Part 11 (1/2)
”Well, the good news is at least we live in the same building, and so far no one has detected anything out of the ordinary. At least, I think no one has.”
”What's so good about that?”
”I 'm just trying to find a straw to grasp. Don't be a killjoy. And...I hope you don't get all teary-eyed at work. Do you?”
”Give me a little credit, will you?”
So far she'd dealt with her emotions well while faking her s.e.xuality at his job. But then nothing really upsetting had happened so far. She refused to make promises she might not be able to keep.
He stood outside her door, trying not to be conspicuous, yet standing close enough to hear what they said. Catching a word here and there didn't satisfy his curiosity, and his fisted hands sunk his nails into the tender skin of his palms. Did they never separate? The perfect opportunity to end her reign of terror over the poor unsuspecting sap depended on surprise. He hoped to confront her during her visit to the garbage can today, but that hadn't worked out. At the sound of someone coming upstairs, he drifted down the hallway and slunk into the darkness. Maybe tomorrow.
His heart hammered at the thought of watching her turn blue.
Cynthia handed Alex a clean plate. ”Careful, it's slippery,” she added, not really trusting him with her china.
”Maybe I should wash from now on,” He remarked while he dried the dish. ”I don't want the guys noticing I have 'dishpan hands' and making fun.”
”Maybe you should learn to dry first.” She eyed the water droplets he'd left on the last dish.
”I'm serious.” He picked up the plate and dried it again.
”Or we could just move someplace that has a dishwasher, a Jacuzzi tub and valet parking.”
”My, aren't we testy?” He snapped the dishtowel in the air.
”I don't mean to be. I'm tired, and I'm going to bed as soon as we finish here. Which reminds me...I hate your apartment.”
”Well, I'm not that used to living in this one either. But what else can we do?
Wouldn't people think it strange to see us coming and going alone from each other's place? I'm not intimating that we're the talk of the town, but you never know.”
”I guess you're right.” She rinsed the last dish.
”Besides, you need my stuff and I need yours.”
”Okay, okay. I got it.” She snared the towel, dried her hands and hung the wet cloth on the sink. ”I'm going to bed...your bed.”
He picked up a key from the counter. ”Before you go, here's your new key for the deadbolt.”
”Great, now I have two that look identical.” She took it and scanned the room.
”What are you looking for?”
”Stupidly enough, my purse. I can't get used to not carrying one.” She turned and put her hand on the doork.n.o.b. ”Good night...and you are going to work tomorrow, right?”
”Would you relax? I'm going. This weekend, we can get the locks re-keyed so you won*t have to carry two. I may not be able to fix our big problem, but I feel safe in a.s.suming this I can handle.”
Alex mentally prepared himself for another day at Cynthia's job while he dressed. The thought of spending eight hours sequestered in an office was not at all appealing when he was used to being out and about. He stood before the bathroom mirror and worked on Cynthia's hair. Who would have imagined how much trouble women went to in the morning? While fighting a stray curl that had a mind of its own, he heard the front door open.
”Alex. Where are you?”
He walked into the living room. ”Here. Trying to do something with your hair. Got any suggestions?”
”Combing it might be nice.”
”I did.”
”With what, the toilet brush?” The sarcasm that had become commonplace tinged her voice.
”Don't be rude. Just show me what to do. I now understand why women say, 'I just washed my hair and can't do a thing with it.'”
She took his hand, led him back into the bathroom and pointed at the commode. ”Sit.”
Using a rounded brush and the hair dryer, she worked her magic.
When he stood and surveyed the results, he was astounded. ”How did you do that?”
”It takes practice,” she said, tucking a stray strand into place. ”You saw what I did. It's an acquired talent, hopefully one you won't have time to learn.”
How strange to look at himself but think of her. He couldn't help himself, her personality shone through no matter the circ.u.mstance. In his mind, she was still that cute, little blonde who charmed him...well, at least most of the time.
She looked at his bulky wrist.w.a.tch. ”I have to go, and so do you. Don't be late.”
Like a child, Alex waited until she was out the door then made a face. ”Don't be late, comb your hair, don't make messes,” he mimicked her demands.
The side she'd shown definitely wasn't the charming and attractive one he preferred, but he understood her frustration. He slung her purse over his shoulder and hiked up his panty hose. ”I hate these d.a.m.n things,” he mumbled. The exited the apartment, pulled the door closed and locked it. Pausing in the hallway, he smoothed his skirt. If he had to play the role, he might as well look his best. G.o.d forbid someone tell Cynthia they noticed she'd lost some of her fas.h.i.+on sense.
On the first floor landing, Alex caught site of the building superintendent atop a stepstool, replacing a light bulb in the hallway. Surveying the maintenance man with a policeman's eye, Alex immediately noticed the blue towel hanging from the super's back pocket. Alex held his breath until he reminded himself not to jump to conclusions. So, the guy had a tattoo and carried the same colored cloth the perp left behind. Alex carried a purse and wore panty hose. The facts didn't prove he was a woman. Still, his thoughts did little to still the niggling fear that there was something fishy about the man.
As the super finished and disappeared down the hallway, another figure popped through an open door. Alex recognized Thomas Carpenter and quickly ducked out the front entrance. Given his options, he would just as soon be hit by a bus than have that creep ogle him again.
All the way downtown on the train, Alex tossed thoughts about the super back and forth. There were too many coincidences to ignore: blue towels, tattoo, and, until this very minute, Alex hadn't realized that the man's appearance at The Cairns coincided with the first kidnapping. Stepping onto the BART platform, Alex vowed to pay closer attention to the new, not so handyman.
Chapter Twelve.
Alex lay in bed and stared into the darkness, watching an occasional reflection of pa.s.sing car lights stretch across the ceiling. He wasn't sure of the time, but he sensed it was very late, and he couldn't get comfortable. Although a week and a half had pa.s.sed since he and Cynthia switched bodies, it seemed much longer.
Strange thoughts ran through his mind. Little things, like lying with his hands behind his head as he once had just didn't feel right anymore, or sleeping on his stomach. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s made that position uncomfortable, too.
He fumbled for a comfortable position. Crossing his arms on his chest reminded him too much of the corpses he'd seen in the morgue. And, if he hugged her small frame, his hands either grasped the side of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s or disappeared under her armpits.