Dead Dreams (18 page)

“I don’t know. He’s nosey.”

“We can ignore him.”

“He’s persistent. But he can’t see us. He’ll suspect something.”

I peeked out the kitchen window and saw his clunky Dodge van on Emerson Street. “Take off your pony-tail, and open the door. Tell him I’m not home. See what he says,” I whispered, again. My stomach churned and tightened. Why was Pastor Perry here? Was it more bad news about Dad? And what if he’d noticed my car in the garage? “He’s never met you, so he won’t suspect anything.” I was banking on the hope Pastor Perry wouldn’t mention Dad’s condition to someone he didn’t know. I kept my fingers crossed. While Sarah was occupied with Pastor Perry, I planned to peek at my cell phone and check for messages.

“We don’t have time.” Sarah glanced up at the clock on the microwave oven and pulled off the hair tie securing her hair and hair extension into a ponytail. She stalked off to the front door, and said in a sing-song voice, “Who’s there?”

Pastor Perry mumbled something inaudible.

“She’s not here. I don’t know—she’s not due at Starbucks till four.”

More mumbling.

“I don’t know why she’s not answering her phone. Try later.”

My gut twisted again, and I pressed my fists against my abs. Maybe some Tums would help. I took the chance to turn on my cell. Maybe they’d been trying to tell me something horrid had happened, and here I was, having a makeover! My Samsung made the usual update sounds to alert me of the many notices I’d missed during the last hours. I quickly muted the volume.

“Sure. I’ll let her know,” Sarah said.

I jiggled the Samsung, hoping stupidly that the shaking would make the phone work faster. When I touched the text icon, I saw Mom had messaged me four times. This was a first for her; she’d never even texted once to me. Each message was short and sounded like a scream.

“Where are you?” Everything was spelled out in full. “We need you here,” the next text, sent two minutes later, said. It must have taken her ages to type all this out, what with her bad eyesight and all. “Doctor Chen wants you here.” Surely, she couldn’t have punched in all the words, unless Lilly had texted on her behalf, or maybe, Pastor Perry, himself had done so for her. “Please call as soon as possible.”

Not the most telling news. Except Mom seemed desperate.

“Hey!” Sarah’s voice literally made me drop the phone and it clattered onto the linoleum floor. “I thought we’d agreed to go dark until after our stint? No distractions, remember?” She pointed to the cell phone, and wagged her bony finger at me.

“What did Pastor Perry say?” I held my breath and picked up my cell.

“He’s persistent. I can see why you’d want to get away. From them all.” Sarah shoved a fist at me. “He gave you a present.”

“What?”

She opened her fist and showed me a small box. “Why’d he give this to you?”

I must really look bad for Pastor Perry to pass me something like this. “Must think I need better sleep.” I grabbed the small gift—a box of Sleep Aid.

“He said take only one.” Sarah sniggered. “But it’s non-habit forming so it’s safe.”

“Well? What else did he say?”

“You expecting some
other
big news?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. If you don’t tell me I’m going to run after him and spoil our plan. I don’t care,” I practically yelled. From the small kitchen window I saw Pastor Perry walk slowly with his slight limp to his van. His shoulder looked slumped. If I shouted, he’d hear me. Then my life would remain simple, unfulfilled, but I wouldn’t have to live like a fugitive.

“No need to get all bent out of shape. Your mom wants you to call. He didn’t elaborate. So, what’s up with your family?” She went to the window and closed the shutters just as I saw him pull away. It felt as if my old me was pulling away, too, and the new me was strengthening its hold. I shook the feeling away.

“Usual family crisis. Every family has them. Are we leaving for the bank now?”

Sarah turned and winked at me. “We’d better. Ready to win an Oscar?”

As it happened, we were already late. Again.

“Breathe deeply,” Sarah said, squeezing my arm as we walked to my Mini Cooper. “Everything will turn out fine.”

Would it? A tiny voice whispered in my head. Even if I didn’t screw up at the bank, could we get away with this? And if we did, would I live a life of regrets?

Sarah kidnapped my Samsung and reminded me it could be used as a GPS to track us down. There went my chance to ask about Dad.

On the way there, in my Mini Cooper, with Sarah driving, since she didn’t trust me with her Jag, she lectured me on the importance of anonymity. No Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, or any social media platform—not that I was a social-media junkie, having always guarded my privacy. And, certainly, my Google accounts had to be deactivated, in case I accidentally commented on YouTube in the future under the account and our whereabouts were traced. Nothing escaped the Russians, according to Sarah. Their satellites could pin-point you even to the precise room you’re in, she warned. Worse, I was to hand over my laptop to her before we left for the airport. The K-twins would take it to a computer rehash center that would dismantle both our laptops so they could never be traced to us. She’d definitely been reading too much of this conspiracy theory stuff.

As the paperwork progressed at the bank, I worried more and more, and I had to dab my brows a few times. I worried that the sweat would streak my foundation, and my pale coloring would peek out from under the tan makeup I had slathered on my face. And
twice
the contacts made my eyes itchy and I almost rubbed them out.
And
I was sure my fake lashes were already crooked.

Also, I caught Blondie Marlene staring at me but I couldn’t be sure, and flashed my gorgeous blood-red nails and acted as “Sarah-ish” as possible. Except for Sarah’s obvious annoyance with me for having turned on my phone, nothing seemed to have spoiled our plan.

After the signing, when we trudged back to my car, the red truck I’d noticed in front of our apartment yesterday morning was in the parking lot. I assumed it was the same truck because of its shiny bumper, although red trucks, this one being a Ford, weren’t that uncommon, I supposed. Like a nervous wreck, my heart skipped a beat. Was Jim still looking out for us? Or his partner, Alias? Without my cell phone, I couldn’t check to see if Jim had responded since we’d left the apartment.

“Hey,” I jerked Sarah’s arm toward the red truck. “Could that be Jim’s friend? The same one on our street yesterday morning?”

She swiveled her head for a quick glance and hurriedly stepped in the opposite direction, toward where my Mini Cooper was parked. “I didn’t pay Jim anything extra to guard us out here in the open, and Uncle Stuart would never do anything that obvious. Too many witnesses.”

“So, you don’t think that was the same truck?” I wanted to see if she’d confess she’d chatted with the driver that morning, and possibly even kissed him. Or, maybe she’d tell me about the new boyfriend she insisted on keeping secret.

“Did you take the plate number of the truck you saw?” She shrugged and continued walking to my car. “Red trucks aren’t exactly pink elephants. Practically one on every corner.” She waved at the street.

“Silly me.”

Before I slid into the passenger side of the Mini Cooper, I glanced over the back-top of my car. The driver of the red truck wore a Stetson-type hat pulled down over his forehead, as if he were sleeping. Was I being paranoid?

“So,” Sarah said, “Excited you have a share in my trust fund
and
inheritance now?”

Technically, the inheritance hadn’t been deposited into the account yet. We still had seven days until the big date. But, the paperwork had been set up, and the Fremont Bank would direct the cache to Swiss Banque Paris once the amount was cleared to go. After that, transferring the cash to a secured offshore bank located in the Caribbean and with far more privacy clauses should be a cinch. Apparently, nowadays even Swiss banks had to comply with Interpol and international laws that didn’t honor privacy, thanks to money-laundering problems.

“Ninety-nine million is quite an inheritance.” I yanked the left false eyelash off and tossed it out the window as my car zipped around the corner, away from the bank. Away from the scene of my first crime.

Sarah gave a short laugh. “Let’s hope I don’t end up dead, or the cops will pin it on you for sure.” She went into hysterics as if her joke was funny.

“What?” How could she make fun about something like that after the burglary?

She went on, “It’s easy for them to say you have the motive. Of course, I trust you with my life. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have done this.”

In many ways, I’d entrusted Sarah with mine, too—my insignificant life, with no millions to its credit, but still a life worth living.

“We’d better take extra precautions the next few days,” I said. “Maybe get Jim to watch over us.” I hoped this would motivate Sarah to say, “Yes. Go ahead, call him,” or, “Let’s ask Pete how we can reach him.”

Sarah said, “Nah! We’ll be fine. We have the alarm to warn us. And Uncle’s not the sort to work with haste. Now that he’s failed in his first attempt, he’ll wait for a bit. Space things out, just in case the burglary gets traced to him. He doesn’t know we haven’t gone to the cops, so he’s going to lay low. That’s how he’s been covering his tracks. Patience.”

“You mean, that wasn’t the first time he tried to hurt you?”

She nodded. “I assure you, it’ll be his last. He’ll never find me after we disappear.”

How could she be sure? If Stuart McIntyre was closely connected to some dark world of assassins and espionage, as Sarah had insinuated, he’d have the resources to trace her movements. As long as she was alive, he’d surely be keeping tabs on her. I shivered, even though that April afternoon was warm that spring.

“Can I have my phone back for a bit?”

She rummaged in her LV and held up my Samsung, then pretended to pass it to me but suddenly snatched her hand away before I could grab the phone.

“Stop teasing,” I said.

“You realize our relationship has to be based on trust. Before I hand this to you…” she waved the phone about. “Perhaps there’s something you want to confess?” She raised an eyebrow.

It occurred to me what she’d done. “You’re one to talk about trust. You read my messages, didn’t you?”

“If you have nothing to hide, why be so secretive?”

I could say the same, but I bit my tongue. “It’s called privacy.” I glared at her.
Fine way to start our oneness. Might be worse than being married.

“No need to be so edgy. Gawd, Brie, you think I’m some cold-blooded reptile?” Her cheeks flushed tomato-red despite the pale makeup.

“I didn’t want you worried. Yes, I should have told you, but I was scared to think about my dad’s stroke. What if I leave and never see him again?” Maybe she couldn’t relate because she’d never felt close to her parents, what with boarding schools in England and vacations with her private school friends instead of her family. Plus her parents had been gone for a while.

“I’ll let you see your dad one last time before we vamoose outta here. Tomorrow, we finalize the furniture removal. The K twins arranged that for me—for a few bucks extra, of course.”