Jeopardy in January

by Camilla Chafer

  We continued to talk as we drove but after a while, I realized Jason wasn't paying attention.

  "Jason?"

  "Hmm?"

  "You didn't hear a word I said," I admonished him, feeling uncomfortable.

  "I did. I... uh..." Jason grimaced. "You're right, I didn't. Sorry."

  "Is something else on your mind?"

  "No, it's..." Jason frowned and shook his head. "It's probably nothing," he finished with a dissatisfied huff.

  "What is it?"

  "I think we're being followed," he said, and I sensed the disbelief seeping into his voice.

  "Followed? By whom?"

  "I don't know... Don't turn around!" he insisted when I began to look over my shoulder. I quickly pressed the back of my head against the headrest, preventing me from turning it.

  "What makes you think we're being followed?"

  "Check your rearview mirror. There's a black sedan about three cars back. I didn't think anything of it until a few minutes ago."

  "There must be thousands of black sedans."

  "I think they've been trailing us since we left Calendar."

  "It can't be the same car."

  "I think it is. I noticed it a few miles out of town but ignored it since there aren't that many on and off ramps before the diner. I didn't see them come into the parking lot after we did, but I noticed them again when we got back on the highway. They've been three cars behind us ever since."

  "Why would someone be following you?"

  "What makes you think they're following me?"

  "Because! It's your car!" I pointed out, my voice rising.

  "I'm not the only one in it!"

  I thought about that for a little bit. I didn't know Jason nearly well enough to suggest a valid reason for someone to follow him but maybe property developers attracted the wrong sort of crowd. There might have been a good reason to follow me. I discovered Bree's body. I also found her documents right before someone else turned over her apartment while possibly looking for the same thing. Detective Logan pointed out that I probably knew her best. Did they think I knew something? What if they wanted to know what I did next? I gulped. If that were the case, we were leading them directly to the next clue. The only problem? I could hardly tell Jason that!

  "If you're worried," I suggested, trying to keep my tone casual despite the worry that nearly overwhelmed me, "why don't we try to lose them?"

  "That might be a good idea." Jason paused, thinking. "We're almost at the city limits. I'm not going to do anything until we enter the city. I don't think there's any way we can ditch them until then. As soon as we're off the highway, I think I can shake them without looking like we're trying to get rid of them."

  "Sounds good to me."

  He frowned hard. "I must sound paranoid."

  "You just sound worried."

  Jason flashed me a grateful smile. "Thanks for not saying I'm being ridiculous."

  I forced a cheerful smile. "What's the worst that could happen? We have a story to tell now. Remember that time we were chased by a mysterious black sedan?"

  "One for the grandkids?" Jason laughed. "Being chased might be an exaggeration."

  "It's not a story though without a car chase. I should know!"

  "Maybe that could be your next display? Exciting adventures that also feature car chases."

  This time, I smiled for real. "Actually, I like that idea."

  "The off ramp is up ahead. Ready?"

  "Ready," I replied.

  Jason kept the speed at an even pace and we took the exit ramp, gliding towards the city. As we approached the changing lights, he floored the engine and sailed right through. Resisting the urge to turn and look back, I monitored the car from the wing mirror. "They got stuck behind the car in front of them," I told him.

  "Great. Let's put as much distance between us now as we can. You know, it probably really is nothing," he added.

  "Absolutely," I agreed. Before Jason returned his attention to the road, I glimpsed a look of worry that told me he thought it was anything but. Jason really believed someone was following us, and the more I thought about it, the more I had to agree with him. I just wished I knew what they wanted.

  Chapter Eleven

  "Are you sure this is the correct address?"

  The building formerly belonging to Bree, or rather, Brittany Johnson, seemed very similar to the neighboring properties, meaning, it was terribly rundown. Looking neglected and dejected, the old paint on the shop sign was peeling and piles of litter cluttered the adjacent stairwell. The first floor housed a shabby-looking pawn shop, and the signs in the grilled window offered cash on the spot. I guessed they didn't always run the necessary background checks and consequently, some of the goods inside were on the hotter end of the temperature scale. Display cases facing the street showed electrical equipment and jewelry, along with a mixture of curios. I looked over at the building and searched for a number, eventually finding it painted on the wall by the staircase. Yes, it was the right building.

  "This is it," I told him, wondering how the prim Bree that I knew could have lived here. In the daylight, it didn't seem so bad but I could only wonder what the neighborhood might have been like at night. I glanced up at the street lamps nearby. Two had smashed bulbs. Definitely not a good sign.

  "I can wait," Jason offered as two young men with their hoods pulled up over their heads walked past. One flicked the end of a cigarette into the street. They continued further down the street, turning the corner at the crossroads.

  "No, that's fine. I'll be okay," I hoped.

  "Are you sure?" He hesitated, then continued, "I don't mean to be a pain but this isn't the nicest area. If you want me to stick around while you visit your friend, I can postpone my meeting."

  "No, really, I'm fine." I waved him off, acting far more jovial than I felt. "I'm just going to visit for a short time; then I'll call an Uber and run some errands. Where shall I meet you?"

  Jason thought about it, then replied, "Why don't we meet at the public library?"

  That suited me fine since I planned to visit there anyway. "I know where it is."

  "I really don't mind..."

  "Go!" I told him, and this time, I was waving impatiently as I reached for the door and popped the handle. It was sweet of Jason to be so concerned but I really wanted him to leave. The black sedan he spotted had shaken me up. Even though we apparently managed to lose them, I didn't want Jason sticking around. If they were following me, and had even an inkling of where I was going, Jason's SUV would stand out like a lighthouse on the street. It was much better for us both if he left. Plus, I could hardly question the neighbors if he were hanging around and acting like my bodyguard. Jason exuded the kind of professional air that could be off-putting to anyone who did know Bree or that she had something to hide. I, on the other hand, took great care to look as wholesome as possible, dressing in blue jeans, a cream knit sweater and my thick, winter coat.

  "If you need a ride, call me. I'm still not sure about leaving you here. I don't like it." He glanced around, as if he expected a group of thugs to hijack us at any moment. Unfortunately, that thought had already crossed my mind.

  "'Fraid you're going to have to like it," I told him, plastering on a cheerful smile to mask my worries. "See you later!" I pushed the door closed before he could protest, waving as I took off for the stairwell. Tightening my coat around me, I took the first step, and popped my collar up against the frigid wind.

  At the half landing, I turned and waved again. Jason raised his hand in return. I watched him slide the SUV out of the parking space, and a moment later, he was lost from view. I wasn't sure whether to heave a sigh of relief or be worried that I was now completely alone. Turning towards the ascent, I took a deep breath and continued upwards. Only one door led from this floor. I craned my head up and saw another door leading from the stairway on the floor above. An “A” was stenciled in yellow paint on the outside; the hue contrasting unpleasantly with the brown d
oor.

  Sounds from a television came from the inside. I raised my hand and knocked, hoping someone would answer. The license was just a few months old, and Bree arrived in Calendar only three months ago. Since she kept the license, those two things made me sure this had to have been her last address.

  I could hear footsteps inside getting closer and I suddenly realized how foolish it was to assume Bree had a roommate. What did I plan to do if she lived alone? Or if her apartment had already been rented to someone else? Did I plan to pick the lock with absolutely no experience in doing so and break in? I had definitely read one too many mystery novels!

  "Yeah?" said the young woman who answered the door. Despite the cold, she was wearing a black top with one sleeve, a shabby leather vest, and skinny, black jeans. A blast of warm air flowed out the door. I took a closer look at the sleeve, and saw it was actually a full arm tattoo of leopard spots. She gave me a head to toe look that instantly conveyed her annoyance and suspicion.

  "Hi. Does Bree... I mean, Brittany, still live here?" I asked, trying not to stare at the ink as I assumed this woman probably didn't know Bree by the name I knew her.

  "Brittany Johnson?" The woman raised her eyebrows. "She used to. You don't look like you're from the law."

  "I'm not," I hurried to assure her, flashing the palms of my hands in visual surrender. "She hasn't done anything wrong."

  The woman snorted. "Then what do you want?"

  "I'm her cousin," I said, scrambling for a plausible lie. "I was in town and I thought I'd come by for a quick visit. It's been a long time."

  "Well, you're three months too late. Brittany just up and split one day without a word. At least she left me two weeks rent instead of stiffing me for the whole lot." She leaned against the door frame, taking her time to look me over more closely. Her gaze wasn't particularly friendly but not unfriendly either.

  "Oh. Do you possibly know where she went?"

  The woman lifted her inked shoulder and let it drop again. "No, I don't know. Don't care either. I'm glad to see the last of her."

  "I'm sorry to..."

  I stopped as the woman cut me off, apparently eager to unload her annoyance at Bree's sudden departure on me. "I don't want to see anymore of her so-called friends around here neither. Or, as I prefer to call them, creeps. This might not be the best neighborhood, but we don't need to make it any worse." She gave me a very pointed look. I glanced down at my jacket and jeans. I didn't think I looked like a creep but perhaps her definition varied from mine.

  "What do you mean?" I asked.

  "Those guys she runs around with. I think one might have been her boyfriend but he seemed like a real nasty piece of work, if you know what I mean."

  "Uh-huh," I murmured, hoping she would just tell me what she meant exactly.

  "Always wore flashy suits, turning up at all times of the day and night, picking Bree up for some kind of job. I asked her once if he was asking her do anything nasty but she said no. I was kind of worried about her for a while," she finished.

  "Do you know who he is?"

  "She never called him by a name, just his nickname, Tricky."

  "Do you know where Tricky lives?"

  "No, I thought she might have run off with him, but when he came around a week after Bree walked out of here, I told him to never come back or bring his creepy buddy around either."

  "Why was he so creepy?" I wondered.

  "Always staring at me but he hardly ever spoke. Bree said he was okay but he gave me the jitters. I'll bet twenty bucks his mugshot is hanging up in a U.S. Post Office somewhere."

  "That sounds awfully worrying."

  "You said it, sister."

  I pursed my lips, wondering what to make of that information. "Do you know where I could find her family? Her mom, Maybe?"

  A cloud of suspicion reappeared on the woman's face. "I thought you were her cousin?"

  "I am; but like I said, it's been such a long time. I wasn't sure if her mom was still around, or her dad."

  "I don't know anything about her dad, but her mom dumped her in foster care when she was twelve. Brittany said her mom told her she’d gotten too pretty and she didn't want her hanging around her boyfriend. Couldn’t deal with the competition." I pulled a face and leopard woman continued, "I know, right? What a bitch! I think Brittany was lucky. You must know all of that though."

  "Not all, just some of it," I mumbled, hoping she wouldn't ask me to clarify anything. The story was quite different from Bree's scant description of two hard-working parents who strove to give her a happy home and healthy upbringing. Perhaps it was something she created to survive the grim reality of her early years. I couldn't blame her. "I guess Brittany chose not to keep in touch with any members of her family at all."

  "None that I ever met. And Brittany lived here for a whole year."

  "I might inquire at the last place where she worked. I think she said it was a bookshop. Do you have the address by any chance?"

  Leopard woman shook her head. "Brittany never said anything about a bookshop! No, she kept some real strange hours. I think she worked for Tricky. And I'm damned if I’ll ever ask what kinda weird shit he was into! I sincerely doubt it was legal and that's more than I want to know. I don't recommend that you find out either. Listen, I gotta go, but if you catch up to Brittany, you can give her this." Leopard woman stooped down and grabbed a large box from behind the door, which she thrust into my arms. "I was going to give it to Goodwill but since you're related and all, maybe you can meet up with her somewhere and pass it along."

  "Oh, I don't..." I started to say as she released the weight of the box into my arms.

  "And tell Brittany not to bother coming back! I already rented her room to someone more reliable without any creepo pals." With that, she pushed the door shut, leaving me to stare at the brown wood with the yellow stencil, then down at the box.

  There was no way I could take the box with me. It was far too heavy and cumbersome, and Bree no longer needed anything inside it. Never mind the potential issue of Jason asking me what was in it. I couldn't take it with me but I could sure look through it.

  Stepping away from the door, I set it down on the stairwell floor. I opened the flaps, peering inside. There were a few dog-eared paperbacks and some cheap trinkets. A scarf, a single glove, and some unmatched mugs. I poked around further and withdrew a notepad with sheets of newspaper fluttering between the leaves. As I lifted it out a photo slipped from it, landing on the floor. I reached for it, frowning at the obvious tear line. Bree looked much younger in the photo. Her hair was longer and she was smiling. An arm hung casually around her shoulders, obviously not hers, but the rest of the man was missing. Something was written on his lower arm. No, not written. I squinted more closely at it. It was a very good tattoo of a scorpion, inked on the topside of his wrist, and the tail curling under. The scorpion held a diamond between its pincers.

  If Bree had ripped the photo in half, she clearly didn't want to be reminded of him. That made me wonder if the man could possibly be the creepy Tricky or someone else.

  Keeping the photo in hand, I opened the notepad. Most of the pages had indecipherable scribbling and doodles but what I glimpsed between the leaves attracted my attention.

  Bree had clipped several articles from national newspapers. The New York Post clipping was a short piece about a heist from a jewelry store, which said the thieves made off with two hundred thousand dollars in jewels. The story in The Washington Post featured a suspected group of thieves who used a distraction technique to walk out with fifty thousand dollars in watches. The Connecticut Mirror described a smash-and-grab worth sixty-two thousand dollars, while the Atlantic City Weekly covered a gang known for forging and cashing in chips around town.

  There were sixteen clippings, every one describing unsolved thefts.

  I shuffled them around and put them in order by date, noting that the smaller robberies were the oldest, while the newer ones had the highest values. The most recent oc
curred a little over three months ago. It involved a two million-dollar haul of gems, cut and uncut rubies, emeralds, and diamonds.

  Why would Bree want to keep all of these articles?

  I searched through the box but found nothing else of interest so I stuffed the articles and photo into my pocket.

  Downstairs was the pawn shop. If Bree needed money to leave town fast, perhaps she'd have gone to someplace like that, where few questions would be asked to get it. I left the box on the stairwell and hurried downstairs to the pawn shop. A bell jangled as the door opened and a bearded man sitting by the register looked up. He blinked at me, then looked back down at the newspaper on the glass counter.

  I took a few minutes to examine the dusty shelves, spotting instruments, electronics, and other things people didn’t need as much as they needed cash. As I browsed slowly, I got the impression that I was being watched.

  "You looking for something in particular?" asked the man after a couple of minutes.

  "I'm not sure," I said, crossing the store and passing a fairly decent bicycle and some old pieces of furniture. There was nothing, however, that I could identify as Bree's. "My friend, Bree... uh, Brittany, used to live upstairs and I thought she might have sold something here."

  "Brittany?" He frowned. "Dark-haired gal? Haven't seen her in a while. Think she moved out."

  "That's right," I agreed. "About three months ago. Did she pawn anything around that time?"

  "Nope," he said. "Don't think she never had nothing to pawn."

  I resisted the urge to correct his grammar, asking instead, "What about her boyfriend?"

  "What are you? A cop?" He laughed at his own suggestion.

  "No, just her cousin. I've been looking for her."

  His face softened. "So was the boyfriend. Came in mad as hell, asking lotsa questions about her. Don't think she told him she went."

  "No, I don't think she did."

  "Good thing too," he said with a grunt, his face hard again.