Like a Woman Scorned

by Hart, Randi

  “Fair enough,” Rick replied. “Do you have any specific suggestions, other than for me to stop being blinded by love and my professional training?”

  “Okay, yeah. You need to ask your attorney to give you all the paperwork she has on your case. Every last little scrap of paper. Something in that pile of stuff is the answer. A guy like you will find it. I’d bet money on it, if I had any left.”

  Rick began nodding, slowly at first, but then with unrestrained enthusiasm.

  “I’ve certainly got nothing better to do. Thanks, Stu.”

  Several days later, Stuart was sitting in the yard smoking and enjoying a warm sunny day when he saw his cellmate coming up to him again, this time holding a piece of paper in his hand.

  “I got her, Stu. You were right. This is it. I should have thought of this before. Then there’s that freaking tape recorder.”

  Stuart leaned back on both hands and looked at the sky, refusing to get all sucked in to Rick’s theatrics. Stuart wasn’t in the mood for it today.

  “Tape recorder, huh?” Stuart asked after a minute went by. “What tape recorder, brother?”

  “Ali always carried a mini-tape recorder with her to and from work. A small, thin one with a strap that fit easily in her hand. Nothing unusual about that for a senior paralegal. But Carley carried one like that, too—not the same brand, not the same color, but the same size and shape. She didn’t need one. She was just a secretary at my office, so there was no occasion for her to record important conversations. But old habits die hard and she probably didn’t think about that. Neither did I—until now.”

  “What’s the other thing?”

  “This. Look at this, please.”

  Stuart leaned forward, feeling slightly annoyed at the request, and saw Rick was holding two handwritten notes.

  “Yeah, so?”

  “The handwriting matches. This one’s a love note from Ali, that she left with me after one of our visits—and this one’s a memo scribbled by Carley that was in the box of files my attorney gave me yesterday.”

  That was a little more interesting, so Stuart accepted the notes and compared them. The writing was indeed similar.

  “Same basic size and pattern,” he mused out loud as he studied them. It reminded him of investigative work he used to do when he was younger. “Maybe not an exact match, but similar in style, that’s for sure.”

  “They match, Stu. Stop placating me. It’s her. I can’t believe it’s her, I can’t believe she put me in here, and now she wants to fall in love and get married and play house. Or at least, that’s what she says. Maybe she’s not done with me yet.”

  Stuart shook his head. “You called her first, remember?”

  “Yeah, yeah, right. Well, maybe she’s for real now. Doesn’t matter. She’s a liar and a crook, dammit. And one hell of a vindictive little snot. Marry her. God forbid I come home late one night, or forget her birthday or something—what then? Will she frame me for murder?”

  Stuart let out a belly laugh and gave the notes back to Rick. “Well, at least you got a woman, right? And one with money, too. That’s a hell of a lot more than I got.”

  “Not funny, Stu. Now listen, I want you to do me a favor.”

  “What now, brother?”

  “I want you to talk to the Lorenzo boys for me.”

  Stuart sat up straight and furled his brow. This cellmate of his really was a bipolar case, and getting to be too much work.

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “I do.”

  “You haven’t thought about this enough yet.”

  “I have.”

  “Even if you’re serious, Rick, you don’t have the money now, remember?”

  “Actually, I do. Alison gave my attorney a check for $50,000 to help pay my remaining legal fees and make the divorce go through faster. Guilt money, I suppose, and that’s really the final confirmation. She did it without telling me. Melinda just let me know about it last week. But my family also gave my attorney money, plus the retainer I originally gave her, which makes about $45,000 in overage in my client trust fund account. That’s now mine to take whenever I like, and I can make arrangements to have payment made any way the Lorenzo’s want it.”

  Stuart laughed out loud again. “Trust account overage? Isn’t that exactly what landed you in this place?”

  “The irony is not lost on me, Stu, trust me.”

  Stuart stopped laughing and stared at Rick for several minutes. Neither of them blinked.

  “You really want me to talk to them?”

  “Yes. Please.”

  “I get a piece, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  * * *

  Alison spent three sleepless nights working it out, but finally put it all together where she was comfortable. Practicing as she ran, running it through her head over and over, she knew just how to talk to Rick now, exactly how to tell him everything without blowing things up. He hated to see her upset, so Alison would be upset when she explained, and let him know how guilty she felt. Her ace in the hole was the revelation that she could no longer have children. She still hadn’t told Rick that, and was glad she saved it until now. The pain, the anguish, and having to go through it all alone after the man she loved abandoned her. He would get that. He would understand. He would forgive her under the circumstances.

  Today was Wednesday and Alison was booked on the redeye tonight. She felt pretty good, and figured she could finally get some much-needed sleep on the plane. It had been too long since she last saw Rick. She missed him so much.

  Alison finished her run and stopped in the park around the corner from her house. She’d been coming here to sit on her favorite bench and cool down at the end of her runs the last few weeks. The weather was nice today. She really liked that bench. It was off by itself on the far side of the park, but had a view of the playground. Alison found she could watch children play again and enjoy it.

  Things were going to be okay. Her and Rick were going to have a good life together. Maybe he would even be agreeable to adapting a child. Maybe. She wouldn’t hit him up with that idea right away, and wouldn’t be too stubborn about it if he wasn’t into it. He did, after all, already have young-adult children. No matter. Alison was just happy she had made peace with the world and could look at little kids with enjoyment again.

  She glanced down at her new runner’s watch. Her time and cadence were both improving. Everything in her life was getting better. But she did notice the time. It was getting to be late-afternoon. She was already packed, so just needed to shower and get over to the airport in plenty of time to have a leisurely dinner in her favorite airport bar. The bartenders there all knew her by name now, so it was fun.

  A short, lean, balding man was walking a small dog on the sidewalk. Such a cute dog. She and Rick would have to get one of those in their new home. Alison wondered what kind it was. The man turned up the sidewalk that led to Alison’s bench. Good. She could ask him about the breed as he passed by.

  He stopped in front of the bench as the dog sniffed at some plants. But before Alison could say anything, the man spoke first.

  “Alison Carson?”

  Alison was taken aback. She squinted at the man. He didn’t look familiar. Instinctively, she poised herself to stand and run.

  “Do I know you?” Alison asked.

  “No. Relax, I’m not a process server. I have a message for you from Rick Waterman.”

  Alison stood and quickly took two steps backwards on the path. She said nothing, but could feel her eyes widening. Five alarm bells started ringing in her head. The man, however, sat down.

  “It’s kind of important, actually,” he said. “Would you please sit back down?”

  “What is it?” Alison said. “And who are you?”

  “I won’t tell you any of that unless you sit down.”

  Alison instead stepped backwards two more steps and looked around the park rapidly.

  “Tom,” the man said. “You can call me
Tom. I’m in no hurry. I will wait here one hour. If you decide to sit down, I will explain who I am and give you Rick’s message. If not, you’ll never see me again. You might want to think about hearing what I have to say before you catch that plane tonight, though.”

  Alison turned and ran. She didn’t look behind her until she was at the edge of the park, just before the row of houses began on that block. From there she could see that everything was normal back in the park, and the little dog was now sitting up on the bench with the mysterious man. When they fell out of view behind the first house, Alison stopped running and walked fast instead. In a few minutes, she was home. She dead-bolted the door behind her and grabbed the phone.

  Before calling the police, though, she stopped and thought about exactly what it was she was going to report. The police would ask what the threatening man said to her. It wasn’t going to sound very threatening to the police. He just said he had a message from a friend of hers, a friend who was in prison. That probably wasn’t enough for the police to do anything. Maybe they would send a car over and question the man and scare him off, but that’s all that could happen. Plus, Alison wasn’t completely comfortable getting the police involved in her life at this moment in time, knowing what she was fully prepared to confess to Rick tomorrow. No point in opening any additional potential cans of worms.

  Alison set the phone back down. She needed to think this through. Something was wrong. Rick certainly didn’t need to send her messages via some stranger in a park. He wouldn’t do that. They saw each other for hours on end every weekend, and he called her twice during the week in between. Anything he needed to say, he could say then.

  Or could he? She hadn’t seen him in ten days now, the longest they had been apart in eight months. The prison phone might not be considered safe if he had something extremely confidential to tell her, like where some money may be hidden or something. The man in the park knew about her plane flight. Maybe he was a private investigator? Or maybe he really was a friend of Rick’s.

  Alison jumped in the shower and kept thinking about it. There could be a handful of legitimate explanations as to why Rick would send a friend with a personal message. Most of them were good reasons. Maybe she was just being paranoid, reacting in her naturally-conditioned fashion to something unexpected, that of a strange man in a park. Nobody could blame a woman for that. Rick couldn’t blame her, either.

  That’s what she would tell Rick. She would tell him she was scared when a man approached her in the park by her house saying he had a message, so she ran away. Rick would understand. If there was something important Rick needed to tell her through a friend on the outside, Rick could confirm it first. Better safe than sorry.

  Alison got dressed and called for a cab. The taxi driver picked her up and then turned onto the street with the park. Alison asked the driver to go slow on that street. The man was still there on the bench, alone. Alison asked the driver to pull over and stop for a moment. He did.

  The man in the park was playing with his dog. He looked harmless enough. Other people were nearby. It seemed unlikely he was some kind of a freak who was out to do her harm. And he did know about Rick and her travel plans. Maybe he really did have an important message for her. Still, there was something a little creepy about him.

  “Can you stay here for a minute while I go talk to that man on the bench?” Alison asked the driver. “And can you keep an eye on me, please, and call the police if anything happens?”

  “Lady, you in some kind of trouble? I don’t want to get involved in anything. You want a ride to the airport or not?”

  “I do, but that man with the little dog has some information I need. He’s a friend of my fiancée. I’m catching a flight to go see my fiancée, but I need to talk to that guy first before I go. There’s no trouble. I’d just feel better knowing you were watching. There’s a twenty dollar tip in it for you, and I shouldn’t be long.”

  “All right, as long as there’s no trouble. It’s your money. Just know the meter’s running, honey.”

  “Thanks.”

  Alison got out of the taxi and walked up the sidewalk quickly, around the playground, and towards the bench. The man glanced her way occasionally while continuing to play with his dog and didn’t seem surprised to see her coming. He might have surmised that it was her in the taxi when it stopped.

  “All right, what have you got for me?” Alison said.

  The man—what did he say his name was, Tom?—glanced at his watch.

  “Not bad, only took you thirty minutes. Please sit down. There’s a pressing matter I need to discuss with you, but I will only do it if you are sitting.” He made the dog jump down from the bench and lie at his feet.

  “Just so you know,” Alison said, “that taxi driver is watching me and is instructed to call the police if I wave at him, or if he sees anything suspicious at all.”

  “Naturally,” Tom said. “Don’t worry, Miss Carson. I’m only here to talk, and then I’ll leave in the other direction and you’ll go back to your taxi.”

  Alison sat down on the opposite side of the bench.

  “Well?”

  “Have you ever heard of the Red Owls?” he asked.

  “No. Please get to the point. I have a meter running.”

  “Just as well,” he said. “I represent them. I’m an administrator, so to speak. I’m not one of the contractors. Now, we rarely do this, so consider yourself extremely fortunate. Rick hired us. You are the subject. Normally, that would be the end of the transaction—and the end of you, of course. But under these special circumstances, in a purely civilian matter where some question over the client’s ability to pay us exists due to their current incarceration, and the subject is thought to be one of means—and harmless—we will occasionally investigate the situation thoroughly, which is what we have done in this case.”

  Alison stood up and instantly put several yards between her and the bench in the direction of the taxi. She didn’t quite know what this man was babbling about, but it was scaring the hell out of her.

  “Miss Carson, he knows,” Tom said, apparently now willing to further communicate with her standing.

  Alison just stared back at him.

  “Rick knows,” he repeated.

  “Knows what? What are you talking about?”

  “He knows it was you.”

  Alison reached into her purse and grabbed ahold of a small, round, cylindrical object that gave her some sense of security when she found herself frightened.

  “If that’s a can of pepper spray you’re holding, please don’t. You have two choices here, and if you mace me, that would be making an irreversible, emotional decision that I think you would regret. I assure you, you are in no danger from me. I’m just an administrator, and the contract has not yet been assigned.”

  “What the hell are you talking about? What contract? You say Rick hired you? Hired you for what? How does it involve me?”

  “Do you really not understand?” Tom asked.

  Some crazy ideas were bouncing around in Alison’s head, the kind you usually only see in mobster movies. She didn’t understand, and she was never more scared. She needed clarification. She needed Rick. She wanted to run all the way to the plane, or better yet, run across the country herself and go see him.

  “He knows you were the secretary who framed him,” Tom said calmly, as if reading Alison’s mind. “He figured it out—with the help of his attorney, apparently.”

  Alison took her hand out of her pursed and clutched the strap tightly with both hands.

  “I …I …I was going to tell him. Tomorrow. Tomorrow I’m going to tell him. It will make everything okay…”

  “No. It won’t, Miss Carson. It’s too late for that now.”

  “What did he say?” Alison asked. “About me? About knowing about it now? What did he say about me?”

  “That’s all I really know—except, of course, that he doesn’t forgive you. I have not met Mr. Waterman personally. He is willing
to use the last of his money to get revenge now, from what we have ascertained, assuming he can get it properly transferred to us. We are still waiting on payment. That’s what I wanted to discuss with you.”

  “Payment for what?” Alison felt her heart racing.

  “Payment to have you killed, Miss Carson. Now, can we please discuss the alternative?”

  Alison turned to run to the taxi, but stood in place instead. She was torn and confused, like in a dream where you want to run from danger but can’t.

  She spun back around to face Tom. “Suppose I call the police myself, right now, and tell them everything you just said?”

  “If they get here before I leave,” Tom said as he leaned down to scratch behind his dog’s ears, “which is doubtful, knowing the San Francisco police, I will simply tell them I was hitting on you and you took offense. Since they have nothing but unfounded accusations, they will be forced to let me go, probably with a stern warning to stay out of the parks. Then Mr. Waterman’s contract will be assigned and our business will be over. You can go see him and tell him anything you want, and see how he responds. My guess is he will deny everything and say I must be some crazy person. Maybe you will then move into your new apartment in Boston. It doesn’t matter to me. I’m only here to offer you a chance at a reversal—which is, as I already explained, a rare opportunity.”

  “What’s a reversal?”

  “The subject is given the opportunity to reverse the contract and make the original client the subject instead. Like I said, it’s rare. It costs double the original contract price. In this case, however, there are middlemen finder’s fees to pay and some extra expenses involving in a rather unorthodox manner of funds transfer, so it will be a little pricier than normal.”

  Alison sat back down on the bench, much closer to Tom this time. Her eyes suddenly felt like they were on fire.

  “How much did he pay to have me killed?”