After Midnight (34 page)
Besides, if I sent the books Overnight, I would have to stand around and fill out a special label. I didn’t want to fool with that.
First Class would get the books to the producers soon enough.
If not tomorrow, the day after tomorrow.
While I stood in the line, I set the package down on the floor in front of my feet. Then I took a twenty-dollar bill out of my purse. I also took out a couple of tissues.
Squatting down, I casually used the tissues to wipe the outside of the parcel where I’d touched it. (Cops
can
lift fingerprints off paper, you know.) I didn’t pay attention to who might be watching, and didn’t really care. A person’s got every right to clean off a package before mailing it, right? It’s nobody’s business why, and who would ever guess I was doing it to ruin possible fingerprint evidence? Nobody, that’s who.
Keeping a tissue in one hand and my twenty in the other so that my fingertips didn’t touch the package, I picked it up again.
Then I just waited in line for my turn at one of the windows.
I kept my head down. Nobody talked to me, and I spoke to no one. It was a pretty long wait, though.
People are amazing. They’ll go to a place like the post office, and half of them don’t seem to have a clue. They’ll step up to the window with a box that’s still open, for instance, and ask to borrow some tape. Or when it comes time to pay, they’ll have to spend five minutes hunting for their checkbook. Amazing.
Not to mention, the postal workers were in no hurry to set any speed records.
Finally, my turn came anyway.
I set my package on the counter, smiled, and said, “Good afternoon,” to the clerk.
She gave me back a friendly smile, and said, “What can I do for you, honey?”
“I’d like to mail these books,” I told her. My parcel was too large to fit through the slot under the panel of bullet-proof glass (or acrylic, or whatever), so she opened the panel like a door. I slid the package toward her, leaving the twenty on top, and said, “I’d like it to go First Class, please.”
Nodding, she shut the panel. When she set the parcel on a scale, its weight and cost appeared on a computer screen. After slapping on some stickers, she pushed my change under the window and asked if I would like to have a receipt.
“No,” I said. “I don’t think I’ll be needing one. Thanks.”
“You have a nice day,” she said.
“Thanks. You, too.”
I turned away from her window.
“Next in line,” she called.
The line had dwindled. Only three customers were waiting. Two women—one in her twenties and the other at least seventy—and a young guy probably no older than eighteen. Guess which one was looking at me.
He gaped at me, his jaw drooping.
But I doubt that he saw my face at all.
I walked on past him and out the door.
Just so the flashy redhead who mailed Murphy Scott’s books would not be connected directly to Judy’s car (on the slim chance that an investigator might actually look into the situation), I had parked her car a block away from the post office and around a corner.
Nobody followed me around the corner.
I climbed in and drove away.
I had no more chores to run. Only one thing still needed to be done: ditch Judy’s car.
Abandon it somewhere, and walk home.
Walk home carrying the grocery sack loaded with my pretzels, my personally inscribed and autographed copy of
Deep Dead Eyes
, my souvenir pieces of rope, a pair of used bedsheets and a pillow case, and my five thousand dollars in small bills.
It wasn’t terribly heavy, now that I’d gotten rid of the five hardcover books.
But heavy enough. I didn’t care to trudge five or ten miles with it.
There was, of course, a simple solution to the problem. Why not drive straight home, park in the garage and haul the sack up to my room,
then
take off again to find a distant dumping-spot for the car?
Simple, but not for me.
I just didn’t have the guts to go driving Judy’s car brazenly all over creation. Even the trip from Murphy’s neighborhood to the post office had nearly undone me. Too much time had gone by since leaving Judy, Milo and Tony. Too much might’ve happened. What if Judy had already been reported missing? What if somebody had stumbled upon Milo’s camp? Suppose Judy had escaped from the woods and told the cops all about me? What if Tony’s body had already been discovered in the parking lot of her apartment building?
If anything of the sort had happened, every cop in Chester might be on the lookout for her car.
I wanted to be far away from it.
The sooner, the better.
Even if it meant a tough hike home.
But I couldn’t just leave it
anywhere
. For one thing, I didn’t want people to notice me getting out. For another, it really should, if possible, be abandoned in a place where nobody would pay attention to it for a while.
I came up with one idea after another, but found flaws in all of them.
Until I thought of the perfect place.
The mall!
The vast, indoor shopping plaza over by the highway was surrounded by acres of parking lots with probably more than a dozen entances and exits.
There was no parking fee, which meant no gates or cashiers.
With a steady flow of cars coming and going, one more would hardly be noticed.
I
would hardly be noticed, entering, parking, walking away with my bag.
To top it all off, the lots were never completely empty. Even after the mall’s closing time, plenty of vehicles remained because of people parking there, then walking over to nearby establishments. Scattered all around were minimarts, restaurants, bars, and fast-food joints. There was even a supermarket. Some stayed open late, while others (including the supermarket) stayed open
always
.
In short, the mall’s parking lots offered
anonymity
.
I could anonymously drop off Judy’s car and walk away.
Her car might anonymously sit there, day after day, night after night, lost among the others.
Delighted, I headed for the mall.
About halfway there, I swung onto a little sidestreet. I pulled over and stopped the car in front of a house that had a For Sale sign on the front lawn. The house looked empty. Across the street was a vacant lot. Looking all around, I saw nobody.
So I grabbed one of the legs that I’d cut off Tony’s jeans last night and climbed out of the car. With the denim leg, I wiped the exterior door handles and everywhere else that I might’ve touched.
Then I climbed in and did the interior.
Then I double-checked the whole car, inside and out, to make sure I hadn’t missed anything. Judy’s purse was still on the floor, partly hidden under the driver’s seat. Fine. It could stay there.
Satisfied that I’d removed every trace of myself (to the extent that it can be done in a few minutes with a rag), I tossed both the legs into my grocery bag, started up the car again, and drove the rest of the way to the mall.
Plenty of other cars were coming and going.
I entered a parking lot over on the Macy’s side of the complex, found an empty space, pulled in and shut off the engine.
Just for the heck of it, I left Judy’s key in the ignition.
I wiped off the keys and key case, the shift handle and the steering wheel.
My purse and grocery bag were on the front passenger seat. Leaning sideways, I grabbed them.
I climbed out of Judy’s car. Purse hanging by my side, I set down the bag. Then I looked around. Several people were in sight, some heading toward mall entrances, others returning to their cars. None paid any attention to me.
With one of the denim legs, I cleaned the interior door handle.
Then I flopped the leg back into the sack, hoisted the sack off the pavement, stepped out of the way, and flung the door shut with my knee.
Even as the door thunked, I realized that I’d forgotten to lock it.
I’d
meant
to lock it.
But this is better
.
Leave it unlocked, key in the ignition
.
With any luck, some creep might come along and steal the thing
.
Walking away from Judy’s car, I couldn’t help but smile.
Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to fear.
As soon as I walked away from Judy’s car, I felt hugely, enormously, wonderfully free.
I was done!
I’d severed my last major connection with the series of accidents and/or crimes that had started last night when I killed Tony. Sure, I still had possession of a few items such as the money and autographed book, but nothing that could draw me in as a suspect.
I was, as they say, “home free.”
But several miles from home.
I started to hike across the parking lot, the grocery sack clutched to my chest. It was heavy enough that I needed to hold it with both hands.
Gonna be a long hike
.
I hadn’t walked very far, though, before I noticed that many of the kids roaming across the lot were carrying book bags on their backs.
Just what I needed!
Instead of striking out for home, I made a detour into the mall.
It was good to be in such a familiar place. Rarely a week ever went by that I didn’t visit the mall at least once. I would spend a couple of hours there, just wandering, browsing through the stores, having a nice lunch at the food court. It was a quiet, pleasant place—and just about the
only
place in town worth going to, except for the cineplex.
Wandering the mall, a person can pretty much stay anonymous.
Pretty much but not completely.
If you visit the same shops or food stands time after time, certain employees will start to recognize you. They have no way to learn your name unless you introduce yourself or pay with a credit card or check, but some are bound to know your face.
Some might even know it well enough to wonder how come, today, I was wearing a bright red wig.
So my first stop, after entering the mall, was the ladies’ restroom.
As I understand it, California has a law against security cameras in toilet cubicles. You can’t blow your nose in this state without breaking the criminal code, but this is one law I really go for. I mean, you don’t want some horny degenerate of a security guard watching you on TV while you’re doing your stuff, if you get my meaning.
They’re allowed to spy on you with hidden cameras just about everywhere else, but not when you’re in a stall.
So that’s where I went.
First, I availed myself of the toilet since it happened to be there anyway and it didn’t look hideous. Unbelievable as this may seem, the last person using this public toilet had actually flushed it. Not only that, but (hold on to your hat), she hadn’t left a puddle—or worse—on the seat! I was impressed and grateful.
Shit, I wanted to
meet
her!
Never mind.
With my purse hanging from a hook on the door and my grocery sack down on the floor, I hoisted my skirt, pulled my panties down around my ankles, and hovered a couple of inches above the seat. (Even if the seat looks clean, you sure don’t want to sit on it. You don’t even want to
think
about what’s been on it.)
The toilet paper dispenser, of course, turned out to be empty. Always prepared, I used some tissues from my purse.
Then I flushed the toilet.
I’ve possibly done some lousy things in my life, but I’ve always flushed after myself.
Anybody who doesn’t is nothing short of a pig.
After flushing, I pulled up my panties, stood in front of the toilet, and let my skirt drift down around my legs. Then I took off my gaudy red wig and stuffed it into the grocery sack.
Anything else I should do while I’ve got some privacy?
Of course!
It wasn’t easy to do in the confines of the toilet stall, but I bent over, reached down deep into my sack, and pulled out a few packets of cash. I transferred some denominations back and forth. Finally, I ended up with about three hundred dollars, mostly in twenties and tens. I put that money into my purse.
Then I crumpled down the top of my sack so nobody would be able to see inside. I picked it up, took my purse off the hook, unlatched the door, and stepped out of the stall.
I stopped in front of a mirror. The redhead was gone. I looked like myself again. Almost.
Nobody else was using the restroom, just then, so I set down the bag, took a brush out of my purse, and spent a couple of minutes working my hair into shape. When I was done, it still wouldn’t win any prizes. It no longer looked frightful, though.
Now that I was resuming my own identity, I fastened the upper buttons of my blouse. I also took off my big, hoop earrings and tucked them away in my purse.
All set, I picked up my grocery sack and walked out of the restroom. I strolled the length of the mall, entered J.C. Penney’s, found myself a nice green book bag (or backpack, as the case may be), and bought it with cash.
Right in front of the clerk, I removed its tags and stickers, stuffed my grocery sack inside, then swung the pack onto my back and slipped my arms through its straps.
On my way out, I wondered if I needed anything else before leaving the mall.
How about supper?
Wong’s Kitchen in the food court had great orange chicken, barbecued pork, fried wonton, etc. I was tempted. But on the other hand, remaining at the mall would increase my chances of running into someone who knew me.
Get out now
.
Go home
.
I went straight to the nearest exit and walked out into the heat and glare of late afternoon. My sunglasses helped against the glare. After putting them on, I paused long enough to stuff my purse into the backpack.
Then I was off.
I started with a brisk pace, but couldn’t keep it up for long. Though a breeze sometimes stirred against me, the day was too hot for hurrying. And I was in lousy shape from too little sleep, too many injuries, too much prolonged stress, and the ungodly amount of stenuous physical activity I’d gone through since the start of my problems last night.
