Alter Ego

by Brian Freeman

  “No. I’m fine.” Aimee glanced down at the open pages of the calculus book on the table. “Math, huh? That was never my subject.”

  “I’m kind of wired for it,” Cat said. “I sort of see it all in my head. Like Sudoku. Serena can’t solve one of those puzzles to save her life. She hates it when I give it back to her all done in like thirty seconds.”

  “Don’t let me take you away from your homework,” Aimee said.

  “I’m almost finished anyway. I’m going to get a Diet Coke. You sure you don’t want something?”

  “That would be great,” Aimee replied.

  Cat grabbed two cans, and then she and Aimee returned to the great space and took up places on the sofas. The actress brought her feet casually under herself, and so did Cat. She watched Aimee study the artwork on the living room walls, which included a painting of Cornelius Vanderbilt and a century-old line drawing of Duluth city streets. On the mantle was a wooden plaque that said believe.

  “It’s sort of Addams Family, huh?” Cat said. “Stride likes it that way. Serena keeps trying to slip in some new stuff.”

  “I like things a little old-fashioned,” Aimee replied.

  Cat took a sip of Coke. “Just so you know, I’m working really hard not to go all fangirl on you. Part of me wants to sneak out my phone and stream it live so everybody at school can see. But I won’t, don’t worry.”

  “I appreciate it. You want a selfie together before I go?”

  “That would be great! I mean, really, this is so cool, having you in my house. The whole idea of the movie thing happening in Duluth is just wild. Usually for us, freighters going under the lift bridge is about as exciting as it gets.”

  “That’s sweet. You’re Cat, right? Is that short for anything?”

  “Catalina.”

  “What a beautiful name. I like it.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Serena shared some of your background with me,” Aimee told her. “You’ve had a rough time. I hope you know she’s really, really proud of you.”

  “Oh, yeah. Serena and Stride are both great. My mom got killed when I was six, so I feel like I got a second chance with Serena. And Stride is Stride. He’s more than a dad. To me, he’s like the best man in the universe.”

  “You’re lucky.”

  “I know. I just wish I wasn’t such an idiot sometimes.”

  “For a teenager, I think that’s part of the job description,” Aimee said. “Believe me, I’ve done a lot of stuff that I regret. And not just as a kid, either.”

  Cat never knew what to say when people told her that. She twisted the tab on her can of Diet Coke until it came off and then played with it between her slim fingers. On the coffee table, her phone sang with a snippet of lyrics from Train’s “Bulletproof Picasso.”

  “Hang on, that’s Mom’s text tone,” Cat said. “She got shot a couple years ago; did you know that? But she made it. I always tell her she’s bulletproof.” Cat read the text and said, “Serena stopped at Beaner’s for coffee and now she’s at the Zenith Bookstore next door. That means she’ll probably be a while. Do you want me to tell her you’re here?”

  Aimee shook her head. “It’s not important. I’ll see her tomorrow.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes, I just wanted to tell her that I felt bad about Haley Adams. I heard the news. Can you pass that along?”

  “Oh, definitely.”

  Aimee got off the sofa. She hadn’t touched her Diet Coke. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Cat.”

  “Same here. Can we do that selfie now?”

  “Sure,” Aimee said, smiling.

  Cat opened up her phone, and the two of them pushed their faces together as Cat snapped several photographs. When they were done, she scrolled through them as if she couldn’t believe it. “This is amazing. Hey, before you go, do you mind if I ask you something? It’s personal, though.”

  “Go ahead.”

  Cat chewed her lower lip and tried to figure out how to say it. “I’m a math person, but I believe in other stuff, too. Spiritual stuff. I never used to buy into any of that, but after everything that’s happened to me, now I do. And Serena told me about you—that is, how you said you sense things. I was wondering, is that really true? What is that like?”

  Aimee’s face had a serious expression. “It’s true. At least, I believe it, which is the only thing that matters.”

  “Is it something anyone can do? Or do you have to be special?”

  “I think only a small handful of people are sensitives. Which is why most people don’t believe it’s real.”

  “How does it work?” Cat asked.

  “Truly, I have no idea. There are moments when I just see things or feel things. I’ve learned simply to let it happen and not question it.”

  “I like that. I like thinking it’s possible. This will sound weird, but do you sense anything about me?”

  Aimee hesitated. “I don’t like to talk about those things. It freaks people out.”

  “Please? That sounds like you do sense something.”

  “It’s just feelings, Cat. It’s not specific. Most of the time I have no idea what any of it means.”

  “Come on, tell me,” Cat urged her.

  Finally, Aimee sighed. “I sense you doing something very foolish,” she said.

  “That sounds like me.”

  “And also very brave,” Aimee added.

  “Oh.”

  “That’s it. That’s all I know.”

  “Thanks,” Cat said. “That’s really cool.”

  Aimee followed Cat back to the front door, and Cat labored to get it open again. When she did, the winter air stormed the house with a cold, blustery slap. Cat clicked on the porch light, illuminating flurries in the wind.

  “It’s snowing!” she said.

  Aimee stared at the silver swirls as if she were hypnotized. “Beautiful.”

  “I love the snow,” Cat said.

  “Me, too. You’ll give Serena my message?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Save me,” Aimee said.

  Cat stared at her in confusion. “What?”

  “I said, you’ll give Serena my message?”

  Cat shivered in the cold and felt little needles spreading across her skin. “I will. I definitely will.”

  “Thank you, Cat. Good night.”

  Cat didn’t say anything more. She watched Aimee Bowe walk down the steps toward the street and disappear into the darkness and snow. She had no idea what had just happened.

  15

  Maggie sat at an outdoor table with a bowl of conch chowder and a Bloody Mary in front of her. She wore a flowered blouse, pink shorts, and leather sandals, all of which she’d purchased at the hotel gift shop. Through her sunglasses, she eyed the squat palm trees and white sand of the beach. The blue-green waters of the Gulf barely moved in the mild breeze. The sun felt millions of miles closer than it had the day before. When she rubbed a finger on the back of her neck, she felt sweat. It felt wonderful.

  “Well, well,” she murmured aloud to herself. “So this is how other people spend the winter.”

  Offshore, young people paddleboarded in bikinis. Treasure hunters, shell collectors, and sandpipers trailed through the wet sand as waves came and went. She saw fishermen with bait buckets. Labradors chasing Frisbees. Sun worshippers baking in the heat. It really was a different world down here.

  She was surrounded in the hotel restaurant by rich middle-aged golfers who could afford the upscale prices. The handful of Pilates-trim older women at the other tables looked weighted down by their jewelry. Maggie had indulged in an expensive Versace watch for herself while she was browsing the gift shop. It hung on her wrist like a signal that she belonged here. In Duluth, she never flaunted her money, but she didn’t care down here. No one knew her.

  The only man who was close to her own age—well, a few years younger—sat at the bar with a mimosa in his hand. He was blond, ridiculously tall, ridiculously handsome, wit
h an I-don’t-care smirk on his face. Behind his sunglasses, he eyed her, and she eyed him back with a smirk of her own. There was no Troy in her life anymore. She could flirt if she wanted. He tilted his champagne glass in her direction and smiled at her with teeth that had no business being as white as they were. She smiled back.

  Maggie decided that Florida was a very, very nice place.

  On the table in front of her, her phone rang. She sighed as she saw the caller ID. She knew it was work, and she wasn’t ready to think about work, but she answered the phone anyway.

  “Maggie Bei,” she said.

  “Sergeant, this is Detective Lala Mosqueda with the Naples Police. I got your fax with the ballistics information in the Haley Adams murder. I have to tell you, that was quite the surprise.”

  “Yes, it looks like we have your killer on ice,” Maggie replied. “Literally.”

  “Well, I wish we could help with the identification of your John Doe, but the Florida ID he was using appears to be straight identity theft. There was nothing suspicious about the death of James Lyons. We’ll send the photo around, though, and see if anyone can identify your car accident victim.”

  “What about the Haley Adams case?” Maggie asked. “What can you tell me?”

  “I worked with Detective Bolton on Haley’s murder,” she replied. “I admit, he and I didn’t really see eye to eye on that one. Although that doesn’t narrow it down when it comes to me and Cab.”

  Maggie smiled. “Oh?”

  “Let’s just say that Cab is not always known for playing nice with others.”

  “Some folks in Duluth might say the same thing about me,” Maggie replied. “So what happened with your investigation?”

  “It went cold. Without witnesses, we didn’t have much to go on. Haley was a waitress, no record, no evidence of drug use, nothing to suggest a motive. To me it looked random. Wrong place at the wrong time. Her wallet and phone were gone, so it could have been a robbery, but my bet was that Haley interrupted a drug deal or gun sale going on in the parking lot. It happens. We get a lot of strangers passing through town, looking to make a quick buck and then disappearing.”

  “Detective Bolton disagreed?” Maggie asked.

  She heard a little sigh from Mosqueda. “Yes, Cab thought the whole thing was fishy. He was sure Haley was targeted. A hit.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Haley was a party girl,” Mosqueda replied. “Friends said she liked to hang out in some fast circles. She knew a lot of celebrities. About three weeks before the murder, she went to a big party, and the other people at the restaurant said she came back pretty upset. She wouldn’t talk about what happened, but she had a lot of cash with her. A few thousand bucks.”

  “No offense, Detective, but that sounds fishy to me, too.”

  “Well, this is Florida. Rich people throwing cash around at pretty girls isn’t exactly front-page news. Neither is girls coming home from a party with morning-after regrets. I didn’t think it added up to murder.”

  “What did you find out about the party?” Maggie asked.

  “Nothing much. Haley didn’t tell anyone where she was going. She turned off her phone, too, and I’ll admit that seemed weird. The only thing we knew was that her SunPass got a toll charge on the Sanibel Causeway.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “It’s the bridge heading out to Sanibel and Captiva.”

  Maggie hesitated. She didn’t believe in coincidences. “Captiva?”

  “Right. Very upscale. Richie Rich territory. Why, does that mean something to you?”

  “Someone in our Minnesota case has a place down there,” Maggie said.

  “Who is it?”

  “I’d rather not spread rumors until I know a little more.”

  She heard coolness enter Detective Mosqueda’s voice. “Well, please remember that you’re in our sandbox now, Sergeant. We’re protective of our wealthy snowbirds. If you want to interview anyone, I’d appreciate it if you let me know so we can send someone with you. And you can tell Cab that I said that goes for him, too. Sometimes he forgets he’s not with the police anymore.”

  “Understood.”

  “Where are you staying while you’re in town?”

  “The Ritz-Carlton.”

  There was a long pause on the phone.

  “Well, you’ll get along with Cab just fine,” Mosqueda said.

  “Where do I find him?” Maggie asked.

  “In fact, I just got a text from him. He said I should ask you if you’d like a mimosa.”

  “What?”

  Maggie’s head snapped up. The blond man from the bar stood over her table now, looking tall enough to block out the sun. He held two champagne glasses in his hands, and he deposited one on a coaster next to her Bloody Mary. He slid into the chair across from her with a charming smile and whipped off his sunglasses to fix her with amazing ocean-blue eyes.

  “Welcome to Florida, Sergeant Bei,” Cab Bolton said.

  *

  The mimosa went down smoothly. So did the second one. Cab also insisted that she order the lump crab cake, and it was a superb recommendation.

  Maggie had never thought of herself as having a weakness for pretty men, but Cab was pretty in a strangely irresistible way. He wore his blond hair short and used gel that left it in messy spikes. He had baby-smooth skin with a slight sunburn, a Bob Hope nose, and an angled jaw. His dark custom suit was obviously expensive, his purple tie was expertly knotted, and he sported a large diamond stud in one ear. His long neck reminded her of a giraffe. His legs extended all the way to her side of the table, where his shiny leather shoes tapped annoyingly on the sides of her chair.

  “The Ritz,” Cab said, admiring their surroundings, although it was clear that the servers all knew him. He was obviously a regular. “The police really must have a great union in Minnesota.”

  “Actually, I’m picking up the tab myself.”

  “Nice. A cop with independent means. Marriage or family?”

  “Marriage. He died.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I’d be lying if I said it was a great loss,” Maggie admitted. “How about you? Marriage or family?”

  “Family.”

  “So neither one of us has to work. Why be a detective? Why not play golf or tennis or something?”

  Cab shrugged. “I’m good at being a detective, and I’m not good at golf or tennis. What about you?”

  “Same.”

  Maggie had to admit that it was satisfying to talk to someone who knew what it was like to have money and was so openly comfortable with his wealth. Cab was rich and made no excuses for it. He was also so unlike the men she knew in Minnesota that it was a little like having lunch with a zoo animal.

  “I like your earring,” she told him.

  “Thank you. I like your watch.”

  “Why the name Cab? Were your parents Cab Calloway fans?”

  “Well, my mother was single, and I was unplanned, so I think Cab stands for ‘crap, a baby.’”

  Maggie laughed. “Is that true?”

  “No, if it were true, I’d be named ‘Fab.’ My mother has quite the mouth on her.”

  Maggie laughed again. She couldn’t help liking him. It was easy to pass the time here with a drink, near the Gulf, in the sunshine, with a charming and handsome man. But when she checked her Versace watch, she saw that it was already past noon.

  “So,” she said finally, sipping her mimosa. “Haley Adams.”

  “Yes, Haley Adams. Lala sent me a copy of the FBI report. It was a professional hit, but I knew that all along.”

  Cab shifted gears smoothly. She could see the intelligence in his eyes, and she suspected that he used his looks and his surface shallowness to his advantage. People probably underestimated him.

  “Why were you so sure? Detective Mosquito thought you were wrong.”

  Cab seemed very amused by the nickname. “Well, Lala and I are oil and water about most things, so that’s not surprising
. But the fact is, in this case I had a source who insisted on remaining anonymous. Without her, all I had was suspicion and innuendo. That wasn’t enough to go after this guy. However, believe me, I didn’t forget about Haley Adams. I never stopped investigating what happened to her even after I left the police.”

  “Really.” Maggie didn’t say it like a question.

  “Yes, I’ve spent two years trying to piece it together. It goes back long before Haley. She was only the latest victim. The trouble is, all I’ve got to show for two years of work is smoke and no fire. I don’t have any evidence to prove a thing. And as they say, when you shoot at the king, you better not miss.”

  “The king?”

  Cab shrugged. “Most kings don’t have as much money or power as this guy.”

  “You and I have money,” Maggie said.

  “Not like this.”

  “So who are you talking about?” she asked.

  “Who do you think I’m talking about?” Cab replied.

  Maggie leaned back in her chair. She studied Cab over the top of her champagne glass. There was a slight buzz in her head. “I’m going to say a word. You tell me if it’s the right word. Okay?”

  Cab’s blue eyes glittered. He seemed to enjoy the game. “Okay.”

  “Captiva,” Maggie said.

  Cab stared at Maggie and said nothing at all, but one of his eyebrows made the slightest upward twitch. That was enough.

  “I guess we’re on the same page,” she went on.

  “I guess so,” Cab said. He leaned across the table. “Since we’re talking about the same thing, I have a question for you.”

  “What is it?”

  His face was suddenly solemn. The lightness was gone from his voice. “I’m missing someone. I haven’t heard from her in a few days, and I’m very worried. I’m wondering if you know where she is.”

  “Why would I know?” Maggie asked.

  “Because I sent her to Minnesota to investigate this case.”

  Maggie closed her eyes. Suddenly it all made sense. The false identity. The second Haley Adams named after the first Haley Adams. “By any chance, did you send her there with a Moonraker telescope?”

  “Yes, in fact, I did.”

  “She was a spy. Your spy. You were trying to get dirt on Dean Casperson?”