Hidden

by Karen E. Olson

  I walk past Jeanine’s spa and then the Blue Dory Inn, where Ian and I met that day I first used my new laptop. It’s as though it was a lifetime ago. I circle around and end up at the National Hotel and then the small little strip of storefronts.

  I don’t see any police cars, and I assume that Steve is right: they are distracted by Carmine’s body at the Bluffs, so I boldly walk into the shop as though I am not a fugitive. I spot the bags I’m looking for on a display to my right. I am careful to pick one that does not say ‘Block Island.’ It is a plain navy canvas with brown leather handles and seems very sturdy.

  I bring it up to the cash register, and I recognize Lucille, Veronica’s friend. I give her a wide smile as I put the bag on the counter.

  ‘Going somewhere?’ she asks me with a wink.

  She probably thinks I am going away with Ian for a weekend. Veronica has been spreading news of my love life.

  I decide to play along. ‘Maybe,’ I say. ‘How have you been?’

  ‘Oh, same old, same old,’ Lucille says lightly. ‘You know about the body they found, right, at the Bluffs?’

  This is what she’s been itching to talk about. She doesn’t care about me. She wants to gossip.

  ‘Yeah, I heard. Who is it?’

  ‘No one knows. Frank and his guys have been over there for hours and won’t tell anyone anything. Heard he was shot.’

  ‘How do you know that, if Frank won’t tell anyone anything?’ I have to ask.

  Lucille gives me a sly smile. ‘My Cathleen is married to Reggie McCallum. He won’t even tell her anything.’ The smile disappears as she thinks about how that’s just not fair.

  ‘How much?’ I ask.

  She looks distracted for a minute, then realizes I’m asking how much the duffel bag costs. ‘That’s a hundred and fifty plus tax.’

  Things are pricey on the island, but I have anticipated it. I took enough cash out of my backpack before coming here, so I give her a few bills and she makes change for me. She begins to put the duffel into another bag, but I put up my hand.

  ‘That’s OK, I don’t need a bag,’ I say with a smile. It is taking all of my effort to act as though everything is normal.

  ‘Oh, OK,’ she says, sounding a little put out. But she hands me the duffel over the counter, and I take it.

  ‘Thanks so much,’ I say and start to head out. I stop short, though, just before pushing the door open.

  A man stands on the sidewalk. He is wearing a windbreaker and a pair of neatly pressed jeans. It is the Hispanic man from the car, the one that showed up at the Painted Rock instead of Ian. He looks casual, his hands in his pockets, as though he is waiting for someone.

  Is he waiting for me? Did he see me come in here? Has he been watching my whole transaction with the duffel bag?

  I am still uncertain who he is, but I know for certain that I cannot let him see me. I turn and pretend that I have forgotten to look at the fleece jackets, which are strategically behind a rack with several large messenger bags hanging on it.

  ‘Nicole? Did you need something else?’ Lucille startles me.

  ‘Oh, yes, I need a new jacket.’ I pull out a black one that looks exactly like one I have at home.

  Lucille frowns a little, but then puts on her shop-owner smile. ‘Of course. I’ll take that to the counter. Look around, just in case you see anything else.’ She whisks away the jacket, which I am now committed to buying. I glance out the front window. He is still standing there.

  I fiddle with a pair of wool socks just beyond the jackets. I am moving closer to the counter, to the back of the store, as though if he looks through the window he will not be able to see me. I grab the socks and put them on the counter next to the jacket.

  ‘It’s still a little chilly at night,’ I say stupidly, but Lucille is a good shop owner and she merely smiles and rings me out. Fortunately, I’ve brought enough cash for all of it.

  Lucille pulls out a plastic bag but hesitates. ‘Do you want to wear the jacket?’ she asks.

  I hadn’t thought of that, but it’s not a bad idea. ‘Sure.’

  Lucille clips off the tags and hands me the jacket, which I shrug on. She is holding the socks and the scissors. ‘What about these?’

  I chuckle, trying to make light of it. ‘I’ll just put them in the duffel,’ I say. ‘No reason to waste a bag on me.’ I take the socks and slip them into the duffel. I start to turn away, then turn back as though I’ve forgotten yet something else. ‘Oh, would you mind if I go out the back? I need to get something from Veronica’s back room and it’s easier from there.’

  I wait for an argument but instead she grins and leads me back, opening the door for me. As I step through, she asks, ‘Are you OK, Nicole? I mean, I know it’s upsetting—’

  I hold up my hand to stop her. ‘I’m fine. Really.’ Although I put on an expression that might tell her otherwise to keep up the ruse.

  She leans toward me and whispers loudly, ‘Do you think that whoever did that to your place might have killed that man at the Bluffs?’

  ‘I don’t know, Lucille. Maybe Cathleen can get something out of Reggie. I’d be interested to know,’ I lie.

  She purses her lips and nods knowingly. ‘I’ll let you know,’ she promises.

  I take a deep breath when she finally goes back into her shop and the door closes.

  I take a look at the door to the gallery and wish I could go inside and see Veronica. But I suspect that man is not waiting for just anyone. He is waiting for me to show up. I wonder where the other man is, the one who was with him in the car.

  But as I walk past the door, I glance through the window and I see him. I can see all the way to the front of the gallery, and Veronica is talking to him. He is gesticulating with his hands; Veronica has her arms folded over her chest, a serious look on her face.

  He motions toward the front, but Veronica does not follow his movement. Instead, she glances around – I can see she is tired of whatever he’s been telling her – she looks to the back and she sees me, I can see it in her expression, but then she recovers. She takes him by the elbow and starts steering him out. I duck away from the door and shrink back against the siding, my heart pounding.

  In my head I am mapping an escape route, much like when I’m mapping out a tour. I feel myself relaxing a little as I picture the roads in my head, concentrating on the matter at hand.

  I won’t be able to go out to the road without being seen, but I might be able to cut through some yards and end up on an artery far enough away so I can manage to skirt back to Hydrangea House without drawing attention to myself.

  I am about to leave when the door opens, startling me.

  ‘Nicole,’ Veronica hisses. ‘Get in here.’ She grabs my arm, and I have no choice. I am inside, the door shutting off my escape.

  We do not go into the front of the gallery, but to the left, behind a wall that hides the stacks of paintings that have not yet been hung. Customers can come back here, go through them and buy them unframed if they like.

  ‘Is he gone?’ I whisper.

  Veronica frowns. ‘I got rid of him.’ She leans back and looks toward the front of the gallery. ‘But they’re outside, talking. Stay back here.’ She twirls around, her skirt billowing a little around her calves, adjusts her scarf and puts a hand to her hair to smooth it. Her heels clack against the wood floor. I hear rustling; she is at her small desk, looking through receipts and whatnot, giving a show to the strangers that she is still here and not concerned about anything.

  I find an empty space in between paintings against the wall and sink down to the floor, my knees up against my chest, and I take some deep breaths like Jeanine always tells me to do in yoga class. I hate it that I am hiding here.

  Finally, I hear Veronica coming back.

  ‘So what’s going on?’ Her tone is clipped, annoyed.

  I scramble to my feet. ‘Just tell me: who are they?’

  ‘You don’t know?’ She seems genuinely surprised.
>
  ‘No, I really don’t. I saw them for the first time early this morning at the Painted Rock. I know they’re looking for me, but I don’t know who they are.’

  ‘How many people exactly are looking for you?’ She is being combative.

  I sigh. ‘I’m not sure, exactly.’

  She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. ‘Well, those men are with the FBI. Or maybe they’re not. Is it like Zeke Chapman, that they’re just saying they’re with the FBI but they really aren’t?’

  Now, that is a good question.

  ‘They say I have to turn you in if I see you,’ Veronica is saying. ‘You’re a fugitive. What’s going on, Nicole?’

  At least Frank Cooper has been discreet. I couldn’t expect as much from the FBI, although I am now wondering how they knew to go to the Painted Rock. Ian had to have told them.

  ‘Nicole?’

  I am startled out of my thoughts by her voice.

  ‘Yes, right. I’m sorry, Veronica,’ I say softly.

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘They didn’t tell you?’

  ‘Something about computer hacking. I told them that you don’t even have a computer, or at least you didn’t have one until a few days ago.’

  I really wish she hadn’t told them that.

  ‘So is it true? Are you a computer hacker?’

  I nod. ‘But I didn’t want to do that anymore. That’s why I didn’t have a computer.’

  ‘So why did you get one, then?’

  It is a perfectly logical question. And for the first time she notices that I have a duffel bag with me.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I just bought it.’

  ‘Why?’ But even as she asks, I can see she knows. She is putting two and two together.

  I don’t really have time for this, although as I think that, I wonder why not. I cannot go to my house now. I know they will be watching it, but I would feel safer at Hydrangea House. I need to get back there, and then, when it grows dark, head to my house to get the rest of my money.

  I hate it that I need that money. If I didn’t, I’d get the next ferry out. If no one’s watching it.

  I can no longer count on Frank Cooper and his policemen being distracted, since the FBI agents seem to be more interested in finding me than in Carmine Loffredo’s body.

  I think about the marinas, all those dinghies that could take me out to one of those boats bobbing in the water. Problem is, while I can commit crimes with a computer, stealing a boat isn’t something I feel confident about.

  Veronica is waiting for an answer. I think carefully about what I’m going to say. She couldn’t tell that FBI agent anything when he was here because she didn’t know anything. I don’t want to give her anything that will lead them to me.

  I spot one of my paintings on the floor, leaning against the wall.

  ‘I needed something for my paints and easel to fit into,’ I say. ‘I don’t like carrying everything separately when I go to the beach.’

  She narrows her eyes at me. I can tell she doesn’t believe me, but she lets it go.

  ‘If you want to hang out here for a little while until the coast is clear, you can,’ she offers, her tone softer now. ‘I won’t tell them anything if they come back.’

  ‘Thanks, Veronica, I appreciate it, but I can’t stay.’

  ‘They’re outside, you know,’ she warns. ‘They’re watching the ferries, they’re watching everything.’

  And you can see mostly everything, too, down here, this time of year. If it were July or August, there would be too many people, too much sidewalk and road traffic. But it is still early enough in May for someone to be noticed. Especially a middle-aged woman wearing glasses and a ball cap. For the first time in fifteen years, I wish I still owned contacts and hadn’t cut my hair.

  We hear the bell on the front door. Veronica peers around the corner, then back at me. ‘Someone’s coming in.’

  She bustles away. I hear the soft mumblings as she talks to whoever has come in, then the front door opens and closes. Where have they gone? I want to check but realize I can make a getaway out the back. I start toward the door, but when I see a shadow cross the glass in the window, I press myself back against the wall. The doorknob jiggles – someone is trying to get in or at least seeing if the door is locked. I didn’t even see Veronica lock it after I came in. The face appears in the window. I see half of it, a profile, an eye, a cheekbone, an ear. The Hispanic FBI agent.

  I am holding my breath as he puts his palm to the glass and he tries to see into my corner. It is dark here; I am in the shadows. I pull my feet up underneath me, my arms wrapped around my torso, trying to become invisible.

  They have seen Veronica go out the front, and for some reason they think I am here.

  It hits me then. Lucille. Next door. They have spoken to her, and she told them I was there. She probably told them I bought a duffel bag and a black fleece jacket and a pair of wool socks.

  My heart is pounding so hard, I know he can hear it through the window.

  Suddenly, his face disappears and I start to let out a breath, but the doorknob begins to jiggle again. This time it is more forceful. Will they break in? Am I worth that? I know Veronica has a good double bolt on the door. She has some valuable paintings in here and does have a good alarm and security system. But they are FBI, and if they have probable cause they might be able to justify breaking in.

  I am thinking the way my father used to talk when he got out of prison that first time. I am no better than he is. We are both common thieves. We just went about our crimes in different ways.

  The doorknob stops jiggling, and I hear muffled voices on the other side of the door. Deep, determined voices. Will they approach Veronica when she comes back and demand to search the gallery?

  I look around frantically. There is no other way out. A small bathroom is to my right. There is nothing on the other side of the opposite wall; the gallery is at the end of the row of storefronts. Even if I could get out, they would be waiting. There are two of them. One could be in the front, the other in the back. My idea about going through yards wouldn’t work.

  I shimmy around crab-like on the floor, careful to drag the duffel bag with me, and I ease my way into the little bathroom. A stream of light is pooled on the floor, and I look up to see a window above me. I reach over and use my fingers to pull the door closed.

  I should have left that night that I saw Ian for the first time at Club Soda. I should have known. I could have bought a duffel bag and brought all my money with me right then and there and disappeared onto a ferry and to the mainland. What had I been thinking? Had I truly thought I could see him and have him see me and my life would not change?

  Now I am hiding, huddled in a bathroom. I am pathetic.

  I look at my watch. It is well after three. Because they are watching me, I need to wait until darkness falls before I can go back to my house. I need the protection that the night will give me.

  But sunset is five hours away.

  The way it’s looking, I could be here that long, though.

  I hear something out front. Voices. Two men, Veronica. She’s back. They’re arguing. They want to search the whole gallery.

  I think about where the back door is, and I know I will not be able to escape unnoticed. I glance up again at the window above me. I am not a large person, and it is just high enough so I will struggle to climb through. But I have to try.

  I stand on the toilet and push open the window, which I notice is new and does not make any noise. I give a silent thanks for that as I reach over and grab hold of the screen. With one yank, it’s inside, and I lean it against the wall next to the toilet.

  The duffel bag has to go first. Even if I wanted to abandon it here, the FBI agents would find it and Veronica would be questioned at length. Maybe even charged with accessory to a crime.

  More terminology I learned from my father.

  I fold up the duffel as well as I can and drop it out the win
dow. The voices are louder now. I grab hold of the windowsill and pull myself up and through. My legs flounder a little until my feet make purchase with the wall and I am soon halfway out. The ground seems farther away than it should be for an easy fall, but I have no choice. I wiggle through further and then let myself drop down.

  I land with a thud on my right shoulder, then roll and get up, grabbing the duffel. I look around quickly to make sure Lucille isn’t camped out here, but see no one.

  I should get back to Hydrangea House as soon as I can and as discreetly as possible, but I can’t waste any more time. I have to go to my house. If those men are here, and Frank Cooper and his minions are at the Bluffs, I have a very small window of opportunity. I say a silent farewell to Veronica as I scramble through a few back yards and zigzag my way on the small streets up to my house.

  THIRTY-ONE

  I come up to my house the roundabout way, down the hill behind it rather than up the hill in front. I look out toward the water and see the sunlight shimmering across the whitecaps. It’s windy, and the sea is rough. I try to imprint the image in my memory. It would be a beautiful painting, bright and blue with a shocking streak of white.

  My little house sits alone, with no police car outside. I approach, glancing side to side and behind me as I do, not seeing anyone. I begin to relax a little, breathe a little easier. I hug the side of the house as I circle it, and when I get to the door, it swings open easily.

  I stand in the doorway to the mudroom, my heart pounding again. The door should have been locked. But I was not the last one here, so maybe the police neglected to lock it. Would they be so careless?

  I listen and hear nothing except the bugs outside. Nothing inside. Still, I wait. I don’t know how long I have been standing here when I finally decide that it’s time. If someone is this patient, then perhaps he deserves a prize.