Suggestion of Death

by Susan P. Baker

  After he arrived home and checked his messages—there were just two hang-ups again—Jim ran a hot bath. But not until he went back into the bedroom to get some clean underwear and a T-shirt, did he feel uneasy. A chill ran through him. Something was wrong. A subtle difference in things. His underwear was not quite stacked the way he liked. His T-shirts looked rifled. He spun around and saw other things. Small things. Furniture barely moved. Bed not quite as messy as he’d left it.

  A knot the size of a baseball formed in his stomach. He looked under the bed, but found no one there. He brushed off his knees. Course if there’d been anyone there, he’d be dead already.

  He checked his closet but couldn’t tell if his shoes had been moved. Ran his hand through the hanging clothes. No one there. Nowhere else to hide. He perched on the edge of the bed. Whoever it was didn't want him to know they had been there. They didn't want him to alert the police, or they had some kind of plan. There could be any number of reasons.

  His computer! Jim jumped for the stairs and could see his desk before he reached the bottom. So much for his theory that the person didn’t want him to know they’d been there. His computer was gone. Nothing but wires left. He shivered. It might have been old and out of date, but it was the only one he had. He sank to his knees in front of his desk and yanked open the drawers.

  All his flash drives, new and old, missing. He had one for every novel. One for his short stories. One for his essays. One for his articles. They were all gone.

  The asshole had taken his disks, as well. His old backups of his old stories and articles. Everything he’d ever written, gone.

  The piece of paper Noel had given him, gone.

  He crumpled onto the floor like he was fatally wounded. And smiled like someone possessed. His most recent flash drive hung from his keychain.

  And now, thank God he had a job to look forward to, a salary with which to buy another computer, and cyberspace. He used to email himself a copy of what he was working on, so he had a storehouse of old works online. More recently, he used the Cloud. They could do what they wanted with his hardware.

  Even so, his right of privacy had been violated on top of everything else. Anger grew inside him. They’d gone too far. He needed to do something about it.

  He lay there reviewing his options. He was tired. So tired he couldn’t get up off the floor for a few minutes. The rush and ebb of adrenaline left him feeling like he’d just climbed out of the spin cycle of a washing machine.

  After a while, he got up and shot the bolt on the front door and hooked the chain even though he knew chains weren’t much good. He propped his desk chair under the doorknob and pushed the sofa up against the chair. He also got the hammer out of his toolbox and took it upstairs to the bathroom with him.

  He tried to think of other things, but his brain kept going back to WiNGS. He wanted to go to a meeting, see and be seen by the members. They had to know he hadn’t been scared off.

  It was Thursday. There was a meeting that evening. And in spite of his resolve to get some sleep, he would be at that meeting no matter what it took to get a car. Drawing him to a meeting may have been the plan of the person who’d burglarized his place. If so, they were going to get their wish.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  When he awoke from an unintended nap, Jim was mentally making a list of people who might loan him a set of wheels. The list was downright short. Most of his old friends had moved on when he failed to cultivate the relationships. But he needed a car. He could call or he could hitch a ride down to the Shy Ann, and see if any of his old buddies were feeling generous. Who hung out there on Thursday nights? Thursday. Oh, shit. His night at the library. He rolled off the comforter and went to call Frieda.

  “Angeles public library,” Frieda answered with a lilt in her voice.

  “It’s Jim. Now don’t get worried, but I’ve been in an accident.”

  “You just left here a few hours ago.”

  “My brakes went out after lunch when I came back to get my car.” He perched on a barstool. The sun went behind a cloud, leaving a gray cast to the day.

  “I’m so sorry. Were you hurt?”

  “I’m bruised and my neck is probably going to need a lot of attention from a chiropractor, but otherwise, I’m okay. Just wanted to let you know.”

  “That’s a relief. What about your car? Is that what you called to tell me? Is it out of commission? Oh, dear.”

  “Front end smashed. And I’ve got some problems. I could get there if I hitched an ride, but—”

  “You should probably be in bed,” she said. “Hold on a minute.” She carried on a short conversation with a library patron. “Jim? Don’t worry about coming in tonight. I’ll be fine. After all, I used to get along without you.”

  Her tone plucked at his sympathy. She could always use another volunteer. He knew that. “I know I’m not indispensable. But here’s the thing, Frieda. I wanted to ask you a favor. I can’t tell you what’s going on, but I need a car just for tonight. Could I borrow yours? I’m pretty sure I could return it before closing.”

  “Borrow my car? Oh, Jim. Well, I don’t know.”

  Her reaction was no surprise. He’d hated even asking her. “I’m a good driver, Frieda. It wasn’t my fault I had the accident. The brakes went out.”

  “I’ve got a line here at the counter. Let me think about it, and I’ll call you back as soon as it lets up.”

  He hung up and considered his other options. If he could just get to the Shy Ann. He had enough money to buy a round of drinks. He had good news to share with the guys. One of them ought to be persuadable, especially after they saw how banged up he was. After all, they used to be good buddies. It was six-thirty. He had to hurry to get to the WiNGS meeting.

  He dressed in a pair of jeans, running shoes, a short-sleeved sport shirt, and a blazer. If he didn’t hear from Frieda in a few minutes, he’d walk to the road and see if he could hitch a ride. He looked safe, even writerly, except for the running shoes, but that couldn’t be helped. He might have to do some walking before he picked up a ride.

  When he arrived at the meeting he would force his way in if he had to. They couldn’t bar him from a public meeting. There might even be other men there, men who had custody of their children and were on the receiving end of child support. He wanted to see what was up with Bitsy—and Pat, too—and line up some interviews while he was out there. Call him nuts but better to confront them than hide from them.

  The phone rang as he was about to leave to go hook a ride. “I have it all worked out.” Frieda sounded breathless. “Sandy was just leaving. She’ll stay long enough for me to come get you. I’ll drop you at the Shy Ann. Ethan will loan you his car. I called him on his cell. I’m sorry, Jim. I just have this thing about being stranded here at the library at night with no way to get home.”

  Relief washed over him. “You’re a doll. And I can just take the car back to Ethan at the Shy Ann when I get through with what I need to do?”

  “Sure. I’m leaving now. Be ready.”

  While he waited for Frieda, Jim dug around in the kitchen for something to eat. He found some beans in the closet that passed for a pantry and ate straight out of the can. He was about to go outside when the phone rang again. Patty’s voice came on the answering machine.

  He grabbed the phone. “I’m here. Hold on a minute.” He turned the machine off. “Okay, what do you want?” A flush ran up his neck as his anger rose to the surface.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Why shouldn’t I be? Or are you going to claim you know nothing about my brakes?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “If you don’t know, why did you ask me if I was all right?”

  “Uh, your voice sounded funny, that’s all. What about your brakes?”

  “You know nothing about the brakes on my car going out?”

  “Heavens, no. When was that? Are you hurt?”

  Her sincerity sounded almost believable. “This
afternoon after you ran away. I went to follow you and suddenly I had no brakes.”

  “Oh, Jimmy, are you okay? How did you stop the car?” She actually sounded concerned.

  “I managed to steer into a park where the only thing that got hurt was a picnic table and a baseball backstop. And my car, of course. I’m mostly bruised.”

  “I’m so glad you weren’t injured.” Her voice was high-pitched, just like when she was excited or angry.

  “Are you?” He couldn’t keep the ire from his voice.

  “Of course I am. What’s wrong with you? What do you think happened to your brakes?”

  “I don’t know what happened, Pat. I had the car towed. I expect I’ll find out tomorrow. Unless you’d like to enlighten me now.”

  “You don’t think I had anything to do with it?” Her words came out like a high-pitched squeal.

  “Should I?”

  “Jimmy, what’s going on? I should be really angry with you for that remark, but after what you said this afternoon, I can’t help but wonder if you’re all right. We need to talk.”

  “Uh huh. That’s what I tried to do this afternoon and you ran out on me.”

  “Can you meet me tonight?” There was a tapping in the background, like a pencil on a table or even a fingernail on the receiver.

  Jim pulled the receiver away from his ear and stared at it for a moment. “Tonight?”

  “Yes, in about an hour. Say 7:30 or so?”

  Now he was sure something was going on. After a long silence, he said, “Can you come over here?”

  “Mmm, no. And you can’t come over here either. Have you had dinner? How about meeting me at Butch’s Bar-B-Q.”

  “That’s way out on South Junction. How the hell am I supposed to get out there?” Why would she want to go to a place on the opposite side of the county from the West County Christian Church? “Are you going to pick me up?”

  “I thought you could borrow a car.”

  Evidently she had more faith in his connections than he did. “You thought I could borrow a car?”

  “Well, what else were you going to do for transportation, honey?”

  Honey?

  “I was just on my way out to see about that. It would be so much easier though if you’d just come and get me.” He knew she wouldn’t but couldn’t help baiting her.

  “Where were you going, your old haunt, the Shy Ann Inn?”

  The Shy Ann had been a sore point between them. How many hours had he spent out there with his buddies when he could have been home with his family? It had been at the Shy Ann that he’d first heard rumors about his wife. If he’d been home where he belonged... He swallowed, wetting his throat. “Where else would I go?” He was ready for the telephone conversation to end and to confront her in person.

  “You will try to meet me, won’t you?” Her sweet-talk voice. He remembered it well.

  “I’ll try. I can’t guarantee I’ll get a car. Want me to call if I can’t make it?”

  “You’ll make it. I’ll be waiting.” She hung up.

  Pulse pounding from the phone call, Jim locked his door and stood outside on the stoop. The temperature had started to drop. The sky in the distance looked gray and ominous. The wind wafted through the trees. A short time later, Frieda raced up in her little Honda.

  She put down the window. “Get in. I want to drop you off and get back to the library before it rains.”

  “We can only hope it rains! Thanks so much, Frieda.” Jim stared out the window, his mind spinning with concerns. At the top of the list was his imminent demise at the hands of the WiNGS people if he had correctly interpreted that little x next to his name on Pat’s list. He needed proof of what was going on and fast. It didn’t matter now that he wouldn’t be in that situation if he hadn’t been neglecting his family. He wouldn’t be divorced, behind on child support, and scrambling to stay out of jail and out of the clutches of murdering women, but none of that mattered. He’d be just as dead at the hands of those murderers.

  There, he articulated it. The ‘M’ word.

  As he bid Frieda goodnight, the wind gusted from the north, dust flying. During the ride, gray clouds had clustered overhead. The temperature had dropped several degrees more. It was darker than usual for the middle of summer.

  Pushing through the doors, through the dim, smoky atmosphere, a couple of familiar faces nodded at him. Ethan was in a ribald conference at the small circular table in the corner, laughter echoing throughout the room.

  Jim strode to the corner and hollered at Ethan who did a double-take. Grinning, Ethan stood and clapped Jim on the shoulder.

  “Come out of hibernation at long last, eh, Jimbo?” Ethan crushed Jim’s hand in his own. “How the hell have you been? You’re a pound or two thinner than when last we met.”

  Jim grinned back. It was always good to see Ethan. Ethan’s grip was warm and familiar and was as close to a hug as the two men would ever get. Ethan had dropped a number of pounds, too, since Jim had seen him at Tex’s, though he looked healthy enough with roses in his cheeks. Jim was torn between wanting to snatch the keys and make a run for it or staying a few minutes to catch up. Seeing old friends, seeing the recognition in their faces, the glint in their eyes, and the smiles, and hearing the chatter and the laughter made him feel like he’d awakened from a nightmare, that everything was going to be all right. For just a moment, Jim forgot why he was there and what he was after. For just a moment, he tasted the old, free-spirited life and felt as cozy inside as he did as a child wrapped up in his grandfather’s parka in a sudden cold snap.

  Jim shook Ethan’s hand. “I’ve been great, how about you?”

  “Never better.” Ethan turned to the man across the table. “Let me introduce you to William Crumb. He’s a new associate professor. Like me, he decided to live in the country. Bill, this is Jim Dorman. He used to be a reporter before his paper folded.”

  Bill Crumb, a small man who came just to Jim’s shoulder, stood and shook his hand. “My pleasure. Heard some stories about you.”

  Jim glanced at Ethan. “All exaggerated, I’m sure.”

  “You can have my seat.” Bill moved away from his chair. “I have to be going anyhow. My wife’s got me on a short leash.”

  “Thanks. I can only stay a minute.” Jim felt Bill’s body heat when he sat down.

  There was an awkward silence for a moment, then Ethan called out for a short beer. He looked at Jim.

  Jim waved his hand. “Nothing for me but a Dr. Pepper.”

  When the man came with the drinks from behind the bar, Jim said, “Put them on my tab.” He looked skeptical, but Jim said, “I’ll pay, Luke. Trust me.”

  “So,” Ethan said, raising his fur-like black eyebrows, “what have you been up to? You haven’t been in here. No one has seen you at Tex’s, either.”

  “Got some good news. I’ve got a real job starting soon.”

  “Congratulations.” He stroked the fold of his ear. “Where?”

  “Dallas Downtown Magazine. Snared an investigative reporting job. Also sold my novel,” he added feeling reticent, not wanting to sound like he was bragging.

  “Well, you’re in tall cotton. When did all this come about?”

  Jim glanced at the big picture calendar behind the bar. Seemed like days ago after everything that had happened. “This morning. You’re almost the first to know.”

  “I’m honored you came here to share this with your old buddy.” Ethan took a swallow of his beer. “Even if you do have an ulterior motive.”

  Jim held his glass up to Ethan in a toast. “So how have you been doing? You feeling well, Ethan?”

  Ethan glanced at Jim and then down at himself. “Oh—you mean my weight loss.” He laughed. “Uh—you know I hit fifty last spring.”

  “Say, that’s right.”

  “Suffice it to say I’ve decided to reform. I’ve got a two-beer limit now, and I work out every other day. How do you like the new me?”

  “You look great. Feelin
g good?”

  “Terrific. But then I’ve been working on this for several weeks so I’m used to it. Gad, I just can’t believe it. Got a fancy magazine job and sold your book in one day.”

  Jim felt like a boy being praised by his dad and almost put his head up to be patted.

  “And come to share it with us here at the old Shy Ann.” Ethan’s voice grew deep as it always had when he was emotional about something.

  “Well, to be perfectly honest, Ethan, I was going to tell you, it just wouldn’t have been tonight. And I didn’t know Frieda was going to ask you about the car, but thanks.”

  “No problem. You know when you’re in need you can always come to your old grandpappy.”

  “I didn’t know who else to turn to.”

  “Aw, that’s all right, amigo. Must be important. You were never one to mooch. Besides, I appreciate the time you’ve given Frieda at the library. It was a nice thing for you to do.”

  “Sure you don’t mind about the loan?”

  “No, my old Ford Taurus is across the street.” He dug into his pocket for the keys. “Tom can take me home when I’m ready.” He gestured toward the bar where two men were watching TV.

  Jim took the keys. “I hate to just run in here and buy you a beer and borrow your car after not having seen you for so long. I know that’s rather crass.”

  “You better quit while you’re ahead, boy.” He grinned and leaned forward conspiratorially. “Seriously, I know you wouldn’t ask like this if you didn’t really need it, Jimbo. Get going.”

  “Thanks, Ethan. I’ll get it back to you as soon as I can.” They shook hands. Jim dug in his jeans for a few dollars. Laying the bills on the bar as he went out, he said, “That should cover it, Luke. See you.”

  Jim stepped onto the sidewalk and picked out the deep blue, almost nondescript Taurus on the opposite side of the street. The sky had grown even darker, and the ozone-scented wind rushed about him. He wasn’t halfway across the street when high, bright headlights flashed on him like spotlights and barreled toward him. He was directly in their path. He dashed back the way he’d come but remained lined up in the lights that were almost upon him. He sprang toward the Taurus. Making a mad dive, he hit the pavement and rolled until he was between two parked cars. The lights flashed past and when he looked up; he only made out the taillights of the truck and the letter W. The remaining letters were covered by mud. The truck never stopped. Never even slowed down.