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“The Hidden Bull Pub sound good?”
I don’t want to get plastered, but I need to put up a convincing social front. Act like I can actually tolerate the presence of my colleagues. “Sure, sounds fun. I’ll call you once I’m finished with my errands.”
He pumps his fist and smiles. “Nice. I’ve been feeling a little stressed out, anyway. I could use a drink. Or two.”
I shake my head as David rolls back to his desk. Being presented with a promotion is truly fortuitous. I exhale a deep breath, determined to make the most of it. It’s going to be a great year.
Since I’m going out, I think I’ll also see what my Little Finch is up to tonight.
The Hidden Bull Pub is an improvement over Bottle Grounds in Vermont, but that honestly isn’t saying much. The stench of stale beer and cigarettes hits me as I walk through the doors, and I wrinkle my nose in disgust. It reminds me of college parties—the ones I forced myself to attend and drink at with my classmates. All I got out of it was self-loathing and a terrible hangover the next day.
Now I know better than to get shit-faced.
Ignoring the stink, I keep walking. This place is familiar to me, and I often come here to scope out future victims and take notes. It’s also a valuable source of gossip. However, I’m here tonight for another reason. I scan the bar for David and the others, and spot them sitting in the booth in the corner.
“Glad you made it,” he says over the music as I slide into the space beside him.
The bar is dimly lit and is becoming more crowded by the minute. There are a few pool tables in the back and a small stage at the front where local bands and other talent come to perform. A few people are dancing, but most are drinking and talking, their voices now competing with the rock music someone just turned on.
“Of course,” I say, my eyes sweeping across the crowds. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
David flags down a waitress weaving through the throngs of people, many of them wearing shirts and jackets with Liberty Grove University logos stamped on them. She smiles as she approaches, and David winks at her.
“What can I get you?” she asks.
“Another round for us”—he gestures to Molly and a couple of others from work I’m hardly acquainted with—“and something for my buddy, Blake, here. On my tab.”
She looks at me, and I give her a cordial smile. “I’ll take just a gin and tonic, please.”
She scribbles down my order and melts into the crowd. The others continue to talk and laugh. But I find myself distracted, unable to stop thinking about Gwen as I wait for my drink. I checked her schedule and saw that she works tonight. If I can leave here soon enough, I’ll have plenty of time to poke around her apartment.
Eventually, the waitress returns and sets a glass in front of me, and distributes the others. Taking a sip, I savor the cold and refreshing taste that helps wash down the irritation of dealing with inane social situations like these. Because the next hour is spent listening to David and crew talking about their jobs, families, and plans for the rest of the summer, as well as reminiscing about the old college days when they partied the nights away.
And David wonders why he let his chances for a better job slip away.
I look around the booth one last time and feign a smile. “I should probably get going,” I say. “I have a long day tomorrow.”
“Yeah, yeah,” David teases, gently elbowing me. “Mister Big-Shot here.”
I finish my drink and stand up. “We should do this again sometime.”Ugh. Please no.
I wave goodbye and leave the bar. Taking a deep breath of fresh air, I hurry to my car and drive home, figuring I have less than an hour before Gwen returns from her shift. Once I arrive, I park as usual and glimpse at the windows. Her lights are off; hopefully, that’s a good sign. I enter the building and head into my apartment to get ready.
After I put on my killer attire, I quietly slip out of the window and make my way down the fire escape. This is the safest way to hide my identity; I can’t risk having someone catching me leaving my apartment dressed like this. But I really need to make a copy of her key—for more than a few reasons. If I could just get a hold of Nancy’s set and make duplicates, I would have access to everything in Grand Pointe.
I look inside Gwen’s bedroom and see no one inside, so I open the window and hop inside. She often sits a box fan on the sill to cool the air and frequently forgets to lock up in her sleepy haze upon waking. She’s adorably forgetful when she first rouses. But it’s yet another reason I should get that key copied, just in case her memory gets better.
And because summer won’t last forever.
Her bedroom is her sanctuary, where she can relax and be herself. A reflection of her personality. You can learn a lot about a person if you look closely at the details of their bedroom. Her music and movie interests are obvious, judging by her posters, further confirmed by the collection of albums and tapes in the living room. She has some books, mostly thrillers. Not much of a romance gal. Just my type.
She has a journal, but there has been nothing interesting written there. Yet.
Judging from the untidy room and unmade bed, she overslept today. I sit on the mattress and lay back on the fluffy beige comforter. As I close my eyes and inhale her scent, I envision her lying here with me. I know one day, it will happen.
I’m slammed out of my reverie when I hear the front door open. She’s early; I suppose traffic was light this evening. I fly into her closet and press my back against the wall, behind the hanging clothes.
As I hear her footsteps approaching, my heart races. Holding my breath as she opens the door to her bedroom, I watch her silhouette through the closet door slits. Even in that ugly uniform, she’s as beautiful as ever. She yanks the scrunchie from her hair and tosses it on top of the vanity.
