by C. L. Stone
I broke my gaze from Mr. Hendricks and the superintendent, focusing on the other players. There was a woman not too far from them who was alone, and hit the ball at different angles down the range. She was pretty, wearing a short sporty skirt and a slim fitting polo shirt. Behind her were more men lined up along the driving range. Small groups talked amongst themselves. Some weren’t hitting golf balls at all. They simply stood with water bottles or cups in their hands, staring off at the greens. On occasion they watched the woman. They chattered. They smiled. They nudged each other’s arms.
Compared to Mr. Hendricks and the superintendent, they all seemed to be enjoying the day. Mr. Crowley’s focus was solely on Mr. Hendricks. Mr. Hendricks focused on hitting balls. Neither of them looked at the pretty lady.
“They’re forcing themselves to be together on a work day, doing something neither appears really interested in.” I waited for the puzzle pieces to fit together. “They’re doing it for show?”
“Possibly,” Mr. Blackbourne said. He brushed my knee with a fingertip to draw my attention. “You should eat. They won’t be going anywhere for a while.”
I backed up my head and refocused my gaze on Mr. Blackbourne. His steel eyes met mine. I felt the answer as if he’d spoken it. “This is their alibi. Something is happening somewhere else and they’re making sure they are seen in a different location.”
“Eat,” Mr. Blackbourne said, command in his voice.
I picked up my fork again, but refocused on Mr. Hendricks and Mr. Crowley. I ate slowly, not used to doing it when I needed to think. If Mr. Hendricks wanted to be seen outside of school, it meant he could go alone to this country club, or anywhere else, and eat lunch and play golf and be seen. Did they have to be together?
But since they were together awkwardly, and seemed to be specifically avoiding talking about school, it meant they might be in on whatever was going on.
And there was a third party involved, because if both of them were here, it meant someone else had to be doing the thing they were trying to avoid. Part of me wondered if it was Mr. McCoy, but then if it was, why did Mr. Hendricks continue to ask me where he was? He was pretty convincing that he had no idea where Mr. McCoy was.
No, I got the feeling there was someone else. This third party that was doing something at this very moment that required Mr. Hendricks and Mr. Crowley to be away from school grounds.
It was after a half hour of me picking at my salad, after Mr. Blackbourne had long finished his steak, when Mr. Hendricks finally slid his golf club into the bag. Mr. Crowley lifted his own bag, having not used it, and turned to follow Mr. Hendricks.
My heart stopped when I realized they were heading for the same balcony we were sitting on. In one moment, I thought maybe there was a door elsewhere, like the one they had come from, that would take them inside. I shifted slightly to get a better view and realized with a panic that there was a stone staircase that led up to the balcony.
I started to turn, when I felt Mr. Blackbourne’s hand gently touching my elbow. He leaned in.
“Slowly, Miss Sorenson,” he said. “Slide a little to the left.”
I turned my chair slightly, so my view was of the other gentlemen on the driving range, and my back was to the stairs and the approaching principal and superintendent.
Mr. Blackbourne waited a full minute before he pushed his plate away and slid his chair closer to mine. “Forgive me,” he said quietly, and he slipped an arm across my shoulders. To anyone else, it probably looked like he’d adjusted just to be close to me and to watch the golfers.
My heart was racing. My nose caught a strong scent of spring soap. Mr. Blackbourne’s lean fingers curled around my shoulder. A forefinger found the collar of the shirt dress I was wearing. He absently traced it as he stared off at the golfers.
I caught a reflection of us in the windows of the dining room. Behind us, I could see Mr. Hendricks and Mr. Crowley sitting down together at one of the tables. I heard whispers from Mr. Blackbourne’s earpiece. This drew my attention to him in the reflection. Despite the new clothes, he still looked like perfect Mr. Blackbourne.
“Take your glasses off,” I said.
His arm around my shoulders stiffened. “Pardon?”
“You look different with your glasses off. If they start to pay attention to people around them, they may not recognize you if they’re off.”
Mr. Blackbourne released a slow breath. He waited a full minute again before he used his free hand to remove the glasses from his face. He folded them carefully, putting them in his coat pocket.
He was too close to me to take a direct look. What I did catch was his reflection in the glass. The steel eyes had softened. The angular face seemed to relax. He was still incredibly handsome, but the harshness of his pristine elegance had curbed.
The way he squinted as he concentrated made my heart flutter.
We sat in silence together. The lady golfer gave up, putting her clubs away and headed to a door and out of my view. Some golfers took up spots that had opened up and started driving golf balls down the green lawns.
When I did focus on the window to catch what was going on, I saw Mr. Crowley was still talking. Mr. Hendricks appeared to be listening. Mr. Hendricks did a sweep of the area, but seemed completely disinterested and it looked like he was tuning Mr. Crowley out.
Mr. Hendricks only seemed to come back out of his daze when he glanced down at his watch.
“What is he waiting for?” I asked in a hushed tone. They were out of earshot, but seeing their reflected faces, especially Mr. Hendricks’s, had me wanting to curl up and hide in the azalea bushes.
Mr. Blackbourne didn’t reply. The waitress came to take our plates and dropped off a ticket. Mr. Blackbourne signed his name and a number: B8427. She took the ticket, thanking him and left.
No cash? “Do we not pay?” I asked.
He shook his head. “They’ll send me a bill later.”
There must be a system to how these country clubs worked. I wondered about a tip. Would he add that in later, too?
The drone from the dining room seemed to settle. Lunch was over. The golfers in front of us thinned out and headed inside.
Mr. Hendricks took another look at his watch, and shifted in his chair. He said something to Mr. Crowley, who also stood. They turned toward the dining room doors.
At the angle they were going to walk, they’d move right past us. I sensed when Mr. Blackbourne realized it, too, as his hand on my shoulder squeezed harder than before.
“Stay still,” he whispered.
But from the reflection in the glass, there was no denying it. They’d walk right past our table. From a distance, they may not notice us at all. Up close, Mr. Hendricks was sure to recognize me. We needed to hide our faces.
I swallowed. I had an idea. If it were any of the other boys, I wouldn’t have hesitated. With Mr. Blackbourne, it was the wildest thing I’d ever dare do.
I leaned over, tugging slightly at Mr. Blackbourne’s sports coat. He seemed to get the idea that I wanted him to lean closer, too. When he was close enough, I tucked my face close to his, until we were almost cheek to cheek. I pushed my lips to his ear.
“Sorry, sorry,” I whispered, feeling like I had to do something. If we were pretending to whisper to each other, it would hide our faces pretty well.
My lips brushed his earlobe.
I felt the tiniest scratching of a fresh shaven face against the skin of my cheek.
His breath fell against the edge of my jawline, close to my neck.
It was impossible to hide the warm tremble that swept over me.
Mr. Blackbourne’s arm around my shoulder drew up, until his palm cupped the back of my head. It felt almost like he was drawing me in, until I realized his massaging fingers were spreading out my hair more, covering the side that Mr. Hendricks and Mr. Crowley would see.
I stayed as still as I could. “Sorry,” I whispered again. I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“Don’t be,” he said.
The next apology dissolved on my lips.
From my angle, I had no idea where anyone was. Mr. Blackbourne held me close for what felt like eons. I started to pull back, wondering if they had gone.
Mr. Blackbourne’s face tilted into mine, until his lips were brushing against my lobe. “One more minute.”
I wasn’t sure if I would last another minute. My mind had muddled. If we had to run, I wasn’t sure my legs would function. I was sure I was shaking.
“Are they gone?” I asked.
“They’re leaving,” he said. “Just making sure.”
I blew out a breath, but then realized I was breathing against his face. “So now we know Mr. Crowley is part of this? Did we do good?”
“Yes. Nice work,” he said. He dropped his hand from my hair and onto my shoulder, warming through the material of the polo dress. His lips moved close to the side of my face, until I felt his breath on my ear. “You’re still grounded.”
OFFICIALLY GROUNDED
By the time we got the Town Car back and were on our way, Mr. Hendricks and Mr. Crowley were long gone.
“We’ve lost them,” I said.
“Mr. Hendricks is likely to be back en route to the school. He left his briefcase in his office. This was meant to look like a long lunch meeting.”
“School is almost over.”
“Indeed,” he said. “Which is why we’re not following Mr. Hendricks.”
We weren’t following anyone, as far as I could tell. The others were well ahead of us. Though I imagined if Mr. Hendricks was going back to school, Mr. Crowley was probably going back to work, too. I made an assumption that we were going after him.
I sat back, feeling the smooth leather of the seat with my palms. Mr. Blackbourne hadn’t said anything about how close we had been at the country club, and he had me keep on the pink dress and wedge sandals. “What do we know about Mr. Crowley?”
“We’ve kept an eye on a few upper level officials within the school system. While the majority had approved the request to let our team into the school, not everyone was on board. Mr. Crowley didn’t reject the idea, but he wasn’t supportive, either. To be honest, he’s not the most active superintendent.”
“But we weren’t paying attention to him before?” I asked.
The corner of Mr. Blackbourne’s mouth tightened. “We had other issues that have been drawing our attention. We’ve not had the ability to dedicate team time to following others without a clear reason to do so.”
I focused squarely on the road in front of us. I assumed he meant I had been the cause as to why they weren’t able to do as much as they probably needed. “Sorry.”
“I wish you would stop saying that.”
My shoulders hunched and heat flooded my face. “I just meant ...”
“You’re a choice,” Mr. Blackbourne said, “if that’s what you’re worried about. We made the choice to help you, help Nathan, help anyone else in need among us rather than send someone on a task that may not have panned out at all. You don’t need to be sorry for being who you are with us because we were willing.”
I wanted to be happy about this, but I still felt awkward that a lot of the time it was my mistakes they were fixing. “I wish I could be the one helping rather than needing it.”
He was quiet for so long that I slid a glance at him to check his mood, and caught a fading millimeter smile.
“We all feel the same way, Miss Sorenson,” he said quietly, still focused on the road. “We all try not to cause problems. You’ve gained plenty of ours, as well. You want to help us.”
“I do.”
“And I expect you to tell me if that ever changes,” he said. “Any time you need to, I want you to come to me and tell me how you feel.”
Mr. Blackbourne took an exit into downtown Charleston. For a brief moment, I thought about Victor and wondered if we were heading to his house.
Mr. Blackbourne wound the car through downtown streets, where the homes were brightly painted with white trim and palm trees had been planted along the sidewalks. Many homes had been converted into businesses: art galleries, boutique fashion shops, salons, travel agencies.
Mr. Blackbourne pulled onto a street where a large red brick building took up one side of the road. The parking lot was tiny, and I didn’t understand why such a big building that looked like it could fit lots of people inside had such a tiny place to park. “Where are we?” I asked.
“You mean the boys haven’t taken you to the library yet?”
My eyes widened and I turned again to the red building. It was massive. It could have been a school. I’d never been to a library outside of school. I knew city libraries were bigger but were they this big? “This? Are you sure?”
The corner of his mouth lifted a millimeter. “Remind me to tell the boys to let you see some of the more sophisticated areas of Charleston, not just the night clubs.”
My cheeks radiated with heat. He’d told me before he hadn’t heard much of what happened over the weekend, but how much did he know, really?
Mr. Blackbourne pulled into a parking garage across the street. He parked on the lower level. He hopped out and opened the door for me before I had a chance to snap my seatbelt off. He even offered his hand. I took it, standing and he closed the door behind me. He walked around the car and paused, waiting for me to follow him. He was still wearing the tan slacks and the maroon shirt, but had shed the sport coat. When I stepped up beside him to follow, my arm brushed along his. My instinct told me to tuck my arm closer to my body. Mr. Blackbourne wouldn’t want me to walk so close.
When I tried, Mr. Blackbourne inched closer to close the gap I’d made. When I relaxed, his elbow was touching mine. We walked together and it was like we were holding hands without our hands touching.
When he didn’t say anything or reposition himself, I tried to tell myself this was okay.
It was more than okay to me. I liked it immensely. The touch, however, left me helpless as far as what to say and even how to look at him. I wanted to admire how he looked in the new clothes, but I stared at the ground instead.
The smile, however, I couldn’t hide. I only hoped he wasn’t paying attention to me.
And then I realized how unrealistic a wish that was. This was Mr. Blackbourne, after all. He noticed everything.
When we reached the entrance to the library, Mr. Blackbourne walked ahead and held open the door for me.
Inside, I was caught up by the expanse of the building. Mr. Blackbourne continued forward, so I didn’t get a chance to linger and appreciate the artwork hanging along the walls and only got a glimpse of the front desk. He found a staircase, and climbed it quickly.
Upstairs, among the various shelves of books, were several wooden tables. Each table had an antique style lamp on top, all currently turned off. I liked the style. Patrons talked in hushed tones, except for one talking into a cell phone despite the signs sitting around asking people not to use them.
Mr. Blackbourne seemed oblivious to the books and the patrons. He scanned the area, focusing on the windows.
“What are we doing here?” I asked quietly. “I thought we were following—”
“Just a moment,” he said in a tone that hushed me immediately. He marched over to one of the windows, glancing through it at a building across the street. He moved away, disappearing between rows of bookshelves.
I was nearly jogging to keep up. He continued to focus on the building through the windows, looking out each one as if looking for the right angle.
He didn’t stop until he reached the far wall. We were in the back of a reference book section, isolated by bookshelves. One lone table sat in the corner, the light on. There was a window just above it, nearly directly across from another window on the building across the street.
Mr. Blackbourne took a tiny box with suction cups on one side out of his pocket and checked over his shoulder before he planted it against the window. He pressed a button, changed
the position of the box and pressed the button again.
He made several adjustments before he finally left the box. The box remained pressed against the glass, held on by the suction cups. He pulled another ear bud from his pocket and presented it to me.
I took it from his hand, rolling it between my fingers. “What are we doing?”
“You are going to stay here,” he said. Then, without another word, he turned away and wandered off. In a few minutes, he appeared again, rolling a cushioned seat in front of him. He pulled hard-surfaced wooden chairs away from the long table in the corner and pushed the more comfortable looking armchair into place. “Will you have a seat?”
I blushed, taking up position in the chair. I put the ear bud into place.
Instantly, I heard voices. The loudest was a man talking with a woman. She was listing people who called and he would interrupt her.
“Who is this?” I whispered, worried the man and woman could hear me.
“That box is pointed to Mr. Crowley’s office,” he said.
I gazed across the street, where I was in view of the other building’s windows. “What do I do?”
Mr. Blackbourne glanced over his shoulder again, doing a sweep with his eyes. When he finished, he leaned over, nearly pressing his lips to my ear and whispered. “You’re going to listen. This doesn’t have that long of a range, but if you sit quietly, you’ll be able to hear any conversation as long as he’s not whispering.”
“What am I listening for?”
“Anything interesting,” he said. He stood up, and pressed his palm against my shoulder, squeezing as he delivered his next order: “Don’t move until one of us comes to get you.”
My eyes went wide. “You’re leaving me?”
The corner of his mouth twisted up a millimeter. “I believe you’ll be fine. You’re alone in the most abandoned corner of the library, listening. There’s plenty of people wandering around. If you become uncomfortable, if anyone else tries to approach, talk to a librarian. Ask about books. Let one keep you occupied if needed. Someone should be along shortly.” He reached out, pulled a book off the shelf at random. He presented it to me on the table. “Pretend you’re researching if anyone walks by, but don’t get too distracted reading that you’re not paying attention.” He started to turn again but stopped short. “Miss Sorenson?”
