Page 7 of Alibi for Murder
By the time Steve closed up his office and headed for the elevators in the lobby, everyone else was gone. They all had families waiting at home. Busy weekends ahead, no doubt.
He tapped the call button and waited for a car to return from the lobby.
Behind him the agency phone started to ring. He glanced at his watch. Half past seven. Since the office was closed, the call would go to the answering service, where it would be appropriately routed.
Indeed, the ringing stopped, so he stayed put at the elevator doors, waiting. When the ringing began once more, he couldn’tignore it. He crossed to the receptionist’s desk and picked up the handset.
“The Colby Agency.”
The silence on the other end suggested the caller had either given up and disconnected or that the call had gone directly to the answering service after that second ring.
Oh well, he had tried.
“Hello.”
He’d had the handset headed toward its cradle and scarcely heard the faint word. “This is the Colby Agency.” He rested the handset against his ear once more.
“I know it’s late.” The voice was a woman’s. She released a breath. “I really thought you’d be closed, and I’d be able to leave a message.”
His initial thought was to ask if she preferred that he direct her call to voicemail. Some matters were of such a private nature that a client might wish to say them to the voicemail rather than to a person, a stranger, first.
Before he could suggest as much, she spoke again. “I’m glad you’re not.” There was a hesitation, then, “I think I might be in trouble.”
Her confidence was building, and his curiosity was doing the same. “Would you like to make an appointment to come into the office?”
“Well, I’m… I’m actually looking for Steve Durham. Can I leave a message for him?”
Interesting.“No need. You’ve got him. This is Steve.”
The woman lapsed into silence once more.
“How can I help?” he prodded. The elevator chimed, and the doors slid open. Since he was on the office phone, he couldn’t go for it. He’d call another when this conversation was finished. There was no reason to rush. Unlike his colleagues, he had no one waiting at home.
“You might not remember me,” she said, the hesitation back. “My name is Allie Foster.”
Recognition flared instantly. A smile spread across his face. “Allie, yes, I remember you. Of course I do. If not for your brilliant mind, I might never have managed pre-cal.” Wow. Talk about a blast from the past.
The damned class had given him nightmares. At the time, he’d told himself it didn’t matter because he wasn’t going to college anyway, but his mother had insisted he take all the right classes in case he changed his mind later.
His mother was a very smart lady.
“Yes. That was a tough semester, but you got the swing of it by second semester.”
The smile in her voice told him she had relaxed a bit. “Are you in Chicago now?” How long had it been? Sixteen years? Fifteen for sure.
“No. I’m… I’m still in Woodstock living in my grandparents’ house.” A strained laugh followed. “I’m sorry to call so late, but I’m not sure this can wait.”
“I understand.” He checked his watch. “I could be there in just over an hour. Why don’t I drive out? If you haven’t had dinner already, I could pick up takeout and we’ll catch up. Figure out the situation.”
The whole idea came out in such a rush, he felt walloped by the force of it. But, for some strange reason, he sensed it was the right thing to do. Maybe it was the hint of desperation in her tone or just the fact that she reminded him of the good old days. Whatever the case, he wanted to help. Her return to silence suggested he’d maybe pushed a little with the idea.
“Or we could wait for you to come to the office on Monday. I’m good with either plan, Allie.”
“I’m not sure waiting is a good idea. If you could come now…that would be great.” She exhaled a big breath. “But that’s so much trouble. Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“I do not mind at all. In fact, I insist.” His lips twitched with another memory. Her grandfather showing him how to change a tire. Steve had borrowed his father’s little project car—a two-seat convertible—without permission that hot summer day to impress a girl who wasn’t impressed with him at all. Never was. He’d gotten a flat right in front of the Foster home. Allie had watched the tire-changing session from the window and then the porch, but she’d been too shy to come out and say hello. The next year, his pre-cal teacher suggested Allie as a tutor. It had taken some time, but she had eventually learned to relax in his presence.
“Good,” she said with relief. “Great, I mean. Do you remember the address?”
