Network of Deceit by Tom Threadgill

Author:Tom Threadgill
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Suspense;Mystery fiction;FIC042060;FIC030000
ISBN: 9781493428656
Publisher: Baker Publishing Group
Published: 2020-12-21T00:00:00+00:00

31

Amara pulled into a visitor’s parking spot at the main building and texted Wylie to ask how Mama was doing. Two seconds later, he called to remind her how much he hated typing texts. Her mother was fine, he said, but freezing. Cold enough to hang meat in that room. She had a blanket but would know to dress warmer next time.

Amara mentioned taking the pair out to dinner that night, and he immediately became suspicious. She assured him it was simply a chance for a quiet meal after a rough week. He hemmed and hawed, but eventually caved after she swore there’d be no discussion about the marriage proposal since that would be awkward for everyone. And to ensure she didn’t bring it up, he insisted she bring a date.

A date? Fine. Starsky would come with her. Seven o’clock, quiet Italian restaurant not far from Mama’s, reservations under Amara’s name. And she’d text if she was going to be late. Wylie promised to call if anything changed and said he’d try to get her mother to take a nap that afternoon. Amara laughed, wished him good luck, and hung up.

She pictured tonight’s dinner as she walked past the dozen or so empty handicapped visitors’ spots to the door. Why had she been so certain Starsky would come with her tonight? He would, of course, unless he had other plans, which she’d never known him to have. But a tinge of guilt washed over her. Was she stringing him along, knowing he probably wanted a deeper relationship? Taking advantage of him? Was her indecisiveness keeping him from moving on to someone else? And what was up with all the inner monologues whenever she thought about him?

The building’s doors swung inward as she approached. She walked inside and pressed the square metal handicapped plate on the wall to open the second set of doors. The lobby consisted of a seating area off to the right with magazines and brochures spread around. A large electronic sign cycled through a litany of upcoming events at the complex, complete with photos of smiling senior citizens enjoying themselves.

To the left, numerous offices lined the wall. Voices, ringing phones, and the unmistakable sounds of copiers and printers told her that work was already in full swing. Straight ahead, a middle-aged woman sat behind an ornate wooden reception desk, speaking several “yes, ma’am’s” into her headset.

Amara smiled at her and walked closer, waiting for a free moment. The lady raised one finger to indicate she was almost done, left it there for a good minute, rolled her eyes, and offered her final “yes, ma’am” before disconnecting the call.

“I’m sorry about your wait,” she said. “Part of Mrs. Vacanti’s a.m. ritual. I made the mistake a couple of years ago of mentioning something about baseball. Now, every morning of the season, she calls to update me on how the Astros are doing. I don’t have the heart to tell her I hate baseball.”

“Not a fan either,” Amara said. “But it’s sweet of you to do that.

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