Live Ringer

by Lynda Fitzgerald

  Allie lay back in the chair and propped her feet on the railing. For a few minutes, she let her mind drift idly with the stream of memories washing through her. She must have dozed until a sound from the house below woke her. She heard it again and froze. Had she locked the door? In Brussels, living in the compound, there was little reason to worry, and her aunt rarely locked her door except when she turned in for the night. Had Allie fallen into old habits?

  She heard the back door squeak open, then close. Someone was down there. She went rigid at the sound of heavy footsteps on the iron staircase. Forcing herself to act, she snatched up her cup of lukewarm coffee. Not much of a weapon, but better than nothing.

  She started to breathe again when she saw Sheryl’s dark curls emerge over the edge of the roof, then the rest of her, again clad in uniform.

  Allie put down her weapon. “You scared me to death. Don’t you ever call first?”

  Sheryl grinned. “Jumpy, huh?”

  Allie made a face.

  “I called from the car. No one answered,” Sheryl said, dropping down in the chair beside her and looking around. “Remember when we used to camp out up here?”

  Allie’s heart had returned to normal. “I was just thinking about that.” She saw Sheryl take in the ruined book, the empty glass. Allie answered her unspoken question. “She left them up here.” She took a deep breath. “Do you know what happened?”

  Sheryl stuck her booted feet on the rail. “You don’t know?”

  “No. The attorney didn’t say anything about it.”

  “From what I heard, she went in for her regular blood work, and the doctor didn’t like what he saw. He stuck her in the hospital, and she got real bad real fast. Like lightning, she was gone.”

  Allie put her feet on the rail beside Sheryl’s. “I still can’t believe it. I got a letter from her dated a few days before she died, saying that she was having a few problems but nothing to worry about. She didn’t say anything about going into the hospital. Then, I got the call from my parents.” She stopped for a moment, looking away, and then continued, her voice quivery. “I couldn’t believe it.”

  “None of us could.”

  They stared out at the water for a few minutes in silence.

  Finally, Allie shook it off. “Did you find out about my stalker?”

  Sheryl looked at her in surprise. “Stalker? Is that what you think he is?”

  “I don’t know what he is. You’re the cop. You’re the one who’s supposed to find out. Did you run his tag?”

  “Yeah. It’s a rental. I got his name from the rental car company, or at least the name he gave them. I’ll run it this afternoon, but if he’s a hardened criminal, it’s probably phony.”

  “So what is it?”

  “What’s what?”

  “His name, Sheryl. What’s his name?”

  “Oh. Marcus Frederick. Like I said, it could be an alias.”

  Allie breathed a long breath. “So, we don’t know any more than last night.”

  Sheryl’s expression turned grim. She dropped her feet to the floor. “Not about him, but we know about our victim.”

  “The woman at the jetty?”

  “Her name was Lisa Tobin,” Sheryl said, nodding. “Vacationing here from Jackson, Mississippi. Divorced with two kids. Her ex-husband reported her missing yesterday. She didn’t call in to talk to the kids as she usually did, so he got worried. She was staying at the Quality Inn. They checked her room. All her clothes were there, but no Lisa. She fit the description. He faxed us a photo and dental records for identification.” With a grimace, she reached into her uniform pocket and pulled out a piece of paper.

  Allie studied the black-and-white photograph. The woman seemed to be in her late twenties or early thirties, with long blonde hair. Her eyes were light, too, either blue or green, and her face was heart-shaped, with high cheekbones and a wide mouth. She looked young, vital, and happy.

  Sheryl scowled at Allie.

  “What?”

  “You don’t see it?”

  “See what?”

  “You look just like her.”

  Allie glanced back down at the picture. “I don’t look anything like her.”

  “Are you nuts? You’re a dead ringer for her.”

  “Nice choice of words, Sheryl.” Allie studied the face again. Maybe there was a resemblance around the mouth and eyes. It was hard to tell from a black-and-white photo. She forcefully dragged her eyes away from the paper. “Does her husband have any idea who might have killed her?”

  “Ex-husband, and no. He’s alibied up to his eyebrows. Both kids were with him, and apparently, his girlfriend was staying over. Anyway, we got the impression it was a friendly divorce. At least the ex taking care of the kids while she goes off on vacation sounds pretty friendly to me.” Sheryl shrugged her shoulders. “I’m getting all this information secondhand, you realize. I’m not working the case.”

  “Who is?”

  “It’s a jurisdictional snafu, but mainly, Joe’s working with a bunch of the homicide guys. And, of course, the sheriff has his hand in. Park police and state guys are making noise since the jetty is state-owned, but I think they’re glad to have it off their hands.” Sheryl made a face. “We have feelers around for like cases, but nothing’s popped,” she said, pushing herself to her feet. “I thought you should know because of the resemblance.” She headed for the stairs. “Keep your doors locked, for God’s sake,” she said over her shoulder.

  Allie sat for a long time after Sheryl left, the fax still clutched in her hand, thinking about the young woman whose life ended so brutally. The sun burned into her skin, but she barely noticed. Her heart ached for the woman in the picture, for her children, her parents, and even for the ex-husband. She was so young, so pretty and vibrant and alive. Only, she wasn’t alive anymore.

  She heard the distant laugh of a child coming from the beach. Why did things like this happen? The woman was too young to die. Now, her children had no mother. She crumbled the paper in her hand. Why did people have to die?

  “Allie, honey, death is a part of life. Everyone has to die.”

  “But why her?”

  “Her death was a stupid tragedy.”

  “What about yours? Yours was stupid too. You were too young to die.”

  “Young. Old. It makes no difference. A life isn’t measured in years, you know. It’s measured in experience. It was my time to move on, and now it’s yours.”

  “You mean die?”

  “No, of course not. I mean get on with your life. Stop looking backward. Take advantage of this time to get your life back together.”

  “Is that why you left it all to me? Because I needed it?”

  “You didn’t need it. If I left it to your parents or your brother, you’d have gotten along fine. I left it to you because I knew you would appreciate it. And because I liked you best.”

  Allie felt a smile tug at her lips.

  She spent the rest of the morning walking the beach with Spook, her fair skin slathered with SPF 30 sunscreen. Sheryl hadn’t said anything about her mother taking the little dog, and Allie didn’t want to nag. Or that’s what she told herself.

  No bodies washed up at her feet, no stalkers hid behind bushes to watch her, maybe because there weren’t many bushes around big enough to hide a man. Most of the beach vegetation consisted of tall, reedy grasses and sea grape, with its broad, flat leaves that turned red as they aged. The sea grape could get big, six to eight feet tall, but most of the plants around the houses here were less than waist high, planted recently, as people tried desperately to save the dunes they’d spent the last century disregarding.

  In the afternoon, she emptied some of the boxes stored in the guestroom closet—easy, since most of it was hers from days gone by. She tossed it all into rubbish bags. She found the rest of Lou’s photo albums in the top of the closet and lugged them to the living room to look through when she could bear it. No guns were hidden in this closet. In the last box, sh
e found an old report card of hers she’d brought down to show her aunt the summer after the seventh grade. All A’s. Not bad.

  Next, she went through the accordion file her aunt kept on top of the refrigerator. It contained her bills, which were almost nonexistent and the rest of her letters from Allie—a paltry few, Allie thought in disgust. Instruction manuals and warranties for the appliances. Receipts, but no receipts from a gun store. She didn’t realize until then what she was looking for. If there was a receipt for it somewhere, it wasn’t in the kitchen.

  She fed Spook and gave him a short walk. Then, she made an early dinner. Nothing else to do. Being a lady of leisure was driving her mad. She couldn’t imagine what rich people did all day.

  Allie had never been idle. She’d worked for the AJC newspaper during her college summers and for that short space of time between graduation and her marriage to Garrison. Of course, after that, things changed. From the day he’d swept into her life in a swirl of sophistication and glamour, Allie’s life revolved around him. He told her early that the wife of a diplomat didn’t work at a “job.” He explained that she’d be vitally important to his success. Her job consisted of keeping an elegant and comfortable home, appearing with him at the endless social functions he was required to attend, and being ready and willing to relocate at a moment’s notice. It all sounded fascinating. She couldn’t help being swayed because Garrison was outrageously handsome, wealthy, and easily the most exciting man she’d met in her twenty-four years. Her parents and brother were completely bowled over that one day Garrison might be ambassador to somewhere or the other, and to tell the truth, so was Allie. The four of them—her parents, brother, and Garrison—put on the pressure, and Allie happily caved.

  To her almost immediate dismay, life with Garrison was a constant round of meaningless committee meetings, dinners, and cocktail parties. She gave luncheons and teas and hated every minute of it. She feared she hated it because there was something wrong with her, something lacking. Garrison did nothing to dispel that fear, so Allie kept at it, struggling to be a better hostess and committee member. Whatever he told her to join, she joined. She ran from morning to night. She was so busy that she hardly noticed when he got home late, and then later. She was too busy being well groomed, positive, and available. An asset, she’d told herself. More like an ass.

  She had been busy in one way or another all her life. Now, though, time weighed down on her like another presence in the house. She knew it wasn’t because of something lacking in her. The lack was coming from the outside. Purpose, she thought, sitting straighter. Then she sank back in her chair. How in the world did one find purpose?

  After a thoroughly forgettable dinner, she knew she needed to get out of the house. She wouldn’t wander the beach with someone killing women who, according to Sheryl, looked like her. She settled for an hour on the back patio. She tried to get Spook to come outside with her, but she couldn’t coax him out from behind the couch.

  It was dark when she took her iced tea out to the square of concrete behind the house to contemplate her future. She would get a job. She might not need the money, but the inactivity wore on her nerves. She would check out the local papers. Sheryl was right. Allie had a degree in journalism and some experience, even if only as a newspaper newbie. She wasn’t sure how many papers serviced Brevard County. Her aunt claimed she got all the news she could handle at the sheriff’s office. Sheryl had warned Allie against working for Rupert Cornelius, but probably because he was a man. Sheryl didn’t think much of men these days, and while Allie agreed with her in general, she would use her own judgment on specifics. If he was, as Sheryl so descriptively put it, pond scum, there were probably other local papers she could target. That might be the way to go for someone with her relative lack of experience. Tomorrow, she thought, feeling a bit like Scarlett O’Hara. She would think about it tomorrow.

  She was about to head back inside for a long bath when she heard footsteps around the side of the house. She froze, listening, hoping she’d imagined it. Maybe it was that drunk again. Feelie or Feelers or whatever. Sheryl said he was harmless, but harmless might be an entirely different thing when you were wearing a gun. Then, it occurred to her that it might not be him. The hair on her arms stood at attention, and she visually measured the distance from her chair to the back door, trying to decide if she had time to run and lock herself inside; but before she could make a move, a dark figure rounded the corner and headed straight at her.

  Chapter 6

  As she gasped and shot to her feet, Allie’s glass fell to the patio and shattered.

  “Allie?”

  At the sound of the familiar voice, she went lightheaded with relief. “Joe!” Anger quickly replaced relief. “What were you doing sneaking around the house like that? You scared the hell out of me.”

  He moved closer. “I wasn’t sneaking. I rang the doorbell, but you didn’t answer. I saw lights on, so I figured you were out here or up on the deck.”

  Allie was still shaking. Adrenalin rush, no doubt. “The doorbell doesn’t work. It never has. You know that.” She looked down at the mess at her feet.

  “I’m sorry. I forgot.” Joe took a step forward. “Let me help you clean that up.”

  “Leave it,” she said, stepping over a piece of glass. “Maybe if Feelie visits me again tonight, he’ll cut his feet.”

  Joe flashed her a grin. “You’ve met Feelie?”

  “Not formally,” she said over her shoulder, leading the way inside.

  She fixed them each a glass of iced tea, checking out the new and improved Joe Odum. She hadn’t paid close attention down at the jetty, maybe because of the body floating offshore. Now, she did. Little Joey Odum had grown into what her father would call a “damn fine-looking man.” He wore civilian clothes—well-worn jeans and a muscle T-shirt stretched tight across his chest. He no longer reminded her of a cherub, with that baby softness to his features. His face appeared more defined now, more angular, and he exuded confidence like a cologne.

  She realized she was being checked out with the same thoroughness and felt her face heat up. “Let’s go into the living room,” she said, handing him a glass of tea and leading the way.

  As Joe sat down, Spook peeked out from behind the couch. “What’s that?” he asked.

  “That is my aunt’s dog. His name is Spook.”

  “Odd name for a dog.”

  “Not this one,” Allie said with a smile, as Spook vanished down the hallway. She perched on the other end of the sofa. “So, what’s the story on Feelie? Sheryl said he’s a drunk who’s scared of his wife.”

  Joe put his tea glass down on the table. “That’s the short version. Feelie served in Viet Nam as a medic, I think I heard. He went to pieces after a while. They bounced him home with full disability. He’s been at loose ends ever since. Fills his days with booze.”

  “Is he dangerous?”

  “Only to himself,” Joe said with a grimace. “His wife has stuck with him, probably because of the disability checks. She used to be a waitress. I think she prefers sunbathing.”

  Allie’s eyes widened. “She’s not the one who’s always out in her front yard, is she?”

  He nodded. “I figured you’d seen her.”

  Allie burst out laughing.

  “What’s so funny?”

  She wiped her eyes. “Here I was afraid I’d offended her by almost hitting her mailbox the night I got here, and her husband’s been trying to break into my house.” Then, her smile faded. “It’s sad.”

  He shrugged. “It’s life, and it seems to suit them.” He looked around. “How does it feel to be back?”

  “Strange. I keep expecting—” Her voice broke off. After a minute, she cleared her throat. “So, where are you living these days? Still in Cape Canaveral?”

  “No, we moved to Cocoa years ago.” He dismissed the subject with a wave of his hand. “Anyhow, I thought I’d stop by to see if you wanted to go out for a bite to eat.”

  “S
orry. I already ate. I didn’t have anything else to do,” she admitted.

  “No sweat. I was curious to see how you were getting along. Have you recovered from your scare?”

  “Which one? The body or Feelie? Or Sheryl? Or you?”

  “Sheryl? What did Sheryl do to scare you?”

  “She snuck up on me this morning when I was up on the deck. She scared the life out of me.”

  Joe snorted. “Sheryl couldn’t sneak up on a man in a coma. She moves like a rhinoceros at full charge.”

  “I’ll tell her you said that.”

  “You don’t have to,” he said with a chuckle. “I told her the last time we worked together. Stealth is not her strong suit.”

  Allie smiled. “What is her strong suit?”

  He shrugged. “Pretty much everything else. She’s a good cop.”

  He sat back and draped an arm along the back of the couch. His fingers were inches from Allie’s shoulder. Was he coming on to her? She remembered how he’d acted when he’d brought her home from the jetty and turned slightly, giving her another three inches of comfort zone. “Have you told Sheryl that part? About being good at everything else?”

  If Joe noticed her subtle distancing, he gave no sign. He shook his head. “I don’t have to. The sheriff and all the guys think she’s great. She doesn’t need the praise of another lowly deputy.”

  “Do you two still hang around together?” It appalled her how little she knew of her friends’ lives these days.

  “Not much,” Joe said, taking a sip of his tea. “We work opposite shifts most of the time. Besides, Sheryl married Ernie the egghead, and he didn’t like her to have men friends.”

  Did she hear a sneer in his voice? “She’s better off without him.”

  “What about you? Are you better off without old what’s-his-name?”

  Allie laughed. “Garrison, and yes.” Joe stared at her with much more intensity than her answer warranted. “And you?” she asked to fill the void. “Are you married?”