by Edwin Dasso
Tori figured the accident had to have been on the local news and in the newspaper. She’d probably heard about it, but brushed it off, not thinking someone she knew was involved. She decided to search the web for the accident as soon as she got home. “Do you know Keith Dreyer well?”
“Yes. Ashley and Keith have been engaged for almost a year. No date had been set.”
“Engaged? Ashley never mentioned that to me and I’ve never noticed her wearing an engagement ring.”
Ashley’s mother sighed. “She doesn’t wear it very often. Maybe she’s the reason they’re not rushing to the altar.”
“Do you have any idea who might pretend to be Keith?”
“No.” Ashley’s mother gripped Tori’s arm. “Take a picture of the imposter and go to the police. Keith has significant resources. The guy is probably someone he knows.”
Brother snapped into Tori’s head. Maybe the Keith she’s been dating is actually his brother, and the neighbor was checking on Keith. “What about his brother? Could it be him?”
“Keith’s only brother is a diplomat. He lives in France with his family.”
“How about Keith’s house? Who’s taking care of that?”
“He has a sophisticated alarm system. In addition to that, a service does bi-weekly walkthroughs and cleans the place periodically. No one is living there. I don’t know how his finances are being handled.”
“I’m sorry I told Ashley that Keith was okay, but I thought that was the truth. What can I say if she asks about him again?”
“Go along with what I told her, and give the Keith you mentioned another last name.”
“Is Keith Dreyer in this hospital?”
“Yes, but only family can visit him. His mother keeps me informed about his condition. You go see Ashley now. I’m going to the café.” With a half-smile, she said, “I didn’t have my two cups of coffee this morning. Oh, Ashley will want to know what we were talking about. Her birthday is next Wednesday. Tell her I invited you to a secret birthday party.”
“What time?”
“Six-thirty. It has to be kept to visiting hours. Ashley felt bad when you divorced. She likes your ex-husband. Do you ever speak to him?”
“Yes. Almost every day.”
“Any chance you can talk him into coming with you?”
“He’s not in the States. He’s designing a house in England.”
“You can also tell her that I was nosy about your divorce. She’ll believe that.”
“I can expand on those things.”
Tori went into Ashley’s room and took the chair Mrs. Williams had vacated earlier. “How are you feeling?”
“Good,” she mouthed and then scribbled on her notepad and handed it to Tori.
The note read: “What did Mom tell you about me. Am I getting worse?”
“No.” Tori smiled and leaned closer to Ashley. “Your mom invited me to your birthday party, but it’s supposed to be a surprise, so you can’t tell her I spoiled it.”
A big smile flashed on Ashley’s face, “Okay,” she mouthed, picked up her notepad and scrawled, “When will it be?”
Tori shook her head. “Not telling. I want you to look surprised.”
Ashley wrote again. “You said Keith was okay. What’s Keith’s last name?”
“Morris. I met him at your party.”
Ashley scribbled, “Don’t know a Keith Morris. He must have come with someone. Do you know Keith Dreyer?”
Tori shook her head.
“He was my fiancé,” Ashley wrote. “He might’ve been in the accident with me. Mom won’t tell me. Can you find out?”
Tori squinted. “Was your fiancé?”
Ashley nodded, pointed to her empty ring finger, and scribbled, “Maybe he’s still mad about my breaking it off and that’s why he isn’t coming to see me.”
Wondering why Ashley’s mother didn’t know the engagement was off, it dawned on Tori that Ashley might think she wasn’t engaged anymore because she didn’t have a ring. Her mother had mentioned Ashley seldom wore it. Without seeing any ring and her mother not talking about Keith, Ashley remembered she had been engaged to him. Maybe she is thinking clearly. And today she’s writing in coherent sentences.
“Did Mom say anything else to you?”
“Yeah, she asked about my divorce.”
Shaking her head, Ashley wrote, “She’s so nosy. Do you and Brandon see each other?”
“We talk often. He’s working on a job in England.”
Loud voices drifted into the room.
Tori turned and saw Mrs. Williams talking to a good-looking man in a white lab coat. She assumed he was one of Ashley’s doctors. “Looks like your doctor is coming to see you.”
Ashley quickly scribbled on her notepad: “He comes and sees me several times a day. Mom thinks he has a crush on me.”
“Probably does,” Tori said, looking at Ashley’s pretty face.
The doctor walked into the room.
Ashley tore that note into pieces and handed them to Tori.
“Ashley, are you telling secrets?” the doctor said, gazing at the pieces of paper in Tori’s hand.
With a smirk, Ashley shook her head.
“Since your doctor is here, I better get going.” Tori stood up. “See you in a few days, Ashley.”
Ashley waved as Tori left.
Tori felt good that Ashley’s condition and spirit seemed to have improved significantly from her prior visit. Has her handsome doctor played a role in that?
The minute Tori stepped into Brandon’s apartment, she set up her laptop and searched for Ashley’s accident. It didn’t take her long to find the newspaper article. The accident happened the evening of Ashley’s party, the party where she met the imposter going by the name Keith Dreyer.
It occurred on a two-lane curvy road. According to three eyewitnesses, a white Ford truck hit the side of Keith Dreyer’s Mercedes as it drove by, sending the Mercedes over a guardrail. The Mercedes had rolled down a steep cliff. Emergency personnel had to be helicoptered to the mangled vehicle to reach the victims. The witnesses were traveling in the opposite direction and the driver had to swerve off the road to prevent being struck by the truck. The truck never slowed down. Instead, it picked up speed and peeled away. Two of the witnesses claimed the truck didn’t have a license plate. The third witness wasn’t sure the plate was missing, but did notice a green emblem on the tail gate and caught the letters ‘M’ and ‘R’ on it.
From what she read, Tori doubted that crash had been an accident. She sensed the phony Keith either was responsible for it or knew who was. She planned to follow Ashley’s mother’s suggestion to take a picture of the imposter and go to the police.
Since she’d told the imposter that she had seen Ashley and Ashley had asked about him, Tori suddenly worried that she might’ve put Ashley in danger. The phony Keith might’ve thought that Ashley had sustained such serious injuries she wouldn’t be capable of speaking to anyone about anything. The fake Keith probably called the hospital often, pretending to be a relative, to verify the real Keith Dreyer remained in a coma.
Tori didn’t want the imposter to be concerned about Ashley’s potential recollections and called him.
The minute the phony Keith answered his cell, he asked, “Have you decided to go with me to the cabin?”
“I can’t check the gallery calendar until Monday. Did I by any chance leave a neck scarf at your place?”
“If you did, I haven’t run across it yet.”
“I didn’t realize it wasn’t in my car until I went to grab it before going into the hospital to see Ashley.”
“How…How’s she doing?”
“Terrible. She looks so pale. Today she couldn’t even write a note. I doubt she recognized me. Her mom fears she’ll never get better. I’m hoping her condition improves, but it doesn’t look promising. Poor Ashley.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” the imposter said with a slight upbeat note in his tone. “I have a busines
s meeting close to where you work tomorrow. A new Italian restaurant is near there. Would you care to have a late lunch with me?”
“I walked past that restaurant last week. I’ve been wanting to try it. Should I meet you there or at the gallery?”
“At the restaurant. Two o’clock?”
“See you then. Bye, Keith.”
Tori leaned back in the couch, feeling pleased that the call turned out better than she’d expected. After playing down Ashley’s condition, she had planned to ask him to go to lunch, but wasn’t sure how to approach it without giving him the impression she was anxious to see him. That hurdle had been smoothly resolved when he asked her. Tomorrow will be picture time.
11
Tori had just turned off the nightstand lamp when her newly installed bell above the apartment door rang. Fear shot through her body. The unwelcome intruder was back. She reached for her cell phone. It wasn’t on the nightstand. Recalling she’d left it on the bathroom counter, Tori bit her bottom lip, climbed out of bed, tiptoed to the hallway door, and pressed her ear against it. Not hearing any sound of movement, she switched on the bedroom light and hoped that the light shining under the door would scare off the intruder. Her hands shook as she cautiously opened the door, peered out, and charged to the bathroom across the hall, slamming the door shut and locking it behind her.
She snatched her cell phone from the counter, nervously thumbed through her contacts for the front desk. Prepared to click on the number, Tori suddenly stopped herself. The security guard had checked the apartment next door after she alerted Jerry to someone entering it. The guard found no one inside. If the guard charged into Brandon’s apartment and again found no one, he might not be so quick if she sent up another alarm. Shaking as she held her cell phone, she pressed her ear against the bathroom door and listened intently. Except for the humming of the fridge, she again didn’t hear any other sounds.
Quietly, she unlocked the door, inched it open, and glanced up and down the dimly lit hallway. She wrapped her arm around the door jamb and turned on the hall light. Tori slid into her robe, dropped her cell phone in its pocket and grabbed the plunger next to the toilet. With both hands clutching the plunger’s handle, she made her way to the front room. She released one hand from the plunger to turn on several lights. Her eyes swept around that room and the kitchen. Prepared to strike a potential intruder, Tori raised up the plunger as she opened the pantry door and sighed when a stranger wasn’t on the other side of it.
Tori edged through the apartment, searching every place a person might hide. Confident that the intruder had left, Tori looked at the alarm system. The red light still glowed. She checked for the time it had been armed—10:36 p.m.—the time she armed it before going to bed. Staring at the panel, Tori guessed the intruder had somehow managed to bypass the whole system. So much for Brandon’s extra secure apartment.
She glanced at her bell. At least that’s properly functioning. Tori grabbed a dining room chair and secured the back of it under the doorknob. She put the plunger back into the guest bathroom, turning off lights on the way.
Lying in bed, she decided it was too dangerous and nerve wracking to stay in Brandon’s apartment. Tori came to the conclusion she’d be safer at her house even if all the work wasn’t completed. She made a mental note to call the contractor to get the exact date all the work on the second floor would be finished and the plumbing functioning.
After a fitful night of attempted sleep, her alarm clocked buzzed, Tori opened her eyes and fumbled to turn it off. Yawning from sleep deprivation, she swung the covers back and touched something that pricked her finger. Her eyes moved to the other side of the bed and then she saw it—a black rose. Panic hit, sending waves through her limbs. She couldn’t prevent a scream from escaping, then ran to her bathroom and vomited. Her limp body plopped onto the bath rug as she attempted to form a cogent thought inside her woozy head. Had I missed finding the intruder when I searched the apartment? Or, besides bypassing the alarm system, had he or she also found a way to prevent my bell from ringing? But what about the chair?
The message left by a man with a gravelly voice on her phone at the gallery popped into her head— “Like watching you sleep.” When she heard it, she didn’t believe that possibility existed and had assumed it was Fackrell’s way of rattling her so Brandon would come home. How often had a stranger watched me sleep? A chill ran up her spine as another wave of nausea struck. I can’t stay here another night. After the prior night’s break-in, she had already planned to move back to her house when the upstairs was habitable. If she had to wait a day or two for her house, she intended to stay at a hotel. How can I explain that to Brandon without alarming him?
Sleep deprived and scared witless, Tori dressed for work while contemplating whether or not to report the intruder to the front desk. With sections of the surveillance camera’s recordings erased twice, it seemed pointless. Also, Charlie would be on duty. Since Brandon hadn’t discussed the surveillance camera problems with her, she knew Charlie hadn’t reported them to Brandon, but she doubted Charlie would let another one slip by without calling him.
12
Tori ignored her tingling skin and the heavy feeling in her stomach as she walked into work, hoping not to draw any attention from her coworkers. After closing her office door, she quickly called the contractor to find out when she could move back into her house. Earlier, he had told her the upstairs would be ready that week, but never gave her a specific day.
“It’s going to take us two or three weeks to finish the main floor,” the contractor said. “The upstairs should be ready tomorrow. Mrs. Burgess, are you sure you want to move back in before the investigation has been concluded?”
She squinted. Had Brandon told him about Fackrell? “What investigation?”
The line went silent for a minute and then he cleared his throat. “About the pipes,” he said hesitantly. “Maybe you should talk to Mr. Burgess about it.”
“I will, but I don’t plan to wait for the entire house to be finished before I move back in.” Taking the cost of repairing Brandon’s car into consideration, she only had enough credit left on her card to stay in a hotel for a few nights. “See you tomorrow.” Clicking off, she wondered if Brandon planned to sue either the contractor who had built the house or the plumber responsible for the pipes. The house was only eight years old when numerous pipe connectors failed. But why hasn’t he mentioned suing someone to me?
Tori tapped on Brandon’s number. It went immediately to voicemail. She left a message for him to call her.
Next, she called the investigation company where Trent Rice worked.
A woman with a pleasant voice answered. “Hillcrest Investigators. May I help you?”
“Yes. I’d like to speak to Trent Rice.”
“Can I tell him who’s calling?”
“Tori Burgess.”
“Let me get him.”
Within a minute, a husky voice said, “This is Trent Rice. How can I help you, Ms. Burgess?”
Not recognizing the voice, Tori said, “I’m afraid I must have called the wrong Trent Rice. Do you know another Trent Rice who is an investigator?”
“No. I’m the only one in the Boston area.”
“Well, a man called me and my ex-husband claiming to be an investigator by the name of Trent Rice.”
“That concerns me. Can you describe him?”
“No. I’ve only spoken to him on the phone. The cell number he gave me has been disconnected. I searched the web and ran across you and assumed you were the investigator who had contacted me.” Wondering why the Rice she had spoken to would’ve used that name, Tori went on. “Tell me, by any chance do you have an ongoing investigation involving a man with the last name of Fackrell?”
“Fackrell? I can’t say anything without the consent of my client.”
“Someone seems to be stalking me and any information you could give me, anything at all, Mr. Rice, would be greatly appreciated. Is it possible for you
to get your client’s consent?”
“Let me see what I can do.” He took her phone number and ended the call.
Tori thought about the imposters who had entered her life and suspected the phony Keith Dreyer and the phony Trent Rice were somehow connected. The voice changer she had seen at Keith’s house flashed into her head. Are the two imposters the same person? And could he be associated with Fackrell or is he actually Fackrell? Tori intended to make a beeline to the police station after her lunch date with the Keith imposter, assuming she had managed to snap at least one picture of him. Maybe I’ll get some answers there.
Shortly before noon, the man who had gone by the name of Keith Dreyer called her.
“Hi, Keith,” she answered, feigning an upbeat tone.
“Hello, Tori. My meeting today has been moved up. Will you be available to go to lunch at one instead of two?”
“Yes, that works for me.”
“I have a call coming through.” He hung up before she could say another word.
Tori stared at her cell and said out loud, “Goodbye, Mr. Phony Dreyer. See you soon.” An earlier lunch gave her extra time to stop by the hospital before going to the police. It would be outside Ashley’s designated visiting hours, but Tori hoped the nurse on duty would still let her have a short visit. If Ashley could identify the imposter, Tori would have more information to provide to the police and that should help speed up his capture.
Two hours later, she stepped out of the gallery to head to the restaurant and almost bumped into the doorman Jerry who was walking toward the entrance.
“Hello, Mrs. Burgess,” he said in a formal tone.
“Hello, Jerry. Are you looking for a painting?”
“Just here to admire them.”
“There’s always great artwork on display at the Seashore Gallery. Enjoy.” Tori proceeded along the sidewalk, wondering if it was a coincidence Jerry had decided to look at paintings at her place of employment or if there was more to his visit.
