Bebe shakes her head. “Never has been. Just been me, and well… my mom has done so much for Aaron. For both of us.”
Yeah… raised your kid for seven years while you were in prison.
And even as the thought comes to mind, I realize I don’t have an ounce of negative judgment for Bebe. What little bit I’ve come to know and observe, I almost feel sympathetic to whatever it is she was doing. I have no idea what drives people to commit the crimes they do, but, in Bebe’s instance, I almost have the feeling she was probably naively lured into a bad situation.
Now, I have no proof. Maybe that’s why what is left of my conscience is telling me to give her the benefit of the doubt.
Not that it will make a difference in how this will turn out, but still… there’s something about her that deeply intrigues me, well beyond the information I need to collect per Anatoly’s request.
“For what it’s worth,” I say sincerely, “I think you’ve done a great job raising that boy on your own.”
Again, her gaze drops to her lap. “My mom helped a great deal.”
“Still.” I pause, forcing her to look at me. “He’s a good kid who clearly adores his mother. That means something.”
Bebe blushes, scanning the field that’s empty except for the media personnel on the sidelines.
“I’m wondering what it’s going to take to get you to go out to dinner with me.” Once again, her eyes snap to mine. Her mouth parts, a tiny gasp escaping as if she’s completely shocked by my request.
I have to wonder just how naïve she is, because I’ve learned she’s not a dummy. Bebe is incredibly smart, so any confusion on her part must be because she’s been out of the dating game for so long.
I press my advantage. “Come on, Bebe. Put me out of my misery. I’d love if you’d accept a simple dinner invitation.”
“But… but… I don’t even know your last name.”
“Stoltz,” I say. Another lie.
“But—”
“Just say yes,” I encourage in a low voice. “If you don’t want me to pick you up at your house, we can agree to meet at a restaurant.”
“But,” she says again, so I shore up my resolve to keep the pressure up. However, she immediately backpedals. “Wait… you know what,” she breathes heavily, giving what appears to be a self-chastising shake of her head. Her eyes meet mine, clear and determined. “Yes… I’ll have dinner with you. But I would like to meet you at the restaurant.”
“Tomorrow night?” I don’t want to give her any time to change her mind.
“Sure,” she replies. “I just have to make sure Aaron’s set up for the night and has his homework done. But I can meet you any time after seven.”
I lean in toward her, giving her shoulder a playful bump with mine. “Now that makes me very happy indeed, Bebe ‘I-don’t-even-know-your-last-name’.”
Also a lie. I know it well.
She laughs. “Grimshaw. It’s Bebe Grimshaw.”
Grinning, I tease. “Going to tell me what Bebe stands for?”
“Not until I see how much I like you after the first date.” Her eyes dance with playfulness.
♦
When Anatoly gave me two weeks to handle his problem, I made quick work of renting a furnished apartment in Cranberry. I certainly had no clue at the time whether I’d need the cover, but it was a good preemptive move.
It’s a small one-bedroom, and it came fully furnished. While I have no plans or even hopes Bebe will ever come here, I can explain the lack of personal mementos as having just moved here and have yet to unpack or something.
For now, it’s just as comfortable as the hotel I’d been staying in, and Anatoly never balks at my expenditures. While he may be grumbling because I asked for extra time to complete his task, he knows I’ve always been trustworthy and I don’t ask for unnecessary things. If Bebe decides to check me out—and let’s face it, she has the abilities—I want to make sure I appear legit.
I unlock my new apartment door, balancing a bag of groceries under one arm. After the football game, I said goodbye to Aaron and Bebe after programming her number into my phone and promising to call to arrange our dinner date. I then set off on some errands, which included not only the grocery store, but also the car rental agency to extend my lease for another two weeks on the off chance I need to surreptitiously follow Bebe again. She’s already seen my bike.
Finally, I went to the mall and splurged on some nicer clothes for dinner tomorrow night. While I get the distinct impression Bebe doesn’t care about trappings like that, I feel like I should try in case I’m wrong. Nicer clothes for me mean jeans that aren’t so faded and threadbare as well as a black button-up shirt versus my standard t-shirt or Henley I normally wear for comfort.
I move into the apartment, locking the door behind me. After I take a moment to unload my groceries, I head into the small living room.
Deciding to preempt the inevitable call that should be coming soon, I call Anatoly to update him. It always soothes his anxiety when I provide him information before he asks.
He answers on the second ring. “Talk to me, Griff.”
“Spent some time with Bebe Grimshaw this afternoon,” I say.
“You actually talked to her?” he asks incredulously. “Or you killed her?”
“Talked to her,” I clarify, ignoring his grunt of disappointment.
“And what did you learn?”
“Not a lot just yet. She’s a little closed off. I’m having dinner with her tomorrow.”
Anatoly barks a laugh. “Dinner? Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Relax,” I say in a low voice. “You want to learn whatever you can, this is the way to do it.”
“Can’t believe you’re fucking dating the target,” he mutters petulantly. “I don’t want this to drag on.”
I roll my eyes. Despite being the kingpin in a massive criminal enterprise, Anatoly can act like a child at times. “Just hang tight. She’s settled into a new life here. She’s not going anywhere. From what I can tell, she’s working a very nondescript job in a strip mall. My gut says she’s flying way under the radar, and she just wants to live a peaceful life.”
Not sure why I feel the need to say that or why I blatantly lied about where she works. I know nothing I can say will ever assure Anatoly enough to call off my mission.
“She’s feeling secure in her life,” I say. Another lie, but I’m adept at making them up when needed. “She’s not looking over her shoulder. Kind of just keeps her head down, goes to work, and comes home.”
“What about her kid?” Anatoly asks, and I jolt. “I remember she had a kid, right?”
I have to be careful I don’t reveal the entirety of the information I’d found researching Bebe. Anatoly tells me what I need to know, and he expects me to do what he asks without further question.
I play stupid. “I haven’t seen a kid yet. She hasn’t mentioned one. I’ll find out, though.”
“You do that,” he replies, and there’s no mistaking his sinister tone. I expect if he wants Aaron dead for some reason, he’ll ask me to take care of it, too.