Stalker

“Not according to anyone I’ve ever talked to.”

“Now that is a very good point.” Oliver’s eyes went to the door. He stood up. “I see my date.”

Cindy turned around. Rolf Osmondson was big, bald, with a sizable belly. He wore a handlebar mustache. He looked as if he’d been exploring the fiords. She said, “He doesn’t seem like your type, Scott.”

Oliver regarded her with a mock aghast expression. “Now you’re getting in the act?”

“Just showing solidarity with my sisters.”

Oliver wagged a finger at her. “Don’t draw lines in the sand, Decker, unless you’re prepared for battle.” He ran his index finger across Hayley’s shoulders. “See you later, ladies.” Then: “Or maybe not.”

Cindy watched him go, greeting the Norseman, shaking his hand. They took up the reserved booth in the back. Out of Cindy’s range of vision, which, she supposed, was what they wanted: privacy to discuss a case. She sneaked a sidelong look at Hayley, who was clearly upset. The woman was making a stab at her beef dip, tearing off a grizzled corner and chewing it slowly.

No one spoke.

Finally, she said, “He’s such an idiot!” Then she whispered, “I’m an intelligent woman. Why does he have this effect on me!”

Cindy picked up a French fry. “You know that Sheryl Crow song—‘My Favorite Mistake.’ We all have them.”

“Well, I wish mine wasn’t such an asshole!” She got up from her chair. “I gotta go reapply my lipstick.”

After Hayley was gone, Rhonda took a bite out of her turkey dip. “Poor thing.”

“She covered it well.”

“Except her armpits are the size of swimming pools.”

“How long were they going together?”

“I don’t think they were ever going together. It was just a casual thing.”

“Not to her,” Cindy answered. She glanced at her plate, at the ceiling, at the bar stool. Anywhere but behind her back. Andy Lopez caught her eye. Involuntarily, she nodded, which was a dumb thing to do. Because Andy nudged Tim. Then they both got up.

“Oh dear.” Cindy downed some beer for fortification. “Here they come.”

Rhonda licked her fingers, which were coated with turkey gravy. “You be nice. You’re way too new to be jaded. How old are you? Twenty-one?”

“Twenty-five.”

Rhonda made a surprised face.

“I know. I look young.”

“I would think eighteen except you’re drinking.”

“Hey, Decker.” Tim Waters plunked his scotch on the table. He had a medium build with light brown hair, murky green eyes, and bland features. He struck Cindy as Any-man USA. “Heard you were a big hit with Tropper.”

“Good news travels fast.” Cindy pointed to the chairs. “Take a seat. But bring over another one for Hayley.”

Waters said, “After seeing Oliver, we thought she took off.”

His smirk was ugly. Cindy stared at him long and hard. It must have been effective, because his cheeks pinked. She said, “No, Hayley’s still here … just in the john.”

Waters grabbed another chair and sat. Andy Lopez took up space next to Rhonda. He was on the small, slight side. But Cindy remembered him in the weight room, bench-pressing 320.

Lopez said, “Actually, Brown said you did okay.”

She focused her eyes on him. “That’s good to hear.” She wrinkled her brow. “So why do I feel that there’s an addendum to that statement?”

Lopez stared at her.

She said, “What else did Brown say?”

“Brown’s sitting right over there.” Waters cocked his head toward the bar stools. “Why don’t you go ask him?”

“Because I’m eating my dinner.” Cindy gulped down more beer. “What’d he say, Andy?”

“Just that …” Lopez stole one of Cindy’s French fries. “You know …” His voice faded.

“Perhaps he said something about me and frankfurters?” Cindy caught Jasmine’s eye, mouthing another beer. “I wasn’t hotdoggin’ anything!”

“I believe you, Cin—”

“It was a very tense situation. I was doing the best I could.”

“Brown said you did good,” Waters answered. “What are you bitching about?”

“Because Tropper’s pissed.”

“Yeah, Tropper’s real pissed,” Lopez said.

Cindy stared at him. “And?”

Lopez ate another French fry. “Jesus, Decker, I’m just letting you know. Don’t kill the messenger.”

Waters said, “Forget it, Decker. Tropper won’t do anything.”

Almost word for word what Beaudry had said. “How do you know?” Cindy asked. “What? Is he afraid of my father or something?”

Waters sipped his scotch. “Let’s just say he has a healthy respect for authority.”

Jasmine came with a fresh brew. She regarded Cindy with concern. “You know, maybe you should eat a little. It’s good to get something in your stomach so it doesn’t go to your head.”

Cindy took a bite of her sandwich. It went down like lead. She drank half of her suds. “I’m okay. Honestly.”

Waters smiled. “And if you’re not okay, I can always drive you home.”

“That won’t be necessary.”