Coached to Death

by Victoria Laurie

  “Annoying,” I said as my gaze glanced in the rearview. It was then that I caught that the car behind me also moved over.

  Now, it could’ve been because the car in front of me had in fact slowed down, and maybe the car behind me saw that and moved over to pass that car, like I was doing, but something about it felt a teensy bit off.

  So I began to glance every few seconds in my rearview mirror, and when I got the chance, I moved over two lanes to the right and took my foot off the accelerator, effectively slowing down myself.

  Wouldn’t you know it, the car behind me copied the move.

  “Uh oh,” I said, as a frightened tremor went down my spine.

  I looked around me and felt better when I realized that there was fairly heavy traffic surrounding my car. And there would be heavy traffic all the way to my destination at this hour.

  Still, I was traveling to see my sons, and while I didn’t know who was behind me, I did know that I didn’t want to expose them to even the smallest possibility that someone nefarious was on my tail.

  “Stay calm, Cat,” I said to myself. “It might be nothing. Give it a few minutes in this lane, then change again and see what happens.”

  Having talked through the plan with myself, I waited exactly three minutes, then changed lanes without using my blinker.

  The car behind me followed suit.

  “Ohmigod,” I said, the tremor moving from my spine to my voice. Using my car’s hands-free option, I called out for Siri to place a call.

  “East Hampton Police Department,” said a raspy female voice.

  “This is Catherine Cooper. I need to speak to Detective Shepherd right away!”

  “Hang on. I’ll see if he’s still here,” she said.

  I bit my lip while the line played some hold music, and then Shepherd’s voice boomed out of my car’s speaker. “Shepherd,” he said.

  “Detective? It’s Catherine Cooper. I’m on US twenty-seven headed west, and there’s a car behind me that’s been following me for several miles.”

  There was a pause, then, “How far out of town are you?”

  “I’m . . . I’m . . . ,” I scanned the road, searching for a road sign. “I’m coming up to Patchogue!”

  “You’re sure it’s following you?”

  “I’m ninety-five percent certain.”

  “Okay, here’s what I want you to do: take the Waverly Avenue exit and head south for about a quarter of a mile. The Suffolk County police station will be on your left. If the car behind you continues to follow you, park in the lot, and I’ll send an officer out to meet you. Stay put until I get there, okay?”

  “But . . . ,” I said, as my eyes misted. I was so scared I was shaking.

  “But what?” he asked gently.

  “I’m supposed to meet my sons for dinner.”

  “Call them,” he said. “Tell them you can’t make it.”

  “Tell them I can’t make it? But this is their one night to spend with me!”

  “Catherine,” he said. “Come on. You’re a witness to the assassin. She might think you can identify her. Until she’s caught, you’ll need to rethink your family get-togethers.”

  I wiped my cheeks because I’d started to cry. I was so scared. “Yes, of course, you’re right. I’ll call them. How soon can you be at the Suffolk County station?”

  “At this time of day, probably over an hour. Just wait there until I can escort you safely home, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  I hung up with Shepherd and called my son Michael.

  “Hey, Mom,” he said.

  It broke my heart that he actually sounded pleased to hear from me for a change. “Bood,” I began, using the pet name I’d called him since he was an infant, “I have bad news.”

  “What?”

  “I can’t make it to dinner tonight.”

  “Okay,” he said, like I’d just given him the weather report.

  “Try not to sound so disappointed.”

  “Naw, it’s cool, Mom. Matt and I wanted to hit a Game Stop anyway.”

  I bit down on my lip to stop the small sob that threatened to bubble up. I suddenly missed my boys more than I could say. “Okay, love. Call or text me tonight when you get back to school, all right? And don’t you dare miss your curfew.”

  “I won’t, Mom. See you in two weeks, okay?”

  “No,” I said quickly. “This is my weekend with you. Your father had you last weekend.”

  “Yeah, but we’re going to Washington for that class trip, remember? You said it was okay to go on your weekend. You even signed the permission form.”

  A tear slid down my cheek. “Oh, of course.” I hadn’t remembered. “Yes. We’ll talk before you leave for that.”

  “Okay, Mom. Bye.”

  “Love you!” I called out, but he was already gone. I spent a minute or two crying in the car, my gaze periodically going to the rearview mirror. Seeing that the car behind me was still on my tail made me cry even harder.

  I pulled myself together, though, because the exit for Patchogue came up fast. I took it without using my turn signal, and I was so relieved to see the green light at the bottom of the exit that I sped up to get through it in time. The car behind me stayed right with me as we cruised through the intersection.

  Turning left at the light, I continued down Waverly until the large sign indicating the Suffolk County P.D. came into view. I let out a sob of relief and gripped the steering wheel tighter. When I pulled into the lot, the car behind me slowed and passed the station by.

  The second I pulled into a space right near the door, panic fueled my actions and I decided not to wait for an officer to come out to meet me at the car. Instead I bolted from the car and dashed inside. I was met by a large, barrel-chested officer with a bushy mustache and meaty hands who took my arm and led me to a bank of chairs. I was sobbing so hard I couldn’t really speak.

  “Are you Catherine Cooper?” the officer asked.

  I nodded and worked to take a deep breath so that I could at least get a few words out. “I . . . she . . . followed . . . here!” and I pointed toward the lot.

  The officer called out to another uniformed cop, and she came running. “Check the lot,” the officer sitting next to me and still holding onto my arm said. Turning to me he asked, “Can you describe the car?”

  “Silver . . . S . . . U . . . V.”

  The female officer dashed out the door, but she was back within a matter of moments. “There’s no car like that in the lot.”

  “Can you tell us anything about the driver?” the first officer asked me.

  I shook my head. It was approaching dusk, and the SUV’s lights had been on. Plus the car had never gotten close enough for me to get a look at the driver. I hadn’t even been able to tell if it was a man or a woman tailing me.

  “Okay,” the officer said. “Can I get you some water, ma’am?”

  I wiped at my cheeks, finally calming down. “Yes. Yes, that would be very nice, thank you.”

  The male officer got up, and I saw him point to me as he passed the woman cop. She sat down next to me and patted me on the back. “How far did he follow you?”

  “I think all the way from East Hampton.”

  “And you have no idea who he was?”

  “No. But it could have been a woman. I couldn’t tell a gender.”

  “Could it have been a case of road rage? Did you cut the driver off or anything?”

  “No,” I said. “Absolutely not.”

  “Okay, we’ll send a patrol out and have a look around, but he or she is probably long gone now that they’ve seen you turn in here.”

  I nodded. “I hope so.”

  The first officer came back, handing me a bottled water, and then the pair traded places again. The female officer said, “I’m gonna cruise around the block.”

  “Okay, Sinclair,” said the first officer. I finally looked at his name tag. And the stars on his lapel. He wasn’t an officer; he was a sergeant, and his name
tag read Alfonsi.

  “Can I get you anything from the vending machine?” he asked after Sinclair had gone.

  I offered him a weak smile. “No. Thank you. You’re very kind, Sergeant Alfonsi. I’m sorry to be in such a state.”

  “Don’t sweat it,” he said. “That must’ve been a heck of a scary ride.”

  “I think I’m also emotional because I had to miss dinner with my sons. They’re at the Masters School in Dobbs Ferry.”

  “You were headed all the way to Dobbs Ferry?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “No, I was headed into the city. The boys took the train. We were going to meet at their favorite restaurant in Midtown. I’d really been looking forward to it.”

  “That’s rough. What grade are they each in?”

  I realized that Alfonsi was making light conversation to calm me down and settle my nerves. I wanted to hug him, because it was working. “They’re twins, and they’re in the ninth grade. They’ve grown up so fast.”

  “I’ve got two of my own,” Alfonsi said. “One in sixth grade, one in fourth. And I know what you mean. It feels like just yesterday that my boys were toddlers.”

  I nodded. “The hardest thing about their being at boarding school is not being part of their nightly ritual anymore, you know? The Masters School is terrific, and they love it there, but . . . well, I miss them, you know?”

  “I do,” he said. Then he pointed to his chest. “Divorced. I get them every other weekend and every Wednesday.”

  I tapped my bare ring finger. “I’m divorced too.”

  “Splitting up is rough, huh?”

  “It’s the worst. But the alternative is being married to someone who makes you unhappy. I wouldn’t take my ex-husband back for all the tea in China.”

  “That’s the way I feel too,” he said.

  At that moment, Officer Sinclair came back into the building. “I cruised around the block. There’s no sign of your stalker.”

  Alfonsi said, “Would you like to file a report?”

  “What can I report?” I asked. “I was followed here from East Hampton by someone I can’t describe in a silver SUV. That could be any one of probably ten million cars.”

  “Probably more,” he agreed. “Still, if there’s ever another incident involving this particular car, you’ll have something on record showing it’s a pattern.”

  I considered that and then nodded. “All right. I’ll file a report.”

  It took about ten minutes for Alfonsi to walk me through the paperwork. After that, I did visit the vending machine and got myself a snack. A good twenty minutes after that, Shepherd arrived, looking decidedly weary from the rush-hour traffic.

  “You okay?” he asked me.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “Did you get a description of the car or the driver?” he asked.

  “It was a silver SUV, and I never got a glimpse of the driver.”

  “Damn,” he said. Then he headed over to speak with Alfonsi, and it was obvious that the two knew each other and were friendly.

  While the men talked, I sat in my chair and nibbled at my cheese and crackers. They were stale and dreadful, but by now, I was quite hungry.

  Finally, Shepherd came back, handed me his card, and said, “Okay, Catherine, let’s head out. Follow my car, and call the cell number on my card if anyone tracks too close to your car.”

  “Shouldn’t you follow me?” I asked as we headed out.

  “I know a shortcut,” he said.

  I sighed wearily as I got into my car and followed Shepherd out of the lot. We drove for probably forty-five minutes and were close to Water Mill when Shepherd put on his turn signal. I stuck to his tail as he exited US-27 and led me along a winding series of streets edging closer and closer to Mecox Bay. At last we pulled into a parking lot for what appeared to be a run-down restaurant named Moe’s.

  Parking next to Shepherd, I got out and stared at him expectantly.

  “We gotta eat, don’t we?” was the only explanation he gave me before turning away to walk toward the door to the restaurant. “Come on, Catherine, I’ll buy you dinner.”

  It wasn’t the worst dinner invitation I’d ever had.

  But it was far from the best.

  With another sigh, I followed after him. At least he was gentleman enough to hold the door for me.

  We entered a dimly lit room, paneled in dark wood and dusty oil paintings of the mostly seascapes and fishing themed variety. Tan leather booths lined three of the walls, but the center was cluttered with four-tops that were mostly empty.

  “Charming,” I said, with only a slight curl to my lip.

  “Aww, come on, give it a chance,” Shepherd said, grabbing two menus from a bus cart and motioning for me to follow him.

  We wound our way through the chairs and tables to a booth in the back. Shepherd sat down first and handed me a menu. “The ribs here are out of this world.”

  “I smell seafood,” I said. The smell of fried fish hung thickly in the air.

  “They have great seafood too.”

  I opened the menu tentatively and scanned the fare. I was a little surprised to find pecan-crusted crab cakes and avocado and crab guacamole on the starters menu, and as I read on, the menu got even more interesting.

  “The mahi-mahi sounds very tempting,” I said.

  “I’m telling you, the ribs are the way to go,” Shepherd said. “Order it with Moe’s roasted potatoes and collard greens, and you’ll thank me later.”

  I cocked a skeptical eyebrow.

  “Will you just trust me?” he said wearily.

  I closed the menu and nodded. “Fine. Ribs it is.”

  Shepherd clapped his hands enthusiastically. “Now we’re talking!”

  The door to the kitchen opened, and out stepped an elderly man who could’ve been anywhere between seventy-five and a hundred and five—it was impossible to tell. He was bent with age, had an almost crippling case of osteoporosis that gave him a sizable hunchback, and shuffled more than he walked, pivoting stiffly to the right so that he could angle his gaze at us. “Steven!” he croaked.

  “Hey, Moe,” Shepherd said.

  The old man’s shuffle got ever so slightly faster as he made his way over to us. “And you brought a pretty girl too! Is she for me?”

  “Not this time,” Shepherd said with a laugh. “Besides, she’s way too young for you.”

  “Does she have a grandmother?” Moe asked.

  I laughed too. Okay, the old man was charming. “Hello,” I said, extending my hand to him. “I’m Catherine. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Moe.”

  Moe took my hand and brought it to his lips for a quick peck. Then he focused on Shepherd. “What’s your poison, son?”

  “The usual,” he said.

  “Right. One light beer with no gusto and no taste, coming up.”

  “Actually, Moe, give me a regular beer. I’m off the diet.”

  “Oooo, look who’s gotten himself all fancy,” Moe said. “Alrighty, one regular beer for the adventure seeker.” Pivoting to me again he said, “And for the lady?”

  “You know, a beer sounds pretty good, Moe. I’ll have one of those.”

  “Right away,” he said and shuffled off at the speed of snail.

  When he was out of earshot, I leaned toward Shepherd and said, “I haven’t had a beer in ten years.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me.”

  I pulled my chin back. “What does that mean?”

  Shepherd tapped the menu with his index finger. “You strike me as part of the fancy drinking crowd. I would’ve pegged your first choice to be a crisp chardonnay, a dry cab, or dirty martini.”

  My face flushed with heat. He’d pegged me well. “Do I really come off as that much of a snob?”

  He shrugged. “Yeah.”

  “Wow,” I replied. I didn’t quite know what to say. “I wasn’t always a snob, you know.”

  “Money changes people.”

  “I wasn’t always rich, so th
at much is probably true.”

  “Let me guess, your ex was some heart surgeon or hedge-fund manager or rich oil tycoon, right?”

  I laughed heartily. “No. He played golf.”

  “Professionally?” Shepherd said, with a hint of interest.

  I rolled my eyes. “Yes, but he wasn’t ranked very high. Tommy didn’t have the talent it takes to play in the majors. He just liked to play. A lot. And he sponged off me the entire length of our marriage.”

  “Sponged off you?” Shepherd said. “You were the moneymaker?”

  I smiled confidently. “You betcha.”

  “Huh,” he said. “And here I had you pegged for a gold digger.”

  “Thanks.”

  He shrugged again. “East Hampton’s full of them. So what do you do, Catherine?”

  “I’m a life coach.”

  That got me a jaw drop. “You made your money coaching people about life?”

  “No,” I said. “I made my money building a marketing empire, which I then sold, and now I’m a life coach.”

  Shepherd pressed his lips together hard, but then a small bubble of laughter escaped.

  “What’s so funny?” I demanded.

  “Here we are,” said Moe, approaching our table one slowly shuffling foot at a time. I realized he’d gone to get our drinks several minutes earlier. I could only imagine how long it’d take to get our dinner.

  “Thanks, Moe,” Shepherd said, picking up his bottle. Waiting until I took up mine, he clinked the necks and said, “Cheers.”

  I took a sip, still a little miffed about him laughing at my newfound profession, but I figured I’d let it go because I was tired of arguing with the man.

  The beer tasted wonderful. It was bitter and bubbly and suited my mood perfectly. “That’s good,” I said, setting it down.

  “What can I get for ya?” Moe asked.

  We ordered our rib dinners, and after Moe shuffled away again, Shepherd said, “So how did you get into the life-coaching biz?”

  I narrowed my eyes at him, waiting for another bubble of laughter, but he wasn’t showing any signs of still being amused at my expense. “I don’t exactly know,” I said. “I think that my marketing experience has taught me a lot about what motivates people, what inspires them to behave in certain predictable patterns. And because that’s been my life’s work, I thought I could bring that experience to helping people figure out why they act in a certain way that might be limiting them, and how I can redirect them to new patterns of behavior that they’ll benefit from.”