I jogged over to Chapel, glanced up the street, saw the cruiser, but couldn’t see Riley inside. I started down the sidewalk and jaywalked. I’d have to catch the bus on this side of the street.
I spotted a bus-stop sign and hovered beneath it, my back to the direction the bus would come from because I couldn’t risk Riley spotting me. I glanced at my watch, wishing a schedule were posted on the sign—I had seen that on bus-stop signs around the Green. Wouldn’t you know they’d make it tough if you were out of the loop, so to speak?
I shimmied around a tree with a trunk so thin it wasn’t a satisfactory shield, but it would have to do. I didn’t want to walk farther; it was too damn hot.
I thought about whoever had been watching me, taking those pictures. If it wasn’t Ralph, was I being watched right now? I reached inside my bag and curled my fingers around my keys. They were the closest to a weapon I had. I should’ve put a kitchen knife in my purse, but with my luck it would’ve stuck out the side and stabbed me or some other unsuspecting person on the bus.
Speaking of which, I finally heard a rumbling behind me. The hulking blue monster stopped, the doors opening for me. Go figure. Public transportation.
I’d slung my bag over my shoulder and pulled out my wallet as I stepped up into the bus. My nose caught the scent of body odor and diesel fuel. I had a dollar bill in my hand, uncertain what to do with it.
The bus driver frowned, pointed at a silver box. "It’s a dollar twenty-five," he said. "Exact."
I slid the bill into the machine and found a quarter and dropped it into a slot.
"What bus do I take to Southern?" I asked.
The bus driver looked at me with that look you give people you think are total losers. "The B1. You’ll need a transfer." A ticket popped up out of the silver box and he indicated I should take it, so I did. "You get off at the Green and then pick up the B1 there."
He pulled away from the curb, causing me to lose my balance a little, but I grabbed on to the railing next to him and surveyed the bus for a seat.
I was the only white person. Not that anyone was really paying attention except me.
I slid onto the first seat I saw and glanced around me, careful not to look at anyone too long, but long enough to notice the three kids in the back of the bus whose excessive use of the word "fuck" might have been a little too much even for me; a gray-haired, stout woman with a faux-leather bag who was trying to ignore the kids in the back; and a scruffy guy with googly eyes and dread-locks who creeped me out for no reason except I was pretty sure he was crazy.
We were at the Green in no time. I clutched my transfer ticket and got off, wondering how long I’d have to wait for that B1 bus. A B2 came by, but I didn’t think that would be right. The driver had been careful to say B1.
I had to wait but a few minutes, however. The B1 slid to a stop, its sign announcing that it was, indeed, heading to Southern. I stepped up through the door, put my transfer ticket into the little slot, and found a seat, feeling quite proud of myself.
Not that I was going to be taking the bus ever again, but at least I knew how it worked now.
I barely had time to sit down when I heard my cell phone ringing in the bottom of my bag. I dug it out and glanced at the number before flipping it up.
"Hey there," I said.
"Where the hell are you?" Vinny was pissed.
"I’m on the bus." I had to talk loud because I could barely hear myself over the engine. A few heads turned and looked at me. I pretended not to notice.
"The bus?"
"You have to speak up. I can’t hear shit." The last word got me a dirty look from the elderly woman who’d followed me off the Chapel Street bus and onto this one. I looked at the floor. "I’m headed to Southern."
"Why are you on the bus?" Vinny shouted.
I held the phone away from my ear a little and figured everyone would be privy to my conversation, so I should be somewhat discreet. "I couldn’t take my car because of the cop in front of my building."
He was quiet a second, then, "I’m not even going to ask. So how did you get to the bus?"
"Snuck down the fire escape."
Silence again. I thought I lost him. "Hello?"
"Yeah, I’m here. You’re fucking crazy, you know."
"You’re not the first one to tell me that."
"You’re going to meet that kid?"
I’d left him a pretty detailed message, telling him about Jamond’s claim about Felicia.
"Yeah. He says he saw Felicia up at Judges Cave. He said she was dead."
"How are you going to get up there if you don’t have your car? It’s quite a hike from the campus."
I really hadn’t thought this through. But I had an idea. "You could meet us there, and we could all go together." Sounded like a party to me.
"I . . . st . . . you."
"What? You’re breaking up."
And then I really did lose the connection.
Chapter 36
Vinny’s words resonated as the bus jostled me around in the incredibly uncomfortable seat. There was a spot of something brown on the seat next to me, so I tried not to shift too much. We stopped every now and then, people getting on, people getting off, and while it wasn’t my scene, the air-conditioning was pleasant, no one made eye contact, and I didn’t have to think about driving. Someone else was doing that.
But what would I do when I got to Southern? I hoped Vinny had heard me before we were disconnected and would be there to meet me. Otherwise Jamond and I would have a long walk.
I tried Tom again and again got voice mail. I hoped he was checking messages and sent someone up to West Rock.
I thought about the Judges Cave, the landmark where two judges, Edward Whalley and his son-in-law William Goffe, who’d signed the death warrant for England’s King Charles I, hid out after fleeing persecution by Charles II. Two major city streets were named after the judges, and the cave, which sports a nice little plaque commemorating its historical value, was a common destination for school field trips and hikes.
Personally, I wouldn’t let a kid go up there. I’d written enough stories about the prostitution and drug deals going on at the West Rock summit that it wasn’t exactly on my 1,000 Places to Go Before I Die list.
I stared out the window. We were moving at a pretty good clip up Whalley Avenue—yes, that Whalley—and I realized we were going through Westville, my mother’s neighborhood. She had a car.
Okay, she might not like it if I took the Mercedes up to West Rock, but did she really need to know where I was going with it?
I pulled the yellow cord, which made a ding sound, and the STOP REQUESTED sign lit up.
When I stepped out of the bus, the heat held me in a bear hug and I was sorry I’d dissed the mass-transit system. Maybe I should have stayed and gone to Southern, but it was too late now. I was only a few blocks from my childhood home. As I walked, I tried to concoct a realistic story as to why I was visiting on foot and why I needed to borrow the car.
Oh, hell, she wasn’t going to believe me.
I stopped on the sidewalk, sighing, wondering what I was doing, and wishing I’d taken one of those schedules from the front of the bus. Maybe another bus would be along at some point.
As I stood there, alone, I suddenly felt like I was being watched. The bus adventure had been just that—an adventure—and I hadn’t had time to think about my mysterious caller or those photographs. But now I was in a deserted neighborhood. I saw no people. Not even a moving car. I couldn’t shake the feeling. I willed my feet to start walking again, now with a wider stride, toward my mother’s house, and reached into my bag for my phone.
I turned the corner to see a car idling just ahead. It was a Porsche. A red Boxster. Not totally unusual in this neighborhood, but what was unusual was that it wasn’t in someone’s driveway covered with a tarp to keep the birds from shitting on it.
I didn’t move as the engine died and the door swung open.
Jack Hammer ste
pped out into the street.
I caught my breath and willed my feet to move faster. I had to walk past him to get to my mother’s. I had no choice.
"Annie, I have to talk to you," he said as I approached.
He didn’t seem to notice I didn’t slow down, ready to go into a jog or even run if I had to. My mouth was too dry to say anything. I sent out telepathic messages for some cars to drive by.
No such luck. The streets were abandoned. Everyone was inside, basking in central air.
He fell into step beside me, and I found my voice. "What the hell are you doing here?"
A smile slid across his face, his eyes twinkling. "How did you get away from that cop?"
My chest constricted, and my face must have changed, because he laughed. Really laughed.
"Oh, shit, I was on my way to see you, I saw that cop out front, and then when I turned back down Chapel, I saw you get on the bus. Figured I’d find out where you were going."
"I’m going to my mother’s," I tried to say casually, although my throat felt like I’d swallowed a spoonful of sand. "She lives up the block."
"You couldn’t tell the cop that and just take your car?"
"Maybe all that global-warming shit made me realize that I could take the bus to my mother’s and save on gas and help the environment," I spit out, shocked that I could even form a coherent sentence.
Jack’s mouth twitched. "Come on, Annie, you were making an escape. Don’t bullshit a bullshitter."
"I really am going to my mother’s," I insisted.
"Then let me take you the rest of the way." He indicated the Porsche.
Yeah, right. I’d get in the car and never be heard from again. Dick Whitfield would get my beat, Vinny would move on with his life, and I’d be the next body Tom would find in the woods. No, thank you.
I shook my head. "It’s just around the corner."
"Then I’ll just walk the rest of the way with you. You shouldn’t be alone."
No shit. I shouldn’t be with him, either. I wondered how fast I could run if I needed to. I made sure I kept an arm’s length away from him, and he didn’t move any closer. At least not now.
"What happened in that condo?" I asked. If he had any ideas about abducting me, I was at least going to find out what was going on.
"I have no idea. I found what you found." He paused but didn’t look at me. "I passed the cops on my way out."
"So you didn’t hang around to talk to them?"
"You didn’t."
Okay. He had me there.
Then he surprised me. His expression grew more concerned. "You need to know something." He paused. "Someone’s gotten too close to you. You have to be careful."
I snorted. "Yeah. I know about the stalking. Old news, Jack."
"It’s more than that."
"What is?"
"He thinks you know more than you do." He’d slipped on his sunglasses while we walked, and now he took them off, his eyes piercing mine.
"How do you know what I know?"
Jack grinned. "I know a lot more than you think."
That’s for sure. And that’s exactly what I was concerned about.
"So is it you?" I asked defiantly. "Are you the person I should be afraid of?"
He chuckled. "You should be so lucky, but no. It’s not me."
"And I should take the word of a stripper?" I don’t know why, but for some reason, I believed him.
"Male dancer," he emphasized. "I think I’m growing on you."
I didn’t want to go there. "What does Shaw know?"
"Shaw?"
"Yeah, Shaw. He warned me, too. This morning. What’s his connection with all this?" Maybe because I’d found out about his properties, Shaw thought I was finding out more about his mysterious past.
Jack Hammer stuck his hands in his pockets and kicked a stone out of his way, watching it skitter across the sidewalk. "Ralphie trusted Shaw," was all he said before we turned the corner and my mother’s big white house loomed in the next block. I could feel the tenseness in my shoulders melt away. Just a few more steps now. What I hadn’t counted on were the cars along the street and in the driveway. Shit. The barbecue. I’d forgotten.
A low buzz of conversation reached my ears from the backyard. The scent of steak hung suspended in the hot air. My stomach growled.
"Smells like something’s cooking," Jack said, grinning.
"Thanks for the escort," I said, aware that the side door next to the garage was opening, and wanting him to get the hell out of there and leave me alone.
"Annie?"
It was my mother. In the doorway. She was dressed immaculately in a pair of khaki Bermuda shorts and a sleeveless button-down blouse, her hair swung up behind her head sort of like mine was. But that was where the resemblance between us ended.
Except maybe for the frown. At Jack Hammer.
She closed the door behind her and came toward us. "What are you doing here?" she asked Jack. It was almost as if I didn’t exist.
"I walked Annie here from the bus stop."
Now I most certainly did exist. Her eyebrows shot up into her forehead as she turned to me. "The bus? Where’s your car?"
This wasn’t going to be easy. I opened my mouth and hoped something smart would come out, but all we heard was my cell phone ringing in my bag. I pulled it out, relieved to have the distraction. The number was familiar.
"Hi, Vinny," I said, turning around, leaving Jack Hammer to my mother’s questions, which I could hear her asking quietly as I stepped away.
"Where the hell are you? The bus came and you weren’t on it," he scolded.
"I thought I might borrow my mother’s car, but she’s having a barbecue and she’s not totally happy I’m here, I don’t think," I said quickly, barely above a whisper so she wouldn’t overhear. I didn’t want to tell him about Jack Hammer. That wouldn’t go over well.
"Well, that kid Jamond, he’s not here, either. No one’s here. It’s summer break, it’s a commuter college, and the campus is dead." Not a great choice of words, but accurate, as I remembered.
"I hope he’s okay," I said.
"I can come get you," Vinny offered. "I’m not far."
My mother was giving me the evil eye.
"Hold on a few seconds, okay? I’ll call you right back."
He’d started to say something, but I didn’t hear it as I closed my phone and joined my mother and Jack Hammer again.
"You are welcome to stay, Annie, but I’ve told Mr. Decker he has to leave," my mother said, her voice measured and hard as steel.
Jack shrugged, his lopsided grin back on his face. "No problem. I’ll see you around, Annie, okay?" He started back to his car as my mother and I watched. When he was around the corner, my mother turned to me.
"What are you doing?" she demanded.
I sighed. "Please don’t ask me any questions."
She was shaking her head like she used to do when I would come in at four in the morning, drunk or stoned or both. She always pretended she didn’t know, and she never said anything. But this time would be different.
"Do you know about him?" she asked, tossing her head in Jack Hammer’s direction. "He knew about Ralph’s gun scheme, but he won’t say anything. We can’t prove he was involved, but my gut tells me he knew about it—he knew that those guns your ex-husband bought killed two innocent kids in Hartford three months ago."
Holy shit.
"Ralph was ready to roll over on whoever was heading up this operation," my mother continued. "Of course he was stalling, trying to get the best deal he could for himself, and I had the feds ready to grant him almost full immunity. But then he died."
I thought about Jack Hammer and our cryptic conversation. I didn’t want to worry her by telling her Jack had been warning me.
"Do you think Jack—I mean, John Decker—is the guy?" I asked. "The guy you’re looking for?"
My mother sighed. "I don’t know."
I thought about it a few seconds. Jack Hammer
had had plenty of opportunities to harm me—he’d been alone with me last night at Ralph’s, he’d just walked me those desolate blocks to my mother’s. He hadn’t hurt me. He’d told me to be careful.
He did say it was someone who’d gotten close to me. Maybe he was setting me up.
Shaw was still one big question mark. Jack hadn’t said anything that could’ve let him off the hook, either. And both Shaw and Jack were tight with Ralph.
As I opened my mouth to ask my mother about Shaw, the question melted on the warm breeze when the door opened behind her. I froze, not wanting to see Bill Bennett, my boss, the publisher of the New Haven Herald, in a pair of shorts and a T-shirt with an apron sporting some sort of grilling pun.
But it wasn’t Bill Bennett.
It was Dick Whitfield.
Chapter 37
I couldn’t speak for a second, then managed to sputter to my mother, "What the hell is he doing here?"
"He came by to talk to Bill about something."
She didn’t have time to tell me anything else, because Dick was walking up to us, a big grin on his face. "Hey, Annie," he said, like he hung out at my mother’s house, my boss’ house, on a regular basis. His keys jangled from his fingers. "Gotta have some of those steaks, they’re great." He faced my mother. "Thank you so much, Mrs. Giametti."
"Alex, please."
Oh, Christ, now my mother. Dick Whitfield was going to plague me in my personal life now, not only at work. I was screwed.
"Alex, thank you."
My mother shot me a look that said, "See, he’s not that bad." If she only knew.
Dick paused in front of his Toyota Prius and gave a short wave. As he opened the door, an idea popped into my head.
"Dick, can you give me a ride?" I asked.
Both he and my mother looked surprised.
Shot Girl Page 21
