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“Last time I checked, Ron Talbot was a quite adult thirty-five.”
Trudy slicked on a coat of soft plum lip gloss and dropped the tube into her tailored black leather purse. “That doesn’t mean my husband’s any easier to understand than others of his kind.”
Maryanne tucked her lip balm in the side pocket of her tote. “You don’t fool me. You two have been married thirteen years, you share a mortgage, car and minivan, a dog, four cats and two kids. You must have figured him out at least a little.”
“Three.”
“Three? Three what?”
Trudy’s fair skin bloomed a delicate rose. “Three kids.”
“Huh?” Maryanne glanced at her friend’s flat middle. “Oh! Really?”
Trudy’s smile lit up the dingy bathroom in the basement of the New Camden Public Library. “Mm-hmm.”
The two women hugged, then Maryanne held her friend at arm’s length. “That’s wonderful! And you look wonderful, too. When are you due?”
“Sometime in mid-November.”
“A Thanksgiving baby—how perfect.”
“It is a perfect time to give thanks for all my blessings.” Trudy eyed Maryanne. “So much so that you ought to give it a try. Marriage and motherhood, that is.”
“Are you crazy? You just finished telling me men are impossible to understand, and now you want me to hook up with one of them?”
“I said they’re impossible to understand, not impossible to love and live with.” Trudy hitched the strap of her purse onto her shoulder. “Come on. I have to get back. The Thursday story-hour kids are about to get here, and we don’t want them on the loose.”
“And I have to go see what those guys got done on my computer.”
The two women went upstairs to the library’s main level. Trudy gave Maryanne a sideways glance. “You know Uni-Comp’s people are always great. You never know what’s going on in people’s lives. Maybe that one guy had a fight with his wife.”
“Maybe…but he still gave me the creeps.”
“How so?”
Cold gray eyes popped into Maryanne’s mind. So did the flat slash of lips, the rigid line of shoulder, the direct and deliberate gait. “He made me feel like the deer in a hunter’s crosshairs.”
“That makes no sense. You don’t know him, do you?”
“Trust me. I’d remember if I’d seen him before.”
In the warm oak-paneled-and-floored lobby, Trudy placed gentle hands on Maryanne’s shoulders and met her gaze. “Now don’t get mad at me, okay?”
Maryanne went to speak, but Trudy shook her head.
“Listen. Please. Do you think maybe you imagined the guy’s anger because your emotions were already in a tangle over your friend at the nursing home?”
Maryanne’s urge to deny the possibility felt right, but because Trudy was so perceptive, she gave her earlier state of mind careful consideration. She thought back to when she first saw J.Z. Prophet, to that last look in his eyes, to the way he’d made her feel.
“There’s always that chance,” she said, “but I don’t think so. I’d prayed through my tears by the time those two showed up. I’d come to peace by then, and was even bored since there’s so little I can do while the system’s down.”
Trudy looked skeptical, but then, she hadn’t seen the man. Maryanne hugged her massive tote bag and added, “I can’t begin to imagine why someone would look at me with so much…oh, I don’t know. I can’t really describe what that Prophet guy gave off.”
Another frown lined Trudy’s brow. “This isn’t good. Don’t you think someone should do something about it? Someone official, that is.”
“What do you want them to do? And who would you have me tell?”
“Maybe you should speak with Mr. Dougherty.”
“Why? I don’t think the library system’s director knows much about Uni-Comp or its employees. The IT department handles that service contract.”
“Well, then, talk to Morty. He runs IT.”
“What do you want me to say? That a tech from Uni-Comp gave me a weird look? Sure, and then he can call the guys in the white suits to come get me.”
Trudy bit her lower lip. “You’re probably right. All you have is a funny feeling, and that’s nothing to go on. Just be careful. Don’t let the guy catch you alone in your office or anything, okay?”
“That won’t happen. Not even if I have to spend the rest of the day in the bathroom downstairs. If worse comes to worst, I’ll grab what little paperwork I have left and do just that.”
“That’s nuts. You don’t have to go to extremes, you know. You can always head over to the staff lounge or hang out with me and my munchkins.”
“Oh, right. I’ll get a whole lot of work done then.”
“Make up your mind, will you? You said you were bored earlier and didn’t have much to do while the system was down. I can always use a hand with the incoming zoo inmates.”
“Ha! Your Mark is in that crowd, isn’t he?”
When Trudy blushed, Maryanne went on. “Figures. You just want me to watch your son so that you can be the serious librarian.”
Trudy raised her hands in surrender. “Okay. You outed me. But do you blame me?”
“Who can forget his first story hour? You reminded me of Make Way For Ducklings. The seventeen of them looked awfully cute following you around and calling you Mrs. Mommy.”
They chuckled, but then Maryanne squared her shoulders and smoothed a hand over the waist of her shin-length beige skirt. “I really do have to get back to my office—if for no other reason than to see if the Uni-Comps finished their shtick, and my computer’s up again.”
“I still think your imagination ran away with you, but please be careful. You never know what kind of kooks are on the loose.”
“If you get a chance, keep me in your prayers.”
“You know I’ll do that.”
Maryanne approached her glorified cubicle at the rear of the Research Department with apprehension. Were the two men still there?
At her office door, she paused and studied her name in gold letters on the black plaque. If that Prophet man wanted to hurt her he not only knew where she worked, but he also knew her name. With so many search sites on the Web, he’d have her address in no time. Then again, maybe he and his wife had argued earlier in the day. But Maryanne couldn’t imagine a woman who’d put up with him.
“Oh, Lord, help me, please,” she prayed then turned the knob.
The room was empty. A couple of pages covered with computer test gobbledygook in her trash can gave the only testimony of the men’s earlier presence. Maryanne experienced a momentary letdown.
Weird, since she hadn’t wanted to face his—was it anger?—again.
To be honest, she had to admit that the puzzling J.Z. Prophet had sparked her interest—in a crazy, scary sort of way. He’d kicked up her curiosity, and he’d even revved something inside her. Excitement? Maybe. Inquisitiveness? Definitely.
Maryanne sat behind her desk and braced her forehead on the heels of her hands. “Argh!”
She had to be partway to certifiable. No sane woman would be interested in some stranger who’d looked at her funny. A sane woman wouldn’t try to figure out why he’d done it.
It didn’t make sense—she didn’t make sense.
So was Trudy right? Had she imagined J.Z.’s instant dislike?
Now that the Uni-Comp men had left and she was alone, Maryanne began to question her earlier take on the incident. A stranger would have no reason for anger, not toward her.
Oh, well. Trudy probably was right. It wouldn’t be the first time Maryanne let her imagination run wild.
After all, J.Z. Prophet was an attractive man, of the rugged, dark and brooding sort. He would catch her eye, no matter what—any woman’s at that. But of course he wasn’t the kind of man she’d want to get to know. He was not her type at all. Still, no seeing woman would call him nondescript.
Steel-colored eyes above angular cheekbones pierced deep. And the dark hair that tumbled over his forehead revealed a lack of self-absorption. Although J.Z. Prophet’s hair shone with health and cleanliness, as did his pristine white shirt and faded jeans, he wasn’t the blow-dried, manicured, crease-pressed new-jean type, a trend she found disconcerting.
If he hadn’t fixed those stormy eyes on her, she might have been attracted to him.
“Good grief, Maryanne,” she muttered as her computer booted up. “There you go again. No sooner do you decide the guy couldn’t possibly have given you an angry look, than you make a U-turn and think the opposite one more time.”
She sighed. It was time to get back to work. Time to put the enigmatic J.Z. Prophet out of her mind.
The next two hours proved productive. At around three o’clock, when Maryanne felt the urge for her usual cup of tea, she stood, walked around her desk and crossed the room.
At the doorway, she stopped.
A weird feeling crept up her back—hair-raising was the only way to describe it. Someone was watching her.
Maryanne looked up and down the hall, but saw no one, found nothing unusual. Then the door across the hall came to a complete close with a soft, automatic swish.
She stared. The men’s room. Had someone been watching her?
Had that someone—the one she was sure had watched her—just gone in there?
Had J.Z. Prophet spooked her so much that she saw boogeymen all around? Had some innocent guy done nothing more than walk by her office door to use the restroom instead? And she’d let herself freak out.
Or had he been watching her? J.Z’s face materialized in her mind. Why? Why would he want to watch her?
Maryanne’s knees gave. She fell back against her office door. She began to shiver, but refused to give in to fear. She closed her eyes and turned to God.
Why, why, why was she so shaken?
“Your strength is sufficient for me,” she prayed. Over and over again, she whispered the words until the tremors subsided.
But no matter how long she prayed, and no matter how hard she worked, Maryanne failed to erase the memory of J.Z.’s stare.
Trudy was right about at least one thing. Should Maryanne ever see him again, she wouldn’t hesitate to call the cops. Although she preferred to avoid clichеs, she felt she was living one right then.
If looks could kill….
The rest of the afternoon crawled by in a blur of stress. By the time five o’clock rolled around, Maryanne’s shoulders had frozen rigid and her temples pounded a vicious beat. She’d accomplished precious little in that time, since no matter how hard she tried, the image of J.Z. Prophet slammed into her thoughts every few minutes.
She couldn’t concentrate on anything she read, and hadn’t been able to type up her notes for the report due next Tuesday. Her fingers shook like leaves in a gale. Even simple filing became a challenge of inordinate proportion.
Ibuprofen did nothing to alleviate her headache—she doubted anything would until the memory of J.Z. Prophet’s intensity melted away on its own. She hoped she never had to set eyes on him again.
In the library parking lot, she waved goodbye to Trudy and Sarah Myers, who worked with the rare collections. Then, because she’d fed Shakespeare the last of his food and the kitty litter was also running low, she drove straight to the grocery store. The ride served to soothe her raw nerves. Her favorite radio station had on a Darlene Zschech special. Maryanne liked the Aussie’s contemporary style of worship music.
At the store, she grabbed feline supplies, romaine lettuce, fresh chicken breasts and an Idaho potato the size of the state where it grew. Dinner would be a simple matter of shredding greens and nuking stuff—about all she could face today.
At the register, Joe Moore, a retiree who augmented his social security with part-time cashier duty, smiled when he saw her. “How’s old Stan doing these days?”
Maryanne arched an eyebrow. “Old? Dad’s two years younger than you.”
The scanner beeped as Joe ran her purchases before the screen. “Age is just a matter of the mind, honey bun.”
“Oh, and Dad’s matured beyond his mischievous adolescent mental age in the last twenty-four hours?”
“A man can always hope.”
They shared a good-natured chuckle, and the pounding in Maryanne’s head began to ease.
“How’s Amelia?” she asked.
“Sore and crotchety, but the doc says the hip replacement went even better than he’d expected—thank the Lord.”
“You two have been married how long?”
Joe puffed out his chest. “Fifty-three years and still going strong, honey bun. You oughta try it, you know.”
Maryanne grabbed the bag of groceries and made for the door. “Don’t you get started. It’s bad enough with Dad and Trudy and a couple of others badgering me right and left. You know how I feel. If God’s got a man for me, well then, it’s up to Him to find me the guy.”
“And how’re you going to see this gift from heaven if all you do is hide behind books at the library or hang out with the oldsters at the retirement home?”
“I’m not hiding,” Maryanne said, her chin tipped a hair higher. “I’m serving where the Lord’s planted me. I’m sure He’ll lead me where He wants me if He wants me to go elsewhere.”
“Whoa, girl! That’s a mouthful there.” Joe shook his head and scanned his next customer’s laundry detergent. “Strikes me you’re a mite defensive on the subject. I suggest you pray a little on it, and see if I’m not right.”
Maryanne sighed. As if she didn’t already pray her way through each and every day. “I’ll do that, Joe. Give my love to Amelia, will you?”
“Of course, honey bun. And you tell that crazy daddy of yours to stay out of trouble at that country club place where he lives nowadays.”
“I will. Why don’t you stop by and see him sometime soon? He’ll get a kick out of it.”
With a nod and a wink, Joe turned his full attention to the young mother of three little girls under the age of six. Maryanne left the store, and then popped open her Escort’s trunk. She balanced the groceries against the bag of sand she always stored there for just in case. When she shut the trunk, a car crawled down the row behind her.
