Moth

by Jennifer Foor

  It’s not going to be hard. What’s difficult is knowing she could be a cold-blooded killer and having to force myself not to strangle her every chance I get.

  “Sometimes things aren’t always how they appear. I think I’ll take you up on the coffee though. What can it hurt?”

  Everything, I tell myself.

  She orders a caramel latte with soy milk, while I tell the barista I want a black coffee with one sugar. When I expect she’ll be on her way to work I proceed to follow her to an outside table. She sits down and spins her cup around while she waits for it to cool. I can tell she seems uncomfortable. She’s not making eye contact with me. “So, do you come here often?”

  My question causes us both to laugh. I’ve never been one for small talk. Obviously I need some lessons. “Seriously? That’s all you can come up with to say to me?”

  I shrug. “It seems like a logical question.”

  “Just about every day. I can’t make it at home like they do here.”

  “Do you live close by?”

  “Two miles away. You?”

  “About the same.”

  She takes her first sip. “Did you get your truck fixed?”

  “Yeah. For now. It’s a piece of shit. I need new wheels, but I haven’t found a better paying job yet and I don’t feel like sinking all my money into making it last. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  “So, are you looking for a different line of work?”

  If she’s fishing to see if I’d be interested in distribution I’ve hit the jackpot. “Yeah. I am.”

  “What do you have experience in?”

  “Waiting tables. Cooking. Being a professional badass,” I add at the end.

  “A professional badass,” she repeats with a giggle. I immediately notice she has matching dimples that are sexy as hell. I can’t stop looking into her deep brown eyes and hoping everything I assume about her is a mistake. She’s someone I’d love to sink my teeth into, but I know she’s probably the enemy.

  “Yeah, well, we all have something good about us, right?”

  She keeps going. “What does a professional badass do exactly?”

  I spread my arms out. “Obviously we look the part, but that’s not the only quality necessary. In order to be a professional badass you have to have the skills.”

  She sips at her drink some more. “Like?”

  I lean forward, not able to help myself. “Like being able to satisfy a woman like she’s never been satisfied before. It’s a God given talent, if you ask me.” I’m cocky and it shows. A little flirting will make her more susceptible to trust me.

  “You seem confident.”

  I take a gulp of the piping hot brew before answering. “Trust me, I am.”

  I can tell she’s both curious and taken back. There are some women who will find me offensive. She’s young and independent, so I can only assume she’ll appreciate my banter.

  “That’s good to know, I suppose.” She smiles again. “The Ravioli Grill is looking for waiters, but you’ll probably make around the same money.”

  “Yeah, I need something that fills my pockets.” I pause for a second. “I’ll find something. Everything happens for a reason, so it’s only a matter of time before I find what I’m looking for. Do you have a job?”

  “Yes. I work for a pharmaceutical company.”

  “Wow, really? How do you make the time?”

  “They’re good with my schedule. I’m majoring in the medical sciences, so it’s a dream position. I’m basically a shitty paid intern, but I do get money, which is more than some. When I started I made nothing. My supervisor wants to slowly help me work my way into a better paying position, then I can already have something in place once I have my degree.”

  “You have everything planned out. Damn, you’re so lucky. I don’t have shit in order. I’m only attending school so the people around me will shut up.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “You really want to know?”

  She nods. “Sure.”

  “I want to be rich, but not have to work hard, like a professional poker player, or a lottery winner.”

  “So you like to gamble?”

  This leaves me open for another cocky statement. “It depends on the stakes.”

  She catches on quick. “And if the stakes are high, do you throw everything all in?”

  We’re flirting with each other, and I can’t stop. Criminal or not, she’s hard to restrain from. “Definitely.”

  She leans back in her chair, takes a sip of her concoction and stares me straight in the eyes. “You’re interesting, Mr. Theroit.”

  “Moth,” I correct.

  I watch as she crosses her legs. I start imagining the scene in Basic Instinct with Sharon Stone where she’s being interrogated and inappropriately shows her beaver. I say beaver, because it’s true. “What are you doing Friday night, Moth?”

  Is she asking me out? Can I refuse? Should I? Wouldn’t this give me the best chance at learning everything we can’t find out otherwise? “Why? Are you thinking about inviting me to your place and seeing if I’m telling the truth? I can assure you…”

  She covers her mouth like she’s embarrassed, but interrupts anyway. “No. I don’t mess around with men I meet in parking lots. If you think getting into my pants is that easy you’ve got a lot to learn about me. I can promise I’m very hard to convince otherwise.”

  She’s right. I do.

  “What then?”

  “I’m invited to a private party. I wondered if you’d want to join me. I need someone to have my back just in case other men have the same ideas as you are right now.”

  “Sounds interesting.” I want to laugh. She’s reading everything I want her to, but now I can’t tell if this is a game or for real. Is she playing me, or is it the other way around? With every glance I’m captivated. It’s dangerous and way out of character for me.

  “Where can I pick you up?”

  It’s time to see if she reacts to my new address. I spit out the house number and street and wait for her to put two and two together. Her eyes widen.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She shakes her head and pretends to be fine. “Nothing. I used to know someone who lived there.”

  “Really? I don’t know any of the guys there. I found the room in the paper.” I play stupid to make it seem as if I’m oblivious.

  “You know one of the guys is dead, right?”

  “What?” I act shocked. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “You’re not in the room upstairs on the right are you?”

  “As a matter of fact, yeah I am. Why? You’re freaking me out. I just moved in yesterday.”

  I watch her face turn pale as if the life is being swiftly drained from her body. She appears as if she’s about to puke. “That was his room.” She begins shaking her hands around. “This is creeping me out?” She stands like she’s going to walk away. “What the hell?”

  I join her. “I’m officially spooked. How did you know the guy? Was he your boyfriend? Don’t tell me you dated him.”

  She stops dead in her tracks. Her face reddens. I can tell she’s scared of something. “It wasn’t like that. His name was Jamie. He was…” She shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter. No. He wasn’t my boyfriend.”

  “Do you think I should get my deposit back?” I’m pressing her to see how she reacts to each question. Will this deter her from wanting to get to know me more? Have I hit a dead end? Or am I getting somewhere?

  “If it bothers you then yes. If not, I don’t see why you would. The people who live there are different. They’re a little too intellectual for my taste. I don’t understand half of their conversations and I’m a science major, but whatever floats your boat. It’s not my first choice of places to stay, but you have to do what is right for you.”

  “So I’m living with a bunch of nerds, in a house that could possibly be haunted?”

  “You totally don’t fit in at all.”
She seems amused, and I gather she’s not thinking I have anything to do with Jamie. It appears she’s taking it as an honest coincidence. So far she’s passing that test.

  We laugh together. “Thanks. I think.”

  “I can pick you up at nine on Friday if that’s okay? I’m not coming inside though. You can meet me outside. It’s too weird to walk in to pick you up there.”

  “We can meet somewhere else if it makes you feel better?”

  “No, the house is fine.”

  “Perfect.”

  “It’s a date.”

  She disagrees. “No. It’s two people going somewhere. I just don’t want to show up alone. That’s all.”

  “I beg to differ.” Pushing her is the only way I’m going to stay in control. “I think you’re curious. I think you want to know more about me and this is an easy way to make it happen.”

  She smiles. “I guess only time will provide you with that answer. You’re unquestionably interesting, but we just met. For all I know you could be a criminal. See you Friday, Moth.”

  I almost choke on my drink when she says it. I get a kick out of her sense of humor, but also know this is my job. I have to be everything she needs and wants in order to infiltrate her secrets.

  It’s not until she leaves that I realize I didn’t give her my number. I need hers so I can search her call log. I’ll have to wait until Friday to get it.

  Chapter 7

  “Tell me this shit is bogus.” I’m staring at the new information Renner and House managed to dig up after being in town for only two days. I should have known it would be worse than expected. I’ve always prepared for this sort of outcome, yet a part of me hoped I’d been mistaken about this one in particular.

  House is standing behind me with his arms folded across his chest. “Look, Moth, we double checked. It’s true.”

  Renner is smiling. I don’t have to turn around to see it. He’s smitten because he knows what this chick looks like and he also knows me. He’s bet money that I won’t be able to abstain from nailing her. He thinks the idea of me going under cover is only an excuse to get close to her. He swears she’s going to be the death of me, and he hasn’t even met her yet.

  The only thing on my mind is how in the hell this shady person could have been involved with my brother. How did he know her? The connection they had makes no sense, but I’m determined to uncover what it is. I’m putting my life on the line. I don’t care what I have to do. I’m going to get close to her. I have to. I’m doing this for Jamie. He didn’t deserve to die. No matter what the outcome of this investigation, I feel responsible.

  The information I’m looking at makes this situation even more dangerous. Windy Lewis was reported missing just about three years ago by her family.

  One year ago her social security number was used to rent an apartment, buy a used car, and even apply for several credit cards. She had gotten into grad school and was using student loans she’d acquired after applying. She’s gotten her earlier degree in another state. Perhaps she knew she’d have a better chance of being undiscovered if she moved to another location to attend graduate school. The activity seemed legit except for the fact that Windy Lewis looked nothing like the one impersonating her now. She had blonde hair and blue eyes. She was tall and lanky. “What the fuck is going on here? I thought this had to do with drugs, but now I’m wondering what the hell we’re getting ourselves involved in.”

  “We don’t know. We’ve been running facial recognition all day with nothing coming back. She’s either not in the system, or she’s had major plastic surgery. Either way it can’t be good.”

  “We need to call John,” I announce. I’m rubbing the bridge of my nose. The deeper we dig the bigger of a mess this becomes. “Not only are we here to help solve a murder, and a possible drug connection, but now we’re dealing with fraud. This goes way above the police. The fucking FBI needs to be notified.”

  I feel Renner putting his hand on my shoulder. “Hold on, Moth. Let’s see how this plays out first. Don’t hand over the case to those pansies. We’ve got this. We’ve been given authority. The boss man didn’t send us here so we could give up. Let’s do what we’re good at.”

  I sigh heavily. “Fine. Fuck protocol. The DEA is going to blow this case out of the water. If this chick isn’t Windy Lewis we need to figure out who she is and why she’s impersonating someone else. More importantly, what the hell does all this have to do with my brother?”

  House has a good idea. “Do you want me to make the drive and interview the parents? Maybe we could show them pictures of the woman who is pretending to be their daughter.”

  I consider it. It was possible the real Windy knew the one who had taken her identity. There was also a chance the new Windy could have murdered her to become her. I begin to go back to the journal entry I read. She mentioned being someone else. At first I thought it implied she had to change her ways, but now I understand it was exactly the opposite. A person doesn’t take on someone else’s identity for fun. She was running from something, possibly an identity she didn’t want anyone to know. I had more studying to do, and a lot more entries to sort through. Answers had to be written somewhere and I’m determined to find them.

  “I have a date with her in a couple days. Lets take a road trip and talk to the parents together. I’d rather not give them reason to contact whoever was dealing with their daughter’s missing persons case. If it were my child I’d take it as a lead and follow up. If this new Windy is involved in something criminal, other than what we already know, it would give her a reason to bolt and we’ll be left with another dead end.” The girl’s family lives in Pennsylvania. I need to know how far this impersonator has gone. There has to be a reason she chose this girl instead of anyone else. If I were going to steal someone’s identity I’d pick a person I resembled. People age. Features change, but not this drastically.

  The following morning we pack up the SUV the guys are using and head out for a road trip. I’ve considered calling the people to let them know we’ll be stopping by, but this is a sensitive conversation. These people assume their daughter to be dead. We’re going to conjure up the feelings they’ve tried to heal from. It won’t go over well, and we need to be careful, because if the fake Windy finds out we’re on to her she might bolt and I’ll be back to the drawing board.

  The bungalow styled home is located down a gravel driveway off of a cul-de-sac. It’s a deep blue cedar shake on the top half and a red brick on the lower part. Ivy vines have grown up both sides giving it an natural aged appearance. The yard is situated in between two patches of woods while everything is pristinely landscaped. It’s a place I wouldn’t mind calling home someday; a great place to have a family and raise children.

  After driving for what seems like forever in the company of my two team members, I’m eager to hop out and stretch. I hear them bickering about who is going to drive first on the way back. Ignoring them, I start heading in the direction of the front door. As I reach for my badge, a woman approaches from a nearby garden. She’s a tall woman with silver hair. She’s removing a pair of gardening gloves as I address my presence. “Hello. My name is Agent Douglas. I’m looking into the disappearance of Windy Lewis. Are you her mother?” I don’t include that I’m with the DEA. She’d be on the phone with whatever police detective is on the case, but that’s a can of worms I don’t need opened.

  “Yes. I’m her mother. Is there new information about her disappearance?” I can tell she’s optimistic.

  “I’m hoping a new set of eyes can shed light onto it. Do you mind answering some questions? Would it be okay if my associates take a look at some of her things?”

  She looks them over. I can tell she’s questioning their authority. I knew I should have forced them to get haircuts.

  “Who did you say you were with?”

  Shit!

  I sigh. I can’t lie about it. “I’m with the DEA, ma’am.” I flash my badge again and she closes in to take a second look.
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  “DEA? Why would the DEA be looking into a disappearance?”

  “That’s why I’m here, ma’am. We’re trying to figure out the same question. Your daughter’s name came up in an ongoing investigation we’ve been focused on.”

  She nods, but seems questionably confused. “Come inside. I’ll do whatever it takes to bring my daughter home.”

  I don’t waste time flagging the guys in. They’ve gathered their gear, including gadgets that can hack any computer, and a high tech camera to capture photos, which may give us some leads. I’m still not sure this isn’t anything but a dead end, but I have to follow every lead in order to form a timeline to work from. If I have to go back to the day the girl vanished, that’s exactly what I’ll do. The key to being a good agent is to have patience. Sometimes crimes take years to solve, and on the legal side of things, I don’t want anything overlooked. If my director seems to think going into the investigation from this direction is a good idea, I have to follow his judgment.

  “Let’s start from the beginning,” I suggest while looking around the small parlor room. Everything is in order. There aren’t books or magazines on the tables. There’s not a speck of dust that my eyes can find. I look for a crumb, or a misplaced book on the large shelf covering the back wall, and everything is in perfect order. In fact, they are organized by size and color. I pay close attention to her body language. She’s annoyed I’m here, but not because she’s hiding something. She thinks I’m not capable of doing anything more than what’s already been attempted to locate her daughter. She thinks I’m beneath her, incompetent and a waste of time. Her posture is confident. From the jewelry she wears I’d say she’s grown up in a comfortable situation. Every time movement happens from her daughter’s bedroom upstairs, she jumps, as if she’s startled. I half expect her to call the detective assigned to the case while I’m sitting across from her.