by Peter Sexton
Outside once again, Miranda scanned the various storefronts until she found a place where she could buy a pre-paid rechargeable cell phone, one she could use without fear of being identified and tracked. These days cell phone signals could be pinpointed using global positioning satellites. She didn’t want to take unnecessary risks.
When Miranda was on the road once more she was a brunette with wire-rim glasses and a short bob hairstyle. The changes added a couple of years to her appearance, which pleased her.
A glance at her watch and a quick mental calculation had her arriving at the Earth’s Own headquarters in just less than two hours.
When she was within blocks of her destination, Miranda pulled into the parking lot of a Denny’s restaurant and placed a call from the pay phone near the restrooms, opting to save the new cell phone she had purchased until it was absolutely needed. The call was answered on the second ring.
A sweet and pleasant female voice said, “Earth’s Own Flavors. How may I direct your call?”
Miranda had been expecting an automated answering system, so hearing the live human voice gave her a moment of pause. “Steven Trammel, please,” Miranda stammered.
“I’m afraid Mr. Trammel’s out of the office. Would you like me to put you through to his voicemail?”
“Sure,” Miranda said. But as the transfer was in progress, she hung up. She dialed the number for Earth’s Own again. She listened through the re- ceptionist’s scripted greeting for the second time and then asked for a different name.
“Yes, he’s in. I’ll connect you.”
And again Miranda hung up before the transfer was completed.
Miranda checked her watch and saw that it was just after one o’clock. She had lots of time to kill, so she decided she may as well order something to eat. She sat at a side booth, away from the door, but with a clear view of the parking lot, and perused the menu.
The waitress appeared after a few moments and took her order. Nothing appealed to her, and she didn’t feel the least bit hungry, but she ordered breakfast anyway. Minutes later the waitress re- turned with her food: two eggs sunny-side-up, sausage, hash browns and white toast. Miranda took her time eating it, leaving nearly half the food untouched. And after just over an hour, she paid her check, went back to the car, and headed for Earth’s Own Flavors corporate headquarters.
Twelve
“You already knew they weren’t going to find her when you agreed to let them come in and search,” Gillian said. It wasn’t a question. “How’d you know she was gone?”
“I heard her leave. There were noises out in the garage. I came down to investigate.” He paused, let out a slow, gentle sigh. “She took my car.”
Lawrence Blackwell stared over his wife’s shoul- der as she stood at the window. She held the curtains aside slightly and watched the FBI agents walk back to their cars. One of them had his cell phone to his ear.
“What do you think they’re going to do now?” Gillian asked. Her voice quivered. She did not take her eyes from the window. Before Lawrence could answer her question, she spoke again. “Who do you think he’s talking to?”
“Since they don’t know that she took my car, they’re probably assuming someone picked her up. So they’ll be trying to figure out who that someone might be. And, just to cover all possibilities, they’re probably tracking down all the local cab companies.” Lawrence paused. Over Gillian’s shoulder he could see down to the street. The agents conferred for a moment before climbing into both cars. “You know, I’m kind of surprised they didn’t search the garage.”
The cars pulled away from the curb and started down the street. Gillian let the curtains fall back into place, then walked toward the front door.
“What are you doing?” Lawrence asked.
Gillian ignored the question, and continued as though she hadn’t even heard him.
“Gill?”
When she reached the door, she checked the lock on the doorknob and made sure the deadbolt was engaged.
“You already did that, Gill.”
She leaned forward until her forehead was resting against the door, then she started to cry. Lawrence walked up behind her, placed his hands on her shoulders, and spoke softly.
“It’s all right, Gill. Everything’s going to be all right.” Lawrence wasn’t sure whether or not he believed this to be true, but he felt it was what she needed to hear.
She turned and buried her face in her husband’s chest. Lawrence had never seen his wife give in to this kind of emotional release before. Gillian was always so careful with her feelings and emotions...so guarded. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen her really cry. He was afraid she was losing it. Lawrence hugged her close. He held her until she stopped crying and reluctantly pulled herself free.
“What would you have told them if they had searched the garage and figured out that your car was missing? They would have known she had taken it.”
Lawrence didn’t know how to answer the question without causing her more concern. There was just something about their search, something that wasn’t sitting right with him. Their identifications had ap- peared real enough, and they looked like genuine agents, but his instincts told him something just wasn’t quite right. How a second car with two more agents arrived almost immediately, as though they had already been waiting nearby. And then the way they moved together through the house during their “search.” The way they allowed Lawrence and Gillian to follow them from room to room. Lawrence had studied FBI training films while doing research for one of his novels; one film depicted actual agents affecting a proper and “safe” search. He knew what these agents had done this morning did not adhere to those rules and procedures. Nothing seemed to fit.
“What if they weren’t real FBI? What if they’re actually some of the people she’s running from?”
The blood drained from Gillian’s face, and Lawrence immediately regretted confessing his sus- picions. He hadn’t had time to consider how best to discuss his concerns with her, and had now given Gillian even more reason to worry.
“If they weren’t real FBI...”
Her question hung out there unfinished.
“Wherever she’s headed,” Lawrence began, “she has nearly a two hour head-start.”
“We need to do something,” Gillian said. “We can’t just sit here waiting by the phone.” She stared at Lawrence. “I feel so damned helpless!”
Gillian began pacing the living room, back and forth, back and forth, then out to the kitchen. Lawrence followed her to the phone on the kitchen counter.
“What are you doing, Gill?”
She picked up the phone, held the handset to her ear, fingers poised to punch in a number.
“I don’t think there’s anyone you can call about this,” Lawrence told her.
Gillian set the phone back in the cradle, stared at her husband some more. And her tears returned.
“She’s in real trouble,” Gillian said. “I’m worried she’s doing something very...”
“Very what?”
“Dangerous,” Gillian finally said. She shook her head and ran her hand through her hair. “And stupid. I think she’s headed to Earth’s Own head- quarters in Arizona.”
Thirteen
“Tell me what she looked like,” Robert Anderson said. He leaned forward and switched the call to speakerphone.
Then Puckett, sounding confused on the other end, asked, “Miranda August?”
“No,” Anderson snapped, “Gillian Blackwell.”
From Puckett’s description, Anderson knew it had indeed been Gillian August, though he didn’t understand how this could be possible. He was still trying to figure it out when Puckett broke the silence floating across the phone line.
“You still there?”
“Yes, I’m still here.” Anderson covered his mouth with his right fist and cleared his throat. “You said you called to give me an update.” Anderson looked up at his clock to check the time. “It’s eleven forty-tw
o. If you approached the Blackwell residence at daybreak, why did it take you so long to report in?”
Puckett sniffed a couple of times before he spoke. A nervous silence opened up on the call. He avoided Anderson’s question. “I was right, Miranda August had been there. But she was gone by the time we showed up.”
“You knocked on their door at five-thirty, right?”
“Yeah, man. Just like I planned. She wasn’t there.”
“You’re absolutely certain she was gone?”
“Yeah. We searched the whole house.”
“Wait a minute. You telling me Gillian let you in to search?”
“No, it was her husband. Gillian was demanding to see a search warrant when the guy piped up and said we could come on in. She didn’t seem too thrilled about it. That’s why I was so sure we were going to find the girl.”
“But you didn’t?”
“No. We didn’t find shit, man.”
Anderson took a minute to consider this new information. “It sounds like the husband was being quite accommodating. You get the feeling he was working you?”
“No,” Puckett said immediately. “No way.”
“All right. So tell me, what’s your next move?” Anderson’s voice was laced with disappointment and agitation.
“I’m not sure. We left Trammel to sit on the house. Maybe we’ll get lucky and Miranda’ll come back. Right now I don’t know what else to do.”
“And what about Toni Lee? What’s she doing?”
“Good question,” Puckett admitted. “She said she had something to take care of and bailed. Said she’d catch up with us in the morning.”
“Where the hell’d she go, Puckett? I told you to keep an eye on her. Didn’t I tell you I didn’t want any fuck-ups this time.”
“I know.”
Anderson let a silence draw out between them, giving Puckett time to dwell on his last comment. “So how was Lee up until she left?” Anderson finally asked. “Any problems?”
“No problems, but...”
“But what?”
“I don’t know, man. Nothing, I guess. It’s just that...”
“What?”
“Even when she doesn’t say a fucking word she scares the hell out of me.”
“You chose to call her in,” Anderson reminded Puckett. “So it’s up to you to make sure she doesn’t get out of control.” Anderson paused. “Keep me posted on your progress. In a timely manner, you understand? As long as August’s daughter is still loose out there, we remain vulnerable.”
Anderson stared at the phone for a long time after hanging up before he looked past his desk to the muscle-toned black woman sitting across from him. His office was silent for several moments. Only the gentle hum of his electric wall clock and desktop computer droning on.
“So is that how it happened?”
The woman nodded. “Miranda August wasn’t there.”
“And the woman?”
“It was Gillian August.”
“You’re certain?”
“No doubt.”
“You get pictures?”
The woman produced a flash drive and tossed it onto Anderson’s desk. Anderson inserted it into the USB port on his computer, made a couple clicks with the mouse and watched as the pictures arranged themselves on the screen. He clicked on one of the thumbnail images and enlarged the photo.
“It is her,” Anderson said to himself.
The woman said nothing.
“How about Miranda? No sign of her at all?” Anderson asked, not taking his eyes from the photo- graph.
“None.”
Anderson closed the window on the screen and scrolled through the remainder of thumbnails, chose another one and enlarged it to full size.
“This is Gillian’s new husband?”
“Yes,” she said, “Lawrence Blackwell. He writes mystery novels. His latest book is called Looking for Mercy. It’s on the New York Times bestseller list.”
Anderson had no opinion regarding this tidbit of information. What Gillian’s current husband did or did not do for a living was of no concern to him.
“How do you know her?” the woman asked.
“We go back a long time.” Anderson said nothing more through several beats of silence. “It’s history. She doesn’t change anything. That’s all you need to know.”
The woman nodded and rose to her feet. Before she could respond, Anderson added, “I’m sure I don’t need to remind you to stay focused, Lee. Don’t lose sight of what we have to accomplish here. Too much time has been invested in the operation already; too much time lost.” He paused as he opened Gillian’s picture again. Then he said, “If Gillian...Blackwell ...gets in your way....”
“Yes?”
Anderson hesitated for several moments before closing the picture and removing the flash drive. He tossed it toward Lee who snatched it nonchalantly out of the air.
“Eliminate her.”
Fourteen
Miranda watched the main entrance to the Earth’s Own Flavors corporate headquarters from the driv- er’s seat of Lawrence Blackwell’s dark-blue Lincoln Town Car. Although it was Sunday, and most of the office staff would be gone, Miranda knew that a number of the executives, as well as their assistants, often worked through the entire weekend.
She drank from a bottle of water as she waited for night to fall and the building to begin emptying out. She needed to get in without being recognized. And even with her new appearance she didn’t want to risk entering during daylight hours.
Miranda checked her watch several times. It was not yet four in the afternoon. She was getting antsy. She had allowed for moderate traffic, and having encountered next to none on her drive, Miranda had reached her destination several hours ahead of schedule. It would help to get out of the car and breathe some fresh air, find a restroom.
She grabbed her backpack from the passenger seat, stepped out of the vehicle, and started to walk. With no destination in mind, Miranda walked aim- lessly, allowing her mind to wander to Maren. To a happier time in life: a time before her baby daughter had died.
They found a seat outside, facing the harbor. The gulls were out in force, honking as they glided overhead scan- ning for ignored or discarded food. Miranda watched the birds for several minutes.
“Hi,” Maren’s father said, after he made his way around occupied tables and settled into a seat opposite Miranda. He leaned across and kissed her lips. “Sorry I’m late.” He lifted Maren from her stroller, kissed her, and bounced the child on his knee for a few moments. Maren’s face lit up while her father doted over her.
He looked so serious when he was in a suit. All business. Miranda preferred it when he wore a T-shirt and jeans. She thought the suit highlighted their differ- ence in age.
“What would you like?” he asked, pulling her sud- denly from her thoughts. He placed his daughter back into the stroller and rose.
“How about a bowl of clam chowder? I haven’t had that since before I was pregnant.”
“Clam chowder it is. Beer?”
“Sure.” Something else she hadn’t had since before she was pregnant.
Seven minutes later he was back with the food, two bottles of Pyramid Hefeweizen, and two chilled glasses. They talked about her day while they ate. Hers and Maren’s. He didn’t like to talk about his work, so she never brought it up. He smiled and listened as he ate carefully, wiping his lips with a napkin after every bite, keeping his tie away from the table.
“She smiles all the time now,” Miranda announced with pride.
The baby’s father offered a smile of his own. “She’s a happy baby. She has a beautiful mother who adores her. She has everything in the world to be smiling about.”
They looked across the table at each other for a time, then Maren’s father leaned across and kissed Miranda again.
“I smile a lot more now, too,” he said.
Miranda’s eyes lit up and her heartbeat fluttered. She could almost imagine that they were already a
happy family. The three of them together. It was an appealing thought. She could definitely get used to this. Be com- fortable in the role of mother and...wife.
After a few minutes, he held up his empty bottle and said, “Want another?”
Miranda shook her head.
When he returned with another beer for himself, Miranda had Maren in her lap and was busy feeding her.
“You know you’re supposed to feed her through the mouth, right? You can’t just smear food all over her face and hope that it somehow finds its way to her stomach.”
Miranda crumpled a napkin from the table and threw it at him, hitting him square between the eyes.
“Ha ha. Very funny!” she said.
Yes, she thought. I could get used to this.
Miranda pulled a baby wipe from the diaper bag and began cleaning the food from Maren’s chubby little cheeks. The baby smiled again.
“Look, look! I told you! She’s a little smile fac- tory.”
Maren’s father laughed, and Miranda joined in. They laughed easily together.
Miranda felt Maren’s father watching her as she finished feeding their daughter. Their eyes met as he took another bite of fish and chased it with more beer.
“I’ve got a case of food for Maren out in the car,” he told her. “I’ll get it for you before I leave.”
Fifteen
Miranda didn’t remember falling asleep after return- ing to the car, but she must have, because when she opened her eyes it was almost dark. Lights dotted the side of the Earth’s Own building where people were still in their offices working late through the early evening. Miranda set up the pre-paid cell phone and called inside. The robotic voice of the security guard manning the front desk sounded gruff. Direct, all business. Miranda asked for Anderson, and was told that he had left for the day. She hung up after the man put her through to Anderson’s voicemail.
