“You know, Smooth, some of these people look like they’ve been here for years.”
“Probably have been.”
May and June arrived then. They handed Mary Margaret a Coors Lite and Rita a Coke.
“I’ll put something in the jukebox,” May said.
“Make sure it’s good,” said June and followed her across the room.
S“Am I going to be sorry I did this?” Rita asked Smooth.
“I certainly hope so.”
They took turns dancing: Rita with June and May with Smooth. Then May with Rita and so on for an hour.
“I’m dead.” Rita held up her hands. “I need another Coke and then I’ve got to go to bed.”
June, whose turn it was to dance with Rita, responded with a glowing smile.
“To sleep,” said Rita, though for just a moment, she considered an invitation.
“Your loss,” June said.
“Yes. It is.” Rita whispered so no one else heard.
Outside, the November night was raw and windy. Rita pulled the collar of her fleece pullover to her flushed cheeks as she and Mary Margaret walked along Lombard Street to her Jeep. The East Baltimore brick row houses were shut tight and dark. A skinny cat ducked into an alley. No one else was about.
“Was it so bad?” Mary Margaret asked.
“No,” Rita answered. “No, it wasn’t so bad. I laughed. I danced. I forgot about everything but the moment.”
“Where we all should live,” Mary Margaret said.
“Where we all should indeed,” Rita echoed.
♏
It was after twelve. Rita’s body ached from the rigors of the basketball game and then the dancing. She envisioned a pillow, her comforter pulled over her tired body. But she was in the city. She had promised to watch over Karin VanDreem and had taken back the responsibility from Bev. She drove to the more affluent side of Baltimore.
The house was dark when Rita made a first pass and circled the block. As she came back around, another car, a champagne-colored Lexus, drove slowly by Karin’s in the opposite direction. Community watch, Rita thought immediately.
She pulled her Jeep into the heavy shadow of a massive oak just down from the house. She’d sit there for ten minutes, make sure nothing was going on and then head home. She was afraid to lean her head on the car seat. She might fall asleep.
The car came around again.
Rita sat up. She noted the license number and when the car had passed, rummaged in the glove box for her notepad and a pen.
The car made another pass, but this time sped up when it reached the corner.
“Ok, dude.” Rita started the Jeep and maintained safe distance as she kept her quarry in sight.
The suspicious car shot up the off ramp to the Jones Falls Expressway, the same route Rita would have taken to go to her house. She slowed as reached her exit and the car ahead wheeled onto the exit just north of hers.
“Who the hell are you?”
The Lexus made a right onto a winding country road. Rita waited and then made her turn. She glanced up the lanes to the big houses that nestled in among the sprawling horse pastures and sparse groves of locust trees. Nothing.
“I wasn’t that far behind.” Rita glanced in the rearview mirror.
The lights went on then. She could see them glimmer through a hedgerow of English boxwood that lined an unpaved barn entrance. The Lexus zoomed onto the road in the other direction. A trail of dust rose from the sandy lane as he went.
“Dammit.” Rita jammed the Jeep into reverse and backed into a driveway. But the turning radius and maneuverability of her car was no match.
She arrived at the end of the road in time to see the Lexus shoot toward the Expressway exit. Rita watched the taillights and saw that he was heading back to the city.
She rested her head on her steering wheel for a moment. It was late. She was tired and this little excursion proved her thinking suffered from the fatigue. She was five minutes from home. She drove there.
The mercury light over the barn cast its comforting but unearthly blue glow over the parking pad behind the house. Rita glanced at the Mondieu household. The night-light was on in Lorretta’s bedroom as it was every night.
But as she glided in toward the carport, she saw a small furry body in the middle of the asphalt.
“Hunter.” Rita slammed on the breaks and ripped the keys from the ignition. The lights shone on the lifeless body.
“No, no, this can’t be.” Tears were hot in her eyes as she knelt beside the dead cat.
“What happened? What happened to you?” She touched the yellow fur as she looked for some sign of cause. The limp hanging head indicated a broken neck.
“Meow.”
Rita stopped. The cat in front of her was dead. Was she hearing things?
“Meow.” On the fence post nearest the house perched a solemn yellow tabby with a white face and white paws.
“Hunter?” Rita looked at the fence and then down at the body at her feet.
The Great White Hunter floated softly to the cold grass and meandered in her direction.
“What the . . .” Rita grabbed her cat and hugged him close.
The Great White Hunter, never one for public displays, wriggled violently until she returned him to earth. He sniffed at the unfortunate lookalike and walked away.
“I can’t leave this poor guy out here like this,” Rita said to herself and dragged off to the barn for a shovel.
♏
In the morning, when her alarm beeped, Rita reached over, switched it off and rolled back over.
When the phone rang, she was half asleep and punched the clock again, mistaking the jangle for the alarm.
“Hello,” she managed to say after she had figured it out.
“I’m not interrupting anything, am I, honey?”
“Dammit it, Bev.” Rita jerked upright and stared at the time.
“Well, your girl, Miss Smooth called here this morning and said you’d been out dancing with those evil Blizzard sisters last night. Just checking to see if you got lucky,” Bev said.
“I’m lucky they didn’t kill me.”
“Um hm. Well, honey, you need to get on down the road. You have some appointments you’re gonna be late for.”
Rita was already out of bed and rummaging in a drawer for underwear.
“Thanks for calling, Bev. Listen, I have a license I need to run down. Will you call DMV for me so I can have it when I get in?” Rita read off the numbers.
“Sure thing, sweetie.”
“Don’t call me sweetie. You know it reminds me of my mom telling me to play nice.”
“Yes, ma’am. Sorry.” Bev hung up after she took the license number.
Rita brushed her teeth, showered and dressed in black flannel slacks with a black turtleneck. Downstairs in the kitchen, she phoned Karin VanDreem while she made coffee.
“Hi, this is Rita.”
“Rita.” The name wasn’t registering.
“Great. How quickly they forget.” Just a tinge of sarcasm in Rita’s voice.
“Rita Mars. I’m so sorry, it’s been a terrible morning already.”
“In continuance of my terrible night.”
“I’m sorry. What happened to you?”
“Came home and found a dead cat in my drive. It looked almost exactly like my own cat. But anyway, I didn’t call to talk about that. I called because of a car that I chased out of your neighborhood last night.”
Silence on the other end. Then. “A Lexus?”
“Yes, a light gold color.”
“Douglas.”
“I’m running the tag today. I followed him up the Expressway. We ended up about two miles from my house when he gave me the slip. But as he did, he was pretty blatant in letting me know that he’d beaten me at the game.”
“Definitely Doug. And I’ll tell you something else. It wasn’t a coincidence, that cat in your drive. He killed it and put it there. Jesus, this is worse than I thought.”<
br />
Rita stretched the phone cord as far as it would reach so that she could pour a cup of coffee.
“Now wait a minute. Let’s not get carried away here. That seems like a bit of leap.”
“I’m telling you I know him. This is what he does.”
Rita burned her lip. “Ok. Ok. But how would he even know about me?”
“I don’t know.”
There was another silence.
“I’m giving up. I can’t deal with this. Letting him win is far easier than living like this. I’m going to move to Delaware to live with my sister until I get a job there.”
“You’re not serious.”
“As I can be. This guerilla war of wills has me on edge all the time. I can’t take it.” There was a tremor in Karin’s voice.
“Give me a chance to work. You hired me because you thought I could help. I can, but not if you run off. You have my word. I will take care of this.”
“I don’t know.”
“Tell me what you need to feel safe until I can set this straight.”
“I don’t want to be alone, especially at night.” Karin paused. “I’m afraid. I can’t even sleep. I’m worn down.”
“I understand that.” Rita took another sip of coffee. “My proposal is this: I’ll spend the nights at your house. Would you be comfortable with that?”
“And what if you have to be out of town?” Karin asked.
“I’ll send Bev.”
“And what is he going to do? Call the fashion police?”
Rita bristled. “Beverly Hills, real name Charles Jamal Wheatley, is a former Navy seal. You’re probably in better hands with her than with me.”
“I’m sorry. That was a mean thing to say and I’m not as bigoted as that sounded.”
“No offense taken,” Rita said. “And you’re comfortable with my sleeping in the same house?”
“Same house,” Karin said, “different rooms.”
“Absolutely.”
Rita hung up the phone. She poured the remainder of the coffee in a travel mug and was out the door. The Great White Hunter was nowhere to be seen.
Lorretta, however, was in her front yard. She was preparing the stone goose, Scarsdale, for a new day. His outfit was a blue and gold football jersey and a matching helmet. She waved when she saw Rita.
“Lovely young man, my dear. Do tell him to come back.” Lorretta returned to her task of dressing Scarsdale .
Rita walked over. “Young man?”
“I chose blue and gold for the Navy football team,” Lorretta said. “They play Army this Saturday, you know.”
“Uh, yes, but you mentioned a man?”
“Your young man who came calling last night. He was very nice. But you weren’t home, dear. He said he’d left you a surprise.”
The hair stood up on Rita’s neck. What was she up against?
Chapter 11
This morning Bev had on a navy Dolce & Gabbana suit with coordinated pearl choker and earrings. On the nail polish inspection, Rita noticed she had opted for the ultra-conservative clear finish with French detail. Bev sauntered through the office on open toe six-inch heels, a perfect navy compliment to the suit.
“My God,” Rita said when she walked in, “aren’t you afraid you’ll fall to your death off those things?”
“Oh, ye of little chic.” Bev marched back from the filing cabinet without so much as a wobble and seated herself demurely at her desk.
“They don’t hurt your feet?” Rita headed for the coffee pot.
“Never.”
“Don’t make your calves ache?” Rita took a sip and slid onto the edge of Bev’s desk.
“I have never once addressed you as the Queen of Converse, miss.” Bev crossed one smooth leg over the other as she started to type on her computer.
“Ok, ok. Hey, just asking.” Rita removed herself from the desk and started into her office. “Did you get a chance to run that license number?”
Bev halted and tapped her keyboard.
“Dr. Douglas Sevier,” Rita said before Bev could respond.
Bev rolled her eyes. “A Mrs. Cornell Chesteron, eighty. Vehicle is GM’s version of the Nile river barge, Huntington blue Olds 98, model year 1996.”
“No,” Rita said.
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“My, we are irritable this morning, aren’t we? Things not go well with the twins last night?”
“Dammit, Bev. I had nothing to do with those two and you know it.”
“And maybe that’s why you’re so testy, sugar.” Bev said.
“DFM 708?”
Bev beckoned for Rita to come and observe the screen. “SAR 526. You are more than welcome to search the Motor Vehicles database yourself.”
“He’s a smart bastard. He ripped off those plates, let me see him on purpose, knowing that I couldn’t prove a damned thing.”
“Is this the husband of Ms. VanDreem you’re talking about?”
Rita then recounted the story about the lookalike cat and the man who had visited Loretta.
Bev looked at Rita. “This is a scary boy, honey. Are you sure you want to go on with this? Maybe VanDreem should go to the police.”
Rita cradled her coffee cup in her hands. “Bev,” she said, “you know as well as I do that the police can’t help her.”
“True, but my concern is you. Karin VanDreem’s ex is crazy-dangerous.” A furrow creased Bev’s brow.
“Hey, you’ll give yourself wrinkles.” Rita started into her office.
“I brought you some doughnuts, sweet cheeks,” Bev called after her. “But don’t you eat too many of them now or those Blizzard girls are gonna look someplace else.”
“Very funny.” Rita went over to Bev’s desk and picked up Mrs. Cornell Chesteron’s address. She punched Karin VanDreem’s number into her phone as she entered her office.
“And you have no idea who this woman is?” Rita asked.
“Never heard of her.”
“How about 17120 Charles Street?”
“Sounds familiar.”
“There’s an apartment number too. I’m guessing it’s one of the luxury high rises near the Hopkins campus.”
“Calvert Towers.”
“Is that where Douglas moved?” Rita punched the address into the crisscross directory on her computer.
“Yes.”
“Well, so it is,” Rita said. “So it is. My guess is they have an underground garage and good ole’ Doug went down and did a quick switch on the nearest car. At that hour, not many people would be out touring.”
“Are you sure you want to get involved in this?” Karin asked. “The more I see, I know the more scared I am. I thought I’d seen his dark side, but I’m discovering it has a depth I could never have predicted.”
“I’m coming over tonight, remember?” Rita said. She brushed a flake of sugar off her desk.
“I had not forgotten.”
“You’ll be perfectly safe.”
“And what about you?” Karin VanDreem asked.
The question caught Rita off guard. “Me? If the bogeyman hasn’t gotten me yet, then he’s never gonna catch me.”
“It’s not the bogeyman I’m worried about,” Karin said. “It’s Douglas Sevier.”
Karin’s words sent a chill through Rita. She shook it off with a laugh. “Then I guess he should be the worried one.”
“What time?” Karin asked.
“I’ll be there half an hour before you arrive.”
“Seven.”
“Seven it is.” Rita said. She hung up the phone and reached for her second doughnut. Nothing like a high dose of sugar to pump up her courage. And then there was Bobby’s case; she’d have to engage Bev to cover some of the immediacy of the VanDreem problem.
“The Hunter will be hanging by the back door when you get there,” Rita said to Bev. “Now that it’s getting cold at night, he’ll stay in until around six am. Then he’ll come in and meow to go out.”
&nb
sp; “Don’t worry about a thing, baby. Me and the Hunter’s gonna be fine. I’m picking him up a fine can of tuna so he won’t miss his mama so much.” Bev slipped into a sleek black cashmere coat with a gleaming gold serpent lapel pin.
“Well, I’m going to miss him.” Rita reached for her pea jacket.
“Where’s your weapon?”
Normally Bev’s voice was sweet and smooth like a song. When she was deadly serious though the masculine qualities dominated. It always surprised Rita when that happened.
“Trunk of the car.”
“Strap it on, baby,” Bev said. “Check the magazine. Prepare for the unexpected.”
“I will, Bev, I will.”
“Don’t wanna be comin’ in here with a half dozen doughnuts some mornin’ and have ‘em go to waste. I ain’t playin’. You hear what I’m sayin’?”
“Loud and clear, gorgeous.” Rita flicked off the light in the office and held the door for her.
“Baby, I love it when you talk like that.” In an instant, Bev was herself again.
♏
“You can put your things in here.” Karin VanDreem held open the door to a guest bedroom just off hers.
The room, like all those in this Guilford mansion, was expansive, probably drafty in the winter. Inside was a cherry four-poster with matching chest of drawers. An expansive window, covered with white draperies hid the view to the darkened side yard. There was a small closet and a blanket chest at the end of the bed. The original 1940’s lighting was cheerless, but Karin switched on the bedside lamps, which brightened the area considerably.
Rita tossed her suitcase on the bed. “Nice room.”
“Thanks, and I’m just next door.” Karin pointed to the west wall where a bucolic landscape was the featured decoration.
Rita went to the curtains and peeked out. “Plenty dark out there. We need to get the electrician here to put in the motion sensor floods.”
DRIVEN: A Rita Mars Thriller Page 8
