“My husband Robert was an avid road bike rider and died about nine months ago when he was hit by a car during a ride with a few buddies on the back roads in northern Virginia,” she explains.
“Wow, that’s horrible. I’m sorry,” I reply.
“Yeah, it’s been really tough but I’m hanging in there. I know he would have wanted me to live life to the fullest and that’s what I’m trying to do. He and I ran a landscaping company together, and I’ve been trying to keep the business afloat ever since he died.”
I’m seriously impressed with Alex’s tenacity. “That’s incredible. Good for you,” I respond.
We order a second beer, and then Alex turns to me. “So, what about you?”
“Well, let’s see. There isn’t much to tell. I’m an accountant—a forensic accountant, to be more precise.” I play with the corners of the cocktail napkin under my beer and try not to think about Conrad, the bastard.
“What exactly is forensic accounting?” Alex asks.
“It’s kind of like putting together the pieces of a financial puzzle. We comb over financial information to investigate stuff like fraud, embezzlement, money laundering, and insider trading. We typically get hired by lawyers, and sometimes law enforcement, to investigate financial records and sometimes have to testify as expert witnesses.”
“Wow, that actually sounds kind of interesting.”
“I think it is, but most people’s eyes roll into the back of their head as soon as they hear the word accountant,” I say with a laugh.
“Do you work for a firm here in DC?”
“Well, it’s kind of a long story…I’m actually a partner in a firm up in Vermont, but I am, um…currently taking a little sabbatical to try my hand at writing. I used to live in DC, and it seemed like a good place to come for a little change of scene.” I know I’m seriously stretching the truth when I tell her this, especially given my recent conversation with Conrad, although I’ve always dreamed about writing a novel.
“Wow, cool, that’s brave of you! What are you writing?”
“Fiction, a novel. I’ve been composing it in my head for years, and I finally decided to try and put it to paper.”
“Good for you! Is your, uh, family supportive?”
“Well, I’m newly single which is part of the reason why I decided that there is no time like the present. I mean, I wasn’t married or anything, I just got out of a long-term relationship.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Nah. It’s okay. It was for the best. She, my ex…” Alex raises an eyebrow when I say ‘she.’ “Oh, I’m gay,” I blurt out. “Anyway, she and I had sort of drifted apart, if you know what I mean.”
“Well, breakups are never easy no matter the circumstances. But I think it’s great that you are taking this opportunity to chase one of your dreams. And lucky for me! If you hadn’t, I never would have met you.”
Alex’s phone buzzes, and she pulls it out to see who it is. “Oh, shoot, I’m late. I am so sorry, but I’ve got to run.” She downs the last of her beer. She slides off her barstool, throws some money on the bar, and slips on her coat.
I make a totally lame joke about people running for the hills as soon as they hear the word accountant, and she chuckles and leans in to give me a hug goodbye. She turns to leave but then stops and turns back toward me.
“Hey, I’ve been looking for a new running partner ever since my neighbor Patty moved to LA. Wanna try and run together sometime soon?”
“Sure, that would be awesome,” I reply enthusiastically. We agree to meet at the P Street Bridge this coming Saturday.
I wander back into the bookstore section of Kramer’s after Alex leaves and buy a book that I’d been eyeing before I ran into her. As I walk home, my mind quickly drifts back to Alex. She is even more attractive than I remembered, and I can’t deny that I’m a little disappointed that she’s straight. Oh well. I try to console myself that it will be nice to have someone to run with… I have been a little lonely since I got to DC.
* * *
I spend the next few days exploring DC like a tourist. I wander through the FDR Memorial, visit the Botanical Gardens and gawk at the Constitution, Bill of Rights, and the Declaration of Independence on display at the National Archives. On two occasions, I also slip into a nearby public library to try to call Ellen on Skype again. I have avoided calling her on my new iPhone in an effort to stay under the police’s radar. I can’t understand why she hasn’t called me back. Something must be wrong… I’m dying to talk to her.
Chapter Fifteen
Finally, Saturday rolls around. As we discussed at Kramer’s, I meet Alex at the P Street entrance to Rock Creek Park for a run. She’s stretching her long, muscular legs when I walk up, and her snug running top makes it impossible not to notice her ample breasts. Damn, she’s hot. She stops stretching when she notices me approaching and greets me with a giant grin. “Hey, Mattie, good to see you!”
“Hi!” is all that I manage to utter while I work to get my libido under control.
“I’m done stretching, so I’m ready whenever you are.”
“I’m ready as I’ll ever be. How far do you usually run?” I ask as I do a little stretching of my own.
“Usually five miles or so. What about you?”
“Five sounds good to me.”
I let Alex set the pace and am pleased to discover that it’s very close to my usual eight-minute mile stride. In truth, I’m sort of relieved. Alex doesn’t have an ounce of fat on her, and I’d been worried she would totally leave me in the dust.
“Too bad our kamikaze friend isn’t out today,” Alex jokes as we run by the spot where the crazy biker almost took her out.
“Ha, ha. I can’t believe you’re not angry about that,” I reply.
“Life’s too short to let something like that get to you,” Alex says.
“I like your attitude,” I say.
Alex shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Did you end up buying anything at Kramer’s the other day?” she asks.
“Yeah, actually I did. I bought this book about a woman who decides to skip college and sail around the world by herself. So far it’s fascinating.”
“Wow, that’s awesome. I like to think I could do something like that.”
“Not me. I’m way too chicken to do something like that,” I say with a laugh before asking, “What about you, did you pick up anything at Kramer’s?”
“Yeah, I bought that book A Walk in the Woods by Bill Bryson. I’ve been meaning to read it forever. I love any book about the outdoors and I’ve always liked his sense of humor.”
“Oh yeah, I always wanted to read that too but never got around to it,” I reply.
“Well, I’d be happy to give it to you when I’m done,”
“That would be great, thanks. And, if you want, I can give you my book about the sailing woman,”
“Cool, we can form our own mini book club!” Alex says with a laugh.
“What a great idea! I absolutely love to read.”
“Me too,” Alex says and gives me a wink.
We chat easily for the rest of the run. Before I know it, we’re back to P Street. We walk back to DuPont Circle and part ways, but not before agreeing to run together again a few days later.
* * *
After our run, I head back to my Airbnb apartment and take a quick shower before packing up my limited belongs. I jam my computer and clothes into my backpack, zip all my cash securely into the pockets of my ski coat and then carefully place the Motorola phone and my iPhone into Sarah’s fanny pack. I take one more look around the apartment to make sure I’ve got everything, hoist my backpack onto my back and head out to meet Michelle. I’m meeting her to get the keys to my new apartment. I’m excited; there’s a skip to my step as I head toward Georgetown. Just like before, Michelle is standing out on the front walk waiting for me when I arrive even though I’m a few minutes early. She greets me with a broad smile.
As we walk in the building, she
hands me a Yoda keychain with two keys and a fob. “The fob is for the front door, the small key is for the mailbox and the other key opens both locks on the apartment door,” she explains.
We head up the stairs to the apartment, and she rattles off some basic instructions like who to call if I get locked out and what to do with my garbage. Per the lease, they’ve left the cable and Internet service on because it’s included in the rent, and Michelle shows me how to use the remote and hands me a piece of paper with the Wi-Fi name and password. Then she turns to leave. “Well, I better get going. Stacey will be pulling up out front any moment. We’re headed straight to Philly to get settled in our new place. Call or text me if you need anything.”
Once she’s gone, I pull off my coat and start to make a list of stuff I need to buy. I already know I need silverware, plates, and cups, but I jot down a bunch of other stuff too: wine opener, cutting board, salt and pepper, wineglasses, napkins… The list quickly becomes long, and I haven’t even considered food yet.
After the kitchen, I move on to do an inventory of the bathroom and peek under the sink and in the linen closet to find a few rolls of toilet paper but not much else. I add sheets, towels, Formula 409, sponges, and soap to my list before pausing to look above the washer/dryer combo for laundry detergent. Negative, so I add that and dryer sheets to my list too. There is a Target in Columbia Heights, not too far from my apartment, so I figure I can get most of the household stuff on my list from there. I’ll worry about groceries later. There’s a big Safeway grocery store in Georgetown—dubbed the Social Safeway (or sometimes the Singles Safeway) by local residents because of its reputation as a place where Georgetown’s singles meet and exchange glances while cruising the aisles—so I can swing by there when I get back from Target.
I will either have to walk or take a taxi to Target since there is no Metro stop that is convenient to Georgetown. The myth is that the wealthy Georgetown residents blocked a station from being built to help keep the riffraff out of the neighborhood, but in reality, building a station in Georgetown would have been prohibitively expensive. As a result, it was never seriously considered. Not to say that the residents would not have blocked it if one had been proposed.
I pull on my coat and decide to quickly check Google Maps for the exact address of Target. I reach down to pull my iPhone out of the fanny pack but the fanny pack isn’t there. My mind starts racing. The Motorola phone is in the fanny pack too. I remember putting the phones in the fanny pack before I left the Airbnb, but I don’t recall actually clipping it around my waist.
“Shit,” I mutter. I must have left it on the kitchen counter. Luckily, I’ve got the Airbnb place for one more day. I’m not scheduled to give Bettie back the keys until tomorrow morning. I’ll just to have to go back and get the fanny pack when I’m done shopping.
Chapter Sixteen
I wander back to the apartment in Logan Circle to get the fanny pack later that afternoon. I take the elevator up to the fifth floor and see them a second too late. Two uniformed police officers are standing in front of the door to apartment 511, and they spot me just as I’m stepping off the elevator.
I hear the elevator doors close behind me, and my heart starts racing like mad. There is no time to think. There are stairwells at both the north and south end of the hall, and I take off for the one at the north end. One of the cops yells something at me, and I hear them start to run down the hall in my direction. I pass a large decorative planter in the hallway and kick it. The cops easily scramble over it, but it slows them down a little bit.
I hurl myself through the fire door and run down two flights of stairs. Rather than run to ground level, I open the door on the third floor and take off toward the stairway at the south end of the building.
I no longer hear the cops behind me. By some miracle, they must not have realized that I slipped out of the stairwell on the third floor. I fly down the south stairs until I reach ground level, shove open the door and find myself in the alley behind the apartment building. I sprint toward fifteenth Street and run for three blocks before I slow to catch my breath.
Crouching behind a brick wall, I scan the street for any sign of the two cops. The coast appears to be clear. I take a deep breath and step back out to the sidewalk and try to blend in with the slew of people walking home from work.
Eventually, I make it back to my apartment in Georgetown. I flop down on the couch in the living room and cover my face with my hands and try to absorb what just happened.
“Think Mattie, think!” I say to myself. Where did I slip up? How did they find me?
It takes me about thirty seconds to come up with an answer. Conrad! That stupid fuck! He told the cops I’d called him, and they’d somehow tracked me down.
“God dammit!” I yell. I’m conscious of the fact that I also called Todd, but I know it wasn’t Todd who ratted me out. Todd’s like a brother to me, and I know with my whole heart that he’d never do something like that. Conrad, on the other hand…
It then occurs to me that the damn fanny pack is still inside Bettie’s apartment. I curse some while I consider my options. I’m hesitant to go back to the apartment, but I’ve got to get that Motorola phone. It’s the only connection I have to Ellen. Plus, if I can help it, I’d rather the cops not get their hands on my iPhone.
* * *
That evening, I hastily devise a plan to dress up like a maintenance man before I return to get my fanny pack. I figure pretending to be a man will help me elude the cops if they just happen to be staking out Bettie’s apartment building. I go back to Target first thing the next morning and buy a Washington Redskins baseball hat, a pair of men’s work pants, a pair of work boots, a gray T-shirt and pair of cheap reading glasses. I go home, put on my new clothes, tuck my hair up into the baseball hat and don my new reading glasses before heading back to Logan Circle.
It’s midmorning when I round the corner onto P Street. I pause to scan the street for cops before slowly making my way to the parking garage under Bettie’s building. The key fob that I have for the building should work on all its doors and entering from the parking garage seems safer than strolling by the security guard who sits at the front desk 24/7.
I am on pins and needles as I start to creep across the cavernous parking garage. It’s eerily quiet. I do my best to stay in the shadows. When I’m about halfway across the garage, the door to the building opens and a man walks out. I dive behind a parked car and hide until he pulls out.
At this point, it occurs to me that there are probably security cameras in the garage. If that’s the case, the front desk guard can probably see me on one of his monitors. Diving behind cars is likely to look suspicious. I’m probably better off playing it cool and sauntering into the building like I don’t have a care in the world. With this in mind, I step out from behind the car and follow the well-lit walkway to the building.
With a wave of my fob, the door to the building clicks open. I step inside and quickly debate stairs or elevator. Elevator. I hit the button and wait for the car. The doors open, and two women step out. I smile at them, but they don’t even look at me. I step on the elevator and press “5.” The elevator starts to inch upward. I hold my breath, praying it doesn’t stop at the main lobby level. The “L” lights up on the display and then the “1.” I take a deep breath to try and calm my nerves. It’s a lost cause.
The doors open on five, and I panic. I’m afraid to step off the elevator. It’s like my feet are glued to the floor. The doors close, but the elevator doesn’t move because I haven’t selected a new floor.
“Get a grip,” I say out loud, and then stab the “Open Door” button. I jump off the elevator as soon as the doors reopen. I remind myself of the building’s security cameras and walk to door 511 like a maintenance man on a mission.
Once inside, I grab the fanny pack off the counter and toss Bettie’s keys on a table near the door before I slip back out of the apartment. Hopefully, Bettie has another set of keys because I sure as h
ell am not meeting her back here tomorrow morning.
Quickly, I walk to the end of the hall and then run down the stairs to the alley. My heart is beating so fast that my eyeballs feel like they’re pulsing. I trot down the alley and turn onto fifteenth Street, constantly looking behind me.
After three blocks, I start to calm down a little. I slow my pace as I unzip the fanny pack. I pull out my iPhone, power it down and toss it into the first garbage can I pass. It kills me to throw away a brand-new iPhone, but I am convinced that’s how the cops tracked me down, and I’m certainly not going to risk it and take it to my new apartment. I have no choice but to buy a new one.
I change out of my disguise as soon as I get home and grab a beer out of the fridge even though it’s only early afternoon. I sit at my kitchen island and sip my beer while I contemplate my next move. I briefly consider fleeing DC but quickly decide against it. That’s what the cops will expect me to do. I convince myself that the police don’t know about my new apartment. If they did, they’d have already come knocking.
Chapter Seventeen
A couple of days later, I meet Alex again for a morning run. We meet earlier than normal; and it’s still dark and cold when we set off into the park. Alex must be a morning person because she’s more chatty than normal. She tells me a funny story about her crew finding a client in a compromising position the day before when they went to landscape around her pool.
“Does that kind of stuff happen a lot?” I ask.
“Let’s just say that you see a lot when you spend hour upon hour working around people’s homes. You’re in their personal space. Some people forget that we’re right outside their window and some people are well aware that we are there and just don’t care what we see.”
“That’s crazy,” I say.
“Yeah, but if you think about it, people in a lot of professions must see some wild stuff. Think about the stories that wedding planners and real estate agents could tell. I mean, the bridezilla stories have got to be abundant!”
The Schuyler House Page 9