Treadmill by Warren Adler Page A

Premonition?”
    “None of the above,” he said, forcing a show of indifference.
    Now who is the investigator? he wondered.
    “You’re a very caring fellow. Not many of you around these days.” He caught a hint of sarcasm.
    “I wouldn’t exactly put it that way either,” Cooper said, feeling a blush rise to his face.
    “As I said. It’s none of my business. One thing about Parrish—he is a character.”
    “That he is,” Cooper said, forcing a wry laugh. “Anyway, I was going to sort of hang out here for awhile. Take a walk around. Check later. He does have to come home sometime. I mean, if he hasn’t split.”
    “Suit yourself,” the woman shrugged.
    She started to move inside the apartment, then stopped abruptly.
    “Would you like some coffee?” she asked
    “That’s very kind. Are you sure…?”
    “You look harmless enough,” she chuckled.
    He followed her inside. She put the mail on a table and removed her coat. The apartment was furnished sparsely with cheap contemporary bric-a-brac, and had the air of being makeshift, temporary. It seemed in sharp contrast to the woman’s appearance, which was neat and well groomed. In the dining alcove sat a bridge table and three bridge chairs. There was a worn-out couch in the living room, and a slightly tattered upholstered chair opposite it. He noted discolored spaces on the walls where pictures had once hung. There was a bookcase sparsely filled with books. They were mostly, old, beat-up paperback novels.
    There was no television set. He smiled inwardly observing the similarity with his own spartan lifestyle and disinterest in the outside world. She watched him eye the surroundings.
    “When Carlton and I split, we split his and hers,” she said. “The dining room table, books, TV and stereo were his.”
    Cooper was taken aback by her sudden revelation.
    “I know the process,” Cooper said. “When you want out, possessions mean nothing.”
    “You, too?”
    “Yup.” He shrugged.
    “Nothing works out the way you plan it,” she sighed, losing herself in thought for a moment. Then she gave him a laser glance, and nodded her head lightly as if she had finally validated him. “I’m Susan Haber.”
    “Jack Cooper,” he said.
    A strange sense of mutual interest seemed to fill the space between them. She went into the tiny square of a kitchen and started a pot of coffee on the small electric stove. That done, she passed near him as she moved to what apparently was the bedroom.
    “Be right back, was it Jack?” she asked. He nodded. “Make yourself at home.”
    Her movements were quick and graceful. After a moment, he heard her talking quietly into a telephone. He continued to study the apartment, and his eyes drifted toward the mail on the table. Mostly junk mail, he noticed, addressed to “Occupant.”
    A transient like myself , he thought.
    She came back, sat on the couch and crossed her long legs. She was wearing black slacks and clunky heels. He sat opposite her in the chair. For the first time in months Cooper felt a tiny ripple of desire.
    “I’m on call this week,” she explained. “I’m a nurse.”
    “This is awfully generous of you,” Cooper said.
    “We seem to have something in common.”
    “Parrish?” Cooper asked hopefully.
    “The proximity of Parrish,” she chuckled.
    “You said he was a character,” Cooper said. “I totally agree.”
    “Some people qualify. It’s the way they are.”
    “That’s Parrish.”
    He felt the woman study his face. Surprisingly, he did not turn away, meeting her gaze. It crossed his mind that something was transpiring here that was totally unexpected. The sudden engagement stunned him.
    “There’s more to this than meets the eye,” she said pleasantly. “Isn’t there?”
    “I’m not sure,” he admitted. “Maybe.”
    “I could tell,” she said. She hesitated, then spoke. “Parrish always seemed…mysterious.”
    “Mysterious?” Cooper asked, mulling it over, remembering the story