Page 4 of Made in Malice

I don’t return to his table after dropping off his drink until his order is ready, but I keep my eye on him when possible. At one point, he had a hushed conversation on his phone where it seemed like he didn’t speak but listened a great deal, and I have to admit I’m curious about what he wants to tell me.

After his call, there was a notable shift in his demeanor, so much so that when I returned to the table, he actually apologized for his poor manners. “Please excuse me, though I have no right to ask. I’ve had a trying few days.”

My own irritation crumbles as the stranger’s dissolves. I was goading him, and I knew it. “It’s okay, I haven’t exactly made it easy on you.”

He looks down at the food I placed in front of him, then back up with a pleased expression. “This smells divine, thank you. Have you considered my offer?”

Is he kidding? It’s the only thing I’ve been able to think about. Five thousand is a big deal. “What’s so important?” I’m fishing, but maybe I’ll learn something.

“If you agree to call me tonight, I will tell you.”

“On the phone?” I confirm.

“Yes.” He’s holding his knife in one hand and his fork in the other as if he can’t wait to eat.

“Fine, it’ll be late though. After I get off work.”

“What time do you get off?” He ducks his head briefly at my suspicious glare. “I was merely going to offer you a ride home, so you didn’t have to take the bus. Also, so I might know when to expect your call, but I can be patient.”

“So you did follow me. I’ll check on you in a few,” I tell him, then slip away from his table with a strange feeling of anticipation in my stomach.

I’m uneasy when I walk the few blocks to the bus stop. Not only do I feel like there are eyes on me, but the five bands of hundred-dollar bills Mr. Haynsworth left on my table in the padded envelope feel like a lead weight. I was too paranoid to put them in my bag, so I shoved the envelope of fresh bank bills into my underwear at my hip.

I thought five grand would look like a lot more money, but I’ve never seen that many hundred-dollar bills, so what do I know? I didn’t expect him to leave the money. Hell, I half convinced myself it was a lie just to get me to agree to talk to him, but now that I have it, I’m even more nervous. What is he going to expect from me in return?

I breathe a sigh of relief when I step into the warm interior of the bus. It still smells like crap, but it doesn’t bother me as badly as it did earlier. I check behind the bus a few times to see if anyone is following, but it’s too bright inside for me to make out the types of cars traveling the road.

When the driver rolls to a smooth stop at my corner, I almost lose the nerve to get off the bus. What if Mr. Haynsworth just gave me the money to lull me into a false sense of security, and he’s really planning on taking it all back when he catches me walking home alone?

Knowing I can’t ride the bus forever, and every stop would make my walk home longer, I finally get my rump up off the seat and head to the exit.

“Careful walking,” the older man rumbles in a raspy voice that speaks of years of smoking.

“Thank you,” I mutter, wondering if his words are an omen I shouldn’t ignore. The doors snap closed behind me the moment my second foot hits the pavement, and I have to step away from the curb quickly when the driver pulls away, leaving me isolated on the street.

With my keys already palmed, I make the short walk to the entrance of my apartment building with my head straight forward, and I don’t exhale fully until I get into my building.

I was half convinced I would find the fancy lawyer waiting at my door for me, since he didn’t snatch me off the street, but my hall is blessedly empty. I can hear the other tenants watching TV and listening to music, but I don’t even slow down.

When I flip the deadbolt into place after dashing into my unit, I bang my forehead against the dented metal door to allow my heart rate to slow.

My phone and the money volley for my attention. I didn’t get a chance to count all the bills at work when I secreted away into the bathroom to look at it, but I did flip through each stack to make sure it wasn’t a bunch of singles or paper.

Now that I’m home, I pull all five bank wrapped stacks out of my pants and lay them on the kitchen counter. My heart starts beating fast again as I think about all the things I could do with this money. I could get a car, a better apartment, and move out of the area, but most likely, I’ll tuck it away for a rainy day. Just knowing I have it if anything happens would be such a relief.

With a little dread in my stomach, I pull my phone from my back pocket and reach for the card with his number. The soil is so dry, I have to blow off a few crumbs of dirt that stick to the heavy paper before dialing.

He picks up on the first ring. “I wasn’t sure you would call.” I can’t tell if his tone holds begrudging respect or a reprimand.

“I said I would,” I counter, feeling slightly defensive. “What do you need to talk to me about?” I lower myself onto my lumpy couch to get off my feet, but I keep my eyes on the money as if it might disappear now that I’m on the phone with him.

“Your grandparents would like you to come home,” he says slowly.

“I told you, my grandparents are dead. Maybe you have the wrong person.” Even as I say it, I doubt it’s the truth.

“Nova Devlin, born on March twelfth to Clara and Grant Devlin.”

I suck in a breath when he says my mother’s name, even though I was expecting there might be some truth to his words. “I don’t understand,” I mutter reflexively.

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