by Valerie Clay
Fortunately for me they were dressed casually tonight, since my indigo jeans and white fleece, quarter-zip pullover clashed with Leland’s and Courtney’s power suits. Mark stood relaxed and comfortable in khaki slacks and a navy polo. Laini practically floated in, radiating happiness in her “hippie cool” floor length floral dress, long beaded necklace, and leather bejeweled sandals.
Always the perfect hostess, Amanda made sure we had cocktails in hand, then gave Mark and Laini a quick tour. I made small talk with Leland and Courtney until they returned, which was easy since Leland talked about himself while Courtney and I listened with feigned interest. At least mine was feigned. I can’t vouch for Courtney. But hey, how interesting can Leland’s new wine cellar be? Maybe Courtney was collecting material for his next book, Lifestyles of the Rich and Snobbish.
When I realized I hadn’t checked my cell phone in a while, I excused myself and went to the guest room to retrieve it. The small inside pocket of my purse that usually housed my phone was empty, so I started combing through the oodles of unnecessary items that somehow find their way into my bag. Unable to locate it, I impatiently dumped the entire contents out onto the floor but, to my dismay, the cell phone was missing. I mentally kicked myself as I realized I must have left it in my car. Now I would have to go back down to that creepy parking garage to get it. I repacked my purse, positioning my Taser close to the top, left the room and ran into Laini, Mark, and Amanda as they completed their tour.
“Where are you going with your bag?” Amanda asked with knitted brows. “Leland didn’t insult you again did he?”
“No, don’t worry—Leland is fine. I just realized I left my phone in my car and I’m expecting a call. I’ll just run down and get it and be right back.”
“I’ll go with you,” Laini said.
“Thanks, Lain, that would be nice.” I smiled, feeling a grateful rush of relief.
On the elevator ride down to the concierge level, Laini looked at me questioningly and asked me how I was doing. “I’m fine,” I replied, and gave her the same exterminator yarn I’d given Amanda. They’ve been through so much lately; the last thing I wanted was for them to worry about me.
“Are you sure?” she asked again, arms crossed, looking unconvinced.
“Absolutely, positively. Why do you ask?”
“I had a dream last night,” she began, then hesitated, as if unsure how to proceed. “And I feel like I should tell you something.”
This, of course, couldn’t be good. I waited.
With no response from me, she brushed a blonde tress from her face and backed off. “You know, it was probably just a bad dream. I’m being silly.”
“Okay, give it to me straight,” I said. “I can take it.”
She took her time, choosing her words carefully, “Sooo, I dreamt that your home was sort of . . . invaded a little bit.”
“Invaded a little bit?”
“It was just a smidgeon of a dark force that seeped in and slightly contaminated everything. But it didn’t just stay there, it followed you when you left your home.”
Her premonition was frighteningly on target, and the nagging fear caught up in my throat once again. I tried to cover my discomfort with a smile. “It was probably all about those mice that set up housekeeping in my attic,” I explained. “That and the exterminator. I’m fine. Really,” I lied. “Don’t worry about me. Just enjoy having Mark back.”
She looked doubtful. “Okay, if you say so, but just in case, I brought you something. She reached into her purse and pulled out a plastic bag containing a feather and bundle of sage. “Take this. Have you ever done a sage ceremony before?”
“No, but don’t you just light up and wave it around?” I asked as I opened the bag, pulled out the sage and inhaled its distinctive, pungent scent.
She stared at me affectionately with soft blue eyes. “No, Vic, there’s a little more to it than that.” She stopped talking when we reached the concierge level and passed Albert on our way to the parking garage elevator. Once the doors closed and we had privacy again she continued. “There’s no one, prescribed procedure for doing the smudging ceremony, just remember that God and your spirit guides understand and bless your actions. It helps if you have some appropriate music to play, and no, Tina Turner is not appropriate.”
I grinned. The girl knows me too well.
She continued, “Anything with Native American flutes would be good. I can lend you a CD if you need one.”
We arrived at the parking garage level and she continued her instructions as I cautiously led her to my car.
“Also, if you still have any of that protection candle left that I gave you, light it. To begin with, open all closets, cabinets, and drawers, then light the sage,” she directed. “Once it’s smoldering, say a prayer, asking God’s blessings that the smoke will trap any negative energy or bad spirits. Smudge yourself first, starting at your feet and move up around your body and head. Then in each room, using the feather, lightly push the smoke around the doorway and into the room to all corners and through the middle.”
She gracefully moved her arms in demonstration. “When you’re done, say another prayer of thanks to God and your spirit guides, asking for the smoke to carry away all negativity from your home. Open your windows and doors to allow the smoke to flow out, and the fresh air and good energy to flow in.”
“Thanks, Lain,” I said with a heartfelt smile when we reached my car. “I’ll do that right after the pests in my condo have been completely annihilated. Promise. You’re a good friend.” I found my phone right where I’d left it: face up on the passenger seat. I flipped it open and saw that there were no new messages. Disappointed, I closed and slipped it back into its cubby hole in my purse. On our way back to the elevators, trekking through the empty garage, I covertly scanned left and right, hoping I wasn’t being obvious. My hand rested inside my bag on the Taser. One false move and he’d get it right between the eyes, or somewhere close enough.
Safely back in the elevator, on the way to the penthouse, Laini regarded me with a suspicious gaze and tried one last time to pry the truth out of me. “Are you sure you’re okay, Vic? You seem a little jumpy. Is it that stalker guy? Has he done anything more? You’d tell me if something was going on, wouldn’t you?”
I told her that he had gone away, just disappeared into thin air, and that she was being concerned about nothing. But putting one over on a woman with super-sized intuition is a distinct skill I had yet to learn. It’s like trying to beat a lie detector while it’s giving you the skunk eye. She was not persuaded.
Mercifully, we were interrupted when Amanda greeted us at her door with martinis, shaken, not stirred, she pointed out. We joined the men and sipped our drinks. Courtney, in his witty, cynical style, told a few droll jokes and I laughed in spite of myself. The more he spoke, the more attractive he became and I felt myself beginning to warm up to him. Laini eyed me with concern from time to time, but I kept up my ruse and tried to appear cheerful and relaxed.
At seven o’clock on the dot, Amanda ceremoniously announced that dinner was served. She ushered us into the formal dining room, adjacent to her open kitchen and separated from the “great room” by a low wall topped with plants, and glass sculptures. Delicious scents emanated from the kitchen as we gathered around the glamorous table. Flickering candlelight from a pair of large silver candelabras cast a warm glow on the china and crystal, and carefully folded linen napkins in the shape of standing fans graced every place setting.
“Now, Leland,” Amanda began, “you sit at the head of the table, and, Mark, let’s put you at the other end. Then, Vic, you and Courtney take those two seats and . . . oh no, that’s not going to work. That way someone who’s not a boy will be sitting next to someone else who’s also not a boy. I’ll take the end seat.” We shifted back around the table and took our seats.
The dinner was catered so that Amanda could relax and enjoy the evening, and a young, dark-haired woman in a starched black and whi
te uniform served the first course, a scrumptious Roquefort pear salad. While unfolding my napkin and placing it on my lap I snuck a curious peek at Courtney. In between bites I made small talk, trying to get to know him better.
“So tell me about your work, Courtney,” I said, in my most sophisticated, society woman demeanor. “What kind of writing do you do? Fiction? Non-fiction?”
“I’ve just published my fourth book, actually,” he said as he picked at his salad. It’s the latest in a series of books based on the life of Friedrich Nietzsche, the nomadic years. Before the breakdown of course.”
“Of course.”
He turned to me. “Are you familiar with Nietzsche?”
“Yes, wasn’t he that German guy in “The Sound of Music?”
He looked at me with disdain.
“Just kidding,” I said, trying to redeem myself. “I’m smarter than I look. He was a German existentialist philosopher.” I got the feeling Courtney didn’t appreciate smart-alecks. I tried again, “So what do you do when you’re not writing?”
He gave me a hollow smile. “Among other things, I recently ended a sixteen-month relationship with a woman of whom I was extremely fond.”
“Oh, I’m sorry—”
“Or, rather, her husband ended it,” he said as he lifted his napkin and dabbed at his mouth.
“You mean her ex-husband.”
“No. Her husband.”
“Oh, so she was separated.”
“No.”
I shot a quick glance at Amanda and she winced. Here was a man who was practically bragging about having an affair with a married woman. Thanks tons, Fleland, I thought.
“How about you?” he countered. “Are you involved with anyone at the moment?”
“Well, I have a stalker, so in a way, yes.”
“A stalker—are you joking?”
“I wish.”
“What does this stalker do?”
“He calls a lot and sends flowers. He’s really quite attentive.” Then, remembering my fibs to Laini and Amanda, I added, “I haven’t heard from him in a while though. I think he’s left me for a younger victim.”
Amanda cleared her throat and asked loudly if everyone was ready for the next course. Then she rang a tiny golden bell and the caterer removed the salad dishes and replaced them with steaming plates of scallops in roasted pepper-butter sauce served over a bed of brown rice.
Throughout the main course I inundated Courtney with idiotic questions and smartass commentary until I felt I had sufficiently turned him off. Over dessert, a decadent, dark chocolate mousse, he turned his complete attention to Leland and ignored me. Mission accomplished.
Following a quick after-dinner drink in the living room, Mark and Laini stood up and apologized for having to eat and run, but they were on their way to Cannon Beach, Oregon for a second honeymoon of sorts. Courtney took the opportunity to make his apologies as well, mentioning some vague early morning commitment, thanked Amanda, limply shook my hand while avoiding eye contact, then followed them out the door.
When Amanda returned from seeing them out, she flopped down on the sofa next to Leland, slipped off her sandals, and rested her feet on the coffee table. “So, tell me, Vic, other than the deplorable affair he mentioned, what did you think of Courtney?”
“For starters, did you know he’s been married four times and has six kids? His youngest is in pre-school.” I looked at Amanda and she turned to Leland.
“Did you know this, Leland?” she asked.
“Is that a deal-breaker?” Leland responded.
“Yes, Leland,” I replied. “Yes, it’s a deal breaker. Do you think I want to be known as someone’s fifth wife? Who is he, Henry the Eighth?”
Leland was about to reply, when my cell phone beeped, signaling a text message had been received. I sprang from the leather chair like a possessed jack-in-the-box. It had to be Judah. I excused myself and hurried to the guest room to read my message in private.
Vibrating with anticipation, I hopped onto the bed and flipped open the phone. The sender was ‘unidentified,’ certainly not what I’d expected to see. I bit my lip and steeled myself as I pressed the button to read the text:
How was your massage today Victoria? I really enjoyed bumping into you at the mall.
I gasped and read the message a second time in disbelief. Then with quiet hands, closed the phone and gently set it down on the antique French nightstand. My peaceful respite had come crashing to an end. I lowered my head and swiped away a tear. Somehow this sick man had not only managed to follow me, undetected, to the mall, he boldly walked right up to me and almost knocked me down. I felt supremely violated. Until now, I’d convinced myself that this was merely a disturbed individual playing some serious mind games, but eventually he’d go away. However, now, for the first time, I understood his intent. My life was in mortal danger.
He was toying with me, like a cat toys with a mouse before he kills it.
Stunned by that revelation, and laboring against a fear that would surely paralyze me, I could formulate only one, coherent thought.
This means war.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“The future belongs to the risk takers, not the security seekers. The more you seek security, the less of it you will have and the more you pursue opportunity, the more security you will achieve.” —Brian Tracy, author and motivational speaker
*******
The next morning, swathed in my leopard print flannel pajamas, I sat cross-legged on Amanda’s couch sipping gourmet coffee and watching her in the kitchen making breakfast. The sky outside her floor-to-ceiling windows was gray and brooding. At least it wasn’t raining. Carl lay next to me with his head on my lap, utterly contented as I scratched behind his velvet ears, and made small talk with Amanda. Unable to hold it in any longer, I had just finished spilling my guts to her. She took it all in, wide-eyed but stoic, determined to show solidarity and strength in the face of adversity, and offering me her complete support in every way.
Now she bustled about the kitchen, cooking up a grand breakfast to expend her nervous energy. The delicious scent of hickory smoked apple sausages grilling on the stove wafted into the living room, making my stomach growl. Judging by the way she whipped up the ingredients, the waffles were going to be light as a feather. Next to her waffle iron sat small bowls of fresh pecans and huckleberries, ready to plop onto the sizzling batter. The only thing she would allow me to do was set the table and slice up some fruit, which was already done and chilling in her Sub-Zero refrigerator.
Her turquoise caftan flowed behind her as she dashed back and forth across the kitchen gathering up mixing bowls and depositing dirty dishes into the dishwasher. Fortunately the old goat, Fleland, hadn’t spent the night, so it was just the two of us fixing breakfast and talking girl talk: sex, fashion, makeup, how to kill a stalker and dispose of his body. The usual.
I hadn’t called Judah yet; I figured he’d call me as soon as he had anything, so I might as well wait. There wasn’t a whole lot he could do at this point anyway, and I wasn’t going anywhere. Not now. I glanced over at my phone perched at the ready on the glass-topped coffee table and willed it to ring. Flipping it open one more time, I confirmed that it was still turned on with a fully-charged battery. Nothing had changed since five minutes ago.
Carl, the warrior dachshund, had fallen asleep with his head still on my lap and was dreaming: snorting, and yipping softly at some imaginary squirrel or maybe the Las Vegas mob, whatever little puppies dream about. I gently moved his head and got up to refill my coffee cup.
“I hope you know that you can stay here as long as you need to,” Amanda repeated for the third time this morning as she handed me a freshly brewed cup of coffee. She had one of those expensive coffee makers that grinds the beans, then brews one cup at a time.
“Amanda, you are such a dear friend, thanks so—” the sound of my cell phone playing the theme from The Godfather—the song I tagged to Judah—interrupted me. My adren
alin surged into overdrive as I raced over, swooped my phone off the coffee table and quickly answered.
“Hi, Victoria,” he greeted me. “Am I calling too early?”
“No, not at all. Amanda and I were just getting ready to have some breakfast.” I glanced over at Amanda. She had stopped cooking and leaned against the jade green granite countertop, listening intently.
“Good, well, I’ve got some good news and some bad news.”
“I’ve got some news for you too, but you go first. What’s the good news?” I asked hopefully.
“The good news is, you were right. The guy was in your condo.”
Judah’s matter-of-fact disclosure hit me like a punch. In my heart, I knew the pervert had been there, so hearing it confirmed shouldn’t have been a shocking revelation, but still it was a blow. If this was his idea of good news, I was in a boatload of trouble.
I steadied myself for the rest of his report. “So, what’s the bad news then?”
“The bad news is that while he was there, he searched through your drawers. Also, it was extremely brazen of him to break-in midday when you could have been at home.”
“What time was he there?”
“Three-thirty, for about half an hour.”
“That was during my massage at the mall,” I was thinking out loud. “He knew I wouldn’t be back right away.”
“What do you mean?” he responded sharply.
I told Judah about the encounter in front of the candle shop and the text message of last night. He was silent for a moment, then asked, “Did you recognize him?”
“No, but with his full beard and baseball cap he could have been anyone. I only saw him for a second.”
“I’ve got some pretty good shots of him, so the sooner you can come back home and take a look at them the better. Oh, and one other thing, he walked off with a couple of manila folders from the filing cabinet in your guest room.”