A Week from Friday

by Georgia Bockoven

  "Everyone who repossesses a car."

  "I see," she said softly.

  The tow truck screeched to a stop beside them, and a burly, gray-haired man leaned out the window. "Where's the car you want towed?" he asked, addressing them all.

  Eric answered, a pained expression on his face. "Down there."

  Janet looked at him. For an instant their eyes met. She was relieved to see the anger that had been there earlier had left the dark depths of his eyes and that he no longer looked at her as if she were an escapee from a mental hospital. "I'm sorry," she silently mouthed, not knowing what else to say to him.

  Eric stared at her. Although she was as tall as the policeman beside her, with an aura that insisted she could take care of herself, she had somehow evoked a protective instinct in him.

  Janet was about to reiterate her offer to pay for the damages, but before she could say anything, she was being guided to the patrol car. As they drove away, she cast one last look back. She was surprised to see Eric still standing beside the road watching her leave. Automatically her hand rose to wave goodbye. She saw him shake his head and would have sworn there was a hint of a smile on his lips.

  The ride to the station was a lesson in humility. Separated from the front seat and her captors by heavy wire mesh and trapped in her cubicle by doors without handles, she felt as if she had already been tried, convicted and sentenced. She looked out at the familiar surroundings they were passing, trying to concentrate on anything and everything but her predicament and what would happen when they reached the station. "How did you find us so fast?" she asked. Conversation, any conversation was better than the oppressive silence.

  The older policeman, who was driving, answered her. "Someone saw your lights when you went over the embankment and flagged us down."

  Janet plucked a piece of grass from her sweat pants. "How long does something like this usually take?"

  He eyed her in the rearview mirror. "I couldn't tell you. We don't get many cases like this."

  "Am I under arrest?"

  "Not yet."

  "But I will be?" Since she had been old enough to remember, the only fear she had ever acknowledged was of the unknown. She was convinced she could handle anything that came her way as long as she knew what it was.

  "That depends."

  She could feel his impatience mounting; still she plunged ahead. "On what?"

  "On how you answer the detective's questions."

  "You mean whether he believes me?"

  "Precisely."

  "Do you?"

  "Look, lady, I don't think you really want to know how I feel about someone who does what you did to a car like that."

  She leaned back against the vinyl seat cover and mentally groaned. Her future flashed before her in banner headlines—Woman's Life Ruined Doing Favor For Friend.

  The detective assigned to question her contrasted sharply with her preconceived image of him. Not only was he meticulously groomed, but he was articulate and soft spoken as well as exceedingly polite. With swatches of gray at his temples and a sage look in his eyes, he reminded Janet of her warmhearted uncle who lived in Wisconsin and never forgot her birthday.

  After introducing himself, he led her into a small conference room and offered to get her something to drink. She said a cup of coffee would be nice. When he returned with the coffee he sat down across from her at the table.

  Janet wrapped her hands around the Styrofoam cup. "Detective McMillan, I have to tell you that this interview is nothing like I expected. Television has sure given you guys a bum rap."

  He laughed. "We save the rooms with the straight-backed chairs and bare light bulbs for the hardened criminal types."

  She gave him a hesitant smile. No matter how amicable he was, Janet couldn't forget he had the power to arrest her. "Did I hear the sergeant correctly when he said you had worked on a case similar to this one last month?" she asked, impatient to get started.

  "Before I go into that, why don't you tell me what happened tonight… Begin at the beginning."

  She did, only this time, she left out none of the details, no matter how minor. Detective McMillan listened, occasionally taking notes, infrequently stopping her with a clarifying question. When she was finished, she anxiously prodded, "Well, what do you think?"

  He leaned back in his chair and lightly tapped his pencil against the Formica tabletop. "I think this Louie is a very clever character."

  He believed her! Janet felt as if a monstrous weight had been lifted off her shoulders.

  "I've been working this detail for almost two years and thought I had reached the point where I'd seen every scam possible, but this guy has come up with a new one."

  "You mean you think Louie is a thief?" Casey was going to come unglued when she found out.

  "Technically, no. It looks like he protects himself by recruiting naive young women to do the actual stealing—"

  How nice that he had used the word "naive" instead of "stupid," which was how she felt.

  "—and then he simply steps forward to receive the stolen property."

  Janet swallowed the last of her coffee. "Since you believe my story, does that mean I can go home now?"

  "I'd like to run over some of the details again, if you don't mind, and then I see no reason why you couldn't go home, as long as you weren't thinking about leaving the state any time soon." There was a teasing twinkle in his eyes.

  Janet went over the story twice more, gave the detective Casey's address and telephone number and finally was told she could leave. Her faith in the legal system restored, Janet bounded through the lobby of the police station on her way to find a bus to take her back to the Presidio and her car. As she stepped out onto the sidewalk, she was surprised to see Eric Stewart standing beside the curb, apparently looking for a cab. Her first thought was to go back inside the station and wait there until he was gone. Deciding that was a cowardly way to behave toward someone she had just learned had done her a monumental favor, she took in a lungful of crisp air, squared her shoulders, walked over to the curb and tapped him on the shoulder. "We seem to keep running into each other."

  He stared at her for a moment before an easy, lopsided grin tugged up the corner of his mouth. "After all the years I've lived in San Francisco and not met you, it seems that twice in one day should be beyond the realm of probability."

  "The detective told me you declined to sign a complaint."

  He shrugged. "I figured your story was crazy enough to be the truth."

  "I want you to know that I meant what I said about paying for your car."

  Sincerity radiated from her like heat from a glowing coal. He had no doubt that she had every intention of reimbursing him, but he was just as sure she had no idea how much money was involved, "I've decided it would be easier all around if I were to turn the claim into my own insurance company, so don't worry about it."

  "But how can you? Won't they…"

  She wasn't going to make it easy for him. "Because of the kind of car it is, I have a policy that covers me for any possibility."

  "Then let me at least pay the deductible."

  "All right," he said, realizing that what she was really asking for was an opportunity to atone.

  She waited expectantly. "Well… how much is it?"

  "A thousand dollars."

  Janet fought to hide her shock. A thousand dollars! Where…how, was she ever going to come up with that kind of money? Stalling for time to collect her wits, she shifted her weight from one foot to the other and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "I hope it will be all right if I pay you off a little at a time?"

  A taxi pulled over to the curb. "As I said before, it isn't necessary that you pay me at all." He started to get into the cab. "Can I give you a lift somewhere?"

  She shook her head. If taxis had been a luxury before, they were downright decadent now. "No thank you. I'll take the bus."

  Eric's pragmatic side told him to cut his losses and forget he'd ever
met Janet Franklin. His emotional side, which surfaced at odd moments, refused to let him drive off and abandon her alone in the middle of the night in a rundown part of town. "Get in," he said. "It's stupid for you to wait around here for a bus when I'm going right by the Presidio."

  Still she hesitated. "I only have two dollars on me…"

  "For God's sake, will you just get in?" He was suddenly, overwhelmingly sorry he hadn't simply told her he had a fifty dollar deductible. Something told him she would pay off every cent of the thousand if it took her twenty years. And if he was certain of nothing else this evening, he was certain he did not want to be connected to Janet Franklin for twenty years, no matter how tenuous the tie.

  Finally she yielded to reasoning and joined him in the cab. After traveling several blocks in silence Janet asked, "Why are you being so nice to me? I don't think I would be as nice to you if the situation were reversed."

  "It probably has something to do with my genes." No one in his family had ever been able to sustain their anger longer than half an hour, no matter what the provocation.

  "Your jeans?" All she needed was for him to turn out to be some kind of weirdo.

  "Probably passed down from my father's side."

  "Oh, you mean genes," she said, obviously relieved.

  He eyed her. "That's what I said."

  "I thought you meant—oh, never mind."

  They lapsed back into silence. This time it was Eric who broached the question. "You're in school?"

  "Uh-huh." They had stopped for a red light, and Janet was staring at a young girl standing on the corner dressed in black pants and a fluorescent green shirt. Her hair was a bright orange. Since becoming friends with Earthquake, she no longer stereotyped people who had aberrant dress styles and found it fun to speculate about them.

  "San Francisco State?"

  "Stanford."

  He was suitably impressed. Just getting into Stanford was a coup of sorts. There were hundreds of qualified applicants turned away for every one that was accepted. "Doing graduate work?"

  She turned to face him, a resigned smile on her lips. She was used to people assuming she was completing her college education. "Not yet. I'm only a sophomore. I got off to a late start."

  He studied her. Even without makeup and her hair pulled back into a youthful ponytail, she was obviously beyond the teen years. Her vibrantly expressive blue eyes had a knowing, mature look, which appealed to him far more than the look of an ingenue. "It must be difficult—going back to school after being away for so many years." The question was the appropriate and logical one to keep the flow of conversation going, but Eric found he was more than politely interested in her answer.

  "It's not too bad now. But my freshman year was something else. I felt like I was trying to row upstream."

  He chuckled in commiseration. "And scared to death to stop to rest, because you knew you'd be swept away."

  "How did you know?"

  "That's the way I felt my first year in law school."

  "You're a lawyer!" There was a decided lack of enthusiasm in her voice.

  Because it had happened so many times before, Eric knew what panicked thoughts were racing through her mind. She had probably already pictured herself deeply enmeshed in a lengthy lawsuit. "Corporate, not criminal."

  She let out a deep sigh. "Thank—"

  The taxi driver interrupted her. "What part of the Presidio?" he asked.

  Janet turned her attention to the driver to give him instructions. Within minutes they were parked beside her Volkswagen. Before she stepped out of the taxi, she dug into the pocket of her sweatpants, withdrew two neatly folded dollar bills and handed them to Eric.

  He looked at her outstretched hand and, sensing it was futile to resist, took the money from her.

  "I'll add the rest to the thousand I owe you," she said.

  "Somehow I thought you would say that." He absently wrapped the bills around his finger.

  "Well… I'm sure you'll understand if I say it hasn't been a real pleasure meeting you." She held out her hand. A twinkle lighted her eyes.

  He took her hand in his. "I understand… and concur."

  She was out of the cab and about to close the door when she remembered she didn't know where to send the money she owed him. "Where do you live?"

  "Why?" he asked suspiciously.

  She laughed. "There are no hidden ulterior motives, I assure you. I just need to know where to send my payments to you."

  He considered the options and settled on the San Francisco house. "One-seven-two-three Sea Cliff Av" he said in a rush, wishing he had told her his insurance didn't have a deductible.

  "One-seven-three-two—"

  "No, it's two-three." He reached for his wallet. "Never mind that address." He took out a business card and handed it to her. "You can send the money to my office. But please be sure you mark the envelope 'personal,' or the accounting department will go crazy trying to find your file."

  "Right." She gave him a little salute as she backed away and reached for the door. Abruptly she stopped and bent down to peer into the cab again. "One more thing… I sure appreciate the way you've—"

  "Don't mention it."

  "Well… I guess I'll say good-night, then."

  "Good night, Ms Franklin."

  "Janet."

  "Goodnight, Janet."

  She grinned. "I'll be in touch." The door failed to close completely, so she tried again. The second time she succeeded.

  The taxi driver started to pull away. "Wait a minute," Eric said. "I want to be sure she gets away all right." He watched as she dug her key out of her pocket and unlocked the car door. Even wearing no makeup, dressed in a baggy institutional-gray sweat suit and with her hair slicked straight back, she was a beautiful woman. Beautiful and incredibly gullible. He couldn't fathom how anyone could be talked into doing something so dangerously stupid.

  The Volkswagen's engine coughed a puff of smoke, sputtered and popped before finally settling into its own peculiar rhythmic cadence. Eric cast one last glance in Janet's direction, then told the driver they could leave. He settled back against the seat for the drive to Sausalito, fleetingly wondering what it would have been like to have met Janet Franklin under different circumstances.

  3

  By the time Janet arrived home in Palo Alto, she was so tired that all she could think of was a bath and bed. Shakespeare, she decided, would have to wait until morning. Her mouth wide with a yawn, she aimed her key for the lock. The door swung open before she made contact. "Carol," she said, startled. "What are you doing up so late?"

  "Are you all right?"

  "As far as I know, I am." A trickle of fear dripped down Janet's spine. Normally easygoing and wise beyond her twenty-nine years, Carol Turner had faced being a widow and single parent with unfailing courage. To see her with a look of panic on her face now was unsettling.

  "Then why are the police looking for you?" She groaned. "Already?"

  Carol grabbed her arm. "Would you please get in here and tell me what's going on."

  "I'd really rather let it wait until tomorrow."

  "Fat chance." Carol led her over to the sofa. "Now sit down and put your feet up. I'll get you a cup of coffee." Janet knew it was useless to protest, so she settled in and reached for a throw pillow to stuff behind her head, uncovering a cache of Leggo. She smiled. Brian, Carol's four-year-old, had some strange ideas about picking up after himself. He figured as long as a toy was out of sight, it should be out of mind. Amy, the six-year-old, was the complete opposite. So much so, that Carol sometimes expressed concern over the child's almost compulsive neatness. Although only four when her father died, Amy had tried on and off since then to shoulder some of Carol's responsibilities. Wisely, Carol firmly and lovingly insisted Amy remain a little girl.

  Janet leaned back against the cushion and closed her eyes. Before moving in with Carol, Janet had had little experience with children Brian and Amy's age because she was the youngest child of four
. Her arrangement with Carol—twenty hours of child care a week to enable Carol to complete her master's degree, in exchange for room and board—had worked out better than either had dared to hope a year and a half ago. Instead of an employer, employee relationship, they had developed a friendship they were convinced would last them a lifetime.

  Through her fog of fatigue, Janet heard Carol walk back into the room carrying a tray holding china cups that rattled against their saucers. Janet opened her eyes just wide enough to watch. Tall, blond and willowy, Carol turned heads wherever she went, but despite constant encouragement from friends, she refused to return to a social life that included dating. "You said the police called?"

  "A detective McMillan."

  "Did he say what he wanted?" She leaned forward to accept the cup of coffee Carol had poured for her.

  "Something about not being able to reach Casey at the number you gave him. He wants you to call him."

  "Tonight?"

  "Only if you got here before two o'clock." She sat down opposite Janet in one of a matching set of Queen Anne chairs and softly blew on her steaming coffee. "Now would you mind telling me what this is all about?"

  Janet leaned forward and let out a sigh. Since it was already two-thirty, the call would have to wait until tomorrow. As succinctly as possible, she relayed the highlights of the evening.

  Carol sat quietly through the telling, transfixed by the tale. When Janet finished, she asked, "What was he like… the man with the car?"

  Several seconds elapsed while Janet considered the question. She summoned up a mental picture of Eric Stewart. "He's tall, has an athletic build, dark brown hair, teeth a dentist dreams about, and a funny, kind of lopsided way of walking. Probably his best feature, though, is his eyes. They're amazingly expressive. When we were down at the bottom of that ravine and he was glaring at me through the car window, all I had to do was look at his eyes, and I knew exactly what he was thinking. I have a feeling when he turns on the charm, women swoon at his feet."

  "My, my…"

  Janet looked up from the bottom of her cup to see Carol grinning at her. "What's that all about?"