“You’d better hurry up then.” The underlying irritation in his tone came across to her loud and clear. “By the way, coffee is already made. You’ll have to grab something to eat at school, though.”
This is never going to work. We can’t even get through the first fifteen minutes of the day without fighting.
Slam. She shut the bathroom door behind her with such a force that it rattled within the frame. It didn’t help the situation, but it made her feel a little better—for the moment at least.
A soft rap sounded on the door. Why couldn’t he just take a hint?
Annabeth splashed cold water on her face. She tried to ignore him, but the knocking only grew louder, more persistent.
“What, Marcus?”
He opened the door without looking at her and held out her phone. “Your phone’s buzzing.”
“Thanks.” Annabeth took the phone and watched out of the corner of her eye as Marcus closed the door without another word.
She had two new text messages.
Mom: Miss you, sweetheart. Hope to hear from you soon. I know you’re probably busy with work, but just a short note to let me know you’re still alive would be nice.
Annabeth shot her back a quick text.
I miss you too, Mom. I’m working, but very much alive.
The second message was from Vi.
Violeta: Good luck at your first day of class!
Another sharp knock at the door made her jump.
“Enough already, I’m hurrying as fast as I can!”
She could hear his deep sigh in response, but honestly she didn’t care.
He was right, though—they needed to get out the door soon if they wanted to make it there on time.
I hate when he’s right, she thought.
In less than five minutes, she threw on a pair of jeans and her favorite band T-shirt. The best part of going back to school was the wardrobe change. Gone were the stuffy pant suits and skirts.
She then tied her hair up in a bun and slipped into her comfy bright green ballet slippers. She knew Marcus hated to be late, but making it anywhere on time had always been a challenge for her.
Marcus stood at the door with both of their coffee cups. He looked like he was wound tighter than an eight-day watch. “Ready?”
Annabeth could feel the heat of his irritation and underlying rage, which only added fuel to her own heady emotions.
She slung her bag over her shoulder and snatched the keys from the hook by the door. “Yes. And I’m driving.”
She was out the door and into the driver's seat before he could protest.
They had arrived at the University of Austin with only five minutes to spare. Maybe living in the suburbs and commuting wasn’t the best idea. The morning had been one disaster after another. It had taken her longer than she thought to find the first class, causing her to be ten minutes late. Then she hadn’t been able to get her PowerPoint to work. By the time the tech guys got it fixed, it was too late. The students were far too engrossed in their laptops and phones to want to discuss the syllabus. The whole experience had been mortifying.
The excitement over going back to school had dissipated before she even made it to lunch. As she walked across campus to the English Department, she began to wonder whether or not she was out of her depth.
Maybe I’m just too old to start over, she thought.
After all, for the last six years, all she had read on a regular basis was the pile of reports that littered her desk at home and at the office. When she’d turned thirty a few months back, she’d given up hope about completing her degree. She really did love her job and the solitary life that came with it, but after the incident, everything had felt wrong. This opportunity had not given her the break she’d thought it would.
She’d already finished her third cup of coffee by the time she finally stepped into the lounge for the English Department. The dank room looked like it hadn’t been decorated since the 1970s. Exhausted and irritated, she slumped into one of the overstuffed sofas that smelled like stale cigar smoke. She tried not to think of how dirty it was and relaxed for a moment. Her eyes slid closed and she let out a deep sigh.
A smooth, baritone voice startled her. “Rough day?”
Annabeth’s heart jumped and her eyes flew open with a start. Too much caffeine coursed through her bloodstream. Before her stood one of the most handsome men she had ever laid eyes on. He looked to be about her age, a little on the short side but not too short. His jet black hair fell across his forehead in a styled-bed-head kind of way. He had light brown skin, coal black eyes and a charming smile that showed off his perfectly straight white teeth. She couldn’t help but smile.
Oh, crap, it was her turn to talk now.
“Yeah, you could say that,” she said, as she regained control of her vocal chords.
The man extended his hand and flashed a dazzling smile that made her feel a little faint. “My name’s Fernando. I’m a Ph.D. candidate. Teach Intro to Poetry. You?”
Annabeth sat up to shake his hand. “Annabeth. I’m getting my Ph.D. in Comparative Literature, and attempted to teach English Composition to a bunch of mindless drones and attend two classes of my own.”
Fernando chuckled as he sat down beside her. “I know the first week is always the hardest. The Freshmen suck. I want to throw every single one of their phones out the window.”
Annabeth let out a deep, low sigh. “You’re telling me. I mean, what's the deal? Paying hundreds of dollars to learn something, only to spend the whole class surfing social media. It makes absolutely no sense. But then again, I paid my own way through school, so I get the importance of a good education.”
Ugh! She was babbling. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. If Fernando noticed, he was at least kind enough not to mention it.
The corners of his mouth turned up into a flirty smile. “Would you like to get a cup of coffee, Professor Annabeth? I promise I won't look at my phone. I can fill you in on all the ins and outs of the department. I feel like I’ve been here forever.”
Before she could answer him her phone bleeped. Marcus.
“Speaking of phones,” she said, holding hers up to check the message.
Marcus: “I know things are weird between us now, but I’ve been thinking about you all morning. I hope your class went well. We can celebrate tonight with a couple of beers. Maybe catch some of the Tigers’ game on your iPad. I downloaded the MLB app, so we should be good to go. Text back. I worry about you.”
Annabeth shot a quick text to let him know that beer and baseball were always a good idea and that she was having coffee with a colleague but would be ready to go home within the hour.
“I'm sorry if I’ve been presumptuous. Surely, a beautiful woman like yourself must already be taken,” Fernando said, peeking over her shoulder.
Annabeth dropped her phone back into her bag and twisted her wedding ring off so it fell in as well. The clink of it hitting her keys sounded like a thunderclap.
“Actually, I’m unattached for the moment and would love to have an electronic-device-free coffee with you.” Annabeth couldn’t help but smile when she looked at this gorgeous man.
Fernando stood and held out his palm to help her up. His hands were smooth, unlike Marcus’s, which were thick and calloused from working in his Dad’s repair shop all through high school and college.
“Has anyone every told you, Anna, that you have a beautiful smile?”
Annabeth’s skin prickled. Why does everyone insist on shortening my name?
“Call me Annabeth, please. If you wouldn’t mind.” She held her breath, hoping he wouldn't take offense.
“Your wish is my command, Annabeth.” He lifted her left hand up to his lips.
A wave of guilt washed over her as his lips grazed the spot her wedding ring had been only moments before. Even though the ring was nothing more than a meaningless symbol, she still felt in her heart the pinprick of unwarranted contrition.
“Where would y
ou like to go?” His inky black eyes twinkled down at her.
“I heard my students talking about some Toad place on the Drag. How about there?”
Fernando’s dazzling smile showed off his perfectly aligned white teeth. “Frog and Toad, huh? Brave choice.” He squeezed her dampened hand.
“I’m up for it, if you are.” She tried hard to keep her tone light and flirty.
“I am up for anything. Lead the way, m’lady.”
Annabeth breathed out a laugh as she tugged him by the hand out of the building and onto the commons. The sudden exposure to the bright Texas sun caused her to squint. Then she remembered the sunglasses that rested on the crown of her head and pulled them down.
Now finally able to see clearly, she noticed a familiar cabby hat coming up the path, growing closer, closer. Of course, on a campus that stretched two miles wide and boasted fifty-thousand-plus students and faculty, she would manage to run into the one person she would rather avoid.
Marcus.
Her hand went limp within Fernando’s. How much of their flirtation had Marcus just witnessed?
Oh, no…
Chapter Eight
Vi
Doubts about Brooke’s plan played in Vi’s mind like a broken record.
She did love and admire Brooke. Sometimes when things were too much she would catch herself imagining what it would be like to have her strong, capable, normal friend as a sister instead of Joy. Of course, Brooke wasn't perfect by any means. Her overactive imagination and anxious, high maintenance attitude sometimes wore Vi down, but, more often than not, she added a dose of comic relief to an otherwise depressing life. She always meant well...
This new scheme was up there as one of her more insane missions. When Brooke made a case for her ideas she tended to lay it on thick and heavy. This time was no different.
“They live next door to you,” her friend had insisted. “Don’t you want to know what kind of a person is just a stone's throw away from where you sleep at night?”
And while Vi didn’t think that Annabeth and Marcus were bad people, she could see some logic in Brooke’s argument. Better to be safe than sorry. The Kings did seem to be hiding something. Although she and Annabeth had spoken at length the night before, Vi knew virtually nothing about her or her past.
Brooke won her over in the end, like she always did. Vi just couldn't say no—a defenseless satellite caught in the orbital pull of Brooke’s gravity. They agreed to do it the next day while Annabeth and Marcus were out.
While she brushed her teeth, she ruminated over her choice to once again follow along with Brooke in another of her crazy schemes. Each time, Brooke managed to twist her delusional ideas into something that sounded completely reasonable, and each time Vi followed along. Past exploits flashed across her mind like a bad chick flick. Like the time Brooke had convinced Vi to put laxatives in Mitsy Grazier’s coffee just before the big bake-off. Mitsy missed the whole thing, and in her absence, Brooke took first place.
They certainly made a special pair, a textbook case of Folie à deux, a madness shared by two, a rare diagnosis she’d learned as part of her social work training but hadn’t understood until she’d fallen in with Brooke. Folie à deux. How else could she explain to herself her rationale for doing what they were about to do?
Vi picked up her phone and shot off a quick text to Annabeth, wishing her good luck on her first day of teaching. She felt like a hypocrite. When she heard Annabeth’s truck pull out of the drive, she sent a second text message, this time to Brooke to let her know the coast was clear. No backing out now.
A few short minutes later, a knock sounded at the door. Say what you wanted about Brooke, but the woman was always punctual, no matter what the circumstances.
Vi had to stop herself from doubling over with laughter at the sight of her bestie dressed all in black like some TV cat burglar. If that wasn't funny enough, poor Tiara was likewise dressed.
Brooke gave her a quick once-over before her face pinched in disgust. “Is that what you're wearing?”
Vi looked down at her navy blue T-shirt and ripped thrift store jeans. “What's wrong with what I'm wearing?”
“Don't you have something black?”
This was nothing new to Vi, who had grown accustomed to Brooke’s unintentional rudeness.
“I'm not changing, Brooke.”
“At least put your hair up. We don't want to leave any DNA fibers behind as evidence. Don’t you watch TV?”
Vi rolled her eyes, but complied with her friend’s wishes and pulled her thick black hair into a high and tight bun. When she caught her reflection in the mirror, she remembered her days as a dancer when her hair was always up. No sense thinking about that now. She would need to stay sharp in order to keep Brooke from going too far with this latest escapade.
Brooke perked up. “Perfect. Let's go!”
There was one thing left to discuss before they left and she knew Brooke wasn’t going to like it.
“Tiara stays here.”
Brooke’s face scrunched up into a pout.
“Brooke, we can't afford for her to piss all over the rug or worse, run off and hide. Leave her here.”
Brooke sighed like a petulant child. “Oh, all right.”
She put Tiara down on the stained cement floor. “I'm sorry, baby, but you need to stay here at Auntie Vi’s house. I will be right back. Don’t you worry.”
Now that they got that little detail out of the way, they made their way outside. The long walk across the yards seemed to take an eternity. Every little sound made Vi jump. When Ms. Haberdash walked passed with her dog, Mimsy, Vi paused mid step.
Oh, gosh. I’m going to have a heart attack!
Brooke pinched her arm hard and scowled at her.
There was no need to worry. Ms. Haberdash gave them a perfunctory nod and kept on going about her merry way.
Brooke pinched her again making her yelp.
Hey, hey, that hurts!
Vi took the hint and started walking again.
When they finally made it to the back door and out of sight, Vi let out a sigh of relief. Of course, it didn’t last long. Before she knew it, Brooke had pulled a glass cutter out of her bag.
Where the heck did she get that?
Vi grabbed her hand right before she cut into the glass pane that ran the length of the back door.
“Brooke, I have a key.”
Brooke straightened her spine and narrowed her eyes at Vi. “They gave you a key? You didn't give them one, did you?”
Vi shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Yes, she gave me their spare in case she locked herself out, and, no, I didn't give her mine.”
Brooke didn’t hesitate a moment longer. She snatched the key out of Vi’s hand and unlocked the door. They both stood paused in the doorway listening for an alarm. Vi let out a breath.
“Are you ready?” Brooke’s wide-eyed excitement worried Vi. Nothing good ever happened when Brooke was in one of her manic states. They had gotten this far, though, so they might as well finish what they started.
“I don't think I have a choice at this point.”
Brooke stepped inside and looked back at Vi who still hovered outside.
“C’mon. Don't just stand there like a deer in headlights. Get in, and close the door.”
Vi, ever the good soldier, stepped inside and closed the door behind her. The echo reverberated through the sparsely furnished home.
“I should give them my decorator’s card.” Brooke pulled on a pair of black leather gloves as she looked around the house. “I honestly don't know how anyone could live like this.”
“What exactly are we looking for? Please don't tell me we just unlawfully entered my neighbor's home to ridicule her decorating taste.”
Vi watched over Brooke’s shoulder as she riffled through the mail on the kitchen counter. All junk. “Let's check the bedroom first.”
Vi followed behind Brooke as they crept down the hall to the master bedro
om. The home's layout was similar to her own, only reversed.
Brooke pushed open the partially ajar door with the tips of her gloved fingers.
The bedroom sheets and blankets lay askew—half on, half off. All Vi could see were Annabeth’s things. So where did Marcus keep his stuff?
While Brooke rummaged through Annabeth’s belongings, Vi turned around and went into the office space across the hall.
What she saw saddened her. Brooke had been right. Marcus’s clothes hung neatly in the closet. On top of the computer desk was a small leather travel toiletry bag, a large pile of papers, and scribbled in legal pads. Two folded blankets and a pillow sat off in the corner. She remembered Brooke saying she had seen him sleeping on the couch.
Vi’s mind tried to come up with logical reasons behind why they would sleep in separate rooms. Maybe he snored.
Brooke popped her head into the room. “Whoa! See, what did I tell you? Not the happy little couple that you thought they were.”
Vi sighed.
“Hey, look at this.” Brooke showed her the opened notebook she'd been reading. “He has a list of women’s names, their ages and where they live. Look here. There are different countries listed next to each of the names.”
Vi shivered. These were things she couldn’t unknow. “Brooke—”
Before she could say anything more, two photographs of young women fell out from between the paper and fluttered to the floor.
Vi bent to pick up the pictures, holding them between her thumb and index finger. The girls looked to be about eighteen or nineteen.
Vi felt a wave of nausea roll over her when Brooke started taking pictures of the notes with her iPhone.
“Why in the world would he have all this information on these young girls? Do you think Annabeth knows?” Brooke’s eyes widened as she continued to take snapshots of the notes and photos. “I can Google all this later.”
They needed to get out of there—and fast. Vi shoved the pictures back between the papers and tugged hard on Brooke’s arm.
Walker Texas Wife (The Book Cellar Mysteries 1) Page 5
