The Midnight Tour

“Oh, I’ll say. He’s a regular terror. Ain’t you, Ter?”

“That’s me.”

“You gonna handcuff her?” Marge asked him.

“Gonna try.”

A few minutes later, he beat Sandy to the shopping cart.

She decided not to fight him for it. Outside, she walked beside him. “You’re a popular guy around here,” she said.

“For a serial killer.”

“Well, I guess you aren’t one of those.”

“They do impersonate cops, sometimes. You can’t be too careful.”

“Well, I’m convinced.”

When they reached her pickup truck, Terry unloaded the shopping cart for her. He even put the milk, butter, eggs and meat into the ice chest she’d brought along to keep them cold during the long trip home. After thanking him, she said, “You lead the way.”

“You won’t ditch me, will you?”

“If I do, I guess you can just run a make on my plates or something, huh?”

“I could. But I wouldn’t. I probably wouldn’t.”

“See you in a while,” she said. Then she climbed into her pickup, started the engine, and waited. After Terry’s car went by, she backed out of her space and followed it.

A cop. He’s a cop.

What if he does run the license?

He would find out that the vehicle was registered to Harry Matthews. And the computer would give him Harry’s address—Sandy’s address.

She had that covered, at least. During the past few years, she had managed to acquire the paperwork to back up four different false identities—including Ashley Matthews.

A girl named Ashley Matthews, born two years before Sandy, had died in an apartment fire at the age of nine.

Ralph had dug up her name—and the others. He did such things for a living, and he was good at it.

Thank God for private eyes, she thought as she turned left and followed Terry’s car onto Fort Platt Boulevard.

And thank God for Blaze. If not for the large amounts of money coming in from the paintings, she never would’ve been able to afford Ralph’s services.

So if Terry does check on me, she thought, I shouldn’t have any trouble. No reason for him to think I’m not Harry’s niece.

If he asks about Harry, I’ll say he’s on a trip.

Everything’ll be fine, she told herself.

Unless he comes over for a visit.

I can’t let that happen.

How can I stop it?

Ahead of her, Terry’s turn signal began to flash. He slowed down, then swung to the right.

I could just keep on going, Sandy thought.

But he’ll know where to find me.

We’d have to get our stuff together and leave. Right away.

Today. And find ourselves a new place to live.

Move in with Blaze?

Shaking her head, she made the turn and closed in on Terry’s car. It had slowed down to wait for her. As she approached, it picked up speed and led her onto Beach Drive.

The quiet, one-lane road ran parallel to the ocean. Along both sides were wood frame cottages and house trailers. One of the trailers had a swing set on its side yard. A boy in a swimsuit was standing on the middle swing, making it sway from side to side. A German shepherd wearing a red bandana around its neck was roaming down the side of the road. A woman was squatting down, planting flowers in front of her cottage.

An elderly couple sat on lawn chairs, one reading a newspaper, the other a paperback. A teenaged boy was busy with a hose and sponge, washing an old green Pontiac.

It looked like a nice place to live.

A lot nicer than a hideout in the woods.

Sandy felt a pull of regret.

Can’t have everything, she told herself. Be happy with what you’ve got.

Just ahead of her, Terry slowed down and turned left onto a gravel driveway. It seemed plenty long enough for her car to fit in behind his. As she made the turn, she glanced at the mailbox: 14 Beach Drive.

It was Terry’s place, all right.

She parked, climbed out of her pickup and walked toward him. “I won’t be able to stay long,” she said.

“Long enough to come in and have a drink?”

“Not sure I’d better come in.”

“That’ll be fine. We can relax out back on the sun deck.”

Sandy followed him around the side of the car port. About a hundred yards ahead, the ocean rolled into Shore. The beach stretched all the way to the rear of the cottage.

She pulled off her shoes and carried them. The dry, hot sand shifted under her feet.

At the bottom of the deck stairs, she stopped and watched Terry climb. He had fine, golden hair on the backs of his legs, and curly down just above his belt. His wallet made the left seat pocket of his shorts bulge. The other side of his shorts curved nicely against his buttock.

She felt a little funny about staring at his rear.

Normally, she wasn’t much interested in such things.

She wondered what he was wearing under his shorts.

Get a grip, she told herself. The guy’s a cop. I can’t have anything to do with him.

Then what am I doing here?

“Coming up?” he asked.

“Sure.” She climbed the stairs. The sundeck had a redwood railing on three sides. On the fourth side, the deck joined the cottage. Which seemed to be made mostly of glass. Draperies were shut, however, so she couldn’t see inside. The deck was furnished with a round glass table, a few folding chairs, two loungers with fabric pads, a couple of TV trays, and a barbeque grill.

“What can I get you?” Terry asked.

“I’ll have to drive home pretty soon.”

“I have soft drinks. Or you might try a beer. One or two beers shouldn’t impair you much.”

“A beer sounds good,” she said.

“I’ll have to go in through the front.” He headed for the stairs.

Sandy glanced at the two sliding glass doors. “You can’t get in from here?”

“They only lock from the inside. This’ll just take a minute, though. Make yourself at home.”

“I’ll come with you,” Sandy told him.

“Fine.”

As they retraced their route to the front of the cottage, Terry smiled and said, “I thought you didn’t want to go in.”

“I was just being cautious.”

“And now you’re not?”

“Maybe I was being overly cautious. I mean, you are a cop, right?”

“Right.”

When they reached the front door, he unlocked and opened it.

Sandy followed him inside. The living room had a hardwood floor and several rugs. There were bookshelves, a stone fireplace, a television, an easy chair, and an old sofa with a coffee table in front and lamp tables at each end.