the plants hanging outside the florist. She went around them, entered the shop, and found no customers inside.
“May I help you?” The young sales clerk didn’t look older than nineteen.
“Yesterday I received a lovely black rose with the name of this florist on it. Unfortunately, the sender didn’t include a card. I’d really like to thank him or her. By any chance would you know who might’ve sent it?”
“My mom made me a corsage with a black rose in it. It was a big hit at my prom. For a little while a lot of black roses were sold. Not anymore. Only three were purchased yesterday.” She waved her hand toward a refrigerated display cabinet. “I filled the vase this morning.”
Tori looked at the cabinet and saw a vase with a half dozen black roses in it. “Do you remember who bought them?”
“A woman bought two. She comes in a couple of times a week and buys one or two. Mom’s out in back. She knows her name. Should I ask her?”
“No. Do you know who purchased the third rose?”
“A guy. Never saw him before.”
“Can you describe him?”
She rubbed her forehead. “He’s…”
“Lorelei?” a middle-aged woman said loudly, standing in a doorway at the back of the shop.
“Be right back.” Lorelei hurried to the woman and followed her through the doorway.
A few minutes later, the young woman returned. “Sorry, I can’t tell you anything about him. He told Mom he wanted it to be an anonymous gift. Sorry.”
“Can you give me a little hint—young, old, short, tall?”
