“Right. OK. Here’s the thing, Mrs. Beckett. My wallet got stolen last week so I don’t have my identification with me right now. But how about if I pay you six months’ rent up front, in cash, and we call it good?”
It was a risk. Delaney might have to move out at a moment’s notice, and then she’d be out that extra money, but Mrs. Beckett’s expression lit up like a marquee when Delaney said cash. Everybody loved cash, and if spending a little extra now meant keeping her ID tucked deep inside the Louis Vuitton backpack currently slung over her shoulder, then it was worth it.
“Six months . . . in cash? When would you want to move in?” Mrs. Beckett’s voice was breathy now, livelier than it had been before. Yes, cash was definitely the way to go.
Delaney gestured toward the window. “Today. Now. All of my stuff is in the car.” Outside in the driveway sat the rusted yellow Volkswagen she’d bought a week ago from Ed’s Used Car Lot in Encino. Nine hundred bucks. Cash. No questions asked, making it worth every penny, but not a penny more.
“All your stuff is in that little thing?” Mrs. Beckett’s pale brows knit as she squinted past the icy window glass at the aging vehicle. Herbie the Love Bug it was not. And that wasn’t really all of Delaney’s stuff. It was about one one-millionth of her stuff, but it was all she’d managed to jam into her suitcase on her way out of town.
Delaney forced a smile, dialing it up to extra bright, a trick she’d learned from her supermodel mother. If you act perky enough, people believe you’re trustworthy. “I travel light.”
“I should say so. Where are you from?” Mrs. Beckett returned her gaze to Delaney’s face.
Delaney tugged down the brim of her baseball cap.
“Um, Miami.”
It was the first location that popped into her head, but she wasn’t from Miami. Of course she wasn’t. She wasn’t even from Florida. That was a stupid answer. Delaney tried to smile bigger to mask her mistake but her lips wouldn’t stretch any farther.
Donna Beckett scratched her head, giving her short hair a little extra pouf on one side. “Miami? My goodness. Why would you leave sunny Miami to come up here in this terrible weather?”
That was an excellent question, and it needed a logical answer, but the truth was far from logical. Even Delaney realized that. She’d come here on a whim, an emotionally charged reaction sorely lacking in strategy. Still, she should have said she was from Fargo or Minneapolis or someplace just as cold and snowy as it was here. Like Siberia or the South Pole. Duplicity was not a skill Delaney had mastered. Maybe it would get easier with practice.
“I heard there was good skiing around here,” she answered.
Mrs. Beckett nodded. “Sure, I guess. Although for even better skiing, you’ll want to head up north.”
Up north? Seriously? How much farther north could she go before she hit the Canadian border? Sure, she was on the run and hiding out, but things hadn’t gotten so dire she needed to leave the country.
Yet.
“Great. I’ll keep that in mind. Up north,” Delaney said. “So do we have a deal?” She stuck out her hand for a shake. This had to work.
Mrs. Beckett’s gaze moved from the outstretched hand to Delaney’s face, peering intently. There seemed to be some indecision going on in the landlady’s mind. Delaney hiccupped. She did that when she was nervous.
“Six months in cash?” the landlady asked again.
“Cash,” Delaney answered, adding a jaunty little tilt of her head with the next hiccup, and patting the backpack. “Unfortunately my checkbook and debit cards were stolen along with my wallet, but the good news is I stopped at the bank before leaving home and got some money.”
Yes. She had, and it hadn’t been easy. Turns out banks weren’t very enthusiastic about giving customers their money back. Especially customers who wanted thousands of dollars, and double especially when they wanted it in tens and twenties.
“How did you get money from the bank with no identification?” Twin creases of suspicion deepened between Mrs. Beckett’s brows, but Delaney gave a fast roll of her shoulders, a subtle shrug meant to evoke nonchalance—a nonchalance she certainly didn’t feel—and the lies just kept on rolling out.
“Oh, that was no problem. They know me at the bank. In fact, I used to work there. When I was in college. In Miami. I worked at the bank in Miami during college.”
Delaney nodded, agreeing with herself and hoping the power of repetition and suggestion was on her side. Like a Jedi mind trick. These are not the droids you’re looking for. Still, a bank teller? In Miami? She’d never been a bank teller. And she’d never finished college either. She was a celebrity stylist in Beverly Hills, just like her two sisters, and occasionally she helped out in their mother’s luxury soaps boutique.