Municipal Blondes
12
On the run
I WAS WHIMPERING when Maizie woke me up. I could still hear myself as her wet sloppy kiss nearly dislodged my mustache. Tears were still running down my cheeks as I sat up in bed and tried to take stock of my situation.
Maintaining an identity
I’d been dreaming, obviously. I was still caught between that fully submerged state of subconscious synapse firings and objective awareness of my surroundings. The bed wasn’t mine but no one else was in it with me except Maizie.
Maizie. I’d spent the night in Dag’s bed. I’d fallen asleep with my face buried in his pillow begging a man who wasn’t there for help in a problem he didn’t know existed. And people who I trusted were trying to arrest me. I felt my head and, for a moment, didn’t recognize myself.
I ran to the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. I didn’t even recognize myself behind the disguise. My makeup was a little smeared from the tears and sweat, but a little touch-up and it was soon put to rights. I took a sponge bath.
I caught a full-length image of myself in the mirror. Unbelievable that this little bald guy with the mustache and goatee had perky little breasts and a tiny waist. And no other accoutrements. Well, nobody was going to get that close a look at me. I had to figure out what to do and where to go. I was pretty sure it wouldn’t be that long before Jordan thought to look in Dag’s apartment, if he hadn’t already.
I selected my clothes from Dag’s closet where I’d integrated them. He’d shown me a couple of secret compartments in the closet when I was here over Thanksgiving weekend. He was so proud of all the little gizmos he’d built into the apartment. I couldn’t believe he hadn’t remembered anything about that day. I’d felt so intimate with him. He was sharing such secrets with me. I opened one of the hidden drawers to put my photos in and saw his car keys. That gave me an idea.
I dressed and took Maizie out. One thing Dag taught me about field work was never to leave anything behind that I couldn’t do without. I loaded my pockets with cash, slung my computer bag over my shoulder, and made sure I had all my ID. I packed one compact suitcase with wigs, makeup, and essential items of clothing. Everything else that might be evidence regarding who I was or that I was in disguise was hidden.
I stopped in the rental garage where Dag’s car was stored and dropped off my suitcase. Then Maizie dragged me down the hill toward the office and I reluctantly followed. Her goal, however, was not the office but the coffee shop on lower Queen Anne near the Seattle Center. I slipped into Tovoni’s the minute the door was unlocked. It might not be a great idea but I could really use a good cup of coffee.
The barista came around the corner of the counter and stopped short when she saw Maizie.
“Maizie?” she asked. “Is that you, girl?” Maizie obligingly waved a paw and sat up to beg for a biscuit. The barista gave her one. She took it to a corner of the coffee shop and lay down to focus on the treat. “Excuse me for asking,” the barista said, “but who are you and what are you doing with Dag’s dog?” I’d prepared for this but wasn’t that confident.
“I rented an apartment up the hill and the dog kind of moved in with me,” I said. “I figured she should be walked and she practically dragged me in here. Could I get an Americano, please?”
She nodded and went to get the drink. I sat beside Maizie and looked at the newspaper. A few minutes later the barista set a drink beside me. I thanked her and took a sip. It was a straight espresso and perhaps the best I’d ever tasted.
“Mmm. That’s good,” I said without thinking. “I mean… I think I ordered an Americano but this is fine anyway. Thank you.”
“Funny, when you were here the other night you ordered an espresso. I must have gotten the drinks confused,” she answered.
“I’ve never been in here before,” I said.
“You’re good but I’m psychic,” she said. Not another Mrs. Prior, I hoped. “You don’t have a man’s aura about you and Maizie exudes love for you. You are the woman who told me about Dag’s funeral. And I’ve got to thank you for that. He was a good man and I miss him every morning.”
“I don’t know what to say,” I answered. “I’m James Whitcomb. I’ve never been in here before.” Rule number one: When you start a lie, stick to the story.
“Deb Riley,” she said. “That’s the name. I don’t remember people’s faces or often even their names. I remember their drinks. You walk in and order one drink and I’ve got you for life. Take Dag, for instance. He drank what he liked to call a 50/50. It was just an Americano but with the same amount of hot water as of espresso. He liked the crema on top and just used the hot water to keep it hot while he sipped it. You were a straight espresso the first time you walked in and I will always recognize you as that. Dag used to sit in that very chair for half an hour every morning. I’d look at him with his 50/50. I knew when he walked through the door. But I couldn’t tell you a single thing about what his face looked like. Don’t know what it is. There’s a word for it. Prosopagnosia. I just don’t recognize faces. I see people’s auras.”
“How can I convince you?” I asked.
“Well, if you want to be someone else, don’t take Maizie with you. There’s a magic pairing between a man and his dog. I only say man because you want me to believe you are a man. The pairing is still there,” the barista paused. Jackie. That was her name, I finally recalled. “And there was something about your walk. You seemed hesitant this morning. You didn’t think it was a good idea to come in here.” The door opened and two policemen walked in. “Thank you, Mr. Whitcomb,” she said turning away from me and returning to the counter to get coffee for the officers. I continued reading the paper, glancing over it occasionally to see if they showed signs of recognizing me. There wasn’t a glimmer. They took their coffee in paper cups and left the shop.
I looked over at Jackie and she smiled at me. “You are safe here,” she said. “Anytime.”
“Thank you.” I paid for my drink and left a generous tip. I never actually admitted to being Deb Riley but I felt I could trust her. We’ll see.
When Maizie and I got back up to the house, there were two dark sedans pulled up out front and lights were on in Dag’s apartment. I took Mazie’s leash off and gave it to her. I pointed to the house.
“Go home, Maizie,” I said. “Go on.” She hesitated a moment but seemed to get the message. She carried her leash proudly in her mouth and trotted to the door. I turned and headed downhill again, toward the garage where Dag kept his yellow Mustang.
Hiding out
I’m having breakfast this morning at a diner in Cle Elum. I spent the night at a motel here after driving around forever trying to figure out what to do. I finally decided to come across the pass but had to stop in North Bend and get chains for the car before I could make the trip.
Once I was in the motel for the night, I removed all my makeup and got a really thorough shower. When I woke up this morning, I carefully reapplied everything and refreshed the look.
Somehow, I feel safer on this side of the mountains.
There are two things that have me itching a bit. I downloaded my email this morning and had a cryptic message from a blind address. In fact, my guess is that the account was opened just to send the message. It doesn’t seem to have a connection to anything else as far as I can tell.
Ms. Riley: We are informed that you have certain property once belonging to one Simon Barnett. We are certain this property is of little or no value to you but may be of significant interest to a party or parties with whom he did business. We are offering a substantial reward for this property and evidence that any copies have been destroyed. This could be a very profitable proposition for you. Or a very dangerous one should you decline our generous offer. Await our instructions regarding disposition of the property. We suggest you have it with you when we contact you.—The Committee
O-kay. You could be a little more specific, Mr. Committee. What is this supposed property I’ve got and why do you want it? It makes me mad.
Oh, yes, the other thing.
I got a hit on my tickler. Sandra Ramon entered Mexico on December fifth. It took five days for the information to get through Mexican immigration into the database I was scanning. If I want to find her, I need to get closer and track her on a real time basis. Let’s face it. I’m not in a particularly good place out here in Cle Elum, either. If Jordan decides to check Dag’s car and finds it missing, I’m sure there’ll be an APB out for it in no time. I need to go back to Seattle and store the car again but I don’t have anywhere to go.
Refuge
This is just crazy enough it might work. There’s a perfectly good penthouse apartment in Seattle currently standing unoccupied. I’m going to make use of it. I don’t know if I can stand it but I know I have to try.
It came together for me this afternoon. I kept Dag’s car covered overnight with the custom canvas he always kept on it in storage. Seems like a good thing to protect it with in inclement weather and it might also keep it from being spotted immediately.
I drove on down to Ellensburg after I checked out and spent the afternoon in a truck stop restaurant with my laptop open. I needed to find a better location for my base while I sort things out with Jordan. I don’t think he’s looking that hard for me or he’d have found me by now. He went to the same detective school Dag and I did. So, what’s with that? Was he just trying to spook me?
And who is this Committee?
Here’s what I pulled together. I tapped into the property management database for the condominium management company. I’ve leased the Condo from its current owner and am moving in tonight. I found a Kinko’s in Ellensburg so I could print my papers, complete with the signature of the property manager. All I needed then was a key, and I figured out how to get that.
It just took a lot longer to manage the pass on the way back than I expected.
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