The door opened, and Ms. Blinski entered. She had changed into slacks. The blouse appeared the same, but the shoes were different—closed toe flats. I'm not an expert on women's clothes but each item screamed money. Have I mentioned posh?
Thomas rose and walked to her, holding out her drink. The ice had begun to melt so it now looked like a scotch with a splash. "Kimmy, I want you to meet Jonathan Boykin. I met him today, and he has agreed to help me with a problem."
"Oh," she said, before turning to me. She offered her hand.
I had risen while they crossed the room and now stepped forward to take the hand she proffered. My first thought was to kneel and kiss it, but I resisted the urge and settled for a simple handshake. "Enchanté." When faced with a sophisticated woman, I believe French is the equalizer.
She smiled. "Je suis enchantée de te rencontrer, aussi."
Uh-oh. Given time, I might could translate her response. "I fear my French starts and ends with a few simple phrases, mostly having to do with food."
"My, you're a smooth one, aren't you?"
"Not really. Just a retired cop who plays bad golf."
Her laugh was like the tinkling of a park fountain. She turned to her husband. "What's the problem?"
Blinski swallowed. "You...and the man who has been following you. I've asked Mr. Boykin to be your escort until—"
That's as far as he got before she pounced. "I told you no. I will not have someone dogging my steps." She stared at me. "Especially a senior citizen like him. You could have at least hired a young, good-looking escort."
"Now, Kimmy. That's not fair. Mr. Boykin is a trained professional. He'll be armed and has the expertise to counter any threat to you. I'm asking you to give him a chance. A week, at least a week. I need your cooperation on this. Besides, he has contacts in the police department. If he reports a stalker, they'll have to listen."
"Thomas, what part of no don't you understand? I refuse to be chaperoned wherever I go. To you, he's a stalker. To me, he's a minor irritant."
"Irritant? Is that why you haven't worn a short skirt in a month, why your sunglasses go on before you open the door, why I catch you peering out the front and rear windows, why you skipped your bridge club? Is that why—"
"Okay. Don't beat it to death. So, he's more than an irritant. He's...I'm . . ." Her look morphed from anger to soft as she turned to me. "I apologize for my rudeness. My husband is...well, he tends to be overprotective. That doesn't excuse my behavior though. I'm sorry I insulted you. It's just...well, I really don't relish the idea of having you—or any man—at my elbow. I'd rather stay in than go through that. I thought I explained that to Thomas, and he'd given up on the idea."
I had become irritated as they talked over me like I was a pair of brown shoes in a black suit closet, but her softer words melted any anger that had built. Okay, I admit it. I'm a softy for an attractive woman. "Je peux comprendre, Mademoiselle," I said, hoping her response didn't overpower my limited French.
"Vous êtes trop bon, monsieur. Nous pourrions essayer pendant une semaine."
That did it. It was time to retreat. "You lost me there. Guess we'll have to speak English from now on." I grinned, hoping to disarm her.
Thomas laughed. "If I'd known, I'd have warned you. Kimmy has a Master's in French and looks for every opportunity to use it. She even tries it on me, but has to translate—except when she's mad. Then, I don't ask for the translation."
Kimmy smiled at her husband, then at me. "He's right. I love French, truly the most beautiful language on earth. You said, 'I can understand.' I replied, 'You are too kind, sir. Perhaps we could try it for a week.' That will give me time to work on your accent. It's straight out of South Florida." She hesitated, appearing to think. "However, rest assured I won't allow this arrangement to affect my appointments or other activities."
With that, there was a truce, and I had an assignment. Thomas was happy. I was satisfied, and Kimmy seemed resigned to having me around—on her terms.
~*~
The next two days were quiet, no word from Thomas or his wife. After a trip to the bank to deposit his check, I spent hours at the driving range. My slice refused to improve. I was beginning to think I should forget the repositioning cruise and hire a golf pro if I ever expected to break a hundred. But, I resisted and kept swinging—and slicing. Of course, not every swing was a slice. Too often, a hook found its way in.
The third day, as I drove toward the course, my phone rang. It was a number I didn't recognize. "Hello."
"Mr. Boykin, this is Kimmy Blinski. I'm calling to let you know I have a hair appointment this afternoon. Are you free to play chaperone?" A sexy chuckle followed.
"Of course. When and where?" I figured the sexy bit was for her benefit, not mine.
"Chanel's Beauty Salon in the Town Center at Boca Raton. Maybe you could meet me there at three?"
"Sure," I said. "But wouldn't it be better if I accompanied you from your house?"
"No. I'll be fine before then."
"That's not my point. If there is someone stalking you, he will follow you from your house. It will be better if I'm with you."
"Mr. Boykin. I said no, and that's what I mean. I won't need you until I get to the mall."
"If that's what you want." I puzzled over her reply. Wouldn't I have a better chance of picking up on someone surveilling her if I were with her all the way? Made sense to me, but it was her money—or her husband's. I'd play it however she said.
~*~
Thanks to the magic of the Internet, I had no problem finding the salon, even found a parking space near the closest entrance. At two-thirty, I stood across from it, trying to appear inconspicuous—not an easy task since all the businesses in that section catered to women. I put on a bored husband look and sat on a bench.
Fortunately, I'd remembered to bring a book, so I flipped it open and pretended to read as I scanned the crowd. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. In fact, I only saw a few other men, and they wore my uncomfortable look. I wrote them off as spouses.
At three-ten, Ms. Blinski made an appearance, apparently not believing in arriving early. We locked eyes, and I nodded. She looked around, shrugged, and entered the salon where she was met with much bowing and scraping. Maybe not literally, but the mannerisms of the staff were quite deferential. Soon, she disappeared from view as the pampering continued.
I realized I hadn't asked her how long the appointment would take. If anyone were watching for her, I'd probably be in his line of sight and raising suspicions. Not smart. Not smart at all. Had I lost my edge with retirement?
There was a coffee shop several storefronts down with a constant stream of women going in and out. I evaluated the line of vision from its front tables. Looked good, so I sauntered that way.
Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw a man staring, but when I looked, there was nothing there. Overactive imagination.
At the Café Café—yeah, that was the name above the entry—I evaluated the menu, hoping one of those fancy names with the fancy prices equaled plain coffee. Beyond my meager education, so I asked. That got me a frown from the Café Créateur. I didn't make it up. That's what was on her nametag, along with the name Thereze, leaving me to wonder if it was her real name. When I checked, I saw that her co-worker's tag read Camille, reinforcing my suspicion.
Anyway, she created a cup of black coffee and a packet of sweetener, which I took outside. I found a seat where I could see the entrance to the salon. Coffee was fair, not worth the price. View was filled with static. Lots of rich-looking women moving in and out of the stores.
Chapter 3
As I relaxed, scanning the area, I again thought I glimpsed a man who didn't seem to belong. Yet, when I checked more carefully, there was no one there. I shook my head, thinking I'd been retired too long. Now I was seeing shadows under dark shade. Not good. Not good at all.
The coffee continued to taste worse as time passed. After thirty minutes, I knew I had to change p
ositions. The most unobservant stalker could have picked me out by then. What to do, though? I did the only thing I could think of. I moved back to the bench across from the salon. Ms. Blinski was still not in view. Perhaps there was a back room for special patrons, meaning those with lots of money.
One of the things I learned as a young army recruit many years previously was not to look directly at something when trying to observe the obvious. Thus, I focused on the front door of the salon, letting my peripheral vision fill in everything on the fringes. It either worked, or it didn't. Again, a man appeared on the far edge. He was paunchy, standing out because of his dress—medium-blue jeans, a white T-shirt, and gray baseball cap. Yet, when I cut my eyes in that direction, there was no one there.
Damn, I thought. Was there someone, or was my imagination playing tricks on me? No way to know for sure, but Ms. Blinski's previous reports of a stalker argued in favor of my vision.
I slouched on the bench, letting my chin settle on my chest. Maybe my imaginary stalker would show himself if he thought I was asleep. Through hooded lids, I continued to survey the area, letting my peripheral vision do the hard part of the searching. Nothing, unless I gave validity to the occasional flash of the man I imagined.
After another hour, Ms. Blinski appeared in the entry of the salon. I rubbed my eyes to clear the fogginess that had settled in and rose.
At that moment, she threw her hand over her mouth and eeked. "There he is," she screamed.
Everyone turned in the direction she pointed, including me. All I saw was a gaggle of women moving back and forth. I rushed to Ms. Blinski. "Who? Who are you pointing at?"
"That man. I don't see him now, but he was wearing a baseball cap and a T-shirt. He's the man who has been following me."
I looked again, still didn't see anything, but began to hotfoot it in the direction she indicated. Then it happened. He peeked from a doorway, looking as she described him. Just as I had imagined several times in the last two hours. I broke into a run.
Now, I wasn’t ever much of a sprinter and I had slowed with age. In fact, I was so slow it generated a joke around the stationhouse. If you draw Jonathan as a partner and get involved in foot pursuit, you automatically have backup. Way back, up and around the block. I laughed along with everyone else. Why not? It was true. Every partner I ever had left me in his dust as I ambled along at the speed of an arthritic mule.
This time, though, I drew the long straw. T-shirt was even slower than I. Flying past the entryways to numerous women's stores, I could see I was gaining on him. He'd be mine in a half-dozen or so more doorways.
Yeah, you guessed it. The inevitable happened. As I shot past a woman's lingerie shop, my peripheral vision picked up a kid darting into my path. Conscience screamed, "Do something. Don't hurt the child." I attempted to do a running sidestep, tangled my feet amongst themselves—at that moment, they felt like more than two—and went crashing to the tile over concrete floor. Brain's protest to conscience was overcome by my right knee crying, "Ohh, that floor's hard."
I'd love to say it was an old football injury, but it wasn't. It was simply a knee banging itself on a solid object and hurting from the impact. I managed to say a couple of Hail Mary's instead of the words that first came to mind, then realized a woman stood over me, shouting.
"...a menace. What's wrong with you? You could have hurt my Precious. This is no place to be running. You're...you're..." She stomped off, dragging a little girl behind her, leaving me to nurse my aching knee.
As I rubbed it, wishing the pain away, I spotted Ms. Blinski on the fringe of the crowd that had gathered. She wore a grin that would have made the makeup artist in a clown circus proud. I pulled myself to my feet and hobbled over to her.
"Did you see where he went?" I asked.
She chuckled. "No, I was too busy watching my husband's professional in action. Nice run. You must have covered at least twenty-five yards before collapsing."
"I didn't—" I decided to let it go. If she knew the truth, she was jerking my leg. If not, I'd never convince her, so I needed to leave well enough alone. Instead, I took my time looking around the mall. If T-shirt was curious, he might be peaking around a corner. Nothing. There were only a few males in view, proving shopping was a woman's domain. None of the men fit my image of him. None of the women did either.
~*~
I didn't hear from Kimmy again for several days. I figured she thought she was punishing me for missing an opportunity to capture her stalker. Actually, I was glad. My knee was so tender and sore that I skipped my golf game. In my world, that proves real pain.
Julius and Caesar didn't seem to appreciate my pain, though. They still expected multiple meals a day and forced me to clean their litter pans often.
On day five, the phone rang. During my convalescence, I programmed her number in, so I could safely say, "Ms. Blinski. So good to hear from you."
"Mr. Boykin. Have you been working on your sprint?"
The laughter hiding behind her words might have been insulting if they weren't hiding behind the truth. "Not really. I mean, who asks a cheetah to practice?"
We both laughed, and I figured I'd scored at least one point.
"What can I do for you?"
"I have a nail appointment this afternoon. It's at Yvonne's Mani/Pedi Emporium in the Town Center at Boca Raton. Can you join me there? I'm nervous about that man showing up again."
"I'll be there. What time?"
"Three. See you then. Oh, wear running shoes this time." She hung up with peals of laughter.
I didn't think it was all that funny.
~*~
At one o'clock, I stood across from the entrance to Yvonne's Mani/Pedi Emporium, scanning the crowd and storefronts. This time, I was determined to be the first there so I could perform a proper reconnaissance. From what I saw, I was successful.
The layout was similar to the wing where the hair salon was—mostly women's stores and female patrons. I needed a vantage point where I could surveil a large area without being obvious. My goal was to get outside his radius so I was looking in on his circle.
First, I had to find the logical spot from where he'd keep watch. After several sweeps of the area, I settled on a pizza joint. It was on an intersection, allowing vision in four directions. It would also let him move out of sight by simply retreating around the corner. Excellent for him. Now all I had to do was find a place for me.
I headed past the pizza place staying on Avenue K, the same Avenue as the nail salon. More storefronts and more kiosks. Kiosk. That was it. I needed to find one I could see past, but also use for concealment. I stopped and looked around.
Bingo. There it was, one selling women's purses. Beyond was a series of massage chairs. Perfect for camping out and keeping an eye on both the pizza place and the nail salon. If my guess was right, I'd have the stalker in my crosshairs soon.
With that decided, I worked my way back to a position across from the nail salon and settled onto a bench. Good place to wait for Ms. Blinski. I wore a green golf cap, matching golf shirt, and shorts. I looked like every other bored husband waiting for his wife. I tilted the cap down and slouched. That allowed me to keep watch from under the bill of the cap while hiding my features from anyone looking for me.
Three o'clock came and went, then five after. I chuckled, wondering if ten minutes late was Ms. Blinski's established pattern. Sure enough, at ten after, she approached.
"Mr. Boykin. I see you're resting up for the chase."
"Yes, ma'am. I learned on the force to never let a moment of quiet go to waste. When the time comes, I'll spring into action. Aren't you late for your appointment?"
She looked at the nail salon. "Watch when I approach the door. Then you decide if I'm late."
"Before you leave," I said, "don't look for me when you come out. I'll be invisible, waiting for the stalker to show himself. But do call my cell before leaving the spa. I want to know when you're finished. I'll be close by, but out of sight."
I watched her progress. When she was about ten feet from the entry, an attendant rushed out and greeted her like a long-lost heiress. As they disappeared into the storefront, I hefted myself up and moved toward the closest exit.
Chapter 4
My idea was to get outside the mall, then work my way through the parking lot. Once I'd passed the pizza place where I expected the stalker to station himself, I'd re-enter and be behind him. Hopefully, if he had observed my conversation with Kimmy, he would believe I had left the area.
When I passed my car, I stopped long enough to switch my shirt and golf cap. Since it was summer, my cargo shorts were the common male attire. The shirt was now a light blue and the cap white with a Miami Marlins logo. If the stalker was observant, the change would work in my favor.
A few minutes later, I rested in a massage chair. I sat there for thirty minutes with nothing happening. A couple of people eyed me as they wandered by, but for the most part I was ignored. Suited me fine.
The pizza place was doing a steady business, especially as teenagers filled the mall. Soon, each outside table was occupied—not to my liking. I wanted my target to think it was the perfect place to loiter.
An hour passed, and I began to get antsy. No sign of Mr. X, and Kimmy's nails couldn't take that much longer—even with a triple coat. I began to pace the small area, expecting my phone to buzz at any second.
Then, my luck turned. I looked toward the pizza place and there he was, sitting just where I expected. Somehow, he'd slipped in when my attention was elsewhere. Strangely enough, he wore the same clothing as when I previously encountered him—medium-blue jeans, a white T-shirt, and gray baseball cap. That didn't compute. Why would he make it easy for Ms. Blinski to spot him? Not my problem. I'd ask him once I had him face down on the floor with my foot on his neck.
I worked my way toward him, staying close to the walls of the stores. If he turned toward me, I intended to duck into the closest doorway. I just hoped it wasn't a woman's lingerie shop, of which there were several.
Happy Homicides 4: Fall Into Crime: Includes Happy Homicides 3: Summertime Crimes Page 84