Chapter Fifteen
Hider's World

Dominic, a backpack swung over one shoulder, breezed through the door into Stephen's office suite, whistling jauntily. Donald, at his desk, looked up with an audible sniff of disapproval. In response Dominic broke into song as he neared. "Wha-at's love got ta do, got ta do with it?" He leaned on the desk, grinning cheekily at the secretary. "What has love got to do with it, Donny?"

"I'm sure I wouldn't know." His voice was cold.

Dominic shook his head. "No, I suppose you wouldn't." He jerked his head toward the back of the office. "Anybody with the grand poobah?"

"He's free at the moment, but I'm sure he's busy." He reached for the intercom. "Just a moment, and I'll ask if he'll see you."

Dominic had started back. "Don't be any stupider than you have to, Donny. You know good and well that he'll see me if he isn't with someone." He thoroughly enjoyed the sotto voce mutter of irritation that followed him.

Despite his nonchalant air before the front office toady, he paused outside Stephen's office door and rapped. He entered when he heard Stephen's vague call of permission.

Stephen sat up in anticipation when he saw the backpack, laying aside a stock report. Dominic deposited the sack on the desk, knowing that he would want to explore the contents himself.

Stephen unstrapped the backpack and removed five videocassettes, each enclosed in a nondescript cardboard case. He frowned. "Five? There should be six--three for each."

"Lamont's apology. Something screwed up on Baranski's bathroom camera. He wants to know if you want him to try to go in and replace it."

Stephen considered. "Well," he said grudgingly, "that would greatly increase the risk of him being discovered. I'll review these tapes, then let him know. Perhaps Baranski will be free enough in the bedroom to let me make an informed decision." He pulled out a large manila envelope, and looked questioningly at Dominic.

"He started the extra photos, since you're down to three, and there were a couple of good opportunities over the weekend."

"Excellent." Stephen slit open the envelope, to find three smaller envelopes labeled L, B, and O. He opened the one labeled L. Liang had taken her father to the park over the weekend. There was one nice photo of her silhouetted against the misty green droop of a willow tree.

Baranski had been photographed through the large glass window of a diner as she made her way through a large hamburger. Usually he enjoyed watching his pets eat, but this one seemed to have the rather unfortunate habit of over filling her mouth. It made her cheeks bulge like a chipmunk.

It took him a moment or two to recognize where O'Connell's pictures had been taken. At first it looked like someone's den, or library. Then he noticed the logo on the coffee mug sitting on the table beside her. She was at a large chain bookstore that specialized in offering cozy chairs for the customers to enjoy the books and the specialty coffees offered by their in-store coffee bars.

He smiled. Actually, she was sleeping in the bookstore. There was a large, colorful book open across her lap, but she was curved toward the side of the wingback chair, her head resting against the cushions. He peered closer. "Dominic, she wears glasses." He cocked his head. "Bifocals. She's quite cute in them. She won't be allowed to keep them if I choose her, of course."

"Glass? Don't think so." He peeked at the photo. "Yeah, even that little speck of drool on her lips is cute."

"I don't think it's drool. I think it's coffee. See? That appears to be the remains of a cappuccino."

Dominic touched a finger to the photo. "Whatever it is, I wouldn't mind licking it off."

"There's an idea." He sorted through the photos. "There's a magnifying glass over on the table. Get it for me, would you?" While Dominic went to get the glass he said I think I can get a good look at what she's reading without having to resort to computer enhancement."

Dominic handed over a powerful magnifying glass. "Why would you want to do that?"

"You can tell a lot about someone by what they read." He put on his own glasses and centered the glass over the photo, raising and lowering it as he tried to find the proper focus. "Now, let's see." His eyebrows went up, and he leaned closer. A slow smile spread across his features.

"What?"

"The book appears to be reproductions of Impressionist paintings."

"Oh." Dominic sounded unenthused. "Uh... classy."

"Very." The smile grew wider. "The calendar she has open on it is the latest featuring the Chippendale dancers."

Dominic howled. "I guess that settles it--it's drool. I'm guessing that this scores her some points?"

"Most definitely." He chuckled. "She's such a quiet thing. I never would have thought..."

The intercom buzzed, and Stephen depressed the button. "Yes, Donald?"

"There's a Mina O'Connell here to see you, sir."

"Don't keep her waiting. Send her back." He smiled at Dominic. "You know, I feel like I can almost guess what she thought about that. I can hear her thinking 'A Mina O'Connell? You mean there's more than one of me?'" He neatly stacked the photos and returned them to their envelopes. There was a tap at the door, and he called, "Come in, Mina."

She came in, moving with a bit less hesitation than she had before. "Mr. Baxter, I was wondering if you'd mind stopping by a store for just a few minutes on the way home? I'm running a little low on supplies."

"Certainly, Mina." He casually laid the envelopes back in his briefcase, and replaced the tapes into the backpack. Dominic watched with amusement, knowing that Stephen got a kick out of handling the evidence of his intrusion into her life under her very nose. "I'd be more than happy to take you anywhere you desire."

He closed the case, and Dominic picked up the backpack. Stephen opened the door, and gestured for her to precede him, making a motion that was not quite a bow. She paused, and Dominic thought sardonically, *Don't like anyone behind you, do you, Missy?*

In the car, Mina gave directions to a large bargain grocery store. As Dominic pulled into the crowded lot before the huge, box-like building, Stephen read the sign that stretched over the windows that were filled with posters that fairly screamed the daily specials. "Smart Saver Warehouse Supermarket. Dominic, doesn't Miss Fulham usually send you to Craymoore's? I believe she said that they have the best butcher and produce section, as well as the finest selection of cheese. Mina, wouldn't you prefer to go there?"

She pointed at the posters. "Do they have Ramen noodles, eight for a dollar, or mac and cheese, two for one?"

Stephen looked inquiringly at Dominic, who shook his head. "In any case, that doesn't sound very nutritious."

"Maybe not, but it's filling, and cheap." She got out of the car. "I won't be long."

She watched in dismay as the two men exited the car. Stephen said, "This looks interesting. You wouldn't mind if I tagged along, would you?"

She tried not to grit her teeth. *I'm going to have my boss watch me buy pork and beans. Terrific.* "Of course not." *But you're going to be awful bored,* she thought as she headed toward the entrance, weaving her way through customers (mostly plainly dressed women, with small children).

Inside she tried to wrestle a cart out of one of the long lines, but it resisted stubbornly. That is, it did until Dominic grasped its wire sides and gave it a violent shake, freeing it. She nodded a reluctant thanks, which he accepted with a smirk.

Stephen was gazing around with the air of someone at a zoo. *Come to think of it, that might not be too far off the mark for him,* Mina thought. Stephen was studying a tow-headed toddler of indeterminate sex. The child had several days of snot crusted on it's upper lip, and was dressed in the shorts and t-shirt uniform that seemed to be favored by all preschoolers these days. Since the outfit was a washed out green, it gave no clue as to the child's gender.

The urchin was in the process of trying to pry a wad of gum up off the tile floor. Judging by the pattern imprinted on the pink-gray blob, the last shoe to step on it had probably been a cross-trainer. A blousy woman whose white-blonde hair marked her as a near relative of the child was deeply engrossed in the process of choosing her numbers for the next Powerball drawing.

Mina sighed, and walked over to the industrious child. She bent down, hands on her knees, bringing her face level with the child's, and said, "Hi." Her voice was matter-of-fact, not the falsely cooing tone most adults used when addressing small children, or the mentally handicapped.

The child looked up. "Lo."

"What's your name?"

"Chwis."

"Is that short for Chwistopher, or Chwistine?"

"Chwis."

"Okay. Chwis, it that your Mom?" She pointed. Chris nodded. "Ask her if you can have some gum."

Chris sidled up behind the woman and reached up to tug on the hem of her Daisy Dukes. The woman waved a hand back idly, as if shooing a fly. Chris tried again, and this time the wave was more of a swat. Mina fished a quarter out of her purse and said, "Ma'am?" No response. "Yo! Mom."

The woman half turned her head and mumbled, "Jus' slap 'im if he bothers ya."

"Okay, that solves one mystery. Would you mind if Chris had some gum?"

"Is thirty-three more of a mystical number than, like, seven? Cause I've heard that threes are powerful, but that seven is the perfect number."

"Personally I always play the numerological designations of everyone in my immediate family, minus two for luck, but only if the moon is in the seventh house and Jupiter aligns with Mars. Can Chwis have some gum?"

"Hm? Sure." She went on carefully filling in spaces.

"Pencil."

A vague wave. "Over there."

"No, pencil, not pen, you... You're using a pen, and the machine won't... Never mind. C'mon, Chwis." She took the child, now identified as a boy, by
the hand and led him to a nearby bank of vending machines, pointed at them, and said, "Pick." The little boy studied them intently, peering through English sheepdog bangs, and finally tapped the glass of a machine that held gumballs roughly the size of ping-pong balls. "Excellent choice." She handed the quarter to him, then lifted him so he could fumble it into the slot and turn the knob.

She lowered the boy, opened the flap, and neatly plucked out a bright blue gumball and presented it to him. Chwis promptly performed the amazing feat of stuffing the entire thing into his mouth. "Chew, baby. I don't want to have to Heimlich you."

He managed to close his jaws, then gave a few chews, reducing the wad to a barely manageable mass. Vivid blue drool ran down his chin. He regarded her gravely, then mumbled, "Ank 'oo."

"You're welcome, darlin'." She went back to her cart and started to wheel it down the produce aisle. She noticed Dominic staring at her and said, "I could have walked off with him and she wouldn't have noticed till she checked out. Maybe not till her old man, if she has one, got home for supper and asked where he was. And later on she's going to look at him and wonder why he looks like he's been eating Smurfs. He just might as well have not been there."

Stephen, who had watched the entire episode with a growing sense of unreality, murmured, "He might as well have been invisible."

He was six. That part was very distinct. He was six, because next fall he was going from the Longbranch Kindergarten to the Mirabelle Grammer--the same one that his father had attended. He'd heard Mother saying that you pretty much had to be a legacy to get into Mirabelle these days. No amount of money could get you in without the right connections.

He was six, and his parents were having a party. Stephen was not to attend, of course. "Children do not attend parties, unless they are for other children," Mother had told when he had asked if he couldn't be there for just a little while.

Stephen had been put to bed even earlier than usual--while it was still bright daylight outside. Miss Fulham, the new maid, had tucked him in, pulling the sheet up neatly under his chin. She looked down at him and said kindly, "Would you like me to leave the light on in the bathroom, Master Stephen?"

"No, thank you."

"You don't want a little light?"

"No."

"You aren't worried about a monster under the bed, or in the closet?"

He looked at her curiously. "There are no monsters, Miss Fulham." He thought. "Not in this house, at least."

"I'm sure you're right, little sir. And if there are, they'll run away when your mama and daddy come up to see you before they go to bed."

When she left, Stephen lay there and thought, listening to the murmur of voices from the floor below. He was curious as to what adults did at a party. He slipped out of his bed and paused long enough to pull his robe on over his underpants. That was a rule of the house--one did not roam about half dressed.

He padded down the stairs to the ground floor. The party was going on in the large living room just down the hall to the right. Music, laughter, and chattering voices drifted from the open archway. He stopped and pressed himself to the wall as one of the caterer's helpers clattered busily out into the hall and toward the kitchen, carrying an empty canapé tray.

When the man was gone, Stephen eased down the hall, his bare feet silent on the polished wood floor, and peeked around the corner into the room.

There were at least two dozen people (Stephen had been able to count very well for ages). He had never seen the spacious room look so crowded. Oh, there had been his own birthday party, where his mother had invited his entire class, but that was different. All the guests had been his size, and the room hadn't seemed so full.

No one had noticed the small blonde boy peering around the corner. They were far too involved in their own pursuits--drinking, flirting, making business and social connections. Stephen saw his mother sitting on the little loveseat near the door, deep in conversation with one of her clients--a handsome man who was sitting very close, and being very attentive.

Stephen waited for someone to see him. At any moment someone would notice him and call out, "Mellie, we have a visitor." Or perhaps someone would tap Father on the arm and say, "Hey, Will, isn't your kid supposed to be in bed?"

Mother or Father would turn and look at him. There would probably be a tiny frown, and a slightly annoyed, "What are you doing up?" He would be called over, scolded, introduced to whoever was nearby, then Miss Fulham would be summoned, and he would be sent back up to bed. Not an unsatisfying adventure.

But no one noticed. He stood there for quite awhile, or so it seemed. When the waiter came hurrying back with a full tray, Stephen didn't even try to hide. He just looked up at the young man with solemn blue-green eyes. The man, a slender Hispanic smiled at him, bent down, and offered the tray of canapés. Pleased, Stephen chose a scalloped cracker topped with smoked salmon and caviar. He liked caviar, but his mother said it was far too rich for a child, and often scolded his father for letting him sample it, and 'giving the boy a taste for something that isn't good for him'.

The waiter winked at him, then stepped into the party and began offering the tray. Stephen, munching the cracker, noticed that the guests didn't seem to see the waiter--they paid no attention to him till he put the tray right in front of him. He might almost have been invisible.

After another few moments, Stephen edged into the party. A few adults glanced at him, but their eyes skimmed over him with no more interest than if they head been seeing the pattern in the carpet. He stood almost at his mother's elbow for a second. She continued chatting to the customer, debating the merits of Art Neuvo versus Art Deco.

There was a narrow space between the side of the loveseat and the wall, and a space behind it, due to the fanciful curve of the seat's back. It was just large enough for a six year old boy who was a little small for his age to squeeze in, so Stephen did.

It was cramped, a little stuffy, and rather dusty, but it was... cozy. Stephen careful poked one bare foot out so that it was clearly visible, sat back, and waited.

No one noticed. He tried to be patient, but his head kept dropping sideways against the wall. He dozed. Every now and then he would drift up to near consciousness. One time he noticed vaguely that it was much quieter--there were only two or three voices, and they had Hispanic accents.

*The party must be almost over,* he thought sleepily. *Now they'll find me. When Mother and Father go up to check on me, they'll see that I'm not in my bed. They'll look all over for me.* He smiled as he began to slip back into sleep. *My, there will be a fuss. I wonder how long it will take them to find me?*

When he opened his eyes again, the room was dark and silent. Stephen blinked. They must have just gone up. Any moment now he would hear the rapid footsteps upstairs, and voices raised in growing alarm.

He sat. He heard the clock in the hall chime two o'clock, then three o'clock. Stephen frowned. That meant it was already the next day. Mother and Father still hadn't noticed that he wasn't in his bed?

He sat, but he didn't sleep again. He listened to the clock progress through the dark hours. A faint gray light filled the room, seeping through the arch from the hall.

Stephen crawled out from behind the seat, moving stiffly. He glanced toward the stairs, but instead made his way down the hall to the breakfast room. The room was filled with watery light. His father was at the table, reading one of his financial papers. A half full coffee cup and a china saucer bearing a few crusts were sitting before him. Stephen frowned. Mother always insisted that he eat his crusts. Some nonsense about them containing all the vitamins.

His father turned a page, groping for his cup, and lifted it up behind his paper. Father would never be so crass as to make noise when he sipped, but there was only dregs in the cup when he put it back down again.

Stephen went and stood beside his father. The older man continued to read. Miss Fulham came in, entering through the door behind his father. She smiled when she saw the boy. "My, Stephen, you didn't have to get up so early. I was going to let you sleep another half hour before I went up to wake you."

His father finally glanced around the paper, and frowned. "Stephen, you know better than to come downstairs like that. What if someone saw you?"

"Boss?" Stephen blinked. He was standing in the middle of the produce section, and Dominic was looking at him with curiosity and concern. "You okay?"

"Yes, Dominic. I'm fine." He looked around. The section was busy, but Mina was nowhere in sight. "Where is she?"

He shrugged. "She grabbed some potatoes and some grapes and went around the end of the aisle. It isn't like she's going to leave without us."

"You can never be sure." Stephen set off briskly. She wasn't in the next aisle. He could feel his adrenaline starting to rise. Where was she? Was she hiding, here among others of her kind? *It won't do you any good, little hider. I'll find you.*

She was in the meat section. She had a large pack of ground meat in each hand, and was considering each in turn. He came up behind her and said, "What's there to decide about? They look exactly alike."

She shot him a condescending glance. "This..." she lifted her right hand, "is hamburger. This..." she lifter her left hand, "is ground chuck. Believe me, there's a difference. I'm trying to decide if the extra cost will be justified by the lower percentage of fat."

"Can you eat all that? There must be three pounds in each of those."

*Do I have to give this man a Home Economics course?* "I divide it up into half pound portions and freeze them. I can get six meals out of one of these."

"Really? That's amazing. But won't it get a bit tedious?"

"Yes," she said shortly. She wasn't going to explain to the all the permutations possible: hamburger, spaghetti, hamburger and Rice-a-Roni, hamburger stroganoff...

"You should vary your menu a little." He picked up a package of meat. "This looks rather nice."

"Then buy it. That's rib eye, twelve bucks for that package."

"Here." He put it in the basket.

She looked at the steak, looked at him. "Do you want to keep that in my cart till you check out?"

"That would be good. I'll buy it for you."

Her eyes narrowed, and her jaw tightened. *Oo, touched a sour spot, boss,* Dominic thought gleefully.

Mina's hands tightened on the cart's handle till her knuckles were white. Her voice was very quiet. "Mr. Baxter..." She paused, and took a deep breath, then said slowly, "I don't think you mean  to be insulting. Let me explain this to you. I have paid my own way since I was eighteen. I've never been on food stamps, or gotten a Thanksgiving turkey or a Christmas basket from the Salvation Army. I was happy to have dinner with you the other night, but nobody is buying my groceries." She picked the steak up and replaced it in the cooler. "Thank you."

"I understand."

She nodded, thinking, *Sure you do.*

As she started down the aisle again, Stephen said, "Dominic, go get a basket. I feel like shopping."