Classic denial flags, signaling not deception but the stress from a past she couldn’t confront.
“You’ll be completely protected, if that’s what—”
“No. I’m sorry. I wish I could. You have to understand, I’ve created a whole new life for myself. But it’s taken so much work…and it’s so fragile.”
One look at the face, the horrified eyes, the trembling jaw, told Dance that there was no chance of her agreeing.
“I understand.”
“I’m sorry. I just can’t do it.”
Samantha turned and walked to the house. At the door, she looked back and gave a big smile.
Has she changed her mind? Dance was momentarily hopeful.
Then the woman waved. “’Bye!” she called. “Good seeing you again.”
Samantha McCoy and her lie walked back into the house. The door closed.
Chapter 24
“Did you hear about that?” Susan Pemberton asked César Gutierrez, sitting across from her in the hotel bar, as she poured sugar into her latte. She was gesturing toward a TV from which an anchorman was reading news above a local phone number.
Escapee Hotline.
“Wouldn’t it be Escaper?” Gutierrez asked.
Susan blinked. “I don’t know.”
The businessman continued, “I didn’t mean to be light about it. It’s terrible. He killed two people, I heard.” The handsome Latino sprinkled cinnamon into his cappuccino, then sipped, spilling a bit of spice on his slacks. “Oh, look at that. I’m such a klutz.” He laughed. “You can’t take me anywhere.”
He wiped at the stain, which only made it worse. “Oh, well.”
This was a business meeting. Susan, who worked for an event-planning company, was going to put together an anniversary party for his parents—but, being currently single, the thirty-nine-year-old woman automatically sized him up from a personal perspective, noting he was only a few years older than she and wore no wedding ring.
They’d disposed of the details of the party—cash bar, chicken and fish, open wine, fifteen minutes to exchange new vows and then dancing to a DJ. And now they were chatting over coffee before she went back to the office to work up an estimate.
“You’d think they would’ve got him by now.” Then Gutierrez glanced outside, frowning.
“Something wrong?” Susan asked.
“It sounds funny, I know. But just as I was getting here I saw this car pull up. And somebody who looked a little like him, Pell, got out.” He nodded at the TV.
“Who? The killer?”
He nodded. “And there was a woman driving.”
The TV announcer had just repeated that his accomplice was a young woman.
“Where did he go?”
“I wasn’t paying attention. I think toward the parking garage by the bank.”
She looked toward the place.
Then the businessman gave a smile. “But that’s crazy. He’s not going to be here.” He nodded past where they were looking. “What’s that banner? I saw it before.”
“Oh, the concert on Friday. Part of a John Steinbeck celebration. You read him?”
The businessman said, “Oh, sure.East of Eden. The Long Valley. You ever been to King City? I love it there. Steinbeck’s grandfather had a ranch.”
She touched her palm reverently to her chest. “Grapes of Wrath…the best book ever written.”
“And there’s a concert on Friday, you were saying? What kind of music?”
“Jazz. You know, because of the Monterey Jazz Festival. It’s my favorite.”
“I love it too,” Gutierrez said. “I go to the festival whenever I can.”
“Really?” Susan resisted an urge to touch his arm.
“Maybe we’ll run into each other at the next one.”
Susan said, “I worry…Well, I just wish more people would listen to music like that. Real music. I don’t think kids are interested.”
“Here’s to that.” Gutierrez tapped his cup to hers. “My ex…she lets our son listen to rap. Some of those lyrics? Disgusting. And he’s only twelve years old.”
“It’s not music,” Susan announced. Thinking: So. He has an ex. Good. She’d vowed never to date anyone over forty who hadn’t been married.
He hesitated and asked, “You think you might be there? At the concert?”
“Yeah, I will.”
“Well, I don’t know your situation, but if you were going to go, you want to hook up there?”
“Oh, César, that’d be fun.”
Hooking up…
Nowadays that was as good as a formal invitation.
Gutierrez stretched. He said he wanted to get on the road. Then he added he’d enjoyed meeting her and, without hesitating, gave her the holy trinity of phone numbers: work, home and mobile. He picked
up his briefcase and they started for the door together. She noticed, though, that he was pausing, his eyes, through dark-framed glasses, examining the lobby. He frowned again, brushing uneasily at his moustache.
“Something wrong?”
“I think it’s that guy,” he whispered. “The one I saw before. There, you see him? He was here, in the hotel. Looking our way.”
The lobby was filled with tropical plants. She had a vague image of someone turning and walking out of the door.
“DanielPell ?”
“It couldn’t be. It’s stupid…. Just, you know, the power of suggestion or something.”
They walked to the door, stopped. Gutierrez looked out. “He’s gone.”
“Think we should tell somebody at the desk?”
“I’ll give the police a call. I’m probably wrong but what can it hurt?” He pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911. He spoke for a few minutes, then disconnected. “They said they’d send somebody to check it out. Didn’t sound real enthusiastic. Of course, they’re probably getting a hundred calls an hour. I can walk you to your car, if you want.”