Devil's Plaything - Matt Richtel [29]
Meantime, Kristina started dating a studious and ambitious classmate named Pete Laramer. The pair were married by the time they graduated, and soon had three beautiful daughters.
Then, a year ago, I was walking with Grandma in Golden Gate Park when I ran into Kristina, Pete—Dr. Laramer—and the family. We had an awkward interaction in which Grandma, who in retrospect may have been suffering the very early stages of dementia, referred to me as Irving. As we parted, Dr. Laramer gave me his card.
“And that’s the story of how you got your neurologist,” I tell Grandma.
“I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
“As the kids say: I have commitment issues.”
“Oh.”
She’s silent for a second and says: “If you stay in one place, with one person, you will age no less quickly.”
I laugh. “Where do you come up with this stuff?”
“What?”
“Never mind, guru.” I lean in close. “Lane, I wish you’d tell me your secrets.”
“I’ll tell you a secret.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“Remember to burp the baby.”
She’s looking at the coffee table. A copy of Family Circle magazine shows a picture of a mom holding a baby over her shoulder.
“I don’t have a baby yet, Grandma.”
She shrugs and picks up the magazine.
I fidget and find myself conspicuously avoiding the glance of an eighty-something woman lovingly cradling the hand of her oxygenated husband who suffers a nasty case of wildly overgrown ear hair.
I extract my phone. There are six missed calls—from the retirement home. Vince must be frantic and pissed. But he hasn’t left a message.
I call Pauline. “Mystery man,” she answers.
“What?”
“So what’s in your mystery package?”
“Mystery instructions.”
She doesn’t respond for a second.
“Pauline?”
“Hold on.”
She puts her hand over the phone but I can still hear her coughing to the extent it sounds like she might be sick.
“Upset stomach,” she says when she’s finished. “Late night followed by quintuple espresso. I’ve got to cut down my caffeine intake.”
Or her stress.
“Have you ever considered slowing down, maybe just in the middle of the night?”
“Right back at you. Now tell me about the package.”
I describe how I opened the thumb drive, and the instructions I found. I glance at the clock on my phone. It’s noon. I’ve got three hours before the mystery meeting.
“Sounds cloak and dagger. Are you going to wear a trench coat?” Pauline asks.
True to her word, Pauline has tried to remain light, fun, and flirty. She says she’s not going to change her approach to the world just because I don’t want to date.
“Something very strange is going on,” I say.
“With the memory stick?”
I hesitate. I’d love her help figuring out what’s going on but right now she presents as many complications and entanglements as she does resources and insights.
“It’s already been a long day. I don’t know, just strange,” I finally say.
“So are you going to go to the meeting?”
I look at Grandma. Does the thumb drive have anything to do with the attack in the park, and Grandma’s recent ramblings? Or is it coincidental, unrelated, some kind of joke?
“Wearing a trench coat and matching socks.”
“Socks and dagger,” she says. “Can I come?”
I tell her that I’d prefer to go alone.
“Be careful. Socks aren’t much defense against sharp objects,” she says. After a pause, she adds, “I’d love to see you later.”
I’m silent.
“I should go,” she says.
“Wait. Could you spare me another minute?”
“What’s up?” She suddenly sounds rushed.
“Tell me about Chuck. Your investor.”
There is a moment of silence, then she says: “What makes you ask?”
“He seemed interesting when we met last night. I’m just curious about him.”
Another pause.
“I think he’s curious about you, too.”
“Meaning?”
“I think he thinks you’re cute. You’re his type.”
I’m not sure if she means that he likes my journalistic temperament or, perhaps, that he’s gay. Now that I think about it, it had crossed my mind.
“You should work that angle,” she continues.