by Valerie Clay
Judah’s knock at the door came while I was stuffing my leopard print pajamas in an overnight bag. I let him in and watched, fascinated, as he moved about my condo installing three small cameras: one in a silk flower arrangement in the hall by the front door, one in my guest room, and the last one in my bedroom on my dresser, hidden amongst my treasured perfume bottle collection. His demeanor was one-hundred percent business, no nonsense. I still wasn’t sure Judah believed me, but if this sicko returned, he’d be caught on tape and I’d be vindicated. I just hoped he’d come back soon. I couldn’t stay at Amanda’s forever.
“So, looks like you have a lot of experience installing cameras in bedrooms,” I observed. He turned to me and I finally got a grin out of him.
“It’s nice that you can joke at a time like this,” he said as he put the finishing touches on the last camera.
“It beats melting down into a pathetic blob of jelly, don’t you think?”
He ignored me. “Okay, sit on the bed for a second,” he directed. As requested I climbed onto the bed and struck an exaggerated, sexy pose with one hand on my head, the other on my hip, a la Marilyn Monroe.
“How’s this?” I asked in a throaty, sultry voice.
He checked his camera angle, said, “Perfect,” then picked up a pillow on the end of my bed and threw it at me. I screamed, ducked, and pitched it back at him. I’m not sure why I was feeling playful. Must have been that heady combination of fear and adrenaline.
He intercepted the pillow just before it hit the dresser. “Are you out of your mind, woman? You could have knocked the camera off the table and broken it. For that, you must be punished.” He jumped on the bed, grabbed another pillow and began pummeling me with both of them.
“I give, I give,” I implored, curling up in a ball, laughing breathlessly. He knelt over me, took my hand and pulled me up to him. Our mouths were inches apart and, for just a brief moment, the intensity in his expression softened and he looked at me with liquid eyes full of tenderness. But then, maddeningly, he caught himself, pulled back, and became guarded, unreadable Judah again.
“We should get going.” He got off the bed and checked the camera one last time. Satisfied that everything was in order, he said, “Probably a good idea to leave now. Let this guy have as much time as possible to come back around.”
I tossed my jam-packed makeup case, AKA Ziploc bag, into my overnighter, zippered it shut and we headed for the front door.
When we reached the door, he said, “I’ve got a few things I need to do today, but I’ll check the camera feed from time to time for any activity. Can I get a spare key in case I need to come in for anything?”
I pulled an extra house key from my junk drawer and held it up. He put out his hand and I took hold of it, placed the key on his palm then curled his fingers around it. “Here you go,” I said. “Not that you need a key to get in here.” I gave him a stern look, and he gave me a smug smile in return. “Don’t lose it though,” I cautioned. “It’s my only spare.”
“Don’t worry; it and you are in good hands.” He slipped the key into the back pocket of his jeans.
I wish. “So, do you have any last minute instructions? Any words of advice you’d like to impart?” I asked before opening the door, feeling anxious about venturing out on my own.
He shook his head. “Just be careful. Keep checking your mirrors. If you think you’re being followed, call me right away. I’ll contact you if anything develops on this end. He noted my poorly concealed lack of confidence and added, “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.”
Unexpectedly, I felt overcome with emotion and tears began to well up in my eyes again. “Thank you, Judah.” I reached out, threw my arms around his neck and hugged him fiercely. But he didn’t return the hug. His stance was rigid and formal; his expression unfathomable. I pulled back, wiped my eyes, and attempted to regain my composure. After checking the peephole I picked up my bag, opened the door, then locked it behind us after we exited. Judah followed me down the stairs and walked me to my garage. While I backed my car out and waited for the door to close, he stood by, hands in his pockets, calmly surveying the parking lot. I put on a brave face and waved as I pulled away and headed out of the complex.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“The best way to predict the future is to invent it.” —Alan Kay, American computer scientist
*******
The plan was to meet at Amanda’s place at five. It was noon and I had plenty of time to kill, so I figured I might as well hit the mall, my home away from home. Traffic was snarled on my preferred route, the scenic drive along Lake Washington Boulevard. Kirkland has often been compared to Sausalito, with its art galleries and trendy boutiques, and, as usually happens on a rare sunny day in Seattle, countless numbers of the fine citizens of the Pacific Northwest were out frolicking in the sun, playing hooky from work.
Inching along, I hit every red light, but for once, it didn’t matter. Between buildings I caught glimpses of beaches, boats, and glistening water. To my right, a man with jet black hair in a bowl-shaped haircut, like Moe from the Three Stooges, drew my attention. He exited a shop and ambled down the street with a huge, green parrot perched on his shoulder. I watched them for a time, baffled by both the bird and the hairdo, until I realized I was losing focus. After mentally kicking myself, I reverted to checking my rear-view mirror and scanning the surroundings.
As far as I could tell, there was no sign I was being followed. I even circled the block a couple of times, and parked for a moment in a bank parking lot to be certain. With no evidence of a tail and my Taser on the seat next to me, I relaxed somewhat and felt like the situation was finally under control.
At the mall I strolled languidly past the exclusive clothing stores, with their glamorous display windows, each one more lovely than the last. When I finally tired of window-shopping for nothing in particular, I stopped at World Wrapps and ordered a salmon rice bowl and iced tea. The mall was open and airy today, not a lot of shoppers due to the sunshine factor, so my order arrived quickly. I chose a small table in the center court and while picking at my lunch, tried to solve the puzzle that was Judah. I didn’t know what he was up to, but whatever it was, it was probably illegal. Why else would he be so evasive? And more importantly, I asked myself, why am I obsessing over a man like that? Every once in a while, I had the eerie feeling I was being watched, but I chalked it up to jangled nerves and an overactive imagination.
Eventually, a balding man in an expensive-looking suit, carrying a large cup of coffee and a briefcase, moved hastily to the table next to me and sat down. Almost immediately his cell phone rang and he got caught up in a rancorous conversation, arguing loudly in a thick Eastern European accent about an investment that tanked, or a tank he wanted to invest in. It was hard to tell. I quickly finished my lunch and moved on. When I happened upon a candle shop, I made a stop inside to buy a hostess gift for Amanda. She’s always been a huge fan of scented candles, so it was easy to shop for her. Inside I found a boxed gift set of six votive candles containing one of each Voluspa Floraison fragrance. They were packaged in a beautiful gold gift box, and the saleswoman assured me that they were of superior quality, with cool burning wax that would leave a lasting scent for days. I certainly hoped so for the price they were charging.
When I stepped out of the shop, a gray haired, bearded man in a red baseball cap bumped into me so forcefully I almost dropped my package. Jarred, I bounced backwards and let out a loud shriek. Embarrassed by my overreaction, I quickly apologized, although in all fairness, he was the one that ran into me. He stared at me, said nothing, and kept walking. Rude jerk, I thought. Some people have no manners.
Immediately to the right of me I noticed a day spa with a colorful sign in the window advertising a special on massages. Perfect. Between shouting businessmen and run-ins with rude jerks it was just what the doctor ordered for my frayed nerves.
One hour later, you could have poured me into my car. Tranquility had finally se
eped in and I felt at peace with the world as I exited the mall and strolled through the sparsely populated parking garage. Reluctantly, I forced myself out of my massage stupor and cautiously examined every aisle, on my way to the car.
Safely ensconced inside my locked car and back on the road again, traffic moved along moderately well until I approached the I-90 bridge. Slowing to a crawl in the congested traffic, I moved bumper-to-bumper across the floating overpass, traveling west into the sun towards Seattle. I’d allowed extra time for the trip, which can run anywhere between thirty minutes to an hour depending on the time of day.
When I finally arrived at Amanda’s building on First Avenue in the fashionable Belltown neighborhood, it was four fifty-five P.M. Right on time. Using her special entry code for visitors, I pulled into the parking garage and maneuvered my car into a tight guest slot. The garage was deserted and eerily quiet, so I quickly made my way to the elevators, rode up to the concierge level, and strode over to the desk. Behind the counter sat Albert, a pudgy, white-haired gentleman in a crisp maroon-colored uniform. He gave me a perfunctory hello, then rang Amanda’s phone. After announcing me and receiving approval, he directed me to a private elevator that accessed the penthouse. The elevator ascended swiftly past multiple floors in the elegant high-rise, then began to slow as I neared the top.
Walking into the vestibule in front of her door, I felt myself begin to loosen up again. No need to worry anymore tonight. I was safe, and all I wanted to do was spend a quiet evening with an old friend. Maybe kick back and watch a movie. I smiled and heaved a sigh of relief.
Amanda greeted me at her front door in a pair of white linen slacks, gold sandals, and a flowing, peacock blue silk top. “Get ready for fun,” she announced. “I’m having a small, impromptu dinner party tonight.”
Carl, in a royal blue bow tie and matching beret, ran around in circles barking an excited greeting, then jumped up on my legs and extended a paw. I stiffened with trepidation as I bent down to shake Carl’s paw, and looked beyond him into the penthouse. Fleland, dressed in a business suit, stood in the living room, drink in hand, speaking to someone just out of sight. I knew where this was going, and I didn’t like it.
“And, guess what?” she continued with a sly smile. “Leland brought along a friend to meet you.” She threw her arms out wide for a hug.
“Oh, Amanda, no,” I groaned into her ear, half-heartedly returning her hug. “I’m really not in the mood for that tonight.”
She cajoled me, “Oh, come on, kiddo, it’ll be fun. You need to take your mind off things, and Laini and Mark will be here too.”
“Does Leland’s friend have a name?” I asked, not even trying to conceal my lack of enthusiasm.
“Yes, it’s Courtney.”
“This is a man, right?”
“Of course, silly. He’s a successful writer—dark, brooding, a little paranoid—you’ll like him.”
She pulled me inside and ushered me through the foyer across polished hardwood floors, and on past the Greek columns that stood on either side of the entranceway to the living room. I expected her penthouse to be stunning, but she outdid herself this time.
Sitting on a side table, inside an antique silver bowl, was a small black remote, which she picked up and pressed with French manicured fingers. Large shades automatically began retracting, revealing amazing floor-to-ceiling windows and sweeping views of the Olympic Mountains and Puget Sound. White gulls dove and glided over the surface of the water, while off in the distance a ferry carried tourists and commuters to one of the many neighboring islands.
I stepped forward to get a better view and Amanda followed me, pointing out landmarks and areas of interest. Cream colored vertical, tone-on-tone striped draperies framed the windows and were striking against the terracotta walls. At the far end of the immense room a grand marble fireplace caught my eye. Matching bronze and alabaster wall sconces on each side were softly lit, and an elaborately framed mirror finished in gold and silver leaf hung over the mantel reflecting the view from the windows. The panorama of the golden sunset and pink clouds gathering in the distance blended perfectly into her color palette of terracotta, cream, and blush hues. The woman was an interior design genius. When I buy my next penthouse, I’m definitely hiring her.
Amanda explained that she has always leaned toward the Greek and Roman classical style of interior design, where everything is based on symmetry and balance. Me too. Ebony busts and urns were placed in strategic locations around the room, anchoring the space with interesting design elements. I complimented her on her décor, as I reflected on the interior design of my condo, which was a mixture of antiques (from my Early American phase), traditional, and contemporary furnishings. Most would categorize it as eclectic. I love that term. It’s so much nicer than identity crisis.
Leland interrupted his conversation as we approached, and gave me a tight smile and an obligatory hello in that warm manner he always exudes. I shook his extended hand and he introduced me to Courtney, who was tall and gaunt in an Ichabod Crane sort of way, but seemed nice enough. We made small talk for a brief time, then Amanda took my bag and showed me to the guest room, one of four bedrooms in her extensive home.
Everything Amanda did reflected her exquisite taste and this room was no exception. Slightly different from the rest of the house, this room had more of a French influence. Its ten-foot-high walls were painted a deep Wedgwood blue, accented with white wainscoting and crown molding, and the windows were layered with white sheer panels, giving off a light, ethereal effect.
I couldn’t resist the temptation to flounce down on the bed, an antique Louis XV with its finely carved headboard and footboard. When I sank into the plush down comforter, covered in a floral print duvet, I let out a grand sigh. Topping it were tons of green, white, and lavender pillows, and I leaned back against them, feeling like a princess. I could get used to this.
Amanda explained, as she walked around to the nightstand on the opposite side, that she had discovered the bed during one of her vacations in France, fell in love with it, and had it shipped back to the States. “It was absurdly expensive,” she said, “but if it touches your soul, it’s worth it, don’t you agree?”
“That’s always been my motto,” I replied, which accounts for my lamentable credit card status. She opened the top drawer of the nightstand, pulled out a book of matches, and lit a large, lavender pillar candle resting in a crystal hurricane holder.
“Now, Vic,” she said, changing the tone of her voice. “I know something’s up with you. I can see it in your eyes. Has anything happened with that stalker of yours? Is that what it is?”
“No,” I lied, “I think he gave up. I haven’t heard from him since that one text message.”
“Okay then something else is going on, I know it. Is it your hot neighbor?”
I smiled. “No, definitely nothing going on there.”
“You don’t have to talk to me about it if you don’t want to, if it’s none of my business.”
“Amanda, I—”
“I’m not finished,” she continued. “Lavender is very soothing, so I’m going to let this candle burn while we’re having dinner and we’ll keep your door closed. When you’re ready for bed, the room will be filled with the glorious, calming scent of lavender and you’ll be able to fall asleep peacefully. I don’t know how it works—it just does. When you’re ready to talk, let me know, but for now, just relax. The only decision you have to make tonight is wine or vodka.”
Amanda was the best. I felt at peace in this room, and the tension in my shoulders began to melt away, like a double-decker ice cream cone on a hot summer day. The idea that Judah had cameras in my condo in the hopes of catching a stalker seemed surreal, incongruous. I decided to mentally erase the past for the time being, pretend it was all a dream, and live only in the present.
I thanked her for her concern, and explained I was still a little rocky from the Vegas trip and the ear shooting. Though I tried vigorously to pretend
I was perfectly fine, the look on her face made it patently clear she wasn’t buying it. But, nevertheless, she dropped it, and we left the room, closing the door behind us. While we were on our way to the next room, the buzzer from the concierge desk sounded. In a loud voice on the speakerphone, we heard Albert announce the arrival of Mark and Laini. Leland gave permission to send them up, so Amanda sped up the remainder of our tour.
Her master bedroom, done in silks and taffetas in pastels of cream, mint green, and rose offered a majestic view of Mt. Rainier, when it wasn’t hiding behind the clouds. Her walk-in closet was almost as big as my bedroom. I wondered if she would consider adopting me.
The final two bedrooms were converted into an office, and a workout room respectively, complete with treadmill, Pilates machine, and an exercise bike. A large, flat screen TV sat on a built-in, bleached wood cabinet that held a variety of free weights, ranging from five pounds to twenty-five pounds in a rainbow of colors.
We ended our tour in her custom gourmet kitchen which, not surprisingly, had top-of-the-line appliances in brushed stainless steel. “And here is my kitchen,” she proudly announced. “The heart of my home.” If the kitchen is the heart of the home, then mine needed a pacemaker.
I ducked into the powder room for a moment to freshen up, and looked around. This room was a mixture of red, gold, and black. The mirror and several pieces of art work were framed in gold, and a black marble vanity and sink added a striking touch. White crown molding and white stone flooring accented the dramatic walls, painted a deep shade of red. I hate red walls. Something about them makes me angry. I can’t explain it.
Laini and Mark came through the front door just as I exited the powder room. Like a couple of lovebirds, they held hands and gazed into each other’s eyes. Nothing like a brush with death to revitalize a marriage. I smiled and hugged them both hello.