Throw a Double for Spite

by Cherie Mitchell

  She glanced over at the phone as another wave of rain dashed against the windowpane, wondering if she should call Briar back and tell her about what Matt had said, but she quickly decided against it. She wouldn’t mention the conversation to her friend and hopefully Matt wouldn’t think to bring it up with Briar either. She should never have called him. Megan was right.

  Let sleeping dogs lie, Riley.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Riley turned on her computer as Colin stomped back to his office carrying his 8.30 am cup of coffee. She saw him out of the corner of her eye as he reappeared in the doorway a few seconds later to make his usual scowling appraisal of the office, his actions as regular as clockwork. She didn’t look at him, instead clicking past her cherry blossom screensaver to a news site in order to scan over the morning’s news before starting work for the day. Riley peeped over the top of her monitor as Heather, wrapped in a woolen coat and scarf and bringing the cold air of the morning into the office with her, hurried in full of apologies for her lateness. Colin said something to her, his voice too low for Riley to hear, and then his office door closed with a snap. Riley turned her gaze back to the screen.

  THE CONDO CREEPER STRIKES AGAIN – WOMAN LEFT IN COMA

  Her stomach cramped as she read the headline, her thoughts immediately turning to Briar. She quickly skimmed through the article, urgently searching for proof that she had no need for concern.

  The Condo Creeper’s reign of terror took a drastic and potentially deadly turn last evening when the man in black entered an apartment in East Street through an unlocked door.

  Riley exhaled. Briar didn’t live in East Street. Her apartment was several blocks over from East Street. Briar wasn’t the Condo Creeper’s latest victim. Riley moved her gaze down to the next paragraph.

  The victim, a young woman in her late twenties, was discovered unconscious on the floor in her apartment when a neighbor disturbed the perpetrator in the midst of his vile crime. The neighbor reported that the Condo Creeper was wearing his distinctive head-to-toe black clothes and had a balaclava over his head. She was unable to provide any further description and is reportedly still in shock.

  The victim is under police guard in hospital and is yet to regain consciousness after suffering a vicious blow to the head from an unidentified blunt object. Additional details on her condition are currently unavailable. Police advise that they have increased patrols in the inner city area and warn all women living alone to take extra precautions with their personal security.

  Is it only a matter of time before the Condo Creeper becomes the Condo Killer?

  “Are you ready for our meeting with Angus?”

  Riley hurriedly closed her browser as Paul appeared beside her desk. She looked up at him, about to reply, but instead she did a rapid double take. “Paul, your face!”

  “It’s nothing. I was stupid enough to walk into a door.” He touched tentative fingers to the new bruise on his cheekbone. “Looks like I’ll have to add abject clumsiness to my long list of faults.”

  “Ouch, it looks painful.”

  “It’s fine.” He dropped his hand from his cheek and nodded at the folder sitting on the side of her desk. “Have you got everything you need?”

  “Yes, almost. What time is the meeting?”

  “In fifteen minutes. I’ll see you in the boardroom.”

  Riley looked over at Angus’s office, where the door was closed and the light inside switched off. “Isn’t he here yet?”

  “No, he must be running late. I didn’t see him before I left the house this morning.” Paul gave her an absentminded, distracted smile before wandering away to speak to Heather.

  Riley opened her folder to check that she had her paperwork in order, her mind now back on the article she’d just read. It was scary to think that such a violent man was on the loose in the neighborhood, and it certainly made her more aware of keeping herself safe. Perhaps she should phone a locksmith about getting an extra chain lock installed on the door? It wouldn’t hurt to have an extra lock and it would give her additional peace of mind. She jotted a reminder on a sticky note to call a locksmith after the meeting and stuck it to her monitor, just as Angus walked in the door muffled up against the cold. He didn’t enter his office, nor did he stop to greet anyone, instead marching through the open plan office and disappearing into the corridor leading to the boardroom.

  Riley rolled her eyes. Great, now she had Angus’s bad mood to contend with. She checked that her phone in her drawer was switched to silent and tucked her handbag under her desk with her foot. She picked up the folder and a pen and made her way through to the boardroom, sharing a sympathetic look with Heather on the way past.

  Paul and Angus stopped talking and turned to stare at her as she entered the room. Angus grunted in lieu of a greeting. He was still wearing his long dark coat but he began to undo the buttons as Riley took her seat at the boardroom table. His black leather gloves lay discarded on the tabletop and she found she couldn’t tear her eyes away from them, imagining the stealthy Condo Creeper sneaking into that poor woman’s apartment under the disguising cover of darkness.

  “Riley? Are you ready?” Angus’s voice boomed across the table, wrenching her back into the moment.

  She jumped and cleared her throat before efficiently flipping her folder open in front of her. “Sorry, Angus. I was just running a few figures through my head. Where do you want me to start?”

  ***

  Riley opened her drawer to check her phone. She had returned to her desk at the end of the meeting, but not before taking a detour to the breakroom for a rejuvenating cup of coffee. She needed a distraction after an hour and a half of monotonous business talk with Angus and his son. There was a message waiting from Jack and she opened it immediately, delighted that he’d thought of her this morning.

  ‘Hey lovely Riley. Have you given any more thought to my offer of meeting for a coffee?’

  She bit her lip, thinking her answer through before replying. ‘There’s a lot going on at the moment. Can I think about it for a little longer?’

  ‘Take as long as you need.’

  She was about to return the phone to her drawer when another message flashed onto the screen. ‘Our little chats have become the highlight of my day.’

  She wrinkled her nose, inordinately pleased by the comment. She’d taken so many mis-steps lately and it was good to think that she’d made someone happy. Another message flashed up. ‘You have no idea how much I enjoy receiving one of your texts.’

  She couldn’t hide her smile as she tapped out her answer. ‘I feel the same way.’

  She waited, expecting a reply, but there was nothing. Disappointed, she tossed the phone back into the drawer and pushed it shut as Lucy left Angus’s office and walked over to her desk.

  “You missed a couple of calls when you were in your meeting.” She passed Riley a small bundle of messages.

  “Thanks.” Riley began to flip through them but looked up as Lucy started to walk away. “Lucy, do you have a minute?”

  “Yes...” The girl looked at her warily, as if she was expecting Riley to hand her a bunch of unwanted tasks to complete.

  “You took a phone message for me the other day. Someone left me the message Let sleeping dogs lie. Do you remember if the caller was a male or a female?”

  Lucy glanced over her shoulder to where Angus was watching them through his office window. She nervously scratched at her thin wrist and started to back away again. “I don’t remember. I don’t even remember writing the message down. Do you know how many calls I take each day?”

  “Yes, I do know and you’re doing a great job. Thanks anyway.” She turned her attention back to the message slips, putting most of them aside as general calls from clients that she would deal with over the course of the day. However, she stopped when she reached the last one. Caller: Bill Preston Message: Can I swing by the office tomorrow and take you out to lunch? Call me.

  Riley suppressed a sigh. E
very instinct was telling her to text her father now and put him off with an excuse, but she hadn’t seen him for so long. If she had lunch with Bill tomorrow, she could cross that daughterly duty from her list and put him out of her mind for a few weeks. At least if she agreed to a meeting during her lunch hour, she had a good reason to keep it short.

  “Riley!” Angus bellowed her name from his doorway. Riley startled and dropped the handful of messages onto her desk, where they splayed in messy disarray across her desk pad.

  She shoved her face out from behind her computer screen so she could see her boss’s face and he could see hers. “Do you mind?! I don’t appreciate the way you constantly shout at me. I’ll be with you as soon as I’m done here.”

  Angus reared back in surprise, not used to anyone answering him back. He glanced around the office, muttered something under his breath, and retreated into his lair.

  Astonished by her own audacity but more than pleased with the result, Riley lifted her chin, unnecessarily straightened her computer screen, pushed the fallen messages aside, and began to type.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Riley checked the numerals on the tiny clock on the bottom of her computer screen. Bill was late, but perhaps he’d forgotten about their lunch arrangement. Reliability had never been one of his strengths and she knew that far better than anyone else ever could. She moved papers pointlessly around her desk, unable to settle to anything when she was expecting him to turn up at any moment.

  Her desk phone trilled and she snatched it up to hear Lucy’s voice. “Mr. Preston is here to see you.”

  “Thanks Lucy.” Riley dropped the phone back into the cradle. She took a moment to flip open her hand mirror to apply a slick of red lipstick. Based on past experience, this lunch date could go one of two ways; she would either be bored rigid by the time her meal arrived or ready to pull her own hair out before she lifted her fork from the table.

  She walked through the office and out into the reception area to greet her father. Bill, dressed in a smart navy blazer and a black pair of trousers, had his back to her. He stood with his hands in his pockets and his legs astride, his regular relaxed stance, as he gazed out through the window at the parking lot. She paused for a moment in the doorway as the familiar sense of loss swept over her. How different things would have been if only Bill had put his family first.

  Bill suddenly turned, catching her watching him. His weathered face broke into a broad grin. “Hello sweetheart.”

  “Bill.” She hitched up the strap of her bag and walked quickly across to the door, feeling Lucy’s eyes upon her as she bypassed his attempt to kiss her. “We should get going. I’m in the middle of a hundred different things and I don’t have long.”

  Bill had parked his car haphazardly across the entranceway. He held the car door open for her before walking around the back of the vehicle and climbing into the driver’s seat. Riley glanced at the office door as Colin opened it and stepped outside. Obscurely, he was dressed in an orange safety vest and had a can of paint swinging from his hand. He ran his hand along the peeling paint of the door, sending a snowfall of dried paint flakes drifting to the stained concrete below. Riley gasped as Bill’s heavy hand dropped down onto her knee and he gave it an affectionate squeeze. “How have you been, sweetheart?”

  She moved her knees to one side, out of reach of his hand. “Busy. Always busy. Watch your driving. You nearly hit the gate post.”

  “All work and no play makes Riley a dull girl.”

  She scratched at her eyebrow, already irritated by him and they hadn’t even reached the restaurant yet. “My friends don’t find me dull. What’s with the sudden need to prove your fatherly and grandfatherly worth?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Morgan told me about the money you put into her account for Samantha’s birthday gift. Didn’t you stop to think that your granddaughter might have preferred to see you in person, regardless of the size of the gift you brought with you? And while we’re on the subject of clichés, money can’t buy you love.”

  Bill chuckled, as if she’d just produced the funniest punchline in the world. “It was best to give Morgan the money and let her buy something to suit Sam’s tastes and interests.”

  “And whose fault is it that you barely know your own grandchildren?”

  Bill sighed, dredging it up from his gut. “Can we please try to have a pleasant lunch together?”

  “We can try, but I’m not giving you any guarantees.”

  They drove in silence until Bill pulled up outside a popular but expensive restaurant. Riley opened the door and got out without a word. She’d been wanting to try this place for ages but she wasn’t about to tell her father that.

  Bill reopened the conversation again after the waitress had brought them both a glass of wine and taken their meal orders. “I was here last week with Lacey. The food is superb.”

  Riley fiddled with the silverware at her place setting, unwilling to be drawn into any conversation that involved Bill’s latest girlfriend.

  “I went to see my doctor a few weeks ago,” he said, abruptly and without warning changing the subject. “I received the results of a few tests yesterday. I thought you should know.”

  She jerked her head up and stared at him. Her scalp prickled and her palms itched, as if she’d just plunged her hands into a patch of poison ivy. “What tests?”

  He steadily met her gaze. “I have cancer, Riley. Prostate cancer.”

  “What does that mean?” she asked urgently, unwilling to allow his words to sink in. “What course of treatment is available to you? What are your options?” His two brief sentences had obliterated years of discord in just seconds. The thought of losing him was unimaginable.

  He held up his hands to stop her rapid-fire questions. “It’s not too bad. It’s a curable disease. I already have the date of my first appointment for radiation therapy.”

  “How did you get cancer? Why you? Is there anything you could have done to prevent it?” She felt as if her voice wasn’t her own, as if it was coming from the mouth of a stranger.

  “Every man on the planet is at risk of developing prostate cancer and around one male in every nine will get a positive diagnosis. However, only one in 39 will die from it. Did you know that 80% of men who live to the age of 80 will have cancer cells present in their prostate?” He stated the facts with interest rather than fear, his lifelong fascination with information, analytics, and research coming to the fore.

  Riley pressed her hand to her chest in an attempt to relieve the tightness above her heart. “Does your doctor think you’ll recover or will you be that one man in 39?”

  “The prognosis is good.”

  “Does Morgan know? And Mom?” He looked strained, grey. Old. How had her father grown so old without her noticing? He has cancer!

  “You’re the first to know.” His gaze didn’t falter, didn’t shift from her own.

  “You’ve told me even before you told the stripper?” Despite the gravity of the situation, she felt a small flutter of triumph that he’d thought to speak to her first.

  A shadow of pain crossed his face. “Riley... can you please use her name? Lacey is a lovely girl. I’m sure the two of you would get on well if you ever met.”

  “I doubt that. I doubt that I could get on with any of your long list of girlfriends and I’ve never had the slightest inclination to meet any of them. That hasn’t changed.” She couldn’t keep the sneer from her voice.

  Bill looked relieved as the young waitress walked up with their meals. Forever the ladies’ man, Bill squared his shoulders and gazed with admiring adulation up into her face. “And here she is, a lovely young lady to make all my dreams come true with a delicious dish of carbonara.”

  The waitress granted him a professional smile as she set the plate on the table in front of him. She sat Riley’s dish of freshly tossed Caesar salad down, along with a small ramekin of extra parmesan cheese. Riley noticed as she walked away that she had Bil
l’s appreciative gaze glued to her rear.

  “How long will the treatment last? How long before they’ll know if it has worked or not?” Riley determinedly pulled her father’s focus back to the importance of their conversation.

  “Six to eight weeks, ten at the most. It’s not a lifetime and I’m feeling very positive about it. I have complete faith in my doctor.”

  “And how do you feel in yourself?”

  “Well enough, although the doctor has advised that the treatment will become more exhausting as it progresses.” Bill wound several strands of creamy pasta around his fork and twinkled his eyes at her. “Everything still works, and that’s the main thing.”

  “Dad.”

  They both stared at each other.

  “You haven’t called me that in a very long time,” he said softly.

  “I haven’t wanted to call you that in a very long time,” she countered.

  “Fair enough.” He nodded, apparently pleased with her answer, and went back to his meal.

  Riley was sorry when lunch was over and she had to go back to the office. After Bill’s bombshell, the conversation had moved onto more everyday things and she’d enjoyed tiny glimpses of their old relationship. He dropped her back to the office and leaned across the seat to kiss her goodbye. “Thank you, sweetie. I had a lovely time. We should do this more often.”

  She was suddenly reluctant to say goodbye. “How will the treatment affect you? Are you going to be terribly sick?”

  “They’re not sure. Everyone responds differently but as I said earlier, the doctor has warned me that I’ll be very tired regardless of how else my body reacts.”

  “You must keep in touch and let me know if I can do anything for you.”