The Marsh Madness

I caught myself in the mirror: My wig was crooked and my glasses were fogged up. I reassured myself that he hadn’t seen me getting into the Infiniti, as it had been far enough away. Plus he’d never take me for an Infiniti type.

I wondered if he’d decide to check out either Van Alst House or Uncle Mick’s. Would he wait for me and then arrest me? And maybe break up with me again, for good measure? If he saw me driving the Infiniti, would he recognize me? If so, what would he do? Call for backup? Castellano’s face came to mind. I glanced around in a panic. Had Smiley recognized me and also seen me put on the tight blond wig? If—and it was a big if—he hadn’t spotted the car, I might be able to get out of this sticky situation. On the backseat was Uncle Mick’s favorite Panama hat. In the glove compartment, a pair of sunglasses. Wig off, hair tucked under, sunglasses on, I reversed out of the driveway at top speed and headed along the highway. I was looking for the first opportunity to get past Tyler, without getting pulled over and ticketed.

Luckily for me, Tyler pulled over, shortly after. It looked like he was making a phone call, as I shot past, looking straight ahead.


*

BACK IN HARRISON Falls, I parked the Infiniti in the garage two doors down and raced along the alley and through the back door to Uncle Mick’s. I’d left the briefcase with the wig and other evidence back in the car. The photo came with me. I careened through the door and clattered upstairs. I wiped off the unflattering coral lipstick and didn’t make a substitute. I grabbed my old pink, daisy-printed flannel pajamas from the drawer and tousled my hair. A flop on the bed to cuddle Walter was next.

“You could have warned me, Walter, that I was about to make a very big mistake.”

But you have the photo, Jordan. Walter tilted his head to the side.

Well, he didn’t say that, actually, but I did have the photo, and I took that moment to tuck it into the mattress. No one should be surprised that at Uncle Mick’s house, all the mattresses have hollow bits to hide things.

The front door bell rang, and there was a banging that corresponded with it. Walter yipped. We practically tumbled down the stairs to answer.

I was rubbing sleep out of my eyes, which I thought was creative, and Walter was doing a little circular dance of joy.

“This is definitely not good news, Walter,” I said as I opened the door.

“We don’t need any,” I said to Tyler.

“Oh,” he said. “You’re here.”

“And where else would I be?”

“Nowhere,” he said, glancing at my pajamas. The flannel pj’s weren’t doing me any favors.

“As long as that’s settled, then, I’m behind on my sleep due to certain horrible things that have happened. I’m sure you can figure out what they are. So I’d like to go back and finish my nap. Unless you have some police harassment you’d like to engage in.”

“That’s not fair. I don’t engage in police harassment. You know that.” The red flush that I used to love rose from his collar to the tips of his ears and rushed toward his hairline.

“Not fair? Not fair? I’ll tell you what’s not fair. A police spy is not fair, watching everything I do.” I pointed to the officer who had been in the unmarked car, but who was now standing behind Tyler.

“You aren’t being watched,” Tyler said, running his hands through his blond hair.

His colleague said, “Yeah, she was. That reminds me, you here to take over?”

“What? No. I just need to talk to, um, the suspect.”

“Sure thing. Anyway, she didn’t get up to anything this afternoon. Couldn’t be more boring.” The other officer yawned, scratched in the vicinity of his armpit and sauntered back toward his car.

“Boring is good,” Tyler said.

“Is there a point to your visit, Officer Dekker?” I said. “I was in the middle of a much-needed nap when you so rudely interrupted.”