The Assistant: A gripping psychological thriller with a nerve-shredding ending

by Cathryn Grant

  “As long as it’s after six,” Charlie said. “Although Jenny shouldn’t be so quick to open the door at odd hours. Did you hear about that man who was beaten to death?”

  Laura stopped. She needed to take a deep breath, but her tongue acted of its own accord. “What man?” Her tone was sharp.

  “They found some guy’s body in the bushes at the high school. It had been there for more than a day. It was covered with dead branches and weeds, as if someone tried to hide it,” Charlie said.

  “That’s awful,” Laura said. “How did you hear about it?”

  Charlie moved away from Jenny. He stared at Laura. She felt that something had been off about her response, but she was simply overly anxious. He would never in a hundred years make a connection between a dead man and her. Never. It didn’t matter that he knew she ran there.

  “We were out for a walk and saw two cop cars and a taped-off area. We asked what was going on.”

  “Oh. That’s so terrible. And he was beaten to death?”

  “Something like that. I don’t know the details. It’s a good thing you weren’t running there when it happened. Maybe you should think twice about going out in the dark. Alone.”

  Charlie sounded like her mother. It was unacceptable, in the twenty-first century, to keep treating women like a special class, as if they needed protection and had to adjust their lives, do less than men, in order to be safe. “I don’t let fear run my life.”

  “Fear is there to protect you,” Charlie said.

  “Most of the time, fear is irrational.”

  “And sometimes, murder is random. You need to take care of yourself.” His mouth remained open, as if he planned to say more. She saw it coming, saw his expression change to something patriarchal, the assumed voice of male authority, patronizing. “Women are at greater risk for violent crime. Don’t be naïve.”

  “You said a man was killed.”

  “Yes, but don’t let feminist nonsense lure you into taking unnecessary risks.”

  “I’ve been running there for years. I can take care of myself.”

  “I’m sure you can,” Jenny said quietly.

  “Yet you stopped. So maybe your gut is telling you to be more careful. That’s why God invented gyms with beefy guys at the check-in desk and machines to simulate running,” Charlie said.

  “It’s not the same.”

  Charlie glared at her.

  “Anyway, I’m really sorry I bothered you. And if you hear anything else about the murder, let me know. You don’t think of that kind of thing happening around here.”

  “No, you don’t,” Charlie’s voice was louder than it had been a moment earlier.

  “We’ll drop off the paper, if we see one,” Jenny said.

  “Thanks.” Laura walked back to her loft. She had the feeling she’d made a terrible mistake, but wasn’t sure if it was simple, irrational fear, or her subconscious whispering that she’d said something she shouldn’t have.

  17

  Vanessa

  WHEN HANK TRAVELED, Vanessa was bored. She also became unsettled about the security of her job, and what it actually entailed. After all, she was there for him, guarding his door, and serving his needs. Her support for his staff was less well-defined, and made for an inconsistent workload. Very few people came to the end of the hallway without the main attraction encased within his walls of glass. Missing her daily meetings with Hank left a void that wasn’t satisfied by going home early and cooking a more elaborate dinner, or getting her blood pumping at a dance class.

  At four o’clock, the sky was already turning gray, preparing for sunset, if you could call it that, since all it meant was a slow fading of light, then a sudden shift to darkness as if a cosmic hand had flipped the switch. She locked her computer screen and stood. She put on her coat and wrapped her scarf around her neck. The beige scarf was getting a bit limp, showing its age. She definitely needed a new one. A pale green or even a yellow would look good, and brighten her mood. She slung her purse strap over her shoulder and dug out her keys as she walked out of the cubicle.

  When she reached the parking lot, it was full. It was entirely possible that every person with a window office was watching her leave, sneaking out early. It would cross the minds of some that she was cheating on her time card. But they didn’t know about all the times she’d marked her departure at six when it had actually been ten or fifteen minutes after six. Those minutes added up over the weeks and years. Besides, if they had nothing better to do than track the comings and goings of Hank’s admin, then they weren’t doing their own jobs. Still, she was compelled to glance up at the second floor, wondering if Laura, in particular, was watching.

  At the pharmacy, she pulled into a parking slot, turned off the engine, and looked at the facade of the building. She was stealing from a store that probably had narrow profit margins, delivering mass-produced supplies to people living paycheck to paycheck. In many ways, she was one of them. It wasn’t as if she had a well-planned stock portfolio or more than a few thousand dollars in savings. She had no stake in her house—nothing but her understanding with Matt.

  Disgust over her financial state soon shifted to distaste for her pathetic need to take things, getting a thrill from stockpiling cosmetics and other small items she didn’t need. And they were cheap; it wasn’t as though she acquired salon-quality nail polish.

  What was wrong with her? Why did it feel so damn good, and why, now, was she suddenly ashamed? It made her feel smart and clever for a few hours, or a few minutes. A silly exercise to prop up a questionable existence, a life with no real purpose except fixing herself up every day, trying to keep Hank happy, cooking mostly ho-hum dinners, and living in a suspended state with Matt. No wonder Matt didn’t take her anywhere nice; what did she offer him, really? She drifted from one month to the next, her life melting away while she hardly paid attention.

  She got out of the car, grabbed her purse, and walked toward the store. She never locked the car when her intention was shoplifting. It was one less rough spot in a casual but rapid exit.

  The store was too hot. She grabbed a plastic basket and walked to the food section. Once four cans of soup, on sale, were in her basket, the hard plastic handles dug into the bone of her forearm. She put the soup back on the shelf.

  A clerk materialized at her left. “That’s a good deal. You should grab them while you can.”

  “It is a good deal, but then I remembered I don’t really like chicken noodle that much.”

  “The vegetable is on sale, too.”

  Vanessa nodded. She waited for the clerk to go away, but the girl, blond hair plastered to her scalp and exotic black eyeliner that made it difficult to look away from her eyes, continued to hover. Vanessa sighed and put two cans of soup in her basket.

  “You don’t get the maximum savings if you don’t get four.”

  Vanessa added two more cans. She turned and headed toward the end of the aisle.

  The girl followed. “Anything I can help you find?”

  Vanessa didn’t look back. “No thanks. I come in here all the time.”

  “I think I’ve seen you before.”

  A clammy chill seeped between Vanessa’s shoulder blades and down her spine. The girl was too young. It wasn’t possible she was part of store security. She just wanted to help. Trying too hard. “I really don’t need any help,” Vanessa said. “But thanks.”

  She walked quickly to the cold and flu medicine aisle. Thankfully, the girl dropped away, but she’d shaken Vanessa’s routine. It was best to leave now. She grabbed a bottle of cough syrup and glanced back toward the food section. The girl stood there as if she didn’t have any specific tasks assigned, wandering around the ends of the aisles.

  In the cosmetics section, Vanessa found herself looking at every item with an unusual lack of interest. The nail colors were all the same. Matt had been right about that. And she’d known it all along, but now her awareness was sharp and painful. She not only owned every shade of r
ed displayed in front of her, she had three or four bottles of some of them. She inched her way down the aisle. She picked up a package with a pale brown eyeliner pencil. There was no need for it. She returned it to its place on the rack.

  To her right, a woman who looked to be in her mid-thirties studied the eye shadows. With long, artificial fingernails done in a French manicure, she plucked a box of shadow out of the rack. She studied the color and placed it on the narrow ledge. She pulled out two more colors and set them beside the first. She moved a few steps away from Vanessa and worked a tube of lipstick out of its slot.

  The woman was planning to slip the eye shadow into her purse. Vanessa could feel it. She hadn’t honed her observation skills, her own studied nonchalance over the years, without learning to notice when someone else was up to the same thing.

  It was unlikely the woman would make her move while Vanessa was in the same aisle. She should leave and let the woman complete her task. But part of her wanted to see what came of this, wanted to see how urgent the desire was, and whether that made the other shoplifter dangerously bold. The woman put the lipstick back and walked to the hypoallergenic display.

  After a few minutes, Vanessa was tired of watching. She didn’t need to duck around the end of the aisle and spy until she confirmed what she already knew. She turned and started walking. She wouldn’t look back. It was sad. It made her feel not so smart after all—just a common petty thief.

  A gnawing sensation in her stomach, like hunger, but without the accompanying sounds of churning acid, told her she should set the basket down, soup and cough syrup still in place, and walk out. It was impossible to recover her rhythm. Every item appeared useless or unnecessary, a store filled with things she didn’t want. She put the basket on the floor in front of a rack of lipstick. She walked to the door and went outside where she took her first deep breath in several minutes.

  The interior of the car was still warm. She closed her eyes and wrapped her fingers around the steering wheel, sliding them across the hard, smooth leather. It felt solid, crafted to fit her hands. Again, the need to take something bloomed inside her belly.

  The problem was, she needed to move on. And up. Cosmetics and personal care items, candy and cheap pens, and inexpensive lingerie were beneath her. There was no pride anymore in her success. She needed to explore a higher-end store. But that meant stores with more sophisticated security measures that weren’t always immediately obvious.

  It was a huge risk. Terrifying. She wasn’t sure she was up to it. And if she wasn’t, then maybe she wasn’t all that clever after all. She opened her eyes and started the engine. As she exited the parking lot, she turned right because it was easier, but she had no idea what her destination was.

  Traffic on Stevens Creek Boulevard was thickening, as if the descending darkness pushed the cars closer together, restricting the flow, like sluggish blood slowing its passage through veins as the beast settled into hibernation. She turned into the parking lot and found a spot near one of her favorite discount clothing stores.

  Was she really going to do this? Without making a plan, she could see that beneath her conscious thought, her desire had selected a target and moved her in that direction. A target that was likely to have few, if any, security personnel, and a smaller staff than a mainstream department store, and moderately priced merchandise that wasn’t secured inside locked cabinets or connected by locked cables.

  She walked quickly to the entrance and pulled open the door with force—a woman on a mission with a mental list of what she needed, and the determination to find it quickly.

  The store was emptier than she’d expected based on the number of cars parked nearby. Two clerks stood behind the large, empty checkout stand chatting with each other. There was a woman with three small children, a couple with an infant and a toddler in a double-wide stroller, and several high school girls. Possibly there were others, not immediately visible.

  She walked toward the center of the store and turned down an aisle filled with outdoor jackets. She needed to browse, take time to make a plan. There were scarves and woolen gloves on the opposite side of the aisle. A scarf would be easy to slip inside her purse. She’d choose matching gloves for her legitimate purchase.

  A pair of leggings wouldn’t fit under her skinny jeans, but the idea of wearing something out of the store made her heart beat faster. She’d never done anything like this. When she took lingerie, she’d grabbed the delicate things off overstuffed racks and dropped the items into her purse, never daring to wear something out of the store. She’d always imagined if she was stopped, she could more easily explain it away as something she’d put in her purse absent-mindedly, tired of carrying it, then forgotten. This new challenge excited her. She’d wasted years, overly cautious—too frightened, truthfully—to reach for anything that increased the level of skill required.

  A set of sage green gloves and a matching scarf were particularly appealing. She lifted the gloves off the hook and wiggled one onto her left hand. It caught on her diamond ring. She pulled it off and slid her right hand into the other glove. She studied her outstretched hand as she reached for the matching scarf with her other hand. She glanced toward the center aisle. No one was there. She stuffed the scarf in her purse, pulling her wallet and sunglasses case up so they rested on top, covering the scarf.

  Still holding the gloves, she walked to the center aisle and headed toward the sweaters and shirts. Although it was winter, there was a rack of tank tops meant for layering under other shirts. One of those would be easy to slip under her sweater. As the thought took root, her heart raced, beat with heavier thuds against her bones. She walked down the aisle grabbing sweaters and tank tops until she couldn’t hold any more hangers.

  There weren’t any clerks to check what items went in and out of the fitting rooms. Only two of the eight doors were closed. She chose a room and looped the hangers over the hook. She sat on the bench, pulled out her phone, and scrolled through her email and text messages. She wasn’t planning to try on all those tops. She needed to spend an adequate amount of time in the room, in case someone had seen her go in.

  After tapping through a few Facebook updates, she put her phone away and pulled her sweater over her head. She looked in the mirror. She ran her fingers through her hair, lifting it away from her face. Her eyes were clear and direct, her lips parted slightly, giving a non-threatening appearance, someone you’d like to know as a friend, someone you wanted to think the best of. The image she portrayed was not that of a thief. She often worried that her co-workers looked at her and saw a woman who wasn’t very bright. Or maybe she was the one who felt that, and they were simply mirroring her own beliefs. But studying her face now, she saw confidence and intelligence.

  She chose a pink tank top. The fabric was thin, the type that wouldn’t look very good after three or four washings. It was only fifteen dollars, which was another hint of how long it would survive. But sometimes clothing surprised you. Expensive, well-made things unraveled quickly and a shirt that cost ten bucks lasted for years. She pulled it over her head. It fit nicely. She slithered back into her sweater, ran her fingers through her hair, and tucked the empty hanger under the bench.

  When she stepped out of the fitting room, the area was deserted. The same two doors were still closed. She walked to the checkout and placed the gloves on the counter.

  The clerk scanned the price tag. “You get a discount on these if you buy the matching scarf and hat.”

  “No thanks.”

  “They’re fourteen on their own. With the hat and scarf, they’d be less.”

  “No thanks.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure,” she said.

  “Don’t you want to know what it would be with the scarf and hat? It would be thirty-one-ninety-five.”

  “I only want the gloves.”

  The clerk shrugged and ran the total. Vanessa stuck her credit card into the reader.

  “Did you bring a bag?” the
clerk asked.

  She hesitated. If she opened her purse, would the scarf be visible? She’d have to carry the gloves. “No. Actually, if you can cut the strap, I’ll wear them.”

  The clerk fumbled under the counter. After a moment of rattling plastic containers, she straightened. “I guess I don’t have any scissors.”

  “It’s fine. I’ll just carry them.” Vanessa took the receipt and started toward the exit. Another clerk fell in step behind her. The girl was right on her heels, stilettos that she’d paired with black leggings clicked on the floor, the sound of someone trying to drive a nail into concrete. Vanessa lengthened her stride ever-so-slightly. The clicking heels accelerated as well.

  “Excuse me,” the clerk said.

  Vanessa paused. She turned. Her breath tightened. Her lips were so dry it was hard to smile without fearing her expression would appear stiff, her lips tight.

  “I need to ask you something,” the clerk said.

  “What’s that?” A small tremor developed in Vanessa’s eyelid. Did the clerk wonder about her parched lips and vacant expression? A twitching eye, the bulge in her purse? Was an outline of the edging around the neck of the tank top visible through her tight sweater? She should have checked. Too late now.

  “I saw you with those gloves. And I wondered why you didn’t buy the scarf and hat that matches them. It’s a much better deal.”

  “Yes, I know, but I only wanted a pair of gloves.”

  “Most people want all three.” The girl squinted at Vanessa. Either she needed glasses, or something Vanessa was doing had aroused her curiosity.

  Vanessa managed a smile. “I don’t, but thanks for the suggestion.” She turned and started toward the door. The girl’s shoes began their clicking again, but after a few steps, Vanessa realized they were clicking in the opposite direction. She didn’t dare turn to confirm it. She pushed open the door and stepped outside, letting it fall closed behind her. The cold air was a relief. As she walked to the car, her heart continued to beat furiously against her ribs.