The Fake Out: Chapter 43

“What’s the plan again?” Chris asked as we parked two blocks over from City Hall. It was located in the thick of downtown and given the time, locked up tight.

“Distract Peter, get Ali.”

“That’s not a very detailed plan,” Chris said as we began walking to our destination. “Shouldn’t we at least be wearing black?”

“We aren’t ninjas. Ali’s Uncle Joe is on the way, and he at least has keys to the building. We’ll figure it out when he gets here.”

Joe worked as head of the city maintenance department and was accustomed to the “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy required to be part of Ali’s circle of friends and family.

“What do you think she did?” Chris asked as we passed window after window of antique shops and boutiques locked up for the night.

“I have no idea.” We paused at a corner that allowed us a view of the building.

The hall was a one-story brick building, circa 1960. It was U-shaped with a courtyard in the middle and a few benches. The front of the building was, unfortunately for us, made entirely of windows, so there was no sneaking up on this place. The main lobby had security lights (and probably a camera or two) but most of what we could see was shrouded in darkness except for a hallway toward the back where a faint light was shining.

“It could be almost anything. Two weeks ago, Peter came to the library to tell me someone had wedged raw chicken in the back of the bottom drawer of his filing cabinet. It took at least a week to find it. Blamed it on Ali.”

From all accounts, the smell had been so awful they’d had to clear out that wing of the building for the day to get it aired out and cleaned up.

“It was her, right?”

“I never ask outright. Plausible deniability and all that. I merely pass on the information.”

“Smart,” he murmured.

“Last week, someone replaced all his office supplies with bananas and put the real stuff in the women’s bathroom. He was very upset about his stapler, for some reason.”

Truly. Ranted about it for two entire paragraphs in the email he sent me.

Chris laughed low and quiet. “Should I be scared of Ali?”

“Yes.” I turned to him. “You know, you don’t have to help. I would completely understand. If we get caught, Peter will not let us off easily.”

When I’d explained Ali’s phone call, he hadn’t even batted an eye. Just marched us to his truck and asked for directions.

“I want to help.”

I crossed my arms and stared down at the sidewalk. “Well, thanks.”

Uncle Joe showed up a few minutes later. A stocky man with a booming voice, he immediately started in on the sports talk with Chris. Once I got him steered back to the situation at hand, a plan began to form. I’d go with Joe around to the back door where there weren’t any working security cameras. Meanwhile, Chris would find a way to get Peter out of his office. If everything went as planned, we’d meet back at Chris’s truck and Peter wouldn’t be any the wiser.

“How are you going to distract him?” I asked Chris.

“I thought I’d ask him to be a groomsman at the wedding.”

Surely he was joking. Joe stood about ten feet away, doing something on his phone, so I grabbed Chris’s hand and half dragged him to a streetlamp where I could see his face.

“Are you kidding?” I whispered.

Chris moved closer and I realized I was still holding his hand. I’m sure if Joe looked over about now, he’d think we were in the middle of a quaint couple moment. “You’re doing that whisper-yell thing I like. Do it again.”

I ignored him. “Even if we were getting married, which we are not, Peter Stone would definitely not be in the wedding party.”

“Well, I don’t know.” He shrugged. “He did kind of introduce us in a roundabout way. Seems only fair he should be in the wedding party. He could give a speech at our reception.”

“Absolutely not.” I poked him in the chest. “This is the hill I will die on. He will not be at our wedding.”

He grinned slowly.

With a huff, I shook my head. What was I even saying? We weren’t even real-dating, let alone real-engaged, and we sure weren’t getting real-married.

“It’s so easy to get you riled up, Sprinkles.” He tapped the tip of my nose and I batted his hand away.

Joe cleared his throat. “We ready?”

With one last dirty look in Chris’s direction, I said, “Let’s go save Ali.”

“Ali?” I whispered into Peter’s empty office.

It was a spacious room with dark wood paneling and a heavy solid oak desk. Built-in shelves lined the back wall, and it was full of books chosen for their aesthetic qualities rather than their content.

Carefully, I pushed the door until it almost clicked closed. “Ali? Where are you? We don’t have a lot of time.”

A door hidden in the wall paneling swung open and Ali popped out, dressed in black. Like a ninja. “Thank God. I was so worried I was going to have to spend all night in here.”

I waved a hand. “Well, I’m here. Let’s go. I don’t know how long Chris can keep Peter busy.”

Ali smiled. That made me nervous. “I can’t leave yet.”

“Excuse me? Yes, you can.” I marched across the room. “We are leaving now.”

“Yes, of course.” Ali patted me complacently on the arm. “I just need to do one thing first.”

“Ali…”

But she was already moving behind Peter’s desk. “I was about to do this when I heard Peter and had to hide.”

I glanced nervously toward the door, straining to hear anything that might indicate Peter was returning. “Do what?”

Ali didn’t reply and when I looked over, she was furiously typing on Peter’s computer.

“What are you doing?”

“It will take me fifteen minutes at the most.”

“You have got to be kidding me.” I paced back and forth, wringing my hands. I could hear the low rumble of voices, not close enough to make out the words but close, nonetheless.

“I just have to remap a few of the keys on his keyboard. Last time I was here, I made sure I got his computer details and I’ve been practicing.” She grinned and wagged her eyebrows at me. “This is going to be epic.”

I paused at the gap in the door and listened intently. Had the voices gotten louder? Panic fizzed through me. “Seriously. You have to hurry.”

“I’m going. I’m going,” she muttered. “Stop interrupting me.”

I eased the door open a bit and peeked out. Peter and Chris were standing at the end of a long hallway, still too far to make out actual words. Thankfully, Peter’s back was toward me. I tiptoed out into the hallway and waved a hand, trying to get Chris’s attention.

We made the briefest of eye contact. I switched from waving to stretching my hands apart and pointing to my wrist in what I hoped translated to “more time.” He scratched his head and, yes, there—a thumb’s up.

“You have five minutes,” I said to Ali once I was safely inside.

“That’s perfect.” Furious tapping on the keyboard. “I’m almost done. This may be my masterpiece. I could retire after this.”

“That sounds like an excellent idea.”

“I’m kidding, of course.” More furious tapping. “Done. Come and see my genius.”

“Can’t you tell me about it later?” But I was already scurrying to the desk.

Ali popped out of the seat and gestured for me to sit. On the computer, a blank word document was open, cursor blinking. “Type Peter’s name. Go on. Do it.”

I quickly did as she asked. At first nothing happened until I hit the R. I gasped when, “I am a giant cucumber,” appeared instead of his name.

Ali laughed à la evil scientist. “Isn’t it amazing?”

I typed PETER one more time just to make it happen again and held back a laugh. “We have to go now.”

“Right, right.” She leaned around me and closed a few windows. “Let us be off. I have to pee anyway.”

After opening the door with sloth-like speed, we crept into the hallway. I gave Chris a wave, grabbed Ali and dragged her to the back door. As expected, Uncle Joe had already left, his part in the plan finished.

Ali giggled as we pushed the door open and started to jog away from the building. “That was amazing. Epic. I am the master. Do you hear the Rocky music playing, or is that in my head?”

When we made it back to Chris’s truck, Ali leaned against a door, a wide smile stretched across her face. “So, how did you do it?”

“Uncle Joe. He brought his key,” I said. “How did you do it?”

“Uncle Joe. But he doesn’t know I have a copy of his key so don’t tell anyone.”

I huffed. “Ali. You have to stop doing stuff like this. One of these days, you’re going to get yourself in too much trouble and nobody’s going to be able to help you.”

She shrugged. “Maybe. But it’s so fun, and I have so little fun in my life.”

“Stop that. You could have a perfectly fun life if you wanted to.”

Ali tilted her head back to look at the night sky. “Eh, I’m fine.”

She was not fine. Not really.

When Ali was sixteen, she’d had her first grand mal seizure. It had come out of nowhere. The doctors hadn’t been too concerned with the first one. She was a student athlete (soccer) and it had been extremely hot that day. Likely she was dehydrated. But a month later, seizure number two happened. She’d been officially diagnosed with epilepsy, and it had changed her life in so many ways. Her parents refused to let her play sports or drive. She wasn’t allowed to be alone. Medication was prescribed, probably for life.

But when the car accident happened six months later, Ali started to change too. Ten years later, she was mostly back to normal but there were permanent changes. Because of the accident, she refused to drive (even though she was allowed). Her brother, already the black sheep of the family, had been blamed for the accident and left the state. Ali hadn’t seen him since. She’d also closed herself off to anything more than a surface-y relationship with most anyone. I was an exception. Alec, her college boyfriend, had been too. Then he’d broken her heart.

I wrapped an arm around her shoulders and hugged her. “Thanks for making Peter’s life miserable.”

“You’re welcome. But if anyone asks…”

“I know nothing.”

Chris strolled up to the truck five minutes later, looking none the worse for having had to keep Peter busy.

“All go okay?” he asked.

I nodded. “And you?”

“No problem. I got him talking about himself and that football stadium. I don’t think he even took a breath the whole time.” Chris unlocked the truck and opened the passenger door. We climbed in, Ali in the back.

“Thanks for helping me out.” Ali leaned forward. “It means a lot.”

“It was nothing,” Chris said. “Besides, I had a question to ask Peter anyway.”

I gave him a sharp look; he grinned and patted my leg.

“Good news. He said yes; he’d love to be a groomsman.”