I move behind the counter and glance out the store window. Beside me, Annell takes a yoga-size breath, then releases it quietly.
My heart races as I watch a trim brown-haired man dressed in khakis and a short-sleeved black polo emerge from a silver sedan. He smooths a hand over a stubbled face and slips on a pair of rectangular dark-framed glasses, then walks confidently through the parking lot. Just outside the building he glances up at the living quarters. A small smile plays on his lips.
I drop my eyes, pretending to look something up on the computer for Carlotta. I only glance up as the bell jangles and “Howard” walks in, his gaze taking in the store and the crowd of customers. He does a brief double take when Carlotta shifts her weight, hiking her short skirt higher, revealing the legs of a WNBA player.
“Howard?” Annell walks out from behind the counter. An eager smile lights her face. “Is that you?”
“At your service.” He smiles a friendly, everyday guy kind of smile, and I have to remind myself that this man has proven himself to be a consummate actor. “It’s hard to tell from people’s profile pictures sometimes. But you look exactly as advertised.” It’s clear he means this as a compliment.
“Why, thank you. I think it’s terrible how some people use old pictures or try to pretend they’re someone or something they’re not,” Annell says. “It’s so silly. I mean, it’s not as if people don’t figure out the truth once they meet you.”
“Nice place you’ve got here,” he replies, ignoring Annell’s “arrow of truth.”
“Thank you.” Annell’s smile gets bigger. “I’m fortunate to have a large base of loyal customers.”
His gaze strays back to Carlotta, who is a good half foot taller than he is and considerably more muscular. Chaz stands in a nearby aisle, an open book in his hands. Wesley and Phoebe are on opposite sides of the store, glancing down at their phones and, I assume, recording this initial exchange.
“So, you live above the store?” Howard asks.
“Oh yes. The whole upstairs is private living quarters. It’s so convenient.”
He doesn’t comment, but he looks very pleased.
“I have to say I was shocked at how much we have in common,” Annell observes as she shows him around the store. “It’s almost as if I’d ordered you up. What did you do in publishing?”
“I ran a medium-size educational publishing house for a time. When it got swallowed up during all the mergers that took place in the industry, I founded a small press and ultimately sold it to a strategic buyer.” His voice is affable, his tone self-deprecating. “I still do some consulting, but I’m mostly retired.”
They come to a halt in the children’s section, which he compliments profusely.
“Thank you,” Annell says again. I know her well enough to see how hard she’s working to approximate her usual warmth, but so far she’s managed to speak only the truth.
“Every now and then I almost start writing a novel that’s been in the back of my mind for some time.” He chuckles. “What can I say? Even those of us who should know better believe we have a book in us.” His laugh is low and companionable. I can see why Meena and Dorothy were so excited by his attention.
“I’d love to see that garden of yours.”
“Of course.” Annell takes a quick breath, then adds more loudly, “It’s right this way.”
We aren’t exactly a well-oiled machine, but Judith nods in acknowledgment of our verbal signal, then flicks her index finger over the bridge of her nose. The others quietly fall in behind her while I put the closed sign out and lock the front door, so we won’t be interrupted.
Annell and “Howard” are in the carriage house before the rest of us enter the breezeway. As we tiptoe through it, I hear him exclaiming over the carriage house and its historic charm. Then he praises her camellia and magnolia bushes. His words stutter to a stop as we move into place at the same time that Dorothy and Meena emerge from the opposite direction.
Annell steps away from our “mark” and comes to join us, her face harder than I’ve ever seen it.
He falls back a step as we assemble. Then he glances over his shoulder as if considering making a run for it, but the garden is surrounded by a brick wall on three sides. His eyes widen as Meena and Dorothy walk forward and take their places on either side of Annell. Worried about the way my mother-in-law is trembling, I step up to flank her other side.
“What’s the meaning of this?” he blusters. “What’s going on here?”
“Hello, Frank,” Meena says in a clipped matter-of-fact tone. “You’ve been awfully busy, haven’t you? Does your ex-wife know what you’ve been up to?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says, quite earnestly.
“I’d ask about your children, Dean.” Dorothy’s tone is seething, and I realize that her trembling is not from fear but from fury. “Only it turns out you don’t have any.”
“I’m sorry. But you obviously have me confused with someone else.”
“You are looking a little pale, Howard. Some might even say worn-out,” Annell adds, her voice amazingly calm. “It’s probably all the house hunting and woman juggling. All those disguises and personalities. All those lies.” She shakes her head. “Maybe you should write that book. You’ve got quite the imagination.”
“What in the hell is this? Who are these people?” His eyes dart about like the cornered animal he is.
“This,” Meena says, “is our book club, though really we’re much more than that. You have unfortunately, and I would think against great odds, targeted three women who belong to it. You then pretended to be three different men, all of whom seem to have been looking for a woman to move in with and presumably live off.”
“That’s preposterous. You don’t know what you’re talking about. You girls are crazy.” He scans the crowd, still looking for someone who might take his side.
Dorothy straightens further beside me. “We’re not girls. We are women. And we’re not stupid. Or helpless,” she states with a strength I’ve never heard from her.
“You don’t know anything about me,” he sneers.
“We know more than we ever wanted to.” Dorothy’s tone is sharp and biting, her anger no doubt stoked by Mitchell’s betrayal and all that she’s been through. “We know your real name is Frank Anderson. And we know you deserve to be punished.”
“You can’t do anything to me,” he sputters.
“You probably won’t get locked up like you deserve,” Meena agrees. “But we’ve reported you to all the dating sites. And we’re putting the word out about you.”