Free Midnight Pass: A Lew Fonesca Novel (Lew Fonesca Novels) by Stuart M. Kaminsky Page B

slowly with a less-than-happy look on his face. His mother was definitely a beauty, but there was something less than ecstasy in her face. She was carrying a colorful shopping bag with a picture of Shrek on the side.
    Stark was a good-looking if slightly beefy-looking man with wavy salt-and-pepper hair. He was at least twenty years older than Janice Severtson.
    There wasn’t too much I could do to be inconspicuous. I don’t have the kind of face people remember in any case. It’s a blessing in my work and in my private life.
    I managed to get on the elevator with the four of them and smiled.
    “Floor?” I asked pleasantly.
    “Seven,” Janice Severtson said, closing her eyes.
    I hit the “seven” and “eight” buttons.
    When we passed the third floor, she opened her eyes and looked at me.
    “I know you,” she said.
    Stark turned to face me. He was wearing black jeans and a black shirt with buttons and sleeves that came down to his elbows. He was also wearing muscles and a scowl. His face was sun-browned. His brown eyes were firmly focused on me.
    “I don’t…,” I began.
    “Sarasota YMCA,” she said. “Downtown. You work out there.”
    So much for my keenly developed internal storehouse of names and faces. How could I not remember someone who looked like Janice Severtson? How could she remember me?
    “I do,” I said with a grin. “Every morning before I go to work. I’m the men’s wear department manager at Old Navy in Gulf Gate. Brought my wife and kids here, for our annual week of torture.”
    “I know what you mean,” she said.
    “Who’s that?” the little boy asked, looking up at me.
    “A friend of your mother’s,” said Stark with more than a touch of suspicion.
    “You a friend of my daddy’s, too?” the boy asked.
    “No,” I said, holding out my hand to Stark. “Pleased to meet you.”
    “He’s not my daddy,” the boy said.
    “He’s your grandfather?”
    Stark’s jaw was tight now. I ignored him and looked down at the little boy, who was shaking his head no.
    “He’s Andy,” the boy said.
    “I think we’ve bothered the man enough,” said Janice Severtson.
    The elevator stopped at seven and they shuffled wearily out.
    “Nice to meet you,” I called as the doors closed.
    When the doors opened on the eighth floor a few seconds later, I got out quickly and moved to a spot on the atrium landing not far from my room where I could see them moving slowly toward their room.
    After they went in, I stayed at the railing for another hour, pretending my novel was a sketchbook when anyone went by, keeping an eye on the door to the room I was watching on the seventh floor. I even drew a crude stick figure and a tree on the inside cover of the novel at one point. My watch hit eleven, and I went to my room and set the alarm clock for five in the morning. I shaved, showered, shampooed, brushed my teeth, and watched a Harold Lloyd silent comedy on Turner Classic Movies. Harold wound up running around an abandoned ship being chased by a murderer and a monkey in a sailor suit. The movie was short. I went to sleep. Everything was going just fine.
    By seven in the morning, I was eating the free Continental buffet breakfast at a two-person table. When I finished, I slowly drank cup after cup of coffee with USA Today in front of me. A little before nine, Andrew Stark, Janice Severtson, and the kids came down. The kids were bouncing and arguing. The adults were just arguing. I couldn’t hear them, but it looked as if the brief honeymoon was in trouble.
    I followed them out after they breakfasted. The rest of the day was moppet heaven for the kids and nightmare alley for me. They went on and saw everything at the Disney-MGM Studios theme park while I watched from a discreet distance. I don’t know what I was watching for. Possibly signs of intimacy in front of the children. A stolen passionate kiss and a little groping while the kids were in the Muppet Vision show, or maybe I was hoping for a