“Oh…ah…let me see,” he said, once again making a call on his cell phone.
After a few minutes back and forth, he turned his upper body to the back seat where Maisey strove to remain patient. “Busy night. It’ll be about an hour or so before another driver can get here. In the meantime, you might as well get comfortable.”
With that, Maisey completely lost patience. There was no way she was sitting in a taxi that smelled of stale cigarette smoke and old French fries, for an unknown amount of time. She tucked her handbag under her arm, opened the taxi door and got out. “I’ll walk.”
The sidewalks glistened with ice as she stepped cautiously. Why did she wear heels? She thought miserably as the ice pelted her face and ruined her hair. It was going to be a long walk home, so she might as well suck it up and keep going.
Only a few cars moved slowly along the dark streets. Of course, with the town being so small, there wasn’t much traffic any time of the day. She guessed people were smart enough to stay indoors, nice and warm. She couldn’t chastise herself too much though. It had been such a lovely day; she couldn’t have guessed it would disintegrate into winter in just a few short hours. Or that her luck would be so bad her taxi would break down and strand her without so much as a hat or mittens.
Fifteen minutes into her walk home, the wind kicked up, whipping her now soaked, long dark hair across her face. Her fingers were so cold she was losing feeling, and she continuously flexed them in a futile attempt to keep them warm.
Behind her, a vehicle crept closer and closer, the lights from its headlamps lighting her way on the sidewalk, like Hansel and Gretel following that trail of pebbles back to a home that was not warm or loving.
It was kind of ironic. She nearly chuckled at the thought. She was trying to make her way back to a house that while warm from central heat, held no love for its lone occupant. Aunt Rose was kind enough to care for her every summer while growing up. Upon Rose’s death only a few months earlier, Maisey was surprised to learn she?d inherited the old house. Of course, Aunt Rose never married, never had children, so perhaps she thought of Maisey in a maternal way.
When the car behind her did not pass after some distance, a prickle of worry tingled her spine. Was someone following her? They had to be. Even in this bad weather, cars were moving quicker than the one behind her. She could pick up her pace, but her legs ached mercilessly in the heels that became ice skates as she tried to stay upright. She stopped. Maybe the car would continue on past her. Instead, it pulled to a slow stop next to her. When she turned to look, relief flooded over her.
It was the police.
The window on the passenger side descended, and a man wearing a police ball cap leaned over. “Are you okay there? It’s not really walking weather.”
She nodded quickly. “As good as can be. My taxi broke down, so I’m forced to walk home.” She shifted her weight from foot to foot in a feeble attempt to keep warm. Once again, the wind whipped up and whistled through her sore ears.
The door opened. “Get in. I’ll take you home.”
Suddenly she was reminded of those bad B movies she watched late nights on satellite television, where the seemingly friendly policeman was actually a serial killer in disguise who preyed on vulnerable women. Sometimes though, it didn’t just happen in movies, it happened in real life too. Both her mother and Aunt Rose drummed into her brain, don?t talk to strangers, don’t get in their car, no matter how safe…or— she paused her thoughts and took another look at him in the low light— or how cute they might be.
“Thank you, but I’ll be okay.” She started to walk, but the police car kept pace.
“You’ll freeze to death in this weather. It’s my job to protect and serve.”
She stopped again. He sounded friendly enough. Still…
“Do you need to see my identification?”
“Oh, uh…no.” She chuckled nervously and wondered why she was acting so foolish. A police officer in what looked like a legitimate uniform, driving a clearly marked car was offering to drive her home in a warm car, out of the elements. He was a stranger for sure, but police were supposed to be the one kind of stranger you could actually trust. Yet, she remembered all those news stories and of course, late night television provided enough scary stories of imposters dressed as police officers with phony identification. Of course, if this guy was an imposter, he really took it all the way with the well-marked police car.
Of course, she knew she was just spinning a story in her head. An over-active imagination borne from spending too much time alone while growing up. A trait which carried into her adulthood.
“So hop in.”