by J. D. Webb
FIFTEEN
Time for a fresh start. Tomorrow, I escape.
The night passed, with Trish finally falling asleep and never knowing when Jim came to bed. When she woke the next morning his side of the bed had been slept in, but he was gone. She threw on a robe and went downstairs to make coffee. A light snow had fallen, leaving a white-covered lawn, but only dampening the pavement.
She looked around the cul-de-sac and spotted the police vehicle parked in front of the empty Jarvis house. A lone figure relaxed in the driver’s seat drinking something out of a thermos. Something had knocked over the Jarvis’ For Sale sign.
When the coffee was ready Trish sat at the kitchen table. She placed both elbows on the clear glass top and rested the steaming cup in both hands, trying to warm them in the cool early morning.
So many things to think about. What would Jim do when he discovered she had moved out? Would he even care? God, last week I don’t think that question would have entered my mind. Well, honestly maybe it had entered but not been acted upon.
Where will I go? I hate to impose on Heather, especially now that she and Max are roommates. My sister in Houston has enough problems with her three kids. Besides I don’t think I could live in that frenetic household.
What do I do about my job? I can’t afford to quit, but if I stay Jim will be able to find me easily. If I can hold out for a few weeks I’ll have my law license and I can look for another job. That is, if I passed the bar exam.
Trish went to the small desk that held Jim’s precious computer. She fumbled around for a pad of paper and pencil. One of the things Jim was always saying about her was her bad habit of making lists. Lists of everything. Now she was glad she had kept that habit.
The clock on the wall showed that it was approaching 7. Better make arrangements to take a sick day. She called Heather at home.
“’Lo?”
“Sorry, Heather. I know I’m calling early.”
“No problem. What’s up?”
“I’m leaving him today. I wonder if you’d tell Sloan I’m sick.”
“Good for you. Anything else I can do? My offer is still open.”
“I don’t think so. I have to sort all this out first and then figure out where I’m going. I appreciate the offer, and I may take you up on it, but only as a last resort. I don’t want to mess you up too.”
“You won’t. Stop that, Max. I’m on the phone.”
“Listen, I’ll let you go and talk to you later.”
“Be well, Trish. I’m on your side.”
Trish hung up and returned to her list. Okay what’s next to do? I should get a bank account in my name. Oh no, the ATM ate my card again so I need to get that back and see how much is in there. Whatever it is, it’s mine now.
The phone rang and Trish almost had a heart stoppage. She felt frozen to the chair. The answering machine picked up.
Jim’s voice monotoned. “Leave your message after the beep.”
“Mrs. Morgan, it’s Officer Jenkins. I know it’s early, but if you’re there please answer.”
Trish relaxed. She was afraid Jim had called to check on her. She picked up the receiver. “I’m here, Officer. What is it?”
“Wanted to let you know I’ll be escorting you to work. What time do you leave?”
Uh oh. Didn’t think about that. Crap. “Uh, I’m not going to work today. I called in sick.”
“Sick? What’s the problem?”
“Nothing serious. An upset stomach. I’ll be fine.”
“I’ll have to let the Feds know. Don’t go anywhere.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t.” Trish hung up. She hated lying to Bob but she had important things to do that were none of his business.
Trish finished packing her suitcases and set them beside the kitchen door. First she had to take care of the ATM card. It was after 8, so she called the bank who said the lost card could be picked up any time. They apologized for the inconvenience.
Downtown Millvale was a long walk from Trish’s house, but she had no choice. She slipped on one of Jim’s parkas and a stocking cap, hoping she looked like a man—or at least not like herself. Stuffing her purse inside the coat, she struggled with the heavy suitcases. Trish carefully eased out the side door onto the driveway, noting thankfully she left no footprints leading away from the house.
The suitcases needed to be stored somewhere. They would be a dead giveaway. Jim had ordered a cord of wood for the fireplace this winter. It was piled next to the garage, covered by a bright blue tarpaulin. She stowed the bags under the tarp.
She moved to the front of the house and peeked around the corner. The figure in the police car was watching two neighbor boys in the yard across the street making snowballs. She took the opportunity and hurried to the sidewalk leading downtown.
The brisk walk in the cold air invigorated her. Taking some initiative and being in control felt good. I’m going to make this work.
Three blocks from the bank, a car honking behind her brought her crashing back to reality. “Trish, is that you?” The Millvale police cruiser inched along side her.
“Yes, it’s me.”
“So, the stomach-ache go away already?”
She shrugged. Turning to the car she breathed on her hands to get some warmth. Bob motioned for her to get in the car. Resigned to her fate, she obliged. “How did you recognize me?”
“Why, with expert police work.” Bob smiled at her. “Your purse is very distinctive. I couldn’t help notice the huge silver chain strap. Remember, I brought it back to you that night from the alley?”
“Damn. I guess I’m not cut out to be sneaky.”
“What’s going on? You know you’re putting yourself in danger by being alone.”
“Can we get a cup of coffee somewhere private? I’ll tell you.”
“Okay. How about my office? It’s quiet; the chief is out of town today. Although it’s the same coffee we always have. Amanda hates coffee, and when she makes it, she does so as a statement.”
“Fine.”
They rode in quiet to the station. Both nodded at Amanda as they entered. Bob led Trish into the small conference room and closed the door. She sagged into a chair and tossed her purse on the table.
“Want some? Coffee?”
“Sure, thanks.”
While he was gone, Trish pondered this new crimp in her plans. She could see no way out unless she fessed up and told Bob everything. Maybe he could help.
When he returned, he looked at her sympathetically, and she found herself spilling it all. Even her doctor visit. Afterward, she realized there was something cathartic about that. Just the fact that someone else knew what she was going through.
When she finished Bob took off his trooper hat and rubbed his head. “Wow. You have a lot on that plate of yours, lady.” He sat and studied Trish for a few seconds, then sighed. “I shouldn’t do this, but I’m going to help you—on one condition.”
“Yes?”
“That I transport you where you’re going. I’ll not intrude. Think of me as your chauffeur. I’m doing this against my better judgment and probably will be pissing off the Feds when they find out. But you’re not safe by yourself with a murderer on the loose.”
SIXTEEN
Signs all over the Citizen’s National Bank of Millvale boasted a celebration of 100 years of excellence. Trish smiled at Mr. Caulkins, the president, as she marched through the freshly painted lobby. She had convinced Bob to stay outside. After all, it had to be safe inside the bank.
A plaque identified the teller as Jennifer Brookins. “Good morning, Trish. How are you today?”
“Fine, Jen. I need to retrieve my ATM card.”
“Ate it again, huh?”
Trish nodded. Jennifer awkwardly dismounted her tall stool. Trish knew the bank insisted upon high counters to make it easier for customers to conduct their business. Short tellers like Jennifer had difficulty getting on and off the chairs. “Give me a minute to get it.” She left the te
ller area and disappeared into an office in the back of the bank. She returned shortly and handed Trish the card.
“Thanks. Uh, I need to make a withdrawal. Can you tell me what the balance is?” Trish noticed she was nervously tapping her foot and willed it to stop.
The teller typed on the keyboard and read the screen back. “Looks like two thousand a hundred and nine dollars and forty-five cents.”
Ignoring the lump in her throat, Trish drew herself to full height. “I want twenty-one hundred.” She had intended to clean out the account but that would take Jim’s signature. A much better statement could be made by leaving a small amount in the bank.
Jen smiled. “Do you want it in cash or check?”
“Cash, please.” Her heart beat so loudly she wondered if Jennifer could hear it. This was more money than she had hoped. Stuffing a cash-filled envelope into her purse, she headed back outside. She noticed the music playing over the speaker system.
How appropriate. Gloria Gayner singing I Will Survive.
* * * *
Bob started to get out of his cruiser when Trish approached, but she motioned for him to stay seated. Once inside the car she relaxed. It felt good to have some funds to rely on. Things didn’t look as bleak. Not that everything was hunky-dory. Only a tiny bit less stressful. She could imagine how Jim would react to her leaving. And even worse that she had only left $9.45 in their account. Well, too bad. He had made it impossible to stay.
“Where to?” Bob had both hands on the wheel and a quizzical look on his face.
“I don’t know. I have to find a place to live. I want to go to the credit union and open an account. Oh, I know. Ted’s Garage. I want to see if my car is fixed.”
“Ted’s it is, then. You know, even if your car is ready, I’m still following you.”
“I know. But I won’t be using our good taxpayer money to do my errands. Besides, what if you have an emergency to respond to?”
“Nothing happens in Millvale.”
“Duh, like a murder and the FBI all over the place?”
Bob laughed. “Okay, you got me there.”
Neither spoke during the trip to the garage. The smell of Old Spice wafted throughout the car. Funny, on Jim it would have been undesirable but on Bob it smelled…well, comfortable. Very masculine. Bob stared straight ahead as he drove. She wondered what he was thinking. Before she could speculate, they pulled into the driveway of Ted’s.
Ted Bandy wiped his hands on a grimy towel as he walked over to the police car. “Hey, Bob.” He squinted against the sun and shaded his eyes in a mock salute under the brim of a John Deere cap. “Is that you, Trish? What are you bein’ hauled in for?” His belly, not quite covered by a t-shirt of an indeterminate color, jiggled as he laughed.
“Taking advantage of a lift, Ted. Is my car ready yet?”
“Finished her up a couple of minutes ago. Had a clogged carburetor. That’s a Ford for ya.”
“Can you send me a bill? I’m a little rushed today.” Let Jim pay for the repairs. Might as well go for the jugular. It’s time he did something for me.
“You got it. I’ll have it brought out to you.” Ted ambled off, whistling.
Bob touched Trish’s arm. “This is none of my business, Trish, but is there anything going on I should know about? Is Jim abusive?”
She looked into Bob’s eyes. She saw concern and sincerity there. “There’s a lot of tension and mental anguish, I guess. He doesn’t beat me or anything like that. But I-I am afraid of him. That’s one of the reasons I’m leaving.”
“If there is anything I can do, you holler. I mean that as a friend, not just a cop.”
“I know. Thanks.” Trish got out of the car and then leaned in, holding onto the door. “I appreciate your help.”
“I’ll be in your rear view mirror. Where are you headed next?”
Good question. She hadn’t given it any more thought since early this morning. “I guess to find a place to live for a while. I’ll try Miss Beverly’s B&B.”
“Be careful.” The cruiser rolled backward and then pulled onto Pierce Street.
A red Escort zigged through the parking lot and skidded to a stop beside her. Ted jumped out and held the door open. “Purrin’ like a kitten, ain’t it? I replaced the air filter as well as giving the carburetor a good reaming. Should be fine to go now.”
Trish nodded as she wadded up a plastic seat cover and tossed it in the back. She slid into the driver’s seat, hooked up the seat belt and waved at Ted as she headed to the B&B. A block down the street the police car pulled in and kept a steady three car lengths behind.
* * * *
The Valley View Bed & Breakfast, a Victorian three-story complete with white picket fence and pink impatiens lining the sidewalk, stood atop the highest point in Millvale. The house looked and smelled as if it had been freshly painted. A sign directed visitors to the back parking area. Trish parked in one of the four lined spaces and got out.
Beverly Williams bounded down the stairs and grabbed both of Trish’s hands in hers. She squinted in the sun and smiled. Freckles and splotches of flour dotted the woman’s thin face.
“Trisha, what a pleasant surprise. I was finishing up a peach pie when I saw your car come up. Must be a month since I’ve seen you. How have you been?”
“Okay. Working too hard and that’s about it. How’s Jane doing?”
“That’s right, you haven’t heard. I have a new grandbaby. Justin Bradley. He’s the prettiest baby you ever saw.” Bev’s eyes sparkled with excitement.
“How wonderful. That’s three now, isn’t it?”
“Yep, two boys and one girl. And my two babies here.” She pointed to a large cage hanging from a metal stand where two tiny multicolored birds whistled and flitted between three perches. “Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum are my company and help me keep my sanity.”
“They’re beautiful, Bev. And they sound wonderful.”
“They’re zebra finches. They make this place alive. Say, what brings you here?”
“I need a room, Bev.”
“A room? For you?” She leaned back and gave a sideways look.
“Yes, me. Not long. Only a short while.”
Trish could tell Bev wanted to ask questions but instead gave her a sympathetic look and nodded. “A room it is. You can have your choice. I have a two-room suite upstairs or a one bedroom on the first floor.”
“Uh, how much?”
“For you the upstairs is sixty dollars a night or three-seventy a week and the downstairs is fifty a night or three hundred a week. That’s breakfast included.”
“Does the one downstairs have a separate entrance?”
“Sure does, and a nice veranda to sit on as well.”
“I’ll take it for a week. I need to find an apartment.”
“Great, let’s move you in. Your luggage in the trunk?” Bev started toward the back of the car.
“No. I have to go get it.”
Bev stopped and turned around. “Okay, let me get the key.” She frowned and cleared her throat. “Uh, Trish. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I need to get away by myself for a bit.”
“Sure. It’ll be great having someone to talk to. Business has been slow lately. You wait here.”
When she returned, she motioned for Trish to follow. They moved along the sidewalk to a small porch full of potted plants. A slatted swing drifted in the breeze; a table and matching chair completed the cozy nook. Bev inserted the key and opened the door. In the corner stood a huge four-poster bed covered with an obviously hand-made quilt. The six throw pillows, all in shades of red, filled the room with color. An old desk and chair in the opposite corner and a matching dresser completed the furnishings.
“This is perfect, Bev. I want to pay right now. Is cash okay?”
“Honey, this is a business that loves cash. But you really don’t have to pay till the end of the week.”
“No, I like to get things finalized quickly.” She counted out th
ree 100-dollar bills and handed them to her new landlady.
“I’ll get you a receipt and bring it down. When would you like to have breakfast?”
“I have to be at work by eight. Is seven too early?”
“No problem. I’m an old farm wife so I’m up at five every morning anyway.” She nudged Trish with her elbow. “Shucks, with the ailments I have, sometimes it’s three or four.”
“It’s a date, then.”
Bev started to leave and turned. Her features softened. “Trish, your life is none of my business, but if you ever feel the need to talk, I’m there. I remember you growing up and playing with my Janie. We had some talks back then. I am still here for you. That’s all I’ll say. It’s up to you.”
Trish patted Bev on the arm. “I’m truly grateful for that, Bev. When I’m ready, I’ll take you up on your offer. Thanks.”
Bev left and Trish took a minute to freshen up. Then she drove to her home and pulled in the driveway. She saw the startled look on the surveillance man’s face and watched as Bob pulled up behind the officer’s car. He got out and they talked. There was a heated conversation but she couldn’t tell what was being said. She decided not to worry about it.
Trish peered in the garage window and was pleased to see Jim’s car was not there. She went to the tarp, tugged her suitcases out and heaved them into the trunk of her car. She considered writing a note to Jim, but knew that would only make him more incensed. Nothing more could be said.
In yesterday’s yelling, both had expressed their true feelings. She shivered as she remembered the hate in Jim’s eyes when she told him she didn’t love him any more. She had trembled and was fearful he would do something drastic. He said he would never give her a divorce. She’d told him it didn’t matter—she knew she could legally get one anyway. He had stomped into his study and slammed the door in a wall-shaking crash.
Trish got into her car and headed back to the bed and breakfast with two police cars following. She trudged around to her door, lugging the suitcases, and dropped them on the porch. As she inserted her key, Bob took off, leaving the FBI man parked in front. Trish made a mental note to alert Bev about her company tomorrow at breakfast. She sat on the edge of the bed, looking around her new home.
