Living with the Dead

ROBYN



Like any couple, Damon and Robyn each had interests the other hadn’t shared. Damon loved detective shows; Robyn couldn’t see the attraction, but had watched them with him anyway. If someone had asked her whether she’d learned anything from them, she would have laughed and said she barely paid any attention, usually using the time to mentally plan her week’s schedule. In the last couple of days, though, she discovered that even if she hadn’t been actively watching, obviously she’d learned something.

Today’s lesson? Stalking 101.

For three blocks she’d been following the man who’d stopped at her motel door and she’d come to a matching number of conclusions.

One, he wasn’t red haired. What she’d seen through the distorted image in the peephole had been a dark red baseball cap.

Two, he wasn’t from around here. The fact that he’d walked four blocks in car-obsessed L.A. suggested it. His constant stopping and looking around, as if getting his bearings, confirmed it.

Three, if he was a private investigator, he wasn’t very good at his job. Despite all his looking around, he never once glanced backward to see whether anyone was following him. He just strolled along, confident and unhurried.

Robyn did look over her shoulder. Repeatedly. She could be following the guy who’d killed Judd and planned to do the same to her. Shut her up permanently.

She bit back a giggle. There was a classic bad movie line. As silly as it sounded, though, to dismiss the idea would be sillier still. She’d seen two people die and even if common sense told her this was more likely a private investigator than an assassin, she wasn’t taking any chances.

So she wasn’t doing anything as stupid as following this guy down an alley. But there weren’t any alleys here. The motel was in some part of L.A.’s endless suburban sprawl. Which part, she didn’t know, and blasted herself for not paying better attention yesterday when Karl had driven her in. Around here, though, it was difficult to be on the edge of anything for long and, as Karl had said, it had taken only a short walk before she found herself in a warren of strip malls, three-story walkups and offices. A neighborhood in serious need of a planner.

As a place to follow someone, though, it was perfect. She could dart from hiding place to hiding place, keeping her target in sight while never leaving populated areas. It got even easier when the young man bought himself a snack at an ice cream stand and settled in at one of the umbrella tables out front.

He didn’t seem to be in any rush to report that he’d found her. She hadn’t even seen him pull out a cell phone. Did that mean he wasn’t working for anyone else? Or that he wasn’t looking for her at all? Maybe he’d been meeting someone at the motel, arrived early and headed out to pass the time.

That was one problem with having watched all those mysteries: she saw too many possibilities. One thing was for certain. The guy looked like he’d be here awhile, having bought a massive banana split and soda. That meant, as much fun as she was having playing detective, it was time to notify Hope and Karl.

As she headed for a pay phone across the lot, she passed a convenience store advertising prepaid cells. Robyn fingered the emergency money Hope had brought from her apartment. Over two hundred. Should she pick up one of those for later? A cheap, untraceable phone?

Untraceable phone? For what? Her new career as a PI?

But as she continued on, watching her target through dark sunglasses, safely disguised in her oversized sweats and baseball cap, she couldn’t deny her pulse was pounding, and that her quickening breath didn’t come from walking faster.

Maybe it was exhilaration. Maybe it was plain old fear. But she felt something, and that was more than she’d done in months. She imagined what Damon would say.

See, Bobby, that’s all you needed—to become a fugitive, a murder suspect and a possible assassination target.

A snorted laugh made an elderly woman warily glance her way.

Robyn reached the phone, put in her money, dialed the number and pulled the cord as far as it would reach, so she could keep an eye on her target without looking too suspicious.

Robyn Peltier, supersleuth. All she needed was the decoder ring.

Hope’s phone rang twice before she answered with a tentative hello.

“It’s Robyn.”

A relieved laugh. “Thank God. I saw a pay phone number and thought the local cranks with alien abduction stories had tracked me down already. It usually takes them—” She stopped. “Why are you calling from a pay phone? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Well, nothing I can’t handle.” Oh yeah, one hour on the job and she was bragging already. “There was a guy hanging around our motel room—”

“What?” The alarm in Hope’s voice rose. “Did he knock? Try to break in?”

“No, no, he just skulked around.” Skulked? She was picking up a new vocabulary, too. “At first I thought it might be the kid you saw last night.” Smooth. She thought it was a harmless kid, no need to mention Judd’s killer . . . “So I wanted to see where he went.”

“You followed him?”

“Carefully.”

Ooh, you sound ticked off, Bobby. How dare she question your skulking competence.

She shushed Damon’s voice and hurried on assuring Hope that she’d been very careful, staying in public, populated areas.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I remember my stranger danger classes.” There was a lightness in her voice she hadn’t felt in a long time.

As if surprised by Robyn’s tone, Hope gave a soft laugh. “Okay, then. Remember, though, just because he hasn’t given any sign that he knows you’re following him doesn’t mean he doesn’t.”

“I doubt this guy is that good. He keeps looking around, but hasn’t so much as glanced over his shoulder.”

A pause. “Not once?”

“Never. I bet it hasn’t even occurred to him that I could be following. A total amateur. But I promise if he decides to stroll into any abandoned warehouses, I won’t follow.”

Another small laugh, but this one tight. “This guy, can you describe him?”

“Well, let me tell you, he looks like one dangerous dude.” Had she really said dude? “He’s maybe five nine, early twenties, skinny, though he’s not going to stay that way if he keeps scarfing down mega banana splits.”

“What?”

“Banana split. That’s what he’s eating right now. A totally dangerous guy. He broke off pacing outside my door to go grab some ice cream.”

A moment of silence. “Did you notice whether he drove to the motel?”

“I didn’t see him until he got to the door. But I doubt it. He just walked four blocks for this ice cream. Maybe we have a PI who lost his driver’s license.”

Hope didn’t answer. Karl said something in the background, too low for Robyn to hear.

“I know,” Hope said, voice distant, as if she’d pulled the phone from her mouth. She came back to Robyn. “Stay there, okay?”

“That’s what I planned. Like I said, no long walks into abandoned buildings.”

“No, seriously. Stay right where you are. If he leaves, abandoned building or not, don’t follow him. Don’t go back to the motel. Stay put. Do you have an address?”

She gave Hope the name of the nearest store and the street number.

“We’ll find it. Now, stay right there.”

“In this phone booth?” Robyn tried to sound light, but could hear the edge in her voice.

“No, find . . .”

A murmur from Karl.

“Are you sure?” Hope’s voice was muffled, as if covering the receiver. Karl said something else. Then Hope returned. “Karl says if you’re comfortable watching him, keep doing that. Just don’t—”

“Follow him anywhere. Got it.”

“We’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”