Free Catch & Neutralize by Chris Grams

Nothing dripped from the ceiling. Nothing stuck to the bottom of her shoes. No windows were open.
    Dr. Tiffany Bell grabbed her purse and headed out the door, deciding to contact a professional cleaner about the stain. She had important stops to make before heading to Macaroons, both a pickup and a drop-off.
    Outside, a cool breeze rustled leaves, pulling some to the pavement below and pushing them against the building. Dry leaves rattled along the walkway, a crinkly crisp taste of freedom.
    Tiffany tightened her jacket against the chill. Her Mazda CX-5 SUV waited submissively with its gray paint shimmering in the late afternoon sun.

 
     
    Chapter 10

Angie
     
    By her third Appletini, Angie felt relaxed. Thoughts floated to her husband, Mark T. Carter, M.D., the best Research Geneticist on the east coast transferred west, and who also happened to be her everything. Shortly after high school graduation, the week she turned eighteen, Angie met Mark. Her first job, his secretary. At forty-four-years-old, Mark had been the sexiest African-American man she’d ever seen. He fit all her criteria: athletic, brilliant, and wealthy. The only downfall – and it was a big one – he was already married. Determined not to play the home wrecker role, Angie stayed away.
    Incredibly, it had taken almost two years for Angie to find out about the marriage. Up until that point, Angie had flirted like mad. It was strange that Mark didn’t talk about his wife, Cheryl, and never wore a ring. He’d kept no pictures of her in the office. Angie suspected a crinkle in his married life, something wide and dark and unmentionable.
    Soon after Mark’s daughter, Tia, turned 18 (a mere four years after Angie), Mark divorced Cheryl. Seven months after that, he and Angie were married and packing for New Mexico. Smiling to herself, Angie thought, true love eventually breaks all chains.
    Her reminiscing floated away when a petite woman with shoulder-length, mousy curls and black rimmed glasses laid a hand on the neighboring chair.
    “Hi, I’m Tiffany. Mind if I sit here?” The woman tried handing Angie something.
    Noticing the object was her own driver’s license, Angie snatched it, adding a smile as an afterthought. “Thanks. Didn’t know I’d dropped it. And,” she inhaled audibly, “the chair’s empty, isn’t it? Of course, you can sit there.”
    “Looks like you could use some company, Phalanges.”
    “How did you know…”
    “Your driver’s license, silly.” Tiffany threw her head back laughing. “For a second, I bet you thought I was some kind of crazy stalker.”
    Angie’s hand covered a chuckle. “Anyone ever tell you that you sound exactly like a monkey when you laugh? And yes, crazy stalkers. Can’t be too sure these days.”
    “Very true,” a nod and a pause, the monkey comment completely ignored. “Interesting name. You’re named after finger and toe bones?”
    Angie’s features remained expressionless, but her eye roll said it all. “Yes, actually, I am. My parents are amateur scientists and thought it’d be cute. Ha! Not so much. I thought about going by Phal, which sounds just like the word foul. I didn’t want to sound like a bad play in baseball, or fowl as in chicken. So, I started telling everyone to call me Angie. It took a while, but finally stuck.”
    Tiffany nodded with hand held out. “Nice to meet you, Angie.”
    “Likewise,” Angie said turning, ignoring the offered hand. She’d had plenty of experience with shaking the wrong hands. In her line of work, shaking the wrong hand could be the same as signing your own death warrant. She trusted no one until they earned it.
    Following a brief silence, Angie spoke first. “So, what brings you to this excellent establishment on such a lovely late fall evening? Is it the pricey grub, delicious cocktails, or hot prosperous men? Perhaps the complete hat trick?”
    “Just wanted to get away.” Tiffany’s gaze floated over the landscape, at clouds