In the evening, just like at breakfast, everyone waited until Alec arrived before starting the meal. Hanna directed me to the same chair as that morning. Once Hanna and I were seated, Alec took his chair.
The men reached for the food. Pretty metal spoons clanged against ceramic serving bowls.
Hanna offered me the potatoes.
I scooped some onto my plate and didn’t bother adding any butter or gravy.
The men stacked their plates high with Hanna’s cooking. Their conversation was the same as in the morning, plenty of sports. Then when Hanna turned her head and said something to Ben, Anthony murmured something to the man with the Italian complexion. It happened again a minute later, this time the other two men.
“How was your day?”
I looked up and realized Alec was talking to me. “Fine.” Then I added, “Hanna is good company.” I took another small bite of the plain potatoes.
“She is.”
I set my fork down. “How was your day?” Really, I was reminding him that he’d agreed to answer my questions this evening.
“Not as productive as I would have liked, but I suppose I’ll make up for it tomorrow.” He turned back to the small amount of food on his plate.
Not as productive as he would have liked?
I held my tongue and waited until the meal was over. If he tried to push me off again, my patience would run out like a flash flood. While I ate, my left hand sat in my lap, my fingers clutched together.
Ben—the one with the blond mustache—whose name I’d learned at lunch, left first, something about finishing some work in the garage, and the others left together as they had in the morning. The one with the Italian complexion, from the kitchen yesterday, did not hesitate to leave this time.
“Adriane,” Alec said. “Would you mind joining me in the library?”
I nodded, and he stood and held my chair.
“Good,” Hanna said as she continued to stack glasses. “Keep her for a while so I can have all this done before she comes back.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Yes, ma’am.” It wasn’t a smile, not even close, but it was the closest I’d seen. And his response seemed odd. People told him “yes, sir,” not the other way around.
I followed him past the great room to a short hall under the stairs. My heart thumped louder than the tick of the grandfather clock.
The door to the right was closed. He opened one of the double doors on the left and held it for me.
The fading sun outlined the shapes of the tall windows and cast their gridwork onto the floor. The rug’s pattern was the only detail clearly visible. It was one more thing that reminded me of an early 1900s house, intricate and dully colorful, with lots of reds and burgundies subdued by a tea-stained, aged treatment—or maybe it was actually aged, another antique. I stayed to the side and kept my shoes on the hardwood.
He moved toward the center of the room and about disappeared—until a lamp clicked on.
My eyes widened. The books, so many of them. Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined the three un-windowed walls. My neck craned up as I tried to take them all in; perhaps I’d be able to spy the contents of their pages if I could just see the words on the spines, like seeing into a person’s mind through their eyes. Books were easier to get to know. They didn’t go away. I never had to bury my books, never had to say goodbye.
“You like to read,” he said. “Please feel free to plunder the shelves all you wish.”
“How do you know?” I asked. “Hanna told me you had her put the books in my room.”
He motioned for me to sit.
Frustration gnawed at my insides. I sat in the armchair he offered, and he took the next one, which was angled to face mine. His elbows on his knees, he leaned forward and looked down at his hands.
He took a breath and looked up. “They were not the only ones watching,” he said. “You enjoy reading while you walk home from work.”
I paused. “Your men,” I said. “They must be really good at their jobs.”
He tilted his head curiously.
“To notice what kinds of books I read.” That didn’t explain the other things, like the raspberry shampoo, but that could’ve simply been a coincidence.
“You’re not angry at me?” he said, “for…having you watched?”
“You didn’t plant a bug in my purse.” It did bother me to know people had been paying attention; I liked my numbing blanket of anonymity. But I couldn’t really be that mad if they’d only watched me in public, and surely, they weren’t really watching me, but rather whoever Dean had working for him.
I went on before he could steer the conversation. “I believe what you’ve told me so far; it makes logical sense. Mr. Mason told me I was off my rocker, but I know I was right about what I found. What I don’t understand is why would some straight-laced politician handle things the way you say he is? You make it sound like he’ll come after me, violently. But wouldn’t someone like him try to bribe me or something first?”
“Unfortunately, Dean is not what he portrays to the public. He has ties to the majority of the corrupt population of the city, and he does not hesitate to utilize those connections.”
I nodded. Dean’s campaigns always focused on family values and improving life for the middle class, but when I’d seen him a couple times when he came to meet Mr. Mason, I’d always gotten a nasty feeling about him, nothing to do with what he did, but more of an instinctive reaction.
On to my most important question. “I believe you when you say you don’t want to hurt me.” I figured I was more of a side adventure; surely, he’d just happened across Dean’s plans for me and decided to take action. “But who are you? How in the world do you know about all this?”
He hesitated. “My family is…” His gaze shifted. “Well-known. We have had a certain amount of influence for many generations.”
“What does that mean? You own a lot of property or something?” His vague answers were annoying.
“That’s not always been the extent of it.”
“I read something about you in the paper once.” His gaze quickly returned to me, and I hesitated before continuing. “It was something about your buying a factory.”
A pause, and then he sighed. “No, that’s not what I’m talking about,” he said. “You deserve to know the truth. My family’s business has not always been strictly legitimate and has often involved violence.”
Wait, did he mean organized crime? I hadn’t read anything like that in the paper for a long time, not since I’d taken my job and started reading the paper. Granted, I only read the front page, but something like that would’ve made big headlines. “But not anymore?” I asked.
“Things have changed since I took over. My business is legal now, and we very rarely use any kind of force, yesterday being the exception.” His gaze shifted away, then back to me. “To fully answer your question, as a result of my family’s former methods, I have certain connections—people who are loyal, whether it be out of fear or respect. I still know about, even if I don’t participate in, almost everything that goes on in this town, both legal and not. It was through these connections that we learned of the intentions to make sure you could not speak about what you had found. In order to handle Dean, I needed to take you out of the equation. I could not sit by while you were harmed.”
“Thank you,” I said.
He looked at me, straight at me. I could almost see through him, like the spines of the books.
Then his eyes glazed, and he sat back in his chair. “What, no more questions? I’m disappointed.” His smile never quite surfaced.
I rested my elbow on the arm of the chair and leaned on my hand. “I’ve got a few more.”
“Go ahead.”
“How did your father know my father?”
“He did some accounting for several of the family businesses—only the legitimate ones. He was exceptionally good at his work.”
I only nodded.
“You miss him,” he said, not a question.
“Yes.”
His voice was quiet, softer than I thought possible from him. “I’m so sorry.”
I changed the subject to something easier to handle. “So, we’ve covered that you’re not some Godfather, but you haven’t said what you do for a living.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, like it did when he talked to Hanna. “Besides kidnapping...mostly real estate and investing.”
“Like houses and such?”
“Mostly retail and office, and a few multi-family communities.”
“What kind of investing?”
“Anything that makes money.”
I laughed. “Pretty broad.”
“Speaking of broad, I believe you read more than the classics. History, philosophy?”
“Yeah, I guess it’s kind of random.”
“Often a sign of intelligence.”
“Being random? You must be freaking Einstein.”
He smirked, but it wasn’t the kind that said I was being funny. I realized I’d hit on something; I just wasn’t sure what, exactly.
We stayed clear of difficult subjects after that. I wondered if he would ask about what I’d found at work, about the specifics, but he didn’t even touch on it. I figured he already knew. More and more, I was getting the impression he had his hand in a lot of things.
The ease of the conversation was mildly disturbing. He goaded me into talking, into finishing any thought that I cut off. I felt off balance, like I was tilting toward him but waiting to be pushed back. That hardness in his expression lessened until it was almost gone—though there was never a smile.
A knock at the door interrupted us.
“Yes,” Alec answered.
Ben peeked his head in. “Sorry, sir, but, um, I was reminded that you have an early start in the morning.”
I swore I saw something harden in Alec’s eyes. His tone was still kind. “Thank you, Ben. What time is it?”
“Almost one.”
One o’clock a.m.?
“I’m sorry to have kept you up so late, Adriane.” Alec stood. He hesitated, then offered his hand.
I looked at his palm for a second. Then I rested my hand in his and let him help me from the chair. I let go as soon as I was on my feet.
Ben followed us up the stairs and reclaimed his chair—did he stay there all night?—and Alec walked me to my door.
“Thank you,” I said.
“It’s entirely my pleasure.” He opened the door.
I took a step over the threshold. As I passed him, I glanced up. I was so close, and he was looking at me, meeting my gaze.
I paused. I thought I saw…
He turned and walked away.
He was already halfway down the hall by the time I closed the door. I leaned my back against the wood and took a breath, tried to calm my heartbeat, while trying to figure exactly what emotion I was fighting.
The only thing I could fully grasp was annoyance.
He’d gotten me to talk, to share some of my thoughts. It made me uncomfortable to share. He had too strong an effect on me; I needed to avoid him.
Perhaps running was the best answer.