Page 18 of Look for Me

Now that Corinne had seen him, she might run again.

And then Martin would be back to where he started: without her.

He said goodbye to Ming and hung up his phone. He drank the rest of the now-diluted iced coffee, glanced at the analog clock on the dashboard, and prayed for wisdom.

Chapter Eight

Another hour passed by, and Martin was still sitting in his car. He listened to the twelve o’clock local news, but turned it off at the first commercial.

His stomach rumbled, and he had to go to the bathroom.

Martin could not imagine what it would be like to run surveillance for real—what Ming and the Savannah River Investigations firm did all the time. Now, Helen Hu’s private investigation firm was more international, but Martin guessed the work was mostly mundane.

Sit in the vehicle and watch someone show up.

That’s not me.

He picked up his empty coffee cup and his phone, and climbed out of the car. He locked the doors, double-checking to make sure he really did, and then crossed the busy street.

The girl he had talked to earlier this morning wasn’t there. Just as well. Martin didn’t want to cause her any trouble with her manager.

He saw a familiar-looking guy at the checkout. He was the same person who had taken Corinne home the day before—or at least, given her a ride somewhere.

Martin wondered if he should talk to him.

Then he spotted the fifty-something woman who had helped Corinne the moment she hit the floor on Thursday afternoon. She seemed to be in charge.

Martin looked around the store, hoping to see a notice board. He swiped his phone and googled the store to see if there were any job openings.

None.

The crowd thinned out a bit. Martin stepped over to where the lady was.

“Excuse me,” he said.

“May I help you?” Upon closer look, she had lines on her face, but her eyes were bright and shiny. Her hair was salt-and-pepper and wiry.

“Yes, I’m hoping you can help me. I was here yesterday, but due to the commotion, I wasn’t able to talk to you.”

“I remember you. You’re a friend of Dinah’s?”

“Long ago, when we were young.” Not too young, but nobody asked for the exact time and date. “Anyway, I’m going to be in town for the rest of summer, and I was wondering if you have job openings.”

“All our positions are filled, but if you send in your resume, I’ll call you if anything opens up,” she said. “I’m Sandra Preston.”

“Owner?” Martina asked.

“Yes. What type of work are you looking for?”

“Anything part-time, if possible. I worked for years as a virtual assistant.” Martin was being truthful here. He had worked as a virtual assistant all the way through college and then some. After that, he became his sister’s personal assistant in her busy tri-city pottery studio.

After his last motorcycle accident, his dad showed up in town and hired him to do office work for him while he tried to build up his muscle car restoration business. Three years later, Dad promoted him to vice president and gave him a minority ownership of the business.

Martin knew that he wasn’t going to get an entry-level or minimum-wage job by touting his VP position.

“Virtual assistant? Like an office manager?” Sandra asked.

“It can be. Mostly I do scheduling, inventory, time management, social media updates, news briefs, blog posts. I can also do other office work, if needed.”

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