Читать книгу Runaway Mistress - Робин Карр, Robyn Carr, Robyn Carr - Страница 7

The effect of seeing her picture in the paper caused Jennifer to decide she’d better go a little farther afield than a Las Vegas suburb, so she got on a bus. She wasn’t sure where it was bound, so she just rode for a half hour through a stretch of desert and got off in the first little town she came to. She walked for about twenty minutes and, after passing several decent places, found a motel that had clearly seen better days. It was a seedy-looking place between a junkyard and a railroad track; there were only twelve rooms. Nick Noble would never find it. And if he did find it, he would never expect Jennifer to be there.

She looked at the phone book in room number eight and saw that she was in Boulder City. Good enough, she thought. She’d never even heard of the place. Surely she wouldn’t draw much attention here. She could have stayed at one of the casinos off the Strip; the bus had passed several of them, but they were large and their parking lots crowded. Too many people around, increasing the odds of being recognized as the missing girl in the newspaper.

She looked at the map the phone book provided. Boulder City, a small town a mere twenty-five miles from Las Vegas, on the edge of Lake Mead on the way to Hoover Dam. This was the last place Nick would expect to find the classy, bejeweled Jennifer Chaise.

She stood in front of the mirror for a while, not recognizing the woman who stared back at her. Wardrobe by army surplus—very unlike the wardrobe she had left behind. Her face, washed clean of makeup, left her looking very plain and pale. Her expensive artificial tan was fast disappearing. The shock of finding herself on the run likely contributed to her wan look. She flushed the colored contact lenses down the toilet and her eyes went from that sexy lavender to an ordinary brown. Her vision, fortunately, was perfect. She clipped her long acrylic nails and felt briefly crippled.

She had attempted to dye her waist-length golden hair to brown, but had ended up with a rather sickly gray—absolute proof that she’d tried to color it with drugstore supplies. Scissors in hand, she meant to rectify the situation, but a tear gathered in her eye. She’d pampered that sexy mane for how many years? Nick adored her hair; he loved to crunch it up in his fists and bury his face in it. Well, that would never happen again. “And if it does happen,” she said aloud, “it would probably be just one last crunch before he crushes my skull.” But the hand with the scissors trembled. “Oh, suck it up,” she told the reflection. “We’ll save a fortune. And it’s only temporary—until we figure out what to do and where to go.” She stared into her own eyes and, realizing she was talking to a mirror image, said, “Oh, my God, it’s hereditary. We have our mother’s wackiness.”

And then she lopped it off, close to the scalp. She continued this drastic amputation, tears running down her cheeks, until all she was left with was a short, spiky cap of really strange-colored hair. It looked as if someone had colored her hair badly—and then cut it badly. How different could she be? And what could she do to become invisible and utterly unrecognizable?

She thought about it for a moment and then she shaved her head. After brief consideration, the eyebrows that she’d spent a fortune having professionally colored and waxed into a curvaceous arch also went. If she remembered correctly, her original brows were black, bushy, shapeless and met over the bridge of her nose.

Then, despite her determination to be stronger than her circumstances, she cried in a bed with a lumpy mattress and a thin sheet. What had she been thinking, getting involved with a man like Nick? With any of the rich older men she’d attracted? It had only served to isolate her from the world. Had she really thought she was so smart, so immune to having her heart broken? This was proof positive that you didn’t have to be in love to have your heart broken. She was in a crappy motel in a tiny desert town outside Las Vegas with nothing. With no one. Even worse, now she was in actual peril. Talk about a plan gone awry.

The month was March and she awoke the following morning to chilly air and leaden skies, and the sound of rain. The heater in the room didn’t work and everything seemed inevitable.

The morning sky was just painting the dark clouds gray when she couldn’t take the cold, dank hotel room another second. She bundled up in a khaki-green windbreaker, her scarf wrapped around her neck and her baseball cap covering her bald head. All her worldly goods were tucked into a canvas backpack. The motel office was still closed; no one there to get the heater going in her room. So she set out to see if there was more to this place than a junkyard and train tracks.

A few blocks away the road forked—the highway went left and she went right. Another few blocks revealed a small town, a street lined with cafés and shops not yet open. She counted three restaurants, all apparently of the no-tablecloth variety. It was an old street with worn sidewalks, but some trendy shops and eateries were peppered amid the older ones, perhaps recent additions to snag the visitors to Hoover Dam, and travelers en route to the Grand Canyon as they passed by the town. The manager of Starbucks was just unlocking the door. A clock in the window of a gift shop read six-thirty. There was a small corner market that looked no bigger than a convenience store, but it displayed a large variety of fresh fruits and vegetables in the window, and a sign that boasted a sale on ground sirloin.

A big white hotel with signs that advertised Underground Dancing and a Dam Museum stood down the street. Across the parking lot was a small brick building painted pink—a dance studio.

She took a left, getting off the main street, and a few blocks later found a park, library, theater and an old residential neighborhood full of tiny, multicolored houses nestled amid tall, full trees. They looked like playhouses, street after street of them. There were obviously no neighborhood-association rules about conformity in this part of the world, as interspersed with well-maintained houses and manicured lawns were battered-looking homes inside cyclone fences that surrounded dirt and weeds. The houses, however, were almost all the same shape. Except one at the end of the street, a square two-story, with a huge peace sign painted on a tall tree stump and flowered sheets covering the windows. It looked like a throwback from the sixties.

Around the corner she saw the post office and wondered if this was the center of town. It didn’t even resemble anything close to a desert here in Boulder City; the foliage was thick, and most of the trees had retained their leaves through winter while others showed the promise of new buds on bare branches. Shrubs were dense; grass was green.

She passed a yarn shop, a used-book store and a health-food store. A sign stuck out farther down the street that read Nails. A couple of young women jogged around the park, and farther down the street an elderly man walked his dog. She turned onto a side street, and right between a dry cleaner and dog-grooming salon was a diner with the lights on and a sign in the window that read Open. Above the door in fading red paint was the name of the place—the Tin Can.

This place hadn’t seen a renovation in a long time yet was clean and well kept. Since there was a Starbucks on the main street, she supposed this diner was seeing less action than it used to—there was only one customer. With the stools at the counter, booths covered in Naugahyde lining the wall and Formica tabletops, it had the look of a fifties greasy spoon. But a nice, warm one. It reminded her of a place she used to go with her grandpa when she was small.

The bell jingled as she entered. “’Morning,” a man called from behind the counter.

She took a stool right in the middle of the completely vacant counter. The man in the booth at the back of the diner had a newspaper spread out in front of him.

“’Morning,” she returned. “Coffee?”

He had a cup in front of her in seconds. “Cold and wet out there, ain’t it.”

“Freezing,” she said, pulling her jacket tighter.

“It should be a lot warmer by now. There’re buds on the trees and the grass is greening up. Spring’s ’bout here. I’ll let you warm up a little, then we’ll talk about some breakfast,” he said. She looked up at him. He squinted at what he could see of her face under the bill of her hat. For a moment she was confused, and then she remembered she had no eyebrows. With a self-conscious laugh, she plucked the cap off her head and exposed her bald head and naked brow. He almost jumped back in surprise. “Whoa. That’s a new look now, ain’t it?”

“Shocking,” she supplied, putting her cap back on.

“Cold, I take it.”

“That’s for sure.”

He was a big man around sixty. Overweight, with a thick, ornery crop of yellow-gray, strawlike hair and square face and rosy cheeks—like a sixty-year-old little boy with big ears. She saw a face she could only describe as accessible. Open. He had friendly blue eyes set in the crinkles of age, a double chin and an engaging smile—one tooth missing to the back of the right side. “I got biscuits and gravy,” he said proudly.

“I’m not really hungry,” she said. “Just cold.”

“You been outside long?”

Oh-oh. He suspected she was homeless. The army surplus fashion, the backpack, the ball cap. “No. Well, maybe a little. I’ve a room at that roadside place about six blocks from here and I woke up freezing. No heat. And the motel office wasn’t open yet.”

“Behind that scrap heap and junkyard?”

“That’s the one.”

“Charlie is not generous with his guests,” the man in the booth said with a heavy Spanish accent. “You should say he give you the night free.”

“He should,” the man behind the counter said. “But he won’t. They don’t come much tighter than Charlie.”

The man in the booth folded his paper, stood up and stretched. Then he took an apron off a hook and put it on. Ah, the cook, she realized. “Um—are you done with that paper?” she asked him.

“Help yourself, mija.” He proceeded around the counter to the grill and began heating and scraping it. The sounds of breakfast being started filled the diner and soon the smells followed. Jennifer settled herself into the same booth so she could spread the paper out in front of her.

A little while passed, then the owner brought the coffeepot to her. “Have any interest in breakfast yet?” he asked.

“Really, I’m not very hungry.”

“You don’t mind me saying so—you look a little on the lean side.”

“I’m just lucky that way.”

“If it’s a matter of money—”

She was startled. “I can pay,” she said, maybe a little too proudly. Truly, if he had any idea how much money was stuffed inside the Kate Spade bag that was stuffed inside the backpack, he’d be stunned. Not to mention the jewelry. The dawning came slowly. Don’t protest too much, she told herself. It was perfectly all right if people thought she was a little down on her luck. And it wasn’t as though she didn’t know the role—she was intimately acquainted with it. “I might have something in a while. I just want to warm up. And have a look at the paper.”

“Sure thing. Just say the word when you’re ready. Adolfo has started breakfast.”

She drank two more cups of coffee while she combed the paper and found nothing about the Nobles or herself. How long would Nick get away with pretending his wife was out of the country? Surely someone would begin to miss Barbara! Her masseuse, for example.

But who would miss you, Jennifer? she asked herself. Would her boss raise an alarm? Ah, her boss actually introduced her to Nick, whom he would probably call. “Nick,” he would say. “Jennifer didn’t come back to work. Do you have any idea…?” “Oh, Artie, my fault,” Nick would say. “I should’ve called you. She skipped in Las Vegas with most of the cash in my wallet. Met someone with a bigger yacht, I guess. You know these bimbos.”

And the women in the office who didn’t like her would be just as glad she was gone. She had eschewed the friendships of women to avoid the inevitable jealousy. And, to be free of the commitments friendship brought so she could be available at the whim of her current gentleman friend. Nick, like the others before him, didn’t like to plan in advance; he expected her to be ready at a moment’s notice. She had kept herself virtually friendless. For the first time in ten years, she regretted that.

Oh, why didn’t I go to the police right away! Too afraid. Afraid that, unable to prove anything, they wouldn’t believe her. They wouldn’t protect her, and before very long she would meet with some unfortunate accident. Or maybe she’d leave the country, like Barbara Noble….

A shadow cast over her newspaper caused her to jump, and there he was again, coffeepot in hand. “Ah, I maybe ought to say I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to make light of your—you know—hair. Was it, ah, chemo? Something like that?”

She had a momentary temptation to pretend to have had cancer, but she didn’t dare tempt fate that far. Her head bald, her eyes red-rimmed from crying, she probably looked horrible to the old guy. What to tell him? But then, did she have to admit to anything at all? This was a diner, for God’s sake. Not a shrink’s office or police interrogation.

The look on his face was so sweet. “You just worry about people all the time, don’t you?”

“No, I—” He stopped and seemed to gather himself up. “I worry about people,” he admitted.

“Don’t worry about me. I’m not sick and I’m not homeless.” I am merely a brainless bimbo on the run from a murderer, she wanted to add.

“Good,” he said. He warmed her coffee again before turning away.

The drizzle outside suddenly turned into a relentless splatter against the window. She walked to the front of the diner to look out and was startled to see an elderly woman with a walker and a dog struggling up the curb. The wind and rain lashed at her so hard she almost lost her footing. Jennifer bolted out the door to help her. She hadn’t even given the dog a thought, and maybe that was a good thing because she might’ve hesitated. The dog growled, but not convincingly. Jennifer grasped the woman at the elbow to steady her and told the dog to hush.

The other thing she hadn’t thought about was letting the dog in the diner, which she also did. Well, the dog was with the old woman and both were drenched. Adolfo came running with a couple of dish towels and some rapid-fire Spanish, but he wasn’t fast enough. The dog, an old and overweight yellow Lab, immediately gave a vigorous shake.

“Aiiee, Alicia,” he said. “I’ll be mopping all the morning.”

“Oh, Alice, you’re going to get us kicked out of here for sure. Morning, Buzz.”

“Louise,” he said. “Don’t you have a lick of sense? You shouldn’t be out in this weather.”

“It’s not a hurricane, for God’s sake,” she grumbled.

“I thought maybe you’d stay home today. It’s awful out there. I’ll get your tea.”

She looked into Jennifer’s eyes and said, “That was nice of you. And brave—how did you know Alice wouldn’t chew off your arm?”

She continued to lead the woman into the diner and pulled out a chair at one of the few tables. “I’m not brave, but maybe stupid. I didn’t even think about the dog till she growled.” She gave her a pat. “Alice, is it? How do you do?”

“Well, fortunately, she’s sweet as honey—”

“And as old as God,” Buzz added, bringing a cup and saucer to the table. He sniffed the air. “Nothing smells quite as bad as that, does it? Wet dog?”

Things in the diner seemed to settle into a routine that everyone but Jennifer was accustomed to. The dog lay under the table at her mistress’s feet, Louise pulled her own paper out of the large satchel hidden under her coat, Adolfo muttered in Spanish as he mopped the floor inside the door, and Buzz was putting out coffee cups along the counter. Mopping done, Adolfo was back at the grill, cooking and whistling. Louise seemed to be humming along, albeit off-key.

Jennifer went back to her paper and coffee. It wasn’t very long before he was back again. Buzz. This time he had a plate. Unable to resist the temptation to feed her, he brought scrambled eggs, wheat toast and sausage. He put it down in the middle of her paper. “You a vegetarian?” he asked.

She shook her head. She treated him to a smile. “You’re very annoying, you know that?”

“I’ll get you some juice. You ought to have juice.”

She thought about the last time she had had eggs. It was in the suite with Nick. She’d been wearing a silk peignoir designed by Vera Wang. Eggs Benedict, served under sterling with mimosas and braised potatoes. A beautiful tray of pastries had been sent up with the brunch, but Jennifer never touched sweets. She didn’t have her figure by accident.

“Here’s your juice.”

“Um, would you mind…? Could I have a jelly doughnut please? A big one?”

A genuinely happy smile broke over his face. Buzz liked seeing people eat. He had that doughnut in front of her in no time. “Eat your eggs first,” he said.

“Yes, sir.”

That was one thing about going undercover, she thought. You don’t have to constantly diet. And I’ll be damned if I’ll ever again work on my looks for a man!

She flipped open the menu that sat behind the napkin dispenser and looked at the prices of what she was eating and drinking. The food was so cheap she almost gasped out loud. How in the world could he make a living, giving food away like that?

Her mind wandered to her classy little condo on the Fort Lauderdale beach. She often had her breakfast, or at least morning coffee, on the veranda with a spectacular view of the ocean. It was small but elegant, furnished by Henredon, decorated by Nelson Little out of New York. Her carpet and sofas and chairs and ottomans were white accented with ecru, plum and eggplant pillows and throws.

Nick would probably have it up for sale in a week. The homeless of Fort Lauderdale would no doubt be wearing her designer labels within the month.

Buzz’s eggs were delicious. Melt-in-your-mouth delicious. Must use a ton of butter.

A few people wandered in while Jennifer ate and all of them knew Buzz and Louise. Adolfo would occasionally peek over the back counter and say, “Buenos días.” There was a man in his fifties who took a quick cup of coffee on his way to opening up his store, the young housewives she’d seen jogging in the park a while earlier who had been suddenly drenched by the rain stopped in and a woman pulled her car right up to the front door and ran in to have her thermos filled. From the conversation, Jennifer gathered she was a Realtor, one not exactly thrilled about showing houses in such weather.

She noticed the elderly woman, Louise, getting to her feet and shrugging into her coat.

“Hey there, Louise. Let Adolfo give you a lift home. It’s still drizzling.”

“I won’t melt,” she said.

“I’m not worried about melting. I’m worried about slipping.”

“Watch your step, then,” she shot back, clearly knowing full well he was worried about her slipping. This made Jennifer laugh and say, “You tell him, Louise.”

“You know what I mean….” Buzz said.

“I walk here to walk, not to ride. I’m not worried about a little rain.”

Alice lumbered to her feet, stretched almost painfully, and took slow steps toward the door with her mistress taking slow steps behind her, inching along with the walker.

“Louise, I’m pleading here—”

“Get over it, Buzz,” she said, reaching the door and pushing it open. Buzz came around the counter to hold the door, but Louise never looked back. He shook his head as he watched her go, then went back behind the counter in defeat.

Jennifer had never taken her jacket off. She slipped her arms through the backpack straps and went to the counter. She pulled six dollars out of her pocket and put it on the counter next to the cash register. “Do you have an umbrella?” she asked him.

“Sure. But I could have Adolfo—”

This guy was too much. A meal service, a taxi service, what next? “If you’ll loan me an umbrella I’ll go walk along with her, make sure she doesn’t fall in a big, deep puddle, and I’ll bring it back to you before I’m on my way.”

He stared at her for a moment, thinking. Then he said, “Adolfo! Bring that big old umbrella out of the golf bag back there, will you?”

“Sí. Uno momento.”

The umbrella was dusty. Obviously Buzz hadn’t played much golf lately.

It wasn’t difficult to catch up with Louise. Jennifer didn’t even have to run. She was just up ahead in the drizzle, inching along. Once Jennifer was alongside, she held the umbrella over Louise and a little over Alice. The dog looked up at her and, if Jennifer wasn’t mistaken, smiled. She definitely gave a wag of her tail.

“How about a little company?”

Louise stopped, turned slightly and looked up at the much taller Jennifer. “That’s nice of you, young woman. Do you have a name?”

Damn, she hadn’t thought of a name! And it couldn’t be Jennifer or Chaise or anything similar. “Doris,” she said in a pinch, and winced. Where the devil had that come from? Now she was stuck with it for the time being.

“Well, Doris, did you just get out of the army?”

“No,” she laughed. “It’s just a fashion statement.”

“Hmm.” Louise looked her up and down but reserved comment. She resumed walking and they went along in silence for a while. Then she stopped, turned to look up at Jennifer and asked, “What brings you to Boulder City?”

Another thing she hadn’t rehearsed. She realized she was actually quite bad at this. She’d had the nerve to shave her head and eyebrows, but that’s where her imagination had stopped. “I was just leaving Las Vegas and realized I’d never seen the dam or the Grand Canyon. Maybe I ought to.”

“Good idea,” Louise said, and got back to her walking. It was going to be a very long walk, no matter the distance. She was quite slow and couldn’t walk and talk at the same time. If something came to mind she stopped, turned and looked up, spoke, and waited for her answer. “Do you think you’ll stay very long?”

“No. Maybe a day or two. Or three.” As she said that she looked around. They were passing the park and started up a cracked sidewalk into the quaint neighborhood Jennifer had noticed before. Small town U.S.A. Compared to South Florida it was practically deserted. Much too quiet and ordinary for someone like Nick Noble. This fact recommended it.

“Here we are,” Louise finally said, stopping in front of one of the many tiny houses a couple of short blocks from the park. This one and the ones on either side appeared to have freshly painted trim and were well maintained. Louise trudged toward the door of her house. Alice paused only long enough to pee on the grass before they went inside. “Thank you, Doris. I hope you enjoy your time in Boulder City. It’s a nice little place.” Alice looked over her shoulder at Jennifer; her tail sashayed back and forth a couple of times. They disappeared inside the house.

Jennifer went back the way she had come, spinning the umbrella over her head. When she got to the Tin Can she saw that there were a few more people in there now, and there was a sign in the window that she was quite sure hadn’t been there before. Help Wanted.

She took the umbrella to the counter and handed it to Buzz. “She’s all set. Stubborn, huh?”

“She likes that walk. Claims it keeps her on her feet. I think she’s around eighty now and she’s been getting her breakfast here for thirty years.”

“What kind of help are you looking for, exactly?” She surprised herself with the question.

“Little of everything,” he said with a shrug. “Place isn’t that crowded during the weekday mornings. I can almost handle it myself, but it’s better when I have someone steady. Waiting tables, doing dishes, sweeping up. If we go through a busy spell and I have to ask the other waitresses to come in at the crack of dawn, they get all pissy. Not real flexible. You know wo—you know waitresses.”

Adolfo popped into view from the grill. “Sí, we need help for the help.”

“They’re precious flowers,” Buzz said with a wide grin.

She looked around, and when comfortable that she wouldn’t be overheard, she asked, “How fussy are you about references?”

“I’m kind of easy there,” he said. “You sound interested.”

“I…ah…didn’t really think I was looking for work. I haven’t waited tables since I was in my teens.”

“It hasn’t changed much over the years. I pay minimum wage, you bus your own tables, keep your tips, split ’em when you work with the other girls, and can have any meals you show up for, on or off your shift. I could use someone when I open. At 5:00 a.m. Pretty rude hour of the day. Especially for the precious flowers.” Grin.

“I like to get up early.”

“I guess you don’t have ID?”

“I… Ah…” She shook her head. “No.”

“You have a name?”

“Doris.”

“Well then, Doris. See you at 5:00 a.m. tomorrow?”

She smiled in spite of herself, but mocked herself inside—what the devil are you smiling about? Nick is probably shredding your Vera Wang nightie while you’re taking minimum wage in a greasy spoon!

But it was a little honest work and no one would be ogling her. For sure not with her bald head and the masculine clothes. She could stretch the money she had in her backpack a little further and have time to think this through. This diner was safe and clean and warm, the people so far had been decent, and at this stage she wasn’t about to take that lightly. Plus, there was no way Nick Noble would end up within twenty miles of a place like this—it was just too common.

It would only be for a little while. She had no idea what would come next, but she was pretty sure it wouldn’t be equal to that classy condo with the spectacular ocean view. Those days were pretty much behind her, unless she took a notion to find another rich old boyfriend. And from where she stood, that was about as likely as snow in hell.

“A little tip, Doris. You might try the Sunset Motel over on Carver. It’s not too far from here and the owner will give you a cheap weekly rate and heat. It don’t look like much, but it’s clean and safe. But don’t tell Charlie I told you. I consider him a friend, but he’s tight as a bull’s ass and I don’t see any point in my new waitress freezing to death. And you’re going to have to get a scarf or something. You can’t wait tables in a ball cap and I’m afraid that shiny dome on a girl might upset the tea-and-cookie crowd.”

“The…?”

“The little old ladies.”

“Oh. Sure. No problem.”

“It ain’t easy work, but it doesn’t pay well.”

“Sounds that way,” she said, but she said it with a smile. “Thanks, Buzz. You’re a good guy.”

“Aw, hell, I’m a tyrant. You’ll hate me in no time. Go get me that sign, will you, girl?”

Hate Buzz? Impossible. He might have been an angel in disguise. An angel with a few rough edges, maybe, but angelic just the same.

In keeping with her new appearance, Jennifer had her left ear pierced and decorated with five silver hoops. She had to sleep on her right side for a week, but she didn’t resemble the woman who had fled the MGM Grand less than a week ago.

In the diner she had a little space and time to get back on her feet, to think about where she’d been and where she was going—both physically and emotionally. And she came to realize very soon that Buzz had seen a need in her and filled it with that Help Wanted sign, which he kept on the shelf under the cash register. He probably put it out whenever someone he suspected needed help wandered into his diner.

Buzz was an old bachelor who had run the diner for forty years. He had a pretty nice house, he told her, but it was lonely there. He liked to be at work—he was usually there from five in the morning until at least nine at night. He bragged that there was no food in the refrigerator at home, and he paid Adolfo’s wife to clean and do laundry for him every couple of weeks.

He was a simple guy and almost everyone who came into the diner was considered a personal friend, except weekend out-of-towners. And what she realized was, if Buzz had brought her into the fold, they all accepted her as part of the family.

“I could use you on Saturday and Sunday mornings, early,” he said. “You should take a couple of weekdays to sleep in, but come in for breakfast when you’re up.”

“You don’t have to do that, Buzz,” she said.

He took on a mock look of surprise. “You mean you’d eat somewhere else?”

She wouldn’t dare. At least not yet.

The thing about the diner was, the food wasn’t particularly delicious. It was good enough and cheap. And not so much on the greasy side. Everything from chicken fettuccini to meat loaf had a slightly Spanish flair.

“Cheese omelet,” a customer would order. “No cilantro.”

“I’ll try,” she would reply.

Jennifer found the Sunset Motel was managed by an elderly woman named Rosemary, who seemed to be expecting her. She cut her a special deal of one-fifty a week if she didn’t require housekeeping, and she made it clear it was a favor to Buzz. The accommodations were a definite improvement, but hardly what she was used to. The thread count of the sheets was so low her skin felt rashy, and the bathroom, while clean, had been hard used with the chips and stains to prove it. It was a long slide down from the MGM’s Grand, but a damn site safer.

Buzz could easily have handled the work at the diner himself. There were a few people in the morning, mostly regulars she became acquainted with right away. As the morning stretched out to lunch, there weren’t many customers.

In the afternoons Jennifer went to the library, where she read newspapers, magazines and used the Internet to research news of Nick and Barbara Noble. So far there had been none. The librarian was a woman just a few years older than Jennifer who wore a plastic name tag that read Mary Clare. After seeing Jennifer there every day for a few days and learning that she worked at the diner for Buzz Wilder, she asked Jennifer if she’d like a library card. To have that, Jennifer adopted the last name of Bailey. Doris Bailey. So after finishing her research, she picked up a novel to take back to the Sunset with her.

She had loved reading since she was a child. It was probably a defense against loneliness; she knew how to plant her eyes on the page and fall headlong into a story, forgetting where she was. She could forget she’d been living in a condo overlooking the ocean at the pleasure of her wealthy gentleman friend, or had lived in an old station wagon parked in an alley. Stories took her out of herself, and she had long regarded the time she spent reading as a little respite from a reality that she had to continually reconstruct. From the time she was a little girl, to being a successful mistress, to being a bald-headed waitress in a greasy spoon, books had been her salvation.

As she was walking back to the Sunset from the library, backpack slung over her shoulder and cap on her head, she saw a black limo driving slowly down the street. The over-dark windows concealed the identity of the passengers, but the license plate read MGM12 and Jennifer knew immediately that it was one of the hotel’s cars. She had to tell herself not to pause, not to stare, not to react. It was entirely possible the hotel was taking a guest to view the dam, which she had heard was a magnificent sight to see.

But it was also possible someone she knew all too well was looking for her.