by Debbi Mack
“Why me?” Alexis said it more to herself than Katie.
“How should I know? Daniel was always so secretive. Is this about his work?”
“No!” Alexis blurted. “I mean, I don’t know.” She tried to modify her tone. “So, looks like I need to come out there and personally handle the matter--whatever that is. Could I stay with you?”
“Of course!” Katie said. “I’d love to see you. Don’t you have any idea what this is all about?”
Alexis toyed with how much to tell Katie. She worked for a big publisher. Alexis knew she probably had contacts all throughout the business who’d be interested in getting a story out of this. Daniel had told her not to tell anyone what she was doing. Alexis sucked in her breath. Surely this couldn’t include Katie, too. Or could it?
“I believe it may be something . . . involving an old friend, but I’m not sure,” Alexis said. She felt like she was playing chess.
“Well . . . okay,” Katie said. “But, c’mon. It must be pretty big to bring you all the way out to New York.”
“I’ll tell you what I know when I get there, okay?”
“Alexis Sullivan, you are impossible. But if you insist.” Katie sounded philosophical but disappointed. Alexis thought about just telling her and being done with it, but something held her back. Daniel’s note. Clearly, Daniel hadn’t told Katie much of anything, since she was so curious.
“Great. Thanks. Oh, by the way, could you do me a favor?”
“Sure. What?”
“Can you arrange a flight from Portland to New York for me. Like today. As soon as possible.”
Katie must have detected my anxiety. “What’s going on, Allie?”
“I’m in a difficult situation, and I need to get out of here. Now.”
Katie paused a moment. “Okay,” she said, sounding stunned. “I’ll need some information, so I can set it up.”
“I can’t thank you enough.” Alexis glanced out the window and at the clock. Time to call a cab and get the hell out of there.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Jessica
The sun was setting. I realized that my morning bagel and granola bar lunch weren’t cutting it. I needed food now.
I saved my story, backed up my files, and shut down the laptop. I’d spotted a few restaurants, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to go out. Room service would be more expensive but possibly safer.
Thinking of the extra cost as a form of insurance, I phoned down for a hamburger and side salad. The salad inflated the tab, but I really needed to eat something healthy. I didn’t know how long I could afford to stay here or how many chances at a healthy meal I’d get in the days to come.
I turned the TV back on and paced, tossing glances out the window. The sun had slipped low enough to cast the street in blue-gray shadow. Commuters scrambled past each other on the sidewalks and intersections. Lighted windows scattered across the facade of a nearby office building. Cabs and cars and buses and trucks crawled through the street several stories below me like blood through clogged arteries.
I kept my ear tuned for news about me or Fred, but they were still going on about terrorist threats and Homeland Security. I muted the sound and turned on the radio, continuing to pace as I watched the anchor speak to the sound of the Beatles singing “Help!” I couldn’t have said it better myself.
A knock on the door brought me to a halt before I went to answer.
“Yes?”
“Room service,” an accented voice said.
I opened the door with the chain still in place. A Hispanic-looking man with black uniform pants and a white jacket and shirt smiled at me from behind a rolling cart with a covered tray on it.
I closed the door to unlock the chain and reopened it. The man rolled the cart in and placed the tray on a desk. I lifted the lid, saw the burger and salad, and my stomach audibly rumbled.
I blushed, and the man smiled again. He handed me the bill, in a faux leather holder. But there was no pen.
“Got a pen?”
The man’s grin widened. I noticed a gold incisor winking in the corner of his mouth. He spread his hands and looked confused.
“Sorry?”
“A pen. There must be one around here.” I checked the desk. No pen. The side table had no pen, either. I dug through my purse, seeking anything to write with.
Something pressed against my mouth and nose and pulled my head back. A hand jammed something soft against my face. An acrid, medicinal smell burned my nostrils. I struggled to get free, and then everything went dark.
I awoke sprawled across the bed, with a mild headache. I blinked, propped myself on one arm and looked around the room. My food was still on the table. I sucked in a quick breath and let it out when I saw my purse and laptop were still there.
“What the hell just happened?” I muttered. My throat felt raw and my voice had a raspy edge to it.
I sat up, causing the room to tilt momentarily. Pausing, I got my bearings back before venturing to my feet.
Room service. Who was that guy with the gold tooth? He must have used something to knock me out. Why? Hopefully, nothing had been stolen.
My gaze swerved back to my shoulder bag and laptop. I stumbled toward them, and the floor bucked beneath my feet. After checking to make sure the contents of each appeared unmolested, I turned toward the door. It was closed, but the deadbolt and chain weren’t locked.
The room spun as I crossed it. I leaned against the door until the spinning stopped, then fumbled the locks into place.
Taking baby steps, I made my way toward the room service tray. The hamburger was cold. Not that I was hungry anymore.
Someone had shut the curtains, but I could detect a fine, dark line between them. It must be late. Or early. Slowly turning my head, I saw the bedside clock read 10:35. So, late then.
I heard the toilet flush. That’s when I realized the bathroom door was closed. I heard movement within. I ran to the room service tray and grabbed a serrated knife provided with the silverware.
When the door opened, I thought I would scream. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out when I saw who it was.
“Jessica? Are you all right?”
“Cynthia.” For a moment, her name just hung in the air between us. “What are you doing here?”
Ten minutes later, I’d surreptitiously stowed the knife under a pillow and was still absorbing the explanation Cyn had offered. She claimed to have been worried enough after I disappeared from the restaurant to have checked with Shelley about whether she’d heard from me. Shelley had told her about my need to leave town because of a “family emergency.” I was trying to remember if I’d ever mentioned to Shelley where I was going, while Cyn rattled on nonstop.
“When I saw on the news that Fred had been murdered, I just about freaked out! Then, your name came up and . . . well, I just couldn’t believe you’d had anything to do with it.” She stopped for breath, with her head bowed and looked up at me uncertainly. “You didn’t, right?”
“Of course not! I could never do anything like that. What reason would I have?”
Cyn seemed to be watching me closely. I imagined my own look probably mirrored hers.
“By the way,” I said. “How did you find me here?”
Cyn looked embarrassed. “I found your sister, actually. I saw you leave her place and followed the cab.”
“Oh, okay.” I tried to sound casual, but the wheels were turning in my mind. Why did that explanation seem a bit too pat? I mean, what a co-ink-a-dink. I happened to leave my sister’s condo, and Cyn just happened to be outside her place and watched me leave. Coincidences do happen, but things were getting to be a little hard to believe.
“I told the guy at the desk I was a friend who was concerned about you, because you’d disappeared and all. He was very kind. Gave me your room number.”
I nodded, wondering how much she’d paid for that information.
Cyn’s eyes widened, and she thrashed the air with both hands as she spoke. �
�When I got here, the door was open! I knocked, but no one answered, so I walked right in.
“You were out cold on the bed, stretched sideways across it. I figured I’d wait for you to wake up, just to make sure you were okay. You must have been exhausted to fall asleep like that.” She gave me a sharp look. “And what were you thinking, leaving your door open? You could have been robbed or . . . .” She shuddered. “Or worse.”
“I know.” I wondered how much to believe of her story. I’d gathered more strength as she’d told it, but my thinking was still a little fuzzy from whatever I’d been drugged with. Should I challenge her or just go along? Which was safer?
Wait a minute, I thought. This is Cynthia we’re talking about. What would she have to do with anything? She was only a friend of Fred’s. Or was she?
I didn’t want to assume anything. But right now, I had two men—two men who might have killed Fred—following me all the way across the country and talking to my sister for reasons I couldn’t begin to know. I had no idea who I could trust and who I couldn’t. The notion of trust was becoming laughable.
“Well, fortunately, nothing happened.” I left it at that.
“Thank God for that.” Cyn leaned toward me and placed a hand on my arm. I almost recoiled. “Let’s make sure it stays that way.”
Making the excuse that I could use some “alone time” to work on my novel (telling her I needed sleep seemed bizarre under the circumstances), I gently (but firmly) asked Cynthia if she’d mind continuing our talk in the morning. She smiled and nodded—Cyn was so good at that—and we made plans to get together for breakfast. She told me she was staying at a place only a block or two away. We exchanged cell numbers, at her insistence, and after a protracted farewell, I saw her out the door, quickly locking it behind her.
I briefly thought of switching hotels, but it was so late and I’d already had enough trouble finding one I could afford that wasn’t a fleabag. Besides, if I was under someone’s surveillance, what would stop them from simply following me to the next hotel? One that would only end up costing more and giving no benefit in return.
My mind reeled with possibilities. Did Cynthia know the two men? Could she and Liz both be in on this? (Whatever “this” was.) I shook my head and wandered over to my laptop.
This time, I registered something weird about the laptop. I could swear I’d left it right in front of the chair where I’d been working. But the laptop was placed at an angle not suitable for working. Why?
I sat down and pulled the laptop into position before me and pondered it. Did someone tamper with it?
I started it up and got a message—something about shutting down in the middle of running a program.
“Great. What’s this?”
Perhaps whoever knocked me out went through my files. All my novel’s chapters, my research notes, and whatever was in my browser’s cache.
Then, I remembered Selby’s words and thought, “Is all this really about the novel?”
That’s crazy.
Fred wanted to tell me something important. Could it be the people who are after me think he actually succeeded in doing that?
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Jessica
I tried to remain calm and reason it out. What could Fred have wanted to tell me and how would it relate to the novel I was working on? It was just too bizarre to think that the people who were after me were like those who were after Alexis.
I shook my head, as I opened my word processing program. I wanted so much to finish my novel. But doing so meant rehashing all the horrible similarities between my life my work. Am I writing a novel or a thinly veiled autobiography? I laughed, but the sound was less happy than desperate.
If nothing else, it seemed wise to check my files and make sure nothing had been deleted. If my novel had been deleted, in whole or part, I’d need to find a geek to recover what was lost.
Resolutely, I turned to my laptop and scanned the chapters quickly to where I’d left off, after Alexis had slipped away from Swede and gone to New York.
Alexis
Alexis arrived at LaGuardia, feeling frazzled and more than a little ill at ease. She wasn’t sure whether to feel triumphant or like a heel for ditching Swede the way she did.
As she toted her bag off the plane, she looked around for someone carrying a sign with her name on it. Her sister Katie had arranged for a car to pick her up. It was coming up on midnight and Katie lived in Manhattan, where owning a car was a huge expense and an annoyance. However, Katie said she’d wait up for her.
A short, balding man in a suit and hat, with broad, liver-spotted features and tired eyes, awaited her with sign in hand. Alexis walked up.
“I’m Alexis Sullivan,” she said.
“Oh, good.” The little man said it like he meant entirely the opposite. “I’m Mel. I’m your drivah.”
If Mel was any indication, New Yorkers weren’t terribly effusive.
“Got everything?” Mel asked.
“Yup.” Alexis could match his lack of effusiveness with her own brand of taciturn.
Mel just nodded and looked relieved. “Well, dis way den.” Alexis followed.
En route to Katie’s place, Alexis and Mel exchanged few words at first. Alexis was too tired to think of anything to talk about, and Mel seemed happy with that.
As they crossed the Queensboro Bridge, Mel spoke up. “So, your first time in Noo Yawk?”
“Oh, no. I’ve been here before. My sister has lived here a while.”
“Uh huh. Where you from?”
“I go to school in Eugene. University of Oregon.”
“Or-e-gahn, huh?” Or that’s how it sounded to Alexis. “Lotsa rain, I hear.”
“Well, sometimes, but . . . .” She cut herself off. Oregonians wanted people to think it rains there all the time so they won’t be overrun with transplanted East Coasters--Californians were more than enough to handle as it was. “But you get used to it,” she finished.
Mel shook his head. “Can’t abide rain awl the time. Brings me down, ya know?”
Alexis could just imagine how far down Mel was capable of going.
Mel left Alexis at the door to Katie’s Upper East Side condo. She hit the buzzer and a doorman in a regal maroon coat with gold epaulets let her in.
Alexis gave her name and started to say she was there to see Katie, but the doorman cut her off. “Ah, no worries,” he said, with a faint Irish brogue. “Mrs. Wilson told me you’d be showing up any time. I’ll be ringing her then, to let her know you’re on your way.”
Alexis wanted to correct the man, who apparently didn’t know that Katie had legally resumed using her maiden name after her divorce, but she simply smiled and nodded instead. She assumed the condo directory still had her listed as Katherine Wilson.
The doorman ducked behind a marble-topped counter and picked up the receiver of a blinding white phone so shiny, Alexis wondered if the man spent his idle time polishing it. He punched in a number and dismissed her with a wave of his hand. “Go on, now. I’m just announcing you.”
Alexis nodded again and turned toward the elevators. She could barely make out the doorman’s voice as he muttered into the receiver. This didn’t feel right. Alexis shrugged off the wave of anxiety. Daniel’s note must be putting my nerves on edge.
An elevator opened, and a man and a woman were inside. Apparently, they’d come up from the parking garage below, but they didn’t seem to be together. Alexis entered the elevator and hit the button for the fifteenth floor. She pulled out her phone and called Katie. When Katie answered, Alexis breathed a sigh of relief.
“Did the doorman just call you?” Alexis asked.
“Uh, yes. What’s wrong?” Katie’s voice. It didn’t sound quite right.
“I might ask you the same question.” Alexis glanced about her. The other passengers seemed to be listening to her. Ridiculous. It was just idle curiosity. After all, she was the only one doing any talking.
The elevator stopped on the
ninth floor. The doors opened and the woman left. The man stayed on, averting his eyes from Alexis.
“I’m . . . fine,” Katie said.
“Well, you don’t sound like it.”
A long pause ensued. The man kept looking everywhere except at Alexis. His hand moved into his coat pocket.
“Is there something you want to tell me?” Alexis asked. “Should I stay somewhere else tonight?”
Alexis kept the man in her peripheral vision. He fumbled in his coat pocket for a bit and pulled out a key. Alexis felt overcome with gratitude and embarrassment at assuming it was going to be a gun or knife or a drug-soaked rag.
Katie laughed, but not with any sort of glee. “Of course you can stay here. But that’s entirely up to you.”
This was completely wrong. Katie would never have said that. It was after midnight. She would have insisted Alexis spend the night with her. Somebody was with Katie, so she couldn’t speak freely. And the doorman. He should’ve known her name. And he wouldn’t have shooed Alexis away like that, unless he had something to hide.
The elevator reached the fifteenth floor, emitting a bell-like chime as it did. Alexis and the man emerged and, as she headed toward the stairs, she heard him say, “Stop right there, miss.”
She stopped and turned with almost glacial slowness toward him. He held up the key. “Come with me.”
Alexis stood paralyzed, rooted in place for a moment. Then, she turned and bolted for the exit stairs. She glanced back at the man as she threw open the door and just before she ran into the stairwell, she saw him pounding toward her, pulling a small walkie-talkie from his coat pocket.
Alexis may have spent a lot of time in the library, but she kept fit. Oregon had lots of places to hike, a passion for both Daniel and herself. She bounded down the steps, taking them two at a time. The man pursuing her seemed to have substantial difficulty keeping up. The distance between them was growing greater with each flight, but Alexis knew that the test would be whether she could lose the man after she left the stairwell.