Culture Shock (19 page)

He waited for the system to boot up then scanned the Yahoo search engine, clicking on topics that contained anything about body exchanges. Most pertained to client/psychoanalyst relationships, one featured some gibberish about the body triad: mental, physical and ego, and another about aiding a mummy on its journey. His gaze rested on a fiction novel written on the subject, and he groaned. Nothing on a true experience, but what had he expected? No one would believe such a thing possible. Perhaps he was digging in the wrong place for info.

He switched his search to "body swaps". Most links led him to automobile parts, a few to sites bout cults, and the majority focused on the real
deal of changing mates for sex. He was almost sorry he clicked on one of those. It took forever to close all the X-rated pop-ups that came with the original web page. He grumbled as he tried to shut down. With his luck, the sex sites used tracking cookies and her computer would be infested with porn.

With perseverance, he succeeded in ridding the screen of all the annoying ads. He surrendered the idea of finding anything of substance and moved to the start-up menu, looking for games. He found only solitaire.

The day passed quickly, and at five o'clock all Alex had to show for his trouble was a bad case of eyestrain.

***

Tired and feeling crankier than usual, Alex opened the front door and stepped into The Cairns' foyer. Spending eight hours pretending to be an accountant wore on his nerves, and his jaw hurt from tensing. He stopped to retrieve his mail from the box in the lobby, and grimaced at the stack of bills he found after not checking for days.

It dawned on him the rent was due. Thoughts of John Cratski/Peter Sorenson crossed his mind. He had to find out the super's true identity. There were just too many coincidences between him and the perp. Alex needed to get back into the man's apartment, and what better way than paying his rent in person. He frowned, remembering his circumstance. If he paid any rent at all, it would be Cynthia's.

"Ms. Freitas. How nice to see you."

Lost in thought, Alex jumped at an all-too-familiar voice. The man obviously walked on his tiptoes.

Alex turned and faced Thomas Carpenter. The creep was totally repulsive, and Alex wanted to tell him so. But he decided to be kind. "Oh, hello, Mr. Carpenter."

The smarmy man ran his scrubby fingers up Alex's arm. "Any chance we might have that dinner sometime soon?"

Alex brushed the hand aside like he was removing dandruff from his sleeve. He was through being polite. "Sorry, not a chance."

Alex spun, wincing at the sore toe, and started up the stairs.

"Well, you be sure to drop by if you change your mind," Carpenter called out.

Alex didn't answer and continued his climb. After unlocking Cynthia's door, he stormed inside and kicked off her shoes so hard they flew across the room. "You are such a mutant ninja turtle, Carpenter," Alex ranted. "Change my mind? Yeah, when it rains indoors." He opened the fridge and pulled out a beer, still raging inside. Was there a woman alive who would date that man?

While opening his brew, he heard keys jangling. 

Cynthia entered the apartment with shoulders sloped. She'd picked the right moment, as he'd just released the last of his steam. He settled on the couch with his beer in hand.

She closed the door and sagged against it. "I'm beat. I don't know how much longer I can do this."

"Why? Did something happen?" He put his beer on the coffee table and leaned on his knees.

"No, nothing happened. Your job is just so stressful. I don't know what I'm doing and I'm scared to death someone's going to notice. Then what will I say?"

Alex shrugged. "The same thing I'll say if one of your co-workers ever finds out I'm doing crossword puzzles or playing computer games all day." He took a swig from the bottle, leaned back and studied the dark circles she sported under his eyes. "Don't waste time worrying about what might happen. Let's deal with what's going on right now." He took another long draw,
and then set the bottle back down. "Did you get a chance to check out Sorenson's address?"

Cynthia produced a crumpled piece from her pocket. "I did. Here it is." She handed him a scrap of paper.

"Hmm, Washington, DC. With his birth date and license number, we can probably find out what Mr. Sorenson did when he lived there. Good work."

***

He
paced while he sucked on a cigarette. Smoke puffed from his lips much like steam billowing from an old-time engine. The walls were closing in on him, and he craved sunshine. Strange that outside he found comfort in the warming rays, yet inside he preferred darkness to match his thoughts and plotting. The need to avenge mankind bubbled like a cauldron deep within his breast. Before long, he'd have to kill again to sate his appetite and rid the world of another conniving bitch. He ground out his cigarette in the ashtray, leaving a smoldering butt behind. Maybe tomorrow he'd pursue another unsuspecting victim, but today he'd sample the menu and plot his entrée. The dessert came naturally in the feeling of satisfaction once the deed was done.

He cupped his stubbly chin and grinned. The blonde upstairs looked more and more delicious every day.

***

Cynthia readied for work. As she tied her shoes, she thought about what Alex said about the super. If he truly was Peter Sorenson, how could they find out what he did in Washington, DC? Short of making a trip there, what would give them a hint? Maybe if she could get into his apartment she could find something Alex missed. After all, he hadn't had much time. She glanced at her watch. It was still early but although she looked like Alex, she lacked his knack for breaking and entering. There had to be another way.

The stack of envelopes Alex had left on the table gave her an idea. Mail! She could always check the super's trash.

Scouring the garbage wasn't something she relished, but if the idea helped, she was game. She grabbed her own trash bag as an excuse to visit the dumpster, then locked the door and headed downstairs.

On the first-floor landing, she came face-to-face with someone she didn't recognize. The man fit Alex's description of Thomas Carpenter, balding, pointed nose, pock-marked face. Cynthia stepped to the side. "Excuse me."

"No problem. Hey." He grabbed her arm. "We haven't met before, but I like knowing my neighbors. Name's Carpenter, Thomas Carpenter." He extended his hand.

Cynthia switched her garbage bag to her other hand and reluctantly shook his. Despite the clammy feel, she managed a smile. "Nice to meet you."

"So, which is your apartment?"

"Two...E. I live in 2E."

"How fortunate for you! You're only a couple of doors away from that luscious Cynthia Freitas. I'd sure like to be the lucky man who gets into her pants on a regular basis."

Cynthia's mouth gaped. Carpenter was just as disgusting as Alex had said. She took a step toward him, and, puffing out every inch of Alex's broad chest, she glared. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't refer to my fiancée like that."

"Oh." He gasped. "My mistake. Sorry." Beads of sweat peppered his balding head.

"Just don't let it happen again." Cynthia thoroughly enjoyed Alex's intimidating size.

Thomas Carpenter backed away. "Believe me, I won't be so offensive again. I was just taken by her good looks," he babbled. "I've always had a thing for blondes."

Reminiscent of a weasel, he slunk in the door and down the hall toward his own apartment.

"Like I would ever consider someone like him," she mumbled while tossing her trash. "I'd rather be celibate for the rest of my life."

She eyed the nasty metal container and considered changing her mind about dumpster-diving. The idea repulsed her more than she'd imagined.

Chapter
Fifteen

A pillow under her head, Cynthia sprawled out on the floor, while Alex stretched out on the sofa. With the TV volume set so low, she barely heard the newscaster's voice. Pictures of the still-missing victim, flashed across the screen. Cynthia released a loud breath. "God, I can't even get away from your case at home."

Alex grabbed the remote, turning up the volume just in time for her to hear that no new developments had been reported. He turned the sound back down and tossed the remote on the end table. "At least they didn't find any more bodies."

"Thank God." Cynthia shuddered. "I get the creeps looking at dead people, and Mike's already told me it's my turn at the next autopsy. I can't go. I just can't...I'll be sick."

"Then hope no one else dies." Alex turned to his side and massaged his brow. "I wish I could shake the feeling that Sorenson is somehow tied to all this. Then again, we may be jumping to the wrong conclusion entirely. What if he isn't Sorenson and he had someone else's receipt?"

"Oh, great! You have no idea how reassuring it is to think that maybe the murderer lives right beneath me...or, given your latest train of thought, maybe not."

"We don't know if the murderer even lives in the vicinity yet. Calm down."

Bothered by his attitude, she fixed him with a stare. "How can you be so passive?"

"Worry never solved anything."

"You know, Alex, I've always heard people talk about taking life with a grain of salt. But you're the first person I've met who actually does."

"What would you like me to do? Yell and scream. When I get upset, you complain about that, too."

She massaged her brow. "I don't know what I want. I'm so confused and scared."

"At least you don't have to fret about becoming a victim. You're not his type right now."

"You always have an answer for everything."

The phone rang. Alex picked it up. "Hello? Kevin? Kevin who?"

Cynthia grabbed the phone and covered the mouthpiece. "It's my brother, you idiot." She thrust the phone back at him and mouthed. "Just make small talk."

He made a face at her. "Hey, Kevin. I was just
jokin' with you. Sorry to keep you waiting, but my neighbor was here, and I had to get rid of him. So, what's up? No, it's not serious. Yes, we've been out once or twice. No, he isn't..." Alex rolled his eyes at her. "What say we not talk about my love life...or lack thereof?"

Straining to hear what was being said, Cynthia sandwiched the phone between their heads.

"Oh, Sara can't come?" Alex looked at Cynthia and shrugged. "That's too bad."

"His girlfriend," Cynthia mouthed.

Alex switched ears. "Well, it's too bad Sara can't make the trip. So...do you need directions?"

Cynthia waved her hands back and forth frantically. "He's flying," she whispered. "We have to pick him up at the airport."

Alex cleared his throat. "Oh, that's right, you said you were flying. I forgot. Give me the information and I'll meet your plane."

Cynthia scanned the room for a piece of paper. Seeing none, she jumped up and grabbed a paper towel and pencil and shoved them in front of Alex. He jotted down arrival time and flight number. She took a deep breath when he finally hung up.

Alex put the phone in the cradle and leaned against the sofa back. "God, that was awkward."

She began to pace. "I can't believe I forgot he was coming. What in the world are we going to do?" Snatching the paper with the flight info from Alex's hand, she stared at it. She held her forehead to still the throbbing ache that blossomed. "Oh, my Lord, he'll be here this weekend. Think, Alex, think!"

He shook his head. "I'm all thought out. Between thinking and scanning the internet I've all but given up. Can't we just call him back and tell him you're sick or something?"

"Right! How convincing would that be?" She pretended to hold a phone to her ear. "Hi, Kevin, I just talked to you and I've suddenly come down with a terrible illness." She threw up her hands. "That's just brilliant! And...don't you dare give up. I refuse to believe this switch is anything more than a temporary stumbling block in my life!"

"Then you think of something," he snapped.

She ran her hand along the back of her neck and rotated her head from side-to-side. "Well, we've managed to coach each other about our jobs and the people we work with, so why can't I cram your head full of information about me and my family? Once Kevin is gone we can concentrate on fixing us."

"Just how much information do you think my head can hold?" Alex complained.

"You already know some of it. It's not like I've lived the life of a celebrity."

"Well, I guess we don't have any other choice. If your brother is coming, we'd better get to work. We only have a few days for you to bore...uh, teach me. Is he going to ask things like how much did you weigh when you were born and how long you were?"

"Oh, knock it off! Just don't have any lengthy conversations when I'm not around."

"Gee, I can hardly wait."

***