Express Male. Elizabeth Bevarly

could it? Thankfully, he hurried on before she had a chance to think too much about that. Or experience a stark, raving panic attack.

      “Well,” he said, “let’s just say I’m glad you’re here. For a number of reasons.”

      “Um, look,” she interjected as gently as she could, thinking it would probably be best if she didn’t hear any of those reasons. “You’ve obviously mistaken me for someone else. My name isn’t Lila. It’s Marnie. I’m sorry I’m not who you’re looking for, but…” She shrugged, the internationally recognized sign language for Can’t help you, fella.

      “Of course you’re not who I’m looking for,” he said. “I should have realized that right away.”

      Marnie would have breathed a sigh of relief, but the little man took a step closer, looked first one way, then the other, then leaned in very close, crowding her personal space way more than she liked.

      “I didn’t realize we were being watched,” he whispered so softly she almost didn’t hear. “I should have realized.” He moved a hand to his mouth to mimic the locking of a lock and throwing away of the key. Very quietly, he promised, “From now on, I’ll just call you Marnie, Lila. I won’t call you Lila anymore, Marnie.”

      Since he was so close, Marnie took advantage of the opportunity to inhale a deep breath, to see if it might offer some clue as to what he had been drinking. Smoking. Sniffing. Absorbing subcutaneously. All of the above. But there was nary a hint of alcoholic, herbal or chemical enhancement about him. A touch of garlic, perhaps, but as far as she knew, garlic had never driven anyone around the bend like this.

      He did that look-one-way-then-the-other thing again, then held up a fat manila envelope that had seen better days. It was stuffed about as full as it could be and still be closed, the flap torn and bent, the paper soiled and wrinkled. Two big rubber bands were wound around it, one vertically and one horizontally, as if he feared the envelope might give way and spill its contents any moment, something that seemed entirely possible. Then he smiled again.

      “Here’s my book,” he said. “I finished it, just as I promised them I would.”

      Book? Marnie wanted to say. That was no book. It was just a big, dirty envelope full of papers. Why would he bring it to her? To Lila? To anyone? And just who was the “them” he was talking about?

      “It’s only a first draft, you understand,” he hastened to add, “but it is my greatest opus.”

      Ooh, it was a book he’d written. Now Marnie really didn’t want to have anything to do with it.

      “Um, that’s really nice, and I appreciate it,” she said as politely as she could. She glanced around again, hoping somebody might have shown up by now. At this point, she’d even welcome the appearance of Bob Troutman. Well, probably. Maybe. Oh, okay, she could handle this little guy for a few minutes more. “But I’m probably not the best person to give it to,” she added. “I’m not much good when it comes to literary criticism. I’m more of a music person.”

      “No, no,” he insisted, his smile falling some. “You’ll like this, no matter what. I assure you, it’s a wonderful opus.”

      There was that word opus again. He really seemed to be attached to it. “Oh, I don’t doubt that for a minute,” Marnie assured the man. “But, honestly, I just don’t think I’m qualified to—”

      “It’s the story of a powerful sorcerer,” he interrupted in a singsongy, once-upon-a-time voice. “A sorcerer who has betrayed people, and who’s been hiding from those people, hoping they won’t find him.”

      “Um, sounds great,” Marnie said flatly, not wanting to encourage him—especially since fantasy novels really weren’t her thing. “But, really, I—”

      “This book tells all about this sorcerer,” the man began again, emphasizing that last word meaningfully. Meaningful to him, anyway, since Marnie had no idea what he was talking about. “It tells things about the sorcerer no one knew before. And it tells about where the sorcerer has been hiding and what he’s been up to. It tells about where he’s going next. You’ll like it, I promise.” He winked at her again, a gesture that was beginning to creep her out. “It is my finest opus,” he said again.

      Hoo-kay, Marnie thought. Whoever this guy was, he’d caught the express train from la-la land and hopped off at weirdsville. And now he was looking around for the platform for his connection to loonytown.

      He shoved the envelope at her again, using both hands now. “Take it,” he insisted. “Read it. Read my opus about the sorcerer.”

      He was growing agitated now, and Marnie wasn’t sure what crazy people did when they became agitated. Nor did she have any wish to find out. She wondered if she should just take the envelope from him and hope that would make him leave. Then she could return to Lauderdale’s and alert mall security about the incident and go home.

      “Um, okay,” she said as she warily took the manuscript from him. “I’ll read it tonight. How will that be?”

      “It’s just a first draft,” he reminded her. “I have many notes, and will write more. When it’s done, I’ll bring it to you.”

      Oh, goody. “Well, that’s…that’s just fine,” Marnie said, nodding. Hoping he fell for her fake smile. Hoping he went away soon. Hoping he didn’t hack her to death with a carving knife on his way. “I’ll, um, I’ll really enjoy that.”

      He nodded, too, his own warm, benign smile so at odds with his stark, raving lunacy. “Thank you, Lila. Oops, I mean…Marnie.” He winked again, and she tried not to flinch. “I know where to find you now,” he added. As if she really needed for him to put that fine a point on it. “And I’ll contact you again when the time is right.”

      Now there was something to look forward to. She held up the hefty manuscript. “I, um, I’ll read this tonight,” she said again, since he didn’t get the hint the first time and leave.

      “Good,” he said. “Take good care of my opus. Marnie.”

      “I will,” she told him. “I promise your opus is safe with me.”

      His smile went kind of sentimental and satisfied and serene at that, and his expression softened to the point where he looked almost lucid. Relief, Marnie realized. He looked profoundly relieved about something. As if by taking the manuscript from him, she had just freed him of a burden that had been almost too much for him to bear.

      He leaned in close again and said quietly, “I knew not to believe what they were saying about you, Lila. I knew you could never do what they said you did. I trust you completely. I always have. And I’m so glad you’re back. They need you.”

      Strangely, there was something about the way he said it, and the way he looked at her, that made Marnie feel honestly grateful for his trust. Something that made her want to promise him she would do anything for him in return. Suddenly, he didn’t seem mad at all. In fact, he seemed quite sane, and quite sincere. Before she realized what she was doing, she reached out to touch his shoulder, the physical contact feeling surprisingly nice. Surprisingly comfortable. Surprisingly comforting. It was the oddest thing.

      “I will take care of this,” she told him as she held up the manuscript, “whatever it is.” And she was astonished to discover that she meant exactly what she said. “You don’t have to worry about it anymore, okay?”

      He nodded and smiled again, then lifted a hand in farewell. “I’m glad it’s with you…Marnie,” he said. And without another word, he turned and walked away.

      Marnie stood motionless in the middle of the deserted parking lot as she watched him go, mesmerized by his steady, purposeful stride. Not once did he look back, clearly content with how their exchange—whatever it had been about—had gone. She waited for him to approach one of the half-dozen cars still scattered in that direction, but he kept walking until he reached a hedgerow at the edge of the parking lot. She watched, amazed, as he pushed the