by Rose, Kristi
I nodded once and escaped to the cabin where I caught a good night’s sleep after eating both buns. The coffee had no effect, which spoke to how tired I really was. I set my alarm for fifteen minutes before sunrise and, through the dusty window of my cabin, caught the last moment of Sean and Kimmie embracing by their cars. With sleep still in my eyes and not fully awake, I fumbled my camera and missed the money shot by seconds. The rat bastard.
19
Saturday
Later that morning, after parking in the garage, I checked my app to make sure no alarms had been triggered and the boogeyman wasn’t hiding in my house. One day, those cameras were coming out. Having them was creepy. Even when using them to look for an intruder. For now, though, they were a tool I’d use. I had a few hours before I had to be at Mrs. Wright’s.
I entered the house, going straight to the kitchen. From the fridge, I took out a bottled water and a wedge of cheese. From the pantry, I took a bag of crackers and then headed upstairs, making sure the locks were engaged on the doors beforehand.
In my room, I shut and locked the door and dumped everything on my bed. I used a bug sweeping device Toby gave me from Carson’s secret room above the office. This device was high tech enough to look for cameras, too. My teeth were clenched tight as I pondered what I would do if I found something. I already felt violated as it was. Was it possible to feel even more violated? I supposed so. Or maybe angrier.
Once I was sure everything was clear, I devoured a portion of the cheese and crackers while I stared at the backpack I’d laid out on my bed. There was a clue here somewhere. Had to be.
Was this what everyone was looking for? Had the mugger at the casino really wanted this and not my winnings? But what about this pack was the clue?
After wiping my hands on my pants, I dumped my stuff out of the pack and pushed it aside. The pack was my focus. It was your average-everyday North Face pack, not for hiking, but for carrying work stuff. It sported two sleeves for devices, a mesh pocket for a water bottle, and an outer pocket for little things like pens and lipstick. I ran my hands over the outside, not really knowing what I was doing or looking for. This pack might be a dead-end for all I knew. It’s not like Carson had set me up for success here.
I dug my fingers deep into the pockets, feeling for nooks and crevices. I checked seams to see if any might have been resewn or come undone, hoping that when the guy at the casino grabbed the pack, something might have torn.
But…nothing. I had nothing. The waist and cinch straps weren’t out of the ordinary either. I tossed the bag down in frustration and ate half the bag of crackers and the rest of the cheese while I considered my options.
Maybe this wasn’t what everyone was looking for. Maybe the casino hood was actually after my money.
This time I used the top part of my socks to clean my fingers before I picked the pack back up. I slowly pressed my fingers over every inch of the shoulder straps, but no a-ha moment. The back of the pack, the part that rested against my back when I wore it, had three metal strips surrounded by padding. I ran my fingers over the outside of the steel bars, pressing through the padding to feel them. The middle bar appeared to be double in thickness compared to the others. I wasn’t sure this meant anything, but I had nothing else, so I decided to play it out. I checked the seams again around that bar and found a slight overlap of thread and the tail end sticking out. Backstitching, done too close to the thread ends. If my gut hadn’t been telling me to keep going, I would have stopped and missed this. If sloppy backstitching was anything at all.
On the top shelf in my closet, I had a small sewing kit for emergencies that I checked for a seam ripper. Coming away victorious, I removed two inches of the seam and stuck my fingers into the hole, trying to pull out the metal bar. I wasn’t about to ruin a perfectly good, expensive backpack if this endeavor turned out to be nothing. The bar appeared to be two inches wide, a foot in length, and flat like a tongue depressor. Only metal and double thick. Starting from the top, I worked the bar down toward the opening, and from there I was able to grab it.
The bar was actually two bars taped together with two bands of duct tape at the top and bottom. On the top bar, two sets of numbers were crudely etched into the metal.
I blew out a breath and plopped to the floor.
I had no idea what this meant.
Suddenly, I was scared. This…these numbers were what people were looking for. Right now, I had the upper hand.
But for how long?
With shaking hands, I separated the bars, the second being a plain metal bar that I guessed was what the company always put in their packs. I slid that one back into the spot where it had come from. Using a dime as a thimble and dark thread from my kit, I sewed the pack closed, trying to make it look like it was done at the manufacturer, silently thanking my mom who taught Rachel and I the basics of sewing.
The job was decent. I would need a machine to do a better one. Afterward, I stood, the bar with the numbers in my hand, and wondered where I could hide it. I came up blank; my house wasn’t a safe option. The office could easily be tossed again. Would they stop there or go to my dad’s newspaper? What if I mailed it to my sister? She could keep it at the Naval hospital, but I didn’t want to involve her in any way, shape, or fashion. She was a single mom and had enough on her plate.
In a memo app on my phone that required a password, I made my own encrypted message using the numbers. Then I stared at the object some more, the metal feeling hot in my hand. My biggest fear was that wherever I stashed it would put that person at risk, and there wasn’t anyone I hated enough to do that to. No doubt I needed to get rid of it, but the trouble was figuring out where and how.
Also, I half expected someone to break into my house at any moment. I didn’t trust that the others weren’t watching me, no matter that the bug sweeper didn’t find anything. Even fully clothed, I felt naked and vulnerable. If someone burst into my house right now, I wouldn’t be able to protect myself. Beside me was mace, and I might be able to spray one guy if he came alone, but I’d be screwed if more than one showed up. Trouble was I was a lightweight in situations like this. Manufactured adrenaline from action movies and thrillers made my knees physically knock. How would they be in real life? The other day, when the guy broke into my house, I shook uncontrollably from the fear and anger. And I’d watched it unfold on a screen with Leo next to me. My previous reactions didn’t give me the confidence I needed to protect myself.
Leo.
I found my phone and scrolled through my contacts to the Ls. Under his name, he’d put voice of reason.
I pressed call.
“Samantha?” he said after the first ring.
“Yeah, you got a minute?” I let out my shaky breath. Calling Leo was an action plan. I liked having an action plan.
“What’s happened now? You dead?” He sounded his typically terse self. Only people were talking in the background, so maybe I had interrupted something.
“If I were dead, would I be calling you?” I snorted to show my sarcasm.
“With you? One never knows. Native American lore talks about ancestors speaking from the grave. I figure, with my luck, I’d have a jinxed white girl haunt me.” He laughed.
“I’m not jinxed,” I said.
He laughed again. “You sure?”
I studied the metal bar in my hand; it stood pale next to my white-gold wedding band. Okay, so maybe he had a point.
“I have a favor to ask, and now that I have you on the phone, I’m sure you’re gonna say no, so I’ll just hang up now.” I was second-guessing my decision.
“Just ask and give me the chance to say no. I’m curious.” A car door slammed, and the background noise around him disappeared.
“You love saying ‘no’ to me.” I rolled my eyes. He’d been doing it so long, why change now?
“Which means there’s room for a yes. Hit me with the request.”
“Are you alone?”
“I’m sitting in my c
ar, yes, alone. I’m at a tribal meeting that I have to get back to so make it fast.” Irritation was back in his voice.
“A tribal meeting outside?” I’d always imagined them inside for some reason.
“What, you thought we did them in tepees?” More irritation.
I scoffed. “No, I thought you did them around a table like everyone else did meetings. Jeez, cut me a break. I’m on week two of my new hell.”
His voice softened. “We’re outside because it’s nice weather and we can be. It’s not often we have sunshine. If everyone is relaxed, then more can be accomplished. Now, are we going to get to what you want from me sooner or later?”
I went for broke. “I want you to teach me to shoot a gun. Carson gave me the basics, but I need to be less beginner and more…” Well, expert was a reach. “Intermediate.”
Leo groaned. “How about you practice with the stun gun?”
“Leo, seriously, I’m scared. I’m locked in my bedroom because I don’t feel safe in my own home. So unless you can burn some sage or something to fix that, then help me. Teach me to be a better shot.”
There was a long pause. Then he sucked in a breath and blew it out slowly.
“Meet me at the range day after tomorrow eight a.m. sharp. Did Carson have a gun?”
I nodded and said, “We have a nine millimeter in the closet.” Locked in a box. I was going to sleep with it next to me, but I was just as scared to have it than to not.
Leo groaned. “For the love of everyone around us, please, I beg you not to use it tonight.”
“You’re a good Samaritan, Leo Stillman. You’re doing a great deed here. Thank you,” I gushed.
“Yeah, yeah. A whole slew of people would never forgive me if something happened to you and knew you asked me for help. Besides, as a police officer, it’s my job to make sure everyone is safe.”
“Thanks, Leo,” I said, feeling a rush of warmth surge through me. Maybe I wasn’t alone. I mean, I had Precious, but what was she going to do? Organize everyone?
“I’m going to regret this,” he said then hung up.
What a butthead.
20
Saturday
Mrs. Wright lived in the newer developed portion of Ridgefield near Carson’s office. Her neighborhood consisted of craftsman-style homes with large porches, some painted funky colors. Driveways were behind the homes accessible through an alley.
I parked in front of the house. Precious came for good luck. The metal bar with the etched numbers was taped to the bottom of LC’s driver’s seat. Lamest hiding place ever, but I had no better idea. I was keeping it near me.
“So she thinks her cat is cheating on her?” Precious asked while surveying the house from inside the car.
“I think it’s a cat. She never said definitely.” I held up my camera. “This one I can do, no problem.”
Precious nodded toward the house with her head. “Shall we? She’s watching us from the behind the blinds. Middle window.” The house sported three windows across the front. I glanced, covertly I hoped, in the direction of the middle window. The blinds moved.
Still uncertain how a PI should dress, I’d worn gray leggings, a gray and yellow tunic, and my Birks. In hindsight, Birkenstocks were probably not the best solution should I have to run for my life, but it was too late now.
She met us at the door. Mrs. Wright was a petite woman, somewhere in her sixties, with a short bob that hung like a bell. She had long pink fake fingernails and swipes of blue shadow over her eyes. She wore yoga pants and a Rolling Stones concert shirt.
“Took you both long enough. I thought you were going to sit in the car forever. Maurice is chomping at the bit to get out.” She said car like “kah.” She crossed her arms.
Introductions didn’t seem warranted at this stage. “So, you let him out and I’ll follow.”
She nodded, her hair swinging. “I’ll let you meet Maurice first. That way it won’t spook him if he comes across you on the street.”
Precious gave me a questioning look. Was I sure Maurice was a cat? I shrugged because I wasn’t.
She rushed us inside where we were greeted by the blaring of the TV.
Mrs. Wright gestured to the living room where a gentleman roughly her age sat, a TV tray before him, a game of solitaire on the TV tray. He was bald.
She gestured to him. “That’s my husband, Marv. He’s a retired cop, used to work the shooting range. Lost a lot of his hearing.” She raised her voice to almost shouting level. “If he wore his hearing aid, he wouldn’t have to listen to the TV so dag-gum loud. Turn it down, Marv!” She rolled her eyes.
“Don’t tell me what to do, devil woman,” Marv said and cranked up the volume. Mrs. Wright glared so fiercely at him I expected laser beams to shoot from her eyes and strike him down. She swung her attention back to us. “He’ll be leaving soon. Likes to take his golf cart down to the VFW and talk shop with the old men down there. Come on, it’s slightly quieter back here.” She gestured for us to follow and took us to the kitchen where the sound was indeed slightly muted.
A large ginger tabby was pacing in front of the door, meowing.
“Look at him, desperate to get out of here. What have I done wrong? I buy the best cat food. I have all kinds of toys, and yet he can’t get out of here fast enough.”
“Maybe he wants out because of the noise,” Precious said.
Mrs. Wright nodded. “I wondered the same thing, but on days Marv leaves early and the house is quiet, Maurice does the same thing.”
Precious cut her eyes to me. Cat/Maurice confirmation. Check.
“And you said he goes to Mrs. Long’s? Where does she live?” I asked.
“Follow me,” Mrs. Wright gestured and led us down a hallway to the back of the house and into the far corner bedroom. She closed the door behind us, which instantly shut out the noise.
We let out deep sighs of relief.
The room was set up like a home office with a large TV in the corner and a Ma Jong game on the desk.
“This is where I escape to,” Mrs. Wright said. She pulled the curtain aside and pointed across the backyard to the houses in the distance. “See the purple house?” She rolled her eyes. “Crazy woman painted her house purple. Not gray purple. But bold and vibrant amethyst. I looked it up. That’s what the color is called. Amethyst. I mean, what’s wrong with white or blue?”
I didn’t have an answer so I peered out the window through my camera, moving the zoom in and out to get a sense of the house. Mrs. Wright’s window had an excellent view of the purple house’s backyard with only the yard of another house separating them. I zoomed in on the plain back door, painted a lighter shade of purple, and then the windows, one being a kitchen with curtains.
“Could be worse,” Precious said. “Could be blood red or poop brown.”
Mrs. Wright snorted. “Could be, but the house ain’t those colors, and if they were, I’d still complain. That woman is tacky and lives in a tacky-colored house. And just who are you anyway?”
“I’m Sam’s friend, Precious.”
“You’re the tallest woman I’ve ever seen,” Mrs. Wright said.
I glanced over my shoulder to see Mrs. Wright standing next to Precious. Mrs. Wright’s head came to Precious’s shoulder.
“Or you’re the shortest woman I’ve ever seen,” Precious countered.
Mrs. Wright laughed.
I said, “Does Maurice go through her back door?” I lifted my camera and zoomed in on the door, looking for something, anything. I wasn’t sure what. But it was your average, ordinary door.
Mrs. Wright joined me at the window. “Yeah, I don’t know how Long knows, but she opens the door and greets Maurice, cooing all over him.”
I glanced at Mrs. Wright. “Can you hear her from here?”
Mrs. Wright said, “No, I used this.” At her closet, she slid the wide door to the side. Inside were shelves lined with boxes of bullets, a few sets of binoculars, handcuffs, and so much other cop stuff. She pull
ed out a device similar to a ray gun but with a large dish around it, like those Elizabethan collars that pets wear when they’ve had surgery and aren’t allowed to lick themselves. Attached to the gun were headphones.
“This is a parabolic listening device.” She tapped the Elizabethan collar. “This is the parabolic curve that picks up sounds. This baby can get sound from three-hundred-plus yards and that woman”—she pointed her device in the direction of the purple house— “was wooing my cat.”
“Where can I get one of those?” I asked, thinking I might need equipment like it. I hadn’t seen one in the secret office space. This PI thing had its moments of coolness, and right now was one.
“Why do you have this?” Precious asked.
“I told you. Marv used to be a cop.”
We nodded our understanding. Another thought struck me.
“How is it Carson came to do this for you?” I asked. I hadn’t noticed a security system when we came in.
“We own your office building. I asked Marv to go handle Mrs. Long, but he refused. Heaven forbid, he miss out on any gossip among the decrepit man club. He told me go to Carson.” She put her hands on her hips. “Then he goes and dies and leaves me with you.”
I held up my camera. “I have a really good camera,” I said. “How did you know Carson did PI work?”
Mrs. Wright said, “Marv said he’d sometimes hang out with those old windbags.”
“I see,” I said. Did Carson do that as a means to find jobs? I didn’t know. But I now knew goodwill case meant he was doing this for free. Smart considering this was my landlord and all. I returned the focus to the case. “So, if you let Maurice out, he’ll go straight to Mrs. Long’s and she’ll let him in?” I wasn’t sure what my role was here.
“She used to. Now he heads in her direction and disappears. Like I said, sometimes for a day or so. I think she put in a doggie door, but I can’t get close enough to prove it. It’s like that woman has eyes on the back of her house and catches me sneaking up every time.”
