The worst that could happen was too easy for her to imagine. Maybe Ellen's client down there on the porch was not a bona-fide client at all. Maybe she had called Ellen to make an appointment for a massage, hiding the fact that she was, in reality, a private investigator hired by Jim. What better way to worm her way into Kim's new home than through Ellen? Jim had no doubt hired someone to help him locate her. It would be clever of him to hire a woman.
She'd kept busy the past few days, afraid to allow herself too much idle time for thinking. The day before, she'd gotten a phone number and car insurance in her new name, along with a new driver's license, new plates for her car, and a checking account. Kim Stratton existed now. Once you existed on paper, you were real. She practiced her new signature, giving all the letters a backward slant, hoping that even an expert would not be able to equate Kim Stratton s signature to that of Susanna Miller. She stared at the driver's license for hours, studying the picture of the fair-skinned, copper-haired stranger next to the stranger's name. She thought again of the baby in the grave back in Boulder. She'd stolen that baby's life and she felt a keen responsibility to make it a life worth living.
She'd found the library the day before, a short drive from the center of town. She'd walked inside, pushing Cody in the stroller. He was quiet for as long as it took her to study the map of New Jersey and pick out a little suburb of Trenton as the place she would have lived with her mythical husband in case anyone ever asked her to get more specific. Then she turned to the Maryland map. Where would her imaginary family, the people she'd moved to Annapolis to be near, live? She selected Bowie, not too close, yet not too far. She began thinking about that family. There was warmth and love between its members. She had sisters, she decided, several of them. And brothers who had teased her and protected her as she was growing up. The fabricated family became so vivid and real in her mind that she scared herself. This was the happy, normal family she'd always wanted, the family she'd thought she could create with Jim.
Her attention was drawn back to the maple tree outside her apartment window as a squirrel suddenly hopped onto a branch only a couple of feet from where Kim was sitting.
"Cody," she whispered, leaning toward her son.
He crawled to her and she lifted him onto her lap and pointed at the squirrel. He started to let out one of his squeals of delight.
"Sh," she whispered. "Don't scare him away."
The squirrel was nibbling on something, its jaw working furiously and its tail jerking back and forth, and Kim was jarred by a sudden memory. She'd been seven or eight years old, peeking into her parents' bedroom from behind their slightly open door. Her father was standing by the window and he was dressed handsomely, although his tie was partly undone and a strand of blond hair fell over his forehead. A cigarette dangled from his lips and, as usual, an open bottle of whiskey rested on his night table.
Slowly, very slowly, he moved his hands toward the bottom of the window. Susanna watched in curiosity as he carefully removed the screen. Only then did she see what her father had been looking at through the open window. A few yards away, a fat gray squirrel sat on one of the branches of a tree. Her father never took his eyes off it as he quietly opened his night table drawer. He reached inside and pulled out a gun.
At first she thought it was a toy. Her eyes widened and she had to bite her lip to hold in her surprise. She had never seen a gun in their house before. She'd never even known her father possessed one. She watched as he raised the gun in front of his face and pointed it at the squirrel.
It's a toy, she told herself. It has to be.
She closed her eyes as he pulled the trigger and the sudden explosion made her yelp, but her father didn't seem to hear her. When she opened her eyes, the squirrel had disappeared--as had any remaining shred of trust in her father.
That was the first time she ran away. She'd thought of simply going next door, where Linc's mother, Geri, would hug her and rock her and reassure her that the squirrel had probably hopped to another branch at the last minute. But she knew that Geri would eventually make her go home, and so she ended up hiding in the little room above Linc and Geri's garage instead. Her parents never even realized she was gone. Could you call it running away if your parents didn't miss you?
She'd returned home after spending one night above the garage, but for weeks afterward, she avoided the part of the yard where the squirrel would have fallen. That way, she could continue to pretend it had found its way to safety.
A sudden burst of laughter slipped through her open apartment door and she knew that Ellen and her client were finally inside the house. Ellen's door closed with a click, and Kim stood up, Cody still in her arms.
"We're on our way, Cody-boy," she said.
Downstairs, she pulled the stroller from the closet where Ellen was letting her store it and carried it onto the porch and down the front steps. She put it in the trunk of her car, then strapped Cody into his car seat before checking the directions Ellen had given her. Computer Wizard, the store was called. "Best prices on computers," Ellen had said, although she admitted she didn't own one herself. But she knew about the store through the grapevine. Ellen had her fingers on the pulse of Annapolis. She seemed to be the hub of a network that was both impressive and unnerving. It would be hard to hide much from Ellen King.
Kim drove out of town by a new route, stopping for a red light at a busy intersection. Cody pointed to the side of the bank building on the corner, and it was a minute before Kim understood what had caught his attention. There was another of the murals, only this one was unfinished, a work in progress. The painting was of a whimsical village, snow-covered, but only half there, and she wondered if one day she would stop at this corner to find the artist lost in his work.
In addition to the painting of the tall ship with the billowing white sails, she had noticed several other murals during her walks through town. All of them had been painted by the same artist, Adam Soria, and all were identifiable by their clear, intense colors. She spotted them on the sides of buildings, some almost hidden from view, others out in the open, and she found herself walking longer and farther in an effort to discover more of them. Her favorite was a jungle scene with a circle of white birds in flight against a deep green backdrop of trees. In the lower right-hand corner, Adam Soria's name stood out in gold.
She'd studied the murals with fascination, admiring the artist's skill and thinking about how rewarding it would be to have such a huge and public canvas on which to paint. She thought back to the smaller mural she'd painted on Cody's wall at home. What would her old landlord think when he discovered Noah's Ark in the baby's room? She used to worry that she'd never get her security deposit back on that apartment because of the painting. That worry seemed pretty laughable at this point.
What would Ellen say if Kim asked permission to paint on one of the walls of her new apartment? She'd better not ask until she could offer Ellen something more than two months rent.
She'd sat up late the night before, counting her money. She had forty-eight hundred left, and she knew the computer and printer and supplies were going to take an big bite out of that. There would probably be about twenty-five hundred left after her purchases today. That would be all that stood between her and starvation. She would have to find work quickly.
Computer Wizard was an enormous building standing alone in an expansive parking lot. She knew very little about computers. She could operate the word processing program she'd learned at the bank and that was about it.
She put Cody in the stroller and walked resolutely across the parking lot. The salesman who greeted her at the door was no older than twenty. He reminded her of Jim when he was younger—perfectly groomed, a little too bright-eyed, and ready to set the world on fire.
"I'd like to buy a personal computer," she said. "I'll be using it primarily for word processing."
It was as if she'd pushed a button. He was instantly off and running, talking about megabytes and memory and serial ports a
nd CD-ROMs, and she wished she were back in Boulder. There were loads of people in Boulder she could turn to for guidance in buying a computer, Linc being the obvious first choice.
When he paused for breath, she threw herself on his mercy. "I don't know about any of that stuff," she said. "You'll have to tell me what I need," she said.
"Well, why don't you take a look at what we've got?" he suggested. He began showing her computer after computer, until the machines turned into one massive pile of plastic in her mind. She had to admit, though, that these computers were a lot more fun than the one she'd used at work. The salesman let her play with a graphics program, and as she twisted shapes and curved lines and changed fonts, she got an idea for a brochure she could use to advertise her word processing business. This was going to be fun.
She finally settled on one of the computers. It came with everything she could ever imagine wanting, and then some. She forced the salesman to slow down his spiel and tell her in detail about the features. She made him tell her enough so that she no longer felt anxious when she touched the keys. Then it was only the price tag that gave her fear. If she bought this particular computer, she'd have too little left. What if Cody suddenly needed medical care and she had no money?
"I love it," she said, reluctantly taking her hands from the keys. "But I really can't afford it."
"Hmm," the salesman said. "Well, I think you're in luck."
She looked at him with hope. He was so slick that she doubted the veracity of anything he told her, but she badly wanted to be in luck.
"Look over here." He walked toward the register.
She followed him, pushing Cody, who was now asleep in the stroller. On the counter next to the register stood a computer very much like the one she'd been using, but this one had a large red label stuck on the monitor, and the price on the label was hundreds lower than any other price she'd seen.
"Is this the same model?" she asked.
"The very same," he said, his hand resting on the top of the monitor.
"Then why is it marked down?"
"Because it's an open box."
"What's that?"
"Someone bought it and then decided they didn't want it, for one reason or another. So they returned it, but we can't sell it as new, even though, in reality it is new." He winked at her as though that was their little secret. "But since we can't sell it as new, it becomes a real bargain. Plus, the guy that had it left a ton of software on it, so whoever buys it gets a bonus."
"Can I see what's on it?"
"Sure."
He turned it on, and she began perusing the various programs. There was the word processing program she was accustomed to using, as well as a financial program—it would be a while before she'd need that—and some games and a screen saver. Very tempting, but the "open box" concept worried her.
"It's nice," she said, "but why would the person bring it back? Something must be wrong with it."
"Oh, there could be a zillion reasons why someone would bring a computer back, none of them having to do with the quality of the product. As a matter of fact, I'm pretty sure this particular computer was just a loaner."
She eyed him suspiciously. He looked as though he was thinking fast.
"Yeah, that's it," he said. "I remember now. One of our customers brought in their own computer for repairs, but they needed one to use while theirs was being fixed. So we loaned him this one."
She didn't believe a word out of his mouth. It didn't matter, though. She wanted this computer. "Can I bring it back if I decide I don't like it?"
"Of course."
What was there to lose? "Okay then," she said. "I'll need a printer, too."
The salesman helped her pick out a printer, along with a simple graphics program, some paper, and few other supplies.
It wasn't until all her purchases had been loaded into her car that she noticed the large art supply store across the street. She stared at it for a moment, wondering if she were being given some sort of sign. First there were the murals, now a huge art store had suddenly popped up in front of her. Maybe it was time for her to start drawing again.
It was a challenge getting across the highway with the stroller, but she finally made it. She spent nearly an hour walking the aisles of the store, immersing herself in the scents and sensations that had meant so much to her as a teenager, and when she finally walked out the front door, she was carrying a sketch pad and a pencil set, the first she'd owned since she was sixteen years old.
She waited until Cody was in bed that evening before setting up the computer on the oak table in the dining area of her living room. She had never gotten a computer up and running on her own before, and she approached the task slowly and methodically. Everything worked as it was supposed to, and she was proud of herself for putting it all together without help from anyone. Still, she was worried. Why had the previous owner returned the computer? Would she learn what was wrong with it at the worst possible moment? She could see herself with a hard-won word processing job, a tight deadline, and a broken computer.
Not only had the previous owner of the computer loaded some of his own software on it, but he'd left a file on it as well, and she hoped he'd made a copy of it before turning the computer in. She opened the file, wondering if perhaps he had left his name on the document. Maybe she could call him to ask the real reason behind his returning the computer.
The document was a two-page list of names and addresses, tagged with curious information.
Katherine Nabors, 448 Labrador Lane, Annapolis, 47, 2 children, 2 adults. September 21, 8:30 a.m., home.
Sellers, Sellers, and Wittaker, 5588 Duke of Gloucester Street, Annapolis, every damn day of the year: Use October 17, 2 p.m. (so all will be there).
Ryan Geary, 770 Pioneer Way, Annapolis, 51, elderly couple, November 13, 9 p.m.
There was another page and a half of similar cryptic listings of individuals and a couple of businesses. Kim wanted to clear them off her computer, but she couldn't bring herself to delete them when they might still be needed by their creator.
Reluctantly, she called the store, but the salesman who had worked with her had already left for the night.
"Well, maybe you can help me," she said to the woman who answered the phone. "I bought an open box computer there this afternoon, and there's a file on it that obviously belonged to the person who had the computer before I did."
"Well, I'm sure if it was important they would have made a copy of it before they brought it in." The saleswoman sounded as if she didn't want to be bothered.
Kim wasn't so sure the woman was right. If the person had thought to copy the file, wouldn't they also have thought to erase it from the hard drive?
"Well, I was wondering if you might want to call that person to tell them that—"
"No, it's not necessary," the woman said. "It's your computer now. Go ahead and erase it."
Kim hung up the phone with a grimace. The store had made its sale. What did they care if some poor soul woke up tomorrow morning desperately needing this list of names? She copied the names to a floppy disk before erasing them from the hard drive, then she slipped the disk into her top dresser drawer so it wouldn't get mixed up with her own work. She couldn't remember if she'd given the woman at the store her phone number, but she wasn't about to call back. She couldn't afford to be that memorable in anyone's eyes.
It was midnight by the time she got to bed, and she lay there feeling the pain of her isolation. She wished she could call Linc to tell him she'd set up a computer entirely by herself, just as she'd wished she could tell him about every other new adventure she'd experienced this past week. But she couldn't. Couldn't tell a soul. And she rolled over and pulled the blanket over her head to block out the loneliness.
Over the next couple of days, she taught herself the graphics program for her computer. She designed and printed business cards for herself, then created matching brochures, hoping that the colorful, eye-catching composition would make up for her
slim credentials. She got a directory of businesses from the Chamber of Commerce and stuffed envelopes labeled with the addresses of one hundred businesses in the town. She bought stamps, and on Sunday, dropped the stack of envelopes filled with her brochures and business cards into the mailbox outside the post office. She stared at the mailbox for a moment after she heard the stack fall to its metal floor with a thud. She'd done her best. Now she'd just have to wait.
She was still by the mailbox, her hands on the bar of the stroller, when she spotted a young couple standing in front of the post office building. They were in their twenties, she guessed, and they were oblivious to the world. The man was leaning against the building, the woman pulled tightly against him in an embrace, and he was kissing her. The woman's head was tipped back and her blond hair hung in waves over her shoulders. The kiss was no simple peck on the cheek, but deep and passionate, yet careful and tender all the same. Kim stayed frozen, facing the mailbox as though fascinated by it as she watched the couple from the corner of her eye. Her lips tingled. She wanted to be that woman, being gently ravished that way. And she wanted the man to be Linc.
The man slowly raised his hand up the woman's side until he reached her breast. With her eyes closed, the woman tipped her head back even further, away from his mouth, as though she needed space to catch her breath.
Kim forced herself to turn away. She began pushing the stroller in the opposite direction from the couple, her thoughts torn between astonishment over their brazen, public display, and pure, unadorned jealousy. She knew it would be a while before she would get the image of them out of her mind.
She walked farther from her apartment than she had at any time since her arrival in Annapolis, and she knew it was a form of sublimation. Her brain was clogged with prurient thoughts and impossible yearnings, and she planned to walk until her mind was clear again.
The Escape Artist Page 9