Read Online Too Easy by Bruce Deitrick Price - Free Book Online Page B

bills, see if there are any unusual numbers. Then what? She’s going to call the numbers, say hello, are you the floozie messing around with my husband? Not too likely. Besides, Robert calls everywhere on business. There could be a dozen numbers I don’t know. And, let’s see, 212 and 914, I think the phone company treats them as the same. The Manhattan numbers aren’t even listed. Well, I don’t think they are. . . .
    Anne returns to the lobby, goes up in the elevator, not feeling any better, but not any worse either. Truth is, she realizes, I’m a lot more angry with my boss than I can bear toadmit. Basically, it’s probably sexual discrimination. But so what? I’m going to charge her before the state’s human rights commission? Fat chance. I’m going to tell the CEO? Oh, sure. Goddamn you, Estelle, I deserved that job.
    Alright, she thinks, getting back behind her desk, let’s take it out on the numbers. . . . Crunch some numbers. . . . Drive a truck through this loophole here. . . .
    A call comes from a lawyer on another floor. “Yes, sure,” she says. “No, Bingham has the file. . . . Get back to me when you’re ready. That one’s going to court, I’m afraid. . . . Yeah, bye.”
    Anne hangs up, then stares at the phone. Imagine, he could actually call her from our house. Well, that’s what I was thinking—without thinking how crummy it is.
    From our house?
    Anne laughs at herself, imagining some hysterical woman on a soap opera saying, “I can’t believe they did it in our bed!”
    Well, come on. It is crummy, isn’t it?
    She stares at the phone some more, remembers there is a way to check on this. Some of the firm’s phones have recorders on them, voice activated. Just in case clients forget their instructions. Maybe her own phone is on the system. The bosses are vague, they want a little paranoia.
    Maybe not cheap, Anne thinks, but doable. At the moment that’s a big recommendation.
    She shrugs, tries to put it out of her mind. No, she thinks, it’s not a bad idea. It’s eminently doable. I just have to do it.
    â€¢Â Â â€¢Â Â â€¢
    The next day Anne leaves work a little early and drives to Ardsley, a small community fifteen miles to the northwest. She found the name in the Yellow Pages, tried to think of anyone they know there, any connection at all. Nothing.
    She parks two blocks from the store. Still thinking of turningback. Deciding instead she’ll proceed as though it’s no big deal, proceed until there’s some real obstacle. Then she’ll turn back, give up this foolishness. This—to be more honest—treachery.
    She walks by the small shop twice, checking out the small commercial street, the feeling it gives her. There isn’t one, she decides. Just a store called Sensible Security. Just a potential customer coming to ask a few questions.
    The man behind the counter is old enough to have some white in his thick hair. He’s heavyish, with slow, thoughtful movements. He glances at her with a polite, concerned expression. All of this Anne finds reassuring. There’s really no reason to turn back.
    Anne explains what she might need, in general terms. The man looks at her with the blandest expression imaginable. She realizes that people must come in all the time with bizarre personal problems, problems they lie about outrageously. Still, he doesn’t seem suspicious or critical. He listens, he answers.
    In the store hardly five minutes, Anne decides that this is the man. She has the sense of falling. . . .
    â€œAlright, then,” she says, “let’s be more specific. No one must know about this but you and me. Ever. No third person whatever. Is this possible?”
    â€œI can promise that.”
    â€œOh, if someone walks in the door now, I’m going to walk to the back. You would