Rooms - James L. Rubart [12]
No question. He’d sell the place.
He strode through saltwater swirling around his ankles back toward the stunning house.
But maybe not right away.
After breakfast Micah pulled onto Highway 101 and headed for Seattle. Traffic was light and he made good time, even with the rain that pelted down as soon as he hit Olympia. In less than four hours he crossed the Seattle city limits; twenty-two minutes later his tires squealed as he pulled into his parking spot in his condo garage. He’d take a quick shower, then head for the office.
Micah pulled out his cell phone to record his mileage, a habit held over from the early days of RimSoft. Eat Top Ramen six days a week, never turn on a light unless forced to, and record everything possible for write-offs on the ol’ tax return.
He squinted at his odometer and looked back at the file on his cell. Strange. Didn’t seem right. Micah did a quick calculation in his head. It couldn’t be. Again he looked at the odometer and the total on his cell phone. Too weird. One of the two machines was wrong. Had to be.
Or he’d just driven 16,341 miles in the past two days.
CHAPTER 5
Isn’t this energizing?” Micah asked Shannon on Tuesday morning. “Seeing all these people streaming through the doors, ready to conquer new worlds?”
She stood next to him in RimSoft’s foyer, her ever-present notepad and minicalendar in hand. He’d bought her an iPhone the previous Christmas, but she’d never taken it out of the box. They watched the lobby become a river of workers.
“Energizing? Not really. Does it energize you?”
He hesitated. “Most of the time it still does.”
Shannon stared at him. “Most of the time?”
“Life at the speed of light, three thousand miles wide, a millimeter deep.”
“You’re not getting philosophical on me, are you?”
He ignored the question. Micah spotted Brad, his racquetball partner, across the lobby. Brad’s crew cut and horn-rimmed glasses made him look like a blond Buddy Holly, but he played racquetball like the Tasmanian devil.
“Hey, Bradley, get over here.”
Brad sauntered over. “You want another beating like last month, huh?”
“What? Can you say delusional? I can, and you should. I took you down three of the four games last Wednesday, the fourth game fifteen to zee-row. Memory okay, my friend?”
A few people chuckled as Brad came to a stop in front of Micah. “Nice try, boss man. Maybe in your dreams. It’s been a month since we played. I admit, you sliced and diced me the first game but lost the next three straight. Would’ve been four if we’d played another.”
“Ignoring the fact you were beat like a rug won’t change history. After that session last week, I even had to go to the bone crusher to straighten my spine. Remember?”
Brad’s grin drained from his face. “We didn’t play last week.” He blinked.
“You okay, buddy? Of course we played.”
“No, I was in San Fran last week. The whole week.”
“So, your twin stood in?” Micah laughed. “That’s your excuse for losing!”
Brad reached into his briefcase and pawed through it. He pulled out a rumpled piece of paper and held it at his side. “Tell me you’re kidding, Micah.”
“About?”
Brad held up the paper. It was an Alaska Airlines itinerary. “Take a look at my flights. What’s the first date?”
“April 6.”
“And the second?”
“April 10.”
“So blow my brains out and tell me how we played racquetball on Wednesday, April 7, if I was in San Francisco?”
Micah stared at the paper.
“CAT scans are amazing these days. Check it out maybe?” Brad tapped his head. “When you’re stressing, the memory always goes first. I’ll beat you again Friday morning if you’re free.”
A shiver sprinted down Micah’s spine. He stared at Brad, then Shannon.
“Micah, want to play?”
“Yeah, sorry.” Micah turned to Shannon. “Am I open?”
“Let me look . . . yes.”
He flashed a thumbs-up as Brad walked away. “Shannon, what did I do last Wednesday?”
She licked her finger and pawed through her calendar. “Conference call at nine, a quick meeting with the bank at ten fifteen, then you got ready for an afternoon board meeting.”
“No racquetball?”
She studied her calendar