My heart skipped a beat. “Angie,” I said. “Hi, sweetheart.”
Ahead of me, I could see through the rear window of the Virtue that she had a phone to her ear.
“Where are you?”
“Huh?”
“I called home, got Paul, he said you were out.”
“Yeah, I’m just out doing a few things. What’s up, honey?”
“Okay, you know how I told you I had this weird feeling, like maybe someone was following me?”
I felt a bit queasy. “Uh-huh.”
“Like, I know it’s nuts, but I’ve had this car following me for a while, and I’m starting to get that feeling again.”
“Okay. Uh, tell me more.”
“Yeah. It’s some piece-of-crap car, sort of like our Camry? We’ve just been cruising around, trying out the new car, and I’ve noticed this car keeps showing up in my mirror.”
“Can you see that it’s a guy?” I asked.
“Well, not exactly, I’m just assuming, you know? Like, how many female pervs drive around at night following people?”
“Okay,” I said. “Don’t panic. Maybe it’s not the same car. Maybe you’re just on edge or something. It’s probably my fault. I’ve freaked you out with all this talk about what happened to my friend Lawrence.”
“Maybe . . .” Angie didn’t sound that sure.
“Is he following you right now?”
I saw Angie glance at her rearview mirror.
“Yeah, he’s still there, Dad. I’m afraid to stop anywhere or anything, in case it’s some creep and he jumps out or something.”
I eased up on the gas, hung a right down the first street I came to.
“Oh, hang on,” Angie said. “False alarm. He’s gone.”
“Are you sure?” I said. I’d wandered off into some industrial neighborhood. I had absolutely no idea where I was.
I could hear Angie let out a long breath. “Yeah, yeah, he just turned off. I guess I was just imagining it, you know? Maybe I was thinking it was Trevor or something. It’d be just the sort of creepy thing he’d do.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Pretty creepy.” I let out a long breath of my own as I pulled the car over to the side of the road and stopped. “Maybe it’s time for you to head home,” I suggested.
“I’ll be home soon,” Angie said. “We’re just going to grab something to eat at McDonald’s.”
“We?”
“Me and a friend.”
“Don’t be too late, all right?”
“Dad, I’m eighteen, okay? Don’t worry. Actually, I’m going to drop by the house in a bit. I have to grab a book for my friend, and then I’m going to give hi—”
“What was that, honey?”
“I said I’m going to drop by the house to pick up a book for my friend, and then I’m going to drive my friend home.”
“Yeah, well, you say hello to him for me,” I said.
“Dad, I never said, I mean, I didn’t—”
There was a siren whoop behind me. I glanced in my mirror and saw the flashing red light of a police car.
“Honey,” I said, “I’m going to have to go.”
“Okay.” She sounded relieved that I was ending our conversation. “Talk to you later.” As we each disconnected, I rolled down my window for the approaching police officer.
“Good evening, Officer,” I said.
“License and registration, please,” he said.
“Sure, of course.” As I opened the glove compartment I said, “Did I do something wrong, Officer?” Where the hell was the registration? The inside of the glove box looked like a wastebasket.
“You know you got a taillight out?” he asked.
Oh yeah.
“No,” I said. “You’re kidding. I had no idea. The car was just in for a service, probably a month ago.” I’d located a small plastic dealership binder. Surely the registration must be in there. I rifled through. Bingo!
“Whatcha doing around here?” the officer asked, using a flashlight to examine the registration paper I’d just handed him.
I didn’t even know where “here” was. “I guess I’m a bit turned around,” I said.
“I’m waiting for your license,” he said, still hanging on to the registration. “So, you’re lost?”
“Yeah,” I said, shifting in my seat to get at the wallet in the back pocket of my new khakis. The pants were so new, it was hard to wriggle my wallet out. “Maybe you can help me. I’m looking for the closest McDonald’s? Is there one near here?” I finally freed it and got my license out.
He told me where he thought I’d find the closest one, then started scribbling down some information from the two official bits of paper I’d handed him.
“I’m going to have to write you up,” he said. “And you’re going to have to get that brake light fixed. Tomorrow.”
“You bet,” I said.
He spent about another five minutes with me, handed me my ticket, and went back to his car. I turned the car around, hoping that a U-turn here wouldn’t amount to another infraction, and drove back to the street where I’d lost track of Angie a few minutes earlier.