Runaway Mistress

by Robyn Carr

  She discovered there was much more to Boulder City than she first encountered. Beyond the historic district that was filled with the tiny homes built by the government for dam workers, there were larger, newer homes. There were also huge homes, apartment and condominium complexes across the highway that led to Hoover Dam, high on the hills above Lake Mead. There were a few fancy golf courses and country clubs scattered around, a Franciscan center, churches both small and large, and more walking and biking trails than she could exhaust in a year. She found an abandoned railroad track that ran through tunnels above the lake—walkers, joggers and bikers were always in evidence. On a hill above the track was a sightseeing helicopter giving twenty-dollar rides.

  Then there was the lake, massive and bright blue, busy with boaters and surrounded by parks and camping areas. She felt almost as peaceful walking along the edge of the lake as she did on the Florida beaches. Paths led into the mountains in every direction, and once she got the lay of the land, she thought she would investigate them further.

  After walking for miles and sometimes hours, she would return to the house and log onto the computer. She’d ditch the clompy shoes and baggy pants and sit at the computer in her oversize shirt and panties, total comfort, total privacy, totally at home in Louise’s cozy little house. This house with the dark, warm colors, the woods and wools, florals and plaids, was so completely different from the sterile condo in Fort Lauderdale. From the beach to the desert. She thought she would grieve for the sound of crashing waves, but each morning when she woke she hugged herself. It was so calm here. So quiet. So uncomplicated.

  Her life here was so blissfully ordinary. She never would have guessed this kind of simplicity could be so comforting. She felt lucky to wait tables, walk Alice, explore Boulder City and e-mail back and forth with Louise, and it was no longer just because it kept her safe from Nick.

  Most of their e-mails were just daily news—Louise would report on the bookstores she visited, historic sights she never tired of, and the weather. Jennifer would mention who came into the diner, pass along hellos from Buzz and the gang and tell her where she’d been walking that day. She lived for those e-mails—it brought her out of herself in a way she couldn’t have predicted.

  Dear Doris,

  I was thinking about you this morning as a whole group of little schoolgirls passed me on the street and I couldn’t help but wonder, where is your mother? What kind of childhood did you have? You’re so wonderful with Hedda—do you have siblings?

  Love,

  Louise

  Childhood. Being raised by Cherie Chaise was like growing up in a three-ring circus. Manic episodes followed by deep depressions; unstable romantic interests that had them moving all over the country interspersed with running home to Grandma and Grandpa in Ohio. Cherie was whimsical and full of big dreams and the most loving and vulnerable person alive. When that great energy would come upon her, she could take a job and do the work of ten women. Cherie had even been a waitress more than once, and unsurprisingly her tips were huge. But then sometimes it was not a job that soaked up all that manic energy, but perhaps a lover, and she would throw herself into a relationship that Jennifer knew, even when she was very, very young, wouldn’t last very long. Or, a great idea would seize her and she would launch into music and acting lessons to become a star, a shopping spree through an office-supply warehouse to start a business. Once they got on a bus with the intention of riding nonstop across the United States from ocean to ocean.

  And then she would crash, unable to lift her head, to eat, to wash. And then she would rise! And again they would fly! And laugh and sing and dance! And crash. Time and again Grandma and Grandpa would come to them, fetch them home and beg Cherie not to take Jennifer away again. Jennifer needed stability, they pleaded.

  But Cherie needed Jennifer and Jennifer needed to protect her mother.

  It was while growing up that Jennifer learned how to take care of herself, how to entertain herself and how to be safe in the most unsafe conditions. She counted seventeen different schools, even though she counted only one school the eight different times she stayed in Ohio. Of course she was a loner; how could she be otherwise? She couldn’t have friends—Cherie needed her full attention. And she dared not bring friends from school home, there was no telling what might be going on. The shift in moods could be rapid fire. Cherie might be talking to the walls, hallucinating after days of sleeplessness. Or she could be ensconced in darkness.

  Something dawned on her. Perhaps, as an adult, she hadn’t eschewed friendship out of necessity because she was always committed to a rich older gentleman. Possibly it had just become a way of life since childhood. A solitary existence.

  She had learned to sleep in chaos or stay calm during the black periods. She did not miss the craziness, but she missed her mother so much sometimes. No matter how high or low she happened to be, she was always sweet. Cherie was like a child, so vulnerable and loving.

  She had rarely talked about it. She had never told Nick anything personal. He could care less. What he liked about her was her long hair and legs, high perky tits, et cetera.

  Now she had someone to tell.

  Dear Louise,

  Messy. My childhood was a train wreck. My mother, I now realize, was bipolar, but because we were barely scraping by financially she never had a proper diagnosis. She was hospitalized a couple of times and medicated with Thorazine, which had the effect of knocking her out and making her sick—so naturally she feared the doctors. I’m sure it’s a good thing I was the only child. I don’t think we could have managed more than just the two of us. We had some high old times if the right man or job came along—but it couldn’t last long because my mother would sink into a terrible depression and lose her boyfriend or job. Once she got back on her feet, we’d move—a person in a manic state loves nothing so much as a change of scenery and a chance to start over. I went to over twenty schools. That probably accounts for me being such a loner. After my grandparents died, my poor mother lost the only anchor she had and took her own life. I know she was crazy and sometimes miserable, but the fun times were so fun. And she was a dear. A lovely, kind, sweet but wacky woman. She loved me so. It made her feel so guilty that my life was so dysfunctional. But there were times when life seemed almost normal. You’d have liked her.

  I didn’t think I wanted ever to talk about that, but thank you for asking.

  Love,

  Doris

  Dear Doris,

  You are truly a remarkable young woman. I can’t imagine all you must have learned from that experience. What wisdom and tenacity! I’m sorry for the hard times, but so glad you knew your mother loved you.

  Now that you don’t have to be a caretaker to an ill parent, how do you suppose your life will change? Louise

  Change? Jennifer realized that Louise had the impression her mother had died recently, that Jennifer was poised on the brink of a new life.

  Well, maybe she was.

  We’re friends, Jennifer realized. Girlfriends. This was something she’d never had. Every time she began to get close to a friend while growing up, she would be snatched away again and it would be lost. There were a couple of women she began to get close to in her twenties, but she couldn’t sustain the friendships because she was too private, too solitary. Women have to exchange personal items and secrets in barter for friendship and Jennifer hadn’t been up to the job. But now…With her eighty-year-old mentor, she was learning.

  She depended on the e-mails to sustain her.

  After writing to Louise, she would begin her Internet search for any news about Barbara Noble, but there had been none. She watched the Palm Beach news, subscribed to vital statistics networks, and read online news sources. Every once in a while Nick’s name would pop up, or he’d have his photo in the paper, which could be viewed online. He played in a charity golf tournament in Miami and bought a new yacht. He gave money to political campaigns and cut the ribbon on yet another new office building. His wife wa
s never at his side, yet this didn’t seem to raise any alarms.

  But…if he was in Miami being a big shot, he was not in Las Vegas. It was possible he had people looking for her in his stead, but there was no one she feared recognizing her as much as Nick.

  Here’s how her life was going to change—she was going to get this business with Nick Noble behind her somehow and create an entirely new life for herself. She made up a new screen name on Louise’s Internet account and sent an e-mail to the Las Vegas Metro Police Department: Nick Noble of Palm Beach, killed his wife, Barbara Noble, in a Las Vegas hotel and disposed of the body. She hit Send, then deleted the screen name.

  She began to tremble. Could that be traced? She thought not. But the PD might connect Nick’s name with hers and the fact that she was missing. She thought about repeating the process with the Florida authorities, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. She was too afraid of being found out.

  Jennifer was taking the trash out of the diner’s back door and into the alley when she just about collided with Hedda, who was in a serious lip-lock with her boyfriend. Hedda giggled and separated herself from the boy. “Doris, this is Max,” she said.

  Jennifer said hi and Max hung his head shyly, looking up cautiously. She assumed he was sixteen, like Hedda. Boys that age came in all shapes and sizes, and this one was about six feet tall, thin as a noodle with size-twelve feet and spiked hair that had been bleached white. And black eyebrows. She almost said, “I was thinking of doing my hair that way,” and caught herself.

  It was also hard to tell with kids these days whether they looked like they were on welfare, or whether they were on welfare. Max wore pants that hung low on his butt, his boxers sticking out, and the hems that dragged over his shoes were frayed. His T-shirt had a couple of holes in it and a ball cap stuck out of one pocket.

  “So, what are you two up to? You’re early for work.”

  “I thought we might split a sandwich and do some homework. Then Max goes to work, too, and I’m all yours. I can stay out of your way, or you can go home early.”

  “Where do you work, Max?”

  His voice was so quiet she had to strain to hear. “I wash dogs? Next door at Terry’s?” He said it like a question. “Till about six?”

  “Wow,” she said. “What a fun job.”

  “They poop in the tub sometimes?”

  “So,” she said, temporarily at a loss. How do you respond to something like that? “You have to be flexible in this job.”

  He liked that. He grinned largely and slipped his arm around Hedda’s waist. He had straight, white teeth. “Yeah. Gonna be a vet.” No question mark that time.

  “Good for you. So, let’s get that lunch,” she said. “You have to keep up your strength. Never know what you’re going to find in the bathwater.”

  “Yeah,” he laughed.

  She served them up a nice big sandwich along with plenty of chips and pickles. It seemed a good idea to take care of them a little. It was impossible to know if Max was so thin because he was hungry, or because he was sixteen. And she wondered if it would be inappropriate for her to ask Hedda how serious they were. Her mother, Sylvia, was so young, it implied a teen pregnancy. She would hate to see Hedda get caught in the same trap her mother had.

  Of course, Jennifer knew how to take care of that little problem.

  But no, she cautioned herself. Can’t get too personal with someone else’s kid. It was just that Hedda was growing on her. It was like looking in an old mirror. And she had long ago developed her habit of trying to keep the vulnerable safe.

  There were just a few people left from the lunch crowd when Max went to his job and Hedda found her apron and covered up her multicolored hair. Buzz had disappeared with a couple of bags of takeout for his personal meals-on-wheels program, and now he was back. Even though she was sure he wouldn’t mind about the free lunch for Hedda and Max, she felt compelled to tell him.

  “You take good care of the girl,” he said. “That’s never a problem here.”

  “I swear, I don’t know how you make ends meet.”

  “It’s a challenge sometimes, but we always make do. Somehow.”

  “I’ll sweep the sidewalk before I leave. Okay, boss?”

  He leaned on the counter. “You’re a good girl, Doris, even if you do your hair funny.”

  “Thanks, boss,” she laughed.

  The sidewalk didn’t need sweeping so much as Jennifer liked to do it. The streets in the afternoon were quiet—very few cars and not many people about. When she got outside she thought about how peaceful this town was, how good life in general seemed to be here. Then she noticed a black sedan with darkened windows parked down the street. Something about it gave her pause.

  Then she saw them—a couple of men going in and out of the little shops across from the park. One of them was Lou, she didn’t know the other. The one she didn’t know seemed to be holding a sheaf of papers. He could be a new “butler,” or maybe a police officer? She settled on the new goon—he was about as large as Lou. She hoped he was about as smart.

  But there was no question in her mind—they were looking for her.

  She felt light-headed. A little dizzy. They walked into the next shop and Jennifer got a grip. Sweep, she told herself. Nick might be in the car. Just sweep and try to act natural. But her mind was racing. Should I run? Had the message to the police through the Internet been traced to Boulder City? If it had, her first contact would come from the police, not these goons, right? Unless the police called Nick and said there’d been a message and then—She stopped herself. She was over-thinking it; she had no way of knowing what had transpired behind the scenes, if anything. Sweep. Just sweep. Look down at the sidewalk as though those two lunkheads don’t interest you.

  Momentarily they came out of the shop and stood talking on the sidewalk. They stopped a man as he passed by and showed him the paper. Ah, she thought. They’re showing a picture around town. The man shook his head and kept walking. As he got closer, Jennifer glanced up from beneath lowered eyes and recognized him as someone who came into the diner regularly. And he didn’t recognize her from the picture!

  This is the moment of truth, she thought. Let them come. Look right at them. Don’t blink. And don’t smile! Look at the picture. If they don’t recognize me now and if no one else in town says they’ve seen the blond woman in the picture, maybe they’ll go away and not come back.

  Unless Nick was in the car. If Nick saw her, she’d be found out. He wouldn’t be fooled so easily.

  She swept. It seemed to take years for them to make their way to the Tin Can. She could hear her heartbeat in her ears. She forced herself to remember her long blond hair was gone, her eyes were a different color, her lips were thinner, her eyebrows thicker. Her face had been transformed. Plus, these idiots were probably looking for a blonde in a short skirt and four-inch heels. Sweep and don’t think too much.

  “’Scuse me,” the man said. She looked up. Lou stood back about ten feet, cleaning under his fingernails with a penknife, waiting. She was really short in her flat shoes. Every time she’d been shopping, with Lou carrying her packages, or at the airport, with Lou carrying bags, she’d been considerably taller.

  “Yeah?” she said, chewing a nonexistent piece of gum.

  “Any chance you’ve seen this woman around here?”

  “No. Why? You lose her?”

  “Somethin’ like that. You’re sure?”

  “Buddy, someone like that would stand out. Don’t cha think?”

  “Yeah. Don’t know what she’d be doing around here, anyway.” He looked around and, if Jennifer wasn’t mistaken, sniffed the air derisively. “This place doesn’t have enough action for our girl.”

  “That a flyer?” she asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Gimme a bunch. I’ll put ’em up for ya.”

  “Hey, thanks. Hey, Lou, you want a cup of coffee or something?”

  He looked right at Jennifer. Not the slightest questio
n or recognition registered on his face.

  “Naw, I’d rather get back. You done here?”

  “Yeah. Enough is enough.”

  They went back to the car and drove slowly down the street. When they were gone, when the sedan had turned the corner and was out of sight, Jennifer started to tremble. She leaned the broom against the diner window and made fast tracks to the bathroom, holding the flyers against her stomach as she went, slamming and locking the door. She tried to slow her breathing, but she was panting.

  She had been missing for six weeks. Nick had either returned to Las Vegas sooner than his usual three months, or sent his boys. In either case, she was obviously still a hot item. That Nick hadn’t just left this to the police indicated his determination to find her. He must be certain she could do him harm.

  She looked in the mirror. She held the picture on the flyers up next to her face. She smiled at herself. Ew, Louise was right—she could hide with this face, so different from before, as long as she didn’t smile. But the way her lips parted in a smile was identical to the picture, except that now her lips weren’t quite as full. It didn’t show in the picture, but her bottom teeth were just a little crooked. But the shape of her smile…

  You might know.

  Her cheeks were flushed. She splashed them with cold water. There was a tap-tap-tap at the door and Hedda asked, “You okay in there, Doris?”

  “Uh, yeah,” she said. “Give me a minute, okay?”

  “Take your time. Buzz just wanted me to check on you.”

  She felt weak. She needed to go home. It was almost quitting time, anyway.