Better Read Than Dead (23 page)

What I needed was a way out. Either I was going to work for Andros or I wasn’t, and if I wasn’t it was probably only a matter of time before I either moved to a distant state and changed my name, or something really, really bad happened.

I considered going to the police, but quickly dismissed that option. I had a sneaking suspicion that Andros had a pretty long reach, and that a complaint from me would be met with a whole lot of nonaction. Besides, what could do? I couldn’t prove that Andros had been responsible for any of the things that had happened to me, and even the accident from the morning had already been written up as my fault. No, I’d lose my credibility, as most conspiracy theorists do, and then where would I be?

The best option I had was to try to talk to Dutch about it. But even then I risked a lot; Dutch, after all, worked for the FBI, and if I wanted to go the distance and do something about Andros then I’d probably have to join some witness relocation program or something. And what about Cat? She was very much an Achilles’ heel for me. Luckily Andros hadn’t picked her up on his radar yet, but that was probably only a matter of time.

I shook my head and got up from my desk, walking into my reading room and setting out fresh candles and incense. I worked hard at pushing away all thoughts of Andros and the events of the day as I got the room ready. I figured I’d call my missed appointments later, at the end of the day.

At one o’clock I was as ready as I could be, given the fact that I was stressed out and now very hungry—as I’d skipped both breakfast and lunch. As my stomach growled I watched the clock on my credenza tick its way up to one o’clock, then move minute by minute past until it reached one fifteen. Great, a no-show. I waited an extra five minutes without my client showing up and sighed heavily. When it rained it poured.

Trying to turn a lemon into lemonade I ordered some soup and salad from D’ammato’s restaurant downstairs, and asked if someone could deliver it. I had twelve whole dollars in my purse, and was so hungry and so tired that it seemed like a good trade at the time. Ten minutes later there was a knock on my door, and a young waiter held out my food as I gave up the cash and hurriedly went back to my office to eat.

While I was nibbling on the salad I called my sister on her cell. “Hey, there!” she said brightly. “How’s the car?”

“It’ll be fine. The accident just damaged the oil pan, and they fixed it, no problem. Sorry about having to cancel lunch.” I’d called my sister from the gas station and told her I’d had a teeny-weeny little fender bender, which was going to require some attention and the scratching of our lunch date.

“It’s no problem, honey, really. I had some phone calls to make anyway. You still up for a movie tonight?”

I held back a tired sigh and said, “Sure, that sounds wonderful.”
Liar, liar, pants on fire . . .
“How about I pick you up at the hotel at five thirty and we’ll grab a quick bite before a seven-thirty show?”

“Perfect. I’ll see you then.”

 

At two o’clock I had finished lunch and was pacing the small waiting area that is my front lobby as I anxiously waited for my next appointment. At two-oh-five I sat down and began to tap my foot. Two ten had me back to pacing, and by two fifteen I was considering choking someone. Two no-shows in one day. I’d never had such a run of bad luck in my life.

Moodily I went back to my office and began dialing the first of my skipped appointments from the morning. My nine-o’clock was really mad. I apologized profusely, but she kept ranting, so finally I simply hung up on her. I wasn’t feeling particularly customer friendly today.

I waited several minutes to calm down before I dialed the next client. She was far more reasonable, and only demanded a free reading at her convenience for the
significant
inconvenience of driving all the way across town to meet with me with not even a note to indicate what had happened. Apparently I had some nerve.

The third appointment could not have been more understanding . . . okay, she could have if she’d actually allowed me to reschedule her, but instead she stated that she was simply unwilling to commit to another date and time.

My last appointment for the day was to arrive at three, and this time I left my office door open and stood out in the hallway waiting for her arrival. The clock on my wall ticked its metronome rhythm, and my tapping foot kept pace as the minutes just before and just after three o’clock crept by. Growling my frustration I closed my door and headed down the stairs, intent on finding my client.

I reached the lobby and swiveled my head from side to side, searching the area for any signs of her. I couldn’t believe that all three of my afternoon appointments simply hadn’t shown up. It was too much of a coincidence.

Still, there was no one in the lobby, and as I looked through the glass doors to the street outside, it was obvious no one was about to enter the building. Squeezing my palms into frustrated fists, I stomped back over to the elevator and came up short. There, taped securely to the metal door, was Yvonne’s sign, which read:

 

Attention Clients of Abigail Cooper, Suite 222:

Abigail regrets to inform you that she has had a sudden and unexpected family emergency that prevents her from taking clients today. She wishes to extend her sincerest apologies for any inconvenience, and will be calling all of her appointments later today to reschedule.

Thank you for your attention to this matter,

Yvonne Mitchell
Concord Management

 

I reached up and yanked the sign off the elevator door and angrily ripped it into several pieces. The sign hadn’t been there when I’d come in this afternoon; I was sure of it because I’d taken the elevator and I would have seen it.

Wanting to scream I punched the up arrow hard enough to hurt my finger, and waited for the double doors to part and take me back upstairs. As the doors opened I marched forward, nearly bumping right into Yvonne. “Oh!” she exclaimed, startled, as we nearly collided. “Abby, I didn’t see you there.”

I stopped myself and quickly apologized. “No, I’m sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going. Say, I’m glad I ran into you. I just found your note,” I said, and held out the torn pieces of the letter crumpled in my hand. “It was taped to the elevator door.”

Yvonne looked puzzled, cocking her head to one side. “That’s odd. I taped it directly to your office door. I wonder how it got down here?”

My suspicions were confirmed: Yvonne hadn’t done it. “I’m not sure, maybe one of my earlier clients.”

“Weird that you didn’t see it when you went up to your office this afternoon, huh?” she said quickly, noting the oddity of my explanation.

“Yeah,” I said simply as I got into the elevator. “Anyway, thanks again for trying to help me out. I’ll catch you later.”

I left her standing in the lobby looking quizzically back at me, probably thinking it was odd that I didn’t seem more upset about losing a whole day’s worth of income. Truth be told I was too tired to get any more upset over it. I just wanted to go home and take a nap before I had to entertain my sister.

I packed up and locked the office, heading out of the building to the parking garage with lead in my feet. Just as I got to my car my intuition began humming. I jerked my head up, looking intently around, suddenly completely alert. Something was off.

I looked all around the garage and finally noticed what was wrong: There was a silver sedan parked illegally just off to the right of my car. Its motor was running and there was a man inside watching me.

As quickly as my now-shaking hands would allow I unlocked my door and got into the car, turning on the ignition. I then reached into my purse and pulled out my cell phone, punching in 911 but waiting to send the number. With my eye locked on the rearview mirror I checked behind me; the sedan hadn’t moved. Punching the accelerator I shot backward and pivoted out of my space, spinning the wheel, and shifting nearly all at the same time. I raced out of the garage and nearly missed getting into another accident as I turned onto Washington. The silver sedan had followed me out of the garage and was trailing two cars behind. I turned onto a side street, punching the gas again, and the silver sedan followed.

My heart was racing, keeping pace with my engine as I turned down several side streets, twisting and winding my way home. This was dangerous; the posted speed limit was only twenty-five, but the sedan and I added an additional twenty to the speedometer.

Finally I reached my house and zoomed up the driveway, hitting the button on my visor for the garage door. When the door was just high enough I slid my car forward into the cramped space of my garage, knocking my mountain bike out of the way. I hit the button again and counted the seconds as the garage door closed, noting that the sedan had come to rest at the foot of my driveway.

After the garage door had closed I sat breathing heavily in the car, trying to get a grip. I had no idea what terrible thing Andros’s men intended to inflict on me next, so I just waited for something to happen. After about twenty minutes I decided it might be safe to get out of the car and take a peek. I headed over to the side door and peeked through the curtains. The sedan was parked directly across the street from my house, sitting there, apparently in idle.

I retrieved my cell phone and called directory assistance. When I got the operator I asked to be connected to the nonemergency number of the Royal Oak PD.

“Royal Oak PD, Sergeant Staffer speaking. How can I help you?”

“Yes, hello, this is Abigail Cooper of two-ninety-four Crown Street. I’ve noticed a suspicious-looking car sitting outside my house. If there’s an officer in the area would you please have him check it out?”

“It might be a while; we’re a little busy today, ma’am.”

“No problem, it’s just that I’ve noticed this car taking inventory of the houses in the neighborhood all day, and it strikes me as suspicious.”

“Can you see the license plate number?”

I squinted my eyes, but at this angle I didn’t have a clear view of the tag. “No, unfortunately I can’t tell. It looks to be a silver Cadillac, and there are . . . uh . . . two passengers in the car.”

“Okay, we’ll send someone over.” And the sergeant clicked off.

I waited ten minutes, when suddenly the silver sedan pulled away from my curb. Not ten seconds later a black-and-white patrol car cruised slowly down my street. As the police car rolled past, I came out of my garage and bolted for my front door, quickly letting myself inside.

By sheer habit I set my keys and purse down quickly, then squatted to pet Eggy, but realized midsquat that he wasn’t here. Crestfallen, I walked over to my big chair and collapsed into the soft cushion, pulling an afghan around me. For the next hour, even though I tried to sleep, all I could do was feel sorry for myself.

By five o’clock I’d managed to get ready to go pick up Cat and grab a bite to eat. I felt sluggish and wiped out, as if I were traveling in slow motion. I was having a hard time thinking, and wanted only to go upstairs and crawl under the covers.

Cat, however, would never let me get away with something like that. Pouting, I grabbed my purse, coat and keys and opened up the front door, but came up short. The silver sedan was parked directly in front of my house, its motor still running. Quickly I slammed the door and threw the bolt. “Damn it!” I yelled in frustration, and I thumped my fist against the door.

Scooting over to the window I carefully peeled back one small blind and peered out. Being early November, it was already quite dark out, and I couldn’t see the occupants of the car at all.

I looked at the clock on the wall. I had to leave now if I was going to be on time for Cat. Past history had taught me to
always
be on time for Cat—she ruled her life by her second hand. There was no way I was going to make it past the sedan without being seen. My car was in the garage, and I had no other mode of transport.

I looked at the phone and thought about calling the police again, but thinking through that option I realized there were just so many times I could cry wolf. Besides, the sedan had somehow been alerted to the police before they’d show up—so a call about the sedan to my local police department was probably not a good deterrent.

I could call Milo and have him come to my rescue, but therein lay another problem—explaining why the sedan kept showing up at my home.

Milo was a smart cookie—there was no way of skimping on the details around him. He’d start pelting me with questions that, if I truthfully answered them, would end with me on a one-way ticket to some Iowa cornfield and a permanent change of name.

I looked at the clock again. “Son of a . . . !” I said, and picked up the phone. I called Cat’s hotel, but she wasn’t in her room. I was reconnected to the front desk and asked if I wanted to leave a message. I begged the clerk to search the lobby and find my sister, and fortunately after a few minutes was rewarded with her most professional tone.

“Catherine Cooper-Masters speaking.”

“Hey, Cat, it’s me.”

“Hi, me!” she said playfully. “Are you calling me from the car?”

I scowled. She knew damn well our connection was too good for me to be calling from the car. This was just her way of suggesting that if I wasn’t calling from the car, I’d better have a damn good reason.

“Yeah, about that . . .” I stalled.

“Yes?”

“Well, the thing of it is . . . actually . . . I’m afraid I really, really, really don’t feel well tonight.” Not quite a lie, not quite the truth.

“You don’t?” Cat’s tone turned immediately to concern.

“Uh, no, see, I’ve had this horrible headache all day, and my stomach’s upset, and I think I may have the flu . . .”
Liar, liar, pants on fire . . .

“Oh, you poor baby. Stay right there; I’ll catch a cab over—”