Not One Clue_ A Mystery - Lois Greiman [27]
“Damn, girl!” he said. “You scared the shit out of me.” I stepped back a pace, stammered an apology, and turned toward the crowds again, but if Aalia was amongst them I didn’t see her. Where, then? I zipped my attention back toward the carousels and caught a glimpse of restroom doors.
My breath caught in my throat. She was in there. I knew it. Probably had a change of clothes in her backpack and would come out looking like Halle Berry at the Oscars.
I rushed into the ladies’ room. A woman stood at the sink. She was stout, blond, possibly albino. Glancing under the doors I saw that only two stalls were occupied.
“Aalia?” I called.
No one answered, but she would be wise to be cautious, and judging by her disguise, I assumed she was not only wise, but clever. I bent to look under the first stall door and was just straightening when a woman stepped out. She was six feet tall and missing one of her premolars. Her hair was going gray, but muscle rippled across her shoulders and her hands were the size of catchers’ mitts. She could have bench-pressed a trailer if she had put her mind to it. Still, I studied her a moment, making sure she wasn’t a five-foot Yemeni beauty.
She wasn’t. I was sure of it when she glared at me.
“Sorry,” I said, and moved on. Pretending I had to pee, I scampered into a stall, closed the door, and bent double to look under the partitions. Three stalls over, there were a pair of sneakers peeking out from under blue jeans. Straightening abruptly, I waited for the vertigo to pass, then hurried out to tap on her door.
“Aalia.”
“Who is there?” The voice was small and uncertain. “I’m here to help you,” I said. “We don’t have much time.”
“Who are you?”
A handsome woman in a yellow suit entered the restroom, eyeing me like I was some underworld oddity.
“My name’s Christina. Your sister sent me.”
There was a pause. I gave the suited woman a smile to indicate I wasn’t about to murder her if she turned her back on me. She didn’t look like she was buying it, but it didn’t matter because just then the stall door clicked open and the occupant stepped out.
Her hair was red, short, and spiked into little meringuelike peaks at the top of her head. Her blouse seemed to be made of aluminum foil and her skin was just a shade lighter than the albino’s. Not an easy feat.
“Damnit,” I said, wondering where Aalia had gone.
The woman scowled. I seem to have that effect on people. “Why did my sister send you?” she asked.
“Sorry.” I was already hurrying away.
“Is she still living with that jerk, Jerry?” she called, but I didn’t have time to waste on explanations that might make me look like an idiot.
Instead, I skedaddled out the door and glanced to the right. The first thing I saw was the two men in turbans. They were looking at each other as they approached, deep in conversation, possibly discussing what assholes Americans are.
I only had a fraction of a second before they turned toward me. In that harrowing instant I scurried into the men’s room.
There’s something about the sight of urinals that always gives me pause. I mean, it’s not like I see them every day and when I do I’m momentarily distracted. But I quickly got back on the job, scanning the stalls. Three of them were occupied. One showed blue jeans under the door.
“Aalia,” I whispered, but the door of the restroom was already opening. I yanked my attention in that direction as Middle Eastern accents floated toward me, then jumped into the stall next to the blue jeans.
The two men entered the room. Still talking, they seemed to split up. I heard their shoes squeak as they opened stall doors to the right and left. Biting my lip, I dropped to my knees and gazed at the jeans in the next stall. They seemed to be about the right shade. Tennis shoes peeked out the bottom of the pants legs. Another stall door opened and closed. I had no choice.
Dunking down, I pushed my head under the partition.
The woman inside jerked her gaze toward me. She still wore the battered cap extolling her affection for New York. Her eyes were wide, her lips parted in fear. She