Weep In The Night

by Valerie Massey Goree

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course.” He rested his elbows on the table and twisted his silver watch band. “Seems someone didn’t want me to drive my truck today. I had to wait for the tow truck and buy two tires. Nearly cost me my job.”

  She touched his forearm where dark hair curled over taut skin. “Did you tell Julian why you were late?”

  “Yeah, but since I’m still on probation, he said he would be justified in firing me.” He thumped the table again, sending the salt and pepper shakers trembling. “Two tires. I can’t believe it.”

  “But he didn’t fire you?”

  “No. He gave me a warning and said I should have phoned him, but to tell the truth, I was so mad I didn’t think of calling.” His shoulders slumped as he rested his forehead in one hand.

  Sadie’s desire to offer him comfort by wrapping her arms around him almost overtook her common sense. To distance herself from the temptation, she pushed back.

  Sam straightened, his lips curled enough to reveal the dimple for a second, and then it disappeared. “I better clock in. Have to make up the hours. I’ll be here until closing.” After he punched his time card and tied his apron, they left the room together. “I wanted to ask you out again tonight but can’t now.”

  “There’s always tomorrow.” She couldn’t believe she made the suggestion.

  “Suits me.” Sam flashed his knee-bending smile her way. “I’m off tomorrow. What time should I pick you up?”

  At the end of the aisle, she froze. Would it be OK for Sam to know where she lived? After all, he’d be coming with the puppet group on Saturday. “Six thirty. I live at 7523 Monterey Oaks Boulevard. Apartment 117.”

  “Can’t wait.”

  She shoved her hands in her jeans pockets and took a meandering route to the garden department, hoping the heat in her cheeks would dissipate by the time she had to face Glenna.

  Few customers braved the cool evening, and Sadie spent the rest of her shift in the covered storeroom doing inventory. On the way to her car, her cell phone rang. “Hey, Griff, what’s up?”

  “Where are you?” His familiar twang sounded stressed.

  “Leaving Rhodes, heading home. Why?”

  “I’ve got a bit of troubling news.”

  He’s found out something sinister about Sam.

  “What is it?” She popped the remote and slid into the car.

  “I heard through agency channels that someone has been attempting to access your old financial records.”

  She locked the door and whispered, “You mean Sadie’s records?” Paranoia nibbled at her gut. She glanced around to make sure no one eavesdropped.

  “Yes.”

  “What does that mean? There’s nothing there, right?” When she’d entered WITSEC, Cal, Aaron’s brother, liquidated their assets, paid debts from the proceeds, and the rest—not much to show for an upper-middle class lifestyle—was funneled to her.

  “Right. There’s no money, but we left a paper trail to prove to anyone who checked that Sadie Malone was dead.”

  The damp chill seeped into her bones, and she shivered. Griff’s words about Sadie pierced her heart. She wanted to scream, “I’m not dead. I’m here. I’m alive.”

  Griff’s anxious voice penetrated her pain. “Debra?”

  “I’m trying to process what you said.”

  “No need to panic. Your new identity has not been compromised, but we thought you should know.”

  Oscar passed by her car and waved. Acknowledging his greeting with a nod, Sadie so hoped she wouldn’t have to move again, adjust to another new name, new job, new friends. “Is there anything I need to do?”

  “Be alert and careful. And if anything or anyone acts suspicious, give me a call.”

  She decided to tell him about Pete and Janelle Williams’ eagerness to move into her apartment complex.

  “I’ll check them out. Go straight home, and call me when you get there.”

  “OK.” She ended the call and drove out of the parking lot. Her stomach ached as she turned onto the road. Bile pulsated up and down her throat and a tight band constricted her chest.

  Breathe.

  The drive home wouldn’t take long. She relaxed her grip on the steering wheel.

  Then headlights on high beam glared in her rearview mirror. They stayed behind her for miles. She turned left. The vehicle turned left. She slowed. It slowed. Panic ate through her like acid.

  Debra knew better than driving home and flew past her apartment complex. What to do? Then she remembered a police station a few blocks away.

  With a safe destination ahead, she sped up. So did the other car. She screeched to a stop in front of a row of police cars and watched the vehicle glide past—a cream-colored pickup truck.

  And the man behind the wheel looked a lot like Sam.

  8

  Bowen helped a customer calculate how many two-by-fours he needed for a patio roof and then directed him to where he could locate the other supplies on his list.

  With fifteen minutes left in his shift, he cleaned up his workstation. The tire incident still rankled. Who would have destroyed two of his tires? Neighborhood kids, or someone who didn’t want him to work at Rhodes?

  Oscar’s face flashed into his mind, but he shook his head. Surely not. He seemed like a decent guy, and when they’d spoken yesterday, his congratulations on dating Debra sounded sincere. Must have been kids.

  Bowen clocked out and then trudged to the store exit.

  “Wait up, Sam.” Greg caught up with him. “Want to join me at Aces for a beer or two?”

  Slowing at the use of his cover name, Bowen jingled his keys and tried to ignore the tightness in his throat as he recalled the bitter, but familiar taste of a cool beer sliding down. “No, thanks. Something I got to do at home.”

  “Maybe another time.” Greg thumped Bowen’s shoulder.

  Bowen unlocked his truck and climbed in. He fastened the seat belt and muttered, “Sorry, Greg, but there won’t be another time.”

  He gritted his teeth as the truck’s speed increased. No, there’d be no beers at Aces or anywhere else. He’d been sober for eleven years and although the urge to indulge hadn’t left completely, he wasn’t about to break now. His drinking had cost him plenty—several jobs and a family. Liz divorced him after four years of marriage. A high price to pay. He wouldn’t let booze destroy anything else in his life.

  At a red light, he stopped and glanced down at the small vehicle next to him. It reminded him of Debra’s car, and he checked the time. Nine fifteen. He dialed the cell number she’d given him the previous night.

  When she answered he said, “Hi. Hope I’m not calling too late?”

  “I’m wide awake.” Her voice held a hint of unease.

  He concluded from a murmur in the background that she had company. “Did I call at a bad time?”

  “Yes. No. I’m still a bit rattled. Someone followed me home from Rhodes.”

  “What? Are you all right?” Bowen made a U-turn at the next corner. Although she said she was fine, he needed to see her. In a matter of minutes, he swung into the parking lot and bolted to Debra’s door. He’d scouted the complex previously and knew where to go.

  She opened the door at his knock. He read the surprise in her face.

  “Hey, Sam. Since you’re here, come in and meet my, uh, friend.”

  Taking his arm, she led him into the living room. “This is Griff.”

  Bowen extended his hand. “Sam Boudine.”

  The men shook hands and eyed each other, saying the usual inane greeting words. Nice to meet you. Were they ever sincere? Bowen studied Debra’s friend. He detected a bulge under his jacket where a shoulder holster might be. Friend or law enforcement?

  Debra released Bowen’s arm and glanced at Griff. “Thank you for coming, but you don’t have to stay. I’ll be all right.”

  “Are you sure?” Griff’s question had an edge to it.

  “Yes. Sam had a bad day and worked the l
ate shift. He won’t stay long.” She pointed to the sofa. “Have a seat, Sam. I’ll be right back.”

  Debra and Griff moved to the door and spoke in low tones. Bowen couldn’t make out what they said. After Griff whispered in Debra’s ear, he left.

  She returned to the sofa and sat near him.

  How could he find out more about her visitor? Before he could formulate a question, she provided a bit of information.

  “Griff has been a good friend for a long time. That’s why I called him.”

  “You could have called me. Julian would have—“

  “I did phone Rhodes. Greg said you’d been busy all night, and when I called you were with two elderly ladies.”

  Bowen remembered them well and raised his eyebrows. “Ah, yes. The lovely Cooper sisters. They had a two-page list. Took me thirty minutes to help them locate everything. But enough of work. Do you know who followed you?”

  She wiped a hand across her forehead. “No, but I did get a partial license plate number. Griff’s going to check it out.”

  He nodded. So this guy could be a cop.

  Debra nudged him in the ribs. “Why so serious? What are you thinking about?”

  His Sam persona firmly in place, Bowen tapped her arm. “You. I’m thinking about you and how I don’t want anything bad to happen.”

  The look she gave him pricked his conscience. Trust filled her eyes.

  Before he could say or do anything he’d regret, he stood and yawned. “Glad you’re all right, but I can’t stay. I only stopped by because of the concern in your voice. Anything you need before I go? I have to make a quick trip to the grocery store.”

  Debra eased off the sofa and ruffled her curls. “Thanks for taking the time to come, but I’m fine.”

  On his way to the door, Bowen said, “This is a nice place you have.” He noted the clean lines of her simple decorating, the functional arrangement of furniture, and the lack of photographs. “How long have you been here?”

  “About a year. It suits my needs, and I like the location.”

  Reluctant to cut the visit short, he scrambled for a reason to stay. “I just thought of something. Why don’t you give me that partial plate number? I’ll see if I can track it down.”

  A frown creased her brow. “How?”

  Bowen scoured his brain for an explanation, and then shrugged and told the truth. “I’ve got contacts.” He hoped his nonchalance would satisfy her.

  She pulled a scrap of paper from her jeans pocket. “Here it is.”

  One glance at the scribbling and his mind raced. “A California plate. Interesting.”

  Debra had a good eye to make out the state and some of the characters. His pickup’s tags were from California. He’d better make up a good cover story if she ever asked about them.

  “Interesting, indeed.” He tucked the paper into his shirt pocket. “Are we still on for tomorrow night?”

  “Yes.”

  “Stay safe.” He wanted to hold her, but she backed away and crossed her arms.

  After she closed the door he waited to hear the lock click before jogging to his truck.

  Conflicting emotions surged through his chest. Desire for her ran smack into fear that someone else from California had found her. And a touch of elation. He was seventy-five percent certain she was Sadie. Earlier he’d checked notes from his client and sure enough, Sadie and her husband had been involved in a puppet ministry. But if she was Sadie, he’d have to make the phone call that would end their relationship. This dating game was simply part of the job.

  For the rest of the drive home, he thought about Griff. Was he a cop? Maybe a U. S. Marshal? He might be Sadie’s local WITSEC contact. Hours of research awaited him. Good thing he had tomorrow off.

  ****

  Bowen had no luck tracing the California plate number. Even his research into Griff turned up nothing. But his gut told him the man worked in law enforcement.

  He closed his laptop and stretched. What a way to spend his day off. With Debra’s friend fresh on his mind, he reviewed the events of the previous evening. The memory of Griff’s left hand on her shoulder came to mind. A wedding ring. Great. Griff was married.

  Bowen assumed his association with Debra did not involve romance. Thinking of her spurred a phone call. After he ascertained she’d suffered no ill effects, he confirmed their date and ended the call. Hunger pangs rumbled and he checked his watch. Twelve forty-five. Time for lunch. He examined the contents of the refrigerator—a bag of shriveled carrots, leftover lasagna, and an almost empty carton of milk. Anxious to get home last night and begin the research on Griff, Bowen had canceled the trip to the grocery store.

  “I see another visit to Jerry’s Restaurant in my future.”

  On his way to his truck, Bowen disposed of the carrots. His drive took him past Debra’s apartment where a moving van commandeered a large chunk of the parking lot. He slowed and watched two workers carry a sofa to the ramp. Right. Debra mentioned her neighbor would be moving out today.

  A familiar figure crossed the lot towards Debra’s unit. Bowen parked along the curb, donned a pair of sunglasses and an old black baseball cap, and climbed out of his truck. Keeping a close eye on Kyle, he crouched behind vehicles and followed the man.

  Kyle stopped at the corner of the unit and glanced over his shoulder. Bowen ducked behind a sport utility vehicle and peeked through the windshield. Kyle disappeared, and Bowen crept to the unit. Shielded by a clump of sage bushes, he eyed Kyle as he knocked and then fiddled with the doorknob of Debra’s apartment.

  Two men in coveralls exited the neighbor’s apartment carrying a large dresser.

  Straightening, Kyle stroked his mustache, pivoted and strode off with big steps around the corner. He crossed the parking lot and disappeared. Strange.

  Bowen could have sworn Kyle attempted to pick Debra’s lock. And he sure acted as if he’d been caught with a handful of cookies.

  Driving to Jerry’s, Bowen tried to recall Kyle’s last name. Newman. Newcomb. Nelson. That’s it. He ordered meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and a salad and ate in record time.

  Once home, he checked his Internet sources and discovered a few interesting details about the man. Kyle Nelson rented his house three months ago. He worked as a freelance journalist and drove a vintage muscle car. But Bowen could not find information on Kyle before he moved to Austin. Bowen decided to use the puppet group meeting Saturday to ply Kyle with questions.

  The afternoon flew by. At six, Bowen showered, dressed in black jeans and a white shirt, and set out for Debra’s apartment. Two young boys with long-stemmed roses in a bucket had a table set up in an empty lot. Bowen parked at the curb and bought a red rose.

  When Debra opened the door, he held the rose in both hands and bowed. “For you, chère.”

  A playful smile brightened her face, and she accepted the flower. “Thank you.” She sniffed it. “Mmm, beautiful. Come in.”

  Bowen followed her, admiring the sway of her hips. No jeans tonight. She wore a straight dark skirt and red top. He exhaled a slow breath. Job. It’s only a job.

  “I’ll get a vase.” Debra opened a kitchen cabinet. From an array of assorted glasses, she chose a tall, fluted goblet. “This will have to do.” She filled it with water and set the rose on the counter. Her features relaxed, and then her lips quivered. With moisture ready to escape her eyes, she glanced away.

  Jacket and purse in hand, she pointed to the door. “Let’s go.”

  “I know you’ve given me a little information on Kyle, but is there anything else you can tell me about him?”

  “That’s not a question I expected. Let me see, he’s involved in Hillcrest Church activities. He’s a widower, about forty-five. Always carries his monstrous camera. That’s it. Why?”

  Bowen helped Debra into his pickup, climbed behind the wheel, and then described his observation of the man earlier.

  “What was Kyle doing at my apartment? Maybe he had a question about Saturday’s meeting.”<
br />
  Bowen slowed and swung into a parking lot. “He could call you.”

  “He doesn’t have my cell number. I’m stingy in sharing it.” She glanced out the window. “Where are we going?”

  After helping Debra out of the truck, Bowen took her hand. “I’m taking a chance here. Hope you like jazz.” He pointed towards a low purple building. “We’re going to eat while we listen to The Saxy Trio.”

  Debra squeezed his fingers. “I like jazz. Good choice.”

  His chest tightened. What if he ascertained without a doubt she was Sadie Malone? A cold wave of regret washed over his heart. Maybe he could keep…

  Mouthwatering aromas and the cacophony of downtown traffic jerked his mind back to the parking lot.

  They approached a dark blue sports car close to the entrance and he pointed. “Nice wheels.”

  Debra glanced at the car and stopped. Her fingers vise-gripped his hand as she tensed. “That looks like Kyle’s.”

  9

  Sadie took a step backward. “What’s he doing here? Is he following me?”

  A pickup maneuvered into the next row, the headlights emphasizing the somber lines of Sam’s face. “His car was already here, and I didn’t tell anyone where we were going. Could be he also likes jazz. We can go someplace else.”

  Sam’s reasoning made sense. Sadie nodded towards the entrance. “I’m acting like a ninny. Let’s stay. I’m looking forward to the music.”

  Subdued lighting in the restaurant made it difficult for them to check out the other patrons. With the car that looked like Kyle’s parked close to the building, she assumed Kyle came inside. But he could also be in any of the neighboring clubs or restaurants.

  Although the music touched her soul and the dill-covered salmon pleased her palate, worrying about Kyle’s strange behavior kept her from completely enjoying the evening. Sitting close to the entrance, she kept a wary gaze on everyone around her.

  When they left, another vehicle occupied the spot where the car had been.

  While Sam drove her home, she struggled to concentrate on what he said. She eyed the side mirror, searching for Kyle’s vehicle, but they arrived home with no one tailing them. In the parking lot, she rested her hand on the arm Sam offered, taking note of his serious face. “Sorry I wasn’t much of a conversationalist tonight.”