Treadmill by Warren Adler

be. Didn’t say…. Hey, what’s your name? ‘Case I see him or something?”
    But Cooper was already gone.

10

10

    He let himself through the door of building twenty, walked up the one flight and pressed the doorbell to apartment 2A. No answer. He waited, and then held his finger on the button again. He heard the long buzz, clearly audible. If Parrish was inside he could not miss hearing it.
    At that moment, he heard the door of the building open. Stepping into the shadows, he watched from above a woman enter and put her key in one of the mailboxes. She took out the mail, and suddenly started walking up the stairs. There was nowhere to run, and as she reached the landing, he stepped forward.
    Startled, she dropped the mail on the tiled floor. Cooper bent to pick it up.
    “I’m sorry,” Cooper said, rising and handing her the mail. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
    “Well you did,” the woman said. She was around thirty with round dark framed glasses over bright green eyes. The glasses were perched over a straight, narrow nose between high cheekbones. Blonde hair came down to her shoulders. She was attractive in a rugged, outdoorsy way.
    “I was looking for Mike Parrish,” Cooper said.
    “Good luck,” she replied with a touch of attitude.
    She turned away and inserted her key in the door of the apartment directly across the hall from Parrish. 2B, Cooper noted.
    “No one answers?” Cooper volunteered, offering a smile, to further put the woman at ease.
    “He comes and goes.” She looked at her watch. “Not that I keep tabs on him,” she added swiftly.
    “He’s a freelance artist,” Cooper said in an attempt to explain his presence.
    “You a friend of his?” the woman asked, eyeing him curiously, and ignoring his comment.
    “In a manner of speaking,” Cooper said. “We work out together.”
    When she did not respond, he added, “Bethesda Health Club.”
    “Do you?” It was obviously a kind of rhetorical question. She turned the key in the door and opened it.
    “I still work out there,” Cooper said, hoping that she would continue the conversation. “Parrish hasn’t shown up there for awhile.”
    “He hasn’t?” The woman showed mild interest and remained standing in the doorway.
    “Did you know he gave notice? He’s moving out.”
    “Is he?” the woman said. “But that’s no surprise. This is a pretty transient community here.” She paused. “How do you know?” Her interest was piqued.
    “The man in the office.” Cooper could not evade exposing that he was searching for Parrish. “I stopped by. I couldn’t reach him by phone.”
    “He is rather reclusive. He isn’t much of a talker,” the woman replied, with an edge of irritation in her voice.
    “Are you friends?” Cooper asked, hoping that the woman wouldn’t rebel at the question.
    “You sound like some sort of an investigator,” the woman said, looking at him suspiciously. “Is he in some kind of trouble?”
    “No. No trouble….” Cooper stammered, knowing his response was hardly reassuring.
    His own confusion embarrassed him into an awkward silence. The woman’s eyes studied him behind the round frames of her glasses. She seemed wary, uncertain of how to assess him.
    “Does he owe you money?” the woman asked, her head cocked in curiosity.
    “Nothing like that.”
    “Good,” she said with relief.
    “I thought maybe he was sick or something.” Cooper cleared his throat. “His absence from the club was kind of sudden.”
    “I’m sure he’d be flattered by your interest,” she said. He reviewed her implication in his mind.
    “I wouldn’t call it interest. Not exactly.”
    “It’s really none of my business,” she said.
    “Concern, I suppose. Yes. That’s it. Concern. You know how it is. We worked out together for…hell…over five months.”
    “Concern? Do you have any reason to be worried about him?”
    “Not really.” Cooper shrugged, realizing how odd he must sound.
    “Gut feeling?