by Alice Sharpe
She smiled fondly.
“Anything else?”
“Just that same watched feeling. It started to get under my skin. Last weekend when I walked out of the fire station it was stronger than ever. I looked around, but the only person I saw was sitting in a parked car. He immediately drove off but that afternoon I came home from work and found an origami fox folded out of a dollar bill sitting on the front porch.”
Again he stared at her because now the vibe had changed from creepy to sophomoric. No, he cautioned himself, her story is just diverging from the one written in your head. This is her story, not a trashy remake of yours. “Not inside the house?” he said aloud. “No note or anything?”
“Nothing.”
He folded his hands around his cup. “Tell me why we’re meeting here in Seaport and not back in Astoria where all of this happened.”
“I’m not sure you know this or not, but every February for years I’ve driven up and down the coast. There aren’t many tourists in the winter and the hiking trails are all but empty. Anyway, after Buzz and I got married, we took the trip together. I was dragging my feet about it this year because Buzz is gone, but after I found one of those origami foxes perched on my steering wheel I decided it was time to get away for a while, and since I’d already made all the reservations—well, I just went, a day early, too, which I thought would give me a chance to chill out.
“I drove down to the California border pretty much in a straight line, stayed a couple of nights in Brookings and then started my way back up the coast just like I always do. Everything was going okay until I was hiking a narrow trail down to the beach about fifty miles south of here. A falling boulder appeared out of nowhere. It hit my left side and knocked me to the ground. I had to scramble to keep from going over the edge. It was a long way down to the rocks and I could hear waves breaking.” She took a deep breath and continued. “Once I was back on the trail I heard something on the bluff above me.”
“Like what?” he asked as he realized the scratches on her face and hands were undoubtedly caused when she fought to keep from tumbling over the edge of the mountain.
“Like footsteps.”
“You’re thinking some purposely dislodged the rock?”
“I don’t know...maybe.”
“Did you report the incident to authorities?”
She shook her head. “I climbed up to take a look myself. The spot was within easy walking distance of the parking lot. No one was around. The ground was muddy after this run of wet weather but it was also covered with pebbles—I couldn’t see any footprints. What could the police do?”
“Investigate,” he said gently. “Also, they’d be in the position to tell you if similar incidents had happened to other hikers due to weather or even vandals. They might have been able to help you understand if the falling rock was personal or accidental.”
“Okay, you make a point. But I keep thinking police will question friends and acquaintances and word will get back to Buzz. What’s he supposed to do from half a world away and what if the paper foxes are just some stupid prank? Anyway, I woke up ridiculously early this morning and ordered room service to be left in the hall while I took a shower.” She retrieved her purse from the floor beside her, grabbed something from its depths and showed it to Jack. “This was on the tray when I uncovered it.”
Resting on her deeply scratched palm he found an origami fox folded out of a dollar bill. “I called Housekeeping at once to see if they’d put it there,” she continued. “They hadn’t, of course. I put the tray back in the hall and called you. Then I left. Once it was light, I stopped for a long walk on the beach. Nothing happened and I almost called you back to cancel but I figured you were already on your way.
“So anyway, I drove to Seaport. I always stay at this hotel and I thought if you and I met here, you could help me figure things out. After I checked in I went up to my room to collapse but the maid wasn’t finished cleaning so I came back to the dining room for breakfast. While I was waiting for my order, a man walked into the restaurant, made eye contact with me and immediately took a seat at the bar. I swear he was staying at the same hotel I was at when the rock fell. His being here could be sheer coincidence, of course, except that I have a feeling I’ve also seen him in Astoria.”
“Did you talk to him?”
She shook her head.
“Could he be the painter from your neighbor’s porch?”
She thought for a moment. “No. This guy had light brown hair and a trimmed beard... The painter was taller, darker, bigger. And maybe older.”
“How about the guy you glimpsed in the parked car?”
She thought again. “Really hard to tell. By the time my backbone rebuilt itself this morning, the man had left the restaurant.” She rubbed her eyes and took a deep breath. “If this guy is following me and leaving little gifts, I want to know it before I get home and he invades my house again or drops another rock on my head.” She took another breath before adding, “Jack, I know it’s a lot to ask but do you think you could help me confront him?”
“Of course. And if it turns out he’s just a hapless traveler, I’ll drive back to Astoria with you and see what we can do there. First we have to find this guy.”
“And you won’t tell Buzz.”
“We’ll leave him out of it as long as we can. That’s all I can promise.” He didn’t add the same deal would exist concerning police involvement.
“Okay.”
“And I have to ask. Could anyone you know be behind all this?”
“What? No!”
“Someone you don’t know well, then, someone with whom you’re in a legal battle.”
“Legal battle?”
“Well, the origami is folded out of money, right? Why? Could it be because someone thinks you or Buzz owe them something?”
She shook her head. “Neither one of us is in any kind of argument with anyone, legal or not. Buzz’s friends are all scientists more concerned with sea ice extent than money and none of them live locally. My friends are firefighters. They’re family to me. I’m an only child. My parents are deceased. I’m alone in the world, really, except for Buzz.”
“And Buzz wasn’t having trouble with anyone before he left?”
“No. None of this makes any sense and that makes me think it’s all in my head.”
“The origami fox isn’t in your head,” he reminded her.
She rubbed her eyes. “No, it’s not.”
“Nor was the falling rock.”
She looked unsure about that but he wasn’t a big fan of coincidences. The boulder could easily have killed her—probably would have if she wasn’t in tip-top shape.
And that meant someone wanted her dead.
“I have an idea,” he told her. “Why don’t I take photos of the men in this hotel while you get some rest. You can look at the pictures later and we’ll go from there.”
She started to argue with him, but he stood firm. Her eyes were bloodshot and she kept rolling her shoulders as though yesterday’s fall had hurt her neck or back. “Please, Sabrina. Get some sleep. In the long run, it will make everything go faster. Trust me.”
She finally agreed and he insisted on escorting her to her hotel next door and upstairs. They exited the elevator and turned toward the long, beige hall as a man in coveralls carrying a toolbox entered the freight elevator a few steps away. Jack heard the whirring of the motor as it descended.
“Where’s your luggage?” he asked after Sabrina had opened her door and he’d preceded her into her room.
“Still in my car.”
He checked the locked door to the balcony, the bathroom and the closet. “What are you driving?”
“Buzz’s old SUV. Why?”
“If you’ll give me your keys I’ll run down and get your things for you,” he told her.
“All
I want to do is climb under those blankets and sleep. I’ll get everything later.”
“Okay, but don’t forget to slide the dead bolt after me,” he added and fervently hoped that when this was all said and done, Buzz would understand why Jack didn’t immediately get ahold of him no matter where he was.
Before he settled into a good chair in the lobby, he bought a cup of coffee at a kiosk he suspected had been created to service the dozens of human resource conference attendees milling around the hotel. As far as dropping everything to drive here, that hadn’t been all that hard. He was in the middle of two cases but he got a buddy to cover one and the other could simmer a couple of days. The only other thing he’d had to do was cancel a date he hadn’t been real interested in going on anyway.
Phone on camera mode, he clandestinely began taking pictures of every adult male he saw, customer or employee, bearded or clean shaven, tagged with a conference badge or not. Some of them seemed highly unlikely when compared with the brief description Sabrina had given—no facial hair, too heavy or tall or short—but all those things could be altered by a clever con man.
He’d just returned from his second run to the coffee kiosk when his roving gaze took in Sabrina moving away from the check-in desk. He set the coffee aside and walked over in time to catch her halfway to the door. “There you are. Ready to look at the pictures I took while you snoozed away the afternoon?” She had changed clothes, put on a coat and acquired a smattering of raindrops in her hair and on her shoulders. She’d been outside? She must have gone out to her car to retrieve her luggage. How had he missed her leaving the hotel, coming back inside to change and then apparently leaving again?
“I beg your pardon?” she said.
He finally looked past the raindrops. “I stand corrected,” he said. “You skipped the nap and went to a salon instead. I hear that can be just as fortifying.”
Her hand flew up to touch the lilac strands running through her glossy dark hair. “What I did with my afternoon is none of your business,” she said with a defiant tilt of her chin and then ruined the effect by shrinking back. “I’m sorry. That was rude.” She raised her hand as if to pat her hair and dropped it. “Does it look as bad as I think?”
He rushed to assure her. “It looks just like it did before, right, except for the purple streak?”
His words were met by another alarmed expression. “It’s two shades darker and ten inches shorter.” Her brow furled. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I’ve been in such a fog today. I’m having the hardest time placing how we know each other. Who are you?”
“Who am I? Are you sleepwalking?” She didn’t smile at his attempt at humor. “Okay,” he said in a more serious tone. “How about letting me in on the joke.”
“Danny has something to do with this, doesn’t he?” she said as she glanced around the lobby. “He’s not here, is he? Please, tell me he’s not here.”
“How could he be here?” He shook his head to clear it. Was it even remotely possible that Buzz’s wife had a split personality? Had recent stress caused some kind of abnormal blip in her psyche? He touched her shoulder. “Are you sure you’re okay? Did you change your mind and call Buzz, I mean Danny, after all?”
She held up one hand. “Wait a second. Why would I call him when all I want is a little space to think? And for that matter, why did you call Danny Buzz?”
“He earned the nickname two decades ago when he knocked a beehive out of a tree and got stung thirteen times, which is why he always carries epinephrine with him—just a second, he never told you about the bees?”
“No. This happened when he was growing up outside Seattle?”
He felt like scratching his head. “Buzz grew up across the street from my house in Napa, California.”
“He told me he grew up in Seattle,” she said.
“Why would he do that?”
“How should I know? He said his stepfather piloted a ferry on Puget Sound and his mom was—is—a housekeeper. He and his younger half brother—wait a second, why did Danny send you here instead of coming himself?”
Something weird was going on. He lowered his voice as they’d begun to draw attention. “You called me, remember? You asked me to meet you here. You’ve been feeling threatened and you asked for help figuring things out. You went up to take a nap—”
“I can’t even get a room here.”
He studied her face for some sign she was messing with him, dissecting her delicate features, aware as he did so that she flinched under the scrutiny, obviously uncomfortable and ready to run. She tried to rake her hair over her face but it was too short.
What was happening? This was the same woman he’d watched walk down the aisle two years earlier to marry his best friend, the same woman who sat across from him two hours before desperate for his help. And yet, somehow, it wasn’t her either. She “felt” different, like a lost and impotent version of herself. Two hours ago she’d been Buzz’s wife and now she was a complete stranger.
“Did Danny cook this up?” she said in a whisper, and he could feel her anxiety leap to a new level. “Mother must have guessed I’d come here—but why send a stranger?” She looked toward the door before turning back to meet his gaze. “I’d really appreciate it if you’d stop pretending you know me and just be honest.”
“Wait a second,” he said, ignoring the fact that she’d mentioned her mother in the present tense when the woman had died years before, ignoring everything except her unmarred forehead. “Where are the scratches?”
“What scratches?”
“The ones you got when that boulder fell. Let me see your hands.” He caught her left hand before she could move away. “Nothing,” he murmured as he studied her palm. Her hand trembled in his grip and he released it. “Where’s your wedding band?”
“Do you mean that stupid engagement ring? Because that’s in my purse.”
“I’m talking about the wedding band Buzz gave you. It belonged to his grandmother.” He shook his head. “Sabrina, something is very wrong.”
“My name’s not Sabrina.”
He peered into her deep brown eyes and finally accepted she was as clueless as he was. With the realization came a giant wave of relief. Sabrina hadn’t morphed into a delusional head case and he hadn’t fantasized that her very essence had changed.
The relief was short-lived as the woman standing inches away narrowed her eyes. But when she spoke, her voice was soft. “Don’t you think it’s time you explained what’s going on?”
“I wish I could,” he said.
Chapter Two
Oblivious to the hustle and bustle of the lobby around her, Sophie perched on the edge of an off-white chair and studied the man who had accosted her.
There was no denying he was better-looking than about 98 percent of the men currently walking on planet Earth, but if there was one thing she’d learned the hard way it was this: looks mattered exactly zero. What good were broad shoulders, a lean, fit body and very blue eyes if the person sporting these attributes turned out to be a lunatic or a manipulator...or both?
“I can’t believe you’re not Sabrina,” he said. “The likeness is incredible.”
“First things first,” she said. “Just who are you?”
“My name is Jack Travers. I’m a private investigator from California.”
“For real?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Why does that surprise you?”
“I don’t know. I guess you don’t look like one.”
“What does one look like?” he asked.
“Humphrey Bogart,” she answered without hesitation.
“Isn’t he a little dated for you?”
“My mother watches a ton of cable TV. I grew up watching The Maltese Falcon.”
“That’s a hard act to follow. Now, who are you?”
“Sophia Sparrow. Sophie. When you say
this woman and I look alike, you’re talking in general terms?”
“Like eye color and height?” he asked and shook his head. “No. I mean identical, like clones, like twins. In fact, that’s the only explanation for your startling similarities and why I was so sure you were her.”
“Except that I don’t even have a sister let alone a twin,” she said. “In fact, I’m an only child.”
“So is Sabrina.”
“You said she’s your friend’s wife?”
“Yes.”
“You also said she felt threatened. What’s wrong? Is she in trouble?”
“I think so, yes,” he said, “but she talked to me in confidence so I won’t go into details.”
“You also mentioned a falling boulder.”
“Did I?”
Sophie wished he would stop staring at her. She tilted her head but no hair fell forward. Why had she chosen today of all days to cut it? She studied her hands to escape his gaze but looked back up because she wanted to know what he was thinking and so far she wasn’t sure. She only knew it was important to figure it out. Something strange was going on in many ways at the same time, leaving her confused and worried.
She’d driven to the coast for one reason—to think. And yet in the back of her mind she admitted that thinking about this mix-up was easier than thinking about herself.
With what sounded like an aha, Jack took his phone out of his pocket and fooled around with it for a second, then turned it so she could see the screen. “This is a photo I took at Sabrina’s wedding. The groom is my friend Daniel Cromwell. He’s currently in Antarctica. Take a look at the bride’s face.”
Sophie glanced from Jack’s intense gaze to the picture, and in that instant, her world flipped on its axis—again. From the bride’s small cowlick near her hairline to her heavily lashed dark eyes, from the shape of her face to her eyebrows to the bump on her nose, everything Sophie could see looked familiar.
Was this a trick? Had an old picture of Sophie somehow been Photoshopped into this format? So many things were different—hairstyle, hair color, makeup, jewelry, dress and, oh yeah, what little she could see of a dark-haired guy whose face was smashed up against hers. This was not a photo of Sophie and yet it looked as though it was.