California Schemin' (4 page)

“You don’t actually think they’ll try and
pick me off at the airport, do you?”

“There’s no point in taking chances. I can’t
imagine what Tom and Meg would say if something happened to you.
I’m not going to risk being on the receiving end of Meg’s wrath.
No, I’m sending you back to where half the state police barracks is
watching out for you.”

“Only half?” I was inwardly rolling my eyes
and trying to act naturally as TSA riffled through my purse and
pulled out a tube of toothpaste and a bottle of moisturizer. I took
them from him and handed them to Beau.

“Mail these to me, would you? That
moisturizer is worth a fortune.”

“That’s because the other half is resting up
from the stress of keeping an eye on you. I’m sure after you got
stabbed in the arm by Dotty Post they upped the Bree alert by a
factor of at least ten.” He looked at the toiletries in his hand.
“What do you want me to do with these?”

“Put them in your pocket and stop making fun
of me. How many times do you think I’ll find my boss dead? It’s not
likely to happen again.” I hoped.

“How can you say it’s a freak incident when
you’ve already found another dead body? Why I thought California
would be safe for you, I’ll never know.”

We cleared the checkpoint, pulled my carry-on
off the conveyor, and he pulled me aside.

“Remember, when you get to Virginia you need
to leave the airport in a taxi. Do you remember where to have him
drop you? Did you bring money for the Metro?”

“Yeah, I remember. I’m not twelve you know. I
can keep instructions in my head for longer than an hour.” I knew
he was worried and trying to protect me, but I was getting annoyed.
The elaborate ruse of sending me to Virginia seemed like a waste of
time. I knew from experience that paranoid people do strange things
to protect themselves, but give them credit. If the sheriff was
letting me leave the state, then it stood to reason that I didn’t
have any information. Beau was over-reacting, and the sheriff was
going along for the ride. Or maybe it was the other way around.

My flight was announced over the PA, and we
hurried toward the gate. My carry-on tipped off its rollers, and I
dragged it behind me. Beau looked back and rolled his eyes. He took
it from me, collapsed the handle and carried it the rest of the
way. We reached the gate, and Beau set my case on the floor,
grabbed the open front of my jacket and pulled me to him. The kiss
he gave me about stopped my heart. The kind of kiss that shuts down
brain function.

“What was that for?” I asked as he released
me. My face was hot and I felt like I should be checking to make
sure I still had all my clothes on.

“Making sure you don’t forget me between here
and Virginia. Now get on the plane. I’ll be waiting here until it
takes off.” He kissed me again, this time on the top of the head
and sent me down the jet way. Halfway down I remembered my
toothpaste and ran back.

“I need my toothpaste and moisturizer.”

“What?”

“My stuff.” I rummaged in his pocket for the
bottle and tube. “Where are they?”

“I left them at the check point. The officer
said he’d hold them for me.”

“Damn. I need them. I’m not going to do
anything bad with them; I just forgot to put them in my
suitcase.”

“I’ll mail them to you. Get on the
plane.”

“Jeez, when did you get to be so hard line?”
I was still trying to work out how to get him to let me have my
stuff back. “I don’t want to have to buy that stuff in DC.”

“And here I thought you were jogging back up
the jet way because you already missed me.” He planted another kiss
on my head. “Go.”

I dragged my bag onto the plane, wishing I
could stay or that Beau was coming with me and wondering if this
was really necessary. I settled into my seat. A small red-haired
woman with clear blue eyes sat next to me, smiling tentatively. I
smiled back, thinking she looked like a pleasant traveling
companion, but I fell asleep after take-off and never found
out.

I woke up briefly when we stopped to take on
passengers in Las Vegas but fell asleep again when we took off for
Virginia.

I woke as the plane landed and my usual
disembarking debate started in my head. I thought the smart thing
was to stay in my seat until everyone else got off. The other
option was to stand up and be squeezed out like toothpaste. I
decided I could be calm and wait, but when the plane stopped and
the air stopped flowing, I started to get hot. I sat taking deep
breaths, waiting for the doors to open. The cabin started to close
in on me, and the air seemed hot. I was pretty sure they were
filtering the oxygen out of it. I shot a look at the red head in
the aisle seat, but she seemed calm. She certainly wasn’t shoving
her way into the horde between the seats, which is what I wanted to
do. I wondered if I’d get arrested if I climbed over the other
passengers and clawed my way out of the door.

I managed to keep my impulses in check and
emerged from the plane hoping for a blast of cool air to soothe my
overheated synapses. Unfortunately, the airport was hot and damp.
It was raining outside, and the combination of wet travelers and
heated air was stifling. I mentally ran through my usual list of
swear words and headed for baggage claim, but the bank of monitors
announcing departures caught my eye, and I stopped dead. There was
a flight to Manchester, New Hampshire, leaving in a little over an
hour. I stood there looking at the screen, needing to head for home
but afraid I’d mess everything up. Meg would be waiting for me in
Burlington in the morning. Beau and Fogel would flay me alive if I
didn’t show up at the hotel, and there was no guarantee that I
wouldn’t be stranded in Manchester. All this subterfuge was
annoying.

I dragged my luggage off the conveyor belt in
baggage claim and wheeled it out to the taxi stand. I was about to
get in a cab when I saw the hotel shuttle. I didn’t actually like
the idea of paying for a taxi ride to the underground and taking it
to a stop three blocks from the hotel. Besides, it was really
unnecessary, so I jumped on the shuttle.

An irrational feeling of relief washed over
me when the driver unloaded my bag at the front of the hotel.
Nothing bad had happened, and I hadn’t been required to muscle my
two-ton bag through the bowels of Washington. A bellhop practically
ran through the rotating door and took charge of my luggage. I’d
have to remember to stay in first class hotels more often.

I smiled at the desk clerk and handed him the
business card that Sheriff Fogel had given me. The clerk
immediately stood a little straighter. He began tapping furiously
on the keyboard.

“Would you like an upper or lower floor, Ms.
MacGowan?”

“Upper, I think, as close to the top as I can
get.” I was thinking a nice view would be good. Maybe I’d get lucky
and get a view of the National Mall. Hah! More likely it would be
an alley or a brick office building within arm’s reach of my
window.

“I have a penthouse suite on the top floor.
The elevator has a special key so no one can come up without your
permission. Would that be to your liking?”

“I don’t really think that’s necessary, and
I’m not sure Fogel would want to pay for that, um, fancy a room.” I
wasn’t supposed to say anything about who I was or who was paying,
but this was ridiculous. A penthouse suite?

“The room is complimentary, madam. There is
no need for you to worry. Is there anything else you will be
needing? I can have meals sent to your room.”

“That would be fine. Thank you.”

He handed me a card key that operated the
elevator and opened the room. The bellhop escorted me up in the
gilt-lined lift to the top floor. What he must have been thinking I
had no clue. The elevator doors were mirrored. My reflection showed
tousled brown hair, rumpled T-shirt, faded jeans and my dirty black
cowboy boots. I looked slightly disreputable and very rumpled after
the flight, but they were treating me like some kind of dignitary.
Or a fugitive.

I tipped the bellhop at the elevator after he
dragged my suitcase into the hallway. Across from the elevators a
set of shiny red doors framed with gold filigree faced me. I slid
my card key through the electronic lock on the double doors. They
opened into the suite, and I caught my breath. Floor-to-ceiling
windows looked out over the city from three sides. From where I was
standing I could see Washington through the open living area.
History oozed from the city.

I dropped my suitcase and flung my purse onto
the bed. I sank onto the couch and dug my cell out of my pocket. I
didn’t know who to call first, Meg, who would be awed, or Beau, who
must know what Fogel had said to the hotel to get me such a
fabulous room.

I called Beau first, just so I could get the
scoop and tell Meg. It would be so much more satisfying if I could
tell her the whole story.

“So,” I said after I’d updated him on my
flight, “what did I do to get the penthouse suite overlooking DC?
I’ve got a special key to the elevator and everything.” I flipped
the key card in my hand thinking of possibilities.

“Fogel pulled some strings and got you in
under witness protection. I don’t know what he actually told the
hotel, but from what I understand, they think you’re either a
visiting dignitary, an undercover agent, a fugitive from another
country or a movie star with somebody stalking you. The truth never
entered the picture. It’s immaterial to the hotel. The chain gets
paid to keep a certain number of rooms free across the country, and
law enforcement can put anyone they want into them.”

“So the guy that checked me in thinks I’m a
spy?” This was too good to be true.

“Probably. Promise me you won’t do anything
foolish there.”

“Won’t even leave the room, most likely.”
Well, probably, anyway
.

I would stay in the hotel. I felt safe in my
tower with the outrageous view and room service. I took a shower.
At first I was self conscious about the lack of curtains, then I
figured anyone diligent enough to find a way to catch a glimpse
into a penthouse bathroom when there was actually something to see
deserved the reward.

After the shower I lay down on the bed,
looking forward to flipping through channels and watching trash
television. It was a guilty pleasure I almost never indulged in.
Kind of hard to indulge with no TV in the bedroom and only three
channels to boot. I discovered a Sudoku book in the drawer with the
TV remote and looked to see how hard the puzzles were. The trouble
with Sudoku is that it never fails to put me to sleep.

I woke up mid-afternoon, ordered a turkey
sandwich from room service and flipped the flat screen back on. As
the sun went down and the lights on the mall came on, the city
became even more irresistible. I concentrated on the TV, trying to
ignore the pull of the vista in front of me, but there wasn’t
anything remotely as interesting as the city below. I pulled myself
together, swiped some mascara through my lashes, shrugged on a
jacket and headed out to see the monuments.

Outside the hotel I thought for a minute
about hailing a cab, or rather having the doorman hail me a cab
while I waited in the warmth of the lobby, but how often was I
going to get the chance to walk the Washington Mall? A woman was
leaning against the brick wall of the hotel. She had stringy brown
hair and wore a stained, camel-colored coat hugged to her body and
ratty jeans. She pushed herself upright and approached me.

“I can give you a tour,” she said.
“Twenty-five dollars. I can show you everything you want to
see.”

“Are you a taxi driver?” I asked. There
weren’t any taxis parked nearby.

“No.” She ducked her head. “You’d have to pay
the taxi separate.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I think I’ll
walk.” I started across the street toward the expanse of the mall,
the woman shadowing me.

“No, really, I’m set,” I said as I stepped up
onto the curb on the other side of the road. She was next to me
matching me stride for stride. “Maybe some other time.” But she
stuck to me as I headed down the sidewalk. A knot was forming in my
stomach, not that I thought I was really in any trouble, it was
just odd. I was a weirdo magnet.

I looked around for a place where I wouldn’t
be alone and spotted a mounted police officer near the Washington
Monument. I headed toward her. My shadow veered off as I went to
pat the horse and chat with the officer.

I stood under the Washington Monument for a
few minutes. The marble glowed in the flood light. It was huge and
I felt minuscule. The Lincoln Memorial glowed from the other end of
the reflecting pool and I headed across the grass, down the mall
away from the capital. The reflecting pool was long and I pulled my
jacket around me and increased my speed. I didn't want to work up a
sweat, but I wouldn't mind being just a bit warmer. 

Like the Washington Monument, Lincoln was lit
by floods. It glowed in the twilight. The lights had come up all
along the mall from the capital to Lincoln and from the White House
to Jefferson. It was almost magical. It would have been fabulous if
I wasn’t so dang cold and more than a little freaked out.

As I mounted the steps to get a better look
at Abe, I saw movement. There was a woman standing in the rotunda
reading the writing on the wall. She was smartly dressed, plaid
skirt and a short black pea coat. Sensible shoes. She glanced over
and gave me a shy smile before turning her gaze back to the script.
She seemed more nervous about me than I was about her, so I relaxed
and turned to Lincoln.

 He was imposing up there on his throne.
Well, I guess it was really a chair, but he was kind of like a king
sitting up there surveying the mall. Like an Egyptian prince or
something. I turned to read the words engraved on the wall but I
got the uneasy feeling that the woman was watching me. Normally, I
would have pushed the feeling aside, but I chickened out and headed
back down the steps and onto the mall.