The Second Mouse by Archer Mayor

shoved it into a hamper, replacing it with a lab coat that she wore over her scrubs as a semipermanent uniform.
    She headed for the main door. “Let me park you in my office while I change. I’d just as soon not have this conversation here.”
    He followed her quietly down the corridor, past Suzanne’s now empty enclave and to the back, where she kept a small corner office. He’d been here before, too, and was always struck by how it invoked the work of a very good if self-effacing interior decorator. Even the papers on the desk looked positioned for a photo shoot. During less charitable moments, he’d entertained the notion that the photographs on the shelf behind her chair weren’t actually her kids but some family cut out of the pages of a magazine.
    Hillstrom motioned him to one of her visitor chairs. “Have a seat, Joe. I’ll be right back.”
    He froze for a split second, as startled as if she had screamed at him. In all the years they’d known each other, she had never—not once—referred to him by his first name.
    “Take your time,” he muttered, nonplussed, and settled down to wait, surveying the room as he did. The art was tasteful, muted, and neutrally appealing, the framed awards and degrees plentiful and impressive, the plants in perfect health. The pictures of the kids he recognized from years ago—two striking blue-eyed blondes like their mother, but both probably in college by now. He’d always wondered what their father looked like. He had heard he was a high-priced Burlington corporate lawyer. There was no picture of him.
    He turned at the sound of the door opening quietly and did his best to hide his surprise once more. Hillstrom had changed from her green scrubs into a light, flowered spring dress, buttoned down the front, nipped in at the waist, and free-flowing below. It had short sleeves and a V-neck that revealed a beaded necklace and an attractive cleavage. Her legs were bare, she wore low-heeled sandals, and she’d loosened her long hair so that it hung about her shoulders. She was stunning.
    She laughed at his expression. “Like seeing your teacher out of school?”
    He rose, smiling broadly. No teacher I ever had, he thought to himself. She looked beautiful.
    She blushed slightly at his obvious if silent appreciation and turned back toward the hallway. “Let’s get out of here. Where are you parked?”
    “I wish I knew,” he said, following her lead, still adjusting to the view before him. “I think it was level three.”
    She glanced back at him. “That’s where I am. Let’s go in separate cars. We can eat at a steak house I’ve tried just down the street. It’ll be virtually deserted this time of night.”
    They followed her suggestion, plunging into the building’s entrails until emerging from the underground parking lot’s embrace ten minutes later like escapees from a penal colony.
    She led him to a bland if well-appointed motel on the other side of the nearby interstate, where the first floor was dominated by a combination bar and restaurant. As she’d predicted, the place was nearly empty. They got a booth along the back wall.
    He waited until the waiter had taken their drink order before finally asking, “What’s going on?”
    Hillstrom leaned back against the fake leather cushion and passed her hand across her forehead wearily. “Before I begin,” she said, “I’d like you to know how grateful I am you’re here. I never would have asked, but after we spoke, and despite my treating you so poorly, I did hope you’d come. That you did confirms what I’ve always thought of you.” She suddenly stretched out her hand and laid it briefly on his. “I consider you one of the most decent human beings I’ve ever known.”
    He thought to take up her fingers in his own, but she’d already withdrawn her hand. Instead, he watched her for a moment, astonished at how her troubles had transformed her. “Beverly, I didn’t have to think twice about it. The respect