Free The Thrill of the Haunt by E. J. Copperman

also retrieved from the backpack.
    “Helen gave me his daily schedule,” I told her, doing absolutely nothing to conceal any part of my face. “She said he pretty much never varies from it at all; he’s a real creature of habit.”
    Of course, once I had said that, it was inevitable that we would sit there checking a picture of Dave that Helen had given me for about twenty minutes before Dave, of medium height, medium weight and medium attractiveness—in short, the most average man in history—walked out of the building.
    “I was afraid we’d missed him,” Mom said, re-buckling her shoulder harness. Once snapped in, she put a hand up to her face in a really awkward attempt to obscure it from view.
    I started up the Volvo, which I’d parked far enough away that the inevitable coughing, sputtering and grinding it does wouldn’t attract any attention. “I showed you his car when we drove in,” I reminded her. “Unless he’d decided to walk to his mistress’s place, there was no way we were going to miss him.”
    “Do you have to say ‘mistress’?” Mom asked.
    I didn’t answer and instead just drove behind Dave as he pulled out of the parking lot, hoping I was being discreet. If Helen’s outline of his daily routine was accurate, we had a ten-minute drive to Joyce Kinsler’s garden apartment in Eatontown.
    We took Route 35 south into Eatontown, but we didn’t make the turn at Broad Street that would have been the logical one to get to Joyce’s, according to the British woman who gives directions on my portable GPS box.
    “She sounds a little annoyed,” Mom pointed out about the mechanical guide. “Maybe she doesn’t approve of where Dave is going.”
    “I don’t think she makes that kind of value judgment.”
    Luckily, there was no opportunity to continue our assessment of a person who didn’t exist, because Dave began signaling a right turn.
    “He’s pulling into the mall,” Mom said, just in case I hadn’t figured that one out on my own.
    The Monmouth Mall is not one of New Jersey’s most prominent (those are all in Bergen County), but it’s pretty big, and if this was indeed where Dave was planning to meet his girlfriend for an afternoon quickie, it was not only an indication that he had some really kinky ideas but also a problem for me, because there would be people everywhere and plenty of places for Dave to elude a tail.
    He pulled into a parking space near the movie theater entrance, and since it was a midweek afternoon, it wasn’t difficult for me to find another one fairly nearby. I didn’t have much time to give Mom instructions, because he had just gotten out of his car and started toward the mall.
    “I’m going in after him,” I said and didn’t allow her to answer. “You stay here. If I lose him, I’ll call you. You have your cell phone, don’t you?”
    “Always. I—”
    “If you see anything suspicious, text, don’t call me,” I said, noting that Dave was already starting toward the entrance. She looked a little startled. “And use vowels!” I warned as I opened my car door, leaving the key in the ignition so Mom could listen to the radio if she wanted. Mom’s version of text shorthand consisted of using all consonants, therefore making everything look as if it were written in Cyrillic, which doesn’t make it easier to understand.
    It was a warm day but not humid; that wouldn’t come for another month or so if we were lucky. When this kind of day hits us, New Jersey can be a lovely place, particularly down the shore, where a sea breeze can remind you of your childhood, and the sun shows you the deep blue of the sky and the rich green leaves on the trees.
    Which is why I couldn’t believe I had to spend it in a shopping mall.
    I typically avoid malls like the plague (which I’m pretty sure first gestated in a mall). I’d rather shop at neighborhood stores, certainly in individual stores, than be trapped in an environment where the very air seems manufactured