Unidentified Woman #15 by David Housewright Read Free Book Online Page A

by so much that she was uncomfortable in her clothes.
    We took the elevator to the lobby. I threw a wave at Smith and Jones, but their attention was focused on the girl and they didn’t notice. Outside the door, we hung a right and made our way along icy sidewalks and ramps to a path near the bluff above the river that had been cleared by a miniplow. We followed it west. It was like walking through a trench. The snow on each side was piled nearly to our shoulders. The Cities hadn’t received more snow than usual; it was just that it had been so damn cold that very little of it had melted. There was more snow on the ground at that time in March than in the past thirty-plus years. Which made sightseeing problematic.
    Nina was a talker. She noticed everything and loved everything, and she enjoyed pointing out the things that she noticed and loved from the dynamic lighting displays on the top floors of Target Plaza South to the authentic cobblestones beneath her feet. Fifteen, though, was quiet. I didn’t know if that meant she was uncomfortable with my presence—or with herself—or if it was just her natural state. As for me, I tended to be more watchful than talkative. I didn’t study the skyline or the river. I studied the people. Probably that was my cynical, suspicious nature again. It was also the reason why I spotted him.
    Tall, with a blue jacket and a gray knit cap; I first picked him up when we hit the sidewalk at Gold Medal Park, and he was there when we reached the Stone Arch Bridge, a former railroad bridge now reserved for bicycles and pedestrians. (Nina would have told you it was the only arched bridge of stone on the entire river and that it was built in 1883 by James J. Hill for his Great Northern Railway.) When we strolled across the bridge, he trailed behind.
    Normally, I wouldn’t have cared. The area was filled with people who were doing exactly what Fifteen and I were doing, some of whom could be accused of following us as well. It was his unwavering pace that made me anxious. He always remained thirty yards behind us—never gaining, never losing ground. His presence reminded me whoever tossed the girl off a speeding truck might be keen to do it again.
    We took our time crossing the bridge, reaching Father Hennepin Bluffs Park on the far side. From there we walked the plowed and shoveled sidewalks until we reached St. Anthony Main, a shopping, restaurant, office, and condominium complex. I guided Fifteen to the Aster Cafe. She stepped inside as if this had been our destination all along.
    The Aster was considered by one local magazine to be “the best place to go on a first date” because of its spectacular view of the Minneapolis skyline, the tree-lined cobblestone street outside its front door, its perfect-for-cool-summer-nights courtyard, and the live jazz and bluegrass music it staged—mostly kids just starting out but also veterans like Bill Giese and Gary Rue. I picked it simply to see if our tail would follow us inside. He did. I pretended to ignore him.
    I ordered black coffee; Fifteen had a mocha plus something called a Minnesota Malted Waffle, served with berries and whipped cream, despite eating breakfast less than ninety minutes earlier.
    Our friend also had coffee.
    “Do you think I lost weight?” Fifteen asked.
    “Excuse me?”
    “You saw me before I went into the hospital. Do you think I lost weight?”
    “I couldn’t say. A pound or two? Everyone loses weight in the hospital; all the meals are so nutritiously prepared.”
    “The portions are small, too. I was hungry all the time.”
    That explains why she attacked every meal as if it were her first, my inner voice said.
    “I don’t think losing weight is going to be a problem for you,” I said.
    Fifteen lifted a fork filled with waffle and whipped cream to her mouth, paused, and said, “You’re cute.” Which I took as her diplomatic way of saying, “What a jerk.”
    “There’s a man sitting at a table off your left