Already, she'd told me the story of how this mystery man – a guy named Griff – had come to her rescue earlier today.
One minute, she'd been on her own, dealing with a grown man's hissy-fit, and the next minute, some passerby – a very attractive passerby, judging from Maisie's expression – had jumped in to help.
After getting the customer soothed and settled, the guy had stuck around, offering to work for food and a bike.
It was plausible, I guess. But something about it smelled rehearsed.Like…what if the customer and rescuer were in on it together?From Maisie's retelling, they both seemed the same age. Plus they'd arrived at her shop only a few minutes apart.
A coincidence?Maybe.
Or maybe not.Call me a cynic, but life in Chicago had left me jaded. I'd seen plenty of scams and setups – none of which ended well.
But did I tell this to Maisie?
No.
I was sorely tempted. But I didn't know anything for sure. And until I did, it seemed cruel to add to her worries.
What I really needed was something to keep her alert, but not overly concerned. And then it hit me – a detail from Franny that might help Maisie keep up her guard. "Get this," I said. "She's seen him twice, right?"
Maisie shrugged. "How wouldIknow?"
"Well, that's what she said at the coffee shop. But anyway, she swears that he looked different today compared to yesterday, like he's in disguise or something."
Maisie only laughed. "He was dressed more casually, that's all."
Wait, what?
How did she know?I froze in the middle of measuring salt. "So you met this guy yesterday, too?"
"Briefly," she said. "I was there when he got off the ferry."
She was?I set the salt aside. "And you actually talked to him?"
"Yeah, there was some mix-up with his duffel bag, and I was stupid enough to get involved." She gave a dismissive wave. "It's not important."
And yet, itfeltimportant. I grew very still as I tried to think.A duffel bag mix-up? Why did that sound familiar?
Maisie asked, "What's wrong?"
I wasn't sure. But somewhere in my subconscious, alarm bells were already ringing. Still, I summoned up a smile. "Eh, nothing. Just something in the back of my mind. I can't quite place it."
"Okay, so…" Maisie lifted her little bottle. "If he's not a hit man, what else is he?" She snickered like it was all a big joke. "According to Franny, I mean."
Concerning or not, it was good to see her smiling, and I couldn't help but laugh. "Her backup theories?" I paused while she took another sip. "Millionaire banker or gangster in hiding."
Maisie almost choked on the rum. "A gangster? Why would she think that?"
My lips twitched into a smirk. "She said he looked dangerous.Andsexy."
"Oh, my God." Maisie lifted the bottle and drained it dry before returning it to the table.
"Want another?" I asked. "I've got plenty left."
Maisie shook her head. "No way.Onehangover this week is enough."
Keeping my tone light, I asked, "So…? Is he?"
"A gangster?" Maisie let out a scoff. "No. Definitely not."
