He hung up, pleased with himself. I hoped he was joking. Or that the Whitbys could pay his bill.
I phoned Lotty next, but only got her answering machine. Where was everyone on Saturday afternoon? I needed a human voice right now. I left a message saying I was fine, just bruised a bit in body and mind, and I’d try her again over the weekend.
Finally, I put two more quarters into the phone and called my neighbor. Mr. Contreras was predictably upset and voluble. He, too, had heard the news, and not only had my name been on it as someone Sheriff Rick Salvi was eager to talk to-but deputies had come around the apartment twice already today, and where was I and what was I doing?
I fed quarters into the phone until my supply dried up, giving hire the details of last night’s excursion-except, of course, my escape with Benjamin. Mr. Contreras vigorously approved of my jumping out the bathroom window to get away from the sheriff, but wanted to know why I hadn’t come home then.
“I was beat: I checked into a motel out there.” I said. “I only woke up a little bit ago.”
“So you didn’t actually see the A-rab, huh, doll? What was that girl, that Catherine Bayard doing out there in the middle of the night? She mixed up with that terrorist, do you think?”
“Hard to picture,” I said lightly. “Probably has some boyfriend in the area she doesn’t want her folks to know about. I just put in my last quarter. Can you meet me at your back door in ten minutes? My clothes are a wreck and I want to change before I do anything else. Just in case DuPage has the place staked out, and just in case they haven’t posted anyone in back.”
The warning beeps sounded. We were disconnected before Mr. Contreras could finish his response. Waving a cheery farewell to the woman who’d wrestled me for the phone, I headed into the dank afternoon.
I switched on my cell phone-Earth to VI. once more-and climbed back into the Jaguar. When the engine turned over, I found myself thinking that Luke could file off the serial number and repaint the car blue instead of red. I knew I had to return it, but driving the coolest car on the road brought me more cheer than Father Lou’s horse liniment.
I drove up Western, past a new mega-mall that had driven away two little grocers, a small appliance rental and repair shop and Zoe’s Homemade Pies and Cakes. Ah, progress. I crossed Racine, the street where I live, and parked a block to the east.
I walked in a square, south and west, away from the car, so I could saunter up Racine looking for any unusual vehicles or loiterers. The overcast afternoon was bleeding into a gray dusk, cloaking my face from any watchers.
If I were a Clancy or Ludlum superhero, I’d have memorized all the license plates on the two-block stretch, and been able to tell you which ones hadn’t been here when I left early yesterday morning. Since it’s all I can do to remember my own plate number, I concentrated instead on vans that could hold listening devices, and cars where people were sitting with the motors running. One of these was a Chicago squad car across the street from my own building. Not too subtle.
After walking another block north, I turned east again and cut down
through the alley behind my building. No squad cars were warming the night air behind my building. A woman I recognized was emptying her garbage, but no one else was in the alley.
Mr. Contreras was waiting for me inside the back gate, along with the dogs. The three greeted me with a heartwarming ecstasy. While we were still outside, I explained the possibility that the building might be under electronic surveillance. “I don’t think that it is-I don’t think my being in the house an Arab speaker fled from warrants huge attention-but I can’t be sure. So-don’t say anything to me you wouldn’t want Clara to hear.”
In the dark, I could sense rather than see the old man’s embarrassment: Clara was his beloved wife, dead now for many years. I hastily changed the subject, explaining that I had borrowed a car and needed to drop it some place close to its owner. “I’m going upstairs to change, then I want to drive out to New Solway and collect the Mustang. Want to come along?”
He was delighted to take even a small part in my adventure. I left him in his own kitchen and went up to my apartment.
My living room overlooks Racine, so I moved through it in darkness, trying to remember where I’d left things like the piano bench. I only banged my shin once. Since no one seemed to be watching the back, I did turn on lights in my bedroom and kitchen, first making sure the blinds were pulled and the door leading from the back to the front of the hall was shut. After my night in Larchmont Hall, the apartment seemed tiny, but I was glad of my small space. It was like a cloak, protecting me.