After Midnight

40
LAST TASKS

Eyes turned toward me as I entered the post office. Mostly belonging to guys, of course. Scoping out this flashy redhaired babe with the body to die for, the slit up her skirt and her blouse half open.
I recognized nobody.
I don’t think anyone looked high enough to see my face.
But I had my sunglasses on, just in case.
Holding the wrapped books low in front of me to keep the view of my cleavage clear, I walked straight over to the waiting line. There were ten or twelve people ahead of me.
I planned to send the books First Class.
I’d considered Overnight Express Mail, but it was after four o’clock by the time I reached the post office. I thought that might be too late in the afternoon for guaranteed nextday delivery, so why go to the extra expense?
Besides, if I sent the books Overnight, I would have to stand around and fill out a special label. I didn’t want to fool with that.
First Class would get the books to the producers soon enough.
If not tomorrow, the day after tomorrow.
While I stood in the line, I set the package down on the floor in front of my feet. Then I took a twenty-dollar bill out of my purse. I also took out a couple of tissues.
Squatting down, I casually used the tissues to wipe the outside of the parcel where I’d touched it. (Cops can lift fingerprints off paper, you know.) I didn’t pay attention to who might be watching, and didn’t really care. A person’s got every right to clean off a package before mailing it, right? It’s nobody’s business why, and who would ever guess I was doing it to ruin possible fingerprint evidence? Nobody, that’s who.
Keeping a tissue in one hand and my twenty in the other so that my fingertips didn’t touch the package, I picked it up again.
Then I just waited in line for my turn at one of the windows.
I kept my head down. Nobody talked to me, and I spoke to no one. It was a pretty long wait, though.
People are amazing. They’ll go to a place like the post office, and half of them don’t seem to have a clue. They’ll step up to the window with a box that’s still open, for instance, and ask to borrow some tape. Or when it comes time to pay, they’ll have to spend five minutes hunting for their checkbook. Amazing.
Not to mention, the postal workers were in no hurry to set any speed records.
Finally, my turn came anyway.
I set my package on the counter, smiled, and said, “Good afternoon,” to the clerk.
She gave me back a friendly smile, and said, “What can I do for you, honey?”
“I’d like to mail these books,” I told her. My parcel was too large to fit through the slot under the panel of bullet-proof glass (or acrylic, or whatever), so she opened the panel like a door. I slid the package toward her, leaving the twenty on top, and said, “I’d like it to go First Class, please.”
Nodding, she shut the panel. When she set the parcel on a scale, its weight and cost appeared on a computer screen. After slapping on some stickers, she pushed my change under the window and asked if I would like to have a receipt.
“No,” I said. “I don’t think I’ll be needing one. Thanks.”
“You have a nice day,” she said.
“Thanks. You, too.”
I turned away from her window.
“Next in line,” she called.
The line had dwindled. Only three customers were waiting. Two women—one in her twenties and the other at least seventy—and a young guy probably no older than eighteen. Guess which one was looking at me.
He gaped at me, his jaw drooping.
But I doubt that he saw my face at all.
I walked on past him and out the door.
Just so the flashy redhead who mailed Murphy Scott’s books would not be connected directly to Judy’s car (on the slim chance that an investigator might actually look into the situation), I had parked her car a block away from the post office and around a corner.
Nobody followed me around the corner.
I climbed in and drove away.
I had no more chores to run. Only one thing still needed to be done: ditch Judy’s car.
Abandon it somewhere, and walk home.
Walk home carrying the grocery sack loaded with my pretzels, my personally inscribed and autographed copy of Deep Dead Eyes, my souvenir pieces of rope, a pair of used bedsheets and a pillow case, and my five thousand dollars in small bills.
It wasn’t terribly heavy, now that I’d gotten rid of the five hardcover books.
But heavy enough. I didn’t care to trudge five or ten miles with it.
There was, of course, a simple solution to the problem. Why not drive straight home, park in the garage and haul the sack up to my room, then take off again to find a distant dumping-spot for the car?
Simple, but not for me.
I just didn’t have the guts to go driving Judy’s car brazenly all over creation. Even the trip from Murphy’s neighborhood to the post office had nearly undone me. Too much time had gone by since leaving Judy, Milo and Tony. Too much might’ve happened. What if Judy had already been reported missing? What if somebody had stumbled upon Milo’s camp? Suppose Judy had escaped from the woods and told the cops all about me? What if Tony’s body had already been discovered in the parking lot of her apartment building?
If anything of the sort had happened, every cop in Chester might be on the lookout for her car.
I wanted to be far away from it.
The sooner, the better.
Even if it meant a tough hike home.
But I couldn’t just leave it anywhere. For one thing, I didn’t want people to notice me getting out. For another, it really should, if possible, be abandoned in a place where nobody would pay attention to it for a while.
I came up with one idea after another, but found flaws in all of them.
Until I thought of the perfect place.
The mall!
The vast, indoor shopping plaza over by the highway was surrounded by acres of parking lots with probably more than a dozen entances and exits.
There was no parking fee, which meant no gates or cashiers.
With a steady flow of cars coming and going, one more would hardly be noticed.
I would hardly be noticed, entering, parking, walking away with my bag.
To top it all off, the lots were never completely empty. Even after the mall’s closing time, plenty of vehicles remained because of people parking there, then walking over to nearby establishments. Scattered all around were minimarts, restaurants, bars, and fast-food joints. There was even a supermarket. Some stayed open late, while others (including the supermarket) stayed open always.
In short, the mall’s parking lots offered anonymity.
I could anonymously drop off Judy’s car and walk away.
Her car might anonymously sit there, day after day, night after night, lost among the others.
Delighted, I headed for the mall.
About halfway there, I swung onto a little sidestreet. I pulled over and stopped the car in front of a house that had a For Sale sign on the front lawn. The house looked empty. Across the street was a vacant lot. Looking all around, I saw nobody.
So I grabbed one of the legs that I’d cut off Tony’s jeans last night and climbed out of the car. With the denim leg, I wiped the exterior door handles and everywhere else that I might’ve touched.
Then I climbed in and did the interior.
Then I double-checked the whole car, inside and out, to make sure I hadn’t missed anything. Judy’s purse was still on the floor, partly hidden under the driver’s seat. Fine. It could stay there.
Satisfied that I’d removed every trace of myself (to the extent that it can be done in a few minutes with a rag), I tossed both the legs into my grocery bag, started up the car again, and drove the rest of the way to the mall.
Plenty of other cars were coming and going.
I entered a parking lot over on the Macy’s side of the complex, found an empty space, pulled in and shut off the engine.
Just for the heck of it, I left Judy’s key in the ignition.
I wiped off the keys and key case, the shift handle and the steering wheel.
My purse and grocery bag were on the front passenger seat. Leaning sideways, I grabbed them.
I climbed out of Judy’s car. Purse hanging by my side, I set down the bag. Then I looked around. Several people were in sight, some heading toward mall entrances, others returning to their cars. None paid any attention to me.
With one of the denim legs, I cleaned the interior door handle.
Then I flopped the leg back into the sack, hoisted the sack off the pavement, stepped out of the way, and flung the door shut with my knee.
Even as the door thunked, I realized that I’d forgotten to lock it.
I’d meant to lock it.
But this is better.
Leave it unlocked, key in the ignition.
With any luck, some creep might come along and steal the thing.
Walking away from Judy’s car, I couldn’t help but smile.