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One Deadly Sister

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The Price of Candy

by

Rod Hoisington

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2010 Rod Hoisington

This book is available in print at most online retailers

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Also by Rod Hoisington

One Deadly Sister

A passionate wise man will dance down the path of a fool.

Chapter One

Beyond the solid screen of sea grapes that lined Highway A1A and down a gentle sea oat covered slope laid an isolated patch of sandy beach, warmed that late afternoon by one of the celebrated southerly breezes that enhance Florida in November. Only the murmur of the ocean disturbed the quietness. On that secluded beach, cast in the slanted shadows of the sunset, were two men and a woman. The two men were alive.

One was a sturdy younger man, scarcely thirty. He wore a Miami Dolphins’ sweatshirt and slouched with his thumbs hooked in the pockets of his faded jeans. The other man was dressed precisely for business except fine sand had scattered across his well-shined Testoni shoes. He walked away from the body, put both hands to his head, and walked back. He took off his tailored suit coat and covered the face and upper body of the woman on her back in the sand. Her orange bikini bottom and bare legs remained exposed below his coat.

The younger man knelt beside the body and started to lift the coat. “She really dead?”

“Don’t move that. Don’t look under there!”

“I’m not looking at her. Looking at her body. She’s not in there anymore. Gone, like up in smoke or whatever happens.” He raised the coat and made an unhurried consideration of the body.

“You’re looking at her.”

“Ask her if she cares. Don’t often get a free peek like this, you know. I’ll just close her eyes so she’s not staring back at me.” The younger man passed his hand over her face and the woman’s hushed hazel eyes closed easily.

“How’d you know that?”

“That’s what they do in the movies. Read someplace where some people believe if the eyes are left open, the dead will look around and spot someone to take with them.”

“Keep your hands off her.” The other man reached down and readjusted the coat to cover as much of the face and upper body as possible.

“Who knows what the dead are capable of? This one’s doing a good job messing with your head.”

“Don’t touch her again, okay?”

“Why, she your wife?”

The man shook his head. “I...think I’m going to be sick.” He pulled the knot of his silk necktie loose, tilted his head back, and took in a deep breath.

“Girlfriend, huh? Lucky man...at least up until now. She’s definitely from another world. You rich guys get all the goodies.”

“I don’t think about things that way.”

“You don’t think about money at all. Like you don’t think about that fancy car parked up there. Just ask for the best or pick what you want. Like you picked which girl you wanted. Of course, now you can’t bear to look at her. Guess you’ll just have to pick another.”

“I don’t need to justify anything to you.”

“Yeah, the rich never have to justify.” He made a wide grin. “Your money won’t help when you try to explain to your wife how you happen to know Miss Universe here and why her top is off. You’re shaking already.”

The other man stiffened. “Her top came off when I put my arms around her from the back, you know, that Heimlich maneuver, squeezing her to stop her choking.” He combed his fingers through his thin brown hair.

“If you say so. When I first looked down you were behind her with your arms around her. I saw her top fall off and her boobs bouncing around. You bet I remember that part.”

“I couldn’t get the damn thing back on.”

“Must’ve been fun trying to stuff ten pounds in a five pound bag.”

“Do you have to talk about her like that? It’s not decent. She deserves our respect. She was a nice girl.”

“You knelt down beside her with your head down for a long time. What was that?”

“Just thinking.”

“Just crying over her is more like it. Okay, I guess you tried to save her. Don’t know how you screwed up the Heimlich. Any dork can do it.”

“I’ve never thought about learning such things. Things where I must actually touch people. There’s always someone around to do it. Of course I regret it. Someone trained might have saved her.”

“You drove here together. I saw you.”

“You saw us? Oh...I didn’t realize that. She’s sort of a friend.” He wiped his palms on the front of his trousers.

“I hope my friends do a better job if I choke.”

“She needed a ride, that’s all...she needed a ride.”

“A ride to the beach? That what you’re saying?”

The man folded his arms across his chest and didn’t answer.

“I stood up there at the top of that knoll and watched you. Funny, when she got out of your car and started changing into that bikini, it looked like you were trying to peek at her. You’ve never seen your girlfriend naked? She moved to the other side like she didn’t want you to watch her undress. She didn’t notice I had pulled in. I’m the one who got the show.”

“So she was modest. Stop saying things.”

“Modest then, won’t bother her a bit anybody looks at her now.”

“But it bothers me. You shouldn’t speak of her in that manner. It’s not...honorable. Just keep my coat over her.” He folded and unfolded his arms again. “You know I tried to help her. You know I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Relax, it’s an accident. Like you say, she choked herself to death. Crazy way to die.”

The older man said, “My phone is in the car....”

“I’ve already called the police. Told them send along an ambulance.”

“Oh, you already called them? That’s good...I guess.” He turned away from the body and rubbed the back of his neck. “They’re not going to believe me...they’re not going to believe me.”

“You’re really sweatin’ this, aren’t you?”

“Of course I’m shaken. A person just died before my eyes. Her dead body is lying there.”

“I suppose you’ve got big deal friends, a big deal job, a big deal reputation.”

“You don’t know the half of it. You wouldn’t believe the fallout there’s going to be about this.” He tilted his head back and closed his eyes tightly.

“So take off.”

“What?”

“Go...leave. You’ve got nothing to do with this. It happened like you said. She happened to be on the beach. You happened to be on the beach. You tried to help her. That’s the way it was, wasn’t it?”

“I guess.”

“So, go. Get out of here. You don’t have to get involved. I’ll look after her. Things like this happen all the time.”

“I don’t think I should leave her. Should I go? I don’t think I should.”

“No sweat. Nothing else you can do here. Get moving the police will be here any second.”

“Then you’ll be in trouble.”

“No, they know me. I live around here. I take care of some things around here. Nothing bad happened. There’s been no crime. The M.E. will find she died of choking. Case closed.”

“The medical examiner?”

“Yeah, like on TV. Now come on we’ll walk up to your car. You leave and I’ll wait up there for the police.”

“I should take my coat.” He reached back and picked it up off the body. He paused to look down at her. Freddy, you always want things nice and neat. Good lord, he thought, does it end this way?

“She should have something over her,” he said. “I don’t have a blanket in my car. Do you?”

The younger man shook his head.

They reached the top of the sandy knoll and could now hear the occasional hum of vehicles going by on A1A beyond the screen of foliage. The older man stopped abruptly and pointed. “Is that your SUV parked there? Wait a minute, I saw it at that truck stop up in Jacksonville. You’re lying. You’re not from around here. You pulled out right behind us on 95.”

“Not me, buddy. I’ve been here all day. Haven’t been out of town in a month. Now you should get out of here.”

“I was certain it was your white SUV that followed us.”

“You’re saying you gave Miss Universe a ride down here from Jax so she could go to the beach?”

The nervous man didn’t answer.

“Stop talking and go.”

“I can’t leave. I won’t do it.” He wondered just how much he owed her anyway. He could stay and identify himself to the police. That wouldn’t bring her back and might destroy him. Certainly he didn’t owe her that much. “I don’t know. Will she be okay? Nothing’s going to happen to her?”

“Nothing’s going to happen to her. I’ll keep an eye on her. Now leave.”

“Well, I guess it’s all right, since the police are on the way. I truly appreciate your doing this for me. So, you’ll stay up here and wait up here until they come, okay?”

“Sure.”

Chapter Two

Six weeks later, on a too-chilly-for Florida January afternoon, Sandy Reid was studying at the well-worn oak desk in Jeremiah Kagan’s law office in Park Beach. She stuck a bookmark in Manipulations of Evidence, placed the brick-like textbook on her yellow legal-size pad, and pushed them aside. She replayed the voicemail: “Surprise, Sandra, a voice from the past. Abby Olin here. Let’s get together and catch up on old times.” The message was clear enough, but she didn’t remember any Abby.

Since kindergarten, her friends had called her Sandy. The caller no doubt had read her formal name somewhere, possibly in the newspaper, although she’d been out of the news now for a couple of months. Chances are she didn’t know any Abby Olin and she had an instinctive distrust of anyone who suddenly showed an interest in her.

Catching up on old times with someone she didn’t remember held no appeal for Sandy. Although skilled at it, she considered all small talk with incidental acquaintances a bore. However, she’d transformed making small talk into one of her professional talents.

As a field investigator with a defense law firm up in Philadelphia her job had been to find witnesses who didn’t want to be found and small talk them into giving statements they hadn’t intended to give. She was particularly adept at eliciting an immense amount of often-intimate information from a stranger in a very short time, like during three minutes on an elevator.

Some other time, some other year. Perhaps when she wasn’t overloaded with law school studies and an onrushing date with the Florida bar exam, she might have time for the luxury of small talk. She wasn’t complaining about law school; she was quite comfortable immersed in her studies, if everyone would just back off and leave her alone for the next four months. Even if this Abby was a gilt-edged, ideal new friend, Sandy didn’t have the time for a new friend.

Yet the sly mention of old times hooked her. There were no old times here in Florida. With only a four-month history, she was a newcomer. Any old times had to mean up north. So the caller at least knew that much about her.

She decided to return the woman’s call partly from curiosity and partly because it meant a possible reconnection with Philadelphia, which remained an agreeable part of her.

The Abby person answered sounding pleased. “Here we are, both of us down here in Florida. We’re old soul mates from Philly, the juvenile rehab center out near the airport, remember?”

The words jerked Sandy back hard to her teenage years. She recalled having few friends while trapped in that shameful place. Of course, she was joined in sisterhood with every other teenage girl locked up there, but was too angry with everyone at that time to realize it. A rehab sister wasn’t exactly the same as a friend. Now that she thought back, she did recall having at least one friendship, but the girl’s name wasn’t Abby.

What was her name? Some young girl from the sticks. Every place between the Mississippi River and California was the sticks to Philadelphia girls. One time they had huddled together in the supply closet to avoid clean-up duty, peeking out through the crack of the door like children playing some mystery game. Sounded corny when she thought about it. The girl talked continually about her hometown in Iowa, or was it Arkansas?

Gloria it was...yes, homesick, depressed, and vulnerable. Red meat for a certain counselor. Poor, stringy-haired Gloria, a lamb to the slaughter. Sandy suffered more than one sleepless night agonizing over whether to volunteer to take Gloria’s next inglorious turn with him. He’d welcome the opportunity to get at Sandy. She considered it seriously. She could handle it; it was tearing Gloria apart. She couldn’t bring herself to do it. She admitted sadly that she hated the thought of him more than she cared for Gloria. Someone else would have to save the world.

Thinking about Gloria brought a dreadful question to mind. Was Abby one of the abused girls confined in that juvenile rehab facility? If she had endured the exploitation, Sandy wanted to meet with her.

She didn’t remember her at all in spite of her mention of being a soul mate. Some people, she supposed, are truly fortunate enough to have soul mates. None of Sandy’s friends rose to that level, certainly none of her teenage cellmates. Unless Abby was considering all of the girls soul mates by virtue of their common experience.

“I never forgot juvie rehab, but can’t place you, Abby.” The rehab affair was not an experience Sandy cared to rehash. “You say we were both in there at the same time?”

“Yeah, same giggle of girls,” Abby said. “I saw your picture in the local newspaper down here last month and I thought, hey I know her. You must be one hotshot lawyer to solve the murder of that politician and get your brother out of jail.”

“Not a lawyer yet, still a law student.” Four months ago, she had reluctantly quit her intern job with a criminal defense firm in Philadelphia to come to Florida. Temporarily, she assumed, to help her brother. He hadn’t bothered with her for years and then, after he was seduced and framed for a murder in Park Beach, he desperately phoned her in Philadelphia and sought her help. She resented having her life interrupted. At first, she had told him to go to hell.

“His arrest and confinement was appalling,” she told Abby on the phone, “but I created enough havoc and reasonable doubt to get him cleared of all charges.”

“Getting him released was one thing, but according to the paper you didn’t leave well enough alone and went after the true killer.”

“I had help. Do you need a lawyer? Is that what this is about?”

“No, don’t need a lawyer. Can’t I just phone an old juvie buddy? Well, in fact, I do have a little problem. But let’s just get together and talk. I’m out in West County. Do you ever get out this way?”

Now she was curious about meeting Abby. As Sandy recalled the rehab situation, she alone had escaped the sexual exploitation. If Abby was there at that time, that creepy counselor might have gotten to her too. Psychological effects could persist and meeting with Sandy might help. Issues from that old juvenile detention experience up north remained in the back of her own mind as well. She’d been walking around with uncomfortable thoughts from the past for too long. Perhaps recalling some of those concerns with this alleged juvie buddy would help. She agreed to meet her despite the bad vibes.

Chapter Three

Abby Olin snapped her phone shut and smiled. With that call, she had successfully involved an old rehab acquaintance, Sandra Reid, in the murder scheme. The scheme in which Abby would get lots of money despite Toby, her so-called boyfriend. He was going after the same money, was willing to give her some, but that wasn’t good enough for her. She intended to have the lion’s share, and any truthful lion will tell you Lion’s Share means all of it.

Toby assumed he’d get the money and he assumed he’d get laid. He gets the money, gives some to her, and she puts out. What’s the problem? What he was going to get was dead.

He was ten years younger than Abby, okay looking, and bursting with energy. Why let all that virility go to waste, she had asked herself. Why not make out with him a few times? Wait until he starts to cool off then shoot him. An interesting interlude, but she decided going directly for the gold was more important.

Her murder scheme all started back on the night they returned from their first date. They had nestled in her living room talking and drinking until she felt sufficiently buzzed. Then she was ready. She started unbuttoning her blouse while leading him to the bedroom.

It was nice to be wanted, but he was overly excited. For more than an hour, he had sat on the couch watching her bare legs moving around carefree under her short denim skirt. At last in the bedroom, he popped before she could get her shoes off. Her jaw dropped. With her shoulders hunched and palms turned up, she gave him the classic what-the-hell-was-that look. She was pissed. What did she expect, almost thirty years old and still living with his mother? She hurried him out of the house that night and demanded he never call her again. Never! Got it, Toby? Never!

The next day he phoned.

“I think I’ll be okay next time,” he pleaded. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot. So, I’m kind of used to you now.”

“I’m glad you’ve been practicing, but no thanks.” Even considering her lousy sex life, one must have standards. No point in giving him a second chance, she thought. With his evident level of experience, he probably didn’t know what-went-where. Men can have their virgins, women prefer someone who knows what they’re doing.

He showed up uninvited at her door anyway. There’s no pest like a horny pest. Fortunately for her she decided to let him in. He babbled about some money, big money. She wasn’t buying any male bullshit to get her back in bed. While sitting there wondering how to get him out of the house, he reached in his pocket and came out with some bills to show her. It didn’t look like much...at first.

“Fan them out for me, Toby.”

Just ten bills but all hundreds. Where’d he get the money? He wasn’t certain he should tell her. He did say he had a lot more. Flashing that money was his first mistake.

She couldn’t hide the grin. “Do you have more down in your pants? Maybe I should look.”

For some reason, she believed him when he announced he had more at home and that presented a problem. With a couple hundred she could say, let’s go out and blow it. On the way back, she’d invent a headache and brush him off. Even a thousand wouldn’t be much of a challenge for her. If he did have serious money, she needed a plan. Like a get-all-of-it plan.

She fixed him a drink and sat him down in the living room. “Toby, we need to talk.” Meaning: shut up Toby, here’s what you’re going to do.

“You’re mad at me because of last night, aren’t you Abby? I want you to have this thousand. It’s okay—I’ve got more.”

“More, Toby?” she asked as casually as possible.

“Don’t know if I should talk about it.” He squirmed. “We going in your bedroom later?”

“You’re not suggesting I’d screw for money, are you?”

“Not unless you wanted to.”

“What?”

“No, what I meant was...the thousand’s yours...whatever.”

“Well, I should think so.” She had no idea why she should think so. “I’d love to go to bed with you, but I’m too tired. Anyway, my daughter Jamie is home tonight. She’s in her bedroom now. So keep your voice down.” In truth, her daughter was down the block sleeping over with a friend.

“I could come over tomorrow night and show you some more of the money, but it’s like...I’m all ready tonight, you know?”

“I’m eager as well, Toby. Let’s do this. Go home now and think hard about me. And I’ll think hard about you at the same time. That would be the proper way to handle your problem. Then bring the money over tomorrow night.”

She spent most of the thousand easily the following day. That night she opened the door to an eager and slicked up Toby. He appeared so nice that for an instant she regretted telling Jamie to stay home. After they settled together on the couch, he took out a handful of new hundred dollar bills and placed it on the coffee table in front of her. The bills were so fresh and crisp they fell in line like a new deck of cards. He slid the stack toward her and announced it was her half.

Huh?

Her half of what, she was afraid to ask. She couldn’t resist touching the bills. She evened them up, placed her hand on top of the stack, and flicked the sides of the beautiful bills with her thumb. She picked them up and shifted them from hand to hand, as though weighing gold. Unreal. For chrissake, there must be a hundred bills in that stack. She did a quick mental calculation. One hundred, hundred-dollar bills would be a thousand dollars. No! That’s not right. It’d be ten thousand dollars. “Yes, it’d be ten grand,” she thought aloud unintentionally.

There it was. The most cash she’d ever seen in one pile. An amount some people would kill for, including her. He’d just set it there, pretty as you please and declared it was her half. Now that it rested on her table, no way was that money leaving her house while she was alive. It was there; it was hers.

She gathered up the money and hesitated a second, waiting for his protest. None came. So, she smiled nicely at him and walked alone to her bedroom. She closed the door, leaned back against it, and let out a deep breath. Life is good. She held the money high in the air and shook it. She loved touching it. She could smell it. She could taste it. She could hear it speaking to her. She turned on her bedside lamp and examined a couple of the bills closely. Unbelievably gorgeous. She stuffed the money in a closet shoebox. She replaced the lid and patted the box gently. Ten thousand waiting to be spent. With ten grand, she could fly to some exotic resort and let some attractive men do their best to seduce this naïve American woman.

If that was half, it meant he had the other half. Another ten grand. It made no sense. Toby didn’t look dumb, he just did dumb. Like handing her a bunch of money. Of course, he’s looking to get laid, but he didn’t need ten thousand for that. She smiled remembering that half a candy bar had worked once, however that was a long time ago. Toby didn’t know it yet, but he’d get zilch for his money.

She listened for him. He was still in the living room mumbling something about what might be on TV. She quietly took the small Smithy .38 from the nightstand just in case. She removed the trigger lock and pushed the gun down into the pocket of her slacks. Would she use it if necessary? For ten thousand? She laughed out loud.

In the kitchen, she found a bottle of Jim Beam and two glasses, and hurried back to the living room. “Drink up, Toby, celebration time. Sorry I couldn’t get a babysitter so I’m afraid Jamie will be here again tonight. But at least we can have a drink.” She laughed. He looked like a disinherited relative after reading the will.

Where’d he get it, she wanted to know? Was it hot? Was a Mexican drug lord going to bust through the wall wielding a machete? She explained she was sorry, but simply couldn’t accept any more money unless he explained how he got it.

That led to another nail in Toby’s coffin. As fatal mistakes go, this one was definitely worth getting killed over. He proceeded to give her all the details: what had happened, where the money came from, and how he could get more. His story was good and his plan simple. Amazing, she thought, that Toby Towalski had put it together all by himself.

Why had he cut her in? Why was he willing to split with her? She wondered why but wasn’t about to ask him. She didn’t want him to rethink any of it. Maybe he’s thinking about a million-buck jackpot. That must be the answer. So what’s a measly ten grand for the girlfriend who is going to spread wide the gateway to paradise? What would it take, she wondered, to get her hands on all of it?

Toby made another mistake the next day. He came back and asked for all the money back.

Of all the nerve, she thought. He said he needed car repairs, his mother was behind on her mortgage or dying or something. He just had to have the money back. Forget about it.

His mistake in sharing with her had finally sunk down through his scalp, she guessed. He might also have realized, since Abby was not putting out as expected, ten grand could buy him a fantastic amount of sex around town. A fool and his money are some party. Of course, the first bimbo he connected with wouldn’t leave his side until she had it all. Like the lion that lies down beside the zebra for days until all the bones are picked clean.

Abby thanked him for the gift of money, said she’d given it a lot of thought, was sorry, but she’d decided to keep it. She didn’t mention she’d also decided to eliminate his future. Abby had all the information she needed to continue Toby’s scheme on her own. She didn’t need him. He was in the way. He threatened her. She didn’t care. She had the gun.

“Settle down, Toby. You need me. We can go ahead with this money deal together. I want to start spending a lot of time with you. I want you to come over some night next week. I’ve got something very special in mind for you. Wait for my call.”

She knew his death must appear accidental. That’s why she had phoned Sandra Reid to get her involved in the plot.

Abby recalled a newspaper item about a woman who testified her husband was clowning around with his shotgun and in fact put the damn barrel in his mouth. She took the blame for it going off. Perhaps she shouldn’t have screamed so loud. At least that was her story.

Abby could prance around and get Toby to suck on the end of a shotgun, but she knew the police were unlikely to buy such a story a second time.

She couldn’t just invite Toby over to her house and shoot him accidentally because that indicates she knows him. Even a junior Sherlock would then start looking for a possible motive. Why did you want him dead, lady?

No, Toby needs to remain outside her house as though she doesn’t know him, as if he’s a stranger, like a prowler. When he shows up, she’ll tell him to wait out back. I heard a noise your honor, got my gun, and went outside. I was so frightened. I’ve a young daughter to protect, you know. Had no choice, I was terrified.

Sounded like justifiable homicide to her. In most states if you shoot a prowler outside it’s best to drag them inside before phoning the police; there’s a lot less bother. Abby heard in Florida you could shoot them most anywhere.

Toby Towalski wasn’t a prowler, but he wanted that money back, and he stood in the way of her getting the rest. With him out of the way, she’d go see that man he talked about and get more money.

She realized before asking Toby over she must lay the groundwork for her plan. She must first establish for the authorities that she was indeed in real danger. I told people, someone had been prowling around my house. She could ask her ten-year-old daughter to lie for her. She knew Jamie wouldn’t hesitate to lie, but the smartass kid was liable to come out with anything.

Abby needed someone to back up her story of being afraid, someone the police would believe, and someone credible. Sandra Reid had assisted the police in the past and most authorities regarded her favorably. She’d be ideal.

Chapter Four

Sandy had decided to meet with Abby out of curiosity rather than for “old times’ sake” as their phone call suggested. Sandy could recall nothing personal between them to relive. She doubted they had anything in common other than dreaming of the day that the stupid system would release them from rehab. Definitely not buddies, so there could be no fond remembrance of how they had comforted each another. None of that. She had landed in that teenage program by mistake or at most by her overzealous mother. At least that’s what she believed. She couldn’t speak for Abby.

She had bad vibes about this reunion. All the memories would be unhappy and there’s no fun in recalling those. Abby must have something else on her mind.

She located Abby’s house out in the western part of the county and parked her Miata MX5 at the curb. The small lipstick-red convertible was sharp, bright and lively, a good match with the driver. The house was modest, white stucco, in an older neighborhood. Attractive roof overhangs covered small front and back porches. A gravel driveway ran back to a detached garage with matching roof. Abundant mature palms and oaks adorned the entire neighborhood, which contained mostly so-sensible-white stucco houses each striving to be distinctive by different colored shutters and roofs.

Abby waved cheerfully and held the front door open. “Remember me, Abigail Olin? You’re prettier than I remember. Short hair looks good on you, perfect for breezing around with the top down, huh. Come on inside, Sandra.”

“Make it Sandy.” She didn’t remember Abby at all and sensed no comfortable old-acquaintance aura about her. “Funny we both ended up living in Florida.” She hadn’t intended to live permanently in Florida when she sacrificed her dream job in Philly to help her brother down her in Park Beach.

Somewhere along the way, Florida had touched her. Perhaps touched to discover she could drive her cherished MX-5 with the top down all year, see green every month, and go to the beach on Christmas Day. A pleasant barefooted walk along the beach catching the ocean breeze finished her off. She decided to stay and finish law school at Florida Atlantic University. It wasn’t the University of Pennsylvania, but she would graduate at the top of her class. She was confident about that.

“Looks as if you’re far ahead of me, Abby. You’ve a house and I guess a family. I saw a girl’s bike in the driveway.”

“Was ahead, for awhile, before the divorces. Just two. The first a disaster. He was a hunk, but he was more interested in bars, beer, and buddies than sex. Go figure. A girl should stay active, you know. He expected me to clean up after him and his dog. He wasn’t even house broken. The dog that is. You don’t really know someone until you’ve smelled his socks. Next, I overcompensated and ended up trapped with a shy one. This second guy owned this nice house. That made all the difference. So we got married and I moved in. After he remodeled it, he liked it so much he didn’t want to leave. Why go anywhere? Like there’s so much excitement and adventure at home. It doesn't take much to light my fire, but it was like living with your brother. He loved the kid, so let him stay home with her. The only time he took me out was to the marriage counselor. I’d lost interest in sex according to him. He told me we could try something new in bed if that’s what I wanted. Christ, is that pitiful or what. I hadn’t lost interest. I told him he just didn’t measure up to what was out there waiting. Been there, done him.”

“So you got the house. He got the child.” Sandy wondered what that said about her.

“We began talking divorce and his answer to everything was, ‘whatever’, just so he got custody of our daughter. Well, Mr. Whatever ended up with neither. How about you? You got a guy?”

Sandy wanted out of there. She had better things to do. Although she didn’t owe this woman any politeness, she decided to stick with it for a few more minutes. “I broke off with a significant other in Philly when I left. We weren’t on the same page anyway. I’m seeing a nice man down here. However, he’s not yet significant.” She saw no point in mentioning he was a detective with the city police. “I guess I remember you, Abby,” she lied. “It’s been what, fifteen years?”

She thought the woman appeared pleasant enough, but somehow rumpled looking with gobs of too-long brassy hair. They both happened to be wearing sweatshirts and jeans, Sandy’s were a couple of sizes smaller. Abby appeared older, but must be about the same age if they were in rehab together. “So you were also a juvie victim? Geez, what a terrible place.”

“Yeah, no barbed-wire, no strait-jackets, no padded cells, just a horny counselor who couldn’t believe his luck in charge of a couple dozen nubiles in need of obedience training.”

Sandy said, “Some psych grad student got a grant to set up that pathetic operation. Someone should have investigated and closed the place. No therapy was going on there.”

They walked through to the kitchen and sat at the table. A wide chrome-edged retro affair with matching chairs featuring chrome legs and red-vinyl seats. The kitchen wasn’t large and lacked counter space. Perfect size, Sandy thought, given she didn’t cook. She could see herself standing at that sink. Not washing dishes, heaven forbid, maybe just rinsing out wine glasses. In fact, she liked the entire house. Thought it seemed cozy. Considering it featured both back and front porches, she guessed the house was early-fifties. She’d take it. Beat the hell out of the tiny studio apartment she was crammed into at present.

She should stop thinking about kitchens and houses though. She shouldn’t question her current life choices even though she had just passed thirty. It still made sense to her to spend what little money she had for student loans, textbooks, and car payments. She had to have that sporty car, for commuting to campus as well as for her psychological well-being. That little red convertible was her big love affair. If she died in a car crash, they’d need to pry her cold dead fingers from it. Better yet, just bury her in it. In an emergency, it would be her last possession to go.

A house would be nice, but she felt on track for her goal of a law degree. In that regard, eighty-plus Jerry Kagan and his law office was a lifesaver for her. Kagan was a genial and courtly man with old school manners. They had met back when he was struggling to defend her brother against the murder charge. She showed up, and with tough fieldwork, a skill well honed at her job in Philadelphia. She got enough cooperation from unlikely sources to hand Kagan a solid defense of reasonable doubt. With his case against her brother in shambles, State Attorney Lawrence Moran, the state’s prosecutor, capitulated and moved on to a more likely suspect. Blew Moran out of the water, was the way she once phrased it. He would never forget. As a result, Jerry Kagan came out looking quite contemporary and was able to rejuvenate his moribund law practice.

At his insistence, she now spent her days studying in his law office at the ancient front desk with an ancient dark oak chair. The one with a huge squeaky spring contraption underneath and a wooden seat that fit no one’s bottom, certainly not hers. She had haunted the thrift shops until she discovered the ideal cushion on an old wicker poolside chair. The blue and white striped canvas cushion had one good side; the other was stained from too many spilled Piña Coladas. The oversized cushion fit the seat of the squeaky chair perfectly thereby boosting her body and her sprits. She was sitting pretty.

In return for assisting Kagan in his law office, she received a modest wage and plenty of time to study. She had free access to Wi-Fi, his password to the Lexis legal research site, as well as his own dusty, but extensive law library. Occasionally, she would perform some investigative fieldwork for him. With all that going for her and a law career ahead, she knew a house and all that permanent possession crap could come later.

“Nice house,” Sandy stated honestly. She didn’t want to waste the day talking to Abby. She took the conversation back to their shared rehab experience, “Wasn’t it clever the way they called their prisoners, clients?”

“Everyone knew who you were,” Abby said. “You were famous around there. They’re no doubt still talking about you. You’re the one who kicked that counselor in the nuts when he tried to make you go down.”

“He never touched me after that. Of course, from then on they gave me every shit detail in the place. I kept telling myself that being on my knees cleaning up shit was more dignified than being on my knees in front of him. It was sexual assault the moment he unzipped.”

“Why didn’t you just go along to get along? That’s my philosophy. What’s the big deal? Do it and move on. If you’re such a goody two-shoes, why were you there in the first place?”

“Acting out at the mall, doing some stolen pills from Mom’s cabinet, nothing heavy, teen stuff. Mom freaked, called a teen hotline and the social services ball started rolling. Some sort of Save-The-Kids crusade was going on at the time, didn’t take much to end up in rehab. Mom put me there and then forgot to come get me out. Brother Raymond also knew I was there and never visited me either. He could have signed me out as well, but didn’t show up. Three extra miserable months he cost me.”

“Wow, really? Well, it’s all behind us now. Iced tea or something?”

Sandy nodded. “Not completely behind. I know where that former counselor now lives. The law firm I worked for in Philly had me out running around the Delaware Valley interviewing and researching legal stuff. When I was bored, waiting for some papers in some law office, I’d use my laptop to track the bastard’s whereabouts.”

“You talking about that tall sexy counselor from rehab? He was hot.”

“Geez Abby, he’s a sleazebag and a criminal. A sexual predator for God’s sake. He belongs behind bars for what he forced the girls to do. I’d love to nail him to the wall just for their sake.”

“I’d love to have him nail me to the mattress one more time. The guy was insatiable. I got more action in there than on the outside. Made the time fly by, plus I didn’t have to do any work.”

That settled the question of whether Abby felt the abuse had torn up her life. Her experience sounded like one of the high points. Sandy hadn’t been aware Abby had spent the duration there on her back. The other girls were required to perform therapy, which was what the counselors called never-ending cleanup duty and waiting on them. She and Abby may have been there at the same time, but clearly their memories differed. Another reason to question why she was even here talking to her. Yet, Sandy resisted judging her. Perhaps cooperating with the counselor had been Abby’s way of coping, her way of surviving. Sandy tried hard to find something to like about this woman.

“I’ve kept track of him, he moved to Delaware,” Sandy said. “I know exactly where he lives. When I pass the bar, I’m going after him—payback time. I’ve made that vow to myself for a girl named Gloria.”

“You’re one serious girl. Remind me never to cross you.”

“I’m not fanatical about it, but it’s there in the back of my mind. Sort of like on my permanent to-do list to get that bastard. So what can I do for you?”

“On second thought maybe you’re not the person to advise me. I’ll bet you never get your hands dirty.”

“Depends.”

“I’ll start at the beginning. Last year I found out my daughter was selling stuff on the Internet. Stuff she didn’t want like DVDs, an old CD player she never used, and a pair of new shoes she didn’t like. Other kids were doing it, she told me. I didn’t think much of it until I discovered she’d stolen one of my panties and sold it on the Internet.”

She said it nonchalantly at about the same grievance level as finding the milk left out all night. Sandy was unprepared for such a statement. She sat with her mouth open.

Abby noticed her reaction and nodded with a knowing smile. “Yeah, kids today, who knows what they’ll come up with.”

“How old did you say she is?”

“Ten.”

“Ten? She should be playing with dolls.” Sandy rolled her eyes. “Remind me to never have any. How on earth do you handle something like that? What’d you do?”

“Well, I was furious, of course. Told her she was grounded. No more computer, no more privileges...the usual. I swear the mothering never stops. You try to do everything you should as a mother, but sometimes it just isn’t enough.”

“What did she say?”

“She told me how much money she got. I was surprised. So I made a deal with her. I wouldn’t punish her if she’d show me how she did it.”

Sandy leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes tightly, hoping this woman would be gone when she reopened them. She thought about all of the more interesting ways she could waste time. Now annoyed and impatient, she said, “Abby, why am I here?”

“Well, it turns out panties are a hot item on the Internet, but there’s a downside. I think one of my customers is coming after me.

“Geez Abby, you must have expected some kinky reactions.”

“At first, I thought he was just cyberstalking me, you know, using the Internet. Now I think it’s escalated to physical stalking. I just feel he’s getting closer and I’m getting worried. Got a ten-year-old daughter, you know. I’ve had some weird phone calls, strange sounds outside. Don’t scold me, I know I’ve made a mess of things, but I can’t undo it all now.” She sneaked a look at Sandy wondering if she believed any of this shit. “What should I do?”

Sandy wished the daughter were far away from this house. “Most police departments aren’t up to speed on cyberstalking, but there’s usually someone in the department who can advise you about computer security, but....”

“But, I know the first thing they’re going to say is knock off the panty game. I’m a single mom, Sandy. I need that income and I can work at home. It’s perfect.”

“...I was going to say if you can give the police some evidence of physical stalking they do know how to handle that.”

“But sometimes they can’t do anything until it’s too late, right?”

“So take extra precautions, especially concerning your daughter. And you should think about some other work-at-home business. Have you thought about phone sex, you could call it Dial-A-Slut? You could sit and paint your toenails while talking dirty to men.” Sandy didn’t smile while she said it.

“Be sarcastic if you want. What I’m doing is legal and I don’t make the rules.” Abby wasn’t fazed. She was pleased. She knew Sandy was emotionally into it. Her mind raced back to that rehab counselor. A brilliant idea was taking shape—the piece that was missing from her scheme. Just send that old counselor Sandy mentioned some hot emails. He’ll definitely remember her. She was his favorite. Just hint at picking up where they left off. You should see me now, fella. Entice him to reply with his own raunchy emails. Abby knew how to do it so her emails couldn’t be traced.

Then when boyfriend Toby shows up, shoot him and claim she thought she was shooting the guy who sent the raunchy emails. We know he’s a dangerous predator, your Honor. You know Sandy Reid, just ask her, she’ll tell you. No question about it, he’s the same man who abused us when we were teenagers. Somehow, he traced me and sent those shocking emails. I can show them to you. I tell you, I turned blue when I read such words. When I heard a noise outside, I was terrified. But you say it wasn’t him? Then who was that prowler I shot? Toby Towalski? Never heard of him. I thought I shot that abuser from up North. I’m really sorry, but whoever it was shouldn’t have been prowling around outside my house.

Sandy was uncomfortable with this entire situation and not just because she didn’t approve of Abby’s laid-back morality. Selling panties on the Internet was legal and none of Sandy’s business anyway. Something else was going on around here. Something wasn’t right. Abby seemed insincere and not at all defensive. She knew very well how to handle a stalker. Why did she get Sandy there to tell her all this?

Abby was just snapping out of her deep thought. “What was that counselor’s name? I don’t remember.”

“Well, I’ll never forget...Bruce Banks.”

“Oh yeah, I remember, Bruce Banks. Now lives somewhere in Delaware you say?” Abby smiled to herself, now her plan was complete. She’d claim she shot the prowler because of her anxiety about the predator showing up on her doorstep. The police can check everything out with Sandy if they don’t believe her.

She was pleased with the frown on Sandy’s face. Sandy had bought her story, was now involved, and would back up parts of the story if asked.

The front door slammed and Abby said, “My daughter. We’re in the kitchen, Jamie!” The young girl didn’t respond and shuffled passed the kitchen door without pausing. “Jamie, come back here for a minute.”

Jamie plodded back in view and let her backpack fall unabated to the floor with a thud. Sandy looked at the young girl slouching in the kitchen doorway. She was slim and likely one of the tallest in her class. She wore a light sweater, tan shorts, and sandals. Her straight brown hair was long and the bangs were a cute match with her fancy glasses.

“This is Sandy, Jamie, say hello.”

Sandy spoke first, “Hi Jamie, I like your cool glasses.”

The young girl glared boldly at her and said harshly, “I’m totally thrilled.”

Her mother let it pass. “We knew each other as teenagers and Sandy dropped by to say hello. Wasn’t that nice?”

“Whatever. I suppose she’s going to...help you guys.”

Abby shot a nervous glance over at Sandy, “Jamie’s talking about panty biz, aren’t you honey?” The phone rang, Abby said she’d take it in the other room and left the kitchen.

When they were alone Jamie said, “I saw you drive past me. Is that your little red car?”

“Yes, do you like it?”

“Way cool. Is it like a real car...you know what I mean?”

“Yes, like a regular car only way cool. My pride and joy. Look, I don’t really know your mom very well. We met years ago but we’re not close friends. I live in Park Beach.” She lowered her voice, “I don’t know what’s actually going on with your mom, Jamie, but I don’t like it. I think you do know what’s going on and you don’t like it either. Do you have anyone to talk to about stuff that bothers you, maybe a grandmother?”

The girl just stood there, looking down.

“I’m not a lawyer yet but I know how to help young girls. That’s what I do...stuff like that.” That wasn’t what she did, but with this girl she’d be willing to start. “I realize you don’t know me, but I’d like to be your friend and help you.”

Jamie folded her arms across her chest and turned away.

That reaction did it. Sandy knew she’d hit on something. “Whatever your mother is up to is wrong and don’t give me panty junk because I think it’s more than that. I’d like to help you. Could we be friends?”

Jamie turned toward her and snapped, “Back off, lady.”

This girl at age ten was so much like herself at that age it frightened Sandy. She would bet the rebellion and distrust would be plainly evident in Jamie later as a teenager. She could see herself making the same smart-mouthed response if some stranger tried to invade her world. She understood this child. She was certain she could reach her. She knew she might not have another chance, might never be alone with this kid again.

No time. Abby could walk back in. Sandy was desperate. “Listen, I know you don’t trust adults, but I want the best for you. So lose the attitude, okay?”

Jamie burst out, “Excuse me?” And didn’t retreat one inch. Her scowl was about as fierce as any child could manage.

“Geez Jamie, I know you don’t like whatever is going on here. You have a problem and I can help you solve it without anyone getting hurt. You might even save your mom from getting in trouble. I suspect you’ve more sense than she does. I need your help.”

Jamie gave in slightly. “If you tell on my mom, then I’ll get put in a foster home, that’s where I’ll get put.”

Sandy felt a stab of despair, fearful of what that meant. But she had Jamie’s attention now and her response indicated some progress. She dreaded digging deeper, but was certain this girl knew something and didn’t know how to handle it. Abby would soon come back. Sandy opened her handbag quickly, wrote on a small piece of paper, and whispered, “Here’s my phone number sweetheart, phone me. I want to be your advocate. Do you know what that means?”

Jamie appeared puzzled.

“That means I always take your side. If you get in trouble for talking about something that’s wrong, then I’m with you. If I must choose between you and your mother, then I’m going to choose you.” She didn’t in fact know what was going on so just in case, she added, “Or if it’s between you and some man, then I’m with you. I’m always on your side. Get it?”

Jamie nodded her head cautiously, her eyes frozen on Sandy’s eyes.

Sandy heard Abby in the next room saying her phone goodbye. She hurried on, “Trust me, I know how to handle these situations. If you want everything to be cool, phone me and I’ll help you. All just between you and me. We’re two girls with a problem we must solve. Are you with me? Are we cool?”

Jamie stepped closer. Her scowl had faded. She looked up at Sandy with wide eyes. She staring intently as though processing every syllable as though hearing each word for the first time.

Abby rushed back into the kitchen and saw them together. Jamie stiffened noticeably. Abby stomped over between them and gave Sandy a hard look. “What’d you do to my daughter?”

“Nothing.”

“Well, I heard her yell, she looks stunned, and her face is red. Looks as though you just slapped her. What’s going on?”

Jamie crumpled the note in her fist to hide it. “She didn’t do anything, Mom.” Jamie swung around and hurried out of the kitchen.

Abby frowned at Sandy. “What’d she tell you? What did she tell you?”

Sandy tried to smile innocently.

“You’d better leave right now!”

Just then, Jamie leaned back into the room and asked, “What did you say your name was?”

Chapter Five

Five days later, Sandy sat beside Detective Pomar, from the county sheriff’s office, in the front seat of his unmarked Ford Crown Victoria. They had parked across the street and down two houses from Abby’s house.

It was dark and Pomar was looking through a night-vision scope. “Can’t see the back of the house from this angle, don’t dare move any closer.”

“Your first name is Mel?” she asked. “And you know my friend Detective Chip Goddard on the city police force?”

“Yeah, Goddard phoned and said if I followed your lead it would most likely pay off. I’m violating sheriff’s procedures right now sitting here doing an unauthorized stake in the middle of the night with a pretty coed in the front seat.”

“Let me try that weird thing.” She reached over. “How do I...hey, I can see in the dark, pretty tricky.”

“They’re all the rage with voyeurs. Okay, you got me here, now what the hell is going on?”

“A woman named Abby Olin lives in that house and a bad guy is going to show up and then...well, I don’t know, just expect the unexpected.”

“What I expect is to be put on suspension. Now tell me what this is all about.”

“Child porn, I think.”

That stopped him. “Oh Christ! That’s big time. I can’t do this. That’s special stuff...special procedures. The county has a trained task force for that. They don’t allow me to take any action on my own. I’m not even supposed to be here. I’m dead. Where you getting the word on all this?”

“The ten-year-old daughter. She phoned me and said she overhears her mother and boyfriend, Toby, talking about all the money they’re making off kids and how they’re making kids pay off. She sees them pass money back and forth. And she knows her mother hides a shoebox full of money. Also, her mother started carrying a gun in her pocket in the house.”

“Come on, a ten year old can barely tie her shoelaces.”

“Not always. Pascal published a treatise on mathematics at age nine.”

“So, I’m doing this on the say so of a ten-year-old prodigy?”

“No, you’re doing it on my say so. I’m doing it on her say so. She may not be a prodigy, but she’s a serious piece of work.”

“And I’m sticking my neck out because...?”

“You’re right, Mel, it doesn’t sound like much evidence and admittedly I don’t know much more. Something sure as hell is going on over there. The mother’s the reckless type. For chrissake, she sells panties on the Internet.”

“That’s not porn and it’s not illegal.”

“I think it’s just a cover for the porn. The daughter is certain this Toby is coming over tonight. The girl is very bright. She’s certain something big is going to happen tonight. She saw her mother get out her gun this morning. And the mother told her to stay over at her friend’s house and not dare come home.”

“She one of the victims?”

She held up her crossed fingers. “Don’t think so. I asked her about that and she said no, but children don’t admit such things easily.”

“Look, now! There’s a man walking up the front. Geez Mel, I was right.”

“How can I look...give me the scope back. Yeah, someone on the front porch, he must have parked on the other side. He’s trying to look in the window. Now he’s going around to the back.”

“Good, now’s the time. Go arrest him.”

“What! I can’t just go arrest him.”

“Hey, it’s dark, you were passing by and saw a prowler at the side of the house. Stop talking and at least go check him out. Hurry!”

Mel watched the man moving through the bushes to the back of the house. “Can you prove any of this?”

“Not yet. Okay, forget I ever mentioned child porn. He’s just your everyday church-going prowler. Now accost him and hold him as long as you can. You saw a prowler and you checked him out. You’re going to be a hero.”

“What are you going to be doing while I’m over there stuffing my career down the toilet?”

“If you’ll detain the man, I’ll go knock on her back door and try not to get shot.”

They both got out. The detective remained by his vehicle. She walked slowly to the back of the house straining to look into the darkness for the man. All at once, the kitchen lights went out and the back door flew open. The flash and crack of gunshot filled the doorway.

“Toby!” Abby yelled out from the darkened house.

Sandy heard a man cry out and then moan. She ran onto the back porch. “Don’t shoot again. It’s me...Sandy!”

The door slammed shut, but she caught it before Abby could lock it. She forced it open. She could see Abby standing there holding a revolver straight out with both hands.

“I don’t know what you were doing out there, Sandy, but you are definitely becoming a problem.”

“Put the gun down, Abby.”

“You shouldn’t have butted into this. From the very start you didn’t want to be friends.” She raised the gun until it pointed directly at Sandy’s head. “Sorry, old friend.”

“Abby, put the gun down. You may have a story ready about shooting Toby out there, but you can’t explain shooting me in your kitchen.”

“You shouldn’t have forced your way in here. Being sort of dark and all, I assumed it was the prowler, your Honor.”

“I can see you fine. Better not shoot. A sheriff’s detective is standing right behind me.”

Abby could then hear the crackling of a police radio outside. She lowered the gun and turned on the lights. “I wasn’t certain it was really you, Sandy. I would never have shot you. I thought I heard someone outside.”

“You did. Your partner, Toby, is out there trying to stay alive and is explaining to a cop why he shouldn’t go to prison. And then it’s your turn. It’s over Abby. The police know the entire story.” Sandy knew they didn’t know anything yet.

“No, I thought it was our abuser Bruce Banks out there. He’s been threatening me.” She placed the gun on the kitchen table.

“Bruce Banks? How did he get into this? Sounds like a phony story you made up so you could shoot Toby. Your Internet panty business was just a front for child porn sales wasn’t it?”

Abby slumped into a chair. Then her head snapped up as she realized what Sandy had said. “What’d you say? I’m doing what?”

“You came up with this scheme to get rid of Toby.”

“After that, you said something about porno?”

“Don’t even try denying it, Abby. The entire setup is obvious and the hard evidence shouldn’t be difficult to find. Your slimy operation will be shut down and you’ll go to jail.”

Abby shook her head. “You are out of your fucking mind!”

Sandy pushed the gun on the table farther away. “Tonight’s shooting should be enough probable cause for a judge to issue a warrant to search your house and computer, and Toby’s house and his computer. After that, we trace the money and call in the Feds. It’s all over.”

“I’m not in business with Toby. I’ve never been involved in porn, don’t want to be, and never will be. I don’t know how you came up with such craziness.”

Sandy could hear the slamming of car doors and the yelling of police outside. The high-low wail of an ambulance siren got louder.

“You better hope Toby doesn’t die or you can add a murder charge to your problems. I don’t know how you even came close to hitting him in the dark.”

“I’m telling you, you’ve got this wrong.”

“Tell it to the judge. For your daughter’s sake here’s what you should do. Shut up now until you get a lawyer and then agree to testify against Toby and everyone else involved. Unless you’ve been into some other heavy junk the last few years, you’ll get probation for cooperating and bringing down the operation. Let me know how I can help with Jamie.”

“Sandy, I swear to you on Jamie’s life. I’ve never been involved in porn.”

Detective Pomar came in with his gun drawn. When he saw Abby sitting talking to Sandy, he put the gun away and took out the handcuffs. “Maybe the medics can revive him, but I think that man out there is dead.”

Chapter Six

Within minutes, house lights and porch lights in the neighborhood popped on, one by one, alerted by the gunshot. The intensity of excited voices increased as gapers and gawkers were now gathering in the street, in the gravel driveway, and some even closer, standing on the lawn of Abby Olin’s house. More sheriffs’ vehicles with flashing lights and crackling radios descended and parked at odd angles around the corner lot.

As secondary officers arrived, they were able to secure the immediate area near the house with yellow barrier tape. Everyone present, whether standing in the street, in the driveway, or on the lawn, was surprised when asked to remain inside the tape. The officers then questioned each to determine if they were a suspect, a witness or merely a bystander. All were found to be bystanders and were excused. The officers then checked all vehicles parked within 500 feet of the house for ownership. The area rapidly became a full-blown crime scene.

A bulky man wearing a black suede jacket stood by his unmarked Crown Vic and motioned Sandy over. He introduced himself as Detective Triney from the sheriff’s office. He needed her statement. He was broad and built close to the ground like an army tank. His crew-cut salt-and-pepper hair matched the gunmetal frames on his police-style sunglasses. He also had gorgeous white teeth, Sandy noted.

His appearance didn’t intimidate her. She had stood toe to toe arguing with menacing Philadelphia cops hiding their eyes behind dark sunglasses. If you can do that without losing your nerve, you can doubtless conquer the world. At least you can face a sheriff’s detective in Florida with no fear.

He slid into his vehicle and motioned her to the front seat beside him. He appeared remarkably comfortable behind the steering wheel. Nature had sculptured him for such a place in law enforcement. He’d been positioned there, off and on, for twenty years.

“Is it Sergeant or Lieutenant?”

“Lieutenant,” he said without looking up from his notes.

“Right, nice to meet you Detective Lieutenant Triney. A lieutenant no doubt supervises other detectives. I’m impressed,” she said honestly. “Now first, I wonder if I can make a phone call.”

“You’re not under arrest, Miss.”

“I know.” She checked her watch. “But I need to make a call before it gets too late, I need to get word to a little girl down the street who’s no doubt wondering what all the sirens are about.”

“No phone calls just yet.”

“Where’s Detective Pomar?”

“Let’s talk about you just now, Miss.”

Her phone rang. She glanced over at the detective who nodded okay. “Oh, hi, Chip. No, I’m all right.” She noticed the detective had removed his sunglasses and his eyes had widened slightly when he heard the name. “I’ll explain it to you later. I might need a ride back to where I parked my car. Ok, I’ll call you.” She snapped her phone shut.

The detective said, “That was Chip Goddard, wasn’t it? So you’re that Sandy Reid. You made quite a name for yourself in Park Beach a couple of months ago. Seems you’ve quite a talent for running around and in general pissing everyone off. But you got your brother out.”

“I had help.”

“From what I hear, you helped Detective Goddard more than he helped you. He put his job on the line for you. You know, State Attorney Moran’s never forgiven either of you for getting the best of him. You know what the people in law enforcement say about you? ‘Don’t make eye contact with her and if she attacks play dead.’”

She shrugged. “Yeah, I heard that one.”

“Did you really work for Philly PD.?”

“No, I did grunt work in the field for a defense law firm up there. My job was to find dirty little secrets hidden in records and reports, locate witnesses, and talk with cops when possible. Usually we were on different sides because our firm was defending someone the police were accusing. But sometimes it was to our mutual advantage to help each other. Like you and me, Lieutenant. We’re going to be buddy-buddy aren’t we?”

He ignored the offer. “You ever think of going into law enforcement? We could use you here in the county at the sheriff’s office. I suppose since Goddard is a city detective you might want to work in there.”

“Either way I’d be working in State Attorney Moran’s judicial district and we don’t get along.”

“Think about it. With your law degree you wouldn’t start at the bottom.”

“Don’t have my degree yet. I prefer to defend people instead of prosecute them. You and I are on different sides.”

The detective smiled. “I’m on the side of justice. Which side are you on?”

“Touché. Lieutenant, we’re going to get along just fine.”

“Goddard is quite a detective, I hear. Don’t get to interact much with him since we’re on different forces. What I’ve seen I like. He’s an ex-marine officer...of course, you know that.” He placed his clipboard on the seat between them. “Look Miss Reid, you must be tired. If you’d rather do this statement later, you could come over to the sheriff’s office first thing in the morning.”

“Call me Sandy. No, it’s okay. Go ahead and do your job.”

“You wanted to make a phone call...go ahead.

“It’s private. May I get out of the car for a minute?”

“Sure.”

She phoned Jamie at her friend’s and explained Jamie’s mother was involved in a shooting, but was okay. They’d keep her in jail at least overnight. “I’ll try to get her out tomorrow. You stay there and keep your mouth shut, okay? I’ll pick you up in the morning. You were very brave to trust me on this.”

“We heard all the sirens down the block. Someone said some man was shot. Was it that Toby?”

“I’ll explain everything tomorrow. Don’t worry.”

“Do I have to go to a foster home?”

“If all goes well, your mom will receive probation and you’ll be back in your old room. I hope she’s learned her lesson. You’re the one who saved her, she’s very lucky to have you. In any case, I’m your advocate, right?” Sandy started to add she’d love to have such a smart cookie as her own foster child, but such a statement was not to be made lightly.

“Now this will be in the papers Jamie, so if any of your friends ask or make fun about any of this, just play dumb. You don’t know anything. People go absolutely nuts when they hear about this kind of stuff, so not one peep out of you or it could ruin your mother’s chances for probation. Okay?”

“Geez Sandy, I got it. And Sandy, when this is over will you take me for a ride in your little red car so my hair can blow around like yours?”

“Sure, Sweetie, I’ll pick you up in the morning. Bye now.”

Sandy gave the detective whatever information he needed for his report. Almost an hour later, he closed his notebook, “That’s it for now. Here’s my card. Call if think of anything or need anything. Want me to take you back to you car or wherever?”

“That would be nice. Thanks.”

“You asked me about Detective Pomar...he’s being interrogated as well. We’re still totaling the procedural violations against him.”

“Give him a break if you can. He didn’t cooperate with me.”

“So you forced yourself into his vehicle?”

“No, but he challenged me at every turn and was still at his vehicle when the shot rang out. He had no choice about getting involved at that point. I’m to blame for all his problems.”

Triney drove her to her parked car. When he left, she phoned Chip immediately. They had become acquainted while opposing each other after he arrested her brother for the murder of a Florida State Senator. She’d established an uneasy rapport and won him over eventually. He jeopardized his job to help her as he gradually became convinced State Attorney Moran was on the wrong track. Even saved her from drowning when a suspect unexpectedly turned on her. She and her precious MX-5 ended up overturned in a roadside drainage canal. After she cleared her brother of all charges, their friendship had progressed to steady dating and occasional sleepovers. “May I stay at your place tonight? I’m still hearing gunshots and sirens in my head. I don’t want to be alone.”

“Sure, are you okay?”

“For the last hour I sat in a county detective’s vehicle giving a detailed statement.”

“Which county detective?”

“Triney.”

“How is Triney? I’ll have to tell you about him sometime.”

Inside of ten minutes, she was at Chip’s front door. He held her tightly for a moment. “You’ve really been through it. Were you ever in danger?”

“Abby Olin had just killed a man and then pointed her still smoking .38 revolver at me. Does that count? Fortunately, killing me wasn’t part of her plan. After the excitement of the police arriving and all, I’m exhausted.

”You’ll have to tell me the entire story sometime. How’d Triney treat you? Did you win him over in the first two minutes, or did it take five?” She headed for the bedroom. He followed her. “You want a drink or something?”

“I want sleep.” She began to undress. She kicked her shoes off. “Triney seemed okay. Should I not like him?”

“You know, years ago he had a football scholarship up at Florida State. Got kicked off the team in some campus-wide cheating scandal. No more scholarship and that meant no money to finish school. Tough deal for a black kid trying to be the first in his family to go to college.”

He watched as she shook off her top and pulled off her jeans. She sat on the edge of the bed in her underwear, rubbing her feet.

“So he overcame all that?”

“Here let me do that.” He knelt down in front of her and began massaging her feet and ankles. “Now he speaks to youth groups around South Florida about learning a tough lesson, ethics versus youthful exuberance, and that sort of stuff.”

“Oh God, that feels great.” She leaned back on the bed. “So he’s one of the good guys.”

“Did you hear your old nemesis Moran has a call out for you?”

“God save us all from state attorneys. What does Little Bonaparte want?”

“You were just involved in a shooting. He wants to hassle you about it, of course. You should wait until Jerry Kagan can go with you.”

“I don’t need help from my attorney. I haven’t done anything.”

“I never thought I’d hear such a statement coming from a potential lawyer. You’d never give such advice to anyone facing a state prosecutor.” He kneaded the bottoms of her feet with his fingers. “Get undressed. I’ll give you a massage.”

“Oh, no. You don’t know the difference between a massage and foreplay.”

“No, you said you wanted sleep. That’s fine with me.”

“Okay...but I’m staying on my stomach. Just do my legs...my thighs.” She slipped off the underwear and stretched out face down on the cool sheet. She let out a loud sigh. “Oh...I could fall asleep...just like this.”

He began kneading her thighs slowly. Stroking deeply up and down each leg. He lifted each leg slightly to press his fingers and knuckles in the strong muscles of her calves. Followed by long continuous strokes down the back of each leg with both hands from her upper thighs to the bottoms of her feet. Without breaking contact, he rubbed gently along the insides of her thighs.

“Spread your legs.”

“Now there’s a phrase a woman doesn’t hear every day,” she mumbled.

“Just so I can do it better.”

“My legs are fine just as they are, thank you very much. You can stop now. It did the job. I’m relaxed and can fall asleep.”

“I’ll let you sleep now...wait a second.” He went to the armoire and brought back one of his T-shirts. “Here sleep in this. Goodnight, Honey, I’ll sleep in the other room so I don’t disturb you.”

“No, I want to know you’re beside me. That’s why I’m here. I’d say hold me, but I’m not that bad off. Just a bit shaken.”

She put on the T-shirt, rolled away from him, and curled up. “I’ll see you in the morning.” Then she raised her head, looked back at him, and gave him a smile. “We’ll have a sunrise serenade.”

“Can’t, I have to go in early tomorrow. Anyway, I don’t expect to be repaid for my massage service.”

“Yes, you do. How about this, after your morning shower come in and nudge me.”

“I won’t have time.”

“You’ll take time for this. I’ll be fast.”

“Oh...that’s different. We could make it part of our every-morning routine. Like morning coffee.”

“Forget about that.”

“Maybe you’ll like it.”

“If I didn’t like it, I’d never do it. Pleasant dreams.”

Chapter Seven

The next day began officially for Sandy at the county courthouse, summoned there by State Attorney Lawrence Moran. She was fixing a cup from the coffee setup in the corner of his large outer office when they said she could go in.

The state attorney was at his desk sipping coffee. “You are a terrible way for me to start my morning.”

“You look exceptionally evil today,” she said. “Why don’t I come back next year?”

She didn’t know why she was there. But it was easy for her to imagine. He wanted to hassle her. He must have already seen the reports from Detective Triney on the shooting. Abby’s arraignment would proceed routinely and, in time, Moran’s assistant state attorneys would brief him. So why would the state attorney—the big boss himself—use his own time to interview a mere witness at this early stage? He must have something special on his mind.

There are twenty judicial circuits in the State of Florida, each with its own individually elected state attorney. In their Judicial District, state prosecutors have tremendous control over life and liberty. Moran was one of the twenty. His jurisdiction covered Park Beach and the surrounding counties.

No one liked to interact with Little Bonaparte. That’s what some called him behind his back. Not only for the physical similarities, baby faced, short, and stocky, but for his imperious personality as well. A tyrant with far too much power. He had a staff of well-qualified assistant state attorneys to prosecute cases, but Moran had a special reason for wanting to handle personally anything involving Sandra Reid. His political ambitions had been set back after his first encounter with her. He’d never forgive.

”Oh, you’re having coffee. May I go back and get mine?” She didn’t wait for an answer. She returned to the waiting room and retrieved the cup she had just poured. When she came back, “I just happened to be in the neighborhood and thought I’d drop by. Why didn’t you make me wait in your outer office for a couple of hours so I’d be impressed with how important you are?”

He leaned forward. “One day you’ll realize just how important I am.”

Normally she’d take that statement as his usual banal banter. This time, however, she detected seriousness in his words that suggested he had something specific in mind.

“I’m always open for a truce with you, Mr. Moran. Remember you started this. You initiated the hostilities by holding my brother without just cause to save your own sorry ass. Why don’t you do the people a favor and take early retirement before you humiliate yourself again?”

No way to talk to a prosecuting state attorney she might face in a courtroom, but they had a history of yelling much worse at each other. In a way, they were picking up where they had left off four months ago. Tossing personal barbs at him was not advisable and not in her best interests. Foolhardy, although irresistible for her.

She knew he was eager to come down on her with his considerable power. However, he had moved too hastily in the past when he had attempted to swat her brother down like an annoying bug. Since then he had become more cautious. He had learned Sandra Reid could bite back.

Once before Moran had thought he had a helpless patsy. Her brother, Raymond, had just moved to the small ocean side town for a change of scenery, to get past his Philadelphia divorce, and start a new life. Subsequently, a seventy-year-old seductress in a thong bikini framed him for a local politician’s murder.

The citizens of Park Beach were outraged this stranger had murdered a local politician. A rumor at the time had it he was a gunman for some Philadelphia mob. Raymond found himself in a hostile town. His solitary hope was his estranged sister.

Since the town had already prejudged Raymond, Moran wasn’t going to let innocence stand in the way of a surefire conviction. The perfect case, he figured, to propel him to the U.S. Senate. However, he hadn’t figured on the deadly sister showing up. She had exposed his incompetence with embarrassing consequences for him. He wouldn’t underestimate her again. He’d wait for the ideal situation for pay back, the one sure kill to get her out of his life for good. Perhaps the file now on his desk was just the opportunity.

He set his empty cup aside. “Still the flippant smartass, I see. Every minute you’re free to run around means another minute the decorum and tranquility of Park Beach is in jeopardy.” He shifted through some papers on his desk. “Now tell me about Abigail Olin. How do you know her?”

She knew where the line was between the personal and the official. When he put on his state attorney hat, she’d bite her tongue and not deviate from the truth. Lying to a state attorney or a federal officer, even if not under oath, can land you in jail. You can be tricky, you can push the limits of ambiguity, but you’d better not lie.

She told him about knowing Abby Olin from juvenile rehab as teenagers and receiving her phone call. Sandy avoided mentioning Bruce Banks or the offensive activities of the counselors and hoped he didn’t go there. She continued about Abby explaining her Internet panty business, and Jamie overhearing her mother and Toby talking about a porno operation. “In short, the woman is an oversexed screwball. You don’t have to believe me, just search her computer.”

“Too bad Philadelphia didn’t keep the two of you locked in rehab. For your information, we searched the Olin house immediately after the shooting. We found nothing but some money in a shoe box.”

“How much?” She knew he wouldn’t tell her.

“God, you’re nosey. Why do you even ask such questions? It’s not your concern.”

“And stuff on her computer, right?”

“We were in the house legally because of the shooting. Had no reason to consider the computer. Later, after Detective Pomar told us about your porn story, we got the judge out of bed to implement a warrant covering the computer. He denied it, seeing no connection between her computer and shooting a prowler.”

“You’re starting in with another major screw up. The computer is everything, Moran. Go back and get another warrant for the computer before you release Abby and she gets her deleting little fingers on it.”

“Not on the say-so of some kid. You think I’m a complete idiot?”

“Nobody’s perfect.”

He continued looking down at the folder. “You told Pomar the daughter said it was porn. We asked Abigail Olin and she laughed that off. Her lawyer was just in here. She denies any activities with porn, child or otherwise.”

“She didn’t confess to a crime. Imagine that. You just can’t trust anyone anymore.”

“She says Jamie is a little liar always making up stories to cause trouble. She likely made up the story about her mother being involved with child porn.”

“Jamie isn’t like that. You should talk to her.”

“You don’t know about that kid but we do. County gave us an old police report. A year ago, she called 911 claiming she’d been locked in her room for days without food or water. Later, she admitted she was mad because her mother wouldn’t let her go to the movies, or something. The kid has a history. That mendacious child took you in.”

“I can’t believe I figured her wrong.” Another argument occurred to her. “Jamie might have lied about the porn, but she was right about something going down last night.”

He ignored her point. “In her statement, the mother says she shot that man thinking he was a prowler. In fact, she claims she’s been threatened by one....” Moran thumbed through his file. “...Bruce Banks. She said you’d back up her story that Banks has been threatening her. What do you say to that? Do you know about Banks?”

Sandy cursed Abby under her breath. “I definitely will not back up such a story. Bruce Banks has nothing to do with this. She told me she thought someone was stalking her—that’s all. But I’ve no evidence of that. I’ve no knowledge of Banks threatening her. He’s old news. Someone we both knew up in Philly. Obviously, she just came up with Banks threatening her as a cover to shoot Toby.”

“How do the two of you know Banks?”

She was afraid that was coming. “He was a counselor at the rehab facility.” Did that sound innocent enough?

“The two of you just happened to remember his name? I want to know about Banks.”

“We were talking about our time in rehab. I don’t think she remembered his name until I blurted it out innocently.” Sandy didn’t want all this out there. “He routinely sexually abused some girls who were confined there?”

“Did he sexually abuse you?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“It goes to motive. Did he?

“He never touched me.” That was misleading. He hadn’t touched her, but it was sexual abuse the moment he unzipped and told her to get on her knees.

“How about Abigail?”

“You’ll have to ask her.”

“No, I don’t have to ask her!” He raised his voice, “I’m asking you. What do you know and what does she say?”

“She told me she was abused. I’d be surprised if she wasn’t.”

"So she might have been telling the truth. Banks might have been threatening her."

“How would he even know her location after all these years?" She thought a minute about what she had just said. Then leaned forward. "Unless...she contacted him first to get his name thrown into her phony being-threatened story. Did you find any emails to or from Banks on her computer? Oh, that’s right, you never checked her computer. I forgot who I was dealing with.” She knew she had him on the defensive, but she'd better not press it. "I do know Abby thought she was shooting the Toby guy. I heard her yell his name before she shot him."

He closed the file and set it aside. “Abigail Olin doesn’t know who she shot. No one other than you has mentioned a man named Toby. She doesn’t know any Toby and didn’t know for sure who was out there in the dark. But when the man started up her back porch, she shot him. All the facts seem to support her prowler story. We’re charging her with manslaughter and releasing her on her own recognizance this morning. If her story checks out, we’ll drop all charges against her.”

“Have you tested her for drugs?” She was half joking.

“Will you mind your own business? Miss Reid, we’re reviewing possible charges against you. I’d love to prove you somehow butted in and caused this entire dangerous situation to occur.”

“You’re saying somehow I was the cause of a prowler shooting which you say was accidental? Make up your mind. Was it accidental or did I cause it? I’m telling you Abby knows the Toby guy she shot. So don’t just drop charges because she claims he’s a prowler. Geez, at least investigate whether or not she knows him.”

He stood to signal the conversation was over.

She continued, “They’re into something together. I don’t know why she wanted him dead. I believe she asked him to come over and use the back door so she could shoot him. She yelled his name as she fired. The daughter has seen him. He might even be Abby’s boyfriend. Can you shoot a boyfriend in this state and get away with it?”

“You no doubt could, you’re the trickiest gal in town. Don’t worry. We’ll check it all out.”

“Well, check it out before you let her loose. Hey, let’s ask the daughter. I’m supposed to pick her up this morning. She stayed overnight with her friend, Izzy.” Sandy took a small notebook from her handbag and punched in the number. Someone called Jamie to the phone. “Jamie, you all right?”

“I’m okay. Where’s Mom. Can I go home now?

“Toby, the man your mother shot, died. She says he was a prowler. She’ll be in jail for a few more hours.”

“Mom killed him? Awesome. Isn’t that serious?”

“It depends on why she did it. I’ll explain later. Got a question for you. Was Toby your mother’s boyfriend?”

“I don’t know. They went out once. He was at the house several times.”

“They went out together? Say that again, Jamie, louder.” She held her phone out so Moran could hear. “Thanks, Jamie. I’m coming over now to pick you up.”

“You can’t. Izzy’s mother says I can’t go with you. It might be dangerous, or something. She said too much is going on. She won’t let anyone but my mother pick me up.”

“Very smart of her, Jamie. I’ll come over there now and talk with her.”

She clicked off, stared at the state attorney, and waited.

Moran sat back down. “Okay. The kid’s no doubt lying again. We’ll look into it. I’m still letting her mother out while we investigate. What’s this Toby’s last name?”

“You’re asking me his last name? I’ve no idea. You have the body. Why don’t you turn him over, take out his wallet, and look at his driver’s license? His name will be printed on the license just above his address.”

Moran tried to ignore her, but his face was getting red. “There’s some confusion about his ID.”

“Toby is quite likely a nickname. I suppose that could really confuse you.”

“Take your wisecracking mouth out of my office!”

She left the county courthouse and drove out to Izzy’s house. Her house was six blocks north of Jamie’s house. Jamie had said white with blue shutters. As Sandy stopped in the driveway, a young woman ran off the porch to meet her. “Are you Sandy? I’m Izzy’s mother. Jamie’s not here. Izzy said she just got on her bike and went looking for you. Why are you involved in this anyway? You’re butting in and causing trouble. Why don’t you leave Jamie alone?”

Chapter Eight

Sandy tried to shake off the sudden chill of learning that Jamie was missing. She backed out of the driveway at Izzy’s house and with tires screeching headed down the block to Abby’s house. Yellow police tape remained stretched around portions of the back porch area where the shooting had occurred. She ran to the front door and pounded. She was surprised when Abby opened it.

“You’re out on bail already?”

“Personal recognizance. No big deal shooting a prowler in this state.”

“Is Jamie here?” Sandy shouted.

“No,” Abby said, “and you couldn’t see her if she was. I just got here. Most likely she’s down at Izzy Palmer’s.”

“She isn’t there. She took off on her bike!”

“Oh, okay. So she’ll be home.” Abby started to close the door. “Will you get out of here? I don’t want to talk to you.”

“But what about Jamie? We need to look for her.”

“She’ll show up when she gets hungry enough or it gets dark enough.”

“Are you sure? Has she done this before?”

“Before? Hell, this is her life. I don’t know where she goes. She’s in her own little world.”

“She shouldn’t be.” Sandy stifled the urge to shake the woman by the shoulders.

“Butt out, Sandy. You’re absolutely screwing things up. Especially with all that corny porn shit.”

“You’d have gotten away clean with killing Toby if I hadn’t been there.”

“Looks like I have gotten away with it.” Then she frowned. “How’d you find out his name?”

“You yelled it out just as you fired.” She remembered Jamie had also told her his name, but no sense in getting her in trouble. “You knew that wasn’t Bruce Banks out there.”

“Might have been.” Abby smiled.

“What do you mean might have been? Did you contact Banks after I told you where he lived? I think you just wanted emails from him to support your story of being stalked.”

“Now, wouldn’t that have been clever of me?”

“You were expecting Toby. You were ready with the gun. Why did you want him dead? Maybe I’m mistaken and it didn’t have anything to do with porn, but you two are involved in something”

“It has nothing to do with nothing. Now get the hell out of here. My lawyer says State Attorney Moran is definitely buying the prowler bit. So get lost and stay away from Jamie.” She slammed the door.

Sandy walked slowly back to her car. Jamie had mentioned child porn. Was she mistaken or did she lie to get her mother in trouble. Full of hostility for her mother, she might have lied. Sandy must not have connected with Jamie as well as she thought. Now she was in the middle of Abby’s personal squabble with Toby. And where was Jamie?

She remembered Jamie had walked home from school that day when she first went to Abby’s house. She drove in circles around blocks and found the school. She drove around the playground several times. Angry one minute and worried the next. Looking for a tricky little ten-year-old on a bicycle. When found, would she yell at her or hug her?

She expanded her search into the surrounding area. Driving slowing through neighborhoods, around blocks. Driving and looking. Now far from Jamie’s neighborhood. She pulled to the curb, leaned back against the head restraint, and closed her eyes thinking. Jamie might have thought that if she wasn’t permitted to go with Sandy, she’d leave Izzy’s house on her own and meet Sandy somewhere. After all, hadn’t she told Jamie to trust her? Izzy’s mother had it right; Sandy was butting in and causing trouble.

She needed help. Help from Abby or help from Izzy as to where Jamie might go. Neither would likely talk with her. But they’d have to talk with the police, wouldn’t they? She found Detective Triney’s card, phoned, and explained the situation.

“So, how long has the child been missing?”

She checked her watch. “Over an hour.” As soon as she said it, she realized how ridiculous she sounded.

“That long huh? And riding around on her bike as well? You know what I’m going to say.”

“You’re right. I just thought you could force everyone to help me. I thought you could wave your hand and make everything right again. Thanks anyway.”

She hung up, hit Dial #1, and explained it all to Chip.

“You know I’m a city cop. I can’t mess with county stuff,” he said. “Look, I’m not off until late afternoon. I’ll call you then. Meanwhile, you calm down. If she’s still missing, I’ll go out there and try to stir up things.”

He was right, she wasn’t thinking clearly. She was overreacting. The youngster had probably been riding around and was back home by now. If not, Sandy would tear down her door and choke that conniving Abby until she cooperated.

Sandy headed back toward Abby’s house. She drove slowly. Just past the school, alongside an overgrown vacant lot, her eye caught on something shiny glinting in the sun, reflecting red. Something under a ficus hedge. She braked abruptly and stopped in the middle of the street. She jumped out leaving the car door swinging.

Even before she ran up to it, she knew it was a girl’s bicycle thrown under the bushes. Her own words crashed back into her mind: Trust me Jamie, I know how to handle these things.

Chapter Nine

Sandy stepped carefully backwards away from the bicycle. She stood staring at it from the sidewalk while she phoned Triney again. “Now don’t give me any of that wait twenty-four hours crap. I found her abandoned bicycle in the bushes. I just phoned her mother and she cut me off short. So, then I phoned Izzy’s mother. She gave me a description of what Jamie was wearing and described Jamie’s bike perfectly. Blue with a bent basket and one handle grip missing, red reflectors front and back. That’s what I found, Triney. Someone has grabbed her. Isn’t that enough?”

“We’re a long way from kidnapping here. Kids under twelve are usually right around the house or out playing. Was she kidnapped or merely missing? Did someone see her being carried away?”

“I don’t have a ransom note in my hand if that’s what you’re asking. But she’s not out playing somewhere. She told her girlfriend she was going out to find me.”

“And you jumped to the kidnapping conclusion. Look, believe me it’d be different if she left home for school and never arrived. That’s very scary and we jump right on those cases. But you’re talking about a kid out playing who hasn’t come home.”

“Look, Abby and Toby were obviously involved in something. I’m willing to believe it wasn’t child porn. But Jamie’s a bright kid and she knows something wrong is going on in that house. She might have thought up the porn angle to get back at her mother. But I’m betting she’s being straight with me, and is just somehow mistaken about the actual situation. It’s something serious enough to make Abby want Toby dead and want me involved as her witness. This morning I was willing to drop it and butt out.”

“Good idea,” he offered.

“Later, Jamie turns up missing—too much of a coincidence. I’m convinced something criminal is going on.”

“Okay, seeing as we had that shooting last night, I guess I can break procedures somewhat. I’ll send a deputy over to the house. He can write up a report and help the mother search the place.”

“What do you mean? He’s going to look under the bed?”

“You’re damn right. As a first step, he’ll conduct a complete search of the house. Including under the beds, in closets, and in the garage.”

“Can you send Detective Pomar?”

“Pomar is suspended from duty pending an investigation into why the two of you were outside Abby Olin’s house last night.”

“Oh God, I’m sorry about that. So you’ll send a deputy to the house. You’re talking minutes here, not hours, right?”

“It’ll take time. If he doesn’t find the girl at home, then the deputy will call his supervisor for instructions. Next step would be to check with friends, neighbors, relatives, acquaintances, playmates, classmates. It’s going to take time. I’m telling you, ninety-nine times out of a hundred someone knows or has a good idea why a child is missing.”

“One super-cop is going to do all this?”

“Well, that’s how we’ll start.”

“You’ve got it wrong. You don’t need cops over there at the house. They should be over here where her bike was found.”

“I don’t think we can do that.”

“For chrissake, the crime scene is over here! I just know it is. I’m not leaving this spot until someone intelligent—wearing plain clothes—gets here. He better be an experienced detective and CSI better be right behind him.”

“Sandy, be reasonable.”

“Okay, I’ll be reasonable. I really hate to threaten you, but I’ll give you only one hour to get a crew over here canvassing this neighborhood and securing this crime scene. You need to find someone who saw a man leading away a little girl and putting her in a car. You must do this immediately. One hour, then I phone the newspaper and a TV reporter.”

“Oh, Christ. Where are you? I’ll come over myself. Am I intelligent enough for you?”

“You’ll do fine. Now how do I start an Amber Alert?”

“You’re not going to get one. They use Amber Alert usually when a car is involved. So with no evidence of a car being involved I doubt if they’d do it this early.”

“Sure, no car was involved. He tossed her over his shoulder and sauntered down the sidewalk with her kicking and screaming. We’ll talk when you get here.” She snapped her phone shut.

She was still pumped and couldn’t just stand there doing nothing. She phoned Chip and told him what happened. Could the city police do anything?

“Slow down, you’re talking too fast.”

She went on to explain about finding the bike and phoning Triney.

Chip said, “I hear someone honking their horn. What’s going on over there?”

“Oh, that’s because my car is blocking traffic. I’m trying to protect this crime scene. I don’t want cars up along the curb where the perp must have parked when he grabbed her. So everyone has to detour around. Abby said something strange when I phoned her a few minutes ago to ask if Jamie had returned home. Before she hung up on me, she said at least we know Toby doesn’t have her. In other words, if she hadn’t shot him, she’d suspect him of the kidnapping.”

“I guess you don’t know, Sandy. They identified the man Abby shot and killed last night and it wasn’t somebody named Toby.”

“Good grief! Who was it?”

“Some man named Bruce Banks.”

The phone almost slipped from her hand. “Impossible, Chip. Not Bruce Banks. Impossible! Someone has the names crossed up in the Police Report. I can promise you it wasn’t Bruce Banks who she shot. He's up in Delaware.” She hung up and steadied herself against the car. "God, I hope he's up in Delaware," she said aloud.

Strange and improbable. So improbable it had to be a mistake. Too confusing for her to think about just then. Her Miata blocked traffic in the middle of the street where she’d stopped when she first noticed the abandoned bicycle under the ficus hedge. Traffic was backed up to the intersection, horns were honking, and drivers were yelling.

She called out to the drivers that the car couldn’t be moved; they’d have to go around. They’d yell back, “Then push the damn thing out of the way.” She also stood blocking the sidewalk and told people to cross the street and not walk on the side near the hedge.

Finally, a sheriff’s deputy pulled up, flipped on his overhead emergency lights, and popped his siren for a single loud yelp. He got out yelling, “Move your vehicle over to the curb, lady.” He started toward her, walking between her car and the curb. She screamed at him, “Stop, don’t walk along there.”

He ignored her and repeated, “Move your vehicle over to the curb.”

“This is the crime scene, officer. This is what you’re looking for. The kidnapper’s car must have stopped right where you’re walking. Why do you think I’m standing here yelling, waving my arms, and everyone’s giving me the finger?”

“The kidnapper’s car?”

“Didn’t Detective Triney send you over here?”

Next, a second sheriff’s patrol unit arrived. The uniformed driver got out. She noticed the stripes on his arm and rushed up to him. “Thank god you’re here, Sergeant. I hope you brought plenty of yellow tape with you.”

“You Sandra Reid?”

She nodded.

“You’re under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder.”

Chapter Ten

For the first time in her life, Sandra Reid was under arrest. She had ridden occasionally in the front seat of squad cars and police cruisers in Philadelphia and in Florida, unofficially in technical violation of departmental rules. That was fun. This was handcuffs.

Her protests to the sergeant weren’t about her arrest. She had yelled about Jamie’s bike back there in the bushes where deputies were trampling over the scene of a kidnapping to break up a stupid traffic jam. The arresting sergeant ignored her. Eventually, she gave up, sat quietly in the backseat behind the heavy metal grating, and wondered who was dead.

According to the arrest warrant the sergeant had shown her, she had conspired to murder Bruce Banks, who should be home in Delaware. Conspired meant someone else was involved and that would be Abby. How could it happen? No one else locally had ever heard the name of Bruce Banks.

A deputy took her to the sheriff’s office in West County. She was searched, fingerprinted, photographed, and asked a series of routine questions about her personal status. They cataloged and stored her personal property including her cell phone and her favorite piece of jewelry, a rehabilitated 1933 Mickey Mouse wristwatch. The deputies moving about, doing their jobs in such a police setting was all familiar to her. The cops were okay; it was the process that was frightening. She was quiet, not to protect her rights or anything like that, but because the procedure was too scary for any of her usual light banter with cops. It would have been much worse, she told herself, without Detective Lieutenant Triney standing in the corner of the room.

The deputies booking her were aware he was hovering, watching them, and occasionally giving their suspect his warm easy smile. He came over after the booking and told her he had already notified Jerry Kagan.

“I appreciate you watching out for me. But now the crime scene where I found the bike is all trampled from cops unblocking the traffic and arresting me. Also, I left my laptop on the front seat of my Miata.”

“I’ll go back over there now and look around,” he said. “We have your laptop, and the county towed your vehicle to the county auto pound."

They put her in a holding cell, another chilling procedure for all except a seasoned criminal. It helped to remember she was innocent. Thankfully, Kagan was waiting for her there.

“How did you get here so fast?” she asked.

“In fact, I’ve been waiting here for an hour. Detective Triney phoned me when the sheriff’s office first received the arrest warrant from Moran.”

Jerry Kagan was still alert at age eighty something. He’d have unquestionably closed his law office by now except for her. Defending her brother had reenergized both him and his reputation.

He said, “Abigail Olin is already under arrest. However, I’m not certain of the exact charge. Maybe she implicated you.”

“Either that or Moran saw a slight opening to hassle me and make me sweat. Probably a little bit of both. I’ve really screwed up. Assuming Bruce Banks is the actual victim, he’d never have been down here if I hadn’t mentioned his name to Abby. Now he’s dead and I know he has three kids. I know everything about him. His wife will hate me for ruining her life. Don’t be surprised if she shows up with a gun looking for me. Toby is still on the loose. We still don’t know what he and Abby are up to. And Jamie’s missing.”

“First, you must worry about yourself with a charge of conspiracy to commit murder against you.”

“I should have never butted in. Now I’m in deep shit.”

He nodded. “You are. I can’t argue about that. State Attorney Moran believes he has something on you at last. This conspiracy charge...what’s it all about?"

“In a nutshell, when I was a teenager my mom learned I had done a little weed and stolen some of her pills. She freaked out and called a teen hotline for advice. Bottom line, I ended up in a corrupt juvenile rehab center with other girls, including Abby Olin. Bruce Banks was a counselor who sexually abused the girls and tried to abuse me. We became enemies when I didn’t put out.”

“So both of you knew Banks and hated him and now he’s dead. Excellent motive. Doesn’t sound too good to me.”

“He’s old news. When I innocently recalled his name to Abby, she must have contacted him, most likely by email. She wanted the name of a real life villain thrown in the mix so she’d have evidence she was justified in thinking she was being stalked.”

“So, she didn’t actually expect him or want him to come down here,” he said. “She just needed any kind of response that would suggest he was interested in her.”

“That’s my guess. She might never have dreamed he’d really show up. Hate to tell you, Jerry. Moran may get his hands on my laptop. I left it in my car.”

“If so, it’s now evidence. Anything in there about Banks?”

“Plenty and it’s all incriminating. I’ve kept track of Banks over the years. I’ve got personal information about him, his family, and his job that I obtained using my firm’s tracking facilities. I made a silent promise to the abused girls I’d get even someday.”

“Does Abby know you’ve been tracking him?”

She appeared contrite. “I told her when we got reacquainted. Do you think she told Moran?”

“Absolutely. If he knew you had incriminating entries on your laptop, he’d definitely want it. Moran may even have had you arrested so he’d have probable cause to search your laptop. He’d never get a warrant otherwise.”

“Is he really that clever?”

“Even a blind squirrel will occasionally stumble over an acorn.”

“Hey, I like that. So, what happens next?”

“A law student shouldn’t need to ask me that. You need to brush up on the criminal process in Florida, Miss Reid.”

“Oh, yeah. Ah...let’s see...it’s different when you’re the one involved. First, I’ll make a court appearance to be arraigned, and will enter a plea at that time. The state will ask for remand and we’ll argue for release on bail.”

“Good. Custody is always the thing. Number one for anyone arrested is to get out of custody. You can be arrested and back on the street until your trial. But custody puts you in coveralls behind bars. The arraignment is at four this afternoon at the county courthouse.”

“Moran has no case against me.”

“Unfortunately, innocence is beside the point. State attorneys usually get what they want from a judge. As you know, the arraignment isn’t a trial. He just has to convince the judge something’s going on. You’re facing many weeks in jail. The judge isn’t likely to cross Moran, as he must deal with him every day. If Moran wants you held without bail, he just might get his wish. If he does agree to release you on bond, do you have any money for bail?”

“You know I don’t have a dime. Brother Raymond has a little. He signed for my tuition loans, but I make the payments. I doubt he has any money. You’ve probably heard, at present he’s running around in Milan with Meg Emerson, his wealthy stockbroker girlfriend. She’s a magician when it comes to money and they’re going into business together. They’re starting a retirement planning firm.

“When she said going into business, she didn’t mean hanging out her shingle in Park Beach. She’ll deal exclusively with Fortune 500 companies. Raymond will soon have a big bank account. I need to catch up. Here I am mid-thirties and my only asset is my car, gorgeous as it is. Meg told me they would hire me as counsel if I wanted to go into corporate law. I don’t want that. I want my own office in Park Beach defending the little people who the system considers powerless. That’s what’s going to happen if Moran will get off my back long enough for me to pass the bar and get my license.”

Kagan said, “I’ll sign for your bail bond if it comes to that.”

* * * *

Two hours later, at the arraignment, she entered a plea of not guilty and Kagan requested release on personal recognizance. As feared, Moran objected and requested no bail and remand of the prisoner to the custody of the sheriff.

Then Kagan spoke up unexpectedly, “Your honor, may we know the name of the other alleged conspirator?”

The question appeared to surprise Moran and he was flustered momentarily. “...The co-conspirator is...Abigail Olin.”

“And where is Abigail Olin at the present time?” Kagan asked.

“What do you mean, where is she?”

“Was she also remanded?”

Moran now realized where this was going and looked abashed at the judge. “Your honor, that’s different. Mrs. Olin was released on her recognizance when the charge against her was manslaughter of a prowler....”

Kagan interrupted quickly, “Your honor, why should my client, who may or may not have in truth conspired, be remanded if the alleged murderer is walking around?”

The judge struck his gavel, “The prisoner is released on personal recognizance. Next case!”

Chapter Eleven

Later that same day, around six o’clock, Sandy skipped happily down the courthouse front steps. “Getting those handcuffs off is delicious. Thanks Jerry.”

“An imperfect freedom, I’m afraid,” Kagan said. “Out of custody although still under arrest. Moran could still find a reason to go back before the judge and have your bail revoked.”

“At least I’ve some time to try to straighten all this out. So far not a single night in jail. You’re hot stuff, you know it? Now how do I get my car and things?”

“I checked. There’s no hold on your vehicle, however they’re holding your cell phone and laptop for evidence. I’ll drive you out to the sheriff’s office to get your vehicle and other personal items. We’ll stop somewhere and buy a throwaway cell. I know you’d be lost without a phone.”

“I’m lost without my laptop.”

They drove out to West County and after obtaining the release of her Miata from the auto pound, she thanked Kagan again and he left. She went in the sheriff’s office to retrieve her personal belongings and then found Triney and thanked him.

“Sandy you’re free. I can uncross my fingers now. But get away from me. I’m investigating you and Abby for murder conspiracy. I can’t talk to you without your lawyer present.”

“I know you can’t talk about my case. Did I ask you to talk about my case? We’re just talking about other things. Is it hot enough for you? Will the rain hurt the rhubarb? How ‘bout them Dolphins?”

“You’re cute. I know what you want. Okay, here it is. After you were jailed, I went to where you found the bike. I took my CSI buddy with me and we searched around. Found zilch, only a couple of old papers in the gutter but nothing fresh.”

“Was the bike still there?”

“Yes. And before you ask, yes, he dusted it. So we can add his name to the list of persons sticking their neck out who might be fired because of you. Only usable prints found belonged to a child.”

“So, if Jamie ever participated in one of those Children’s Fingerprinting for Safety drives at school, we could prove the bike belonged to her.”

“Not necessary. I took the bike over to Abby Olin and it positively is her daughter’s bike.”

“And?”

“And, nothing. According to her, you’re probably the one who took Jamie. She still won’t report her as missing.”

“Okay, I hereby report Jamie Olin, a ten-year-old, is missing.”

“No good, the report has to be made by a parent or some sort of guardian.”

“Can’t Child Welfare or somebody step in?”

“Not without more evidence that she’s missing.”

“Okay, I’m going to get you more evidence. I wonder where Jamie’s father is. If I can locate him, would you instigate an investigation on his behalf?”

“Maybe we’d have to. One more thing. Everyone and his brother knows Chip will be helping you on your arrest and on the kidnapping. Warn him he’d better be damn careful. Because Moran would love to nail him for getting involved.”

“What’s the latest on Detective Pomar? Is he still on the shitlist for helping me that night?”

“I put a warning in his personnel file. Told him to watch being influenced by wild women, especially cute ones.”

“Thanks for everything.”

She drove the short distance over to where she had stopped at the ficus hedge near the school. She walked around where she had found the bicycle and up and down the nearby curb. Across the street was a vacant lot and next to it the only house on that side that would have had a view of the abduction. The occupant was an elderly woman who was happy to cooperate, but she hadn’t gone to her front window until she heard the honking.

Sandy waited there in her car and approached the few people who walked on either side. Did they remember a young girl riding a blue bike in the neighborhood yesterday morning? Perhaps someone stopping a car to talk to a girl with a bike. Nothing. A long shot, at best. She’d come back in the morning to look for people that might walk at the earlier time every day. She was there until dark. She had the odd feeling that Jamie, wherever she was, somehow knew Sandy was looking for her.

She drove back to Park Beach and to Kagan’s law office. She let herself into the dark and quiet office and booted the computer. She searched Florida Vital Records online and found Jamie Olin’s birth record immediately. It had a Kevin R. Olin, age 31, listed as the father.

Next, she did a “find-anyone” search and came up with three initial listings for Kevin R. Olin. Twenty-one dollars later, she had three DOB’s, current addresses, and cell phone numbers. Let’ see, Jamie is now ten and one man listed is forty-one, so bingo! The Kevin R. Olin living in Athens, Georgia is the daddy.

She tried the Kevin Olin number—no answer. She left an innocent sounding message mentioning Jamie on his voice mail. He called back immediately. He sounded like an intelligent person on the phone. She tried to explain Jamie was missing and his ex was refusing to alert the police. He didn’t understand who Sandy was. He said he’d phone Abby and then phone back.

She took out Detective Triney’s card. “Sorry to bother you. You must be off duty by now,” she said when he came on the line. “I wanted you to know I was able to identify Jamie’s father.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“His name is Kevin R. Olin...lives in Athens, GA. He sounded upset when I told him his daughter was missing. He’s checking me out. Will phone back. He’ll be happy to report the kidnapping, and then you can start the official search.”

Silence.

“You there, Triney?”

“I’m thinking I know that name. Yes...a couple of months back. This gets a little weird. I need to explain it to you in person. Let’s meet in the parking lot of the Ramada out by I-95.”

“Okay, I know where it is. When?”

“How about eight in the morning? One more question before we meet. Were you down here in Florida in November when that woman’s naked body was found on the beach?”

Chapter Twelve

Triney had her thinking all night about locating Jamie’s father. And why had the detective mentioned a naked body on the beach in the same conversation? Triney was waiting in his unmarked vehicle in the parking lot of the Ramada when she arrived. He waved and motioned her over. “Unless you’re dying for coffee, let’s talk out here.”

“I don’t know your first name.” She slid in beside him.

“Harold, Harold Triney, perfectly awful, I know. They called me Skinny in high school. Would you rather go inside and have tea?”

She shook her head. “Skinny Triney isn’t much better. Bet they don’t call you Skinny these days.”

“Hey, watch it, girl.” He laughed. “First off, it’s good you located Jamie’s father, Kevin Olin. However, you’ll have to deal with him yourself. Out of line for me to do it until there is an official kidnapping.”

“You mentioned the case of a nude body on the beach. I’m almost afraid to ask. Does this have something to do with Kevin Olin?”

“Yes...”

“Oh god, don’t tell me!” she interrupted.

“Let me explain. It was Privado Beach, just inside the city limits. Last year, November. It was a Park Beach city case, however they briefed all of us at the sheriff’s office. Do you know about the case?

She shook her head. “I’d just arrived from Philly and was preoccupied with getting my brother out of jail.”

“Busy getting close to Chip Goddard, from what I hear. He’s a lucky guy. Anyway, Privado has a reputation as a party beach and there had been trouble out there before. Nothing like a dead woman. An early morning beach walker spotted the body of an adult female out there. Most would call her nice-looking, your age, maybe a bit younger. Half in, half out of the water. No clothes found anywhere.”

“Skinny dipping?”

“Nothing found, no sunglasses, no swimsuit, no purse, nothing.”

“Murdered. I suppose we’re getting to that?”

Triney wasn’t the kind of man to waste time or words. He turned away from her toward the highway as though checking the traffic. “Some would say worse.”

“Got it. Rape and murder.”

“No, the M.E. determined the cause of death was asphyxiation. Said she choked to death on a pretzel.”

“Choked to death on a pretzel,” she repeated slowly, unsure of what she heard.

“Death by choking is not uncommon,” he explained. “A leading cause of accidental death. People underestimate the danger of choking. Stop breathing and you’ll die within five minutes.”

“So there was no murder, so where’s the crime? If she started choking and no one was around to help her, it’d be a horrible way to die. But surely not worse, as you said, than being murdered.”

“Death isn’t always the last outrage.” The detective hesitated and then said, “Posthumous penetration.” He looked down and then up slowly at her face to see if she flinched.

She did. She drew a quick breath, squeezed her eyes shut, and swallowed hard. “I could never be a cop. Did you catch the sick piece of shit?”

“I feel like I’m talking to my daughter.” The detective shifted some on the seat. “You really want to hear all this?”

“Truthfully I don’t. I don’t get off on crime scene details. Doesn’t take much to turn my stomach. I prefer the sweet investigative part that comes later, after the victim is cleaned up and lying under a clean white sheet.” Her mind raced on ahead. “I feel sorry for the girl and the people who knew her. But what does this have to do with Kevin Olin? And for Jamie’s sake please tell me there’s absolutely no connection.”

“I’m going to discuss some of this because I know your reputation, you’re professional and discreet. The case is still open. The city police never made an arrest. Abuse of a dead body is a second-degree felony in Florida. It’ll get you fifteen years. They think the felony abuse on the corpse took place higher up on the beach and the tide dragged the body down to the water. Unfortunately, the tide also smoothed all the sand erasing any activity or footprints.”

“Nonsense, beach party evidence would be all over the place.”

“I didn’t mean there was a party that particular night. It’s just that Privado is known as an out-of-the-way beach if you don’t want to be bothered. If someone doesn’t direct you there, you’re not going to find it. Locals love it, never crowded.”

“How’d she get there?” Sandy asked. “She didn’t walk there naked. What about tire tracks? Someone had to park. That leaves evidence. Someone had to walk down to the beach. That gives you evidence.”

“Should have but didn’t. The perp was either clever or lucky. The body was half in the water and flushed by the tide. Nothing was left of any clothing fibers, hairs, saliva, or like that.”

“Semen?”

“Traces were found but unusable. Semen and DNA once contaminated by salt water are useless.”

“You say the perp might be clever. But he must have known he was leaving his semen behind. He couldn’t have anticipated salt water helping him out. That’s dumb thinking.”

“He probably wasn’t thinking at all. At least not with his brain. All his blood was flowing downward.”

She nodded. “The authorities are certain the abuse was post mortem?”

“They can tell...somehow. Also, when the victim is unidentified the medical examiner routinely looks for clues to the occupation. Like the cliché calluses on the hands of laborers. Determining the occupation often leads to the ID. In this case, the medical examiner thought her makeup was unusual. He called it theatrical.”

“Indicating a singer, an actress, or on the stage in some capacity.”

He continued, “Tall and in good physical condition. Leg muscles and abs were firm. Recent pedicure. With the special makeup and all, the M.E. came up with exotic dancer, stripper, whatever. Her prints didn’t help. We checked the missing persons file and a couple of people came forward who thought they might know her. So far, she’s unidentified.”

“That’s sad. Her friends and family don’t even know she’s dead.”

“A young woman dies and nobody cries for her,” the detective sighed audibly.

“I’ll cry if I don’t stop thinking about it. I’d really like to help her. After I find Jamie and clear myself, maybe I’ll look into her case,” she said. “And Kevin Olin?”

“A nearby property owner noticed a white SUV parked, backed almost out of sight, in the beach parking area that night. Now I have to tell you, local law enforcement personnel really took this criminal abuse to heart. They were angry. Would’ve thought it was their little sister found lying there violated. As you might expect, there were the inevitable vulgar comments and jokes about a nude female body you’d expect from some jerks in law enforcement. But, for the most part, we were all preoccupied with finding the bastard.”

“And Kevin?” She started drumming her fingers on the dashboard.

“So they put out a bulletin to all law enforcement to be alert to situations involving a white SUV. That stirred up a hornet’s nest. Any idea how many white SUVs in Florida? Street patrol would follow any white minivan or SUV, looking for some excuse for a stop. Every officer wanted to be the one who nailed the guy. If it was white and had wheels, we stopped it, some multiple times. One motorist wrote the newspaper saying cars should be marked with an X so they wouldn’t be stopped more than once. Anyway, a deputy stopped Kevin later that day for a tag light out on his white Toyota SUV. He had a wet bathing suit in the back and Georgia plates. The deputy who pulled him over went crazy—all hyper about the guy. So they sent me over to the stop to check him out.”

“And,” she said loudly.

“He seemed okay, said he was down from Georgia to visit his daughter. Who we now know is Jamie. I verified some stuff and sent him on his way.”

“So that’s why his name rang a bell with you. That’s all there is to it? Geez, you scared the hell out of me. I don’t know why Abby and Kevin got divorced, but you had me thinking Jamie had another bad actor in her life besides her mother.”

“Now get out of here. I shouldn’t be seen talking with you.”

“As part of that investigation, are you guys trying to locate that Toby? You know, the guy Abby thought she shot.”

“What did I just tell you about your own case? Please get out of here.”

“So I’m the one who’s stuck with not only finding Jamie, finding Toby, and dealing with Kevin Olin if he ever phones me back.”

“Out!”

She thanked him for trusting her with the beach story and went back to her car. Instinctively she reached for her laptop and then remembered it was in the sheriff’s evidence room. She phoned Chip and told him she needed access to his police computer. He suggested they meet at his house. When she arrived, he was sitting in his unmarked vehicle in his driveway writing up some report. She explained she had located Kevin Olin; and needed help locating Toby last name unknown. The Privado Beach affair was out of her mind.

“Abby Olin didn’t seem at all worried that Jamie’s missing,” she told him. “She refuses to report her missing. Why wouldn’t a mother be hysterical about a missing child? No doubt she’s already rented out her room.”

“Because she isn’t really missing?” he suggested. “Possibly Abby left her with a friend or relative. She’s not worried because she knows where Jamie is. You’ve already notified the father. I think you should hold off on pursuing some alleged kidnapper and concentrate on clearing yourself.”

“If Jamie’s safe, then why was her bike found in the bushes? No, I’ll worry about me later. I need to find this Toby. He definitely has something to do with it. Abby intended to kill him. If I can find out why, then I can clear myself and might find Jamie in the process. Toby sounds like a nickname and that didn’t get me very far tracing on the Internet. Abby knows his full name, however she’s not talking. Can you search through the national crime database for me?”

“Sure, let’s do it right now. He reached over and booted his Police Vehicle Computer. “Toby is short for Tobias. Of course, Toby could be a legal first name also. If the given name isn’t Tobias, then it’s likely the last name is fairly unusual and starts with a T and O. Such as Toblanski, or Topol. We’ll search for first name or alias.”

They sat doing searches for various areas. List of names and addresses started scrolling on the screen. “Here’s five possibles in adjacent counties and three others that are local.”

“I thought there’d be many more, Chip.”

“Remember, these are criminal offenders only, not everyone called Toby. And those addresses might not be any good, except for these two here. See they’re marked as sex offenders? Sex offenders must give us their current address. You still have a lot of legwork to do. If this Toby you’re after doesn’t have a criminal record, you’ve a long tedious search ahead of you.”

“Ok, print out those eight.”

He did, and tore off the printout and handed it to her. “I just noticed, you can forget that last name there. He’s presently in Okeechobee Correctional.”

“Thanks. I’m going now to find the addresses on this list. Thank god my car has GPS.”

“I’m telling you again, you should drop this entire idea. Too dangerous. Think about it, Sandy. Toby intended to go around to Abby’s house the night of the shooting. At least that’s what Jamie told you—that’s why you went there with Detective Pomar, right? Therefore when Toby heard about the shooting, he must have figured out that the bullet was meant for him.”

“That’s what I thought. They arrest Abby, and Toby becomes afraid she’ll bring him into it. So he snatches Jamie for insurance. Then he phones Abby and tells her to shut up about him or else. That means a dangerous man has his hands on Jamie.”

“That means a dangerous man knows you’re looking for him.”

Chapter Thirteen

Although Sandy was convinced the mysterious Toby was involved in Jamie’s disappearance, she also had to admit she had absolutely no evidence to support such a belief. She needed to find him and needed to figure out where to start. An Internet search for people named Toby or Tobias in nearby counties had resulted in far too many hits with haphazard demographics. The criminal offender list Chip printed out zeroed the search down to eight suspects. Certainly, a more manageable list, although the Toby she sought might not have a documented criminal past.

This might take some time and was full of guesses. Locate each listed offender, get a look at him, and try to guess if he was likely to be involved with Abby Olin, either as her boyfriend or someone she might want to kill for a reason yet unknown. Is he nervous? Does he appear to be hiding? Is it likely Jamie is hidden somewhere around the premises? All of it a shaky guess, and the chance of hitting bingo with only eight names on the list was slight.

She needed to stop by and get something from Kagan’s office before she started out. Kagan was there at his desk eating a fish sandwich with creamy coleslaw.

“You have lunch yet? Want a mouthful of this?”

“I’m skipping it today.” She held up the printout. “I’m off on a scavenger hunt. I have a list of bad guys.” She explained what she was up to.

“Might I help somehow?”

“As a matter of fact, I need to borrow a clipboard and one of your business-sized checks.”

“A check?”

“A blank—straight out of your checkbook.”

“You’re welcome to them, although I’ve no idea what you’re going to do with them. Just don’t write the check for more than five million or it’ll bounce.” He tore out a blank check. “You’ll find some clipboards in that cabinet over there.”

“Is there anything you need right now? Can I make a run over to the courthouse for you or anything?”

“Thanks, Sandy. The walk over to the courthouse does get longer every year. No, I’m fine. Anything else for you?”

“You can tell me what Abby and Toby are up to and why Jamie happened to go missing.” She snapped the printout of names onto the clipboard with the blank check face down on top. “Maybe you know this. Moran mentioned the police found money when they searched Abby’s house after the shooting. Do you happen to know how much?”

“Ten thousand cash is the word around the courthouse.”

“Geez, I never dreamed it was that much. Abby and Toby are definitely into something. How would those two characters get hold of that much cash legally?”

She got in her Miata and punched the first address into her GPS. It felt good being out in the field people-finding again. Locating conspirators and witnesses was what her old job in Philly paid her to do and she was good at it. This time it was different. This time she was the subject of her own investigation. This was personal.

Her GPS indicated the first named felon on the list was north of town. At the third stoplight heading north on US 1 she noticed the white Toyota SUV following her.

She took a sharp right turn to convince herself, and indeed the SUV turned with her. Her first impulse was to speed up, but at that point she was interested in who it might be. Her safety didn’t seem a real concern there in the bright Florida sunshine. She pulled over to the curb.

The SUV driver stopped in the lane. Then he realized he’d been spotted and pulled over behind her. Her convertible’s top was rarely up but fortunately, it was that day. Her doors were locked, but she pushed the lock button to hear that satisfying click again to be sure. She kept the car in gear and watched in the mirror as the driver walked up to her car. A nice height, slender, and about her age. If he lost that ridiculous baseball cap, he might even look appealing. He appeared far from menacing, more like a tourist in her opinion.

As he came up to her car she said, “You were following me.”

“Damn right I was.”

That didn’t come out as rough as he intended. He didn’t appear as though he wanted to be angry. She lowered her window. “And?”

“You’re the one who’s causing all the commotion!”

“My grandmother used to say commotion. She’d say, what in tarnation is all that commotion? Unfortunately, I’m the only one who is causing a commotion about Jamie missing. Why don’t you stop yelling long enough to introduce yourself? I’m Sandy Reid. I guess you’re already aware of that.”

“Kevin Olin. You phoned me and said she was missing.”

“That’s right.” Sandy started frowning. “Hey, I phoned you late yesterday. How’d you get down here so fast? Where were you when you answered my call?”

“At home, in Athens.”

She had a disturbing thought. “I don’t think you could drive down here that fast. Maybe you were already here when I phoned. Maybe you already knew your daughter was missing. Maybe you already know everything.”

“What are you accusing me of? I leave my house early this morning. I drive down here and find out you’re the problem.”

“You must have friends and family around here, you lived here at one time. You must know people who would take in Jamie for a while. Look, if you have her, tell me now.”

“Why would I take my own daughter?”

“Maybe it’s a custody battle. Maybe you know what’s going on and it’s to protect her.”

“So if I’m guilty of all that then I’m a bad father?”

“Considering your ex, it probably means you’re a good father. If you snatched her, I think it’s great. Your secret is safe. Just tell me so I can start sleeping at night and I’ll stop leaning on the city and county police.

“Look, all I have to say to you is back off, get uninvolved. And stay away from me.”

“Wait, I’m sorry...I’m pleased you came down. You sound like an okay guy. How did you find me?”

“Abby said she once phoned you at that lawyer’s office. I followed you from there.”

“You could have just walked in and said hello.”

“You’re not to be trusted, according to her. You started the entire problem. Everything was fine until you showed up.”

“Hey, if Abby said that, it must be so. Your ex-wife’s judgment is pretty reliable, huh? I hadn’t noticed. Yes, I’m a troublemaker. Just like those pesky police who are always nosing around bothering criminals.”

“But you’re responsible for Jamie being missing. You talked to her and got her involved.”

“I talked to her to help. This mess started when Abby shot Toby. That would have happened without me being around.”

“She’s says you’re not police and you’ve nothing to do with anything and no business sticking your nose in.”

“That was before I met your daughter. Someone has to look out for her. You and your ex certainly aren’t doing it. Sounds as if you’re feeling guilty for not being down here for her.”

“That’s not fair. I’m down here twice a month. More often when the turtles are active. I wanted full custody but didn’t get it.”

“The turtles?”

“You’ve never gone to a moonlit beach to watch one of those prehistoric sea turtles nesting, or baby turtles hatching? Fascinating. You might have to wait until two a.m. before the first turtle sightings occur so prepare yourself for a long wait, but definitely worth it. I’d really like to go to the Galapagos Islands. Ever been there?”

“Been there? I can’t even pronounce it.” So he has a nature lover side to him. That’s okay. “Let’s start over, Kevin. Get in. We’ll talk.” She pushed the door unlock button. By the time he walked around and got in they both had settled down.

“Does Jamie like you?” she asked just to start the conversation.

“Of course she likes her daddy. What kind of question is that?”

“I didn’t know. I didn’t get a chance to discuss it with her. Okay, any friend of Jamie’s is a friend of mine. If she likes you, then I like you.” She had no reservation in saying that.

He appeared a bit on the shy side and she didn’t yet know if he had a brain. If she were at a dance, she’d have been watching him, and if Mr. Nice Guy came near, she’d do that little flirty thing she could do with her eyes. When he got closer, she’d stand, try hard to blush, and say, “Oh, me? Yes, I’d love to.”

“You’d love to what?” He looked at her.

Geez, did she say that aloud? “Ah...love to meet Jamie’s dad.”

“Sorry, I came on strong. I guess I don’t really know the situation. Thank god you called me.”

“Take off your cap.”

“My cap? Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize gentlemen must remove their hats in your presence.”

That was quick, she thought. Maybe there’s hope. “No, I just wanted to see your cap.” She didn’t, she wanted to take a look at his hair. It was dark brown and lots of it. “What’s the emblem on the cap?”

“EMT, I’m a paramedic up in Athens...you know, ambulance stuff and all that.”

“You like that gig?”

“Pay’s nothing. Especially in Georgia. I flunked out of pre-med. I want to go back.”

“Okay, I forgive the cap.”

She explained the situation. Her background with Abby. All she knew so far about Jamie’s disappearance. They agreed to team up and search for her. He knew some of Abby’s background, her family, and friends. He’d contact them to see if they had any information on Jamie. Meanwhile, she’d keep trying to locate Toby whatshisname. They exchanged phone numbers.

“Does Abby work? How does she support herself and Jamie?”

“I pay child support. And she has some rental income. Her dad used to live in a condo in West Palm Beach. Cheap when he bought it, but since then the value has shot up. She inherited it from him. It rents for an unbelievably high amount. There’s no mortgage on it, so I guess she makes out being a landlord. I don’t know what else she’s into.”

“How nice for her. I guess I was misled by Jamie as far as her suspicions about her mother being into Internet porn.”

“Porn? Oh, my god, what are you talking about?”

She explained what Jamie had told her. “There is no proof whatever. Just my suspicion and I might be wrong. I heard Jamie acts out sometimes and is prone to exaggerate.”

“Who told you that?”

“You know, she’s made some false police reports and such.”

“Probably not false. Like when much younger, Jamie was lost in the mall and Abby kept on shopping without her. Jamie found a police officer. Abby claimed it was a prank. Said Jamie was with her all the time, saw the policeman, and ran over to him. This kidnapping is the last straw. I’m going back to court and try to get full custody of her again.”

“You had full custody once? Why did you give her up?”

“Long story, I’ll explain later. We’re wasting time. I need to start looking for my daughter. Why don’t we meet last thing today?”

“Super. We could have a drink.” She was glad she thought of that. “You don’t know how pleased I am you showed up...to help me.”

* * * *

Two hours later, using Chip’s printout of criminal offenders with the alias of Toby—five possibles in adjacent counties and three local—she had crossed off only the first two names. Tobias Swanson, aka Toby Swanson had moved, no forwarding address. She’d have to check further on that one. Next on the list was Michael T. Young, aka Toby Young. It seems he’d gone steady with his high school girlfriend for two years over her father’s objections. Then he turned twenty-five in February two years ago and she wouldn’t be eighteen until April that year. In Florida, twenty-five is over the limit to have sex with a seventeen year old. Her father had him arrested for statutory rape on his birthday. The judge found him guilty which marked him for life as a sex offender. They were married after his release. Sandy crossed him off as highly unlikely.

At dark, she had one local left on the list: Humphrey Towalski, aka Toby Towalski. She keyed in his last known address. Her GPS guided her to a small house far out on Indian Road at the county’s west edge, past the dump and within earshot of the Interstate. She parked at the side of the unpaved road. The neighborhood wasn’t tidy with old appliances and rusted out cars sprinkled around. This particular house had a large discarded cardboard box in the driveway with Deluxe 50” HD TV printed on the box.

She stepped up on the small porch. The bell didn’t seem to be working so she knocked. She could hear a TV. She was relieved when an older woman answered the door instead of the felon on her list.

The woman took the cigarette out of her mouth. “Yeah?”

Sandy took the textbook recommended one step back to appear less threatening. “I’m looking for, Humphrey Towalski.”

“Never heard of him.”

“So Mr. Towalski doesn’t live here?”

“If he lived here, I’d no doubt have heard of him, don’t you think.” She reached out to close the door. “I’m busy...you have a nice day. I’ve given up on mine.”

Sandy went into the routine she’d used so often in Philly to locate people who didn’t want to be located. She raised the clipboard. The business-sized check was clipped face down on top of the computer printout. Being careful not to show the face of the check, which was blank, she made a minor production out of pretending to read the payee. “I’m supposed to find...ah yes, Humphrey Towalski?”

The woman standing in her doorway straightened noticeably. Her eyes focused on the back of the check. “Oh, maybe I didn’t catch on to what you wanted. Well, Toby isn’t here.”

“His nickname is Toby? Are you Mrs. Towalski?”

The woman shrugged. “So I had some bad luck.”

“And you’re married to...Humphrey?”

The woman flicked the cigarette far out into the dirt street. “Yes, sweetie, I’m his wife. I handle all his financial affairs, the stocks, the bonds, all of our trust funds.” She reached for the check. “You can give it to me.”

“Oh, I’m supposed to see him personally. Procedure you know.” She was afraid she’d struck out on this lead. This Toby was an unlikely suspect since this woman was over sixty and her husband would be much too old to be messing around with Abby.

“Toby’s in Okeechobee Correctional. You’re the only one in town who doesn’t know that.”

Sandy checked the printout. Now she remembered Chip had told her to skip this last name because Florida had him locked up. “I’m sorry, made a mistake. Must go.”

“But don’t you have anything for us?”

“There’s an error in these papers. Sorry to have bothered you.”

“Wait...lady. Why don’t you come inside? I don’t care about the damn check. I don’t get any visitors. My name’s Ruth, you look like a tea drinker. I’ll make us some.”

“I’m afraid not.” Sandy stepped back off the porch.

“You don’t want to come in because you think my house is all messy inside. You think it smells. You think my house is junky because I got that stupid TV box in the front yard. The trash truck won’t pick it up big like that. Toby promised to cut it up tomorrow.”

“But Toby’s serving time.”

“Are we talking about Moron #1 or Moron #2? Humphrey is Moron #1. They both want to be called Toby, so you see the level of original thinking I must deal with around here.”

Sandy was instantly interested again in this family. She wondered how old Toby #2 was. She gave the woman a quizzical look.

“Yeah, Moron #2 is my stepson. Just as dumb as his father. If he were any dumber, I'd have to water him. Does nothing around the house. Glued to his damn computer. Have to beat him every so often to get him to do anything.”

“You have to spank the little guy now and then,” Sandy said trying to get at his age.

“I said I beat him. Spanking wouldn’t faze a lazy thirty-year old. I use an old broken golf club.”

Bingo! Sandy bit her tongue to keep from looking eager. A thirty-year-old Toby was a perfect fit for Abby. A dumb Toby fit even better. “Maybe I will come in for just a minute, Mrs. Towalski. I’m not supposed to go inside houses. Are you alone?”

“The cats like to jump on people, but seldom seriously injure anyone. Nothing compared to the dog.” She made a weak smile. “I'm a lot of laughs. My house is an animal-free zone, Sweetie. Yeah, I’m alone. The bridge society just left. Come on in.”

Once inside the house the place was unobjectionable from what Sandy could see and smell. Considering the probable income in the vicinity, it was fine. Sandy could detect the discordant scent of cigarettes mixed with apple pie. Open up the place, she thought. More air and more light. Bring in more Florida. Knock out that front wall and put in a large window. Then again, perhaps this woman didn’t want to see the neighborhood outside.

In the center of the living room, almost blocking passage back to the kitchen, sat a huge partially unpacked TV. A smaller old TV at the side insisted on delivering an important message. Mercifully, the woman lowered the volume.

“Gotta get someone to come out and hook up my new TV. Pretty fancy, huh?” She cleared a stack of crossword puzzle books from the chair opposite the couch for Sandy. “So, you’re from the government, corrections department, something like that?”

Sandy nodded and glanced around the room. Not too tidy but clean. She noted there were no photographs resting anywhere in sight, no evidence of any family whatsoever.

“Got that Motel 6 ashtray there in Branson. Years ago. Hundred percent tin. It’ll be worth a fortune in a few years if I can get the rust off. I keep it around as a reminder in case I start feeling good about my marriage. A honeymoon in Branson...every bride’s dream. Didn’t know it at the time, but it was the highlight of my life. Winning a free cup and saucer once at a supermarket was a close second. I’m sorry, forgive my smartass mouth. I don’t do much socializing.”

“You’re doing fine. Your marriage could be better, huh?”

“Our marriage lacked only two things, him and me.” She crushed the cigarette to death and lit another. “He calls me a bitch like it's a bad thing. I’m crazy. I admit it. That’s basically why Big Toby and me don’t get along. We’re both crazy.”

“At least you have something in common.”

The woman gave a little laugh. “Now you see? I don’t have any clever people like you to visit with. Not that I could keep up with you.”

Sandy settled back in her chair. She was getting a good reading on this woman and began to feel more comfortable.

“You can smoke if you want. Come clean now, you’re really a cop aren’t you?”

“No, I’m doing some ancillary fieldwork.”

“Ancillary, huh? Meaning adjunct or extra.” She nudged the ashtray toward Sandy. “I do crosswords.”

Sandy had to smile. “You got me on that one. I sense some formal education on your part. Am I right?”

“God, I thought all that had worn off long ago. Nice of you to mention it. Finished Junior College—they call it Community College now. Name’s Ruth. Did I already tell you that? You want some tea or a blast of something? How about some apple pie?”

A cup of hot tea sounded wonderful to Sandy. “No, thanks. Can’t stay too long. Must get to my next call.”

“Oh, please don’t go. What can I do to make you stay?”

Sandy glanced casually around the room. “So, big Toby is incarcerated and little Toby lives with you.” She wished he’d come home now so she could get a look at him. See how well he matched up with Abby.

“Incarcerated, meaning caged or confined. Of course, I know that one. Three years ago, Moron #1 was in the garage cleaning one of those antique pistols of his. Told him I’d clean the damn thing for him. I used to clean my daddy’s guns. Real men don’t need help cleaning guns, he said just before firing a slug through his leg. I ask you, how can you clean a revolver without emptying the cylinder first? When the medical emergency people came out from town to patch him up, they noticed a big shiny chest of mechanic's tools sitting there in the garage, must have been five feet high and bright red. Reported as stolen, they claimed. Pulled five years for that.”

Ruth lit another cigarette. “I had to start the beatings when Little Toby was younger. He went through a dirty picture phase. I’d find stuff under his mattress. Just imagine, under the kid’s mattress—the one place no mother would ever think of looking. So I’d have to beat him. Sure you don’t want some tea? Every week I’d throw out the girlie magazines and the next week there’d be something worse under there. I’d have to beat him again. You know, big Toby ran a garage once and had nudie pinups hanging all over, but nothing as bad as they got on daytime TV these days.”

“Sometimes a child must be disciplined,” Sandy said going along with it. She stood and started walking around the room pretending to be interested in the knickknacks. She looked down the hall off the living room. All the doors were closed. If the younger Toby had kidnapped Jamie and brought her here, then his mother must be in on it.

“You’d think he’d have grown up. I still have to give him a whack now and then.” Her attention was now divided with the TV.

“For dirty pictures?” Sandy quietly opened the nearest door in the hall. It was an empty bedroom.

“No, he outgrew all that girly stuff, spends all his time on his computer now. Somehow, he met this Abby. That’s when I started to believe in miracles.”

“Tell me about Abby.” The next door she opened was a bathroom.

“Hasn’t had many dates. Almost thirty and afraid of women.”

“Hard to figure,” Sandy walked back to the living room. “Nice house. How many bedrooms do you have?”

“Three.” Ruth leaned back puffing. She appeared pleased someone was in her house. “It’s my fault. I knew he wasn’t quite right in the head. Should have taken him to a doctor to find out what was wrong with him instead of trying to cure him by myself.”

“Do you have a bathroom I can use?”

“Sure, down the hall there, you’ll see it.” She chuckled. “Don’t steal anything.”

Sandy tried the other doors in the hall. All were empty. Basements were rare in Florida. Could Jamie be in the attic? More likely the garage.

In an extra loud voice she called out, “You can call me Sandy, got that, I’m Sandy. Did I tell you that?” She went in the bathroom. She placed her ear against the wall and listened. Nothing. She flushed and returned to the living room. “Will your son be back soon?”

“Anytime. You know, I shouldn’t have mentioned I have to beat him. You gonna turn me in for doing that?”

“Not my department.” Sandy gestured and said, “So your kitchen’s over here, nice and big. Is that the door to the garage?”

“The breezeway to the garage.”

She quietly tried the door when Ruth wasn’t looking. Locked. Sandy returned to the living room. Ruth was sitting on the couch looking down at her hands. “You’re going to leave me alone again, aren’t you?”

She was shaking slightly and appeared about to cry. She raised her head a moment and clicked off the TV. Sandy was afraid of what was coming, so she tried to sound upbeat, “So you do crosswords. You have to be smart to do crosswords.”

Ruth’s head went back down. She appeared distressed. “Since you’re pretty you probably never hate yourself.”

“Sure I do, sometimes,” Sandy said quickly, hoping it would stop there. “And you’ve going to have that new super TV to watch. Are there other things you’d like? Do you have a wish list?”

“What’d be the point?”

“So, have you lived here long?”

The woman ignored the question. “Sometimes I’m a strong woman, sometimes I’m weak.” She said in a low voice, talking to the floor. “No, that’s a lie. I’m never strong. Look at me. No, don’t look at me. I never should have let you in. Seeing you makes me think about my own life. You’ve got it all. Jesus, you absolutely have the entire world in your soft little hands. You can go anywhere and do anything. You could walk out that door, drive to the airport, and fly across the country. Come back tomorrow. Come back next year. So what. I could kill you just out of envy. Never had much of a life and what I had the damn men ruined. Or I ruined it myself, who knows. Thank God for blame, it lets you turn everything around. I can even blame Humphrey for being born a man. It’s your fault Humphrey." She stopped for a long drag. "Did you ever know a good man? I know that’s like asking did you ever know a good bastard.”

“I’ll have to stop and think,” Sandy said, not wanting to disagree.

“Even a good man is not worth the bother. Look who’s talking. I’m old and useless myself.”

“You should keep dreaming. Terrible not to dream. You can replace your bad luck with good dreams.”

“Bad luck is all that keeps me going. Gives me something to look forward to. I jump out of bed each morning, can’t wait to find out what bad luck is going to hit me that day.”

“You’ve stopped dreaming because nothing has come true. That’s sad but not a reason to stop dreaming.”

“So I’ll dream and with any luck I’ll be dead before I notice none of my dreams have come true. Thanks anyway, but the entire dream idea has passed me by. Sorry, Ruth, you should have been here yesterday. Sorry, Ruth, you’re not eligible for that. Sorry, Ruth, we just gave away the last one. You ever look closely at a food container you’re eating out of and happen to notice it expired three years before? That’s my life. Everything I want, or get up enough nerve to go after, isn’t there anymore. Somehow, I missed it. It’s already expired. Sorry, Ruth.”

“Ruth, you need to change things. Shake things up. Start with things you can change easily. Throw away that stupid ashtray from Branson. It triggers bad memories. Go to the dog pound and save some little dog’s life. I’m sorry, I should shut up.”

“You know, I do have a wish. I’d like to have lunch out with someone. Someone smart. I’d like to have someone clever across from me at the table. We’re trading amusing comments back and forth.”

“You don’t mean a man?”

“God no. Some nice woman. We’d definitely be talking. We’re talking about how we’ll spend our time. Because we’re carefree, you see. Our time isn’t already set out for us. And she’d be looking at me, you know. Looking at me because she’s interested in me and what I have to say. I’m holding a teacup, not a mug, and my little finger is sticking straight out.”

“That would be very nice for anyone.”

“She wouldn’t be mean and nobody would be yelling. Oh, well...do you want some tea? Did I already ask you that? I have teacups somewhere. They might be cracked but I got them. You can stick your little finger out.”

Ruth now seemed to be trembling slightly again. She crossed her arms and hugged her shoulders as though cold. Her knees were pressed together. As though talking about change had threatened her. She moved her eyes slowly around the room as though it was unfamiliar, then back at Sandy. “You ever worry about that wolf scratching at your door?”

“That wolf scratching at my door?” Sandy stared at the woman for a half minute and then moved over and sat beside her on the couch. She resisted the urge to reach over and touch her. “Yes, Ruth, I often worry about that goddamn wolf scratching at my door.”

They sat together in silence.

And then. “You know I can't let you leave.” Ruth now stared strangely at her.

Sandy’s jaw tightened. What did that mean? She felt a hot rush on her face. She slowly got up from the couch and started walking toward the front door. Ruth jumped up and got to the door ahead of her. She stood there blocking Sandy.

“You're not going to leave.”

Sandy tried to appear calm. “Nice meeting you, Ruth. Must be on my way now.” She tried to step around, but the woman again moved close in front of her.

“You're not quite as innocent and harmless as you pretend to be, are you Sandy? You’ve got a good act. Excellent performance. Cute little trick with that blank check too. Hadn’t seen that one before.”

Sandy’s phone rang. She answered quickly. She knew that whoever it was would be able to hear her scream if that’s what it came down to. She recognized Kevin’s voice. She said hurriedly, "Yes, I'm at Ruth Towalski's house. West on Indian Road. Almost to 95." She lowered the phone and challenged the woman with an intense stare.

Ruth stepped back.

Sandy smiled. “My boss. It's so annoying. The first thing he always wants to know is my exact location. Okay, we're done here. Nice chatting with you.”

“Please don’t leave.”

Sandy stepped around her and continued out the door. The woman made no move to stop her. Sandy walked to her car while listening to Kevin’s excited voice, “I spent the day following Abby around South Florida. Can’t wait to tell you where she went. Let’s meet.”

“Hold on, let me get safely away from a neurotic woman.” Ruth waved from the porch as she drove off. “I was partially successful today. I failed to find Jamie. I did locate the mysterious Toby. The guy Abby tried to kill. I know where he lives. No sign of Jamie there. Maybe he didn’t snatch her, although I’d love to look in that locked garage. Anyway, now we need to determine what’s going on between him and Abby. Where are you now?”

“I’m in my room at the Ramada. The one out near the exit on I-95, Room 210. Come on over. We’ll have a drink.”

The motel was less than fifteen minutes away. She pulled in and circled until she spotted Room 210 on the upper level. She saw Kevin’s Toyota SUV parked by the stairs. She backed into a space opposite and looked up at his room. Quite a guy. At least he seemed so. She phoned him.

He answered, “Where are you? Come on up. Room 210.”

“I thought we’d have a drink in the lounge.”

“We can have some drinks in my room. We can sit here where it’s nice and quiet and won’t be bothered.”

Tempting. A drink with him would be nice, but why up in his room. Damn. Why did he have to say his room? We just met. Wouldn’t a drink in the bar or restaurant be more appropriate? Why do men have to be so insensitive? Sure, Kevin we could drink in your room. We could kick our shoes off. Pop open a fifth of bourbon and knock back slugs out of plastic glasses while we sit on the edge of the bed listening to the romantic strains of the air conditioner. Sure, Kevin, that would be charming.

Geez, even the smart guys are clueless. Even the good-looking ones. That’s another thing, why couldn’t he be overweight and not in such great shape? Why couldn’t he be ugly or smelly? Now she sounded silly even to herself. To be fair about it, she realized his thoughts were on the plight of his daughter, not the protocol of a new relationship. Possibly, he wasn’t thinking about Sandy at all.

She’d have to pass up this opportunity. “Sorry, Kevin, I’m not going to be able to make tonight after all.”

“Oh, come on. I want to talk with you about everything that’s going on. I can help you fight that charge. We can decide what we need to do and I’ll tell you what I found out today.”

“No, I’m too tired. I’m driving on home. What do you have? Something about Abby?”

“I watched Abby’s house this morning. She doesn’t know my vehicle, however I parked out of sight anyway. She took off and I followed her and followed her some more. She drove out of town. I thought, my god is she going to Miami. All the way down to Jensen Beach. Down to a big fancy estate on the water.”

“Who does she know down there?”

“No one she knows has that kind of lifestyle. She doesn’t move in those circles. She stayed there about a half-hour and then drove back home. I wrote down the address. Are you sure you won’t come up?”

“Just give me the address, Kevin.”

She thanked him and phoned Chip. She gave him the address in Jensen Beach where Abby had gone.

“Google it yourself.”

“You cops confiscated my laptop, remember? You’ve access to that nifty national crime database. And if you do it, I don’t have to pay.”

“Hold on.” After a moment, “That address is the residence of Frederick J. Kidde.”

“So?”

“Freddy ‘Environmental’ Kidde?”

“I still don’t get it.”

“That’s right you’re from Philly. How about, Congressman Frederick J. Kidde member of the United States House of Representatives representing a congressional district in Florida?”

“Okay, okay, I got it. He’s a big deal politician. What business does a low life like Abby have with Kidde?”

“You’re the girl with all the guts, why don’t you go ask him?”

“Maybe I will. More good news, Chip. You know that list of criminal offenders named Toby you printed out for me?”

“Don’t tell me, the Toby you wanted was there on the list.”

“He isn’t a criminal offender, but his father is and they’re both called Toby. I now have his name and address. His mother confirmed he knows Abby.”

“That’s great. Part of that was luck, but you dug in and made it happen. Now what?”

“This is the guy Abby intended to kill, not Banks. Now I go to Moran and trade the info for dropping the conspiracy charge against me.”

“Wait a minute. Triney is the investigator on that case. You owe him. I think you should leak the information to him first.”

“Then I’ve nothing to trade to Moran.”

“I think you do. Moran will still need your cooperation and testimony.”

“You’re right, Chip. I’ll let Triney make a couple of points. Are you still at your office computer?”

“Sitting right here. What else do you need?”

“Would you run a Kevin Olin for me?”

“LKA?”

“Athens, Georgia,” she answered.

“Wait a sec. Okay...here he is...nothing...no priors. He’s the father, huh? Well, he’s clean. Anything special about him I should know?”

“No. Thanks. See you.”

She called Kevin back. “I’ll meet you in the lounge. Five minutes...get yourself down there.”

Chapter Fourteen

Sandy was at her desk in Kagan’s office when Kevin phoned. She told him, “I enjoyed our little date last night.” It was just a drink with him, but it was a start.

Meeting with him in the Ramada lounge was pleasant in spite of the overhanging gloom of a missing child. They had talked about Jamie, his job, her job, Georgia, and Florida. She couldn’t get him around to the subject of his divorce. Divorce details can say a lot about a person. Abby had described him as a dull stay at home kind of man. If Abby didn’t like him, that was a plus in his favor. Jamie would be the one to ask.

Sandy liked the considered way he looked at her. He had a way of smiling without breaking eye contact even for an instant; looking as if ready to dive right into her eyes. She hoped it was unrehearsed.

His harsh words this morning broke the spell, “Sandy, where are you? Last night you said you intended to tell Moran you located Toby so you could get some kind of a break. I thought you meant later. Aren’t we going to spend the day looking for Jamie?”

“Right now I’m talking to my lawyer about how best to keep Moran at arm’s length. If he decides to throw me back in jail, I can’t help you at all.”

“Frankly, right now, I don’t give a damn about your legal problems. They don’t amount to a hill of beans if Toby has his hands on my daughter.”

“Don’t go crazy on me, Kevin. Like after we had drinks last night, you should have told me you were going to follow me home. I notice that kind of stuff and it makes me nervous. I think it's spooky.”

“What? I didn’t follow you anywhere. I went right to bed.”

“Sorry, I thought it was you. Anyway, I know you’re upset, but I haven’t given up on finding Jamie. We’ll get back on it today.”

“I know...I’m overreacting. Sorry, it’s all I can think of.”

“What’s next? I searched Toby’s house yesterday as well as I could. I called my name out loudly. If Jamie was there, she didn’t hear me.” Or had a gag in her little mouth, Sandy said to herself. “Let’s do this. Triney helped us unofficially by checking on her bike. Maybe he can do something more. Let’s go talk to him today. You know where the county sheriff’s office is. Let me finish up here. I’ll meet you there in one hour.”

Kevin was there waiting when she arrived. As they walked back to Triney’s desk she told him, “Please don’t mention I might go for a deal with Moran. I might need to hold back some good info to trade.”

The detective greeted them. He remembered interviewing Kevin in November when the police were stopping all white SUV's in connection with the Privado Beach case. “I heard Sandy had located you in Georgia. Somehow, I’m surprised to see the two of you together. Guess it’s normal with your daughter missing and all.”

“Of course I’m going to be down here. Since my ex won’t report our daughter missing, I want to do so right now...officially.”

“Are you the custodial parent?” Triney asked.

“No, but I have visitation rights. Jamie is supposed to be with me next weekend.”

Triney shook his head.

“Geez, he’s the father," Sandy said. "He has some rights. If he has visitation rights, then he has legal access to Jamie. What if Kevin shows up at Abby’s house to pick up his daughter and Abby can’t produce her, which she is legally obligated to do? Would you consider his kidnapping report at that time?”

“I’d consider her unavailable, not kidnapped,” the detective said, “Look, what you just said makes sense, however it sounds like a civil matter not criminal. Run it past your own attorney.”

“I’ve something for you on your Abby Olin shooting case.”

“You know I can’t talk to you without your attorney present. So shut up and say goodbye.” He smiled while brushing her away with his hand.

“You remember Abby yelled out the name Toby as she fired?”

“According to you, she did. Detective Pomar didn’t hear her. Now that’s it. I’m violating rules, goodbye.”

“I’ve located him.”

Triney raised his heavy black eyebrows and glanced around the squad room to see who was watching. “Mr. Olin would you please wait out in the lobby. I need to ask Miss Reid something about her being jailed here a few days ago. Would you please excuse us?”

Kevin started to say something to her then shrugged and left them alone.

“You have a knack for making cops bend the rules. At least I don’t want a witness. Make it quick.”

“His last name is Towalski. His father is Humphrey Towalski presently in Okeechobee Correctional. He lives with his scary stepmother, Ruth. I can give you the address.”

“I’m thrilled and delighted.” He faked yawning.

“Look, if you can prove Abby intended to kill Toby, instead of merely shooting Banks accidentally, then you have her for attempted murder. Much better than some hokey prowler manslaughter charge.”

“Attempted murder. I like that. Where’s the evidence?”

“A strong enough motive can be evidence. I think I have it. He and Abby are into something big enough for her to have ten grand cash and Toby’s stepmother an expensive new TV. They’re fighting over illegitimate money from somewhere. Enough money that she wants him dead. Check out Toby Towalski and keep your eyes out for Jamie. You might solve a kidnapping while you’re at it.”

“Have to think about this. Why are you working this angle?”

“To find Jamie for one. Plus Moran is connecting me to Banks, the actual victim, because of old stuff on my computer. If Abby was gunning for Toby instead of Banks, then Moran can’t say I conspired with her to shoot Banks. I’d be in the clear.”

“Give me his address. And thanks...I guess.” The detective put his hand on her arm and leaned closer. “I’d really like to see you back off a bit. Why don’t you leave everything to us? You’re getting in deep here...the shooting and kidnapping. People involved in this kind of stuff shoot guns and hurt people. Possibly, we can get something on Toby now that we have a name and address to work with. In any case, be careful. He now knows you’ve discovered his identity.”

“I’m sure his mother has told him all about me.”

“We never had this conversation about your case. Okay?” They both stood. “If I can ever help with anything else, I hope you’ll call me.” He held out his hand, which she thought a bit unusual, but she shook it and said goodbye.

Kevin was waiting in the lobby when she came out. “Triney’s now with us. I think he’ll check out Toby with kidnapping in mind.”

“Good, at least something’s being done. It’s so great you located Toby.”

“Let’s sit a minute. I’ve an idea on what to do next. By the way, did I mention I enjoyed the conversation with you last night. I noticed you don’t talk much about your divorce.”

“Was that a question?”

She was dying to know what went on. “None of my business. I’m thinking about how it affected Jamie.”

“Devastating for any kid, of course. I’m lucky I ended up with her still on my side. Even though I’m a failure as a parent.”

“Failure?”

“Because I got divorced.”

“Sounds too all encompassing. Marriage is tough.”

“I was attracted to all her sexiness before we were married. I’d never had it so...excessively like that. I was okay with it, but the excitement didn't last for her. Soon she said I didn’t meet her needs and she was tired of trying to meet mine. She felt confined and trapped. She wanted to be 'active'. Said being married wasn’t fun anymore. '”

“When did she say that, at the wedding reception?”

“After two months.”

“Feeling confined and trapped are code words for I want to screw other people,” she suggested.

“I think she reconnected with one of her old boyfriends. It came to a head one night. Out of the blue, she said I ignored her.”

“Of course. The boyfriend is giving her plenty of attention. He gives her the confidence she needs to ditch you. He’s telling her all she wants is to be happy, you’re a loser, and she’s in the right. That successful ploy will continue until he gets tired of screwing her.”

Kevin looked away for a moment and then down at his hands. “He might be Jamie’s real father.”

“What? What?”

“One night we were hurling vicious words back and forth. I told her if she wanted out then that was fine with me. But I wanted custody of Jamie. That’s when she screamed out Jamie wasn’t my daughter.”

“Wow! Let's sit down here a minute. What a way to hurt a guy.”

“After one of our fights she said she stopped taking the pill because we hadn’t had sex for a month. According to her, the only unprotected sex she had during that time was with this Warren. Apparently, she saw him all through our marriage starting within a year of our wedding. She was certain I couldn’t have been the father, nevertheless she had a DNA test just to be sure. Jamie isn’t my child. Warren is.”

“Oh, god, you poor guy. What an evil, nasty, crummy thing for her to say to someone who has been bringing up her child. Your heart must have sunk through the floor when the DNA test confirmed it. Are you certain about the timing of all this.”

“It doesn’t make any difference to me. I don’t want anyone else to be Jamie’s father.”

“Forget about the DNA for a minute. Is there any chance you had sexual relations with Abby around nine months, plus or minus, before she was born?”

“I’ve no idea. All that took place years before the night she hit me with the news. I’ve been all through this. Her biological father isn’t involved emotionally or legally in this. That’s the way I want it. I don’t want him involved in her life.

“When did you participate in the DNA test?”

“I didn’t participate. They tested Warren and got a positive result.”

“For chrissake, Kevin, you’ve had some pre-med education, yet you sound like some ignorant hillbilly. That isn’t how they do it. You must give a sample as well. That’s what paternity testing is all about. You, Abby and Jamie must all three give samples for the DNA to be valid.”

“She didn't say anything to me about that.”

“What about all her unprotected sex with other men during your marriage? Warren might have been her partner now and again for years. I’ll bet there were other men as well. God only knows who all those guys in turn slept with and what you were subsequently exposed to.”

“I definitely was concerned about that part when I found out. I had tests immediately for HIV and a complete STD screen. I’m totally clean.”

“At least you had sense enough to do that. And there’s been no sex with Abby since?”

“Of course not!”

“You don’t trust Abby. Why do you believe her when it comes to the most important thing in your life?”

“I don’t want to know absolutely, definitely, that Jamie isn’t mine.”

“You can’t go through life with your head in the sand. It’s important to know. You have to find out for sure. I think we should dig into this. Tell me about the divorce.”

“She ran around, but it was my fault as well. I could’ve been a better husband. Sort of silly...I got hooked on Rubik’s Cube.”

“Wait, wait, wait. She screwed other men. You tried to solve Rubik’s Cube. You think you both are guilty of destroying the marriage?”

“Usually she would get all dressed up and go out in the evening to meet a girlfriend, but one night we were home watching TV, one of her shows. I just wasn’t that interested and had the cube in my hands twisting it around. It was a challenge for me. She blew up and told me she was tired of seeing that dumb cube and she told me where I could stick it. I suppose there were other times when I could have done something with her. The entire Rubik fascination lasted only a couple of weeks.”

“You found the puzzle more interesting than her.”

“That wouldn’t take much. In the divorce, we agreed she got half of everything, including the house I practically built before the marriage. Later, she agreed to give up custody of Jamie in return for all of the house. I jumped at the deal. I would get Jamie. I could always get another house. Jamie also was in heaven over the arrangement. The kicker came later. Abby told me after the house deal got settled she was going back before the judge and get custody of Jamie on the grounds she had a house for the child and I didn’t.”

“Leaving you with nothing and Jamie taken away.”

“She didn’t really want Jamie. She did it because she knew Jamie and I wanted to be together. So I changed my mind about giving her the house. She’ll still get it, I suppose, but I’m going to fight it.

“So you think you’re a failure as a parent because of all that. You’re going to get her back permanently, I’m sure of it. I’ll help you. I just put it on my to-do list.”

“That’s great but we have to find her first.”

“You absolutely must get a valid DNA paternity test.”

“You said we need Abby’s DNA and Jamie’s DNA as well as mine. Abby would never give a sample and Jamie isn’t around.”

“I’ll get their DNA. You’ve been watching Abby’s house every chance you get haven’t you?”

“Sure, and no sign of Jamie.”

“I’m going to go inside.”

“Inside Abby’s house? You think Jamie’s in there?”

“That’s a long shot although with Abby who knows. The house has never been checked. Is there more than one bathroom?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” He saw she expected an answer. “Okay, there’s a bathroom off the master bedroom and one in the hall.”

“Jamie uses the one in the hall, right?”

“Right. I’m glad we cleared up the bathroom layout. What are you up to?”

“I can obtain DNA samples from their toothbrushes. We’re going to continue searching for Jamie while waiting for the test results. I want to nose around in her house anyway. Stuff on her computer. Messages on her answering machine. An address book. Something lying around. Anything that might lead us to Jamie.”

“You know she has a gun?”

“The cops took it. At least they took one gun—she may have another. If you phoned her, say tonight, could you get her out of the house for an hour? I’m not certain just how I’ll get in. I can probably do it. Often there’s an unlocked window or something.”

"Why don’t I just tell you where the backdoor key is hidden?”

“That’s too simple. More fun to break a window. I’m kidding...where’s the key?”

“In the hanging flower pot on the back porch. She leaves it there for Jamie. How can I lure Abby out of the house?”

“Make up something about visitation or custody. Tell her there’s some problem. Will that work? Phone her now.”

She waited while he phoned Abby. He began nodding his head. After a few minutes, he flipped his phone shut and smiled. “No problem. Seven tonight. She was surprised. She’s coming over to the Ramada. I told her I’d buy her dinner. She thinks I want to get her in bed.”

“Do you? Hey, just once more for old time’s sake?”

“I’ve already drunk too much water from that poisoned well.”

Chapter Fifteen

Shortly before seven that evening, Sandy parked down the block and watched as Abby left her house and backed out of the driveway. When her car was out of sight, Sandy pulled far up the driveway so her car wasn’t visible from the street.

On the back porch, she found the key in the hanging flowerpot. She unlocked the door and stepped inside the kitchen. It was growing dark outside. A yard light mounted on the garage illuminated the rooms at the back of the house. She could see with no problem. She walked through the small house directly to the bathrooms. An electric toothbrush was in its stand in the master bathroom. She snapped the brush out of the end and wrapped it in the little square of clean paper she’d brought. In the hall bathroom, she found a small brush with Yogi Bear for a handle. She wrapped it also and stuffed both deep into the pocket of her jeans. Next, she checked the bedrooms, opening each closet thinking how satisfying it’d be to find Jamie there gagged and pleading with wide eyes.

That’s when she heard something. Something from the kitchen. Like the click of a closing door. Had she locked the back door after she came in? No, she wanted it open for a fast getaway. She waited there in the hall. Quiet. Nothing. The sound had possibly come from outside. She stepped softly across to the dining room window to look out at her car. A chill raced along her spine. Oh Christ, now a white SUV was parked in the driveway.

She heard shuffling and a loud grunt behind her. She started to turn. Some cloth, it felt like a dishtowel, was flipped over her head and pulled hard around her neck. Definitely someone strong behind her. She jerked back against him. Tried to scream. The towel twisted tighter around her neck. She choked and tried to get her fingers under the towel. Too tight. She flayed about trying reach back to find his face with her hand. He pulled harder. All she could do was to kick and twist and claw at the towel around her throat. She felt faint. Could no longer struggle. She felt warm. Dizzy. And an increasing blackness.

The man let her limp body fall to the floor. He took the towel from her neck and used it to tie her wrists together behind her. He turned her over onto her back lying awkwardly on her tied hands. He spread her legs and ran his hands over her jeans feeling her thighs. He straddled her, sitting on her legs with his knees on the floor.

She moved. She was alive.

“Sandy...that your name?” His voice was low, almost as though talking only to himself. “Mother told me about you. Been watching you. What you doing here?”

It had to be Toby. She gasped and tried to catch her breath. All she could do was whisper, “Abby went to the store. Gave me the key. She’ll be back any minute. You’re breaking my arms, you bastard. Get off me.”

“I hope they’re not broken. I know I’m heavy on you, but think I’ll stay right here on your legs so you don’t start kicking.”

“Let me sit up.” She tried to think. This is Toby. This is the son. Evidently, he’s afraid of his stepmother. Perhaps afraid of all women. She gave it a try, “Toby, let me get on that couch this very minute!”

“Of course, the couch. Would be better. Sorry, didn’t think of that.” He helped her up and over to the couch. She was slightly dizzy and fell back hard on the cushions, her hands still bound behind her. He took a dining room chair and positioned it directly in front of her. He sat with her knees clamped between his.

“Maybe I should tie her feet together,” he muttered under his breath. “You know what I need? Something in case she starts screaming. A dishcloth from the kitchen. Just go ahead and stuff it in her mouth, I guess.”

She shook her head fiercely. “Don’t gag me. I won’t scream.”

“Of course, you’re going to say that.” He reached into his pocket. He unfolded a knife. The blade was slightly curved with an angry serrated edge on one side.

She saw the glint of steel in the growing darkness. “You don’t need a knife either.” She tried to keep her voice calm. The dark traces of dried blood on the knife paralyzed her for an instant. She hoped he hadn’t noticed.

“This is my hog knife, to gut wild hogs. Hogs are smart you know that? They squirm around and make a lot of noise at first, trying to get away. Eventually they give up and quiet down. Then I can take my time with them. They just lie there whimpering which I guess is a hog’s way of crying. The first time it was me who gave up. I learned you have to keep on until they realize struggling won’t do them any good. They might as well relax. I'm going to do what I want with them. You like knives? Some people are really scared of knives.” He held it up and turned it so the long blade caught the light. “I keep this super sharp. Getting all the blood off is a real bitch.”

“I’m not scared of your stupid knife. Now put it away. If you need it, you can always pull it out.” In fact, she was more afraid of the dishtowel. He had nearly strangled her with it. Another five seconds would have done it. He had relaxed his grip on the towel just in time. Was it a fluke that he let go when he did, or did he in fact know what he was doing?

“I don’t get why you’re talking like this. Giving me orders. I’ve got the knife and you’re tied up.”

“You’re right Toby. You’re the man. You’re in control. Why don’t you untie my hands? You’ve got me trapped. I can’t go anywhere. You’re too strong for me.”

“You sound real corny.”

“Look, Toby, we started off wrong. We haven’t really met. You seem like a nice enough guy.” She forced a nice smile. “Let’s go where we can get comfortable and really get to know each other.”

“Yeah, we could do that, if I was dumb as pie dough. That’s what mother says, dumb as pie dough. But if you’re going to act as if everything’s cool then you won’t mind if I yank your shirt up and check out what you got.”

Her impulse was to struggle, but struggling would confirm his being in control. She just fiercely glared at him. “Don’t you dare touch me.”

“Now there you go. What’s this don’t you dare touch me, shit? I have the knife. You know, I could force you to take off all your clothes. You’d be sitting there naked and you wouldn’t be hiding stuff like you girls do. You saying my knife isn’t enough. I also need permission to touch you?”

“That’s right, if you don’t have my permission, it would be a criminal act to touch me. Have you been doing many criminal acts, Toby?

“I’ve done some pretty weird shit.”

“By weird shit, do you mean illegal acts or just stuff that was wrong?”

“When I think of wrong I just think of black. Black smoke all full in my head. Wrong is black and bad. I don’t know what else about it. What if I thought about a lot of terrible things? And I did some of them because I liked doing them. Does that make me bad?”

“You can think about a lot of terrible things and that’s normal. There’s exciting things you can do without hurting other people. I think you know the difference.”

“I like to look at pictures of naked women. That’s exciting and doesn’t hurt other people. You saying that don’t make me bad?”

“No, that’s normal. You’re wired to like pictures of naked women. Males are made that way. That’s what keeps the species going.” She wanted the words back immediately. That bit of anthropology only confused him. How senseless to have said it; she was trying to empathize enough to influence him. She tried to recover, “The trick is to recognize the feeling, realize it’s normal, and move on to something constructive.”

“No, the trick is to find more pictures. Anyway, you’re wrong. I happen to know it’s bad to look at dirty pictures. Everyone knows that. And you know it too. You’re trying to mess with my head. I know what you’re trying to do right now. Saw it on TV. Don’t you love those movies where the bad guy is about to attack the hot girl and she’s in a corner all shook. She’s got this skirt that’s kind of up, you know. Too bad you have on jeans. Anyway, he’s drooling and looking at her with those funny eyes they can make bad people have in the movies. And she tries to keep him talking because there’s scissors or something just out of reach she can stab him with if only she can keep him distracted until she can get it. She tries to get in his head to confuse him and give her time. You know what I’m saying?”

He seemed a bit smarter than she’d expected. Moron #2 his stepmother had called him. She didn’t think for a moment he was brainless. “Tell me if Jamie is okay.”

“I don’t really know if she’s okay.”

“But she’s alive, isn’t she? At least tell me if she’s alive.”

“I don’t want to talk about her now. Maybe I will after we’ve gotten acquainted.”

“So, that’s it. I’m supposed to make a trade with you.”

“Don’t know what you mean by that. I just don’t want to talk about the kid.”

“Just tell me, is she alive?”

“This is like that movie where the beautiful girl is helpless, but she’s really smart, see. And she tries to explain to the bad guy it’s going down because he hates his mother. She keeps at him until at the end he gets all shook and like comes all apart. You’d be good doing that. Except I already know I hate my stepmother and she hates me. That’s not news. Don’t know my real mother guess I hate her too.”

This wasn’t good, she knew. He spoke more forcefully and now made eye contact. Becoming confident. Losing his fear of her. No question he was dangerous, the way he came in and attacked her. She was uncertain how to handle him. She didn’t know which button to push and which to avoid. She didn’t want him thinking about naked women that was certain. It was quite possible nothing she did would deter him from what he had in mind. She tried to put him back on the defensive. “You ever make it with a consenting woman?”

“There have been girls.”

“Name someone.”

“Well...there’s Crystal. She’ll do anything I want and she’s always around. Keeps her mouth shut, too. And I don’t have to get her hot. If you can get a girl hot, then she’ll do anything. You know about that? That’s what the guys say.”

“You mean the guys in the eighth grade?” Perhaps treating him as a juvenile was her best tactic. It was difficult for her to imagine him functioning socially in the adult world. “You’ve had girlfriends. Didn’t you go out with Abby?”

“Sure, but I hardly ever find anyone like that. I don’t have the looks and never know what to say to a girl. This right here might be the longest conversation I’ve ever had with a girl. I say hello to them and they tell me to fuck off. Just like that, and all I say is hello. If I could get them hot, they wouldn’t say that.”

“It’s not fair for a woman to say that to you if you’re being polite. Tell me about Jamie. Is she alive?”

“Other guys talk women into bed all the time. I see some guy talking to a girl and the next day he tells me, sure she was really good stuff. How do they do that? I could never do that. That’s what I liked about Abby. Didn’t have to talk. We just drank ourselves stupid. Then after a while she just said okay, I’m ready, let’s go fuck. Didn’t have to say anything to turn her on, didn’t have to worry about saying something that was gonna turn her off. But then she changed her mind and didn’t want to do it. I thought I had something going, but then I screwed up the money thing.”

“What money thing?”

No answer. He seemed to be studying the buttons on her blouse.

His girlfriend talk sounded juvenile and didn’t fit in with his aggressiveness in putting her in this position. She thought something was in his mind encouraging him. Control over her was the objective, but some fantasy had inspired him to corner her here. Next came the surprise.

“I can already tell you don’t have half the boobs that stripper had.”

“Did you go to a club and watch a stripper, Toby?”

“The paper said she was one of those strippers. She had the body.”

Then it clicked. What was that beach...Privado? The incident. What was it...about a stripper? Oh, god. Detective Triney had told her about it and she immediately filed it away under horrible but irrelevant. Nothing to do with the Banks shooting or the kidnapping. Not her concern. Some creep molesting a corpse. Not a crime she particularly wanted in her memory. She had her own problems and none of them had any tie-in to a naked body found on a beach. No connection whatever—unless the creep was someone she knew. No connection until now. A flow of reality made her tremble.

Did Toby see the body on Privado Beach? Or was he merely inspired by newspaper accounts? “So you read about the stripper in the paper?”

“I knew it’d be wrong, but her body was right there. It practically glowed. Something to see, but you don’t get that. I told you I liked naked women and you just said, hey no problem.”

Now she began to feel sick. Was he the one? Did he strangle the woman with something big and soft like a beach towel that left no marks, and fooled the medical examiner into thinking she had innocently choked because she had traces of pretzel in her mouth? “We really need to talk about this,” she said. “Why don’t you tell me about it?”

“Just lying there like she was sleeping.”

Perhaps he has been thinking about another silent body since the beach incident. A passive woman he can control. The possibility of her being killed and raped was real. A man capable of all that might be sitting there before her. She’s already helpless, what happens next, and what after that. Even if he didn’t kill her first, would he rape her and then just walk away—knowing that she knows who he is and would tell his stepmother?

“She couldn’t yell at me or make fun of me, or tell me to fuck off.”

Was she his second opportunity? Would he kill her first to relive the beach episode? That was crazy. Yet why was he here facing her with a knife. All he had to do was take a dishtowel and twist it around her neck again. She’d be unconscious in seconds, dead in minutes. Asphyxiated like the woman on the beach. Next, he’d lay waste to her and walk away.

“Good to have a girl powerless. Nice and quiet like she’s sleeping—except you can touch her all you want.”

She shuddered recognizing what this man was capable of. She had to keep her mind focused. She had to keep thinking. But her imagination began to overcome her. Her mind slipped off into panic. She couldn’t help it. She didn’t want to die. In horror she blurted out, “How many women have you raped?”

It just came out. She wasn’t trying to psych him out now. She wasn’t thinking about how to divert his attention. She was thinking about dying. Absolutely a mistake having him think about his victims, but she was terrified and had to know.

She repeated, “How many women have you raped?” She couldn’t help the quiver in her voice.

“Why are you jumping into that? You see, I can’t talk to girls. We don’t connect. What do you talk about with girls? I mean, I’ve got my sex stuff and she’s got her sex stuff. How can I just ignore that? What am I supposed to say? I held a girl’s hand once walking home from school. I thought about what she was hiding, but I didn’t say anything. You’ve got no idea what I’m talking about, do you.”

She tried to calm herself down. Think Sandy, think. Try not to say anything that would set him off. “I’m sorry, Toby. You’re right. I’ll talk to you. Do you want to talk about getting along with women?” Was that another mistake? Talking about women would get him more excited. The conversation was going around in a circle. What else is there to talk about? Sex is why he’s here.

“I’ve never raped anyone. Would I do it if nobody would find out and nothing would happen to me? Nothing bad, nothing at all?” He opened his eyes wide. “You bet I would.”

As disgusting as that sounded, he did seem to recognize guilt. It gave her a little opening. “Something bad would happen to you. Something bad would definitely happen to you. Everyone would know and you’d go to prison like your father. They’d never let you out. Everyone there would hate you. You know the worst part? You’d have to face your stepmother and you know what she’d do.”

He leaned back in the chair thinking about that. “Maybe it’d be like an invading army after conquering a village. I saw that on TV. They just grab any woman who happens to be around. Nobody’s to stop them. I guess men will do it if there’s no penalty. Most guys anyway, under the right circumstances. And you say that’s normal?”

“No, I didn’t say that.” Keep him talking, she thought. Talking about anything. Maybe Abby will come back home, maybe the phone will ring, maybe a huge meteor will crash into the house. Anything, something, everything. Possibly the guilt thing would work. “But you did rape. How can you live with yourself after what you did that night on the beach? I guess you figured you lucked out. Like finders keepers. Look what I found, guys, a helpless woman who can’t stop me.”

“Hey, I didn’t take her there. I didn’t kill her.”

“Yeah right, and you didn’t touch her body.”

“At first, I didn’t intend to do anything at all. Then I thought it wouldn’t be so wrong to just touch her. So, I shook her a little, like trying to see if she was really dead. She was soft and warm. I didn’t expect that. I thought she’d be cold and hard. She felt nice. The wind was slowly moving her hair. That seemed weird like at any moment she’d open her eyes and yell at me. Then I thought, hey, it’s just her body there. She wasn’t around to mind.”

“It’s not permitted. We’re evolved humans. We’re better than that. A dead body is off limits.”

“I didn’t do it, and nobody saw me do it.”

She didn’t know what that meant. “It’s not allowed. Do you know that?”

“Stop it. I didn’t chuck it in her!”

“Sure you didn’t. You knew she was forbidden, but there she was like low-hanging fruit.”

“I don’t know what that means. I know there wasn’t any little man on my shoulder telling me it was fucking wrong.”

“He should have shouted you’re a fucking creep.”

“I was real excited looking down at her. Getting dark by then, about like it is here now. I could see her stretched out there and she was every girl I’ve ever wanted to touch. All of them right there. My whole body throbbed. I couldn’t stop...you know...I juiced out just looking at her. Not as good as the real thing, but still exciting. After doing that, I felt bad and was afraid someone would know what happened so I’d better get out of there fast. After I’d driven away and no one saw me, I thought, wow, was she really spread out there like that? I started feeling good like everything was okay. I got excited again and that’s when I thought about going back.”

“You shouldn’t have gone back, Toby, that was wrong. You knew it was wrong. That’s why you feel so bad about what you did. You must let me go, so you’ll start feeling good again.”

“Wish I could start over with all of it. You should do things when you have the chance. Smart guys don’t pass up something handed to them.”

Which was it? Did he feel guilty because he did it, or regret not taking advantage of his chance? “Toby, did you go back or didn’t you?”

He wasn’t listening. The fantasy was still in his head. After a moment he continued, “You know the movie I really like. Totally cool. I have it at home. Got it from a guy. I watch it on my computer. It’s about this guy he’s in this club, see? He starts talking to this super hot girl. When she’s not looking, he puts this pill in her drink. This hot-looking girl’s drink at the bar. They don’t tell you what the pill is, but I got it right away. You get it? Isn’t that cool? And they tease you about whether she’s really going to drink it. You know, she puts it to her lips and something interrupts her and she sets it back down. They do that a couple times. Every time I watch I’m yelling, drink it baby, drink it! Eventually, she does drink it. Then he takes her home. She’s out of it so he can do anything he wants.”

“Like the woman on the beach.”

“Exactly. But that’s all they showed. Instead of really showing something, they fade out. The rest of the movie totally sucked. I never play the rest of it. Like it was some big deal in the girl’s life and she’s like in shock or something for the rest of her life. Always has to take some kind of medicine. That’s what the movie was supposedly all about. I didn’t get all that. Sure, I suppose it wasn’t cool for her, but messed up for the rest of her life...gimme a break. I guess they have to put in that shit. Sometimes I dream about getting some of those pills. I’d pay a million dollars for just one of them. Once I got that pill in my hand, I’d start looking for the hottest girl in the world. Magic fucking pills, huh?”

Talking about the movie had excited him. She had watched his expression change. Now he seemed unconcerned with how she felt sitting there or how she responded. He no longer saw her as a person, just a bundle of female goodies sitting before him. Like he said, the bad guys in the movies always have a mad gleam in their eyes. Toby now had that look. The look that said, smart guys don’t pass up something handed to them. Now frowning. Now breathing heavily. His eyes all over her, looking straight through her clothes. What was his next move? She stammered, “Tell me about another good movie, Toby.”

One of his hands was now at his crotch adjusting himself. Her legs were still under his chair. Maybe there’s enough room for her to bring her legs up together and smash him in the groin. What would that do? Stopping him for a few minutes wouldn’t be enough. Just make him angry. It’d have to be viciously hard to disable him long enough for her to get away.

Then he scooted his chair closer. No way could she get her legs out now. His eyes narrowed. One hand went back to squeezing the bulge in his crotch. With the other hand, he reached out and fumbled around her breasts. She had expected that eventually, but it still surprised her and she flinched. He was no longer thinking with his brain. He was excited and now had enough nerve. This was it. She was there for the taking.

Is this what it’s like when you know you’re going to die? She imagined them calling Triney to investigate. He’d stand there with his notebook looking down at her wasted body outlined in chalk, and in a loud voice he’d vow to all the police personnel now busy at the scene of her death that he was going to get the bastard that did it.

No! It’s not going to be like that. She knew she was smarter than this. At that moment, a wild thought flashed across her mind. In a sudden burst she screamed at Toby, “You little moron, you dumb fucking moron! You’re just as goddamn stupid as your moron father!”

He jerked back instantly. He cringed down in the chair. Started trembling. Closed his eyes tightly. He raised his arms to protect his head.

After a minute, he lowered his arms slowly. Still shaking. His face red. His forehead moist with sweat. “Get up,” he ordered.

“What are we doing?”

“We’re leaving.”

She didn’t like this. She wasn’t going to get into his vehicle. He’d have to strangle her right here. “Where?”

He kicked the chair away and pulled her to her feet.

“For chrissake, Toby, untie me. We’ll walk out of here and I’ll forget the whole thing. You can go home and watch that movie again.”

He was silent.

“You’re not taking me to the beach, Toby. Get that out of your head. I won’t go!”

He pushed her ahead of him walking through the dark kitchen and out on to the back porch. She stopped abruptly at the edge of the porch steps.

He came up beside her. “Go on, don’t stop.”

She yelled, “My feet!”

When he looked down, she threw her entire weight against him and he stumbled backward off the porch. She jumped off the steps. She started running down the driveway her arms still tied behind her. If she could at least get to the street, she could start screaming. She heard his footsteps on the gravel behind her. He was repeating her name. He caught her. She felt the yank as he grabbed the back of her shirt. He jerked her backwards down hard to the gravel. She screamed. She kicked at him and squirmed around trying to maneuver her tied hands under her feet to get them in front of her.

“Sandy, I can...,” he sounded strangely calm.

That’s when she saw the flash of light and heard the loud pop. Too loud and much too close. Her ears rang. Something warm and sticky sprayed across her face. He staggered and leaned against the side of his vehicle. She stared as his face morphed into a weird contorted mask. His heavy limp body fell forward across her legs. His blood blossomed out wet across his shirt and dripped down on her legs.

Chapter Sixteen

Sandy didn’t move, at least not at first. Was another shot coming? She stayed curled up in the driveway, her shoulder against the SUV’s rear tire. Blood dripped from Toby’s lifeless body down across her legs and formed rivulets on the gravel. She was relieved when she began to hear voices, then some yelling, then in the distance the wonderful wail of a siren.

She moved enough to look down at Toby. Harmless now. A confused and dangerous young man who now would never master his demons. She had survived. She was alive. She stopped shivering and let out a deep breath. She put her head down on the gravel and began to cry.

A hand touched her shoulder. She jumped. The feeling of sudden terror surged through her. She screamed out, “Someone help me!”

The man crouched beside her. “Sandy...it’s Kevin.”

She stared at him, blinked her eyes. “What did you do?”

“I just pulled up. Are you hurt? Looks like you’re legs are bleeding. Who’s that guy? He’s really bleeding.” Kevin untied her hands and then moved over to the body and placed two fingers behind Toby’s earlobe. “He’s dead. You’re not bleeding. I think that’s his blood on you. He’s been shot. Did you shoot him, Sandy?”

“Kevin, what are you doing here?”

Flickers of blue and red lights grew stronger until broad sweeps of revolving lights splashed across the scene. A crowd of the curious collected in the street. They gathered in excited clusters trading their guesses about what had happened.

“Are you okay? Can you move both arms and legs?”

She nodded.

All the uproar, sirens, and flashing lights were a repeat of the scene a few days earlier when Abby shot Bruce Banks at that exact same house. Once again, the police radios were squawking things indecipherable. Again, deputies were again encircling the area with yellow barrier tape.

A paramedic arrived and pronounced Toby dead, then moved over to Sandy and started wiping the blood splatter from her face. Kevin stayed beside her.

“My God, Sandy, what happened here? Is that the Toby guy? Did you go inside? Did you find anything about Jamie?”

“What are you doing here?”

“Abby showed up at the hotel for dinner, but was suspicious. Very defensive, just waiting for me to set her off. When I mentioned Jamie, she yelled something about sick of hearing about kidnapping and stormed off. I called you immediately, left a message on your phone. Afraid she was heading right back here, I tried to get here first to warn you.”

She recognized Triney’s unmarked vehicle pulling up and parking. A deputy hurried over to him and started gesturing explaining the scene. He pointed over at Sandy and Kevin.

She was rubbing her bruised wrists when Triney walked over. “You need medical attention, Sandy?”

She shook her head.

“So what happened? Do you know who shot him?”

“That’s Toby Towalski lying there, the guy we were looking for. I don’t know who shot him.” She didn’t want to admit being in Abby’s house illegally. She could say that she went to confront Abby about the kidnapping when Toby suddenly intercepted her, forced her inside, and threatened her. Toby wasn’t in any position to contradict her. No, that was phony and she didn’t want to lie to him. Maybe he wouldn’t ask too many questions. Maybe he wasn’t too concerned with that angle. The info Toby had divulged concerned Privado Beach, which was a city police case. Triney’s concern would be who shot Toby out here in his county territory.

“Why are you here?”

“I came here looking for Jamie. Toby must have followed me.” That much was true, but misleading. He appeared to believe her but she couldn’t go on. They were beginning to build a rapport; she couldn’t lie. The good part of all this was she was still alive; the bad part was she’d been discovered rummaging illegally through Abby’s house. She’d have to take her lumps for that.

“Triney, here’s how it went. Abby wasn’t home. The place was dark and empty. I knew where the key was hidden. I entered and was still inside when Toby came in after me. He threatened me with a knife. Someone shot him as I was trying to run away.”

He held a steady look at Kevin. “And what were you doing while this was going on?”

“I didn’t see anything. It was all over when I drove up.”

“Okay. Sandy you go wait in my vehicle. I’ll be over there in a minute after I talk to Kevin.”

The smart detective was going to get their statements separately so he could compare statements. She was glad she’d told the truth. She walked over and sat in the front seat of Triney’s vehicle.

She remembered turning off her phone when she went in the house. She reached in her pocket for her phone and was surprised to feel the two wrapped toothbrushes. She examined the drying blood splotches on the lower legs of her jeans. Fortunately, the splatter hadn’t reached her pocket. She’d forgotten about the toothbrushes, but they were not contaminated. She pulled out her phone. There was a missed voice mail from Kevin. She clicked on it: Sorry about Abby tonight. She wouldn’t stay away for dinner with me. Couldn’t keep her here. I hope you can get out of her house before she comes back.

Such a foolhardy way of obtaining DNA. Such a reckless way to search for Jamie. She couldn’t believe she had entered someone else’s house as casually as she had. She was preoccupied with locating Jamie and felt so cocky when she got the idea: go in, look around, a piece of cake. She would have to face the consequences, and there would be consequences.

Although the offense might seem minor, in her case it would be sufficient for Moran to arrest and jail her. She was already out on bail for the conspiracy murder charge. She realized this violation would be enough for Moran to revoke all bail for the duration of Abby’s trial. This could mean confinement for two or three years. So there goes law school.

In addition, Abby would bring charges against her as soon as she found out. And when they processed her at the jail they would empty her pockets and find two stolen toothbrushes. They could add petty larceny; she had to smile at that. She had told herself she was looking for Jamie. Going in that house had to be the dumbest thing in her lifetime. It takes only one “You dumbass” to wipe out years of “You clever girl.”

Through the windshield, she could see Toby’s body being zipped into a black bag and carried off. Someone should call his stepmother. Sandy guessed she’d find out soon enough. Triney was still talking with Kevin and writing notes on a small pad.

She felt a little better now. After the strain of having her life threatened, and having Toby die across her legs, it was a relief to sit in the safety of the detective’s car. He would start by scolding her for being a damn fool entering the house. She could take that. He’d have to report it.

Triney came back over and slid in behind the wheel. “You still okay?”

She nodded.

“First, I need your version of why Kevin Olin was here.”

“He knew I’d be here. That was our plan. He was to keep Abby away while I went in the house and searched for anything that might lead to Jamie. When Abby left him unexpectedly, he thought she might head back here so he tried to get here to warn me.”

“So Abby was headed back here?”

“I don’t think Kevin knew where she was headed. But he didn’t want me caught inside. After the shooting, I was lying in the driveway with the body. Kevin was the first person I saw after that.”

“Did you see or hear anyone after you heard the shot? Any footsteps, any talking, any car driving away?”

She shook her head.

“Did you see Kevin drive up?”

“No, and he didn’t act as if he had heard the shot or knew what happened. Said he just drove up.”

He continued with the interrogation, including what Toby had to say about Privado Beach. He didn’t seem unusually concerned. It all seemed routine and she was thankful for that. It took some time before he stopped writing, apparently satisfied. Finally, he clipped the ballpoint back in his pocket. “Okay you’re free to go.”

She was surprised. “What about the other? You didn’t say anything.” At no time had he alluded to her being in the house illegally.

“What other?”

She folded her arms across her chest. “My breaking and entering. Or getting the key and entering.”

“I don’t see any violation there. The owner of the house gave you permission to enter and told you where to find the key.”

“What? Kevin told me the judge ordered the house transferred to Abby.”

“Yes, he did, but Kevin appealed the ruling and as of right now the deed technically is still in his name. Abby doesn’t have any tenant rights as she isn’t paying rent and there’s no tenancy agreement between them. I’ll make that clear in my report, so you don’t have any problem.” The detective flipped his notebook closed. “That’s it Sugar. I’m glad you’re okay. Sorry you got the hell scared out of you. Do you need a ride home or anything?”

Chapter Seventeen

She had just lived through the worst day of her life. And there were other reasons Sandy slept in the next morning. It was late when Triney excused her from the Toby shooting scene. Later still when she eventually fell asleep. All topped off by a widescreen HD nightmare featuring Toby Towalski. She was on Abby’s couch stripped bare. He was leaning back in his chair with his legs crossed comfortably and sipping a cup of tea with his little finger sticking out. Toward morning, she got enough of it out of her mind to at last fall asleep.

Now it was almost noon. The shower last night was to wash off Toby. The one this morning was routine. Afterward she phoned Chip. He came right over.

She sat with her coffee and bowl of Special K at a card table in the center of her studio apartment. Chip was settled a few feet away in Sandy’s comfy reading spot: a soft-leather armchair with a tarnished-brass floor lamp capable of perfect over the left shoulder light, and a side table to place her tea.

The single room served as her living room, dining room, workstation, and kitchen. The kitchen hid behind folding doors along one closet-like wall. Positioned along the opposite wall was her study desk, wired for her laptop, and two small bookcases. The bathroom was separate. A tiny alcove held her twin-sized bed.

She once remarked she felt comfy cozy there and would hate to leave the place behind when she became rich from her first over-the-top lawsuit. Chip replied she didn’t have to leave it behind; it was so small she could have it bronzed and take it with her. One nice feature of the apartment, he said, was the bathtub wasn’t in the kitchen.

Now he said, “I heard about a shooting last night out in the county, however I didn’t know you were involved. Triney called me after it was all over and said you got home all right. Did you get my voice mail about calling me if you needed anything?”

She nodded. “I guess Triney was worried about me. Driving home, I saw him back there behind me. I always know when someone’s following me, even if I’m dead tired.”

He got up and poured himself a mug of coffee. “I don’t know why you wanted to go in Abby’s house, but it was a really bad idea.”

“Kevin got Abby out of her house last night so I could go in and look around.” She told Chip about the encounter with Toby Towalski inside the house.

“Did he touch you?”

“I’ve been groped worse on a Philadelphia subway.”

“I’m so sorry you suffered all that.” The police radio on his belt squawked and he turned it down. “Who shot him? Who did you that big favor?”

“We know Abby wanted Toby dead because she already tried to shoot him once. Maybe she showed up with a gun.”

“Or someone else came along who either wanted him dead or you alive.”

“If the shooter hadn’t saved me, Toby might have gotten me, kicking and screaming, or maybe unconscious, into his van. I’m still not certain whether he wanted to rape me before or after he killed me, or not at all.”

“He came after you with a knife. That’s a clue.” He sipped his coffee and rested the mug on the side table. “So this is about the kidnapping.”

“I couldn’t get him to talk about Jamie. His comments to me were all inherently sexual about the Privado Beach body.”

That stopped him. “Privado Beach? How do you know about Privado Beach?”

“Triney told me. The late Mr. Towalski admitted he was on the beach that night.”

“That guy, on the beach? You’ve never said anything about that case to me. Why were you discussing it with a sheriff’s detective? That’s a city case. I don’t get the connection.”

“Relax Chip. Don’t take it personally. We were talking about Kevin Olin and Triney remembered the cops stopped him two months ago at the time of the Privado case because he had a white SUV. So Triney explained about Privado Beach. But Kevin checked out okay back then. That’s all. Just a coincidence.”

“How about that, Privado Beach? This is the first break we’ve had. It’s a minor case but it bugged all of us. Now we know Towalski was on the beach and penetrated the body. Case closed.”

“He didn’t exactly admit to that. But he does have a white SUV.”

“Did Toby know the woman? He take her there?”

“The guy I should have asked is now dead. But I don’t think so. He wasn’t cool enough to connect with a woman like that. She wouldn’t have bothered with him. All I know for certain is he was there. Nothing about how the woman got there, or who else came and went that night. Stupid me didn’t think fast enough to ask. He spoke of trying to decide whether to rape her. So he was alone at that point.”

“Did he undress the body?”

“Don’t think so. Said he was looking down at the body, I assumed he meant a naked body because he was all excited and prematured before he even touched her. So he leaves. The body’s still there unmolested. The necrophile must have come along later.”

“You really believe he just walked away. Didn’t even cop a feel. Doesn’t ring true. My theory fits better and doesn’t require a delinquent exercising heroic self-control and a necrophile strolling by later. Remember, Sherlock, Toby’s young. He’d be ready to go again in ten minutes.”

“Gee, I didn’t know that. It takes you over an hour to recover.” She couldn’t resist.

He ignored the crack. “Our original theory was she’s there alone and innocently chokes. The attacker comes along and unexpectedly discovers her body. Now I’m thinking Toby attacked the body. In the first place, he most likely lied to you about everything. He’s already there. No one is around. He gets excited and can’t resist. He touches her and one impulse leads to another. It just seems unlikely that some other person not only finds her, but is inclined to assault her.”

“Do you consider the beach the primary scene?”

“Yes, we believe she choked, died, and was assaulted there.”

“She wouldn’t have been taken to the beach naked and dead. So either she stripped to swim or someone stripped her after she choked. Either way, where’s her clothing? Where’s the beach towel? Where’s the suntan lotion? No clothing left around bothers me. It might be a key to something. Why would the attacker take her clothes? Is Privado one of those nudie beaches?”

“No, what are you thinking?”

“I think she undressed in a car and she left her clothes in there. Maybe she didn’t have a swimsuit. What’s the layout of the beach? Could she have run bare assed from the car to the beach?”

“Possibly. The parking area itself isn’t obvious from the road, although someone on the highway could see a car or a person if they looked over. Maybe a stripper wouldn’t care. But you’d think she’d want something to cover up with in case someone else showed up, like a Boy Scout troop.”

“All the while eating a pretzel.”

“We don’t know if she came to use the beach or was just passing by, or was taken there involuntarily in some manner.”

“I’d guess voluntarily if she’s munching on a pretzel.”

“Soft pretzel or bagel. M.E. went with pretzel because of mustard and salt traces.”

“That led to showing her picture in area stores selling pretzels, I imagine.”

“Some of that. But there are limits. Remember this isn’t murder, only a felony-two abuse.”

“Any chance it was murder? Someone intentionally strangled her? I mean the tinniest little chance at all. And don’t give me the no obvious bruises on her neck routine.”

“The experts considered all of that.”

“What if she ate the pretzel earlier or was eating it when the guy strangles her with a large fluffy beach towel?”

“There would be signs.”

“I was choked last night with a dishtowel and passed out. Do you see any marks on my throat?”

“No, but you might have internal bruising, or something. I’m not an expert.”

“Triney said the next morning they had a tip from a nearby property owner. He’d seen a white SUV parked there late that night. What time was that?”

“The neighbor wasn't certain because he had driven past that spot twice that night. Once after dinner when he drove to a party and again later coming home around midnight.”

“Toby said it was getting dark, but he could still see the body. In other words, it was dusk. He wouldn’t dare hang around until midnight. But if the neighbor saw a white vehicle early, it could have been his."

"And if the neighbor saw the vehicle late, it could have been Kevin Olin's."

"Not necessarily. We are aware of only two owners of white SUV's. There are plenty of others around. You know how eyewitnesses are notoriously unreliable. Perhaps, the neighbor thought he saw a white vehicle, thought it was that beach, that time, and that night."

"No, Toby is the simplest answer. The simplest answer is usually the correct one. He was there, that says it all.”

Sandy smiled and said, “I just studied that in my textbook on evidence—Lex parsimoniae—the simplest explanation is usually the correct one.”

“Well then apply your studies. He's preoccupied with sex and he attacked you. Obviously, he’s capable of committing such an offense. I like him for this.”

“Chip, your theory still doesn’t answer the question of how she got there in the first place. She didn’t drive herself because no car was left at the scene. No halfway sensible woman would get in a car with Toby. Someone other than him took her there. I wish I’d found out more about what happened on that beach, but I was busy trying to stall him, psych him out, or whatever it was I was doing.”

“Surviving is what you were doing. You were lucky. If he’d attacked you inside, you wouldn’t have been saved by some shooter outside. I’m telling you, you need to knock off all your nosing around.”

“I screwed it all up, saying the wrong thing at the wrong time.”

“However you handled it, you got out of there. We’ll want a statement from you on what he told you. I’ll set it up.”

“Can’t you wait on telling the chief? If I’ve valuable information about that old case, maybe I can trade it to Moran for a break on my charges.”

“Sorry, can’t hold it back. He knows about the shooting last night and it ties into the old beach case. It’s evidence. Remember, he’s watching both of us. I’ll hold off until tomorrow. You’ll still be able to trade the info. Although he might not consider any of it valuable enough to drop your charge.

“I’m going to study up on the case this afternoon and tomorrow I’m going down to Jensen Beach and see Congressman Kidde.”

“Freddy Kidde? What’s he got to do with this?”

“Maybe nothing. I believe he’s part of a triangle. Abby has ten grand and Toby’s mother has an expensive TV. You can bet they didn’t suddenly have all that cash honestly. There must be serious money involved if Abby tried to kill Toby last week to get him out of the deal. Where’d they get it? In the middle of all this, Kevin follows Abby and she goes down to see rich guy Kidde who lives on a completely different planet than the rest of us.”

“You’re thinking the money’s coming from him.”

“Maybe they’re doing some dirty work for Kidde, maybe he got himself involved sexually with Abby, or they’re blackmailing him over something. Now we find out Toby was on that beach that night. That is a very big deal. Think about it. Blackmailer Toby there with the body on Privado Beach and he didn’t take her there.”

“You might be on to something, but let the police take it from here. You’re going to his home? He’ll never see you.”

“He’ll see me. I always get in to see everybody. I’ll go in the morning. He’ll be shook when he hears about Toby’s murder and that I know Abby paid him a visit. Maybe I can bluff him into blurting something out. I’m pretty good at that.”

“I doubt it with this man. Politicians are experts at evasion. Ask them one question and they’ll answer a different one. And there’s a much more serious reason for you not to go. Suppose they both were on the beach, and some kind of foul play went down. Only Toby knows that Kidde was there. I think that gives Congressman Kidde an excellent motive for shooting Toby last night. I don’t think it’d be wise for you to go down there.”

“Or, he shoots Toby to eliminate a blackmailer and scare off Abby. Not bad. Well, I’m going in spite of your objections. He’s not going to murder me in his house. I need to get ready for seeing him. Can I get a copy of the Police Report on the Privado Beach affair and the M.E. report?”

“Police Report, no problem. The forensic autopsy report isn’t available yet.”

“Not available? It’s been months. What’s the holdup?”

“There’s info in there we don’t want the media to publicize.”

“You mean kinky, prurient interest stuff?”

“Not really. Just info on what we did and didn’t find.”

“Triney already told me there’s no trace evidence, no usable DNA.”

“Apparently he doesn’t hesitate to confide in you.”

“So tell me, what’s the big secret to be found in the medical examiner’s report?”

“No biggie. The M.E. was going to guess the victim was some kind of dancer or showgirl except she had waxed away her pubic hair.”

“Triney didn’t mention the bikini wax job. But dancers and showgirls do that as well,” she offered.

“I mean completely, not trimmed, not merely around and about. Brazilian waxing he called it. Smooth as a porcelain plate. We never release that type of detail to the media because it’s nobody’s business. Invasion of privacy and all that, not that she had any left. Also, it’s a detail only the perp would know, so that little fact might be used later to validate a suspect.”

“Some ordinary women do it. Not that unusual, salons and spas routinely do it. Brazilian waxing.”

“Sure, it might not have anything to do with her occupation.”

“Any trace of tanning chemicals?”

“Tanning chemicals?”

“Performers use spray tans to get beautiful looking skin. It’s a whole industry. Also, I heard that strippers generally have boob jobs. Was that checked out?”

“I don’t know about the tanning thing. But I can tell you this woman didn’t need any boob enhancement. With the shaving, the physique, and the theatrical makeup the M.E. went with stripper. Didn’t make any difference to us. We were going for an occupation simply for ID and to lead to a suspect.”

“So the wax job is why I can’t have the M.E. report.”

“Look, any M.E. report is thick with insignificant details about hair coloring, fingernail polish, mouth and teeth details, blood details...on and on.”

“Okay. I’ll talk to you when I get back from seeing the congressman. I need to go online now and read everything the media ever put out about the beach body affair. Get that Police Report for me today, okay?”

“I know that look. Something else is churning in that brain of yours, isn’t it?”

“You didn’t tell me it was you who found her body.”

“I didn’t find her body. Where’d you hear that? Some citizen reported it. I was merely the first police to respond.”

“You just told me the woman didn’t need a boob job. How did you know she didn’t already have one? How did you know they were real?”

“You’re getting crazy. I’ve no idea whether they were real. It was just a dumb comment that she didn’t need any enhancement, meaning they were adequate. I didn’t touch her breasts, if that’s what you’re asking. I checked for a pulse. After that, all my attention went to preserving the crime scene. That’s all. End of story. Anyway, no mention of breast enhancement was in the M.E. report.”

“You mean the one I can’t see.”

He walked to the door shaking his head. Before he closed the door he said, “Watch yourself with Congressman Kidde. That’s big time stuff. In the meantime, get a grip on yourself.”

She stood and thought about running after him. Damn her suspicious nature. What was her problem? Why was she so on edge? She was personally involved in too much. It was stressful. She was worried about Jamie, who had confided in her. Trust me Jamie, I know how to handle these things. Was Jamie safe? Was she alive? That preoccupation alone had prompted her to be reckless and enter Abby’s house. There was the obvious stress from her near-death experience with Toby and the shooting. And she was concerned with her own situation knowing Moran could slap her back in jail and put her entire life on hold.

Too much stress. That was her excuse for making those silly statements to Chip. Connecting the dots is what made her effective. But too much connecting is an excellent way of alienating your significant other.

Chapter Eighteen

It would be a good day; Sandy tried to keep that in her mind. The morning was cold and damp. The wind had clocked around and now blew cold air down from Canada. A front was moving through and gray clouds were interrupting Florida’s endless summer. What else? Chip was no doubt annoyed with her, she hadn’t slept well, and was presently irritated because with the foul weather her convertible top must stay up. She told herself again it would be a good day. A good day for the boring drive down U.S. 1 to Jensen Beach. A good day to confront a stuffed-shirt politician and have him say he’d never heard of Abby Olin, and would she please see herself out. She stopped for coffee. That helped. She told herself the day wouldn’t be so bad after all and almost believed it.

Eventually, her GPS told her to turn off U.S. 1. After several turns toward the ocean, she wound around on a ribbon of spotless asphalt under a canopy of palm trees among the large houses and beachfront condominiums of an upscale neighborhood. Landscaped gardens and manicured grass flowed around the posh residences like a never-ending golf green. Where there wasn’t green, there were impressive vistas of water. She stopped between two brass lantern-topped pillars at the foot of a long driveway.

The house of Congressman Frederick J. Kidde, up a slight hill and hidden behind shrubbery and oak trees, was grand and spacious and sat far back from an oversized sloping lawn. Not quite a mansion, yet large and impressive. Of course it’s all grand and glorious, she remembered; there are people who live that way. She swung her Miata convertible up into the circular driveway and parked unobtrusively away from the portico entry. She reconsidered. Her sporty MX-5 wouldn’t look out of place parked in front of the Whitehouse. What the hell. She moved up and parked directly in front of the entry.

The residence was of a scale that a maid in black and white wouldn’t have surprised her. Instead, a stylish woman with her hair in a classic French twist and wearing beige linen Capri pants with matching top opened the door. She guessed it was Mrs. Kidde. She was wrong.

“I’m Mrs. Wolff, his secretary. Are you a constituent? I’m sorry, the Congressman doesn’t receive here at his residence. His Florida office is downtown. I’m sure you appreciate this is a private home. Let me give you the office address.”

“I’m Sandra Reid. Mr. Kidde will be handling something nonpolitical for me. He’ll want to see me immediately.” Sandy stepped passed the woman into the foyer. The woman had no choice but to close the door behind her.

The woman studied the smile Sandy had frozen on her face. “Wait here please.” She returned in a few minutes. “Regretfully, the congressman will be engaged entirely this morning. But he does want to talk with you. If you could give me your phone number, he’ll be certain to call you as soon as possible.”

“Mrs. Wolff, I understand your problem. I really do. But skip the ‘Your call is important to us, that’s why we’re putting you on hold’ routine. It’s wasted on me. Now please go and actually speak to him and tell him I’m here.”

The secretary gave a cynical shrug meaning Kidde should screen his own visitors. Again with the, “Wait here.” After five minutes, she came back and escorted Sandy across the glowing hardwood floors to the congressman’s home office located at the rear of the house.

Congressman Frederic J. Kidde stood at a large teak desk in front of a built-in teak bookcase that stretched across one long wall of the wood-paneled office. Windows and French doors were opposite, looking out on an lush span of green around the pool and patio area. A perimeter of sabal palms looked down on the peaceful green. Abundant ferns and sculptured shrubs bordered a large terraced area then a broad span of lush lawn sloped down to a shiny-white sport fishing boat undulating comfortably at a private dock on the wide canal.

The secretary surely had far more important things to do than play hostess, nevertheless she waited politely until his offer of iced tea was turned down. She left and Sandy was alone with the congressman.

“What should I call you, your Honor, Congressman Kidde, or what?”

“Freddy.” He motioned toward the over-stuffed leather armchair facing his desk.

She sat comfortably in the offered chair and looked about the room. On the wall behind his desk was a row of photographs displayed in matching teak frames across the wall. In each, a smiling Congressman Kidde was posed shaking hands with various men. All distinguished looking and all unrecognizable to her except for George H. W. Bush. Sitting now, in real life at his desk, Kidde appeared pleasant, middle-aged, and utterly uptight. So serious in his dark suit and tie, it wouldn’t have surprised her if the coat was permanently buttoned. His rigid formality reminded her of the affluent characters in old movies wearing tuxedos and gowns for a routine dinner at home, sitting alone at opposite ends of an impossibly long table.

“I apologize for walking in on a U.S. Representative,” she began. “I’ve a confession to make. I don’t know who you are. I’ve never heard of you.”

“Senators get all the publicity. Congressmen come and go, although I’ve stayed around awhile. You’d better register so you can vote for me. I’m a seven-term congressional representative. Chairman of the House Subcommittee on Natural Resources. Have you heard of the Kidde-Hartford Act? Possibly the best known and consequential of all the laws I’ve sponsored. It prevents coastal communities from building structures that impede recreational boating on the Intracoastal....” He stopped when he noticed she was looking up at the hand carved coving in the corners of the high ceiling. “Excuse the commercial. And who are you again?”

“Sandy Reid. I’m the one that’s going to cause you a hellava lot of trouble or help you clear up everything. Your choice.” She thought that sounded impertinent enough to get his attention and take control of the conversation.

He chuckled for the last time that morning. “God, what am I into now?”

“The situation up in Park Beach.” She didn’t know how she came up with that broad bluff, but it covered a wide area of possibilities. A shotgun is best if you don’t know what you’re shooting at. It did the trick. Kidde reacted badly. He didn’t need to pound his head down on the desk; the distress on his face said it all.

“Park Beach isn’t within my congressional district,” he said weakly, trying to recover. “I think you’ve made a mistake.”

“We have to talk about Toby.”

“I don’t believe I know the name.”

“No? How about the frizzy blonde who was here three days ago?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now I’m busy. I think perhaps you should leave.”

In her former job as field investigator, she had perfected a phrase that invariably convinced guilty people she already knew what she was trying to find out. The all-purpose phrase was so broad that it worked with every conceivable wrongdoing from a petty mistake to murder. She’d say the words, look sympathetically at the person, and wait for their conscience to take over. A little guilt can go a long way. Frequently, the person would start confessing or at least talking. Sometimes they’d start crying. She used the magic phrase now, “You hoped all this would go away didn’t you.”

It worked. He stood and ran his fingers through his hair. “Where do you fit in? Have those two told the entire world?”

There she had it. A secret he didn’t want told meant blackmail. “Not the entire world, there’s merely the three of us, unless you count the police, the state attorney, the house ethics committee, and the news media.”

He sat again. He folded his arms across his chest, tilted his head back, and whispered something unintelligible to the ceiling. When he brought his head back down, she noticed an eyelid twitching and his hands were now trembling. This was more serious than she’d suspected. He was as jittery as a trapped bird. She truly felt sorry for him.

His breath was short, “Miss Reid, please leave.”

They were putting the shake on him over something. “Look, I’m the one who can get you out of this. Your political career is on the line here. You don’t realize who you’re dealing with.”

“This is crazy. I’m not going to deal with the three of you. I’m not giving you one cent. I didn’t give that woman anything either. I told her I‘d deal with Toby only. Forget Toby, she said, he was no longer a threat. I must now do business with her. Said she wouldn’t hesitate to ring the bell on me. It was very upsetting. I didn’t know what to believe. I didn’t go for it. I told her to leave. And that’s what I’m telling you right now.”

The buzzing of his desk phone startled him. He took a deep breath and answered, “No, Mrs. Wolff, I can’t talk to the vice-president just now. I’ll call him back. And hold my calls please.”

Then to Sandy, “I thought I’d have my staff run a check on her...the blonde.”

“Do that and your staff will know something’s up.”

“Perhaps a private investigator.”

“You don’t need to bother. What do you want to know? Her name’s Abigail Olin and she’s a somehow or other girlfriend of Toby Towalski. I can tell you about both. Why don’t I start with Toby since he was murdered two days ago?”

“What! The man that was here...murdered. Are you sure?”

“You mean the police haven’t been here yet. Yes, I’m sure. There’s still some blood on my ankle. Want to see it?”

“Do they know who shot him?”

“Maybe it was you. Murder is an excellent remedy for blackmail.” She let that one sink in for a full minute. “Where were you two nights ago around 8 p.m.?”

“You mean I need an alibi? You can’t be serious. You think I would kill someone?”

“After the police nail down the blackmail angle, how long do you think it’ll take for them to decide you had a good motive to kill him?”

“Me? I couldn’t do anything like that. Do you really think the police will come here?”

“It’s a tangled web you’re weaving. Now someone has shot the man who was blackmailing you. Abby Olin’s already under arrest for killing someone else from up north and is out on bail. I’ll bet she didn’t tell you that. So, that's two murders and I haven't gotten to the kidnapping. The police in Park Beach are investigating all of their dealings. They’re already tracing ten grand found at her house, and guess who the money is going to lead back to?” She made up some of that. Eventually it might be true.

“Who are you anyway? Whose side are you on? Aren’t you in with them?”

“Stop thinking that money is going to get you out of this. I don’t want any money. I need to know what happened. I witnessed Abby Olin shooting the guy from up north. Later, Toby told me about the beach affair, and then someone, maybe you, shot him in front of me. Also in the middle of all this, someone kidnapped Abby’s ten-year-old daughter. Maybe you were in on that as well.”

He brought his hands up to cover his face for a moment then shook his head slowly.

“What did Toby have on you? You’re involved in something criminal, aren’t you?”

“No, absolutely not. I thought you knew what happened. You were talking as if you did. You seem to know a lot about everything else, however I see they didn’t tell you what happened on the beach.”

“You tell me. Then I can help you. I don’t want to just take what I know, together with all my guesses and dump it on the desk of the state attorney.”

“You’re here just fishing around and guessing. I’m not going to say any more. I’ve already told you too much. You think I’m foolish? You expect me to tell you why I’m being blackmailed? I can’t risk that. I must be careful. The less you know the less threat you are. Somehow, I’ll get through this. I think you should probably leave...never come back.”

“I know more than you think and there’s more I haven’t told you. So what are you going to do? Wait until the police knock on your door?”

He stood from his desk, stared at her for a moment, and then sat again. In a low voice he sighed, “I can’t do that either.” He folded his arms across his chest.

Obviously, Toby was blackmailing him. The image of Toby on that beach with the dead body was clear in her mind. The situations must be connected. She decided to run another bluff. “Toby admitted he was on the beach. He told me you were there. He blackmailed you because of what happened.” That stretched what she knew, but from the look on his face, she hit it. He was silent offering no denial, so she went on, “The best thing for you to do is make known what happened. Have your people put some kind of spin on it. Get out in front of it and come clean before it all blows up. Your problems didn’t die with Toby. If you come forward now, Abby will have nothing to blackmail you with. The blackmail will stop and you can get back to normal.”

“Normal might not ever happen again. I’m not certain how you’re in any position to help me. And I’d still have to worry about the police.”

“I brought the police report with me. No foul play detected before death. Death by asphyxiation, yahta, yahta. They aren’t even looking for you, Freddy. Go get yourself disconnected from all this. I need to know what happened on the beach that night. You and Toby were there. Who else? Why were you there? Tell me the story.”

“I don’t think I should tell you. Anyway, if I did, the entire story would be rather long.”

“For a long story I’m going to need a cup of coffee.”

He buzzed Mrs. Wolff for coffee. “And if I tell you, you’re going to set up a quiet meeting for me and the police, no media. Agreed?”

She nodded. “There are ways you can spin it. Perhaps you’ve been busy with important duties on Capitol Hill. You didn’t realize the matter was unsettled. You want to cooperate in any way you can.”

“That sounds good, Miss Reid. Would you like a job in Washington?”

“Under the circumstances let’s go with first names. I’m Sandy, okay?”

“Okay. I suppose it might be an appropriate way for me to come forward. If I don’t trust you then what?”

“If you don’t tell me, I’ll have to make guesses and they might be more embarrassing than the truth. Did you know that woman? What brought you there? Who else was there? What happened on the beach that night, Freddy?”

Mrs. Wolfe knocked, entered, and placed a carafe and coffee service on a side table. She held an impolite stare at Sandy long enough to transmit her displeasure at having her office routine upset. The incompatibility of the staid congressman who kept his suit jacket buttoned even at home, and the impudent tousle-haired young woman who parked her undersized vehicle in front of the entrance, was intolerable. Obviously, her boss was in distress and not in command of whatever was going on. When she left, Sandy pictured her listening with her ear to the door.

He didn’t make a move so Sandy helped herself to a cup and offered one to him. He seemed frozen and didn’t respond.

“What happened, Freddy?”

He tilted his head back and gazed up at the ceiling as though looking for guidance. Finally he said, “Okay, I’ve no choice but to trust you...I hope I can remember everything she told me. I first noticed the woman at a convenience store when I exited from I-95 just south of Richmond, Virginia...I can’t tell you all this. It’s embarrassing.”

“Let me help you out on the embarrassing part. The woman turned you on and you wanted to screw her.”

“Good Lord, is that how I’m supposed to talk to you?”

“Just a wild guess. I pretty much hit it, didn’t I?”

“Well, I suppose some people might assume that, however there’s much more to it than just that. As embarrassing as it is, I must explain all that was in my mind so you’ll understand.”

“Go ahead, Freddy. Lay it all on me. The good, the bad, and the weird. I want to hear it all. If I start to feel as though I’m watching an R-rated movie with my mother, I’ll stop you.”

“Okay, you asked for it. Here goes.” He shifted in his chair, crossed his legs, and leaned back. “I hope I don’t regret telling you this.”

Chapter Nineteen

It all started last November. I first noticed the woman at a convenience store when I exited from I-95 just south of Richmond shortly before noon. Congress had adjourned for the holidays and I was driving back home here to Florida. Normally, I fly back and forth, but with Congress in recess for two months, I wanted that car in Florida for the holidays.

This remarkable looking woman was immediately behind me in the cashier line. Women usually protect their space when queued with men. I sensed she stood closer to me than necessary. In fact, I could detect her perfume, which normally sets me off. Her fragrance was like the musky scent of fall leaves and was unobjectionable.

Unexpectedly, she spoke to me. I turned and was a bit overwhelmed as she was tall and I had to look up into her eyes. She wore all that exaggerated dark eye makeup, which I find unpleasant, and a mass of long curly-brown hair surrounded her face. Admittedly, it wasn’t unpleasant to have those smoky eyes focused intensely on me. She held her gaze unnecessarily long, as though transferring energy to me from some inner source.

In the drab confines of that convenience store, her appearance was indeed dramatic. Too extraordinary by far for someone standing in a service station in broad daylight. We exchanged a few routine words about how those dreary little stores all appeared the same inside.

A few minutes later, I saw her outside and could judge her better from a distance. Trim body, long legs, and over six foot in those wedge-heeled shoes. The shoes, with a black and white zebra design, didn’t harmonize with anything. I guess you can buy any puerile thing these days. She had struck a pose standing relaxed with her weight on one leg and her hip cocked out in case anyone had failed to notice her exceptional shape. I thought she was dressed rather cheaply, but she certainly knew how to wear it all. I tell you, that woman did not intend to be anonymous when she dressed that morning.

She noticed me looking her way. She swung her black leather handbag onto her shoulder and walked over placing one foot precisely in front of the other as though crossing a stage. She had noticed my Florida plate, she said, and guessed I was heading south. Could I possibly give her a lift back to her disabled car just down the highway? The station was sending out a tow truck when it returned from another call, but she preferred to wait with her car. She worried about it being out there on the highway. Besides, she didn’t want to ride with some greasy driver and sit on the greasy seat in his greasy truck.

Of course, I wondered about her since I’m judicious by nature. No woman with her appearance looks harmless, if you know what I mean. I’d never pick up a common hitchhiker. After all, if those people had managed their money properly they wouldn’t be without an adequate vehicle and out in the world bothering decent folks. They botch up their lives and then expect the rest of us to carry them along. It was different with this troubled woman. She was in distress with her car disabled through no fault of her own. I’d be giving her a courtesy lift for a few miles not even out of my way.

She neatly preempted my concern about her danger to me by saying she guessed I wouldn’t be a threat to her. That neat little reversal disarmed me. She took another step closer, brought those made-up eyes and all that curly hair uncomfortably close to my face, and flashed an enticing smile that had a thousand years of practice behind it. Cleo must have grinned at Tony that way. I said sure I’d give her a lift to her car, without thinking anything more about it.

We couldn’t have driven more than five miles from the service station and I was chatting away politely about the weather. She didn’t respond. I glanced over and she was asleep. She had immediately dozed off, settling against the door with her head hard on the window and her curly hair falling partially across her face.

I could now take an incautious look at her. She might have been twenty-five or thirty-five—who can tell. She’d made her face special with all that dark stuff around her eyes, making it difficult to realize that her face was in fact rather plain. Eyes too close together. A nose Modigliani would love, yet a bit too long for my way of thinking.

Not likely I could miss her disabled car along the shoulder at such a slow speed, but she’s the one who should have been looking out. I reached over and nudged her arm gently. “Miss, I don’t even know what kind of car you have. What are we looking for?”

She squinted over at me through one makeup-laden eye without moving her head. “You’ll see it.” She closed the eye.

“Would it be on the other side? Were you going north when your car stopped?”

Silence. Then without opening her eyes. “I guess I was going north.”

“Well, damn. I was watching on this side I might have missed it on the northbound side.”

“Then I was going south.”

Her nonchalance annoyed me. “Look, Miss, it’s your car. You’re the one who asked for a lift. You could’ve just waited and ridden out here with the tow truck.”

She opened both eyes to look at me and held her gaze right into my eyes for about five seconds. She glanced down and quickly back up at me. She did a little bat thing with her eyes and smiled. “I’m sorry, and you’re being so nice to me.”

I was sorry I’d been sharp with her. “Okay, no problem. I just hope I haven’t already passed it. I’d have to turn around and all that.”

“You haven’t passed it.”

I drove on another five miles or so. This was getting ridiculous. “I must have passed it. How did you get to the service station?”

Her eyes remained closed. “I walked.”

“No way you walked ten miles. A woman looking as you do, cars in both directions would have piled up before you took two steps.”

She opened one eye again just long enough to squint down at her skirt and make a perfunctory move to adjust it. She also reached down, touched her black shoulder handbag resting in front of her on the floor, and clamped it tightly with her feet.

She said, “Could you speed up? You’re really dragging.”

Then it finally sunk in. “There is no car, is there?”

After a moment. “No car,” she confirmed quietly.

I’d been had and felt foolish. I told her I was exiting at the next opportunity, and she could try her disabled car routine on the next sucker. That brought her up. She pleaded she was sorry, she was stranded back there, she was desperate. Did she think I was an idiot? She was a hitchhiker...or worse. She had no luggage or anything.

She gave me an explanation that sounded like the start of another fairy tale. She’d been ripped off. She’d answered a share-the-ride ad in the paper, and left Baltimore that morning with a woman she didn’t really know. She gave her fifty bucks for gas and the woman agreed to take her as far as Jacksonville, Florida.

“I went in to use the crummy restroom back there,” she said. “When I came out the bitch was gone. Can you beat that? Gone, along with my suitcase full of new Florida-style clothes and the very nice coat I was wearing. That woman better hope she never meets me again.”

I didn’t believe her. Her prevarication should have been a strong warning to me. “Sorry to hear that, but still....”

“I had plenty of chances for a ride. I didn’t like the looks of the guys. A woman has to be careful. Getting in a car with the wrong man and all that. I waited for someone decent looking like you. You seemed nice and I figured you’d go along with it. But I understand. Just let me out somewhere safe. I’ll wait for another gentleman.”

Notice how she shrewdly called me a gentleman? This was a clever woman. I said, “You shouldn’t be alone on the highway at all. When I exit, we’ll look for a place you can catch a bus. You’ve money for bus fare?”

“Hey! I’m not a homeless bag lady, mister. Don’t treat me like one. Of course, I have money however I never ride buses.”

This from the woman who had conned me into a ride. She was angry so I apologized. She settled down immediately and we rode on in silence until she said, “You know it’s a long way to Florida. I could be good company.”

She wanted to get back on my good side. She knew I had misgivings. Yet she could be a nice complement to the trip to pass the time. I supposed I could stand having her along. I’d have to watch her, though. She wasn’t above deceit considering that fictitious car and ripped off story. I could always put her out. I decided to relax. “I’m Freddy.”

“Betty Jo, nice to meet you.”

As I approached the next exit neither of us said anything. I cruised on by, so I supposed that was tacit acceptance of our travel arrangement. “Betty Jo and Freddy,” I said aloud making it sound friendly.

“I want to pay you something for the gas.”

“It’s nothing. I’m making the trip anyway.” I asked if she lived in Jacksonville. No, Fort Lauderdale. I didn’t tell her I was going almost that far. It might sound like a commitment. My Florida residence was an hour north of Fort Lauderdale in Jensen Beach. My wife, Ellen, was down there waiting to pull me knee-deep into nonstop holiday dinners, parties, and other boring affairs. None of which I cared a fig for. DC would be quiet. I’d prefer to spend the holidays in my office there on Capitol Hill working on the amendments to the energy legislation I’d be presenting to the committee in February.

There’s a simple explanation of how a shy introvert like me could succeed as a politician. My father had held the congressional seat I now hold for a quarter-century. I was barely out of law school when he died unexpectedly of a stroke. I ran for his seat and won easily with the sympathy vote. Half the voters thought they were still voting for my father. The name recognition factor has kept me in office without much campaigning ever since.

My wife would be surprised if she knew a young woman like Betty Jo was sitting beside me in the front seat of our car. Not because she’d think I was up to something, but because she knew I was the least likely man on earth to even speak to a strange woman. I could never walk up and say, “Hi.” I couldn’t survive whatever came next.

I started thinking back to her ‘good company’ remark. If she had indeed meant it to be suggestive, I’d have to decide if I had the daring to get involved with a woman of that sort. My imagination had taken over and I had to be certain. I said something very forward that I immediately regretted, “You say you’ll be very good company. What does that mean?”

That was nervy of me. I wished I hadn’t said it. Remember, I didn’t know what manner of woman she was, although I suppose it was obvious. Her out hitchhiking on the highway. An evocative answer wouldn’t change anything because I had no desire to get involved with her. It would just be amusing to learn of her intentions and limitations. I’d never contemplated such an encounter before. It’s risky when someone of importance starts mucking around with a questionable woman. Too late to take the words back.

“Correction, Freddy, I merely said good company. You sweetened it up with very good company.”

Embarrassing. I must have sounded juvenile. Like some witless bore at a party trying to turn everyone’s words into an off-color double entendre. Now she must think I’m just another predatory male. Should have kept my mouth shut. Should never have let her into the car in the first place. However, she didn’t seem to make much more of it.

There I was comfortably speeding along with Betty Jo. I‘d decided she was harmless, but I’d keep my options open. I might be letting her out at any time. It might become uncomfortable, as I didn’t know how to engage her in conversation. Legislation was the only subject I knew much about, and I didn’t want to talk politics with her. In fact, I didn’t care for her to know I was a member of Congress. She might try to take advantage of me in some manner.

After another hour, the silence became awkward. I asked, “What do you do in Baltimore?” Just making conversation, it was of no matter to me.

She laughed. “Librarian.”

“I’m surprised. I figured you more for a teacher.” That was a stretch; I figured her more for a waitress. “I’ll bet you’re one of those highly organized types who can recite the Dewey Decimal System backwards.”

“The what?”

I glanced over. “Okay, truthfully what do you do?”

“I’m joking. I’m not really a librarian, but I play one in my act. I take off my glasses, shake my hair loose, and turn into a beautiful swan.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m a stripper.”

“A what?”

“A stripper.”

“Oh! I didn’t expect that.” I really didn’t. So she was one of those women. Interesting. But not the type of person I wanted in my car. When we stopped, I’d have to take a closer look at her. Do you know what I mean? Like school kids when they hear that some girl in class lost her virginity the night before. Everyone wants to stare at her to see if she looks any different. Have you ever glanced at a painting, Sandy, and walked on? Someone then explains it’s not just another painting. It’s exceptional, there are elements unseen and unimagined. You’d go back for a second look.

This woman riding in my car tells me she prances around naked for a living. I had to look at her again. When I did, I indeed saw a different woman sitting there. “So, you dance nude,” was the best I could bring myself to say.

“Wow! I see I can’t get anything passed you. No, museum statues are nude, strippers are naked.”

The situation was intriguing to say the least, but I also began to feel nervous. I’d have to tell her the ride was over. “Do you do private parties, pop out of a cake, that sort of thing?”

“I am the cake, Freddy.” She seemed relaxed and stared ahead down the highway.

“So you’re a performance artist, an exotic dancer?”

“No, I’m a stripper. Wait...I’ll spell it for you.”

I wasn’t doing very well with my end of the conversation. “You do much more than strip, you dance.”

“The dancing part I fake, not that you’d complain. Most strippers don’t know how to dance. Of course, you have to get all your standard moves and your pole work down. But it’s not real dancing. Like starting lessons as a little kid and sweating it out for years—dance class twice a week ruining your feet. Now that’s dancing. Anyone can take their clothes off and swing on a pole. Well, maybe your wife couldn’t.”

My wife would have a good laugh out of my getting myself into this uncomfortable situation. “Have your hands full, do you Freddy?” Is what Ellen would say. As a woman, can you understand my feeling? I couldn’t help imagining this woman’s naked body right there beside me in the front seat. She happened to have it covered up at present, but it was under there. It amused me to fantasize, but I had no actual interest in her.

So she was a stripper. That changed everything. Everything was clearer now. The provocative way she stood at the gas station. Her walk of practiced confidence on heels. Her trim body and long legs. If I had second thoughts about her before I learned what she did for a living, you can imagine my anxiety now.

As that cloud of initial fascination cleared, I began to see the situation was potentially dangerous. I knew nothing about this woman or what she had in mind. It just wasn’t propitious for a congressman to be out on the highway with a stripper. Should there be some kind of accident or incident and the press picked up on it, The Congressman and the Stripper headline would be fatal to my career.

Another dark thought flicked across my mind. Had I indeed been picked out at random back at that convenience store? Or was I the target of some scheme and been followed there? Did she just happen to get on queue behind me, and just happened to feel compelled to start talking to me. It wasn’t common for the public to recognize me, although it had happened. I’d been on CSpan a few times and once on a Sunday news program. Politicians are bound to have enemies. Perhaps the plan is to get me in a compromising position and blackmail me for my support of certain legislation.

Maybe she’d decide to pull that gun out and leave me somewhere in a ditch. Yet, she didn’t look the type. Sounded like famous last words, she didn’t look the type. What type was I talking about? She wasn’t above lying to hitch a ride. She wasn’t above stripping—and whatever went with that business.

Crazy thoughts. I attempted to dislodge them all from my mind. Yet there was no denying this woman from a very dissimilar class of society, was in my front seat with her mysterious black handbag clinched between her feet. Remember, she had lied to get herself in my car. I decided Betty Jo must go.

We soon crossed over the North Carolina border from Virginia and I started looking for a suitable opportunity to get her out of my car and out of my life. I’d explain it to her somehow. A shame. She could be good company on the way to Florida. It’d be pleasant to have her along. She was acceptable to look at and even a low level of conversation would be diverting. But I didn’t need her complicating my life or worse—somehow threatening it.

At that moment, she was asleep. The front seat of my Chrysler sedan was quite roomy and she was leaning back relaxed with her long legs straight out and uncrossed. Her shoes were off and I couldn’t miss her Chinese-Red toenails. Likely the standard color for strippers. Her knee-length maroon skirt had ridden up some as she slumped down. A band of lace at the hem gave the illusion of being shorter. I was growing accustomed to her exotic appearance. She was all right I supposed.

She awoke and sat up. “Where are we?” She put her hand down and touched the black shoulder bag.

“Into North Carolina. I guess I’ll start looking for another place to stop.” Best to be stopped somewhere safe when I told her the ride was over. I didn’t want to face any outburst while underway.

“Why the hell stop? Excuse me, you’re driving, but we’ll never make it to Florida if you stop every hour.”

She was correct. Another hour or so with her in the car wouldn’t make any difference. I nodded and offered some more conversation, “You dance in Baltimore?” It really made no difference to me where she did her stripping and whatever attendant activities that entailed.

“The Blue Triple X, down by the harbor. Ever been there? Classy. Has the top reputation all over the east coast. All the big wigs from Washington come up. Just started there. Had to work in an ordinary club to find my groove before they’d take me. Good money. By two a.m. fifty-dollar bills are flying around like confetti on New Year’s Eve. Haven’t saved much yet. Some strippers make more money in a week than both of their parents put together in a year...and end up blowing it all. I’ve been paying off credit cards. Don’t want to end up with nothing like my mother. Need to start a savings plan. Something for my retirement. For a stripper retirement could come at any time. My face isn’t my fortune—it’s not that great. My body is the thing and I won’t keep this shape forever.”

“You have a very attractive face. Everyone likes it, I’m sure.” I’d give her that so she wouldn’t think I was focusing just on her body.

She ignored my compliment. “Every day, I get older and some adorable young thing skips through the door wanting my job. She’s not only prettier than me, she might move better.”

“I didn’t realize beautiful young women were racing in to take their clothes off.” I hoped that didn’t sound too derisive.

“Each one has a reason, Freddy. From making tuition money to feeding a family. Some are interesting. Some are dull. What they all have in common is a body. Steve, that’s the boss, says the female body is like a shadow that has the power to cloud men’s minds. So, I’m in the mind-clouding business. I kind of like that expression. Everything we do must point to the last show. If you can’t make them stay, Steve will fire your ass. Each dancer does her sets off and on. Each set gets more suggestive. For the last show, the G-strings come off and the padlocks come off their wallets.”

“Total nudity?”

“I’m so glad you’re paying attention. You see the psychology, Freddy? The longer they stay, the more they have invested in time and money. All the while, we’ve been showing them more and more. They want it all but they can’t have it. The more they pay and the longer they have to wait, the more important it becomes to them. Women figured out all this stuff ten thousand years ago. The men want the dance.”

“Oh, sure they want the dance. And men buy Playboy to read the articles.”

“No, you’re not getting it. Believe me. The men are essentially there for the dance. Sure, they’re dying to see that G-string come off, but not before they get excited with the dance. If at the start, I sat down in a chair on the stage in front of them and took my G-string off they’d say, ‘Oh, okay, goodbye.’”

“So, the G-string is more like a symbol.” I glanced over politely to show I understood her point. “Do you have it with you?” Damn, why did I say such a dumb thing? I must have sounded like a twelve-year-old.

“Sure, Tiger, I’m wearing it now. Momma told me to always wear a clean one in case I’m in an accident.”

“I was joking, Betty Jo.” I said, trying to get off the hook. She smiled a little. That was good. She probably assumed I was just teasing.

“Acting is hard work. The idea is to make every man in the room think I’m dumb enough to actually have sex with him.”

“Are you acting now?” It occurred to me that all this sexy talk could be part of a dance aimed at me, to get me in the proper mood. Making me ready for whatever scheme was in store.

“No, Freddy. If I turned it on, you’d go up in smoke. So there I am, for six hours every night hiding my true self. Like Superman, Betty Jo jumps out of a phone booth a hot and sexy stripper.”

“But aesthetically pleasing.”

“If you say so.” She turned toward me slightly and smiled. “Everyone says I talk too much. Am I talking too much?”

I couldn’t help looking over at her. I’d decided her hair, now that I thought about it, was tolerable. It didn’t look harsh as I first thought. In fact, it appeared somewhat soft and feathery. I also liked the shape of her full red lips and the way they parted slightly to show her perfect white teeth.

“Keep your eyes on the road, please. I know most people look down on what I do. They believe it’s slimy back-alley stuff. They think I should burn in hell. I don’t care what they think. Take a look at your own life, I’d tell them. How many people did you exploit this week? How many did your ancestors screw to get your family to where it is today? I’m paying my own way in life and not hurting anyone.

“I don’t think God is out there applauding, but I don’t think he’s much concerned about me dancing naked either. He has more important things to worry about. In fifty years, what I do on stage will be old stuff on prime time TV. And the same God will be up there still unconcerned about whether Betty Jo has her clothes on or off.” She smiled. “By then I suppose I’ll mostly keep them on.”

“Not everyone is offended,” I said. “Many people think it’s not part of their world, but live and let live.” I meant that honestly. I thought it was mostly correct. “What name do you use? On stage I mean.”

“Candy.”

“Of course, Candy. I should have guessed. That’s cute. It all sounds like fun.” Another mistake. I was trying to empathize with her. I shouldn’t have implied her work was easy.

She scowled. “Try staying out of the coke scene when it’s ass deep all around you. And it’s free...if you’re willing to do a string of guys. Yeah, lots of fun staying clean.”

That stopped me. The drug scene never occurred to me. It always seemed so low-class. Then again, Hollywood stars are into coke. Was her lifestyle sordid or glamorous? I had no idea.

Somehow, I felt better about strippers in general. I’d lost any paranoid thoughts about her being involved in some nefarious plot to set me up. Clearly, we had come together by chance. How interesting fate had placed a stripper in my car. I saw no point in putting her out, after all.

Just after noon, we were nearing South Carolina and I asked if she was hungry. Just wanted some comfort munchies, she said. I wasn’t too concerned about lunch but I wanted a coffee. I exited I-95 and parked at a convenience store. I held out a ten-dollar bill but she shook her head. She swung those long legs around and got out. I fell in behind her, watching all that curly hair bouncing, her hips swaying, and her shoulder bag swinging.

Once inside she slowly circled all the aisles. I used the restroom, got my coffee, and waited by the door. She was a minor event sweeping through the store and men stared. They’d pretend to look at something to buy, but were positioning themselves to keep her in sight. Imagine their surprise if I told them their dream of seeing that woman without clothes was not an impossible one. My own amusing secret.

At last, she decided on a tiny bag of chips. Obviously, she had no money, at least didn’t want to spend any. I went over. “You know, Betty Jo, I think I’m hungry after all. Why don’t we stop for a regular lunch, okay?”

“I don’t have money for a big lunch. Don’t want to take advantage of you.”

“Think of it as part of the trip. One takes a trip, one stops and eats. I’d have to eat anyway. I’ll get it this time.” Most likely she’d say no.

She hesitated then nodded okay.

A buffet was in progress at a nearby Holiday Inn. A good choice, I thought, as she could load up and go back for seconds, even cram a few items in her handbag for supper. But she didn’t. The hotel guests and the lunchtime crowd were dressed down wearing jeans and all; she’d have attracted attention even if not the only one wearing a skirt. I’m sure she was quite accustomed to accepting abundant amounts of attention.

Two men eating together at a table nearby noticed her. They exchanged comments, laughed loudly, and stared at her in a way that would melt the clothes off an ordinary woman. Apparently, they assumed we had stayed at the hotel overnight and she was my mistress. I enjoyed that. I’d never considered taking a mistress, but it was fun to sit there and pretend for the benefit of those two men.

I wondered about mistresses. Not necessarily Betty Jo, just in general. I know you set them up in an apartment. Do they expect you to pay all the other bills, or do they have some kind of token employment? I could easily cover all her living expenses. We had a second home in New England and a summer place in Aspen. I could easily hide her expenses in there somewhere. Does your mistress just wait for you to show up? What do they do all day?

She seemed a pleasant young woman and I didn’t mind sitting opposite her although we had nothing in common to talk about. She did say her mother lived in Ft. Lauderdale, that’s where she was heading. From the sound of it, Momma wasn’t doing so well, sounded like money problems. That was nice, a daughter putting herself out, enduring hitchhiking on a long trip to see her mother.

She was eager to get underway so we didn’t sit in the restaurant any longer than necessary. Back in the car, we were soon off again down I-95. I had that after-lunch feeling of well being and was enjoying the trip and being with Betty Jo, the stripper. I supposed her being in my car wasn’t such a terrible situation. We were growing used to each other. In fact, you might say I’d become quite taken with her.

Chapter Twenty

Abby Olin sat obediently across from State Attorney Lawrence Moran with her hands folded in her lap. She didn’t answer immediately.

Moran leaned forward on his desk. “I asked if you’ve been advised of your rights.”

“Again and again,” she answered, “and don’t tell me I need an attorney. All I did was shoot a prowler.”

“Miss Olin you stood before a judge twice for arraignment. The first time for shooting a prowler. The second time the court appointed some legal aid guy and you pleaded innocent to the second-degree murder of Bruce Banks.”

“I didn’t like him. Told him to get lost. I might not need him anyway. He told me I could continue to claim that I thought I shot a prowler even if you charged me with Bank’s murder. So I’m sticking to that story. So what do you want, Mr. Moran.”

“I have some questions for you and I want to be certain that you understand you have the right to have an attorney present.”

“That depends on the questions. What do you want to know?”

“How was Sandra Reid involved in the shooting of Banks?”

“She wasn’t really. She ran in my house later.”

“But she plotted with you to get Banks down here from Delaware.”

“She did?”

“Look, this is just between us. I permitted you to post bond and stay out of jail, however I can revoke bail and put you in jail anytime I want. Also, when your trial comes up, and your attorney wants to plead to a lesser charge or something, I have power over that.”

“Okay, so you’re the big deal who can decide if things go good or bad for me...oh, I see what you’re getting at. You want me to do you some favors now and then.” She made a quick glance back at the door to his office, scooted her chair forward, and lowered her voice. “I get it. And it would just be between you and me. Well, that’d be very interesting for both of us.” She moistened her lips with her tongue and smiled at him. “I give good...favors.”

He squirmed slightly in his chair. “You misunderstood. I’m talking solely about what you’re going to say in your defense. I know you could give testimony that would incriminate Sandra Reid if you really wanted to. If you thought hard, there must be many things she did and said. She really hated Banks. That’s why she encouraged you.”

“She did that?”

He raised his eyebrows and looked at her expectantly.

“Well, she did tell me she had kept track of him and he should be punished for what he did. You mean stuff like that?”

He smiled. “You see, there’s no reason for you to take all the blame. Now go get yourself an attorney.”

Chapter Twenty-one

By mid-afternoon, we were several hours and hundreds of miles south of Richmond and continuing down I-95 to Florida. We were now definitely in the American South. Noticeably less traffic and none of the early winter bleakness of the northeast. We’d soon be in South Carolina. As a traveling companion, I found Betty Jo rather enjoyable. She was smiling at me more frequently. And now I didn’t care whether she was a stripper.

I had learned a bit about her and her job in Baltimore. Although I suspected that dancing in a men’s club was less glamorous and more sordid than she implied. Yet, she herself seemed an acceptable person. She had yet to express an interest in my profession. I wasn’t certain I wanted her to know much about me. They say power is the ultimate aphrodisiac and after fourteen years, I’d accumulated significant power in Congress, at least on my side of the aisle. However, I’d keep quiet about my position. I naturally wanted her to like me, yet I didn’t want to make too much of my favorable situation and invite undue attention.

Although growing weary of the particular subject of stripping, she was at ease talking about herself otherwise. For my part, it wasn’t that I found stripping so intriguing. The fascination was with the stripper herself and my increasingly favorable interaction with her. “Tell me about you,” I said. “Just to pass the time.”

“You don’t want to hear about me. You just want to hear me talk about taking my clothes off, right?”

Perhaps I was thinking that. “Not at all. However, I must admit I do think what you do is exciting. You know, like show business.” In truth, I thought it was a grimy way to make a living. No doubt, she had limited job choices. “But it’d be fine if you wanted to talk about something else, like where you grew up?”

“Okay, just to pass the time. But nothing about stripping, okay? Nothing special to tell. How far back should I go? Let’s see, grew up in Fort Lauderdale...” She brushed back some of her wonderful curly hair and turned to me. “Oh, you want to hear a good story about this guy George and me? It’s a long, long story.”

“It’s a long, long drive.” I was betting George was one of the lucky men in her life. I was interested to hear how he made out with her.

“Okay. George was Momma’s boy friend. I was a cute thirteen when he first came to the house. Big middle-aged guy, like an aging football player with a beer gut. Ran some type of contracting business. Nice to me and I liked him immediately. Momma wasn’t as tall as I was and I guess she was a little overweight, but she had a pretty face. The boob thing runs in the family so she was okay in that department.

“They didn’t date steady, but whenever he showed up, he’d be certain to speak to me and ask how I was doing. He was interested in what I did at school and about my friends and if I had a boyfriend. He guessed I drove all the boys at school crazy. He had that right. Nice to have him around now and then. I felt safe with a man like George in our house.”

“What about your father?”

“Never really knew him, took off early. He wasn’t a nice man, was all Momma would ever say about him. Now this George was a gentle type. At thirteen, I thought he was very cool. The next time he came over, he gave me a little bracelet with my name. He said it wasn’t expensive. He could have saved his breath. It looked like it came out of an arcade vending machine. Too cheap to wear. I didn’t care. It was from George. More than Momma ever got from him.

“He took Momma out no more than twice. Once for a dinner and once for a movie. From then on, when he came over, they didn’t leave the house. The first few times, the three of us would talk or watch TV for a while. They never said anything, but I knew they wanted me out of there. So, I’d go to my room early and listen to music. As you’ve probably guessed, they’d end up in her bedroom.

“As far as I could tell they never did anything for one another, outside of the bedroom, I mean. I never heard the word love. If he brought over a bottle, they’d drink it. But she wasn’t going to use her own liquor. Sometimes he showed up with pizza or Chinese. She never cooked for him. Of course, she never cooked all that much for me either.

“He would then disappear for a few weeks. One time he came over, I think I was fourteen by then, and Momma wasn’t home. She worked for a printer. She phoned, had to work a double, wouldn’t be home until midnight. He asked if he could hang around since he was already out of the house. I took ‘out of the house’ to mean he was married. That was cool with me. I could play hostess and I’d be the one to get him a drink or whatever he wanted. He’d brought a bottle of bourbon. He liked it on the rocks and that’s easy to fix. I could have a sip if I wanted, he said, but only one little one and it’d be our secret. I’d snuck into the bourbon years before and knew I didn’t like the stuff. So that was no big deal. I fixed a couple for him. He went in and fixed some others.

“He wanted to see my bedroom so we went in there and he sat beside me on the bed. He really liked my posters and bedroom junk. I had a real cool scrapbook of rock stars I had cut out of magazines. So we flipped through that. We listened to my favorite, November Rain. You know, Guns n’ Roses? He wanted to know the name of each star. I said something about the glamorous life they led. He told me he was going to take me out on my eighteenth birthday and we’d have some fun. You bet I never forgot that promise.”

“So George made a move on you in your bedroom.”

“No, I didn’t say that. He left after an hour or so. I wished he’d stayed longer. So cool sitting beside the big guy on my bed. He was real nice.”

“I guess you saw him again.”

“I think it was the very next Saturday. He phoned Momma, wanted to take us out on his boat for the day. Said we could go swimming or whatever we wanted. Momma was annoyed and raised her voice on the phone. She always worked on Saturday and he should have remembered that. So his big deal invitation amounted to nothing. A few minutes later, he called back and apologized. He’d forgotten she had to work. Maybe I’d like to go if I wasn’t doing anything. I pleaded with Momma. She finally said okay go ahead.

“I was excited. I’d planned to go to the mall with my immature boyfriend, Jimmie. You know how long it took me to cancel out on that. So, I fussed with my hair and all. And counted the minutes until George picked me up.

“I was surprised. The boat wasn’t there in Lauderdale as I assumed. It was more than an hour away down at Coconut Grove, near some hammock. He explained a hammock was a little island or a bunch of trees, or something. It was a small white fishing boat with two big black motors on the back. In the front, there was a neat little cabin you could crawl down into with two V-shaped bunks. Between them was a porta-potty thing.

“George motored way back into the mangroves. The fishing would be better where it was private with no other boats to disturb the fish, that’s what he said. I was lost from the start. I’d no idea where we were and didn’t care. Big George was responsible for me. He’d take care of me. The day started off great. We had a little cove all to ourselves. I’ll never forget jumping off that boat into the water. I swam a little and mainly worked on my tan. He tried to fish but didn’t seem much interested in it. When it started to get dark, we were going to come back. Then the engines wouldn’t start.

“George said not to worry. If he couldn’t get them running, we could sleep on the boat and he’d find help in the morning. Fantastic, I thought, sleeping out there overnight would be totally cool.”

I frowned at Betty Jo. I didn’t like how the George story was progressing. Of course, he’d been watching and drooling over her all day. I didn’t want to hear about him getting his beefy hands on trapped little Betty Jo. As if I was saving her for myself, but I knew that was crazy. But if I were George, I wouldn’t have touched her. “So, you’re alone with George out in the middle of nowhere. It’s getting dark. He pulls the old run out of gas trick, huh?”

“He never said out of gas, just something or other wrong. The engines or the motors whatever they call them. I was secretly hoping he couldn’t fix it and we’d have to stay out there another day. But it was simply a loose wire or something. He fiddled around and after awhile he got them running.

“George drove so fast coming back home I thought he’d get a ticket. It was late and Momma was furious. She took me into the kitchen and started grilling me about everything that happened that day. I kept telling her everything was cool. I had behaved and he never had to yell at me. She still looked plenty nervous.

“Momma started in on him. As far as she was concerned, everything went wrong that day. For starters, he knew damn well she had to work and couldn’t go with him. Plus, she thought he was taking me to the beach, or for a boat ride or something. She didn’t like him taking me down to some distant county and bringing me back after dark. He said he was sorry. I knew he was eager to go in the bedroom. That’s why he had raced back. No way, George. She sent me to my room and I could hear her yelling at him. She was telling him no, for the first time. Momma told him to get out. I’d never seen her so upset. Eventually though, all was forgiven and it was back to normal.”

“George sounds like a taker to me, Betty Jo.”

“I talked about him with Momma once. I pointed out he never took her anywhere, never gave her anything, never even did any favors for her. He’s a contractor, for chrissake. Let him fix up this place. He’s getting plenty of you-know-what. She said she wasn’t going to trade sex for anything. ‘I’m not an attractive woman.’ I said, Yes you are Momma! She said, ‘Well, I’m not spectacular like you are, Betty Jo, and that man keeps coming back.’ Didn’t sound very assertive. Maybe she was just being realistic. Bottom line, Momma loved the arrangement.

“She was using him, she told me. It’s companionship, someone to drink and laugh with, someone to look nice for, and something to look forward to. Someday I’d understand what was going on. It was perfect, he didn’t ask for anything else from her. Lets himself out in the middle of night. She didn’t have to look at him in the morning, or have him see her. No washing his clothes or cleaning up after him. He’s kind to her and they have nothing to argue about.

“I said he’s rich and we’re poor. Have him come across with a little help sometimes. You can bet he’d come up with something to keep the deal humming. I was already fourteen and thought she was stupid.

“Watching those two during those years, I learned a lot about sex. No, not about doing it, but the effect it had on people. The contortions they put themselves through to find it and keep it. At school, I could just think the word sex—not even say it—and boys would start stammering and running around in circles bumping into each other. Yet, I felt better about Momma after that talk. She appeared happy and her head didn’t seem messed up over the arrangement.”

“That’s quite a story.” I hoped that was the end of hearing about George. “So you just went your merry way, grew up, and eventually left home?”

“You really got into this, didn’t you Freddy? Kind of fun telling it to you and watching you. Actually, there is a big punch line. Eventually, we saw George less and less, every month or so at most. I think Momma was beginning to like not having him there so much. By that time, I was seventeen. I’d graduated and was Assistant Manager at the Dollar Store. Still lived at home. Still going steady with Jimmie. He was taller by then and was a way cool guy.

“Momma saw George maybe once that year. At that time, he reminded me he was going to take me out on my eighteenth birthday and we’d have some fun. I already had that planted in my mind, but figured he had forgotten about it. I had some money then and as my birthday got closer I bought my first suit, you know a skirt and short jacket. The woman at Penney’s said it was the very latest. Cost me two weeks pay. Everyone said I appeared older anyway I was so tall. I tell you, that suit turned me into an adult. I paid to have my hair styled and put up, which I had never done before. Looking like that, I could have gone into any bar in Lauderdale and not been carded. I hoped George would like it.

“The morning of my birthday, I waited. Hadn’t slept much. I crossed my fingers and hoped George would remember. At that moment, the heavens opened and the phone rang. I was too nervous to answer. Momma handed me the phone. George would pick me up at noon. Awesome! When he saw me, I’d knock his eyes out.

“He picked me up but was kind of quiet. Not one word about my suit or hair. I was excited and dying to know what he had in store for me. He wouldn’t say. We drove right up to that huge front entrance to the Beachside Plaza Hotel. You know the place? I’ll never forget it. A boy my age in a cute little orange jacket opened the car door for me, which was cool except I didn’t know what he wanted at first. George and I just walked off and left the car sitting there in the driveway.

“Another guy in an orange jacket opened the tall front door for us and we went in this large round lobby. So large you could have played football in there. Huge columns that went up high to something like a dome. The floor was like polished black stone. I thought, don’t slip, Betty Jo. But heels were no problem for me. And I knew how to put on a slight strut. We walked across to the elevators. George told me the place was famous for their dining room. I could picture myself looking good in that dining room with my new suit. I’d be nervous ordering off a menu. George would make it all go smooth...wait a minute. An elevator? ‘George, why are we coming up here?’

“He unlocked the door to the room. Was the surprise in there? I glanced around. Pretty classy. Had its own microwave, a bar, and everything.

“As soon as George closed the door, he told me to take off all my clothes.

“Just like that. George! What are you doing? I looked down at my new suit and up at him. I didn’t understand. Was he going to surprise me with a bunch of new clothes? Did he want me to change here in the room so we could go out?

“He wasn’t exactly demanding. He just stood there and in a normal voice told me to get undressed. He was a big man. But he wasn’t blocking the door. He wasn’t threatening me. I was confused. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. This didn’t make any sense. He wasn’t supposed to do this. Adult men weren’t supposed to tell girls to take off all their clothes. Why weren’t alarms going off in his head saying he shouldn’t do this?

“Again, he said take everything off. For chrissake, George! We stared at each other for a minute. I could see he was nervous. I’d never seen him like that and that made me even more nervous. I went ahead and took off my new suit. I stopped. He flipped his hand meaning everything. I took it all off. He smiled slightly and gawked for a long moment checking me out. I folded my arms across my chest and stood there feeling silly. I certainly didn’t want him looking at me. He kicked my suit over into a corner. My new suit!

“I told him I didn’t want to do anything. Is that the same as saying no? I told him I wanted out of there. He said the door was unlocked. I could leave if I wanted. I thought I was acting grownup by not yelling and screaming.

“I was eighteen that day for chrissake, so I had fooled around some, but the serious stuff I’d done just with Jimmie. We’d watched porn flicks together and tried some stuff. So I wasn’t some naive maiden about to be initiated into dark unspeakable sexual rites. I knew what was going to happen if I stayed.

“What I didn’t realize was the rules for men had changed last night while I was sleeping. Like most teens, there were certain passages I looked forward to. The age I could get my driver’s license. The age when I could legally drink. I never thought much about the age when the sex rules change. In Florida, the age of consent is eighteen.

“Up until eighteen the law spoke to all adults for me and said no sex with Betty Jo. Even if she doesn’t object, keep your hands off. She’s too young to know her own mind. Then instantly, at the tick of a clock, I’d better know it all because, ready or not, I became fair game. From then on, the kid can decide for herself. She’s now free to do what a woman does. Now she has to deal with men who no longer worry about that law. Men quite likely to be older and wiser. Okay guys, she’s out there. Say whatever you want and do whatever you want to get her to cooperate. Lie to her, tell her you love her, any trick you can think of is fine. She’s not our problem.

“The law wasn’t going to say no for me any longer. I had to speak for myself...and I didn’t. I knew I could say no to George. I’ve said no to boys plenty of times in the past. Why was I confused about saying no to George?”

“But Betty Jo,” I said, “your choice wasn’t difficult. You should have kicked and screamed and tried to run out of there. Whatever it took.”

“All I can say is I decided I didn’t have that choice. It made sense to me at that frightful time. I know, Freddy, you always want things nice and neat. Such and such happened, therefore I should have done such and such. My point is, in the real world it doesn’t work neatly like that. Choices are muddled. Everything is so clear to people outside the problem, yet not to you until later. You read about someone and wonder why the hell did she do that?”

“I suppose you’re right,” I replied. “If everyone made the correct choice, there’d be no novels and movies.”

“Exactly, and no story about George. Anyway, I wasn’t certain what I should do. Incredible as that seemed to me later. I now think I was waiting for him to suddenly change back into the old George. To stop acting that way. To be nice to me again. When I realized the sex was really going to happen, I began to think, okay I’m a big girl, it’s creepy, but let’s get it over with.

“I didn’t believe him when he said I was free to go. Didn’t believe the door was really unlocked. I didn’t think he’d hit me if I tried to run, although I wasn’t positive about that either. I wanted to cry, but I held back because I didn’t want to act like a child. I was absolutely convinced he wouldn’t let me go until he was tired of me. And knowing George that might be a long, terrible time.

“But, you’re right, I didn’t leave...until I finally started thinking again. Through all the fog and confusion in my mind, eventually I decided my best action was to get him to fall asleep. I didn’t think of that until a couple of hours had passed and it wouldn’t have worked anyway until he was a little tired. I pretended to fall asleep. He didn’t want to sleep. He didn’t even want to rest. He was just getting started. He didn’t like it and shook me. Finally, he moved away a little. I laid there not moving a muscle. I was very cold. He was really sweating and had turned the air conditioning on high, and I wasn’t covered with anything except one of his hairy legs. It seemed like a month before I heard him snoring.

“I was able to move away from him and get off the bed without any noise. I didn’t dare breath. I gathered my wrinkled clothes from the corner, went in the bathroom, and gently closed the door. Damn! The noisy fucking exhaust fan came on when I turned on the light. I cringed and froze, hoping he hadn’t heard. Nothing I could do about it. I was exhausted. Didn’t want to look in the mirror. I could imagine how I appeared, my hairdo ruined—half up and half down. What the hell, nothing else I could do. I dressed quickly, shut off the light, and slowly opened the bathroom door.

“He was awake, sitting up in the bed watching me. He ordered me back on the bed. He was now rested and reenergized, ready to go at me again. My heart started pounding. I gauged the distance to the door. I wondered if I could get there and unlock it before he could grab me. If I could just get it unlocked and opened, he’d have to run naked down the hall after me.

“I took a deep breath and ran for the door. It was unlocked. I looked back. He hadn’t moved. He didn’t look powerful then at all, he looked foolish. You know what he said? ‘I thought maybe you’d go along with it. I waited until you were eighteen. I didn’t threaten you. I didn’t rape you.’ Later, I thought about all the clever words I should have dumped on him to put him down. I just wanted out of there. He didn’t make a move. I left. I could have left at any time, and that thought continues to upset me.

“I’d been an idiot. This nobody jerk tells me to take off my clothes and instead of telling him to shove it, like an idiot I say nicely, what are you doing, George? Of course, it was rape. But I didn’t even get that until much later. I hadn’t said no, so how could it be rape?”

“I’m so sorry for you, Betty Jo.” I took my eyes off the highway and glanced over at her. She didn’t seem to be emotional for having recounted such a disturbing episode. But I was truly stunned. I told her, “Sorry you went through that. I’m so glad you were able to get out okay.”

She turned to face me. “So I got screwed, Freddy. I wish I could start that day over. But you can’t let things like that haunt you. What did you get for your eighteenth birthday?”

“I guess it’s healthy you can joke about it now. Didn’t you want to get back at him, to hurt him?”

“If I’d told Jimmie, he’d have gotten a shotgun and blasted George between the legs just enough so he wouldn’t die. I thought about telling him. He’d hunt George down and do it right now if I asked him. If I could find him. Jimmie’s married now. But at the time, I just wanted it all behind me. To my thinking, there was no hurt I could lay on him that would equal that rape. Even if I tortured him with a red-hot iron. He’d already had me. Luckily it was two hours instead of two days, but what he took I can’t take back. The memory of me on the bed in that hotel room can’t be erased from his mind.”

“How can any woman get over a rape?”

“That’s my point. It can’t be undone. Yet, I wasn’t going to let Big Shitty George change my life. Sure, it’s a big deal to have someone you trusted disappoint you. To find out, after five years, they thought of you as some cute little piece of ass.

“And Freddy, something I want to clear up. Although I might have looked the part, I never did the Lolita bit at any age. Even if I had, then he should have ignored it. If a child says, let’s get drunk, you don’t go get the ice you take the bottle away. George can’t pin that one on me.”

I said, “Do you think he was really that devious to look and lust all those years with this big scheme in mind?”

“No, I don’t. Let me tell you, I’ve figured out the whole thing. George never had any five-year plan of taking up with Momma to stay close to me. Later, on my birthday, he thought it was worth a try. He was sure I liked him and he knew I wasn’t innocent. Sure, he’d done some fantasizing about me over those years. But no, George didn’t have any long-range plan. Momma was the one with the five year plan.”

“No way!”

“Now don’t misunderstand. Here’s how it went. Momma kept him interested in her for five years. He kept coming back for more. Early on, she discovered his weakness, which is where I came in. Maybe at age thirteen I wasn’t aware of how he looked at me, but she did. She also noticed if he saw me when he came over, he was fantastic in bed that night. We’re talking multiple lightning strikes here. If I happened to be out of the house and he didn’t see me, he was ho-hum—an early night.

“I remember an incident when I was sixteen. During those years, I lived in tank tops and shorts, day and night, summer and winter. I would have worn them to school, but they weren’t allowed because of girls who were built like me. I’m not sure George had ever seen me wearing anything else. One night I told Momma I was going to show off my new jeans to George. Absolutely not, she said, those shorts look fine, but do something with your hair. She had another great time that night.

“Momma told me I should be polite and always come out and greet him when he came to the house. If I didn’t hear him come in, she’d send him back to my room to say hello. For five years, George got his appetite with me and satisfied his hunger with her. He turned on when he saw me and it took Momma hours to turn him off. That went on from age thirteen until I turned eighteen. Then George realized he had a shot at me.”

“What did your mother say?”

“Never told her. I lied to her, said we just had dinner, and went to a late movie. I couldn’t fool her. She could tell I hadn’t enjoyed it. She knew something had happened. She might even have guessed that George got out of line with me. Put his hand on my knee in the movie or something. She regretted letting me go alone. To this day she doesn’t know what actually happened.”

“But she’s your mother, she’d want to know.”

“Sure, she would. But why spoil five years of good memories for Momma? It’s all she has. I liked him to come over because I knew it’d make Momma happy. I’m not going to take that away from her. Plus, if I told her, she’d take the blame for misjudging George and exposing me to danger for five years. Momma loved me, I can’t put that scene into her memory. I can live with my memory of George—Momma can’t live without her memories of him.”

“So you didn’t tell your mother. You didn’t tell Jimmie. Who did you tell?”

“No one, I just swallowed it. Buried it in my mind as best I could for a few years. Acted as though nothing had happened. Later I could talk about it.”

“But what if he showed up again on her doorstep?”

“Never happen. He knew what he did. He knew he had to disappear from both our lives. We never saw him again. Maybe I should check with Dear Abby, but I’m convinced I did the right thing by not telling Momma.”

“How were you able to get over hating him?”

“Actually, I’m thankful for one thing. During those years, while I was underage, he could have manipulated and molested me. He knew I trusted him. He had many opportunities to take advantage of me. I must have been a terrible temptation. But he controlled himself, no innocent hand touching my leg, no playful pat on my butt, no accidental brushing of my breasts. All that shit that men think a little girl isn’t aware of.

“I didn’t realize until later how important that was. Thanks, George, for not making me live my life as a molested child. Having said that, I still think you’re a creepy bastard and I hope you die screaming.”

She was dead serious, but I had to laugh. Betty Jo was quite a woman. I was impressed with how she handled the anguish in the years after the attack. The episode was obviously a passage of sorts for her. She had entered that hotel room as a child and left as an adult.

She wasn’t through, “I learned something else from that experience, and I try to get it across to the beautiful girlfriends I dance with. George had my body, but that’s all. At no time did he have me. You are not your body. Never think the only thing valuable about yourself is your body and what you can do with it.”

Her words struck me and I felt a strange agitation and discomfort. I questioned to what extent I had focused on her body and not her valuable inner self. I realized she was not as I had earlier believed.

Chapter Twenty-two

State Attorney Lawrence Moran started to leave his office for the day when he noticed one of his staff, Assistant State Attorney Melvin Shapiro, waiting at the elevator. Moran motioned him over. They went into Moran’s office. “Mel, I heard that the wife of our victim Bruce Banks is down here from Delaware. That’s still your case isn’t it?”

Shapiro nodded. “Mrs. Banks was over at the office of the medical examiner. The funeral director was with her. The M.E. phoned me to be certain it was okay to release her husband’s body for shipment back to Delaware. I said no problem.”

“And you interviewed Mrs. Banks?”

“And I interviewed Mrs. Banks. You want a copy? Not much there. In her statement, she said Banks just got in his pickup and disappeared. He’d done it before. Taken off for a couple of days without telling her. Fishing or something. Apparently, they weren’t exactly a pair of lovebirds. She was surprised to learn he drove to Florida. They know no one locally. Never heard of Abby Olin or Sandra Reid. So we still have no idea why Bruce Banks was down here.”

“Is she still in town?”

“I believe so, she’s getting their pickup released from the sheriff’s pound today. It’s registered to him only. But I told the sheriff to let her take it anyway. It’s been searched. She’s going to have things tough enough without us giving her a hassle over ownership. We have no interest in it. She’ll drive it back up.

Moran pushed the phone across the desk to Shapiro. “Phone the sheriff right now. Put a hold on that pickup until you can talk to Mrs. Banks again.”

Shapiro shrugged. Moran waited. When Shapiro had completed the call, he said, “We’re in luck. She hasn’t picked it up yet. They’ll hold the vehicle until I give the word. So what’s going on?”

“I want keep her in town for a few more hours. Locate her inform her that we’ll be prosecuting Sandy Reid for conspiracy to commit murder. Explain to her that she can bring a wrongful death suit against Reid and get some money. Then I want you to personally introduce her to some local attorney to handle it.”

“I can’t do that. We don’t do that. We don’t get involved encouraging ancillary civil actions. And if Mrs. Bank brings a suit against Sandy, she must also bring one against Abby Olin the co-conspirator.”

“If Abby Olin also has to defend a wrongful death action, that’s not my problem. I want Reid sued.”

“I’m not certain we’ll even have a conspiracy case against Sandy.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll have an excellent case against her. I’ve a feeling Abby Olin is going to tell us a whole lot more about Sandy’s involvement.

Chapter Twenty-three

We drove on deep into Georgia on I-95. My fondness for Betty Jo had grown into a strong liking for her personally, not just her body. Of course, with a woman that attractive, I do admit to a considerable preoccupation with her looks. But now I was interested in her personal life as well. I cared what happened to her.

She had trusted me with her George story and I felt we were closer, as if we had a history. She was chatty and polite and that was fine, except there was nothing special between us. I wanted to have dinner with her, have a few drinks, chat across the table, and get to know her better.

She was leaning forward searching for a better music station on the radio. I noticed how the shoulder belt crossed between and promoted her breasts. Had she positioned it that way on purpose?

She saw me. “You know, Freddy, you’re the poster boy for an ideal customer in the club.”

“Well, thank you very much.”

“Yeah, loaded with lust and money.”

“Few men can look at you and not get lustful. That’s the point isn’t it?” She could call me lusty. I was certainly guilty on that point. It would be difficult for me to conceal it. I asked, “What’s it like to have dozens of men mentally ravishing you while you dance?”

“What’s it like to be so horny you can’t drive straight?”

I might have drifted a little on the highway. I placed both hands firmly on the wheel and glanced in the rearview mirror just to show her I was paying attention. I thought my question was somewhat cool. I guess she didn’t think so.

Things weren’t working out. She was still keeping her distance. I needed to change that. She turned away to look out the window. That gave me a chance to steal another glance at her. I pictured her in the spotlight at the men’s club, up on the platform moving to the beat of the soft slow music. Now she’s unbuttoning her top. Slowly one button after the other, showing glimpses of her breasts spilling out of a deep red bra. With hips undulating, she peels the blouse off her shoulders, swings it around, and tosses it toward me. She steps closer, her eyes fixed on my face daring me to look away. She runs her tongue over her cherry-red lips. Other men are wondering why I merit such extraordinary attention from the star. My eyes are glued on her captive breasts as she leans over close to me and reaches back to unclasp the bra. She shrugs her shoulders and the bra is loose now, but she’s holding it across her breasts teasing. She dances and sways before me. Then she...

“Watch out you idiot!”

I slammed on the brakes. We swerved. With a screech of tires, my car spun to the side of the highway facing the opposite direction. Dust mixed with the echo of angry horns swirled around us. We slid to a stop off the shoulder onto the grass on the edge of a ditch. Fortunately, we hadn’t hit anything. Everything was okay. The other cars kept on going.

“Didn’t you see that goddamn car?”

I sat there for two or three minutes breathing heavily with my eyes closed tightly. My hands still firmly gripping the steering wheel. So embarrassed I couldn’t speak. My daydreams were getting the best of me, as though they were unconstrained and out of my control.

After a few more moments, I merged back into traffic with exaggerated caution. I risked asking, “Are you okay?”

“If you don’t stop leering at me, I’m sitting in the back seat.”

“Don’t do that. Please. I’m just fascinated with you. You know how men are.”

“Yeah, I know how men are and it’s not a comforting thought.” She shook her head slowly as if I was an exasperating child. “How soon will we get to Florida? Assuming we make it.”

I glanced at the dashboard clock. “Can’t make it tonight. We’ll have to stop somewhere.” I was glad I’d thought of that. I was certain she didn’t have money for a hotel. That might be an opening.

“You could drive overnight, Freddy.”

“No thanks.”

“We could trade off driving.”

“No thanks.”

“What’s with this, we must stop somewhere shit?”

She didn’t want to appear too forward. I’d have to be subtle. “I’ll find a first-class hotel with a fine dining room.”

“Don’t have money for that. I’ll sleep in the car.”

She couldn’t be serious. “I can’t let you do that.”

“So, I get a separate room in your hotel, that what you’re saying?”

I thought about it a minute and answered, “No, I guess not. How about double beds, Candy, and you can put that gun under your pillow.”

“You just called me Candy.”

“I didn’t.”

“Freddy, I have no interest in getting laid tonight. I think I’ll skip the endless hours of begging and get my own motel room.”

Perhaps I still had a chance. That wasn’t a definite rejection, was it? After some wine and a pleasant dinner, she might change her mind. Isn’t that how it’s done?

After half an hour, I spotted a likely exit. I thought it safe to tell her I was tired of driving. We came to a Marriott and I slowed. She said to drive on past. I ignored her, pulled up into the driveway under the canopy, and stopped. I turned off the key.

She reached over and turned it back on. “Sleeping with you wasn’t part of the deal.”

She wanted her own small motel. I told her we were in rural Georgia and I didn’t think there was much else down the road going away from the Interstate. Try anyway, she said. A mile farther into the sticks, at a small crossroad, we came to Mom’s Cafe and across the road was Papp’s Motel with a flickering vacancy sign. In spite of how the place looked, the faded sign out front assured us the place was very up-to-date with not only air conditioning, but free TV as well.

“Pull up in front, Freddy.”

“You’re not serious. There are no other cars parked here.”

If Papp was eighty and wore a NASCAR cap, that must have been him sitting outside the motel office leaning back on a wooden bench. He wasn’t whittling, but otherwise it was a perfect homespun tableau.

“Wait here.” She took her shoulder bag and walked to the office, with her long legs disappearing up under that skirt and gently swaying those wonderful hips. Her head was up as if she was about to enter the Mayflower in DC.

The old man jumped as if he was eighteen and held the door for her. I waited. After thirty minutes, maybe more, I thought she’d dumped me and gone out the back way. At last, she came out front smiling and jingling a room key from her fingers.

I hurried over. “How’d you get that key?”

“A box of crackerjacks. It came as a prize.”

I had to raise my eyebrows at that. “It’s the Bates Motel. I can’t let you stay in this dump.” To tell the truth, the place appeared okay, it just wasn’t a modern multi-story.

“Grandpop in there gave me the best room. He says the bed is clean, the shower has a new glass door, and there’s a nice view of the road.”

Clearly, I didn’t understand this woman. “Okay, but let’s go back to that Marriott and have some dinner.” Maybe after dinner and drinks I’d have a chance.

“I’m not dressed for that and no money for anything fancy.”

“I’ll pay. I promise...no obligation.”

“Let just go across the road, Mom’s Café. Do people eat chili in Georgia?”

There were five other people in the café. Betty Jo brushed back some of her delightfully curly hair and stared up at the menu on the wall. No chili. A child in a far booth, who had been sitting with an open book and writing in a notebook, skipped over to our booth. When she saw Betty Jo she stopped frozen, her mouth open. Betty Jo called her over and managed to get her talking. She was Mom’s nine-year-old daughter. She slowly recited her spiel, which twice informed us there was no additional charge for coffee, and we could have all the refills we wanted. Looking upward and moving her lips slightly as we spoke, she took our order without writing it down. She then ran into the kitchen. Through the large window behind the counter, we could see her talking excitedly with Mom, who gave us a playful wave with a spatula. Then the child ran back to Betty Jo and asked her if she was a movie star. I had also decided, in the last eight hours, she was a very attractive woman.

I insisted on paying and we both ordered the fried chicken dinner with canned green beans, but real mashed potatoes. Not at all bad. The Congressional Restaurant should serve food like that. The young daughter balanced the dishes in heart-stopping fashion and took them away. We finished up with the free coffee and Mom’s homemade pecan pie.

I hadn’t had my usual evening drink, nevertheless I felt surprisingly at ease. Maybe we needed this. Needed to get acquainted. Do some ordinary things together. She was pleasant to be with. I suppose I’d be more pleasant if I could think of just one thing in the entire world other than her.

I wanted to hear her speak, to watch her talk, to tell me everything about herself. The order in which she put her clothes on and how she took them off. I wanted to know what she ate for breakfast, what she wore to bed, the name of her childhood pet, everything. Of course, I didn’t in fact ask any of those things aloud.

I did ask about her perfume. I liked it from the start and now it was even better. It was the warm fragrance of Betty Jo herself. I hoped the scent would remain in the car forever. If I knew the name, I could buy some for Ellen. Then when I was lying with her, I would think about Betty Jo. “I like your perfume. What is it?”

“I’m not wearing any. You’re smelling soap.”

I didn’t believe her. She was most likely embarrassed to mention some inexpensive brand from some common store. I would learn all such details later once she knew me better, if she became my mistress. I wondered if she’d mind moving to DC. I didn’t want to be driving to Baltimore all the time. Of course, Baltimore would be safer as far as people seeing us out together. I’d want to be with her inside the apartment most of the time. She could go out by herself on the nights I was busy. Although, it’d be best if she told me where she was going.

As we finished our coffee, my thoughts went back to how to get closer to her. There had been no drinks, so she wasn’t feeling high. We hadn’t eaten at my hotel, so we couldn’t just go upstairs. What should I do? What should I say? The day, the night, the opportunity, was getting away from me. I’d wasted it and tomorrow we’d be in Florida. She stood to leave and asked me to take her across the road to her motel.

We drove across to Papp’s and stopped in front of her room. I gave it another try. I tried to think of something persuasive. What I said was, “Are you sure you want to get out?”

“Freddy, you're about as romantic as my dirty sneakers.”

“I’m just acting like any sensible man.”

“I don’t meet a lot of those. Is this how they act?” She got out and gave me a little wave. “Goodnight, Freddy.”

“Wait, wait,” I called after her. I got out quickly and went around the car to her. “I’ve changed my mind about the hotel room. You can have your own private room at the Marriott after all.”

She just looked at me.

“No room with me, no double beds. Is that romantic?”

“Not at all. But it’s better. A single rose would be better.”

“I’ll send a dozen up to your room.”

“I already have a room here.”

“Not like this one. I’ll get you the top floor executive suite if you want. The best of whatever they have. Drink champagne in the Jacuzzi and whatever. You’ll be like royalty up there. Order room service...whatever you want.”

“And?”

“No and. I won’t bother you. Won’t even phone you.”

“Freddy, I do want to thank you for the ride and the dinner. I truly appreciate it.” She gave me the nicest smile yet. “I’ll be over at the café in the morning. If you don’t show up, I’ll understand and I’ll be okay. But I’ll bet you’re over there before sunrise waiting for me.”

That polite thank you was all I was going to get from her. She turned and left me. The only night, the only chance to have her in my arms had passed. So painful to watch that body with those perfect hips and long legs undulate away from me into her motel room. Was all that accentuation for my benefit? She already had me under her spell.

After she was safely inside her room, I drove back to the Marriott. This was crazy. If Betty Jo hadn’t been along, I’d have driven on to Florida without stopping. I had two Martinis in the lounge while I returned some phone calls, and carried a third drink up to my room. I watched a sexy movie, but it wasn’t as good as thinking about her. At last I fell asleep.

The next morning, I was up early and rushed through my shower and shave. My head was full of Betty Jo thoughts although at this time yesterday morning I didn’t know she existed. Yesterday my head was clear and full of purposeful direction. I knew the path I was on, the path my father and wise men before him had followed for centuries. Get an education, work hard, excel, and you’ll succeed. It wasn’t complicated for me. I’d already reached my goal of unquestioned success. I laughed at those frivolous fools dancing down the purposeless path of dissipation. Until yesterday morning.

How could I have come this far without someone exactly like her in my life? She was everything. All my problems lay outside myself until I met her. Now my mind was tangled with thoughts of her. They wound around through every crevice in my head like a dark feverish snake.

I checked out, and rolled my bag across the lobby, and out into the slight chill of a bright November dawn in Georgia. I checked the gas gauge as I pulled out onto the side road. We weren’t that far from the Georgia-Florida line. I’d fill up around Jacksonville.

I don’t know why I hurried over to Mom’s Café. I knew I was early. I supposed strippers didn’t get to bed before 4 a.m. and were accustomed to sleeping late. It was a glorious morning and I stood outside the café taking in deep breaths of the fresh Georgia air and wondering why I didn’t get up to see the sun rise every morning of my life. The morning would be perfect after she showed up. I could look across the road and see the door to her motel room. No open curtains. No sign of her.

Maybe she wasn’t coming. Maybe she hadn’t gone straight to bed last night. Maybe she’d met some man staying at the motel. She could have borrowed Papp’s car and found some rough Georgia bar. The entire place would fall silent as soon as she walked in the door, and they would immediately crown her queen. She might have chosen some unworthy hunk to take back to the motel. Some tattooed biker. Maybe I’d never see her again.

After an hour of standing there, I gave up and went in the café. I had just finished the best country breakfast ever when she reappeared in my life. She came in looking unusually fresh and appealing. I greeted her and told her to order whatever she wanted.

“Just want a coffee to go. Can we just drive to Florida without all these stops?” An older pigtailed daughter of Mom brought her a take-out coffee.

We got underway again on I-95. Here it was a fresh new day. The last day. This was it. We’d be in Florida later and I wasn’t any closer to intimacy with Betty Jo, let alone converting her into my mistress.

She leaned back, crossed her legs, and looked out the side window at the Georgia scenery zipping by. I thought I had time to sneak a look at her without her yelling. I’d never paid any attention to a woman’s knees before and now I stared in strange fascination. How smooth and creamy they looked. Flawless knees. Dimpled and soft as if they were brand new, never used.

“Freddy, do you mind? The highway’s out in front. Try to glance at it now and then.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve never seen myself like this. I don’t understand myself. And I certainly don’t understand you. I think we both should loosen up and enjoy the situation. You don’t have to be constantly on guard as you are. You’re treating me as though I’m just another man who doesn’t appreciate you for what you really are.”

“Freddy, you assume I want to screw you because I strip to make a living. Only a man in a man’s world could come up with this stuff. You’re not my type, get it? I could hand you a bronze plaque that reads ‘Freddy. It ain’t gonna happen.’ And you’d still be convinced that somehow a party will soon start.”

She had accurately sensed my frustration. Perhaps I’d misunderstood the situation entirely. Perhaps I’d been too subtle. “I don’t mean to insult you, but what if I just flat out paid you?”

“Hookers get paid. Female friends and housewives do it for free.”

She might have thought I took her for someone cheap. “I’m talking about real money. Much more than you think I’m offering. You’d have money in the bank and a lot of money in your pocket when you walked in on your mother. You don’t want to show up as broke as she is. You could fly back to Baltimore first class.”

“Hold on, let me get out my calculator.”

“You’re making fun of me. What if I offered you something really big, a luxury apartment, expensive clothes, a glamorous lifestyle?”

“You left out the sun and moon. How far do you go before you realize you’re making an ass out of yourself? I know what I want, Freddy, and that isn’t it. Look, I admit I tricked you into giving me a ride. You appeared harmless and I loved this big safe car. I was stranded and it was up to me to take care of myself. I needed to keep myself safe. So the first thing I did before I ever approached you yesterday morning was to write down your license plate number. I have it tucked away in my purse in case something bad happens. You men don’t have to think about such things, but the world out there can get very nasty very quickly. No one is getting over on this girl ever again.

“All I want from you is the ride. I didn’t ask for food or drinks from you. And that was very nice of you, Freddy. Did I play you a little? Sure. I was keeping the ride going. Now I’m getting the ride without doing anything. So why should I do anything.”

“You could be nice.”

“Look, Freddy,” she said softly, “Don’t you understand you’re asking me to trade sex for a ride to Florida? How dare you? I don’t do things like that. Second, once we do the deed, then the ride might be over. Ask any teenage girl. The chance of a man like you kicking me out of his car while he’s still horny is zilch, nada, and zero.”

“I’m not going to put you out or leave you stranded whether I’m sexually satisfied or not, Candy.”

“Don’t call me Candy.”

“If you’re so pure in thought and deed, you mind telling me how you paid for that motel room last night?”

“What, your imagination suddenly stop working?”

“You got that old man off, didn’t you?”

“We were just sympathetic spirits. We understood each other. We each had something the other wanted. So, we made a deal. He was at my door this morning—told me I could stay a month free.”

“No doubt ready to sign over the motel to you.”

“I’m joking, Freddy. Do you really think I’d do Pops a little favor for the price of a motel room? I told you I don’t do that stuff. If I had diddled him, he’d be on a respirator right now thanking God for his last good time and saying he now was ready to go. The truth is we were talking about Florida. He told me he used to drive down and see his girlfriend in Apalachicola, but the last time she unexpectedly told him she was getting married. Poor guy. He said I reminded him of her. My guess was every woman he sees reminds him of her. That’s all. Told me he had one room rate for the tourists, but he gave me the lower rate for locals. You know what else he said? Anyone as pretty as me should float through life free anyway, like a national resource, so everyone could look at me. Wasn’t that nice? Oh God, to be able to float through life.”

“But that’s exactly what you are doing. I’m not suggesting your life is easy, and you don’t have to pay your way. But you float along in social situations by making promises with your sexuality.”

“If you’ve been promised anything, you did it to yourself.”

“That’s not true. And I’m not talking about just me. I’m talking about every man. You make promises with your body language and the way you carry on. You don’t just flirt. You put on your stripper personality and act sexually bold. Are you saying I’ve misinterpreted all that?”

“Freddy, what do you expect me to do? You haven’t had one single non-sexual thought in your head since I got in this car. Now how is that supposed to make me feel? Treat me like an object and I’ll react like an object.”

“You’re the one who made yourself up like an object to get this ride. You’re the one who conveniently told me you dance around naked for a living. You’re the one who put those sexual thoughts in my head. And if I hadn’t reacted, you’d move, or twist, or touch your legs or something until I got the message. You tease so much you don’t even realize you’re doing it. You’ve the power to turn a perfectly normal man into a delusional idiot. You love it and you use it. Now you’re saying I’m wrong for misinterpreting all your sexual manipulations.”

“Okay, you’re right. I used sex to get the ride. I do fall back on that when I need to. I’m sorry.”

“You believe the best way to hurt every man is to make then lust after you, excite them, and leave them frustrated to the point of abject agony. Which is what you’d do to George if you could do it over. Remember what you told me about stripping? The idea was to make every man in the room think you’re dumb enough to actually have sex with him. Maybe, subconsciously, you’re still trying to hurt George. Your goal is to make men suffer.”

“That’s ridiculous. I like men. I don’t want to hurt them.”

“Why did you tell me you were a stripper?”

“What? You asked me what I did.”

“When you’re out in the real world, what happens when you tell a man you’re a stripper? We both know. The man looks at you in a different way. He immediately starts to judge your character even your morals. And his judgment isn’t likely to be charitable.”

“Strippers being immoral is a cliché.”

“Yes, and so commonplace why on earth would you tell a stranger that you strip unless you were seeking such a predictable reaction?”

“I’m not ashamed of being a stripper.”

“That’s not the point. You purposely told me you stripped knowing exactly how I’d react. From then on, it was easy and you got me going knowing I’d crave you and subsequently be disappointed and hurt. You hurt me on purpose because I’m a man.”

I was thinking it all through as I spoke. I thought the rape made more of a mess of her psyche than she realized. Suffer Freddy. Suffer all you men out there who’d like to have her. Suffer because of George. That’s why it was now a part of her being. She couldn’t turn it off if any man was watching.

“It’s no mystery to me why you were attracted to stripping. You’ve been doing a sex dance in front of men ever since that rape. Just so you could get them excited and then let them stew in their own lust. All the while thinking ‘Go to hell, George. Go to hell all of you.’”

“Wow, Freddy where’d all that come from?” She sat still for a minute then shrugged. “Anyway, it’s all a bunch of silly shit and not what’s going on with me.”

“I’m sorry, maybe I went too far. But if you women put all your sexual power together you could rule the world.”

She said, “Frankly I don’t see what all the fuss is about. You see one naked body, you’ve seen them all.”

I looked over sharply. Her expression was extremely stern for a moment and then she burst out laughing. I thought she was laughing at me, and for an instant I was angry. That’s when I saw this warm almost motherly smile on her face for a moment before she started laughing again. Then I caught the joke. And I started laughing as well. She hadn’t said it to pity me. She wasn’t laughing at me. She was laughing at the ubiquitous power of sex. Whether it’s a naked woman or a naked man, we’re all in this ridiculous sexual attraction game together. The outrageous effect of sex enslaves us all. Its chaotic passion lies within us and we’re subject to its rule. We live at its mercy.

We sat there riding side by side for a beautiful moment. Two helpless humans laughing together at the absurdity of sex, and how it makes us act.

I realized I’d been acting foolish and ungentlemanly. I don’t know what she realized at that point, but she appeared softer, even slightly vulnerable. Perhaps she’d experienced some insight into her own behavior. We’d made a small connection. At least we had laughed together honestly for the first time.

At that moment, what I wanted was to clear the air of sex and for us to act like adults friends who happened to be traveling companions. “Look, Betty Jo, This is entirely my fault. But things don’t have to stay this way. We got off on the wrong foot. Let’s start over.”

“Let’s keep it on the wrong foot.”

At that moment I gave up. She was unattainable. She was smarter and more complicated than I ever expected. She had my number. She had me. She’d make the rules from then on and I’d let her. I’m not proud to say it, but I’d have done anything for her. I’d grovel at those zebra-striped shoes. Now I didn’t want to get to Florida because then she’d be gone.

For the next hour, I was afraid to look over at her. I didn’t want her scolding me. I noticed she seemed to be interested in how the scenery conspicuously changed as we proceeded farther south. So I took a chance. Her shoes were off and I could look down cautiously and see her bare feet and toes. I kept my eyes mostly on the highway. I don’t think Candy was aware I could look down and see her bare feet.

Chapter Twenty-four

We crossed into Florida late that afternoon. This was the home stretch. Betty Jo started watching for a suitable place to get gas and coffee. She was excited. “Freddy, I hope this is the last damn stop before Fort Lauderdale.” Apparently, no question remained about how far I would take her. Although we had never discussed the subject, I was to drive hours out of my way and deliver her precisely to her mother’s doorstep. That was all right with me; I’d be near her that much longer.

She spotted a crowded truck stop near Jacksonville and told me to exit and pull in there. You notice she’s calling the shots. “You gas up. I’ll be back in a minute.”

She got out and did that walk of hers across to the main building with her head up in the air, those hips in motion, and those long legs going up as far as the eye could see. All accentuated by the tall heels she wore. How nice for everyone. Two cars honked. Without moving her head, she raised a hand to acknowledge their approval, but kept walking straight ahead.

Watching her, in that moment, I recognized something about her that I had missed. Now I understood her walk, the way she carried herself. Now I understood her demeanor whether walking across a motel parking lot or into a store. She didn’t stand up tall to show off her figure; she stood tall with pride. She had a true sense of self that had nothing to do with being a stripper. What had she said? They may have my body but they don’t have me.

She walked to the building entrance and stopped. Something had her attention. Instead of going in, she turned around and walked on down between the line of parked cars. She walked up to a green Ford Taurus parked there. She looked at the license plate. She tried the car doors. Then she looked back at me, waved excitedly, and pointed to the car.

Just then, a middle-aged blond woman wearing white jeans and a leather jacket rushed up to Betty Jo. She shook her fist in the woman’s face. The woman pushed Betty Jo hard back against the car. Instead of just pushing back, Betty Jo wound up like a discus thrower and swung her shoulder handbag hard without holding back. She caught the woman up alongside her head. The woman’s feet literally left the ground. She screamed. Her knees crumpled and she fell backwards. I thought, oh god, if there’s a heavy gun in that handbag the woman will lose all her teeth if not her head. I rushed over and got there in time to partially support the woman and keep her head from hitting the curb. I lowered her to the sidewalk. She was dazed. She sat holding her head and crying, and then started vomiting at the same time.

I shouted, “What in hell are you doing, Betty Jo? You nearly killed this poor woman!”

“Freddy, go inside find a cop and tell him who you are.”

“Tell him who I am?”

“For chrissake, you’ve got a big black car with a U.S. Congress license plate attachment. You think I’m stupid. This is the bitch who stole my suitcase and new coat and stranded me back where I met you. Go in there and start throwing your goddamn weight around. You want to show off in front of me, now’s your chance. Phone the governor. Phone the President. Get the fucking FBI over here. I want her arrested, jailed, and executed.”

By then the woman’s face had turned even more terrible. Her face appeared crushed and scratched on one side from her eye to her lower lip. The eye began to close up. It was already an ugly purple blotch and was beginning to swell. Blood dripped from her nose and one ear down onto her white jeans. The woman tried to focus her other eye. She moved her hands around the sidewalk trying to find her purse. I handed it to her. She fumbled, found her keys, and said weakly, “Her stuff’s in the back seat.”

Betty Jo stood over her. “And I want the fifty bucks I gave you for gas!”

The woman spit out blood before answering. “Don’t have it any more,” she sputtered in a weak voice. “Spent...for gas.”

Betty Jo leaned over nose to nose with the woman and shouted in her face, “Nobody fucks with me, woman!”

She grabbed the woman’s purse and violently shook it upside down. The contents scattered like marbles over the sidewalk, the curb, and under nearby cars. Betty Jo picked out the money, sorted out fifty dollars, and threw the rest of the money and the empty purse hard into the woman’s chest.

Betty Jo’s yelling had drawn attention and a crowd began to surround us. I took her aside and gently pointed out that since she’d just severely assaulted and possibly disfigured the woman for life, it might be best to forget about making any charges. Betty Jo was still breathing heavily but she nodded. The crowd stepped back hastily to clear a wide passage for her as she started to walk away. Then she turned and gave the woman the finger.

I stood there shaking. I tried to comfort the woman, but she shrugged me away. Betty Jo straightened her shoulders and walked serenely into the building. I carried her suitcase and coat back to my car.

So, she hadn’t been lying about being robbed and stranded up near Richmond. How about that. She was not out hitchhiking along the highway without any resources. She had lied about having a disabled car to get the ride because she was stranded, but not about being robbed. I sat another twenty minutes wondering about Betty Jo, and fully expecting the police to tap on my window at any time.

What was I doing at a truck stop in Jacksonville waiting for orders from this woman? I really didn’t know. That’s when I thought I heard the wail of a siren in the distance.

Betty Jo came running out of the building panicky. She raced up to the car and screamed for me to get out of there fast. I’d already seen her in action. I wasn’t going to wait for an explanation. Knowing Betty Jo, if the entire building had exploded into a tower of flames at that moment, I wouldn’t have been surprised.

“Someone called the police. They’re all yelling about it in there and pointing at me.”

The siren sounds were definitely getting louder. The “Congressman and the Stripper” headline flashed across my mind. For the first time in my life, I slammed the accelerator to the floor and held it there just like in the movies. The car fishtailed sideways, the tires spun then screeched as we tore out of there seemingly on two wheels.

Once on the access road I could see the flashing lights of an oncoming sheriff’s car and a highway patrol vehicle. Sirens blared as they passed us. As we swung up onto I-95, I glanced back and saw the trooper had blocked the truck stop exit to prevent any additional vehicles from leaving the truck stop.

“See that white SUV behind us?” She was turned in the seat, watching out the back window. “We were the last two vehicles to get out.”

Underway on the highway, the yelp of another siren made us both stiffen. I was afraid to look in the rearview mirror. The siren’s cry grew louder and we could then see an ambulance roaring by in the oncoming lane.

I finally relaxed my white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. But for the rest of the trip I fully expected flashing lights in the rear view mirror at any time.

She made a small laugh. “I guess I sort of called attention to myself back there.”

“I guess you did. Of course, you’d have been noticed back there even if you hadn’t taken out that woman.”

“What do you mean?”

I laughed. “What goes unnoticed in Baltimore can start a riot at a redneck truck stop.”

“What are you talking about?”

I didn’t answer.

“You mean how I look?”

I shouldn’t have said anything to start. I had intended my comment to be complimentary. At least I was smart enough to remain silent.

“You mean how I’m dressed?” She didn’t like this at all. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

“They’re fine. I guess it’s not your fault.”

“Well, then what the hell are you talking about?”

“Your clothes are fine. It’s how you wear them.” I was getting in deeper. “When you put everything together, you have a certain look.”

“So what you’re saying is I look like a whore.”

“Of course not. I’m just saying you have more of a Baltimore city look than a redneck truck-stop look.” I was truly sorry I’d brought up the subject. “I think you’re beautiful. You could be a model.” I hoped that was the end of it. Maybe she’d leave it at that.

I thought she was still mad at me but later she said, “I’m so glad I’ve got my clothes back. Also, I’ve a new bikini packed in there. Can we stop at a beach on the way down?”

“I thought you were in a hurry. If we stop, you won’t get to your mother’s until after dark.”

“What’s another couple of hours? Come on, let’s find a beach somewhere so I can try out my new bikini. It’s orange. If you don’t like it, I’ll take it off.”

You hear that comment? She was doing it again. She didn’t want the teasing sexy talk, but would instantly go back to it if it suited her. Like now enticing me to take her to the beach. Once again, she toyed with my agony. Truth is I’d have done anything for her. You want to go to the beach, Cannes, Acapulco? Just name it.

We were now near Sebastian, Florida and she wanted off that land-bound highway. She was serious about the beach. We were unfamiliar with this part of the Florida east coast, but I knew we needed to cut over east to A1A, which runs alongside the ocean. We exited and stopped at a convenience store for directions. She bought one of those large soft pretzels. It didn’t come with mustard, which she had to have. So I bought a little jar of mustard for her.

South on A1A I found that isolated beach. I almost drove past. There were no formal parking spaces. You just pulled onto a dirt road behind the dense foliage. This woman who stripped for a living hid behind my car like an adolescent girl so I wouldn’t see her while she changed into her bikini. She had me lock her clothes and shoulder bag in the trunk.

The beach was down a sandy slope. She stretched out on her back in the faultless sand. She was absolutely stunning lying there in the late afternoon sun. Unbelievable. At one point, she rolled over on her stomach and undid the straps to her top, careful not to expose her breasts to me. That annoyed me and I told her so, “You’ve been flirting with men across five states. I drive you all the way to Florida and don’t even get a flash.”

“It’s my day off.” She laughed and started to eat the pretzel. All at once, she started choking. Then she stood, one hand at her throat the other holding the bikini top to her chest. Just a cough and I thought nothing of it at first. She let the top fall and clutched her throat with both hands. Obviously in severe distress. She bent over jerking her knees up and down like an Indian war dancer. I panicked. I slapped her back fairly hard between the shoulder blades, I’d seen a waiter do that once. I reached around her waist from behind and squeezed. I really didn’t know what I was doing. She clutched at her throat trying to cough. I pounded on her back again. Whatever I was doing wasn’t correct or at least didn’t work. After a couple of minutes, her face started turning blue. Within five minutes, she had lost consciousness. In another five...she was dead.

In a flash. Just like that. Betty Jo was gone.

I had been useless. I started crying and had to kneel down. I realized I had to get help. I thought about how this would look and how the police wouldn’t believe me. I tried to get her top back on so they wouldn’t think I molested her, but I gave up on that. I started running up the dune toward my car.

As I started back to my car, this young man walked up. I covered her with my suit jacket and we talked for a few minutes. He told me he saw everything. He’d already called the police so there was no point in me hanging around. So reluctantly, I left.

She had accidentally died. I’d done nothing wrong. I was devastated. Nothing else I could do for her, however I could save myself. I could imagine all the photographers following the police and snapping pictures of me kneeling beside her body.

Leaving was a big mistake. I didn’t realize just how big at the time. I admit my thoughts were entirely about myself. I should have sat by her side until the police came. If I hadn’t left, she wouldn’t have been desecrated. That happened because of me. It’s hard to live with because I had grown so fond of her.

Chapter Twenty-five

Congressman Kidde had walked a continuous circle around his desk while relating his two day adventure. “Have you ever seen anyone die, right before your eyes?” After an audible sigh, he sank into his chair, swiveled away from Sandy, and put his head down in his hands.

Sandy sat half-stunned. It was as though she had watched Freddy himself die slowly before her eyes. When she entered his house two hours ago, she was caught up in the mystery surrounding the poor woman found dead and penetrated on a Florida beach. What happened on the beach that night? Who was she? How did she come to be there? Sandy had wanted to know every detail. Now she knew more than she wanted to know. He had explained too much.

She was astonished that this uptight conservative man had poured out his innermost thoughts to her. She had no interest in his erotic fantasies. It was enough to know he had them in abundance. Obviously, he harbored guilt over his behavior and failure to save Betty Jo’s life. Had he been engrossed hopelessly in some sort of cathartic story telling? Had he a psychological need to bare his soul to Sandy in an act of contrition to gain absolution?

After a few moments, he swiveled around, straightened in his chair, and forced a smile. “Now you know everything. Freddy is the one who has stripped himself bare. I’m at your mercy. You know enough to destroy me. Nothing I can do about it now.”

“Geez Freddy, did you have to go into such detail?”

“I wanted someone to understand the entire episode. You told me not to leave out the embarrassing stuff.”

“I meant I could handle it, not that I wanted to hear your heavy breathing.”

“No doubt you’ve been judging me all the time I was divulging my innermost thoughts to you.”

She studied his face. How had this prominent politician managed to place his entire life on the edge of devastation with a routine drive to Florida? He gave a stranded woman a ride and was, at first, disinterested in her—she wasn’t even pretty. His imagination began to run wild when she explained she was a stripper from Baltimore. From that point on the trip became a fantasy adventure for him. She simply wanted the ride and was unemotional about him. His infatuation with her grew into a hopeless sexual obsession. At the end, she was gorgeous, he couldn’t live without her, and he was reduced to a blithering idiot willing to lick her zebra-striped shoes.

“Of course, I’ve been judging you. You’re a childish, selfish, and passionate man. I’ll excuse the passion. All of us are subject to losing control over a passion. Did I mention arrogant? You’re too used to privilege. You’re one of those people who never hesitates to walk through any door marked ‘private,’ and then you walk out if what you find on the other side displeases you.”

“It’s true I’ve grown quite accustomed to a certain privileged routine. I know I didn’t react properly in such an emergency.”

“Why didn’t you try CPR?”

“I didn’t think about it and don’t know how to do it anyway. I’ve never thought about things like CPR and Heimlich. I’m not really a people person. You know, touchy feely stuff. I’ve been insulated from such physicality. I don’t think about having emergencies. I have minions to take care of such matters. Of course, we don’t know if CPR would have helped. Even someone skilled might not have been able to save her.”

“That’s true. Some of your ineptitude is forgivable. Few of us are well prepared for a panic.” She wished she could stop judging him and get on with the missing details. “The man you left behind on the beach with her body was, of course, Toby.”

“Didn’t I say that? He must have followed us from Jacksonville to the beach, although I didn’t notice. Anyway, that’s why I paid the blackmail. I didn’t want anyone to know I was there. I’m too well known.”

She said, “I’m surprised Betty Jo walked down to the beach and left her shoulder bag in the car. She seemed to be protecting it so closely during the entire trip.”

“Once we crossed into Florida, I could see her really relax. Much happier. The trip was almost over. She’d see her mother in a few hours. She was in Florida where she could stretch out in the sun. She changed into the bikini and we locked her clothes and her handbag in the trunk. She was okay with that.

“What happened to her belongings?”

“After I got home, I started to burn them...her stuff...and then I hesitated. I couldn’t do it. Those things didn’t belong to me. They were hers. They were a confirmation of her. Evidence of her existence. Could be she didn’t own anything else. Her mother might like to have them.”

“Was there a gun in her shoulder bag?”

“No gun. She had a roll of money wrapped with a rubber band, eight thousand dollars mostly fifties. That’s what she was protecting all along.”

“You could’ve located the mother and given her the money.”

“I did. You think I’d steal it? The address was on a letter in the handbag. She’d told me her mother was hurting for money. I had the money delivered to her mother anonymously and I added some. Not the personal items that would be too risky.”

“So the mother still doesn’t know her daughter is dead. That’s terrible, Freddy. Again you took the easy way out.”

“I know and I’m so sorry. After all, I was hiding. Later I burned everything else. I couldn’t sleep with her stuff in my house. It was as if she was there.”

“You should have told the mother. She deserves to know. Right now, we are the only two people in the world who know the identity of that dead woman. I’m sorry, but I’m going to locate the mother and tell her. What’s her name?”

“Marlene Hodges. I have her address. Betty Jo still used Hodges as well. And when you see Mrs. Hodges, you’ll tell her about the necrophile? And how her daughter’s abused body laid on the beach like debris from an offshore wreck until the next day? And later on a slab at the morgue tagged Jane Doe? You see the problem?”

“Christ, I don’t know. Yes, I suppose I should tell her about the abuse. She fought back the urge to take him by the lapels and shake him, but she wanted him to turn himself in so Betty Jo would be identified officially. So she could rest in peace and the Privado Beach mystery be resolved.

“You’re angry with me.”

“And horrified you didn’t stay and protect her body regardless of the cost to you. Shame on you. That was really shitty, there’s no other word.”

“I wish I could do it over.”

“That’s not good enough.” She poured the last of the cold coffee into her cup.

“Isn’t it strange that we’ve become connected by all this? Though we’ll now go our separate ways, you’re the only person who can appreciate the entire affair.”

“We’re not connected and stop begging for my forgiveness.”

He turned to face her. “Maybe with time....”

“You’re never going to get it.”

He pointed to the empty silver coffee pitcher. “Would you like something stronger? Mrs. Wolfe makes a dynamite Bloody Mary.” He reached over and buzzed his secretary.

She nodded “Sounds good. After that story, some form of medication is exactly what I need.”

She got up slowly from her chair, walked over, and looked out at the peaceful panorama that was his backyard. Flourishing greenery surrounded everything in view. Green beyond green. Half way down the gentle slope of lawn, an old man in gray coveralls wearing a wide brimmed straw hat attended to the hibiscus that lined the stone walkway leading to the boat dock. No question Freddy enjoyed a lush lifestyle.

She wondered if he would lose all this when the Privado affair became public? Likely not, he came from a moneyed family. The rules are different if you have money. But can it buy forgiveness? Would his constituents forgive him? That was a different question. It seemed to Sandy that a politician on a beach with a naked dead girl was a dead politician. Yet, other politicians had done worse, even been convicted of their transgressions, and somehow resurrected a public career. Frederick Kidde didn’t appear to have that spark within him.”

She turned back from the charming vista to look at him. He stood with his head down as though he had just confessed his guilt before a judge and was awaiting his sentence. “Does your wife know any of what you just told me?”

His head snapped up. “Oh god, none of it.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “She wouldn’t believe it of me anyway. She thinks I’m a bit uptight when it comes to sexual matters.”

“Imagine that.”

The office door opened abruptly. They sat in awkward silence while Mrs. Wolfe brought in the drinks. Sandy smiled politely. She was certain the secretary had overheard that last comment. She must be questioning their relationship, and wondering what sexual subject could keep the conservative congressman engaged for hours with this young woman.

She stared at Sandy then at him. “You know, Mr. Kidde, you’ve a stack of important messages waiting.” He nodded sheepishly in reply. She shook her head and closed the door behind her.

They looked at each other, listening to the retreating footsteps of Mrs. Wolfe on the hardwood floor. Then in a lower voice he said, “I’ve been living with this nightmare for months now.” He took a sip of his Bloody Mary. “Did you follow the story in the papers? She was nude when they found her.”

“No bikini,” Sandy added. “I wasn’t down here then, but I went back and read it all.”

“That’s right. Both the top and bottom parts were gone. Of course, the newspaper sensationalized her being found naked. Plus her being shaved...down there...really made a titillating story.”

“I brought the police report. They aren’t looking for you. You could have come forward at any time.”

“May I see that report?” He found his glasses, flipped through the report, and then started over and read carefully. Only three pages, but fifteen minutes later he was still studying it. He put it down. “No mention of DNA in here.”

“No DNA was found.”

He frowned. “Must be a mistake. DNA must have been found.”

“No, I confirmed that fact with my police friend. Apparently, the tide touched the body enough that she received the equivalent of a saltwater douche. The semen traces were also unusable.”

“I guess I just assumed they found Toby’s DNA. The way he stared down at her like a cannibal.” He handed the report back. “I was thinking Toby, but someone else might have passed by. Paper said it was a hangout for kids. I hope a bunch of teens didn’t get to her. Possibly some cop stumbled across her while checking the beach for teenage drinkers, or turtle egg poachers and he couldn’t resist.”

She was tired of him, wanted him out of her sight. Was there anything left? “Let’s do this, Freddy. I know the police up there in Park Beach. I’ll arrange a meeting with Detective Chip Goddard. He trusts me, I practically live with him. The media won’t know a thing about it.”

“They will eventually. Damn it all, I’m a Congressman.”

“Being in the public eye is your problem all right. If you were Joe Blow, you’d just turn you self in, be scolded by the police and be done with it. Now, the only solution is for you to preempt Abby by going to the police first. You will then have come forward innocently. They’re already investigating Abby for blackmail because they found the money. She’s not going to keep you out of it.”

“I’m not walking into a police station without an attorney.”

“Fine. Get your attorney. Just get in there first. Get your associates together and start planning damage control. Then when Abby rings the bell on you, it’ll be old news by the time reelection comes around. Politicians have done a hell of a lot worse and survived. You meant her no harm, even tried to save her life. It’s understandable and very human why you didn’t come forward the next morning. You thought the police were on the way and thought you had left her in responsible hands.” She bit her tongue, he didn’t deserve her kind, non-judgmental words, but she wanted him to come forward.

“It almost sounds okay, the way you say it. What if they try and accuse me a something besides simply leaving?”

That gave her pause. “What else is there?” As soon as she said it, she thought of the unsolved shooting of Toby. She approached the subject obliquely. “Toby being murdered certainly helped your situation, didn’t it?”

“No, it hurts me. It makes the entire situation more serious, more dramatic.” He studied her face. “Surely, you’re not back to thinking I shot him?”

“You or one of your minions.”

“But he was shot after Abby contacted me. If I shot him, I’d still have to worry about her blackmailing me.”

Another thought occurred to her. “Perhaps you didn’t shoot him to stop the blackmail. Perhaps you shot him because he was the only living soul who could connect you to Privado Beach.”

“In that case I’ll have to get rid of you now, won’t I? You now know the story.”

“I’ve no proof. You could simply deny it. Okay, if you’re not connected to the Toby murder, then there’s no reason not to go to the police. You’ve nothing to worry about. The police have no idea how she ended up on the beach and Toby can’t talk. You can tell them whatever you want about the trip and all that.”

“I appreciate you’re trying to help, but you don’t realize how politics works. If this gets out, regardless of how I spin it, I’ll not be reelected. Sorry, I’m not turning myself in. If you go to the police, I’ll deny we ever talked.”

“But that wasn’t the deal. You said you’d come forward and I said I’d help you. I already have by getting you the police report and suggesting how you can handle this. And here’s some more help. Do you know State Attorney Lawrence Moran?”

“Casually. I met him at the Governor’s Inaugural Ball.”

“So, you’re both in the same party. Good. Did you know Moran wants to run for U.S. Senator? Does that bother you?”

He shook his head. “I’m not interested in the Senate. My House seat is safe. I can be a congressman for life if I can get this behind me. I see what you’re getting at, but I’m not going to call Moran and ask him to get me out of this and in return, I’ll help him in his campaign. That’s an ethical violation for both of us.”

“That’s not what I’m thinking. Let me set up a confidential meeting with the police. Of course, they’ll immediately advise State Attorney Moran. He’s not going to prosecute a failure to report violation with flimsy supporting evidence. He’ll drop everything immediately. He’s not going to mess with you. He wants your eventual support. You still have time. Abby might not even realize we’re on to the blackmail scheme. Please, Freddy, get your name into this voluntarily before Abby gives the police her version.”

“If she mentions my name, she’s admitting to blackmail. She won’t do that.”

“Her ex-husband followed her here. They’ll trace the money.”

“I’ll deny I ever set eyes on Abby, and Toby won’t be telling anyone anything. Therefore, I’m not connected to any blackmail plot. If I deny everything, it won’t be worthwhile to pursue her for blackmail without my testimony. Easier to get her for murder. Also, I don’t want Moran to have this over me.” He stopped long enough to drain his Bloody Mary. “I’ve changed my mind. Now that I’ve read the police report, I can see they’ve nothing that links me to this. I’ll go on my merry way.”

“It won’t work. The media will be involved at some point and they could care less what you deny or whether the charges are true. You can’t keep yourself out of this.”

“Is that a threat? You said you wouldn’t tell.”

“Wait a minute. I was onto the blackmail scheme when I walked in here. I won’t promise to keep that part quiet. As of now, they’ve no reason to question me about what you told me about the trip or the beach scene. But if they ask me under oath, I must tell what I know.”

“I’ll deny that as well. You must have made up such a crazy story to save your own skin.” He stood and threw his shoulders back in an attempt to regain his dignity.

“Don’t say absolutely no. At the very least, discuss this with a trusted attorney.”

He opened the office door and motioned for her to leave. “I’ll follow you out.” They walked quietly through the house. He started talking again when they were outside. “I’d never be able to explain it all. The hitchhiking, the motel stop, the bikini. Makes me sound obsessive.”

“Some might jump to that conclusion.”

“It was a mistake to bare my soul to you. My emotions overcame me. Although I do feel relieved after unloading all this. After seeing the police report, this seems to be an unimportant case for them. I’m waiting. Maybe it won’t play out the way you say. I’m not trading a possible crisis for a certain one.”

“You’re absolutely making the muddled choice once again.”

When they got to her car he said, “I realize she was manipulating me to some extent.”

“To some extent? Freddy, she was molding your libido in her hands like soft clay.”

“There you see? Being a woman, you understand what was going on in her mind. In many ways, she kept telling me the rules. I didn’t want to understand the rules because that would have left me hopeless. I kept living on that hope.”

“And that hope pushed you beyond reality.” She needed to maintain his cooperation. Possibly, he would change his mind and come forward. “There are times when a woman must play keep-away regardless of who the man is or whether she likes him.”

To Sandy’s way of thinking, what he’d described as mere infatuation easily rose to the level of a fanatical obsession. And he still didn’t seem to realize it was fateful. With such intense passion, perhaps it was inevitable that something dramatic would result. Nothing good could have come from it.

“To me she’ll always be a beautiful puzzle that I failed to solve.”

“You fell in love with her.”

“Pretty much.”

Chapter Twenty-six

While driving back to Park Beach, Sandy continued to digest the fascinating Kidde versus Betty Jo adventure. She now knew more about what had happened last November leading up to the beach scene than any other person. More even than Kidde. She was the only one who had access to the official facts from the police investigation, the schizoid thinking of Toby, and now the emotional perspective of Congressman Kidde. He would never again share the sensual details of his fantasy journey with anyone. She was certain of that.

She definitely felt a curious connection with the victim. A strange sisterly empathy with ill-fated Betty Jo Hodges. Not with the exotic dancing part, and not with the issues that apparently remained with her because of George. But an understanding of her attitude and reactions after riding for hours fending off the impassioned congressman. Sandy could look unemotionally at the saga of Freddy Kidde; he was unlikely to ever gain insight into his behavior and comprehend what went wrong.

She regretted her failure to persuade him to come forward. He was making a mistake, she thought. Although she had provided some amateur psychotherapy to him, it was uncertain whether the information he disclosed would help solve any of her own problems.

She hit Dial #1. Chip agreed to meet her at the Coffee Spot on the beach. He also admonished her to stop using her phone while driving. Can’t get the cop out of the guy, she thought.

Within the hour, they were in the Coffee Spot with its red-topped chrome stools and old-time diner decor. They first were acquainted there and it became their favorite rendezvous place. Chip had parked his unmarked vehicle next to her MX-5 behind the building and entered through the kitchen. They took their favorite rear booth with Chip facing the front door as usual. The waitress recognized them and was on the way with the thick mugs of coffee before they had settled in.

“It was sad, Chip, watching a man confess to human weaknesses that he himself doesn’t understand.”

“It’s sad enough for a man is to confess to the weaknesses he is aware of.”

“Freddy...we’re on a first name basis now...also had difficulty understanding his foolishness.” She blew on the hot coffee and sipped. “I felt sympathy and pity for him at the same time. You were right, Chip. The beach body was a stripper after all. She was stranded and Kidde picked her up in Virginia. They stopped overnight but it was plutonic, no thanks to him. Even separate motels. The stop at the beach was innocent, on the way to her mother’s home in Fort Lauderdale. Then it gets weird. Toby had spotted them when they got gas in Jacksonville and followed them down the beach. Toby saw her choke to death. This is all according to Kidde of course.”

“So he claims she was a stripper hitchhiker and not his mistress. I don’t buy that, sounds like a cover story to me. Why wouldn’t a stripper go for a big-deal congressman?”

“That’s what he would like to know. You’d believe it if you listened to his pathetic story of abject frustration.”

“And Toby followed them so he could rob them.”

“My, what a suspicious nature you have. I’m telling you this isn’t your routine Florida small town murder mystery. So, Toby gets one look at her in Jacksonville and was overcome with a severe case of the hots. After she choked, Toby wanted Kidde out of there so he could play around. He talked Kidde into leaving her in his hands, so to speak. Kidde took off. Toby stayed behind. Supposedly waiting for the police to show up.”

“Now I’ve got it,” Chip said. “So, Toby finds out Kidde’s identity—sees him on TV or something—and demands hush money. But Kidde didn’t do much wrong. Why did he pay Toby?”

“He absolutely positively didn’t want to be connected to a naked dead woman. Sure, he exercised bad judgment in not coming forward the next day when he learned she was abandoned. Would that be a crime?”

“He could claim he assumed the police arrived as expected.” Chip shrugged. “I know you want me to keep silent about all this. But Moran might just close the Privado Beach body case now with this new information. Why would Moran go after Kidde? It’s a nothing case of failure to report. Kidde is powerful and Moran wants to run for senator. He’ll need Kidde on his side.”

“I told Kidde that. For now, please withhold the info. I may have to divulge it later if he doesn’t come forward.” She motioned for more coffee. “Want to hear something horrible? The woman had been raped before at age eighteen. By a family friend. She didn’t press charges. And then this happens. If I believed in curses, I’d say that woman was cursed. And once again the evil perpetrator won’t be punished.”

“Drop it, Sandy. No doubt it was Toby, the fanatical way he was telling you about movies and magic pills. He went at that body like a shark smelling bloody water. Too bad he didn’t meet his fate earlier. But providence has punished him, if you want to think of it that way. Anyway, everyone has lost interest. Give it up. It’s all been investigated. You’d better worry about yourself now.”

“I’m going to try to deal my info to Moran. Get this. Abby showed up at Kidde’s house and told him not to worry about Toby anymore. That’s more than a hint she was going to do away with Toby. She wanted the blackmail scheme all to herself. There’s your motive. The police have already found the ten grand in Abby’s house. So Moran can possibly add blackmail to her charges, if not murder.”

“So you think you’ll give this to Moran and he’ll be so grateful he’ll drop the charge against you? I don’t think so.”

“All this makes it clear it was indeed Toby who Abby intended to shoot that night at her house. She yelled his name as she fired. Therefore, Abby’s attempted murder of Toby over money has absolutely nothing to do with me. And that also makes shooting Bruce Banks a mistake having nothing to do with me. Ipso facto, I didn’t conspire. The defense rests. The charge against me has to be dismissed.”

“Not bad. Get to Moran fast and have the deal come through your attorney. It’d kill Moran to say yes to your face.”

“You’re right. I need to get to Kagan on this immediately. Moran could call him at any time.”

She dialed Kagan. “Jerry, we’ve got Congressman Frederick Kidde involved in this right up to his designer necktie. Yes, that’s who I said. We finally have something to deal to Moran. You’ll need to meet with him as soon as you can. Let’s get together tomorrow and I’ll fill you in. Right now I’m going to give you the abbreviated version.” She continued talking to Kagan for another ten minutes.

Chip finished his coffee. “You had me check out Kevin Olin. You suspicious?”

“He asked me out for drinks to discuss the case. Thought I'd check for a record. That’s all.”

“Isn’t he trying to get custody of his daughter? You know, the noncustodial parent has been known to kidnap the child? Are you sure about this guy?”

“Doesn’t fit. He did say, in order to gain custody now, he’s going to inform the court that the shootings and Abby’s failure to report the child missing is evidence of reckless and improper parenting.”

She answered her buzzing phone. He watched her face as it turned to a pale frown. Finally she said, “Yes, sir.” She held the phone away from her ear and grimaced. Again, “Yes, sir. I’m heading out there right now. Yes, sir.” She hung up.

“What on earth?”

“Triney.” She appeared contrite. “Kevin had called me earlier wanting to know if my meeting with Kidde shed any light on the kidnapping. I told him no, but said we now had Abby for blackmail and that’d be enough for him to get custody of Jamie. I knew he’d be pleased to hear that.”

“You’re getting pretty chummy with this guy. Why’d he have to know about the blackmail scheme?”

“He didn’t, I guess. I was trying to pacify him. I goofed. Kevin has been bugging Triney to find Jamie. Kevin let it slip about Abby trying to blackmail Kidde. All that was news to Triney. He wants to see me now. He’s really steamed.”

Chapter Twenty-seven

It was dark by the time she drove into the Ramada parking lot. This was turning into one long day. At least the stress of dealing with Freddy Kidde was behind her. Now she needed to pacify Triney. She needed his help and he was trying to be on her side. In fact, it seemed to her that he had gotten himself too emotionally involved in her problems.

She spotted his unmarked Crown Vic in the side parking lot and slid into the seat beside him. He was still riled.

“What was all that buddy-buddy, let’s work together stuff you fed me. I’m working on Abby shooting Banks. You know of some blackmail development and I have to hear about it second-hand from Kevin Olin. Explain yourself, girl. You really disappoint me.”

“Look, I just found out about Abby’s blackmail attempt today. I couldn’t tell you right away. I was going to take it to Moran. Trust me on this.”

“I wouldn’t trust you now between 11:59 and midnight. I’m working on both the Bruce Banks murder and the Toby Towalski murder. You know that. I shared some info with you on the beach body case and did some off the clock favors on the unofficial kidnapping. What do I get in return? If you know something to help me, don’t I even deserve an anonymous tip?”

“You’re right, I’m sorry, you’re right. I haven’t told Moran anything yet, so there’s still time for me to make it up to you. However, we can’t officially talk unless I waive my right to an attorney and I’m not going to do that.”

“You’re supposed to be so clever. You could have phoned me and disguised your voice.” There was a small smile in his voice; he was settling down.

“I really goofed by mentioning blackmail to Kevin. I was trying to keep his spirits up, letting him know there was some progress. All I told him was Toby Towalski and Abby Olin were involved in a blackmail scheme. That’s what the money you found in her place is all about. She wanted him out of the way to get all the money for herself, thereby giving her a motive to shoot Toby. And a motive is what you need to solve your case.”

“What’d you just say?”

“What? I'm not supposed to say anything. Did I just say something? Just talking about Kevin.

He was pleased. “Okay. Sorry I got a little hot there and overreacted. Who were they blackmailing?”

“I’ll try and make a deal with Moran. Trade what I know in exchange for dropping the charge against me. After that, I can tell you everything.”

“That’s different. I didn’t realize you were taking it all to Moran. You just gave me a break for both of my cases. Does the blackmailee live in my county?”

“No, I’ll give you his name later,” she explained. “So you can’t talk about the Banks shooting with me, right? But you can talk about the subsequent shooting of Toby.”

“You don’t give up, do you? Okay, I’ll give you this. We believe Toby’s killer used a revolver as we found no casing. The bullet lodged in his back. There’s a twist. The county lab tech says it’s an old .32 long, an obsolete caliber for a revolver. An odd duck.”

“I just gave you Abby’s murder motive,” she said. “Do you know her whereabouts at the time of Toby’s murder?”

“We’re working on it. Obviously, she’s a suspect.” He turned in the seat and directly faced her. “Sandy, you’re much better at this stuff than I ever suspected. Did you think anymore about joining the sheriff’s department? We’d make a dream team.”

“Thanks, but you’d get tired of me and my mouth very quickly.”

“Don’t bet on that, Sugar.”

“Can’t think of any of that now. Finding Jamie is number one for me. Then I’ll help you people find who killed Toby. I can do it too. You watch me!”

“You’ve got me sold.” The detective studied her intently as she swung her legs out and walked back to her car. He waved as he pulled out into the traffic.

She sat in her little red Miata, leaned back, and looked up at the cloudless night sky. The scary episode with Toby and her long conversation today with Freddy Kidde seemed a long way away. Some pieces were finally fitting together...at least the pieces of other people’s problems. State Attorney Moran could be counted on to make trouble for her as he’d vowed to do on several occasions. If he considered just his own best interests, he’d drop the conspiracy charge in return for her cooperation and her findings. That would permit him to close the Privado Beach case, and smooth the way toward a successful prosecution of Abby Olin. Then again, he might continue prosecuting Sandy out of spite born of their past confrontations.

Moran was a worry she’d put off until tomorrow. She needed some down time. As she glanced around at the dark parking lot, her eyes were drawn up the second floor balcony. A light was on in Room 210.

What was Mr. Nice Guy doing right now? Would she like to see him, relax a bit with him, possibly know him better? Sure.

She found his number. “Kevin, why don’t you come down to the lounge and have a drink with me?”

“Why don’t we go out for dinner instead? I’ve been meaning to ask you, but you’re running around so much. I heard about a nice quiet French place across town called Rendezvous. Always wanted to go there. Would you like that?”

“Now you’re talking. May I run past my place and change?”

“Sure, meet you at Rendezvous in one hour.”

Chapter Twenty-eight

Sunlight streamed through the gaps around the curtains and Sandy awoke. It took a moment for her to adjust to the unfamiliar hotel room and remember why she was in a strange bed and naked with half of her body uncovered.

At that moment, she heard the shower, remembered Kevin, and her mind did a pleasant replay of the night before. The impromptu dinner date had moved their relationship along much faster than she’d anticipated. Faster and farther. No morning-after regrets, yet she was surprised at her impulsiveness. She leaned back on the pillows and smiled.

It had been a quiet and easygoing dinner at Rendezvous. They hesitated before opting to eat outside on the garden patio in January, however the restaurant had tall lamppost-like heaters spaced about and the otherwise natural evening atmosphere out there was charming. Charming and private. They made ordinary, but interesting, conversation about their lives and the time passed too quickly.

Sitting there, she became aware of an unexpected pleasant feeling. This simple predictable dinner date scene was somehow different. Not quite exciting, more like exhilarating, unanticipated fun. She didn’t fail to notice twice he had reached casually across and touched her arm to make some point. Normally, such a gesture would drive her up the wall, but it seemed okay. She was also aware they seemed to be frequently locking eyes. After the meal, they were sipping coffee when he gently covered her hand with his and said simply, “We should be in bed together.”

That was it. Nothing clever or contrived from Mr. Nice Guy. No corny soft talk to get her into bed. Those few exciting words said everything. He had said what she was hesitant to think. It made perfect sense to her.

On the way back to the Ramada last night, she thought of Chip and wondered if he might stop by her place in town and find her unexpectedly absent. Was she cheating? They had yet to discuss any rules about seeing other people; the relationship with Chip hadn’t progressed that far. Too late to discuss it now.

Kevin came out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist. Last night, they made love with dimmed lights; now she could clearly appreciate the body she had felt in the night. He wasn’t as tall or as athletic looking as Chip. Kevin was different, younger, and softer, with an impossibly beautiful body.

“Drop the towel, handsome,” she said playfully. “Come here and put that sparkling body next to mine.”

There was no snappy comeback; he seemed embarrassed.

She raised the sheet, exposing herself, and inviting him back to bed. He let the towel drop and moved onto the bed beside her. His arms wrapped around her and one of his thighs moved up firmly between her legs.

He was fresh, cool, and smelled of soap.

She enjoyed it for a minute and then pulled back. “I should go freshen up.”

“You can’t, I like you soft and warm and fuzzy.”

“Fuzzy?”

“Whatever...just the way you are.”

“What time is it anyway?”

“Almost nine.”

“Kevin, I hate to break the spell, but I feel a little guilty indulging ourselves when we could be out looking for your daughter.”

“Wow, nothing like instant guilt to soften me up. Look, you go take your shower. I’ll have breakfast sent up. After that we’ll decide about indulgences.”

“Okay. Let me do this first.” The last few hours had flown her far away, so with considerable apprehension she checked her phone for messages from the real world. she had one missed message from Triney, and three texts from Jerry Kagan—all on the same subject: Moran had summoned them to his office at ten a.m.

Oh, God. No time for breakfast, in bed or otherwise. She could skip the shower and race home to change, or take the shower and show up in a rerun of last night’s clothing. Either way she’d be late. She checked out the white cotton blouse and tan knee-length straight skirt she had tossed hurriedly on the chair last night. They’d pass. She hurried to the shower.

* * * *

At fifteen minutes after the appointed time, she found a nervous Jerry Kagan sitting in the conference room adjoining the office of State Attorney Moran.

“I hoped you’d be early so we could discuss our strategy before Moran comes in.” That was the first time the even-going attorney had addressed her with the slightest annoyance in his voice. His concern was for her facing the state attorney unprepared.

“So sorry, let’s hope Moran gets here even later. One more slight delay, Jerry. I missed an early morning message from Detective Triney. Need to call him back. It might affect what we’re doing here this morning.”

She dialed. Triney answered. “Sandy, glad you called back. As you may know, I hang around the Ramada quite a lot in between running around. Good coffee there. I can sit and do some paperwork. Hit the restroom and so on...

She began to feel warm, turned away from Kagan, and interrupted the detective, “You saw my red car parked there all night, didn’t you?”

“Sandy, none of my business. I don’t care....”

“Congratulations, Triney, that’s really great detective work. If you want to tattle on me to Chip Goddard, go right ahead. Our relationship doesn’t exclude seeing other people.”

“Okay girl, calm down. That’s your business. This is about the Privado case. Remember, I told you we were stopping all white vehicles and we stopped Kevin....”

She said nothing.

“...I remembered something I found out later, after I let him go. I didn’t think to tell you about it when we first talked, and I never dreamed you’d get involved with him.”

“Okay so I’m involved. Spit it out.” Just what she needed, negative information about the man she just slept with.

“The medical examiner noted the deceased’s eyelids had been pulled down to close the eyes. This is done for a more peaceful look out of respect for the deceased. Nurses routinely do it, cops and ambulance drivers. Some professional usually does it since most people are reluctant to touch a dead body unless it’s a loved one....”

She interrupted, “I know why it’s done.” She didn’t like where this was headed.

“The M.E. is a fanatic about crime scenes. He wants nothing touched on a dead body. Not a hair. He wondered if it might be a clue, so he grilled everyone. The medics who picked up the body swore her eyelids were already closed. Chip Goddard said he didn’t close them....”

“Chip? What does he have to do with it?

“He was the first officer on the scene. Didn’t he tell you?”

“Well, first on the beach scene? Never mentioned it.”

“Did you know Kevin is a paramedic?”

“Yes, he told me.”

“Paramedics do handle dead people. Kevin came to my mind later when the medical examiner was asking around and again this morning when I noticed your car.”

“Is this a joke?” Why was he so concerned about her? “Let me get this straight. The deceased’s eyelids were closed and no one officially involved admits they did it. Therefore, the attacker might have been a police officer, a paramedic, a nurse, or a million other people who don’t mind touching a dead body. The M.E. has been reading too much Agatha Christie.”

“I know, I’m making too much of it. Not that big a deal. The M.E. inquired about it and then dropped it. Everyone realized it was farfetched. Hey, I overreacted when I saw your car. I thought I should mention it.”

“I know your heart is in the right place and you’re trying to look out for me. But forget it.”

“Okay so much for that. Sandy, I know I said it wasn’t my business, but I didn’t realize you were still in the dating scene. You know there are other guys who would be interested....”

She interrupted, “No, Triney, no. I’m not in the dating scene.” Wow, she had never expected to hear that from him. “And, I’d appreciate it if you would squelch that rumor whenever you hear it. Okay? Thanks for the info gotta go. Goodbye.” She snapped the phone shut. What else could she say? He knew she spent the night with Kevin.

Kagan had innocently overheard all of it, but there was nothing to say about that. She started in on the subject of strategy. “Let’s get on with it. What we need to do, Jerry, is throw everything over on Abby Olin. She’s the bad person in all of this. She was trying to kill Toby when she shot Banks. She might also be the one who shot Toby when he chased after me. She definitely attempted the blackmail.”

“I agree, keep the focus off of you.”

“How do I get Moran to drop that conspiracy charge without revealing the involvement of Congressman Kidde?”

“Stop worrying about Kidde. You have your own problems. As of now, it’s unlikely Moran will drop the charge against you.”

“It’s just I sort of promised Freddy I’d help him if he came forward.”

“And is he coming forward?” He knew the answer.

“Okay, you’re right. He said he wasn’t going to. I warned him. I just wish there was a way to make Abby mention his name first.”

“She won’t. She’ll deny ever hearing about him. She’s getting in deeper with her other charges though. The judge originally bought her prowler story and was prepared to accept a charge of manslaughter with probation and give her a slap on the wrist. That was before the victim was identified as your old enemy from Philly.”

“Chip told me the charge against her is second-degree murder now.”

“But Moran can’t prove it. Here’s his problem. Banks is your old enemy, not hers. For second-degree murder, he must prove that Abby enticed him down here. But there’s no evidence of that because they didn’t get to her email files before she hit delete. But Moran can prove you hated Banks because of the files you kept on your computer. So he needs to maintain that you conspired with Abby to get him down here. Bottom line is he needs you charged with conspiracy in order to get her.”

“So Moran may not even believe I did in fact conspire. He wouldn’t mind nailing me just for old time’s sake.”

“That is serious. Conspiracy to commit murder can carry a sentence equal to the murder itself.”

“I know. I researched it. I could face jail time. I have first-hand information in three cases. Might be I can deal. Here’s little Bonaparte now. Cross your fingers.”

They both stood as Moran entered and the men shook hands. Moran studied Sandy for an instant. “My god, she does have legs. The first time I’ve seen not wearing jeans. Should I be honored for once you put on appropriate clothes to meet with me?”

She had a pretty good comeback but she bit her lip.

Moran settled in opposite them. “You’re full of zip in your old age, Kagan. What’s going on here today?”

“My client....” Kagan began.

She interrupted. “I’ve been searching for Jamie Olin who, in spite of your official position, has been kidnapped. By chance, I’ve discovered evidence that bears on three of your open cases.”

“Nothing happens by chance with you, Miss Reid. You say you’re going to solve some of my cases. Just three, what’s slowing you down?”

“I’ll solve one of them for you if you’ll drop that charge against me. It’s going nowhere anyway.”

“Do I laugh now?”

Kagan spoke up. “We’re prepared to give you a complete statement on what we know about all three cases and cooperate with any subsequent depositions. It’s trial-worthy information. It’s useable.”

“I doubt that. You know nothing we don’t already know.” He pointed his pencil at her. “Now I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going to inform the jury of your record of being institutionalized in a juvenile rehabilitation facility. A typical history for a repeat offender such as you. I’ll make you swear under oath to the tawdry activities that took place there and in which you were complicit. Is Mr. Kagan here aware that your teenage promiscuity rose to that level?”

“I already told you I wasn’t abused. The counselor tried but I fought him off.”

“Not according to Abigail Olin. She says you were part of his daily routine and you hate him because he got tired of you. She also said you preferred girls and tried to force yourself on her.”

“My, my, what is this world coming to? Why would someone accused of murder say such things about the witness who’ll testify against her?”

Moran continued, “The jury can decide whether you were a willing participant in the widespread salacious activities. That proves both you and Abby were juvenile offenders. You were eager for revenge. It also establishes the motivation for both of you gals wanting Banks dead. Next, I’ll enter into evidence the tracking file you’ve kept on him on your laptop over the years. I promise the jury will think you’re obsessive.”

“But I didn’t lift a finger! How can you prove I ever talked to Abby about murdering Banks?”

“Admittedly, some parts will be circumstantial. You see, you’ll be useful to me in convicting her. The jury will see that you both have the powerful motive of revenge. I’ll encourage the jury to imagine what you two scheming females talked about. The more you deny it on the stand the guiltier you’ll look.”

“So, you’re going to call me and Detective Pomar as witnesses to the shooting of Banks that Abby is charged with. And in the next breath charge me with conspiring in the shooting I tried to stop. If I was involved in the plan to shoot him, why did I take Pomar there?”

“You call that a defense? Go back to your law books and stop bothering me.”

She exchanged a glance with Kagan then said, “Let’s get serious, Mr. Moran. I’ll tell you what I know and you can then decide whether to drop the charge. I won’t sign anything or swear to anything unless you drop the charge. Can I do that, Jerry?”

“We can stipulate that.”

“I don’t think I’m interested. But if you want to provide me with all the information, I’ll be happy to use it.”

“It’ll knock your socks off, Moran. You’ll definitely get big headlines out of it. Once you drop the charge, I’ll cooperate fully.”

“You’ve no choice but to cooperate fully whether or not I drop the charges or you’ll go to jail.”

“I’ll take the Fifth. Without me all you’ve got is three cases of hearsay.”

“You must be pretty confident I’ll end up dropping the charge.”

“We both know I had nothing to do with the accidental shooting of Banks. I realize you think you need the conspiracy angle to assure a second-degree murder charge against Abby. But you don’t. I’ll testify she yelled out Toby’s name before she discovered that she in fact shot Banks. If she thought it was Toby, that’s at least attempted murder. Plus you have at least manslaughter for shooting Banks, perhaps even second degree if she enticed him down here. That’s two charges against Abby and I’m going to give a solid third that’s even better.”

Kagan said, “I’m reluctant to give the honorable state attorney advice, but all you need do is prove Abby attempted to murder Toby. Her accidental shooting of Banks then becomes a felony murder occurring during the commission of the crime—the crime of attempting to murder Toby. Much more serious than mere manslaughter.”

“Wow! Very good, Jerry. Felony murder, I hadn’t thought of that. It was in my textbook, someone dies during the commission of a crime, and you can get twenty-five years to life. I bet you didn’t think of that, Mr. Moran.”

“Of course, I did.” Moran was annoyed. “You two should take this show on the road.”

She continued, “Plus I’m about to give you a third charge against Abby Olin.”

“I can’t wait,” Moran muttered and rolled his eyes.

That did it. She visualized moving her arm in one wide sweep clearing his desk of phone, framed photo, Rolodex, coffee cup—everything onto the floor. Instead, she stood and pointed at Moran. “Look Buster! I’ve been running around developing the solid evidence you need to prosecute. If you were smart instead of vindictive, you’d start listening. You’re sitting there with that supercilious smirk on your face making sarcastic comments while I’m handing you the solution to three of your problems on a silver platter. If I had my way, I wouldn’t lift my little finger to save you from burning in hell. You don’t even know where to look for your first clue. As of right now, I’m taking the Fifth. All you’ll ever get is hearsay because you’re getting nada from me.”

Moran's face turned red. He pushed back from his desk and loosen his collar.

Kagan jumped up. “Sit down and be quiet, Miss Reid! Larry, please ignore my client. She doesn’t understand how these things work. She misconstrued your demeanor. You’ve every right to be skeptical. She was anticipating you’d reject our offer. The fact is you haven’t turned us down yet. I’m certain you intend to consider fairly everything we have to offer. I’m sure she’ll apologize as soon as she cools off.”

He was silent for a long moment. “Okay, I’ll listen. No promises. Miss Smartass you’re on.” He moved his chair back up to the desk. “What are the three cases in which you’re going to be my savior?”

“I don’t know why I’m going along with this. Without me you’ve got zilch.” She stared him straight in the eye. Kagan reached over and placed his hand on her arm. “Okay. First, money was Abby’s motive for attempting to shoot Toby Towalski. I can prove that motive and it’s strong enough to convict her of attempted murder, which is what you need to convict her of felony murder. That’s one case. Second, the money involved was the result of blackmail of a prominent politician. So you’ll definitely be able to charge her also with attempted blackmail. And the third case is—you’re going to love this in spite of it coming from me—your old Privado beach body case.”

“What prominent politician?”

“You don’t have a clue, do you?”

“What old beach body case—you mean the naked stripper? God, I’d forgotten that case was still open. Good grief, don’t tell me Sandra Reid is involved in that case as well.”

“One more thing, Moran. Don’t count on me ever apologizing to you. Are we through here?”

Chapter Twenty-nine

One week after giving State Attorney Moran her formal statement, Sandy remained under arrest, although out of custody. Uncertain of her fate. She had hesitantly disclosed the valuable information she had developed to fulfill her side of the bargain with Moran. However, there was no action from him in return regarding dropping the charges against her. He now claimed she had misunderstood. He had never agreed to such a bargain, he said, merely agreed to listen to what she had to offer and then decide.

Abby Olin had also given her statement to Moran and he guarded the contents tightly. Nevertheless, a former girl friend of Chip’s, who worked at the courthouse, gave him the gist of the statement confidentially. It was critically unfavorable to Sandy.

According to the statement, Abby would testify Sandy was fanatical about Banks. That Sandy was once his favorite plaything at the juvenile rehab facility, but he had scorned her. She had taken an oath to pay him back. She was going to get him whatever it took. She had encouraged Abby to entice Banks to Florida, even gave Abby his current address. She could even provide Abby a gun if needed. They had discussed various plans. It was Abby’s duty as a feminist sister to fight together against all men for women’s rights. According to Abby’s statement, Sandy would get agitated to the point of shaking physically when talking about the subject.

Sandy met with Jerry Kagan in his office when they learned of Abby’s statement. “All that, Jerry, plus that damn incriminating file they found on my laptop can also be interpreted to support such a scheme. Several times, I put down I was going to get him. Of course, I meant legally after I became a lawyer.”

“You could land back in jail at any time. He now has enough to go back before the judge and have your bail rescinded.”

“I wondered about that, Jerry. Why hasn’t he put me back in jail? I’m a co-conspirator to second-degree murder. Why am I out running around?”

“The question really is why doesn’t he want Abby in jail?”

“That’s right. If he denies me bail, then he must also deny Abby bail. Do you think he’s made some kind of deal with her? He’s keeping her out of jail in return for...something?”

“He’s up to something. You really ticked him off the other day, Sandy. It’s not in your best interest to keep doing that. He who has the power makes the rules.”

“I know, sometimes I just can’t resist. But right now, I’m playing it straight and he’s dirty dealing. He accepted and is using all that significant information I gave him. But he’s not giving me anything in return. He has me on a hook. How do I get off?”

“I’m not certain what his game is unless he’s unsure of what to charge Abby with. In any case, he has nothing to lose by keeping you waiting.”

“You’re being too kind. He’s a bastard and he’s stringing me out to get back at me. He knows he’s thrown my life into limbo.”

In the deposition Sandy gave Moran under oath, she reluctantly disclosed the involvement of Congressman Kidde in the beach body affair. The disclosure was inevitable. In spite of Freddy asking her to keep it all quiet, she had no choice but to reveal his name when questioned by the state attorney. Revealing the blackmail scheme led to answering who was being blackmailed, and this led to explaining the reason for the blackmail. That identified Kidde and placed him right on the beach with the dead stripper. It put on view his leaving the scene and failure to come forward the next day with what he knew. She had warned Kidde all this could happen if he didn’t come forward voluntarily and preempt any disclosure.

In her statement to Moran, she mentioned that Kidde told her he’d simply given the stranded girl a ride. She didn’t elaborate further. There remained a slight chance that the full details of the saga of the unattainable Betty Jo and the obsessed Freddy could stay hidden. That much, at least, would certainly be to his benefit. Perhaps, she thought, she’d write a book about it someday.

Moran wasn’t totally convinced that Sandy was being truthful, that she had all her facts straight, and was making the correct assumptions about what she had learned. The deconstruction of Congressman Frederick J. Kidde started when Moran, unconvinced of Kidde’s involvement, decided to follow up and verify what Sandy had disclosed.

He innocently invited Freddy Kidde and his attorney to Park Beach for an informal conference. When Kidde and his attorney arrived quietly at the rear entrance of the courthouse, they suffered incredibly bad luck. Renaldo Gitano a reporter from the Gretchen Henson show on CNN was there with a cameraman to greet them. Gitano was the same TV reporter who happened to have covered the Privado beach body affair back when it was first news in November. Some blogger had tipped off Gitano to a possible link between Kidde and the old Privado Beach affair.

The consequences were inevitable. The national news media rehashed the entire affair. They dug out, edited, and reedited old TV file film to create fresh breaking news: What had happened on that beach that night? Who was the woman? Who mistreated her dead body?

Now the media also enjoyed the added bombshell of blackmail. Allegedly, the congressman paid to cover up his involvement. In addition, as if any icing was necessary on that, someone had murdered the alleged blackmailer. Any part of it was dream-come-true stuff for the media.

Within seventy-two hours, there were no hotel rooms available within a hundred miles of Park Beach. The satellite TV trucks seemed evenly divided between the courthouse and the Freddy Kidde residence in Jensen Beach. The scandal held Breaking News status on TV for weeks. Reporters approached everyone within eyesight asking for their opinion.

The media got out the drums and brass bands quickly and the circus paraded into Park Beach. Although State Attorney Moran would later plead that he had no interest in investigating Kidde, at the time it seemed in his best interest not to clarify the situation, but just get out in front of the parade.

The media inundated Moran with interview requests. The national news ran his photo along with Kidde’s each night. They looped it all again on cable news and the Internet for days. Moran started giving briefings on the courthouse steps. He loved it. He’d hit the publicity lottery. His political ambition of running for the Senate from Florida now seemed within reach. Privado Beach has punched Moran’s ticket to ride. Although strutting on the media stage he never exactly stated what he was taking credit for.

Kagan commented, “Do you notice, Sandy, his briefings never contain any new information? He keeps saying he’d love to say more, but unfortunately he can’t comment on an ongoing investigation.”

“Sure, and leaving everything open to speculation is exactly what the media wants. They can fill in the blanks with sensational guesswork.”

“Contrary to those reports, Sandy, I believe Moran has no interest in prosecuting Freddy Kidde for anything. It’s clear from what you’ve told me, Kidde was on the beach when the woman choked, but there was no crime there. My sources tell me the police have filled in the name Toby Towalski and closed the case. So they’re not going to get Kidde on that.”

“So, the solitary thing left is failing to report the death. That’s so minor it’s ridiculous,” she added. “So where’s he going with all this. Why is he keeping Kidde and me hanging?”

“He needs your testimony. He needs to prove Abby intended to shoot Toby. She wanted him out of the way for the money. So, Kidde testifies Abby told him Toby was out of the picture. And you testify she yelled his name as she fired. Once all that is established he’s got Abby nailed for the felony murder of Bruce Banks.”

“But I’ve already agreed to testify and cooperate with the deposition. Moran just wants to strut and fret his hour upon the stage.”

“I know, it isn’t fair, but he could keep you hanging until Abby’s trial.”

“Her goddamn trial might not be for two or three years. And the Florida bar exam is in July!”

Silence.

“Wait a minute, that’s it. Moran has the power to keep me from becoming a lawyer.” She was stunned. “I can’t be licensed, probably can’t even take the bar exam, while I’m under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder. That’s what’s behind this.”

“That’s what I call wicked retribution. He gets back at you and has the last laugh. He has you trapped and no reason to set you free.”

“I have to find a reason for him to set me free.”

“You have another problem to worry about.”

“My entire career might be on hold for three years. Nothing could be as bad as that. Oh, you mean finding Jamie, or my love life?”

“Something else came up. You are being sued for the wrongful death of Bruce Banks.”

“Me? You’re crazy! You just explained why Moran has to drop the phony charge against me eventually. Wrongful death actions are civil not criminal. Who the hell cares anyway if creepy Banks comes down here sniffing around Abby and gets himself accidentally shot?”

“Apparently his widow.”

“Oh, my God!”

“She’s retained Martin Bronner, a local attorney, and he phoned me today. They’re meeting with Moran tomorrow morning and then coming to my office to see us.”

Chapter Thirty

Juanita Banks was small and neat and could have been a pretty package; perhaps under other circumstances she would have been. She was merely a couple hundred dollars away from a contemporary hairstyle, newer clothing, and those indescribable extras that can bring women out of the shadows. Apparently, she didn’t have the money for enhancement of any kind. She did have a great smile. Which she offered to Jerry Kagan but not to Sandy.

They were standing around the long table that together with eight sturdy oak chairs took up the majority of the space in Kagan’s small conference room. Just enough space in the room to accommodate the principals in a real estate closing or a few nervous heirs for the reading of a will. A side door led to Kagan’s adjoining office, and the other door opened out to the front reception area where Sandy’s ancient desk and squeaky chair were positioned. It was a suite of three small rooms adequate for no more than a solo practitioner. The office had sufficed for Kagan for over fifty years. He had purchased the entire building years ago with the large fee he’d received from a successful wrongful death suit. Consequently, he had no landlord and no rent to pay. A life-saving financial situation that had made all the difference during his many lean years.

Kagan stood at the head of the table. “Martin Bronner, I’d like to introduce Sandra Reid.”

“How do you do?” Bronner stood stiffly with feet together and made a very nice bow. He didn’t offer his hand across the table. That part was okay with Sandy. She nodded and smiled politely.

“Miss Reid, this is Mrs. Banks, Juanita Banks.”

“How do you do? Mrs. Banks, I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Juanita Banks didn’t nod and didn’t raise her head to look at Sandy.

“Okay. Please be seated. Everyone get comfortable.” Kagan settled in and continued, “Welcome Mrs. Banks, nice to meet you, but I’m sure Mr. Bronner explained that it isn't necessary for you to be here to Florida in person. He can easily pursue this civil action for you by mail. Mainly a file of legal papers passing back and forth. Important papers to be sure, but nothing that can’t be handled by mail to you in Delaware. You may not even have to appear in court.”

“I took the bus. I’ll drive Bruce’s pickup back up to Delaware. How soon can I get the money?” Her slightly accented voice was weak and uncertain. This wasn’t her type of meeting.

“I tried to explain things to her, Jerry,” Bronner said.

Martin Bronner was half Kagan’s age. Early forties perhaps. Well-dressed to the extreme, right down to the precisely folded suit pocket square which matched his soft blue tie. Sandy thought he appeared far too elegant for a law office in south Florida. She imagined her grandmother referring to him as a “dandy.”

Mrs. Banks said, “I need to take the money back as soon as possible.”

Sandy looked at Kagan with wide eyes. Kagan looked at Bronner with a frown. Bronner looked at Juanita Banks with an open but silent mouth.

“Don't you people understand? My husband’s dead at forty leaving me with three children to take care of and no money.”

Bronner didn’t know what to say.

“We have bills to pay—I’m not embarrassed to say that—everyone has bills to pay. My husband had a small insurance policy from his job. I used all of it to ship his body up there and for the funeral expense. He won’t be bringing any more money home now will he?”

Kagan glared at Bronner, waiting for him to explain the situation to this woman. Finally, “Please tell her, Martin.” Bronner didn’t know where to begin.

“Tell me what? You’re going to tell me there is no money! Aren’t you? You’re going to tell me someone else gets the money, or you lawyers get the money. I already owe Mr. Bronner a thousand dollars which I don‘t have.” Her head went down and her shoulders shuddered as she cried. She looked up angrily at Sandy. “You’re going to tell me that woman sitting there kills my husband and doesn’t have to pay me money.”

“For chrissake Bronner, talk to her,” Kagan pleaded, then said, “Mrs. Banks a wrongful death suit doesn’t work that way. It’s not that simple.”

“You mean I’m simple and you’re all clever.”

Kagan stood, walked around the table, and sat next to her. “Mrs. Banks you’re entitled to be compensated, to be paid, for the wrongful death of your husband. There is no question about it. But there’s no immediate money waiting here for you. There may be some money eventually. Right now, we don’t know how much or even where it might come from. Everything will be in the hands of a judge and he is a very fair man. Mr. Bronner here will go before the judge on your behalf and explain the situation. He’ll explain to the judge how you were wronged. He’ll prove to the judge exactly who is responsible. He’ll ask the judge to order that person to pay you. If the person has any assets, any money, and if Mr. Bronner can find it, then you’ll get it. This can take a long time.”

“You’re a nice man and you’re letting me down easy. You’re telling me to just sit and wait and trust all of you, and I don’t know what to feed my kids tomorrow and they’re always hungry.”

Sandy moved her chair closer. “Mrs. Banks....”

“Don’t you talk to me! I can’t stand to look at you. Why is she here? Why is she here?”

Bronner snapped, “She’s here because she’s one of the people accused of causing your husband’s death. She’s the one we’re going to go after and take every cent she has.”

Kagan said, “Bronner! You’re throwing gasoline on the wrong fire. Miss Reid here is a victim herself. Your target is Abigail Olin.”

“Not according to the state attorney. We spoke to him this morning. Miss Reid here is named as a co-conspirator for murder. Mr. Moran can prove prior animosity toward Mr. Banks.”

“What animosity?” Juanita Banks asked.

“Someone made up a story I wanted your husband dead. I certainly didn’t want him dead.” Sandy looked directly at Mrs. Banks. “I saw your husband get shot. I was there sitting with a sheriff’s detective in his police vehicle. We were trying to stop the shooting. I was there while the ambulance driver tried to save your husband’s life. Jerry go ahead and explain to Mr. Bronner what Moran is up to.”

“Abby Olin pulled the trigger. Even though Moran would dearly love to get Miss Reid involved as a conspirator, any supposed charges against her are merely legal maneuvering. Abby is claiming she shot a prowler, which is a very minor charge and a hopeless one for you to collect on. The good news is, when the smoke clears, Moran is going to charge Abby Olin with felony murder.”

“Which is much more serious and is perfect for your subsequent wrongful death suit,” Sandy added. “Mr. Bronner, you put this woman in front of any jury in the country and they’ll hand her the moon and then throw in all the stars for good measure.”

“Is all this true, Jerry?” Bronner asked.

“Every word. Mrs. Banks the reason you are going to be successful and get at least something out of this, is because of the efforts of Miss Reid. She’s the one who developed all the evidence.”

Bronner adjusted his tie. “I apologize, Miss Reid.”

“Call me Sandy.”

Juanita Banks spoke up, “Call me Nita.”

“Thank you, Nita. Where are your children right now?” Sandy asked.

“At my house in Delaware. My mother is over there for a few days.”

“Good. Now we’re going to work hard to get you some money. But we can guarantee nothing. The good news is you’ll no doubt be successful with your suit. Now for the bad news. You could get a judgment against Abby...that is, you could win the suit against her and still end up with nothing. This woman you’re suing is not wealthy. The judge may order her to pay you, but she might not have any money to give you or anything worth selling. You understand?”

“That’s not fair.”

“You’re right, it certainly isn’t, nevertheless that’s the way it works. Also, this is going to take time. I mean a lot of time. Maybe two or three years if you’re lucky. Even then, we don’t know if you’ll get any money. Do you believe me? Do you understand?”

“Yes, I believe you, but I don’t know how I’ll do it.”

“You have to do it. Somehow, you have to pull things together and tough it out. For thousands of years husbands have been dying and their widows surviving somehow. You can do it too. Do you work? Maybe the kids can go to work. You should be eligible for some sort of government assistance as well. Get all your relatives together. Get everyone pulling for you. I know you can survive even if you get no money from this lawsuit. Now here’s something else that will help. Mr. Bronner doesn’t want any thousand dollars from you after all. That was a mistake. He wasn’t aware of the entire situation. In fact, he’s not going to charge you a dime unless he’s successful in getting some money for you. He’ll pay for all expenses out of his own pocket. Later if you do get some money, you’re going to give him a big share of it. Okay? Isn’t that right, Mr. Bronner?”

Bronner appeared surprised. He glanced over at Jerry Kagan who had his eyebrows raised expectantly. Bronner said, “Of course. That’s fine.”

Sandy continued, “You may be eligible for some accidental death benefits you didn’t know you had coming. People don’t realize they might have a couple of thousand dollars accidental death coverage on their homeowner’s insurance, auto policy, credit card, automobile club, bank account, union membership...the list goes on and on.”

“How do I find out all that?”

“Mr. Bronner will be happy to check everything out as a favor to you at no charge,” Sandy said, not even looking over at Bronner. The prissy fellow could lump it if he didn’t like it.

“My husband was a fine man.”

Sandy knew from her personal experiences he was not a fine man. And what was a fine man doing sneaking down to Florida trying to hook up with Abby Olin? She held back and said, “Yes, Nita, of course he was. He worked in the social services field didn’t he? Did he tell you he worked as a rehab counselor for young girls?”

“Yes, but something happened and he was unjustly accused of doing some little thing wrong. The bosses were out to get him and it was all their fault. Then he had some problems with college. They got his records all screwed up and made him drop out. He had some other jobs and now he’s a delivery truck driver...was a delivery truck driver...he was a fine man.” Unexpectedly, she dropped her head and began sobbing.

Sandy abruptly stood and pointed at Kagan and Bronner. “Would you two men please leave the room and close the door? Mrs. Banks and I need some time alone. She quickly took a chair closer to Nita and sat quietly waiting with hands folded in her lap.

After a moment, without looking up Nita sighed. “Bruce wasn’t a fine man—he was a horrible man. God will punish me now for speaking against a person who is now dead.”

“God doesn’t punish people for telling the truth. Did your husband abuse you?”

“No, he never hit me.”

“Did he threaten to hit you, did he physically push you around, or were you afraid of him when he came up to you? Did he ever hurt the kids?”

She smiled and dabbed at her eyes. “No, although he hadn’t been kind or loving for a long time.”

“Did he abuse you in bed?”

“In bed...what do you mean?”

“Did he force you to do things you didn’t want to do?”

“No, but after the first year or so we never did much in bed because he said my body had gotten fat and ugly. I know that was my fault because I couldn’t lose some of the weight after I had the kids. He stayed away a lot. Didn’t come home for days at a time or entire weekends. He was always threatening to do something bad.

“For example.”

“He told me it was his house and he threatened to kick me and the kids out and we’d have to live on the street if I didn’t follow his orders. But that was usually my fault because I did something wrong around the house. Or he’d say he would take the children away because I was a lousy mother. Stuff like that, Sandy, but he never actually abused me.”

“Nita, he emotionally abused you. It must have been a nightmare trying to keep the family and the household together, and deal with him. It would have been almost impossible for you to stand up to him to stop the abuse, and extremely difficult to get out of that marriage. How long had you been married?”

“Nine years.”

“Fortunately your nine year nightmare is over. You need to realize this was all him. It wasn’t you. You were a good wife and good mother. He said those things to keep you upset to control you. You may need some counseling to get all this straight in your mind. I can give you some names of counselors up in Delaware.”

Sandy went to the conference room door. “You two can come back in here.”

“What are you doing?” Kagan asked.

“I’m going to find Nita some money.”

They watched as Sandy took out her phone. She called Kevin while walking away from the group. “Kevin, before I stick my foot in my mouth, didn’t you mention Abby inherited a condo down in West Palm Beach from her father? Are you absolutely certain she still owns it?”

“I’m certain. She keeps complaining rental income is all she has to live on.”

“Are you certain the property isn’t mortgaged?”

“Well now, that I’m not certain of. My guess is if she had to pay a mortgage there wouldn’t be anything left from the rental income.”

“I can find out easily enough. How much do you figure it’d sell for?”

She listened on the phone and then said, “Oh, really. You have the exact address?”

“I can get it for you.”

“Great. Get it for me. See ya.”

Sandy came back to the group. “If we can get a judgment against her, she does have recoverable assets.”

“What do you mean, we? This is my case,” Bronner said.

Kagan spoke up, “Remember under Florida law you can’t touch her primary residence.”

“What’s going on?” Nita asked.

“No, but we can latch on to a fancy condo she owns in West Palm Beach.”

Stunned silence from the men for a full minute.

Then from Bronner, “Excuse me, Miss, how much are we talking about here?”

“How does two million sound? Her ex thinks possibly more. I rounded down.”

“Please explain.” Nita said.

Bronner’s sizzling smile faded as the technical ramifications of pursuing a complicated, high-powered suit sunk in. He looked up at the ceiling. “A two million dollar case? I can’t do this. I mean, I’m not certain I can handle this. I’ve been doing divorces and simple cases like that.”

Sandy said, “I’d be happy to assist you.”

“You would? I’d be immensely grateful.”

“I don’t come cheap.”

He smiled.

Sandy didn’t smile. “I’m serious. It’ll cost you big time. You might get half a million on contingency out of this. I want part of that. In return, I’ll not only work on the case, but also provide you inside information you couldn’t possible develop without me. Your future will be assured and this case just might make you the go-to attorney for wrongful death suits in South Florida.”

Bronner’s smile broadened.

“What’s going on?” Nita wanted to know.

Kagan motioned Bronner over to him. “You must work very fast on this. I mean stay up nights and get the complaint ready to file. Explain to the judge the defendant is to be charged with felony murder and the state attorney’s case is rock solid. Tell him you’re ready to file but as soon as she’s served, she’ll start hiding assets and selling that condominium. That’d be grossly unjust if permitted, and circumvents the intent of the law. He must issue an immediate injunction against her disposing of any assets in anticipation of an adverse judgment. Have your precedents and arguments down perfectly.”

“What’s going on?” Nita asked again.

Sandy stepped over to her. “I’ll explain. First, you’re going to have to trust Martin Bronner. I’ll be working with him. He’s really going to work hard to get you lots of money.”

“Like hitting the lottery.”

“Nothing like the lottery. Your chances of hitting the lottery are impossible. Your suit is a slam dunk. You’re going to sue this Abby Olin for say...one million dollars. But she doesn’t owe you any money until the judge says she owes you money. The judge, or the jury, will no doubt rule in your favor. Putting the screws to her will be irresistible to them. At that point, Abby legally owes you the one million. Most people don’t have assets worth that much. Folks win judgments every day and never collect a dime from the people who wronged them. Many judgments are worthless. Abby obviously doesn’t have that much money, but we get to seize whatever assets of hers we can find. That’s why we’re excited to learn she owns a fancy Florida condo. If she sells it before we get to it, then we’ll go after the money she got in the sale. And so forth. It looks good for you, however the problem is the payoff isn’t guaranteed.”

Nita stepped closer to Sandy and surprised her by taking her hands. “Thanks, Sandy. I understand there may be nothing. Just do the best you can.”

Sandy wished her well and said goodbye. Martin Bronner told her if she could wait a minute, he’d drive her back to her motel.

She said, “My family’s not going to believe I was in Florida and stayed at a big Howard Johnson with a swimming pool. I’ll wait outside for you, Mr. Bronner. I saw a bench, I want to sit with the Florida sun on my face.”

Martin Bronner walked Sandy to the door. “I apologize for being an idiot. I know that’s inadequate and now that I’ve seen you in action....”

“You mean now that you smell a huge fee. You dress like money, how come you’re so needy?”

“Your frankness has a refreshing appeal to it, Sandy. My intention is to always dress as though successful. I see I failed, at least with you. It’s after five. I’d be very pleased if you’d join me for cocktails.”

“No thanks, you’ve a lot of work to do. You’d better get an early start on that case.”

“Correct. But I need to talk with you about our arrangement.”

“Okay, let’s go back and sit down and start talking. Let me see your card.” He passed one over to her. “Nice address, near the courthouse. Do you work alone?”

“Yes, a beautiful office. It was my father’s, mine now.” He smiled. “Too bad I can’t afford it.”

“He’s retired?”

“Alzheimer’s. I look after him.”

“Sorry to hear that. You’ve taken over his practice...his clients. You must have a good income. You look older and experienced yet behave as if you’re straight out of law school. Offense intended. What gives?”

“I got into the law late. I’ve been out—pardon the expression—screwing around in Italy, HK, and the UK. Before you ask, I was spending my own money, not my father’s. He was in estate law and the clients have been dying off. I’ve no client base to speak of. I’ve been taking some public defender work. I’m your basic starving lawyer.”

“Okay, sorry I had you wrong. Let’s start over. We’re essentially in the same place. I’m just a few hours away from my law degree. Maybe I’m not the one to help you with the Nita Banks suit. What do your friends call you?”

“Martin, of course. I know your reputation. I followed your work on the Towson murder. We’re not starting even. You’re far ahead of me. I’d like you to join me on this. There’s always Kagan for backup, isn’t there?”

“Before we discuss this further, you need to know my source believes that condo in West Palm might go for over four million. We’ll sue for eight. It’s on the water and the area has been rejuvenated upscale. You could pocket a million.”

“I like that part. But you told Mrs. Banks one million.”

“I can’t get my head around one million let alone four and I’m sure she can’t either. Anyway, I don’t want her dreaming of two million and not getting a dime. Now you may not want me after I explain to you how it has to be. You see, my goal is my own law practice here in Park Beach after I pass the bar. I need a big score to set it up and get started. If I join you on the Juanita Bank’s suit, I’m willing to accept contingency, however I need an agreement with you for one-half of the net proceeds paid to you. Now, regarding Jerry, you’ll pay him up front—standard rates. He gets paid with no waiting. I’ve no idea where that money will come from because I don’t have zilch.”

“One-half! You’re crazy. No way. You said I have a slam dunk case already in my pocket. I must say, I’m very impressed with you and it’d be nice to work with you. Still, as you say, I can hire all the assistance I need. I’m willing to go as high as ten percent of the net. I think that’s more than generous.”

“Martin, you make a great appearance. You’ll look lovely in front of a jury. You’ll be dynamite with opening statements and closing arguments. You’ll make a great front man, but down in the trenches they’re going to eat you alive. So for plea bargaining and negotiations you better let me handle it. For example, right now I’m going to say to you that I insist on receiving the full fifty-percent and you can take it or leave it. And Martin, you’re going to hesitate, hem, haw, and then say that you’ll take it.” She stared at him.

Martin Bronner turned away. He stood and buttoned his suit jacket all in the same automatic motion. He walked around the conference room table rubbing the back of his neck. He sat back down frowning. He then spoke the beautiful words Sandy needed to hear, “Okay, I’ll take it.”

Sandy wanted to dance around the room, but contained herself. If successful, and it looked good to her, her share of the sizable fee would set her up in her new law career. Maybe not a total pot of gold but certainly a rainbow.

Martin also was smiling. “Sandy, a minute ago you joked that I’d look lovely in front of jury. Forgive my boldness, but I think you’re lovely and I’m not joking. I’d like to know you better if you’ll permit me that honor. Excuse me, I’m not normally so forward.”

“Thank you, Martin, that sounded very nice. One other little thing. You mentioned you traveled to UK and HK. Is HK Hong Kong?”

He nodded. “Interesting place. The Promenade, the Cultural Centre, the Liu Man Shek Tong, and other famous landmarks. After we win the suit I’d like to escort you there.”

Bronner made a slight bow and said goodbye. Kagan came out of his office when he heard him leave. “You don’t take any prisoners, do you?”

She said, “I would’ve settled for much less. He has a Harvard look and a Vassar personality—not that there’s anything wrong with that. I find it rather pleasing.”

“I know his father, as you might expect. We both have been in the local bar association for years. He’s inactive now, of course.”

“Would you recommend Martin for my co-counsel in this Banks suit?”

“I don’t know where he’s been hiding, but I’ve no objection. His father was out of my league. He had national connections and was part of the Country Club set. That never was my crowd. I was just a small-town attorney and the town outgrew me.”

“Any regrets? You’ve a spotless reputation in Park Beach. I consider myself fortunate that we connected.”

“All eighty-year-olds have regrets. But I’ve had a pleasant life. When I retire, you’re welcome to take over this office and all that’s in it.”

“Thanks, Jerry. That’s very generous of you and it’s comforting to have such a nice offer in my back pocket. However, my thinking changed abruptly today. The Banks suit is going to make me a famous lawyer. And worldly gentlemen such as Martin Bronner are going to escort me to exotic places like Hong Kong.”

“Don’t pack your bags quite yet. Moran may have your career blocked for two or three years.”

“Thanks for bringing me back down to earth. I’ve been trying to think of ways to force his hand...haven’t found it yet. Is Nita still out front? I know where I can buy her an inexpensive swimsuit. Juanita Banks is going to swim in a Florida motel pool and go home with a tan.”

Chapter Thirty-one

The national media had not yet discovered that Sandy was involved deeply in both the Privado Beach affair and the felony murder case against Abby. That was fine with Sandy; she’d prefer to keep it that way. The TV and print media were pretending to create news out of all the circulating rumors and speculation. They had most of it wrong or at best backwards, and were overlooking certain important angles. Moran’s dramatics added to the confusion. He had overreached with the media. They were already expecting more than he could deliver.

She enjoyed watching Moran tangle himself in such a public relations problem. Her own problems remained: getting him off her back so she could proceed with the bar exam, become licensed as an attorney, and move on with her life. She was certain that he intended to keep her under the conspiracy charge and in limbo until the last possible minute. Reaching the last minute in a criminal trial could take years.

His problem: manipulating the media. Her problem: Moran on her back. Both had been crisscrossing each other in her mind for days when it occurred to her that the two problems were linked. Then, surprisingly, the two problems came together in her mind like two sides of Velcro.

Amazingly simple. At the peak of the media frenzy, she leaked word to Moran that she had prepared for a national interview with Renaldo Gitano, the ace reporter from CNN. The media had it all wrong, she exclaimed; she and Gitano would straighten them out in sensational fashion.

Her bluff worked. In a near panic, Moran called her to his office and pleaded for her silence. He realized her revelations would be a disaster. It would appear to the media that she was the center, the source of inside information. She was where it’s at—what was that State Attorney babbling about? Between what Sandy had developed on her own and what Goddard and Triney had fed to her, she knew more than he did about Abby, Toby, and Kidde. Moran couldn’t risk the embarrassment of having details exposed, losing control, and having the media asking him to confirm or deny her comments. Would she please reconsider?

She told him she’d have to decide. Then she let him sweat for twenty-four hours, which was twelve joyful hours longer than a nervous Kagan advised. Sandy then negotiated successfully the immediate withdrawal of all charges against her. Just when he began to recover from making that painful concession to her, she added to his distress by insisting he provide her with a glowing letter of recommendation to the Florida Bar Association, which also must explain his error in charging her with conspiracy. It killed Moran to not only release her from his grasp, but also substantially advance her career.

With the threat of jail removed, she could devote prime time to finding poor Jamie. Abby’s indifference to the plight of her daughter let Sandy to believe that she had taken Jamie to some friend or relative. Kevin had been working tirelessly checking out everyone that he could remember was acquainted with Abby. He seemed to be unraveling with frustration.

U.S. Representative Frederic Kidde, the politician who didn’t want to be connected to the beach scene, who was afraid the voters would blame him for leaving the deceased Betty Jo, and who also had exercised bad judgment in not coming forward immediately when he learned she was abandoned, would soon be political history. Unfortunately, the media kept their foot on his neck until the next circus came along. By then his political career, his reputation, and his way of life were devastated.

One of the biggest disappointments in the life of TV reporter Renaldo Gitano was he could never piece together the relationship between the congressman and the dead stripper. How they had met and how they came to Florida. There had to be a dynamite story there if he could just uncover it. The anticipation of such a story energized him for months. He was convinced gold was to be discovered in there somewhere.

Gitano tried vigorously, but after weeks of digging developed only one solid lead. He located a woman who had driven from Baltimore to Jacksonville at that time and reportedly had given Betty Jo Hodges a short ride. The woman obviously knew something, yet adamantly refused to discuss what had happened. He was at a loss to understand the woman’s attitude. Reportedly, as soon as he mentioned the name, Betty Jo, the woman slugged him with her bare fist and pushed him off her front porch. No one else seemed to know anything.

No one knew except the congressman himself and Sandy Reid. Only she understood that Freddy Kidde had sacrificed everything to the unrequited passion of a woman he’d casually encountered. Freddy had trusted her and she’d never reveal what had happened on that trip to Florida.

Three days after their first meeting with Nita Banks, Sandy met with her lawyer Martin Bronner in his office near the Park Beach courthouse. They worked late on the draft of the Juanita Banks wrongful death papers. Afterwards they walked around the corner to the Windward bar for drinks. She called them drinks, Martin referred to them as cocktails. The after-work crowd had left and they sat at a quiet table near the front. She asked him if it was too late in the evening to order a Bloody Mary, now her favorite.

“Ah, you’ve discovered the timeless joy of the Bloody Mary. Appropriate anytime, early morning or late at night. Ideal if you want a little blast first thing in the morning or before the official five o’clock cocktail time. Tangible proof there is indeed a God.” He motioned to catch the server’s attention. “I told my father all about you. He’d like to meet you, perhaps join us for a cocktail sometime.”

“Fine. How’s he doing?”

“He’s in the early stages of Alzheimer’s. He should be around for awhile.”

The waitress appeared. She ordered a Bloody Mary. He ordered a Tanqueray Martini, straight up, with an olive, and a drop of olive brine.

When it came, he sipped it and made a slight frown. “This is made with vodka,” he whispered.

“Then send it back.”

“No, this is a neighborhood bar, not the Four Seasons. As of now, I’m the only one annoyed. If I send it back, two people, the waitress and the bartender, will be embarrassed. Next time I’ll be more definitive when I order.”

She began to like him. He was a bit dramatic at times, like when he explained why the Bloody Mary was one of God’s finest creations. The most outlandish statements seemed charming coming from him, such as when he told her all women, without exception, are beautiful. It came naturally to him. He was somewhere in between a strict by-the-book ex-marine like Chip, and a loosely-tied nature lover such as Kevin. Martin was more likely to get excited about a string quartet performing somewhere. Sounded okay to her, she hadn’t been to a concert since Philadelphia. Chip would never think of it. For an uptight guy Martin Bronner wasn’t bad.

They met again in his office the next afternoon. His modern office was sized for the three lawyer firm his father once ran. The ambiance was upscale, with studied décor, and spoke of high fees. On this afternoon, a guitar concerto by Rodrigo was soft in the background. One wouldn’t know from appearances that Martin Bronner, Esquire, had no lucrative client list. The father’s personal office space was the largest and nicest in the suite of rooms and although fully equipped was now never used. Martin was supposed to use it, but he saved it in the hope that his father would enjoy occasionally coming downtown and sitting at his former desk. Perhaps recalling some old memories. His father had come by only once since retiring and seemed uninterested about any of it.

Martin had just come back from getting two takeout coffees from the café across the street. Sandy was reviewing his final draft of the complaint. They’d run it by Jerry Kagan and then meet with the judge. Her phone buzzed, she knew it was Kevin. Had she forgotten about the search for Jamie?

“Kevin, what I want desperately is to go back and search Ruth Towalski’s house and garage from top to bottom. Other than somehow putting the screws to Abby, I’ve run out of ideas.”

While dealing with Moran and Nita Banks, she’d been uncomfortable interacting with Kevin. He’d taken to calling her daily, once in the middle of night, regarding Jamie. He seemed to be coming apart and she had no answer for him. Although she sympathized with him, he was difficult to be with and she didn’t care to have any additional dates.

There was plenty of frustration to go around. They had pressed poor Triney for more cooperation, but he could do nothing further regarding the unreported kidnapping. Both Chip and Triney were willing to lend police resources unofficially. However, she believed it was too late for manpower. Too late to have police fan out through neighborhoods interviewing people who might have noticed a girl on a blue bicycle. Too much time had passed.

“Where are you now, Sandy?”

“I’m in Martin Bronner’s office.”

“Well, why are you there? I’m really worried,” he couldn’t speak without his voice cracking. “If Toby kidnapped her, he had to stash her someplace. Now he’s dead and it’s possible no one knows where he took her. Could be Jamie’s dead as well.”

“She’s not dead. I don’t think Toby would kill her.”

“Not unless the bastard attacked my baby and everything went terribly wrong. Jamie’s a little tiger when she gets pushed. She’d fight to the death.”

“Don’t even think about that. Even though they didn’t get along, it’s possible Toby left Jamie with his mother. She has that new expensive TV which might indicate her involvement. Even if she did know of the blackmail, it might not have any connection to the kidnapping. I searched around her house some, but not every crevice and couldn’t look in the garage at all.”

“Will someone please explain to me why a search warrant for that house is out of the question?”

“I already asked about that, the sheriff’s not willing to stick his neck out. Says there’s no probable cause for a search since there’s no reported kidnapping.”

Kevin said, “The police just aren’t connecting the dots. Maddening.”

“Because they don’t connect the two situations. The sheriff is investigating the murder of Toby, but not the unreported kidnapping. You know, maybe I’ve been approaching this wrong.”

“Something we’ve overlooked?”

“How about this? We stop asking the sheriff to search Toby’s house because of a missing girl, and start telling him to search Toby’s house because of their murder investigation.”

“And if they do search because of the murder, they might find Jamie. Why aren’t they routinely searching the house anyway if they’re trying to find his murderer?”

“Of course, they’d search a suspect’s house. But Toby was the victim, not the murderer. Let’s pursue this. Hold on.” She called Triney and asked him why they hadn’t searched for clues in the house where the murder victim lived.

“We’ve tried that. Ruth Towalski won’t permit a voluntary search of her house. A warrant must name a specific item to be searched for,” he explained. “You can’t go on a witch hunt. The judge said searching the victim’s house for just any kind of possible evidence that might lead to his killer isn’t permitted. You need probable cause.”

Talking with Triney on this subject, and hearing the sound of his voice gave her a strange feeling of having this identical conversation with him before. Had they already talked about searching for evidence of who had shot Toby? Had they talked about the shooting of him before?

“Triney, this is going to sound strange.”

“Oh, oh. Here comes the soft soap. Go ahead, get on with it, Sugar.”

That had to stop, it was just encouraging him. “Before I get on with it. Could I ask you to please not to call me Sugar? It sounds very nice coming from you, but I had a disastrous relationship with a man who called me that. It brings back bad memories.” That was a total lie.

“Of course, I’m sorry Sandy. I didn’t intend to sound familiar.”

She knew exactly his intention. “Thank you. Sorry I had to mention that. Okay here’s what I need. Could I look at the file on the Toby Towalski shooting?”

“No way. You’re really a troublemaker. You’ve too much time on your hands? You going to solve that murder too?”

“Okay, don’t show me the file. If I come out there, will you thumb through it and just talk out loud? Come on. I was threatened with a knife and ended up scared to death with blood all over me. You owe me something.”

“Okay, but I have somewhere to go in an hour. Get yourself out here now.”

She relayed the message to Kevin; they’d meet at the sheriff’s office. She said goodbye to Martin.

“Will you be at liberty for cocktails later?” Martin asked as she was at the door.

“You’ve got work to do.”

Within twenty minutes, she and Kevin were sitting across the desk from Triney. He had just opened up the casebook on the Toby Towalski murder when his phone rang.

“Yes sir. Yes, Sheriff, I know. Of course I know who she is. Yes, I’ll take full responsibility.” He hung up. “The sheriff ordered you out of the building as soon as possible. He says trouble follows you around and he doesn’t want deputies seen talking to you. So make it quick. What do you want to know?”

“The sheriff will feel differently after I solve a murder for him.” She pointed to the casebook. “I had a deja vu feeling about something...something you told me about the case. Do you remember speaking to me? Telling me something?”

“Yeah, I think I did. I told you the bullet lodged in his back.”

“That wasn’t it.”

“Oh, yeah. I said Toby’s killer used a revolver as we found no casing.”

“Something like that. Keep talking.”

“Let me look here...yeah, the county lab tech says it’s an old .32 long, an obsolete caliber for a revolver.”

She was so excited she jumped up. “Bingo, Triney. Bingo. That’s it. How about this? You say the slug that killed Toby was obsolete. It wouldn’t fit a modern revolver. Now I remember...Ruth told me her husband collects antique firearms. You see where I’m going with this, Sherlock?”

“You just made that up, didn’t you? You are a sneaky one. I must admit it’s a good try. In fact an excellent try.”

“I swear she did tell me. It’s true. So, an obsolete bullet might have come from an obsolete gun. There’s your probable cause to search Toby’s house.”

“You’re not kidding, are you? Okay, it’s damn good. Moran will go for it because the warrant will state we’re specifically searching for an antique revolver.”

She thought, and the specific item you might find is a 10-year-old girl, however they don’t need to know that just now. Aloud she said, “Go get that search warrant of Towalski’s house. Remember I told you I’d make things up to you. Well, I’ll give you another tip because I know where that gun is hidden. It’s in the garage. Be sure to look in the garage first.”

“I remember what happened to Detective Pomar when he took your advice. You’re up to something. What’s this business with the garage? How do you know the gun’s in the garage?”

“Absolutely, certain. Look first in the garage. And Triney, if you have a Juvenile Officer on duty, take her with you. Will you call me when you’re on the way over there?”

“Hotshot, I wouldn’t make a move without you.”

She and Kevin left the building and were walking across the parking lot when she stopped. “The question is why would the murder weapon be hidden in the victim’s house? The answer is just beginning to sink in. If the old slug they took out of Toby’s back, matches an old firearm in Ruth’s house, then I’ve solved another murder.”

“You mean Ruth Towalski used an old gun? She murdered her own son?”

“Stepson, I believe. I’ll be damned. I thought it was Abby who shot him to get him out of the blackmail scheme.”

He said, “So, it was his stepmother. Why on earth would she kill him?”

“You’re right. Doesn’t make sense.”

* * * *

Three hours later, in response to Triney’s phone call, Sandy and Kevin rushed out to Ruth Towalski’s house. Five sheriff’s vehicles with flashing lights were parked at various angles: in the driveway, on the grass, and in the street.

Jamie came out the front door holding hands with a sheriff’s juvenile officer. She saw Sandy, jumped off the porch, and ran to her. After a long hug, Sandy held Jamie out at arm’s length. She was excited but appeared all right.

“Jamie, I’m sorry...I told you to trust me.”

“Aunt Ruth—she kept telling me to call her Aunt Ruth—told me about a woman who was here looking for me. I knew it was you. I knew you’d be back to get me. So I was okay.” She looked about to cry. Sandy held it back.

Jamie caught her breath. “I’m okay.” She spoke rapidly, “I had a neat little bed out there in the garage. I cried only the first night. Aunt Ruth would let me inside sometimes.”

“Did she feed you?”

“Mainly apple pie and I’m sick of it. Do you know about crossword puzzles? They’re really fun.”

Detective Triney came out the front door guiding Ruth Towalski in front of him. She was handcuffed in front. “When I knocked on the door, she knew it was over. She invited me in. She admitted they tried to get money out of Kidde.”

Jamie appeared surprised. “See Sandy, that’s what I told you to start with, I heard Mom and Toby talking about making money off of kids. Oh wow, there’s daddy!” She ran to Kevin.

Sandy called after her, “Not kids, Jamie, Kidde!” She gave Triney a sheepish look. “Geez, that’s my fault. Jamie overheard them saying Kidde. I jumped to the child porn conclusion. I got on the right track for the wrong reason.”

Ruth saw Sandy and said, “I know you’re the one who did me in. Knew you were searching all my bedrooms. Knew you weren’t dumb.”

“All right, if I talk to her, Triney?” Sandy asked.

“I’ve already Mirandized her. She can talk with you at her own risk, but I’m listening, and I’m taking notes.”

“I’m not mad at you,” Ruth said. “It’s okay. Couldn’t go on like that with that poor child in the garage. Sorry about that, but the smart kid would have escaped from any other room in the house I’m glad it’s over. I’m so tired.”

“I must know, at any time was Toby alone with Jamie?”

“Do I look that crazy? Okay, so I do look that crazy, but the answer is no. And I didn’t want him alone with you either. His mind messed up the way it is. Absolutely not.”

“Be certain your attorney brings that up in court. You may have saved Jamie. But you need to face it, what you did was aid and abet a kidnapper.”

“Abet, to support or encourage. But it’s worse than that, Sweetie. It was me all the way. You think Toby could put this scheme together? He came home that night all excited about what he had witnessed on the beach. I told him how to blackmail that congressman and told him to go kidnap Jamie.”

Triney heard. “We’re adding blackmail to the kidnapping and murder charges against you. You still have the right to remain silent.”

“I want to tell her,” Ruth snapped. “Can we sit down on the step over there?”

He nodded. They sat side by side and he stood behind them with his notebook open. “Make it quick. I need to take you over to the sheriff’s office and get a formal statement.”

“No, I want to tell her. Here’s how it went. Toby told me he was driving back from hog hunting when he first saw Kidde and that woman at a truck stop up near Jacksonville. Said some truckers up there were falling all over each other to get close to her cause she was hot, or maybe he said wicked hot. Also called her Miss Universe. Oh please. So he followed them. Why’d he follow them? Because he’s a man. Just looking for a new way to make an ass out of himself over some woman. Too bad she wasn’t headed north then they’d all be in Canada by now and everyone’s problem would be solved.

“Anyway, he followed them down to that Florida beach. He saw the woman choke. He talked with the man and then the man left. Toby said he ‘checked out’ the body for a few minutes and then he left. Said he never touched her. Can’t you just picture him not touching a defenseless Miss Universe?

“The man had U.S. Congress plates on his car and Toby recognized him from TV. I told him how to find the man and told him what to say. Toby meets him and comes back smiling. The man gives him twenty grand cash. We sat on the floor counting it and laughing our fool heads off.”

“So Kidde comes up with twenty thousand,” Sandy said. “The man has millions. Why settle for a mere twenty thousand? That’s pocket change for him.”

“Twenty a month, sweetie! Twenty a month. I figured it could go on for years. My ship had come in. Toby’s also thinking the money is infinite, meaning endless or unlimited. So brainchild not only gives Abby ten, he blabs out the whole story. How many times have I told him not to lose his head over a little piece of tail? I told the moron to go beat her up, or whatever, and get the money back. Abby tried to shoot him, but ended up shooting some other horny nut. You know about that.”

“So you were behind the kidnapping.”

“Yeah, I told him to grab Jamie to get the ten grand back from Abby. Abby told Toby she wasn’t about to give back the money. Said she had another plan. Said she’d worry about Jamie later. Can you beat that?”

“Abby didn’t report the kidnapping because she knew you had Jamie.”

“I misjudged her. I assumed she would bargain immediately to get her daughter back. But instead, I was left holding the kid. She couldn’t have cared less. Didn’t know me from Adam. I could have been some neurotic weirdo instead of the normal well-adjusted homemaker you see before you. She didn’t even know if I was keeping Toby away from her little daughter. Didn’t even care. Scratch her for mother of the year.”

“I’m glad Jamie was with you under the circumstances. He mentioned to me a girlfriend named Crystal. Who’s she?”

“Hey, many children have imaginary playmates. Toby made his a nympho. Then amazingly, he’s got flesh and blood women in his life, Abby, the beach babe, and then you. He couldn’t handle it.”

“Please don’t refer to that unfortunate woman as the beach babe.”

“Sorry. Of the three, the only woman he could relate to was the dead one. Toby wouldn’t stop talking about the body on the beach, how great she was. I didn’t get it right away. Then he started talking about you, said he’d like to see you when you were nice and quiet. Said you’d make a good Miss Universe. I found out he was stalking you. Then I got it. I realized what he had done to that body on the beach. It still gives me the shivers.”

“Did he admit he actually raped the body?”

“Not at first. He insisted he hadn’t done anything and didn’t know what I was getting all upset about. I had to get out that broken golf club to make him confess. I gave him a whack with that club and he still said I had it wrong, he hadn’t touched her. Then I gave him four really good ones and he started talking. He admitted he did it. He said he was sorry. He was crying when he told me. The little freak. He disgraced the family and me. We don’t have much, but we’re not ghouls. He had to be punished and who else was going to do it? You told me to change what I could in my life, well I did, I shot him.”

“Ruth, I’m not convinced Toby did anything to that body accept in his mind. He has a dangerous edge to him, but he might not have harmed me either when it got right down to it.”

“Don’t you get what I’m saying? That boy has always lived in his own confused and unstable world. You were already in his fantasy. It would have been a small step for him to cross from a dream into reality. You would have been in for the entire terrible ordeal. He was looking for you and I knew why. He’d done it once and the second time would be easier. I had to do something. I followed him. I saw you guys in that house through the window. Couldn’t hear what you were saying. I had to save you. I had to punish him. I had to shoot the little moron.”

“It’s a weird situation, but I guess I should thank you for that.” Sandy didn’t want to leave it that way. She wanted the episode to be resolved with certainty and closure. She thought Ruth had it wrong, but it wasn’t the proper time to discuss it.

“Ruth, look at me, this is important. Ask the police for a free attorney. They must provide you with one. Don’t say anything more unless your attorney is with you.”

Ruth looked over at Triney who was putting his notebook away. “Is the government gonna take care of me? You have TV, crosswords, and intelligent women to talk to over there at that prison of yours?”

“You’ll have everything you need, Ma’am, except freedom.”

“Yeah, like I’m free now? Not all prisons have bars, buddy.” Then to Sandy, “Isn’t he nice? He’s looking out for me. He’s afraid I’ll lose my shape and turn ugly in prison. Hey, I get my wish, Sandy. Tomorrow I’m having lunch with the girls. I wonder if they use teacups over there.”

The detective helped her into the back of his vehicle and then came back to Sandy. “By the way, Hotshot, the antique revolver wasn’t in the garage like you told me, we found it in a drawer in her bedroom. But thanks for the tip. I got a nice arrest out of this.”

Chapter Thirty-two

It was mid-February—six weeks after that first phone call from Abby had entangled Sandy. At last, the turmoil had quieted. The remaining pieces of the drama that had once endangered her were now in place. Jamie was safely in Georgia with her father. Moran held nothing over her and was off her mind. The legal system would slowly take care of the rest.

They were in Chip’s house and had slept late on a Saturday morning. They had the entire weekend to waste. Their morning began lying closely and still enjoying the afterglow of the night before. Now they leaned back on the living room futon with their bare feet on the coffee table. He had a short knit robe over his boxers; she wore pale-green cotton pajamas. He had just gotten his second coffee and she had switched to a Bloody Mary.

“Freddy Kidde got me started drinking these. My favorite now.”

“A strange sort of man and a strange sort of drink.” He screwed up his face. “Vegetables soaked in vodka. Why don’t you toss in a pork chop and some gravy? The last thing I want is hot sauce and celery stuck in my drink.”

“Hot sauce suits my personality.”

“Now back to the law books for you.”

“Moran had no choice but to drop the charges against me. He couldn’t risk my going public and jeopardizing a conviction against Abby for felony murder.”

“He has a good case of blackmail against her as well.”

“Her trial isn’t for a few months. Moran is going to use the testimony of Freddy Kidde to establish that Abby and Toby were together in the blackmail. Once blackmail is established then Abby’s motivation for the attempted murder of Toby is obvious. That’s all Moran needs to convict her of the felony murder of Bruce Banks. Once they find her guilty of murdering Bruce Banks, Nita Banks can proceed with her wrongful death civil case against Abby and get a judgment against her assets.”

“Aiming for her fancy condo in West Palm, huh. So if Nita can hold on, she’ll come away with a couple million dollars, mas o menos.”

“Thanks to the cooperation of Freddy Kidde,” she said. “The suspicion of abusing Betty Jo’s body ruined him, so he has nothing to lose by testifying against Abby. In fact, he’s eager to do it given that the blackmail scheme led to his downfall. You know he’s fighting to keep his seat in Congress.”

“Not unusual for politicians to get caught with their strippers, mistresses, and hookers,” he said. “They pay a heavy price for a roll in the hay. They’re better at screwing the taxpayers.”

“One more sacrifice on the altar of sexual obsession. Passion rules us all and we obey.”

“He was a fool. How’d you make out in Fort Lauderdale with Betty Jo’s mother?”

“Nice lady. Seems they kept somewhat in touch, although she didn’t know her daughter was missing. I told her Betty Jo had died a natural death—from accidental choking. Doesn’t that sound innocent? At least that much was the truth. I said there was some talk of her body being mishandled before the doctor got there. Fortunately, she didn’t question me further about the nature of the mishandling. She asked about the burial and I told her it was dignified. I told her the authorities wanted to reach her, but didn’t know her address.”

“Did she know her daughter was a stripper?”

“Didn’t seem to mind. Said she was pleased her daughter was successful and happy even though she had yet to marry. When they last spoke, she told Betty Jo the bank was foreclosing on her house. She needed eight thousand. Betty Jo told her not to worry, she’d get the money to her. According to the mother, last month some man in a suit and big car showed up with money in a bank bag. He was very polite and said he was a friend of Betty Jo’s. Fifty thousand dollars in cash. Told her not to worry, all perfectly legal. The taxes had been paid. He said Betty Jo saved her money and was a smart investor. That she was sorry she couldn’t make it down, but to tell her mother she loves her. Far more than the mother needed to save the house and enough to make a big difference in her life from then on.”

“I don’t get it. Fifty thousand from where?”

“Freddy told me Betty Jo was carrying eight thousand in her shoulder bag. He must have kicked in with the other forty-two. Her mother seemed okay, but I think she broke down after I left. The entire visit was so sad. I hope I did the right thing.”

“You did fine,” Chip said. “And what about the crazy lady?”

“Ruth Towalski? Not crazy but needs psychiatric help. You think she’ll spend the rest of her life in prison?”

“I think she wants to,” he suggested. “If her life had gone in a different direction, she could have been a constructive citizen and a positive help to someone somewhere. She was no help to Toby, however. A different sort of mother might have made a big difference in his life.”

“The DNA paternity test came back positive for Kevin,” Sandy said. “He’s definitely Jamie’s father. He’s a much more cheerful man now. He gets full custody of her, which is what they both wanted all along. That smart kid will knock ‘em dead in Georgia. Jamie will be in every front row for the rest of her life.”

“For a while, she must have hoped you’d be her new stepmother. Did he make a play for you?”

“Make a play. Is that guy talk?” She knew what he meant and where this was going. She had expected the question eventually.

“Guy talk would be, did he try to nail you?”

She hesitated and then nodded her head. “Yes, he tried to nail me.” That was misleading. She should get it all out and done with.

“Did he succeed? I’ve no right to ask.”

“Would it make a difference?”

“Of course it would make a difference. You think I’m made of stone?”

“I mean a serious difference. Like a turning point difference?”

He thought a minute. “No turning point...I guess. Serious, but not like turning-point serious.”

“I think this is a good time for me to have another Bloody Mary.” She could scarcely breathe. She had to get out of the room.

He frowned and stared straight ahead. “Make that two.”

She left the room without saying anything further. She noticed her hand quivering slightly as she made the drinks. She sat down to let her nerves quiet. Why had she risked it? She felt perfectly satisfied with Chip. Was it an experiment with Kevin? Was she feeling so serious about Chip that she wanted to test him against Kevin, put them up against each other for a comparison? Kevin was definitely more unrestrained, more passionate. He had let himself go completely in bed. Like a teenager, only with one big difference—he knew what he was doing. She had surprised herself how she had responded, attempting to equal his passion. Where did all that come from? It must have been in her, waiting. However, one sweaty night does not a romance make.

So now what? She and Chip had gone together merely four months and she’d no idea if he had expected exclusivity with her. He was no kid. He’d had at least two hot lengthy affairs that she knew of. The last one was with a legal secretary at the courthouse who lived with him in this house for nearly two years. Meaning they made love in his bed right here and he put all those great moves on her right here.

She gave the drinks a final stir and returned to the living room. He just stood looking expectantly. She handed him his drink. “The answer is yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, he succeeded. I cooperated fully. We got to know each other somewhat trying to investigate all of this. I know that’s not an excuse. For some reason I was attracted to him and I wanted it to happen. It was just sex. A one time, after dinner thing. I’ve no further interest in him. It was an adventure. Just sex, no love, just fantasy. But I’m guilty. The deed is done. I realize once is all it takes to ruin our relationship. Whatever it does to us, I’ll have to live with.”

“Go on,” was all he said.

“We hadn’t talked about an exclusive relationship, but now that I’ve strayed, I’m thinking exclusive is what I what. I don’t want you doing anything on the side. I don’t want a permanent relationship, but while we’re together, I do want it exclusive. I’d be scared to death if you did it. I know I should say okay, I hereby grant you a free one. You have it coming and you deserve it. Sorry you can’t have it. Sound selfish?”

For a moment they stared at each other.

“Yes?” she said. She waited for him to flash his engaging grin. The classic one she’d fallen for at the start. That grin always got her.

Finally, there it was. The grin. He said, “I guess I’d better try harder with you.”

“That goes for me too.”

They both laughed.

Then he said, “An exclusive relationship is fine with me. I just want you to stick around for a while...if not longer.”

“Exclusive as long as we are together. No other promises. I’ll be finishing law school and starting my law career. That’s a major passage for me. I can’t tell you what’s going to happen afterward. However, I do hope we’ll be together.”

He pulled her close and gave her a lingering kiss.

“Here’s a toast, Chip. To us.”

They clinked glasses and sipped in silence for several minutes. Then they laughed at the same time.

“You’re now free to get into more trouble.”

“Right now I just want to bask in a wave of peace and calm. And spend my time between my law books and you. And only you.”

“And you...need to be careful when messing around with ‘just sex.’”

“You’re right, and I’ve learned from observing Freddy. You must also watch out for the passion. It can lie quietly inside you waiting until someone rouses it from sleep. Then beware.” She stared down at her drink, idly moving the ice around with the celery stalk. “Then it awakens with a roar, demanding to take control.”

“Sandy, where are you? Where is all this passion talk coming from?”

“Oh...you said sex is dynamite...so is passion.” She had recovered from her private reminiscence. “Sometimes you’re the dynamite and sometimes you’re the fuse.”

“Which am I?”

“Chip, you are definitely one great burning fuse and I’m the dynamite. Around you, I’m combustible. You can set me off anytime.”

He drained his glass in one gulp, stood, and reached for her hands. She stood facing him and he placed his hands on her upper arms and drew her closer. She tilted her head back slightly as he kissed her neck then softly on her lips. While holding the kiss he ran his hands over her back. He felt the curve of her waist for a moment and then pushed his hands on down under her pajamas until he was grasping her buttocks. He pulled her tightly against him almost lifting her. Then he broke the kiss long enough to lift her up completely.

Chapter Thirty-three

Three months had passed. It was April. Spring according to the calendar, but spring doesn’t linger in Florida. Already summer if you believed the thermometer. Sandy Reid had finished her law degree from FAU and studied quietly in her own apartment for the July bar exam. She managed to find time for regular sleepovers with Chip.

Martin Bronner had invited Sandy for dinner, one evening, at his home with his father. He prepared a quite acceptable Coquille Saint-Jacques. The next day the three took an enjoyable trip to the Sarasota Music Festival on Florida’s west coast.

The outcome of Nita Bank’s lawsuit, now in the hands of the judge, was progressing favorably. The resulting buzz had generated a few new clients for Martin. He tried to devote some time to the book he had started writing on the subject of what if Lincoln hadn’t been assassinated.

The latest email from Jamie explained she loved the fishing trip in the Georgia Mountains with her daddy: “...glad I didn’t catch anything because I don’t like seeing the poor little fish die on my hook. Love, Jamie. Daddy says hello.”

Jerry Kagan had suffered a mild stroke, but was recuperating nicely. He had received a lucrative offer from a developer for the building that had housed his law office for fifty years. He teased saying he could retire for good if Sandy would just keep herself out of the next murder in a small Florida town.

Was it strange that Freddy Kidde was still on her mind? Public interest in the Privado Beach episode had faded to zero after State Attorney Moran declared the investigation showed no wrongdoing whatsoever on the part of the congressman. Did Kidde fade away as well?

Sandy had immersed herself in his fascinating story as he was telling it. The once prominent congressman casually encountering a stranded young woman in a convenience store. The stranger had targeted him as a safe, malleable man, but he made the decision to give her a ride. As she listened, Sandy had been annoyed with his pompous manner as he was aloof and judgmental. Then Sandy thought it comical when the hitchhiker revealed she stripped for a living and he then assumed with arrogance that she would be available to him.

It was obvious to Sandy that his fascination became obsessive as he projected Betty Jo’s acceptance of him. But did she encourage him in order to torture him, as he believed, because of deep-rooted issues she had with men? In any case, only after his passion was uncontrollable had he realized she was beyond his reach. By then it was too late; he couldn’t let go.

As upsetting as it was to him personally, Sandy didn’t feel that the obsession was necessarily disabling. It could have been merely another of those haunting preoccupations that secretly demonize the mind of millions. No worse than the demons ordinary people have always lived with. Except, in his case, there was a dramatic final stroke. His misdirected passion was exposed when he failed to report her death.

Now Sandy wondered what happened to poor old Freddy. Did he blame Betty Jo, himself, or just plain bad luck for what happened? She wanted an ending to the story.

She wasn’t certain if he’d take her phone call. Perhaps he blamed her for bringing his world crashing down. She wasn’t certain if he still lived down in Jensen Beach, or if his phone number still worked. She knew she had to try.

After his answering machine message, he heard her voice, picked up, and said hello. He sounded weak, “I’ve been screening my calls, Miss Reid. Only people with nasty comments, death threats, or sick jokes phone me now.”

“I never realized there were necrophilia jokes,” she said. “I felt compelled to call you, Freddy. I’m not sure why. I guess because I was involved and still haven’t processed it all.” For some reason the curtain wasn’t closed in her mind.

“Glad you did. May I call you Sandy again?”

“I read a series of articles about you in the New York Times, about a month ago. How they forced you to resign your seat in the House of Representatives, forced out of Congress. That had to hurt.”

“I’m still mentioned in the press, thankfully less frequently now. It remains torture. I still cringe as I turn each newspaper page, wondering if my name will be mentioned. My colleagues in DC turned their backs on me. The House Ethics Committee, made it too uncomfortable for me to stay. I once knew everyone who mattered. Everyone liked me. Now I’m inconsequential. You don’t want to be caught with a dead woman.”

“Being innocent is often never enough,” she said into the phone.

“Ellen left me, you know. Can’t blame her for that. No relative will acknowledge me.”

“I imagine accepting an suspected necrophiliac might push the limit for some families.”

“And outside the family as well,” he said. “My secretary broke the sound barrier getting out of here. Didn’t stop to clean out her desk or take her precious plant. We belong to several civic associations. Have always supported a multitude of charities, the museum, the symphony. They don’t call even for donations anymore. I went over to the club only once. My family built that club and now I’m persona non grata. I knew they were laughing at me. Everyone is against me it seems. Suspicion and rumors will always be there. A lifetime of work gone. My name will always be linked to necrophilia—a word I’d never even thought of before in my entire life.”

“I don't think one word can describe a man’s life.”

“Perhaps, but everything I’ve accomplished will now carry that footnote. Humiliated and ruined nonetheless.”

“Sounds as though you’ve been judged harshly.”

“I’ve family money and some congressional perks I’m entitled to, so I never need to leave the house again. It will be safer that way. No one can spit on me. Perhaps I’ll let my nails grow like Howard Hughes. Did you know you could get home delivery of groceries on the Internet? I have everything I need...except respect.”

“You aren’t blameless. You could have done things differently that night.”

“Should never have left. My political survival instinct told me not to hang around a dead naked female.”

“Correction. She wasn’t naked when you left her with Toby. She had the bikini bottom on. Right?”

“Right. Leaving seemed a reasonable decision at the time. What a tragic mistake. Now that I’m calm I can reason like that, but at the time....”

“Since you did leave, you should never have paid Toby any blackmail. Why did you?”

“I thought I was in the clear. Then he showed up at my house. I felt guilty. I panicked. I couldn’t risk having any connection to the incident. He guessed I wouldn’t risk exposure even if innocent. I don’t know. I just paid him, that’s all.”

“There’s something else unresolved in my mind, Freddy. When I was at your place trying to get you to come forward, you mentioned you had followed the story in the paper and they played up the fact that her pubic hair was waxed, or shaved. The titillating fact, I think you called it.”

“Yes, I remember our conversation.”

“That interesting bit of information was never released by the police. They held it back on purpose. I checked and it was never in the papers. Not even in the police report. You told me her bikini bottom was never removed while you were there. How did you know she was shaved, Freddy?”

Silence on the phone.

“Freddy...how did you know?”

“She showed me once during the trip.”

“She what!”

“That evening when we were sitting there drinking and laughing in the Marriott lounge. We’d had a few. She was getting high. She glanced around first to be certain no one could see what she was up to. With a devilish smile on her face, she told me to drop my napkin and look under the table...she did it to please me. Isn’t that amazing? I was delighted. Didn’t I mention Candy did that?”

“You mean Betty Jo.”

“Just when she realized she loved me and wanted me, our affair was cut short by that tragic accident.”

“What affair?”

His voice sounded different, “Don’t you understand the heartbreak I suffered. We’d be together right now in this house. We would have had it all if not for that tragedy. I’ll always have Candy.”

“You’ll what?”

“She was naturally reticent at first, but gradually came around as the trip progressed. As she grew to know me, she became more warm and loving.”

“Warm and loving?”

“We had grown close by the time we got to Florida. She had me fooled at the start with her little hard-to-get game. She was clever. But then it became obvious to me. She pretended to reject me as a ploy to heighten the excitement we’d share at the end of our trip.”

“You said you knew you’d never get her. She was unattainable. She was calling the shots. Freddy, you’re babbling somewhere between fantasy and reality.”

“No, no. It was me she wanted. We both were thrilled because we were close to the torrid adventure waiting for us when we got to Ft. Lauderdale. She wanted us to be together all along. She longed for me, but needed to be assured that I would accept her. She agreed to become my mistress after all. She wanted to dance for me. We would have been lovers for years. I’d leave my wife for her. She was so perfect, so gorgeous.”

“You once told me she was plain looking.”

“No, Candy was beautiful. She was a present from the gods.”

“Freddy, you’ve sacrificed everything for a foolish passion.”

“When a beautiful woman opens up to you, and gives you her love. You experience something so marvelous that you can never adequately remember it, yet it can never be taken away.”

Oh, my God! She had it now. She knew what had happened. “You’ve told me all I need to know, Freddy. Goodbye, I never want to talk to you again.”

“I close my eyes and I see her young face and the longing look in her eyes. The soft, sad look of a beautiful woman offering her love and destined to die so young. I’ll never love again. It’s enough to know I’m a rare and fortunate man who once shared love with the perfect woman. Don’t you see? That’s why I had to go back. Candy was right where I left her, still untouched.”

“Freddy, I’m hanging up.”

“She took me, not the other way around. She enveloped me, enclosed me. It was her last desire. She wanted it that way. Candy will always be happy about that. It was the perfect ending to our marvelous adventure together.”

“Yes,” she said, almost in a whisper, the strength had gone out of her voice. “Sex would be a marvelous adventure if it didn’t make some people go crazy.”

Sandy closed her phone and let it fall from her hand. She broke down and fell sobbing across her arms.

The End

About the author:

Rod Hoisington has a background in business and education and lives in Vero Beach, Florida.

The Price of Candy is the second novel in the Sandy Reid Mystery series and is available in paperback from Amazon.

How it all began...

Read and enjoy the first Sandy Reid mystery

One Deadly Sister

*****

Five Star Mystery Novel Rating

Irrepressible protagonist Sandy Reid is living and working in Philadelphia when she gets a life or death call from her estranged brother in Florida—she tells him to go to hell. She doesn't need this. She's holding an old grudge and resents having her life in Philadelphia interrupted. Her brother Raymond isn't looking for trouble, he simply wants to get past his Philadelphia divorce and start a new life in a small Florida ocean side town.

Unfortunately, woman-trouble comes looking for him. He arrives just as someone decides to murder the local gubernatorial candidate. Raymond doesn't have a clue about women and gets seduced and framed. He hasn't bothered with his sister up north for years, but now as a stranger in a hostile town, Sandy is his only hope. After briefly enjoying his misfortune, Sandy reluctantly decides to at least check out her brother's predicament.

This small step leads to an ever-increasing entanglement of deceit, double-cross, and danger, as she can't leave well-enough alone and goes after the real killer in this fast-paced mystery.

This book is available in print at most online retailers

eBook versions available at http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/rodhoisington

Read what critics are saying about

One Deadly Sister

“...a clever plot enfolds, firmly supported by interesting characters. If you like mysteries, you’ll enjoy this one. No loose ends.”

-- Gene Hull, Scripps Treasure Coast Newspapers

“A very creative and enjoyable first novel...grabs hold of you early on and you can't get away from it...”

--Betty Gelean for ReviewTheBook.com

“...this novel has an excellent plot which keeps readers glued to the pages until the very end. Great, strong, enjoyable characters...a great read!”

-- Goodreads.com

“...murder mystery at its best...a great and realistic story line that will keep you guessing til the end.”

Michele Tater, ReviewTheBook.com

“If you enjoy mysteries that keep your mind guessing and racing until the very end, you don't want to miss this story.”

“...an excellent mystery story that provides a plot full of twists, surprises, an array of colorful characters, and even a dash of humor. ...well formed and keeps readers captivated while the entire story quickly unfolds.

-- Feathered Quill Book Reviews

“(Stayed up) 'til the wee hours of the morn', coz I was busy reading a quite interesting novel entitled One Deadly Sister”

-- DelGal’s blog

“...The mystery plot is well developed, there are an ample number of colorfully drawn suspects, and the secondary characters are delightful. No doubt the first in a series, One Deadly Sister is a terrific opening chapter for this pair of amateur sleuths.”

-- Hidden Staircase Mystery Books

“...If this story line does not get your full attention, then you need to check your pulse. I, for one, can hardly wait for the publication of the next Rod Hoisington mystery novel.”

-- P. A. Lavins, Book Critic (Washington, D. C.)

This book is available in print at most online retailers

eBook versions available at Smashwords.com

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-one

Chapter Thirty-two

Chapter Thirty-three