Page 7 of Too Much In Common
“You know our policy. We will pass anything that is a potential threat to the Ogilvie family on. Nothing in Miss Johnson’s background nor her roommates’ needed to be shared.” Alan’s voice came through the phone this time.
“Her name. You could have told me her name. Someone had to do a double take. If I had known someone else in the building had my name, I might have checked the address on the box again.”
“That isn’t the problem. You subdued an unarmed civilian in your own apartment.” ZoElle’s voice was calmer than her husband’s. “She must have been terrified.”
“I know. I’ve been trying to think of a way to apologize. So far, I have come up with a self-defense class, which she needs, but Javier has vetoed. When we helped move them in, she had a box labeled ‘stuffed animals.’ So I assume she likes them. I can’t find a cute one that I can have delivered in less than a week.”
“Actually, a self-defense class isn’t a bad idea. Those helped me so much,” said ZoElle. “I’ll authorize that. Sending you an email with a schedule right now. Print off the PDF.
His phone pinged. “You have an email like that at your fingertips?”
ZoElle answered, “Yes, many of our participants receive grants from the Gooding Foundation.”
He should have guessed. Likely, the foundation was how the three airline employees could afford a high security apartment. Mrs. Gooding ran a foundation that focused on helping women and men escape dangerous situations. Self-defense, personal security, and cross-country moves when necessary were only part of the services.
“Did you say stuffed animals?” asked Alan.
“Yes.” What did Alan know about toys?
“Back when Candace—I mean Mrs. Ogilvie—started visiting children’s hospitals, Alex scared some of the young patients, so she ordered a bunch of teddy bears dressed in suits. The bodyguard bears. She may still have some.”
She did. Chris had taken a bag of them down to the SUV last week. “Good idea.”
“I’m taking you off shift for twenty-four hours. I want you to visit with Dr. Linn before you come back. Records show it has been over six months since your last review with her.” Alan issued the order Chris had expected.
“I will. Thank you.”
“Good night.” The Hastings spoke in unison.
Chris checked the time—not yet nine, his self-imposed cutoff time for nonemergency calls. Mrs. Ogilvie always told him if he needed anything to just ask. He never had. His thumbs hovered over the keyboard on his phone.
Chris: May I purchase one of the bodyguard teddy bears? I had an incident. It requires an apology.
Three dots appeared on the screen.
Mrs. Ogilvie: Is everything ok?
Chris: I need to apologize to someone.
Mrs. Ogilvie: I sense a story here... You can have one. Don’t worry about paying me. You know where they are.
Chris: Thank you. Good night.
Mrs. Ogilvie: Same.
Chris took the service elevator to the penthouse level. The Ogilvies were not the average principals. Mr. Ogilvie had to be saved from himself more often than not. Walking into walls, doors, and even streets, if he was thinking about some new invention, which he always was. Mrs. Ogilvie was getting better at living with security and the line between friends and protection. The recently adopted children were having more difficulties adjusting to the constant presence of someone in the background.
The backside of the service elevator opened to the suite of rooms for security and the “nannies” who stayed nearby, but not technically in, the Ogilvie’s penthouse.
“Johnson, I thought you had the night off.” Dana looked up from her e-reader.
“I do. I just need one of the bodyguard bears.”
“I didn’t think any of the kids at the school saw what happened.”
“They didn’t.”
“Now you have me curious. As guardian of the stuffed animals, I need to know.”
