She could call, record, and snap a small photo if necessary at the touch of a button.
She had memorized Julian Marcus’s home address and his face from the company’s website. He lived in the Plimsoll Building, so she headed in the direction of King’s Cross, the newest up-and-coming area of London. They had even gotten their own postcode—N1C. It was a bustling neighborhood, so it would be easy enough for her to blend in.
Eileen propped a leg on the curb and pretended to adjust her running shoes. She glanced at her watch and saw that it was seven o’clock. She wondered what time Marcus got up and left the building and how long she would have to remain in that pose before she looked like one of those street artists or mimes. Maybe if I put a tin cup by my feet, I’ll collect a few donations. She giggled at the thought.
The main entrance door opened, and several men wearing raincoats and carrying umbrellas came out. She glanced in their direction. No. Not yet. She was changing her pose to stretch her hamstrings when the door opened again. There he was. Shorter than she had expected, with a roundish face, pink cheeks, and thinning brownish hair. He looked a little rumpled. Almost as if he had not gotten a good night’s sleep. Yes, she thought, Photoshop can make anyone look good. She was surprised that for someone in the “ageless beauty/longevity” business, he would leave the house looking like he had slept in his clothes. Maybe he would shower somewhere in the office.
She maintained a distance of half a block between them. At one point he stopped at a coffee bar and ordered tea, bought a newspaper, and then he continued his short walk to the office. She wondered if she should go back to the apartment building and check on the wife but quickly dismissed the thought. As of now, Marcus was the target. She would wait for further instructions as to whether Mrs. Marcus was also a person of interest.
Once Marcus entered the office, Eileen strolled over to a café and ordered a double espresso. She feigned a Brooklyn accent. “Gimme a double espresso with a shot o’ milk.”
The barista politely asked, “Do you prefer a cappuccino?”
“Nah. Just the double and a shot. Thanks.” Eileen enjoyed using different dialects. This way, if anyone should inquire about her, they would have the accent wrong. Not that it ever happened, but it was always best to use extreme caution on a stakeout.
She observed two women in their sixties entering the opulent office of Live-Life-Long and clicked her second watch to mark the time the ladies began their appointment. An hour later, they exited with very posh-looking shopping bags. In order to glimpse what was inside the bags, Eileen would have to fake a stumble in front of them. Being careful not to knock them over, with skill and agility, Eileen took a pratfall in front of them, landing on her ass. Both women gulped in shock and then dropped their bags to help her.
“Are you all right, love?” cooed the taller of the two.
“Should we call a medic?” the other added.
“No, no. I’m aw right.” Eileen answered, as if she had just gotten off the N train from Coney Island. “This is so embarrassin’. I’m soo sorry.” She brushed herself off but continued to sit on the sidewalk so she could get a good peek in the bags. As the women reached down to help her up off the ground, she noticed beautifully packaged boxes with nothing written on them. Time for small talk.
“I feel ridiculous. Such a klutz. I hope I didn’t cause you to break anything.” She peered into the bags.
“Oh, not at all. Just some special vitamins to keep us young!” The taller woman giggled with delight.
The shorter of the two gave the taller one a sideways embarrassed look.
“Oh, don’t mind her. I keep telling Gladys that if the opportunity is there to feel more youthful, then why not?” said the taller woman.
Gladys chimed in. “Yeah, but it’s very expensive, and I’m not feeling any different, Lydia.”
“Gladys and Lydia. I’m Dorothy. Guess I ain’t in Kansas anymore. Not like I ever been.” Eileen cackled, trying to keep the conversation going.
“Good heavens, no, you are not. Are you sure you’re all right? Can we get you some tea? Water?” Lydia offered.
“Tea? Like, seriously?” Eileen kept up the accent.
“Of course, dear. There is a place right across the square.