Weep In The Night

by Valerie Massey Goree

  “Nope, not right now. I’ve got a few more tricks in my arsenal. Plan on spending time with little Miss Debra. Should have a definite answer for you soon.”

  After Bowen ended the call, he retreated to the small enclosed back patio and strapped on his boxing gloves. Each successive jab and thrust at the punching bag suspended from a beam mired him deeper in self-loathing. Although committed to a successful conclusion of this job, he could no longer ignore the guilt pricking at his conscience like an annoying leaky faucet.

  Lies…jab…lies…thump. His cover story consisted of nothing but lies. He displayed a wallet photograph of an unknown woman and child to Debra—a fictitious wife and daughter. What kind of man did that? And he’d witnessed the blood drain from her face by mentioning the name Sadie. That hadn’t been fun. Maybe the reason for her sudden departure had been legitimate, or maybe he simply came across as a little creepy.

  Jab…one last upper cut before Bowen stilled the bag. “Doggone it. Wish there was another way.” He tore off the gloves, threw them on the floor, and glanced around his makeshift gym. Bringing the worn punching bag with him when he’d left Los Angeles a month ago had been an afterthought. At least this furnished apartment had a place for it, and he needed the exertion more than ever.

  A quick shower, then he dressed in blue jeans and gray T-shirt, and drove to Jerry’s Café. He’d scouted the neighborhood for days and knew Debra’s favorite haunts. Although she often ate at Jerry’s, part of him hoped she wouldn’t show up tonight. At this early stage of the hunt he usually orchestrated one encounter a day.

  The waitress brought a glass of iced tea.

  Bowen added sugar and stirred his drink before sliding a notebook from his leather case. He checked off trigger words the client had given him and found several he hadn’t tried on Debra yet. He’d have to work them into their next conversation. Tomorrow. A gulp of cold tea slid down his throat. He smacked his lips as he set the glass on the table. Good thing he had electrical and woodworking experience. Having a job at the same place Debra worked sure made his investigation easier.

  Next, he took out the folders of the other two candidates. The first, Mary Wolfe, lived across the street from Debra. The more he studied her photographs, the more he was convinced she couldn’t be Sadie Malone. Something about her overall body build didn’t match.

  With the last folder open on the table, he examined a photo of Sandra Miller. Bowen knew people placed in WITSEC were usually given names with the same initials as their original name. That made Sandra a good possibility, plus she matched the physical characteristics—taller than average, with a little extra weight, long dark hair, oval facial structure. If Debra proved not to be Sadie Malone, he’d pursue Sandra next. He closed the folder. Debra Johnson. Mary Wolfe. Sandra Miller. The only one with Sadie’s initials was Sandra. That meant if either Debra or Mary were in WITSEC, Austin was not their first relocation. That knowledge generated another set of questions he’d direct Debra’s way at their next meeting.

  Information given by the client placed Sadie living in an apartment on Monterey Oaks Boulevard in a large city in Texas. The client refused to reveal his sources, but for now Bowen accepted his position. The accuracy of the information mattered most. Bowen had already spent two weeks in Dallas chasing down leads, but the woman bearing a resemblance to Sadie in an apartment complex on Monterey Oaks turned out to be on the Dallas police force. He figured no one in WITSEC would be allowed to work in law enforcement.

  The waitress set a plate of pork chops swimming in cream gravy, a baked potato, and mixed vegetables on the table. “Will there be anything else, sir?”

  “Nope. This’ll do for now. But I will take more tea when you have a chance. Thanks.”

  The waitress moved to the next booth as Bowen mixed sour cream into the steaming, fluffy potato. His closed folders lay on the table near his glass, but it wasn’t Mary or Sandra who occupied his thoughts. A blonde, brown-eyed co-worker’s face kept intruding.

  Bowen took a bite of pork chop smothered in gravy. He had to keep the association with his target on a professional level. But after meeting Debra, he struggled not to think of her personally, which could be dangerous.

  With tea glass in hand, he decided to turn up the charm level at their next meeting—for the sake of the job, of course. Shifting on the seat, he shook his head. He’d have to remember his assignment and forget about her pretty face—if possible.

  His meal finished, Bowen gathered the folders, slid them in the leather case and zipped it closed. He left a tip on the table and paid for his meal at the counter. Behind him, a commotion at the entrance sent twitches to his stomach muscles and his breath quickened, as he separated Debra’s voice from others. Should he acknowledge her presence or slip out unnoticed?

  Oscar Santos made the decision for him by slapping him on the shoulder. “Hey, Sam. Want to join us?”

  Sam? His cover name, of course. Bowen turned and recognized several people from Rhodes. “I’ve eaten already.”

  Debra paled and averted her eyes as she stepped behind April.

  “We’re here for pie and coffee.” Oscar slugged Bowen on the arm. “Come on. We’ll make room for one more.”

  Bowen could change his evening plans for an opportunity like this. “Guess there’s always room for pie.” He tucked the case under his arm and followed Oscar.

  The waitress directed the group of six to a large semi-circular booth. Debra shadowed April, eyes downcast. The group’s general camaraderie covered Bowen’s intense observation and analysis. Debra, seated between April and Oscar, acted as if she’d never met him before. Bowen figured he had a long way to go to gain her trust. Maybe he shouldn’t have mentioned his fictional dead wife so early in their acquaintance.

  After coffee mugs were filled and assorted pie slices served, Bowen kept a stealthy eye on Debra while he chatted with Victor, April’s boyfriend.

  Greg shrugged out of his jacket and draped it in his lap.

  Giggling, April pointed to his blue T-shirt. “Why do you have that silly horse on your shirt?”

  With a pained expression, Greg clutched his shirt over the faded white outline of the animal. “It’s not a silly horse. It’s a mustang. My high school mascot.” He stretched out his pecs and frowned down at the shirt.

  April took a sip of coffee. “What high school?”

  “Raul Medina in El Paso. The Medina Mustangs. It’s an awesome mascot. What’s yours?”

  “A yellow jacket.”

  Almost choking on a bite of pecan pie, Oscar sputtered, “A what?”

  “A yellow jacket. You know, a wasp.” April flapped her arms like wings.

  Oscar backed away. “Bzzz, real scary.”

  “That’s nothing, you guys. My mascot was an owl and I nearly killed him one night.”

  “You’re kidding.” Greg tapped his fork on the plate. “What happened?”

  Victor cleared his throat like he had an earth shattering announcement to make. “I ran into him during the Homecoming football game. Squashed him flat. Poor guy.”

  No one spoke for a bit while they cackled at Victor’s expense.

  Then Debra removed her glasses to wipe her eyes and set the frames on top of a menu.

  Bowen stared at the print through the lenses—no magnification. Her glasses were fake.

  A jolt like electricity shot through his chest. He glanced away quickly so she wouldn’t see his reaction. In his mind, a giant arrow pointed at Debra. Her glasses were part of her disguise. Why else would she camouflage her chocolate eyes with unflattering frames?

  Greg elbowed him. “You haven’t told us about your mascot. Where’d you go to high school?”

  Unable to avoid participating in the discussion any longer, Bowen glanced at Debra across the table and blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Dayton, Ohio.”

  Why’d he say that? He gave himself a mental thump when he realized the predicament he’d created. If Debra was Sadie, she’d know he
lied. Why didn’t he tell the truth about his high school in L.A.? He reeled in his lone excuse—his cover story didn’t go back that far. Still, experience should have kicked in.

  “What was your mascot?” Oscar asked.

  Bowen stirred his coffee and then took a big gulp. When words did exit his mouth, he stammered, “It’s so…so long ago, guys.”

  “Come on.” Oscar gave him another thump. “You’re not that old.”

  Bowen racked his brain. What were the odds he’d think of a real mascot for a real school in Dayton? “A cougar.” Then to flesh out the lie he added, “Central High Cougars.”

  Debra’s gaze locked on his. Cover story blown. But what she said next surprised his socks off.

  Hands cradling her coffee mug, Debra corrected him. “Central High’s mascot isn’t a cougar. It’s a panther.”

  3

  Sadie couldn’t believe she’d fallen for Sam’s trick. Did he deliberately choose the wrong mascot or was he flying by the seat of his well-fitting pants?

  Once safe inside her apartment, she lingered in the shower and tried to wash away the slip of her tongue. It had been a long time since she’d accidentally divulged details of her previous life. Why to Sam? Obviously he wasn’t who he claimed to be. Although he’d covered his goof by saying he remembered the mascot as a cat of some kind. Still, his answer gave her further proof of his brand of truthfulness. She needed to maintain her guard around him.

  At work the next day, Sadie kept busy in her department, surrounded by sweet scents from young spring flowers and primordial whiffs of damp earth. She hadn’t heard back from Griff since supplying him with the new guy’s last name, so she made a point of sitting with Sam at lunchtime.

  Swallowing a bite of pasta, she studied him. In another blue shirt, his eyes mirrored the early morning sky. “You said you worked up north. Which state?”

  “Indiana. Ever been there?”

  She shook her head and stabbed a piece of chicken onto her fork. “What kind of work did you do?”

  With his last meat filled sandwich in hand, Sam took a bite and chewed. “Construction.” He drained his soda and then squeezed the can, collapsing the middle. “Where did you live before moving to Austin?”

  One more lie wouldn’t hurt. “Miami.” That was far enough away from Seattle.

  And so the questions continued. By the end of the break, she hadn’t learned much and had been extra cautious about what she revealed. If only her traitor heart would ignore his dimple, his eyes, his charm.

  Immersed in purple verbena and blue plumbago, her cell phone rang. Caller I.D. indicated Griff. “What did you find out?” she asked.

  “First off, I couldn’t get anything on a Sam Boudine in Ohio. Are you sure that’s the right name? Without a Social Security number or driver’s license information there’s not a whole lot I can do.” Griff’s slow drawl filled her ears.

  “That’s the name on his time card, but I’ll try to get something else on him. Even though he was raised in the foster system, kids usually keep their family name. But I think he’s lying about his background.” She related the mascot incident from the previous evening, and Griff said he’d investigate further. Sadie terminated the call and concentrated on the gold lantana display.

  The professionally landscaped yard from her home in Los Angeles flashed in her memory. Undulating rolls of nostalgia crashed over her, crushing her already weary soul and sapping her energy. All this business of keeping her guard up around Sam hurled her back to the past and made her stomach churn.

  Julian Geis, the floor manager, found her sitting on bags of river rock with her chin resting in her hands.

  His brow furrowed. “What’s up, Debra?”

  Embarrassed to be caught slacking, she jumped to her feet and brushed dust off her blue jeans. A deep gulp of air helped ease the band squeezing her heart. “Sorry, I was taking a breather.”

  “No problem. I know you give a hundred percent every day. And that’s what I want to talk to you about. Come to my office before you clock out today.”

  “I get off at three.”

  “See you then.” Julian plucked a couple of dead leaves off a potted honeysuckle before departing.

  One hour to wait. What did he want to discuss? Thinking up possible scenarios added to the volcano in Sadie’s gut. Preoccupied with the meeting, Sam slipped from her mind.

  Close to three o’clock, she knocked on Julian’s door. He told her to enter, smiling from behind his desk.

  He motioned towards a chair and opened a brown folder. “Have a seat, Debra. I see in your record you’ve been with us for a year. You get consistently good reviews. Why haven’t you applied for a supervisory position?”

  Of all the questions she’d considered he may ask, this one never made it to her list. For the moment, she couldn’t speak. How could she answer truthfully? She wanted to stay under the radar with as little added responsibility as possible. Sadie wiped sweaty palms on her thighs. “I guess I don’t think of myself in that role.”

  “I want you to apply. The next round of promotions is set for the middle of next month. That’ll give you four weeks. OK?”

  Refusing at this point would put her in a bad light, but she’d have to think long and hard about a promotion. “All right.” She shifted uneasily. “Is that it?”

  “One more thing. Tomorrow when you arrive, please set up a display close to the main entrance. You know, something colorful and eye-catching.”

  “Like the one I did last year?”

  He nodded. “That’s settled then. Thanks for stopping by.”

  Headed to the break room, she mulled over Julian’s suggestion. Would a promotion be so bad? It would mean more money and more predictable shifts. Naturally, the money would be helpful, but she liked the odd shifts she worked. It gave her security knowing her comings and goings varied from day to day. Maybe a chat with Griff would help make up her mind.

  On the trip home, she stopped at a grocery store and purchased items for the week. Since Griff had given her no information on Sam, she planned to spend the evening at an Internet café. She owned a laptop but had no Internet access. If family members of the man her testimony sent to prison ever found her, it wouldn’t be because she left a cyber trail.

  Refreshed from her shower, Sadie slipped into a sweat suit. The mid-March evenings still held a chill. Her meal of salad and mesquite flavored chicken took minutes to prepare. Although delicious, she left half of it uneaten, and drove to a café about ten miles away where she settled at a computer in the corner. Knowing Griff must have searched the usual places for information on Sam, she used her research skills to check sites with accessible backdoors. Hour after hour, she explored databases.

  When she left the café, she had proof Sam Boudine was a liar. He’d never been married; no record existed of an accident in which Paige and Sadie Boudine died, and he hadn’t graduated from Central High.

  Although excited at the results of her research, a twinge of disappointment accompanied her home. The faint romantic stirrings Sam’s physical appearance generated had been squelched. Too bad. She relegated him to a dark corner of her mind and then spent a restless night weighing the pros and cons of maintaining their friendship. Her rationale, however skewed, included the fact he lied about his past, but that didn’t mean he came to Austin for the purpose of finding her. After all, she lied about her past all the time.

  Early the next day at Rhodes, still groggy from lack of sleep, Sadie selected decorative pavers, bags of moss, and a variety of potted plants and flowers. With the dolly loaded, she proceeded to the main entrance.

  Pavers arranged in various heights, daylilies, Mexican Heather, coreopsis, and tropical greenery strategically placed, moss covering the bare spots—finally the display met her expectations. Sadie gathered all her supplies and lugged the dolly towards the garden center.

  Halfway there with clipboard in hand, April stopped her. “Julian wants me to update the list of employees’ first aid
skills. Check this out and initial what’s appropriate for you.”

  Sadie took the pen and clipboard from April and scanned the page. She initialed next to care of minor burns, bleeding control, treatment for shock, CPR, Heimlich, and then hesitated. Infant CPR and Heimlich were the last items. No one had marked them yet. After a minor battle with her conscience, she initialed next to both and then handed the board back to April.

  With an arm draped on Sadie’s shoulders, April whistled. “Hey, girl, why do you know all this stuff for babies?”

  How could she explain her knowledge of the infant Heimlich maneuver? The truth. “It’s required for my volunteer work.”

  “No kidding. They teach you how to do that? Great. Got to go, chica. See you at lunch.”

  April disappeared down the next aisle, and Sadie turned to find Sam standing behind her. His eyes held a question, and she dreaded what he might ask. With her head down, she clung to the handle of the dolly.

  “So, Miss Debra, you’re full of surprises. Where do you volunteer?” Sam helped her steer the dolly towards the garden center.

  She’d not shared her volunteer work with many co-workers. This would be one less thing to lie about. “I volunteer at the Travis County Children’s Shelter. CPR proficiency is a requirement.” Telling the truth felt good.

  “Oh.” His eyebrows shot up. “The children’s shelter. That’s interesting.”

  By now they’d entered the outdoor garden area, and she expected Sam to return to the lumber department, but he lingered.

  “I’d like to volunteer. Do they need more help?”

  His question sent her mind reeling.

  “I suppose. They’re always looking for people, but they do a background check.” Did Sam blanch? “Come to think of it. They’re doing renovations and could use your carpentry skills.” Had she encouraged him to volunteer when she should have treated him like a leper? But if he passed the background check her suspicions of him would fade and she could relax. Her face heated as blood rushed up her neck when she realized she wanted him to volunteer.