Page 84 of Rough Hard Fierce (Chicago Underground 1-3)
After I slipped inside, I left the door ajar to listen for anyone approaching. The thin band of light from the hall illuminated the deep leather armchairs we’d sat in last time. The desk waited for me in the dark side of the room. I crossed to it and flipped on a small lamp. I sifted through a few papers right on top: documents, maps, schematics.
In a side drawer I found a leather binder so thick my hand could barely grasp it. The smell of ink wafted up from the pages when I opened the flap. It was a ledger of some sort. Thin green lines demarcated entries that provided a long space for description, an amount, a few columns for balance adjustments from different accounts. The descriptions varied from initials to long scrawls, followed by symbols and letters. This wasn’t what I needed. I returned it to the drawer.
Atop the desk, underneath the scattered papers, I hit the jackpot. It was one of those desk calendars, the kind a secretary might use to schedule meetings. In thick black lettering, an address and time were written into two days from now. There were a few other notes made, but that one was the most conspicuous. It had to be what the cop was looking for. I scribbled it onto a blank scrap of paper I found. I stared at it for a second, then tucked it into my bra. Time to go.
I paused on a whim. What might be in that ledger? Something about Rick, maybe. I could find out whether there’d been any truth to his words before confronting Colin, but that was greedy. I really needed to get back. I flipped off the lamp, slipped back out the door, and locked it. I shoved the key down next to the slip of paper. The paper was itchy, the key cold against my skin.
I glanced both ways as if crossing the street. Which way?
I went down the hallway. Hmm.
This was ridiculous. The house wasn’t that big.
Okay. It was.
I saw the tall archway that had led into the large room from earlier. Thank God. I rushed in and froze. This was not the right room.
Rose and Laramie sprang apart. Laramie cleared his throat. Rose looked down and smoothed her dress out.
“I was wondering,” I said, “which way led back to the group.”
A red-faced Rose gestured through the room to another large archway. “In there.”
I started to walk through, averting my eyes, when Laramie cleared his throat again. “Allie, I—”
“I never saw a thing,” I said without turning.
“Thank you,” he said behind me.
I sailed through the archway and stumbled into the room, this time from the other side, so that I was right next to the bar.
“Ah, there you are,” Philip said. “I feared we’d lost you.”
“Sorry,” I said. “I just…got a bit lost.” Fuck, that sounded ridiculous, but it was true.
Shelly coughed and did this little shimmy that dragged his attention away from me. Really, thank God for boobs. I stood next to Colin, who’d been speaking in low tones with Philip. When I got to his side, though, he stopped talking and pulled me close. Rose entered a few minutes later, looking no worse for wear. A few minutes after that, Laramie came in and joined Philip.
A woman in a white shirt and black slacks entered and announced dinner was ready. En masse we stood and migrated over. As I walked by the woman, she looked right past me as if I were invisible. I thought that if things had happened differently, if I’d happened to hear about her job, I could be her coworker. I could be the one calling the fancy people in to a fancy dinner, but it was her and I was the outsider now.
The table was set with white dishes with gold-plated trim. That couldn’t be real gold, could it? Bowls were set upon plates, which sat upon chargers, making me wonder exactly how much food would be served. Little placards assigned the seats, but the high chair made it obvious where Bailey was to sit.
“Oh, thank you,” I said. “I was thinking I’d just hold her, but this is better.”
“It’s no problem,” Rose assured me.
“Do you have a baby?” I asked and then cringed at myself.
“No.” Rose laughed. “We rented that. The caterer had them.”
Oh, a caterer. Well, now I knew why Colin had laughed when I’d told him I’d bring dessert.
I cringed again at the thought of my rustic cobbler dish. I should have made something better. Something more upscale. Fancy desserts raced through my head. The chocolate tart, sure, but other things too. Things with French names that I could barely pronounce but I could make. Too late. Damn.
I set Bailey up in the high chair and sat down at the seat labeled “Allie.”
Soup was brought out, and servers ladled it into our bowls. No one spoke, the only sound the rush of edible liquid. Everyone, even Shelly, watched their bowls, like it was some sort of prayer ritual. That thought surprised me. Maybe it was. Like a moment of silence. Wasn’t that a thing? No, that was for observing dead people. Shit, I didn’t belong here.
When the servers left the room, we all reached for our spoons. The soft clangs of those spoons against the table or against the bowl filled the air, and then quiet slurps of soup.
