by Susan Slater
He looked up as Elaine opened the door and slipped into the driver’s seat.
“Here we are.” She dangled an old-fashioned actual door key from an index finger and handed him his card and a receipt. “Three weeks, five hundred dollars a week paid in advance—I think four hundred of that is because of Simon—a kitchenette, queen-sized bed, all linens, private bath…it’s really not half bad.”
“Sounds great. Actually, United Life will think they’re getting off cheap.”
“And there it is.” She leaned forward to point out the windshield. “On the front corner, private outside stairs, and a side yard for Simon.”
Dan didn’t say anything but outside stairs translated to easy entry…of course, with Simon the warning system was no fail. And he’d just make sure he took his computer with him when he wasn’t in the room. “Looks great. Where do we park?”
“Over there on the street. Our landlady’s name is Mrs. Patrick. Ina Patrick. But she’s not one you’d call by her first name. Nice enough but really no nonsense. I had to tell her about Simon’s heroics just to get him in.”
Simon’s humans seemed to be milking his one good deed for all it was worth. Dan glanced at the dog who was sitting up watching their every move. Well, there had been other good deeds. Dan wasn’t being fair and if this one got them in the door, then it was worth it. Simon needed a little praise.
“So what do you think, boy? Think you can be quiet and not spill your food?” At this Simon scooted forward to put his head between them.
“Let me get the car parked and get our bags upstairs. Then I’ll run back to the convenience store and pick up something to eat.”
***
“I hate to tell you this, but the choices were pizza, frozen hoagies, ham and cheese frozen pockets, egg biscuit and sausage sans and…oh yes, corn dogs.”
“And the winner is?” Pretend drum roll—Dan doing a staccato series of taps on the counter ending in a flourish before realizing how much his right wrist ached.
“Pizza, and which hand do you want?” Elaine was holding something behind her back.
“Right.”
“Wrong.” But she brought out her left hand holding a DVD. The Bridesmaid.
“Hey, great.” Feigned approval. Whatever happened to movies like Cowboys and Aliens? That one was filmed in New Mexico somewhere outside Santa Fe—surely it was on DVD by now. But he smiled; he wasn’t going to disappoint Elaine who looked absolutely triumphant standing there with a DVD in one hand and a boxed cheese and mushroom pizza in the other. He grabbed her around the waist and was glad the pizza was frozen as it hit the floor. “I feel like we’re living in never-ending picnic mode.” She laughed and put both arms around his neck as he leaned in and kissed her…long and longingly.
“That was nice. I should leave you alone more often.”
“No, never.” He pulled her into him but she stepped back.
“I almost forgot. Mrs. Patrick met me in the hall…seems she got a call from the local Gestapo asking her to warn guests about recent auto vandalism in the neighborhood. She thought we’d be fine if we left the dog in the car. Simon’s not going to like that.”
The advice to leave Simon in the SUV overnight was probably good. Small towns always seemed to have their share of petty crime—usually cars broken into. He’d bet that the Wagon Mound law enforcement was woefully understaffed.
Still, Dan was uneasy. He was hoping that a case or two of vandalism was all it was. And it could be Ms. Patrick’s way of getting a dog out of one of her rooms—at least for overnight. No. Five hundred a week was probably a small gold mine in this town—doubt if she’d rock the boat. But again, he had second thoughts about a room at the back—one that opened onto the street with stairs shadowed by a towering juniper was exactly what it sounded like—an open invitation—burglary under cover. And leaving his alarm system in the car might not be wise. Or was this just part of his overactive imagination? It was taking him a while to get over reacting like everyone who said “hello” was offering him a ride in a rigged truck.
Pizza, beer, and a movie were becoming more than just a Friday night treat—even if it meant popping a DiGiorno Supreme in the oven and watching a movie on his laptop…in bed. If you added the fact that Wagon Mound’s sidewalks were rolled up at nine and there wasn’t a bar, a restaurant, or a movie theater within forty miles—this kind of home entertainment wasn’t so bad. He’d bet they’d do more of it. And actually, the bed part made it pretty good. And maybe The Bridesmaid wasn’t a thriller, but you had to hand it to the actors—didn’t one of them get an Oscar nod? And, he hadn’t seen it—that left out most action movies.
***
But their first night in Wagon Mound wasn’t exactly without incident and now it was dawn and time for reflection. The kitchenette’s window faced east and he was being treated to reds and peaches and golds being broad-brushed across the horizon. Spectacular. He poured his third cup of overly strong Peet’s Kenya Auction Lot and sat down at the table. The night was a blur but he forced himself to reconstruct the chain of events. Whether or not he reported them to Sheriff Howard, he needed to sift through what had happened for himself first.
He’d taken Simon down to the SUV after the movie at about 11:30. It was a bright night thanks to an almost full moon and clear skies. If he were still a smoker, the night would have invited a few minutes of reflection and a cigarette or two, just kicking back on the stairs and enjoying the balmy autumn.
But he’d come straight back from locking the car after crating Simon in the back. When he got upstairs, Elaine was asleep so he turned off the lights, undressed in the bathroom, crawled into bed, and almost instantly fell asleep himself.
According to his watch, he was awakened at 2:45 by something—something not right, out of place, making a noise. He wasn’t sure but he eased his hand under the pillow and felt the comforting presence of his .38—a nice little weapon, if he did say so himself. Nothing fancy, just accurate. He opened his eyes but didn’t move his head.
He was parallel to the door, sleeping on the left side of the queen-sized bed. Next to the bed was a nightstand with lamp against the east wall, like the headboard of the bed, a chair next to it under a window on the south side and the door. The door was the old-fashioned half-glass, half-solid wood with a roller shade pulled down to meet the bottom half of the door but curled at the edges. It was this sliver of moonlight that had been blocked—just for an instant by what was unmistakably the shadow of a human form.
Dan waited and felt rather than saw that the person was still there. What was the person doing? Then he saw it. Inch by inch a piece of paper was being slipped under the door coming to rest halfway across the jamb. Now was the opportunity. He grabbed the gun in his left hand, was momentarily pleased that he’d left his boxers on, hopped up forgetting the bruising and lunged for the door.
A second lost fumbling the deadbolt with his right hand, then throwing the door open, he hit the squatting stance of a trained killer…well, that was probably overstatement, but he held the gun in front of his body, arms locked, right hand steadying the left. And he was too late.
The glimpse he got of the slight body throwing itself over the railing three-quarters of the way down the stairs, stumbling, then jerking upright only to duck back beneath the stairs was only that, a glimpse. And the footsteps quickly became muted as the person left the walkway and struck out across grass.
“Stop.”
Worth a try, but like yelling at the wind. He heard the rev of an engine—motorcycle—the angry whine of a sewing machine, some kid’s crotch-rocket. Not far away but out of sight. He’d seen another one of those confounded alleyways, in this case a thoroughfare, when he’d put Simon in the car. The person was probably halfway to Railroad Avenue by now—if he’d had a bike close by, he was long gone.
“Dan? What’s wrong? What’s happened?” Elaine was stand
ing by the corner of the bed pulling her robe on.
“Kids, I think. Maybe those vandals the landlady warned us about—I need to check the car. It’s okay. I’ll be right back up.” He kept the .38 out of sight and watched as she slipped back out of her robe and got into bed. Then he leaned down and picked up the piece of paper.
He waited until he got to the SUV, had quieted Simon, scooted behind the wheel, and flipped on the interior lights before taking a look at the paper he held in his hand.
GET OUT WHILE YOU CAN
IT’S NOT WHAT YOU THINK
All capital letters cut from newsprint or magazines on common white computer printer paper. Amateurish. But made to look that way? Maybe. Would there be fingerprints? Unlikely. Would he show it to Sheriff Howard? Uncertain. He reread the message. “It’s not what you think.” What wasn’t? If it wasn’t what he thought, that would seem to indicate that he actually had made some decision or thought he knew something. But for the life of him, he had no idea what the note referred to. And who knew what he thought anyway? The single line was starting to play and replay in his head. And his head was beginning to throb.
He let Simon out and watched as he watered off a few tree trunks before they both headed back up the stairs. Simon moved toward the bed but Dan signaled, “No.” Dogs could sleep on the floor. He smoothed the paper and propped it against a glass on the table. Ominous message and it didn’t make one bit of sense…other than the “get out” part. That sent a shiver across his shoulders.
Dan leaned back in the chair, balancing on its two legs and leaning against the counter. Sometimes Dan found himself stopping whatever he’d been doing to reflect…like now as he watched Elaine sleep and heard the snuffly snores of Simon at the foot of the bed. He smiled, enjoying a moment of true contentment. But it was fleeting. He brought the chair back down to fully rest all four legs on the floor. One minute peace, another uneasiness.
So, what was wrong? It was nothing he could put a finger on…just a vague anxiousness. Everything seemed to be a big thing. Consequences that would never have occurred to him before, now seemed uppermost. The “might happen” became the “probably would happen.” Dan sighed. The simple truth was he’d found out he was mortal. “It” could happen. Death. Or life-altering injury and he had no right to burden another human being with his baggage. He loved Elaine. He loved her smile, her touch…he never wanted to lose her. He might admit to one or two thoughts of marriage…maybe. They’d only known each other four months but the feeling was there.
Yet, she’d had far too much sadness in her life to be saddled with another emotional cripple…or worse. Because he knew, one way or another, someone was gunning for him. Wanted him out of the way. And Dan didn’t have a clue as to who or what or why. He only knew that he recognized the stench of fright for the very first time in his life. Since the accident, he awoke to it at night and fought it to go back to sleep. And he wasn’t winning. And this didn’t help. He fingered the note and read it for the hundredth time…“get out while you can.”
Not him. Because now he was pissed—pissed that someone had forced this kind of control over him. Forced him to look over his shoulder and fear every shadow and bump in the dark. And pissed because he was scared shitless for Elaine—and knew he couldn’t protect her…not from everything.
She had to leave. He’d approach her in the morning about rejoining the tour—fly directly to Dublin. She would have only missed a few days—a week at most. He’d stay, get to the bottom of things, at least, get his report in and join her. He’d bet the doc would release him to drive this week, or if not, maybe he could hire someone. And in three weeks he’d be ready to take off. Mission accomplished.
He awoke to the smell of fresh coffee and an unbelievably stiff neck. Why he hadn’t just crawled back into bed earlier instead of sleeping at the table with his head on his arms, he didn’t know. He splashed water on his face in the bathroom, brushed his teeth and still didn’t feel any better. Maybe because every time he turned around he elbowed a towel rack, bumped the soap dish or knocked the toilet paper holder off its perch. The bathroom was an afterthought. The whole room could have been a molded plastic all-in-one-piece addition instead of just the shower. Tiny didn’t even begin to describe the cramped space.
“Toast?” Elaine was wielding a frying pan of sizzling bacon and what looked to be tw eggs over easy as he walked to the table.
“Sure.”
“You want to explain that now or wait until after breakfast?”
He didn’t need to look at what she was pointing at to realize he’d left the note on the table in plain view. He shrugged, “Either, I guess.” Silently he was berating himself for being so clumsy. He’d certainly lost the element of surprise. And the opportunity to destroy it.
“That doesn’t look like vandals to me—not teenagers anyway. And there seems to be a certain level of knowledge of you personally.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Elaine put two plates of eggs, bacon, and toast on the table and sat down.
“No jam.”
“What?”
“For your toast. I forgot to buy jam.”
“It’s okay.” Suddenly he wasn’t hungry anymore. “Are you upset?”
“I’m upset that you weren’t exactly truthful during the night. You went rushing out with your gun drawn—”
“Just taking precautions.”
“I don’t like any of this. Sure there’s a certain element of excitement but I don’t want you in danger.”
“Then that’s reason to leave. I don’t want you in danger. This is proof that something’s going on that reaches beyond a simple robbery and a stolen necklace.”
“I won’t go.”
“It’s just for a month—not even that long. That’ll give me time to wrap things up here—”
“Look what happened the last time I left.”
“It’s not safe—you just admitted as much.”
“If you’re in danger then so am I.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Doesn’t it? I flew back; I sat by your side; I cried my eyes out…and you think I’ll just leave again? Go off and pretend to enjoy a tour and leave you here, not knowing, fearing the worst, dreading the next phone call?”
“Elaine, it’s only selfish to tell you how much I need you—want you by my side. But—”
“But what?”
“I have no right…no right to endanger your life.”
“The decision is mine. We’re adults—adults who love each other. I won’t leave you. Besides, I kind of like whodunits. Solving them, that is.”
Then she was in his arms, breakfast forgotten, and that seemed to end it. Whether he liked it or not, for better or whatever, they were together in this—and he didn’t even know what “this” was. He picked her up and carried her the three feet to the bed giving up trying to unbutton any buttons with his left hand. She pulled the Henley over her head, shed panties and bra, and pushed him back on the bed to help him wiggle out of his shorts.
“Hey, our friend is back.”
“Yeah, I noticed.” And Dan couldn’t keep the lopsided grin from spreading ear to ear. “Any ideas about what we should do with him?”
“I think I can come up with a couple.”
Chapter Six
Dan was able to schedule a meeting with First Community Bank’s president for one o’clock Monday afternoon. It seemed the bank stayed open until three on weekdays and until noon on Saturdays. Bankers’ hours. He hadn’t run into those in years, and he’d bet there wasn’t an ATM…maybe not even a night deposit and definitely not a drive-through. Yeah, Wagon Mound wasn’t exactly on the electronic radar. This was going to be a step back in time…as if meeting Gertie hadn’t been one already.
Elaine dropped him off and went back to the boardinghouse to do laundry. He needed to get his own car back and
do his own driving—he was sure the chauffeuring was getting old. He had no idea how long the interview would take but he’d need to see the area, take pictures, interview help…it’d been a month, he could only imagine how tired everyone must be of being questioned. And probably very tired of the town gossip—everyone having a theory about whodunit and why…he was sure Chet hadn’t been the only one with an opinion.
He’d barely had time to admire the hundred-year-old chandelier in the foyer when a woman who introduced herself as Alice ushered him into an office lacking any customer-friendly touches. No overstuffed leather couches or chairs; no warm carpets or green plants. Some theme of Quaker austerity was being carried out in all wood mission-style benches, tables, and even the desk—the only grandiose piece of furniture in the room. Huge, chunky, slatted wood along the sides—and complemented by an ergonomically correct Aeron chair. That had set someone back a thousand or so but good to know the bank prez cared about his posture.
Inventory of the room was interrupted by Alice sticking her head in the door to say that Mr. Woods would be with him in a moment. The moment stretched to five but who was counting? This was a starred interview in his notebook. Not that he expected any breakthrough information, but it might tie up some loose ends.
The first thing that struck Dan when L. Maurice Woods—who quickly pointed out that he preferred to be called Lawrence—finally strode into the room was how young he looked for being stuck in a one-horse town. And how underdressed the man made him feel. Red-and-blue striped power tie, white shirt, navy suit, black shoes polished to within an inch of their life…and a hanky. All this on a lanky frame that screamed basketball for the local high school and not that long ago—certainly within twenty years or so.
But he was stuffy beyond his years and overly into his position—could bank president be that big a deal in the town? Probably. Dan decided later that it was the hanky folded to two-point perfection just peeking out of the pocket that screamed affectation. But then the dress code seemed to spill over to the general workers—the tellers wore nylons, the janitor wore a bow tie, and the guard on duty had had a manicure. Wagon Mound wasn’t exactly a metrosexual metropolis and all this spit and polish sure seemed overkill or just demeaning for the insurance guy. Dan wished the sweater he was wearing didn’t have pilling around the cuffs.
