I was dressed in shorts, a t-shirt, and my favorite Keen sandals. Already the temperature was eighty. My hair was piled in a knot on top of my head, and I had on sunglasses. The sun was hot on my exposed skin, and I thought I could already feel it burning.
I hurried up the walk and cut through the lawn toward Dix. One of the girls in the pool lost her top, and everyone started screaming. In their excitement, several of the onlookers jumped up and down, celebrating. Dix was one of them. Too soon he was turning in my direction. Then he spotted me. I had the pepper spray ready, but I was still fifteen feet away.
I raised the can, pointed it, and pressed the trigger. At the same time, I felt the wind pick up. Everyone standing between Dix and me screamed as the spray hit their faces. I saw Dix take a face-full, but instead of grabbing his face and crying like everyone else, he charged forward. I saw him coming and inwardly grinned. I could do hands-on.
Prepared to take him down, I sucked in a breath and got a snoot full of the spray. I choked, an involuntary reaction to the burning in my mouth, nose, and throat. My eyes were watering like little faucets behind my glasses, and everything was blurry. I reached out for Dix at the same moment he leaned down and barreled into me with his shoulder.
He knocked me into a girl screaming and flailing her arms, crying about dying, and I lost my balance. I tried to right myself, but it was hopeless. All I could do was watch as the kiddie pool full of oil rose up to meet me, finally swallowing me. I landed with a huge splash and an eruption of laughter from those not crying and holding their faces.
I slipped twice trying to get out. Finally, I stood in the grass beside the pool, oil dripping off me and pooling at my feet. I was covered in the stuff, almost from head to toe. Looking down, I saw a red and white bikini top stuck to my shorts. I peeled it off and handed it to the girl still standing topless, wiping at her eyes, which were now very red.
I didn’t even bother looking for Dix. Even with the face full of pepper spray, he was long gone. One thing I had to give him, the guy was a runner.
It’s moments like these I remember why I have the waterproof seat cover in the truck. I’d gotten it after transporting my first FTA. Just to be a jerk, he’d wet his pants, soaking the seat. I’d had to have it professionally cleaned, which wasn’t cheap. It had taken some searching, but I’d finally found the industrial seat cover. It wasn’t cheap either, but everything wiped right off of it. And there had been quite a bit to wipe off since starting this whole fugitive apprehension thing. It was well worth the money.
I used a rag I found to wipe off my hands as best I could, then I got in and drove home to clean up.
__________
It took almost half an hour to get all the oil off the seat cover and the floor, which, fortunately, was rubber and not carpet. I went through a roll of paper towels and half a bottle of degreaser. Since I was already at it, I went ahead and cleaned the rest of the truck, vacuuming, wiping off the dash, and washing the windows. I cleared out a bunch of trash and other stuff that had collected on the floorboard behind the seat.
By noon, I was back on the hunt. The truck was clean, I was clean, and I wasn’t quite so pissed off at Dix anymore. Of course, the damage had been done. I dropped by the office long enough to bring in Fink’s body receipt, and after one look at my face, Amerson asked if I’d been maced.
From there I motored south on Timberline to Grandma’s neighborhood. Since I’d done some thinking last night, I thought I had a little better idea of what was going on, even though I still had no real idea what was going on. But I had a new angle I wanted to play with her, and, optimist that I am, I hoped she’d open up to me.
As I stopped at the stop sign at the end of Grandma’s street, I saw flashing lights and several emergency vehicles parked outside her house, including a crime scene van. I stared down the road and saw a uniformed cop come out of her house. Whatever was going on, it was going on at her house. I had a feeling whatever it was, it wasn’t good.
I left her neighborhood and went south on Timberline to Horsetooth. I needed time to think, and since the inside of the truck was clean, I thought I should wash the outside. As I approached the light, I pulled into the right lane. I noticed a silver Cadillac sedan change lanes three cars behind me.
I drove through the intersection and made a right onto Big Horn Drive. As I did, I noticed the Cadillac also signal to turn right. I filed this away and made the next right, pulling into the carwash. I wasn’t the only one with this idea and had to wait briefly for a stall to open up. I used the time to roll down the sides of the top and do some thinking.
At first I thought about Grandma and what might have happened to her and why. Then I thought about Danielle Dillon and why Grandma might have been trying to protect her. I wondered what kind of trouble she might have been in. Why had she attacked a banker named Vandreen?
Then I thought about where she might be. This led me to think about Cory Dix and where he might be. I wondered if I’d ever be able to bring him in. That got me thinking about how he kept making me look like an idiot and ruining my clothes. Inevitably, this brought me to Priscilla and the subject I didn’t want to think about—had been trying not to think about.
For the duration of the carwash, I compared Priscilla and her fancy clothes and expensive education and big-time job to me and my life. I cursed her colorfully and wondered why the hell I couldn’t have run into her five years ago, when I was the youngest woman ever promoted to a regional management position within the property management company I’d worked for, making six figures a year, wearing diamonds and Vera Wangs, and driving a Mercedes.
From the carwash, I drove directly to Front Range Community College. As I drove away, I noticed the Cadillac parked at the edge of the gas station lot. The driver wasn’t getting gas. Maybe he’d gone inside for something.
I’d taken two semesters at Front Range Community College before giving up school and moving to Denver for a guy. I couldn’t figure out now why I’d never gone back and finished; every reason I came up with seemed stupid compared to Stanford and Harvard. When I got to the school, I checked in at the front desk then waited twenty minutes for an admissions counselor to call my name. I followed him through a maze of cubicles to the one he called his and sat in the chair beside his desk.
“How can I help you today?” he asked.
“I need to go back to school.”
“Okay. So, you’ve taken some classes previously?”
“Yes. About eight years ago.”
He turned to the computer, asked me my name, and punched it in. He looked over my record then turned back to me.
“You’ll need to reapply, but there is no application fee and everyone is accepted. You won’t need to take placement tests because you’ve already passed higher level classes than we place in. When did you want to start?”
“Immediately.”
I knew classes had already begun. Amy was taking a math class this summer, and she’d started a couple weeks ago. But I thought maybe I could start anyway.
“Okay, you seem very motivated. That’s probably good. I’m afraid summer session has already begun; however, we can certainly get you signed up to start in the fall.”
“Can’t I just join late and, you know, catch up?”
He looked at me. “Classes have been in session for four weeks. It’s just too late to start this summer. Let’s get your admissions stuff done, and you can start in the fall. Classes begin August 24th.”
I sighed. “Fine. Let’s do that.”
“Great. Do you have any idea what you might want to study?”
“Probably something science related.” I’d planned to be a nurse the first time around.
He nodded. “There are lots of great careers in the science field. All right,” he said, standing. “Why don’t we just switch places, and you can fill out this application.”
I sat down at the computer and typed in my information. Ten minutes later, I submitted it, and we switched bac
k. I’d been looking over a course catalog while I’d been waiting for my appointment, so I knew what classes I wanted to take. I told the counselor, and he put them in.
“This works out to fifteen credits,” he said finally. “That’s a lot. I don’t usually recommend that.”
“I really need to finish quickly.”
After a moment, he turned back to the computer. “I hope your motivation lasts you through the semester.”
A short time later, he printed my billing statement and schedule. I thanked him, stopped at the cashier window, and paid my tuition. Then I walked over to the bookstore and bought my books. It took two bags to carry them back to the truck. I had made zero progress finding Danielle Dillon, and I had let Dix get away a third time, but I had enrolled in classes. I felt very accomplished. And, if possible, I felt a little bit smarter already. I was never going to go to Stanford or Harvard, and I probably wasn’t going to be a lawyer, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to let Priscilla Casimir, archnemesis and bitch, have the last word.
Before returning to my truck, I’d stopped in the student center and asked the kid at the information desk, who looked twelve years old, if I could borrow the phone and a phonebook. He informed me no one used phonebooks anymore then looked up the number I needed online. I dialed my voicemail, jotted down my messages, then called Starbucks again, asking if Dix was scheduled to work. He wasn’t.
Next, I returned Ellmann’s call, dialing from memory. I’d needed Ellmann’s phone number once, when kidnappers had stolen my phone, but hadn’t had it memorized. I’d immediately remedied that, memorizing not only Ellmann’s number, but a dozen others I thought I might need one day.
“You never checked in,” he said.
Translation: I was worried.
“I’m fine,” I said. Then I thought of the Cadillac. It was probably nothing, and I debated even mentioning it. Ellmann was clearly already worried. I didn’t want to work him up needlessly.
“Did you get Dix?”
“No,” I said, pulling my notes from my pocket. “The bastard got away again.”
“Slippery, huh?”
“You have no idea.” I paged through my notes, looking for a notation regarding a silver Cadillac. I didn’t remember one, but it could have been there. “Say, do you know anyone who drives a silver Cadillac?” If such a car were connected to his case, which he thought was connected to Danielle Dillon in some way, it might mean something, might get me some new information to work with.
“No. Why?”
“No reason. I just saw one this morning. Thought I’d throw it out there.”
“You saw a random car and thoug—is someone following you?” Ellmann can do things like this, make these leaps. It’s something I love and hate about him.
“I’m not sure. Probably not. No, I don’t think so.” I mentally rolled my eyes. Why did I even mention it?
“You’re better than that. If you have a suspicion, a feeling, it’s probably accurate. Do you think someone’s following you?”
I sighed. “It’s possible. I thought I saw the same Cadillac twice.”
“Did you get a plate number?” To his credit, he wasn’t mad. It’s like Ellmann had accepted these sorts of things were inevitable with me.
“No, I was trying not to overreact.”
“You write down practically every license plate number you come across, but you didn’t get this one?”
“Give me a break here, Ellmann. We nearly shot an old man over a Leatherman this morning.” This earned me a look from the kid behind the counter, who seemed to involuntarily scan my hands and pockets for a gun. I tried to give him a reassuring smile then turned away. “I’m pretty sure the last three of the plate were T-W-D.”
“I’ll run that, but I won’t be surprised if the list of Cadillacs with those letters in the plate is long.”
“It was a sedan, sliver, I’d say ’05 or newer. And I’m almost certain I got the order of those letters right. That should narrow it down.”
“I’ll work on it. Listen, if you see that car again, get the full plate if possible and drive straight to the police station, especially since you don’t have a phone.”
“Okay, I will.”
“How’s it coming with Dillon?”
“No progress yet. But I’m still working on it.”
I wondered if he knew about Grandma Porter. I didn’t think he’d tell me if he did.
“Please, be careful.”
“I will. You know, you could just tell me what’s got you so worried. I’ll find out eventually.”
“I always worry about you.”
That meant no.
“Did your dad’s flight get in yet?”
“It should have landed twenty minutes ago. I just got here. I haven’t made it inside yet. My sister should be here in about half an hour, then we’ll head back. Can you still meet us for dinner?”
“I’m planning on it.”
“He made reservations for Outback Steakhouse at six.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Be careful,” he told me again.
I promised I would then hung up.
8
I drove to the address I’d gotten for Peter and Sonja Rice, hoping they really were Megan Rice’s parents. I was also hoping they would tell me where Megan lived and that I’d find Dix there. I’d cruised past his house again and found no sign of him. Since he didn’t have to work, and since he was hiding from me, I thought it reasonable he’d gone to his girlfriend’s house.
The Rices lived in a nice, welcoming house in a neighborhood off Stuart and Shields, near Rocky Mountain High School. There were ceramic statues on the lawn and along the sidewalk and porch. There weren’t a lot of potted plants or flowers in the flowerbeds, but there were a lot of ceramic figurines. I rang the bell and waited.
A tall man with graying hair answered. I gave him my card and spiel then asked him if he had a daughter named Megan.
“Yes. Is she in some kind of trouble?”
“No, sir. But I need to speak with her. Could you tell me where to find her?”
“Is this about that kid Cory? That boy is no good for her. We tried to tell her, but she doesn’t listen. What she sees in him, I’ll never know.”
He gave me her address and phone number. I thanked him and left.
Megan lived in an apartment complex on Horsetooth and Shields, near Front Range Community College. I found the building I was looking for and parked. Unfortunately, she lived on the ground floor. Normally I’m grateful for little favors, like not having to climb three flights of stairs, but I thought this would make it easier for Dix to get away than, say, if she lived on the third floor, because there were no giant trees near any of these buildings.
Operating under the assumption Dix was in the apartment, I knew he’d bolt the instant he realized it was me at the door. The key would be getting inside in time to catch him. My chances of that would be greatly improved if he couldn’t get out.
I walked around the building until I found Megan’s apartment. Then I rounded the corner, looking for a second exit, finding it in the form of a sliding glass door between what I guessed was the master bedroom and a small patio. Not ideal. Sliding glass doors just can’t be barricaded from the outside like hinged doors can.
I cut across the narrow strip of lawn and peered through the glass, searching the bedroom for occupants. It was empty. The patio held a small charcoal grill and some patio furniture. I didn’t see a broom or shovel or anything with a long handle on Megan’s patio or that of her nearest neighbor. For a moment, I missed doing this with a partner. When Blue had been showing me the ropes, I’d take one door and he’d take the other. As expected, that cut down on incidents of running by a hefty margin.
All I could do now was work with what I had. I moved every object on the patio, relocating it directly in front of the door. Knowing Dix’s determination not to be caught, I didn’t believe for an instant this would stop him. I just hoped it slowed him d
own.
I returned to the front door and knocked, pulling my unimpressive badge from my pocket and holding it in one hand. A moment later, Megan answered.
I didn’t give her time to say a word. The instant the door was open, I pushed into the apartment, holding the badge in front of her face.
“Bond enforcement agent,” I said as I backed her into the house. “I’m looking for Cory Dix, and I have reason to suspect he’s in this apartment.”
The front door opened into an open living room/kitchen area. There was no sign of Dix. Down the hall, I heard a crash then saw Dix streak past. I charged down the hall as an enormous clattering sound rang out. I flew (again, I use the term loosely) into the bedroom.
The sliding glass door was open, and Dix was wading through the clutter on the patio. He’d pitched the grill over, and there was charcoal everywhere. The chairs were toppled, and one of the ceramic figurines Megan owned was lying in pieces on the concrete.
“Shit!”
I shoved the badge back in my pocket as I ran back through the house to the front door, passing Megan in the hall. She looked concerned and confused. I sprinted past her (or, you know, ran as fast as I was able) and out the door. I saw Dix on the far side of the building, running through the parking lot. Man, he was fast.
I hurried to the truck, backed out, and screeched forward. The speed bumps significantly slowed my progress, but I was able to keep Dix in sight until the far end of the complex. Several times, he looked back over his shoulder to see where I was, and I noticed with enormous satisfaction that his face was even redder than mine. The pepper spray hadn’t slowed him down, but he hadn’t escaped unscathed, either.
He disappeared around the last building and was gone.
Catherine Nelson - Zoe Grey 02 - The Trouble with Theft Page 9
