The Marsh Madness

AS SHE RUSHED through the door, the alarm shrieked. I sprinted after her, out the door and into the alley next to the gallery.

“Wait, Shelby!” I screamed as I followed. “You have to speak to me. Please! You are going to get deeper into trouble! Wait for me!”

Please? Was I really pleading with a fleeing murderer?

Shelby reached the sidewalk and turned left. I hobbled after her. The heel on my left shoe snapped off. You can only run so far in stilettos, even when they do have heels. I kicked off both shoes and kept going. I found myself yipping as I stumbled over small bits of gravel and debris. A charcoal Lexus SUV was idling in front of the gallery. Was that Shelby’s friend? Apparently, yes. As I limped out of the alley, still shouting, “Wait! Shelby!” she reached the vehicle. The driver reached over and wrenched the door open for her. She tumbled in. The door of the SUV slammed, and the Lexus shot forward and squealed around the corner and out of sight.

All I got was the barest suggestion of a big, squarish head in a ball cap and large hands in black gloves. And Shelby’s backside as she tumbled into the passenger seat without a shred of dignity.

Of course, who was I to talk?

A horn blasted behind me. Lance, my knight in shining Beamer.

As the Beamer glided up, I yanked open the door. Normally, I would have barked at him to watch out for the car. But instead I shouted, “After them!” I’d always wanted a reason to say that.

Lance gunned it, and the Beamer showed its stuff, taking that corner smoothly. Gotta love that powerful engine. In a minute we were almost on top of the SUV with Shelby in it.

I took my lipstick from my tiny clutch and wrote the license plate number on my bare arm. With shaking hands, I pulled out my iPhone and dialed a number I knew by heart.

“Tyler? You have to listen to me. I’ve seen the woman who was at Summerlea. She’s currently fleeing from me—”

A torrent of words swirled from the phone.

“Let me finish! I’m not doing anything illegal. I’m not snooping or interfering. I happened to be Lance’s date at an art thingie in Grandville, and there she was. I almost fell off my shoes. I would have thought she’d be in hiding.”

Lance and I exchanged glances.

Another torrent. I held the phone away from my blistered ear.

“Well,” I said, “that’s your opinion, Tyler. But here’s the license plate of the Lexus SUV she took off in. Do you want to track it down? . . . Oh, come on, don’t be like that . . . Here’s something else you should know.” I squinted as I got a blast from Tyler. When he took a breath, I shouted, “I am not interfering. I am not messing with the investigation. I happened to come across this information. Perfectly innocent . . . You can check with Lance.”

Lance gasped. I glared at him. “Man up,” I whispered. “No, no! That wasn’t to you, Tyler. Anyway, I leave it to you and Detectives Castellano and What’s-his-name . . .You should pass on the information . . . What? . . . Wait! There’s more . . .”

“Get home now. And stop this. I’m serious,” Tyler shouted before hanging up.

“That went well,” Lance said.

“Better than I expected, actually. At least I can massage my poor, messed-up feet now. I think they’re bleeding,” I said. “Where are they?”

“Your feet?”

I ignored that. “Shelby and her driver.”

“Did you see him?” Lance asked.

I shook my head. “Just got an impression.”

“Was the impression like the faux Chadwick?”

“No. It wasn’t. That guy had a narrow face, a narrow head and that beaky nose. This guy was more—”

“Big headed?”

“Are you making fun of me, Lance?”

“Never.”

“All I saw was a guy with a big, squarish head, wearing a ball cap. I didn’t see his face.” I chuckled. “Let’s hope he’s enough of a blockhead not to notice us following him. Oh, and he had big hands too, with long fingers.”

“You noticed that in a fraction of a second?”