Under the Table
Stephanie Evanovich
Chapter 1
Zoey Sullivan didn’t mind the cold. She liked the feel of the wind in her hair, even when it bit at her ears and made her nose run. It encouraged her to walk briskly, just like natives of the Big Apple did. Since Zoey had arrived from a Cleveland suburb nine months ago, she made it her mission to avoid the “tourist stroll.” Not only did it aggravate people hurrying to get where they were going, but she also had been sufficiently convinced the night before she left Lakewood, Ohio, that slow walking made you a target of thieves, rapists, muggers, and murderers that lurked on every corner. So, when her phone started vibrating in her coat pocket, she ignored it. Don’t pull out your phone, don’t flash any cash. Walk confidently with your head up and purpose in your eyes. Ax the headphones. Keep a loose but firm grip on your bag, like there is nothing important in it.
Keep moving, even when walking down Park Avenue on the Upper East Side. Anyone not sporting a borderline sneer is either being watched over by someone else or carrying a weapon.
While growing up, she was often accused of taking things too literally.
Zoey’s phone vibrated again and she picked up her pace, this time sticking her free hand into her pocket and around the phone while her other hand tightened around her magic bag. Surprisingly, she was unable to identify the caller through telepathy. Then it shook again. It became a series of one vibration after another, a veritable calling frenzy. What if it was her appointment canceling on her? The very thought was a mixture of disappointment and relief. Zoey ducked into a Duane Reade and pulled out her cell phone. There were only two callers, her sister and an unknown number. Neither had left a message. As she looked down at her phone, her older sister’s name became visible on the screen and the phone shook again. Her sister did love her drama, as long as it wasn’t too real.
“Ruth,” Zoey answered, “I just left our apartment a half hour ago. Why are you calling me every thirty seconds?”
“Not me.” A snicker came through the phone followed by the warning. “I’ve been waiting a minute or two. I wanted to make sure you weren’t caught off guard.”
Ruth and Zoey were the oldest, born a year and a half apart, in a family that inadvertently ended up with six children. Not originally their parents’ plan, but they were passionate people who often threw caution to the wind when Barry White came on the radio. All their siblings were welcomed and loved, even if money sometimes got tight. Their mother had read every book on parenting available in those early years, before her hands became permanently full, and had acted accordingly. The firstborn is the perfectionist, the serious one, the rule follower. The second (and last child if it had gone according to plan) was supposed to be the quirky daredevil, who faced life fearlessly, the risk taker.
The only problem was, nobody told the girls. Zoey got the whimsical name; Ruth got everything else. Well, not everything. Zoey got the pretty face and attention to detail; Ruth got the rocking bod and the swagger. Ruth was carefree and vivacious, perfectly content grinding out her nine-to-five inputting insurance claims for a big company in the financial district and cutting loose every weekend. She broke hearts like peanut shells and could break a bone on any would-be assailant just as fast. Ruth lived setting her own rules and without regrets. The boss at her first job when she was eighteen learned that lesson the hard way, along with the one about keeping your hands to yourself. After settling out of court what would have been a hefty sexual harassment lawsuit, Ruth packed up and never thought about Ohio again. She was so much damn fun, when she offered to let reserved, cautious Zoey become her roommate, it was a no-brainer, even if Zoey did have to acknowledge she was living vicariously through her sister . . . and sometimes woke up to nearly naked stockbrokers, lawyers, and/or piano bar players roaming around their Lower East Side apartment.
“What’s up?” Zoey got to the point after Ruth’s ominous leadoff.
“Derek figured out you got a cell phone.”
Zoey closed her eyes tight for a few seconds, leaning against the cap at the end of the candy aisle until she felt it start to give way. She quickly straightened back up, her grip tightening around both the phone and her precious bag.
No, no, no . . . this is not what I need today. At least now Zoey had a pretty good idea who the unknown caller was.
“Zoe?” Ruth asked when she got no immediate answer.
“Yeah, I’m here. What did you tell him?”
“Right now, I’m sorry I answered the phone, but he’s becoming a pest. I don’t mind lying by omission. But he flat out asked me if you had gotten one. I told you once you started screening his calls on the landline that he was going to know something was up.”
Zoey knew Ruth harbored a soft spot for Derek, probably because they both embraced their selfish sides. “What did you tell him? Did you give him my number?”
“Of course not!” Ruth sounded slightly put off. “I don’t ever give out anyone’s cell phone number without their permission. But I did promise him I would ask you if it’s okay.”
“Well, you know the answer to that.”
Zoey heard Ruth’s heavy sigh. “I’m too late. He did recite me your correct number, but I swear I didn’t give anything away. I just said that I would ask you.”
“I have one caller other than you. It keeps coming up as unknown. I don’t think there is a scam in the world that wants to robocall me that much.” Irritation whistled through her teeth. “This is the last thing I needed today.”