Chapter 9
A huge, fenced-in dirt lot bathed in Mother Nature's best morning sunlight—that's what was across the street from O'Hara's Tara, Penney Richmond's apartment building. Jennifer stared at it in disbelief. No apartments, no stores, no offices, not even a construction site—just dirt—and a sign proclaiming the COMING SOON of Atlanta's newest professional complex. Well, not soon enough!
What kind of insurance claim was she going to investigate in an abandoned lot, probably the only vacant lot in Atlanta?
"I ain't gonna sit here all day while you survey the landscape," the cabbie growled behind her.
Jennifer fished around in the bottom of the tote bag that held her purse and the video camera she'd borrowed from Dee Dee as part of her cover. Her hand closed on a twenty-dollar bill. She thrust it through the car window and into the hand of the cabbie. He looked at the money and then back at Jennifer. "Some tip! Next time, walk!"
Oh, crumb. Things were not going well. She'd been hoping he'd give her back her two dollars change. Dee Dee was right. The catering business was bringing in barely enough money to live on, and she couldn't make it at all if it weren't for all the cholesterol-laden hors d'oeuvres Dee Dee insisted she take home after every job. She certainly didn't make enough to support a life of crime.
Well, no matter. Steve Moore had called, his beautiful voice oiling through her phone. The date for his party was set for this Saturday, and she had boosted Dee Dee's rates so as not to insult him. Hopefully, she'd clear enough money to do in Penney Richmond.
The cabbie was still glaring at her, waiting for enough of a break to let him get back into the stream of traffic. Her image would be burned into his mind. Well, let it burn. It might be better if he did remember her—a pudgy frump with long, dark curly hair and glasses.
She must look ridiculous, but it didn't matter how she looked as long as she didn't look like Jennifer Marsh. She wasn't an expert at disguise like her character Maxie Malone, and she certainly didn't have Maxie's resources. But then this was real life. She had to settle for an outfit she'd found at Goodwill, glasses from Eckerd's Drugs, and a wig her mother had bought her when she played Snow White in her seventh grade class production. Her one fling with fame—but not her last!
She shoved the oversized, brown-rimmed reading glasses back onto the bridge of her nose and stared at the apartment building directly across the street. It came into focus at one and a half times its normal size. What a majestic building—so big—and all glass, gold and steel with lush potted plants.
Guarding the entrance was a gray-suited, white-gloved doorman. White gloves? Where did he buy them? Through a supply catalog for doormen? They left such ordinary fiber evidence.
She brushed the wiry black curls of her wig off her shoulder and sighed. So here she was in Atlanta on a Wednesday morning, and there, across the street, was the apartment building that Penney Richmond lived in. And behind her—behind her was the vacant lot. She'd have to devise some other plan to get into Penney's building.
Jennifer tugged at the towel she had belted beneath her shapeless dress to provide some girth and pushed the loosely knit sleeves of her mud-colored cardigan up to her skinny elbows. Enough of this dillydallying. It was time to get to work, time to cross the street, time to case the joint.
She joined the crowd as it swept her the fifty feet to the stoplight and the crosswalk. The light turned red. Four cars rushed through the intersection as the little walking man in the crossing light replaced the red hand. He tried to lure her into the street, but she was too savvy for him. She'd been to Atlanta before, and she knew better.
Without warning, the crowd surged forward, buoying Jennifer and depositing her on the opposite corner. Whoa! Managing curbs that were one and a half times lower than they appeared was not an easy task. She had to have a moment to steady herself.
Suddenly she felt an overwhelming need for caffeine. She preferred her caffeine in the form of chocolate—lots of chocolate, the dark semi-sweet kind—but coffee would do in a crunch, and floating in her direction, mixing with the stench of gasoline, was the unmistakable aroma of coffee laced with vanilla and almonds. She sniffed the air. The odor seemed to be wafting from an establishment directly in front of her.
Jennifer tugged open the heavy wooden door of the café and slipped inside. A woman in a long, loose-fitting floral dress was filling honey jars behind a counter. Jennifer settled herself onto one of the bar stools. The woman shoved the jar aside and licked her index finger before wiping her hands on a towel.
"What'll you have?" she asked. "We've got some wonderful herbal teas," she suggested, eyeing the bulge under Jennifer's dress.
Jennifer looked down at the roundness the towel was creating. "Oh, no, I'm not… Just make it coffee—strong coffee with lots of caffeine and some kind of chocolate flavor if you've got it."
What rotten luck! She'd tried to leave all thoughts of Jaimie at home. She didn't want him/her/whatever mixed up in this mess with Penney Richmond.
"Mint is the day's chocolate flavor," the woman explained. "Will that do?"
"Just fine."
The woman plopped a large mug of fragrant coffee in front of her. "Honey and cream are right in front of you. That'll be a buck fifty."
Jennifer handed her the money and carried her cup to a small window table where she could watch the crowds as they walked down Penney Richmond's street. Jolene Arizona would have no trouble getting into that apartment building. Jolene would sleep with the doorman. But then Jolene slept with everybody. What a disgusting thought. After all, she had Jaimie to think of, an example to set for her child-to-be.
What kind of example was murder?
"How far along are you, honey?"
The words seemed to float up from nowhere.
"When are you due?"
Jennifer turned, and in the shadow of a tall, wooden booth she could detect the outline of a tiny, fragile woman. Her face lay in shadow but light streamed through her wispy white hair, creating something like a halo about her head.
"Are you talking to me?" Jennifer asked.
"Of course, I'm talking to you. Do you see anyone else in here?" The woman leaned forward bringing her wrinkled face into the light. "Now bring your coffee over here and sit with me for a spell."
What was she to do? Say "Don't bother me. I'm in the middle of planning a murder"?
She took a big swallow of coffee and carried the cup over to the booth. "I'm sorry, but—"
"Sit."
Jennifer slid onto the heavy brown vinyl.
"Now what do you think you're doing drinking coffee in your condition?"
"My condition? Oh, no. You don't understand. I'm not pregnant. I'm just—"
"It's nothing to be ashamed of these days, child. I see that there's no wedding ring on your finger. It's better to just admit what you've done and get on with your life. Better for both you and the baby. You are keeping it?"
Keeping what? The towel? Okay, so her disguise wasn't what she had in mind, but why not go with the flow? If the police came looking for a pregnant woman, it certainly wouldn't be Jennifer Marsh.
"Did your boyfriend leave you?"
"Boyfriend?"
"Your baby's father, dear. Did he leave you? You seem so lost and forlorn."
"No, of course not."
"Then he's standing by you. That's so admirable in today's climate of irresponsibility."
"No, not exactly."
"Oh, my, my." The old lady found Jennifer's hand and clasped it firmly in hers. "You can tell Aunt Emmie about it. He didn't have one of those sex changes…"
"He's dead. Dead and gone. Buried. And I don't want to talk about it." Lying was not easy, especially to a tenderhearted old lady who wanted to know her towel had a good future.
Aunt Emmie patted Jennifer's hand.
"Grrrrrrrr."
Jennifer studied Emmie's beatific face. "Did you just growl at me?"
"No, silly. Tiger is jealous." She dropped Jennifer's h
and and lifted her large pocketbook from beside her and onto the tabletop. A black nose, two potato-chip ears, and tiny black eyes on a head about the size of an orange popped out of the bag. "Grrrrr." Canine teeth the thickness of toothpicks curled up over a thin upper lip.
Jennifer jerked back. "What in the—"
"Well, I'm not quite sure. I'm fairly certain he's a dog. I found him, you see, on the street near here. I thought he was a pup but that was two years ago.
"And you kept him?"
"What was I to do? Leave the poor soul to starve to death?"
Sure. Why not? Any creature that looked like a leftover from a horror movie should not be encouraged, and definitely not fed. She'd seen Gremlins.
"I don't know what you should have done, but carrying it around in your purse—"
"Shhhh." Aunt Emmie snapped the purse shut and returned it to the bench as the lady behind the counter approached the booth.
"More tea, Mrs. Walker?"
Mrs. Walker's purse gave an unnatural lurch to the left.
"No thank you, Lori. We're just fine over here." She waved the woman away.
Mrs. Walker reached down and opened her purse so the life-form could breathe.
"They don't like animals in here."
Jennifer didn't like animals in here, either. "It's been very pleasant talking with you, Mrs. Walker… and meeting Tiger, but I'm only here for the morning from Macon, and I really must—"
"Must you, dear? I get so little company and I hardly get out any more, just once a day to come down here for tea and sometimes a biscuit. I'll have to be going soon myself before I get too tired. And I forgot my cane. I'll have to wait until the crowd breaks outside before I venture back to my building by myself, and that could be almost two o'clock."
Jennifer sighed inwardly. She should be thinking about murder—murder—not helping some poor old lady back to her apartment building. But she couldn't leave the woman to sit all alone in the dark for another four hours. The woman walked—without her cane—so her apartment couldn't be that far away.
"Let me help you home," Jennifer offered.
"Oh, no. I couldn't ask you to do that, sweetie."
"Really, it's no bother, and I'm not on any kind of time schedule."
"That would be lovely, child. It's just a few feet away in that big building in the middle of the block—the one with all the glass and gold, the one with the big potted plants out front."
Dying to Get Published Page 9
