Necessary Detour (20 page)

He stared at her, his gaze softening slightly.

“I heard a vehicle and ran out the back door, thinking I might be next.” She challenged him to find fault with the truth.

Pete took a deep breath and shook his head like this was the final straw. He tucked his gun into the back of his jeans.

“You can imagine how it looked,” she said.

“God dammit, Nikki, you are a lot of work as a neighbor.” He sighed. “Come inside, you can see for yourself. Connie and Tony are fine.” They walked to the door and he held it open. “Connie? Can we offer Nikki a cup of tea now that we’ve scared her half to death?”

Connie came out of the bathroom with a scrub brush and a pail of water. “What?”

“I’m going to make Nikki a cup of tea. Where do we keep the tea bags?” Pete opened the kitchen cupboards. “She thought something terrible happened to you when she saw the blood.” He looked over to Nikki. “Sit down, you don’t look good.”

Connie stood next to the bathroom door. She looked worse than Nikki felt. “Tea is above the stove in that jar.” Connie’s voice was robotic, her face drained of color. “I’ll be out in a minute.” She returned to the bathroom and Pete put the kettle on.

Nikki didn’t know what to say.
I’m sorry I snooped.
What’s with all the equipment in your bedroom?
Instead, she got the pressing question out of the way. “Tell me the truth. Are you FBI?”

“God, no. Those guys are imbeciles.” He looked like he was almost smiling. Pete put a tea bag in a mug. “I thought you’d left the lake, Nikki.” He sounded almost relieved she hadn’t.

Connie emerged from the bathroom, white as a sheet. She leaned against the door jamb and covered her mouth with her free hand, as though she might vomit. Pete went to her. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head. “I can’t.” She started to sob.

“Can’t what, Connie?” He took hold of her shoulders and stared into her eyes.

“I just can’t, Pete. I can’t clean up the blood.” She sobbed louder and, dropping the mop on the floor, sank into Pete’s waiting arms.

He rubbed her back soothingly and pulled her into him. “I’ll do it. Don’t go in there.” Pete held her tenderly as she cried into his chest. “You don’t have to look at it.”

Nikki rose from the kitchen table quietly. It felt wrong to be an outside witness to this display of tenderness between them. Walking to the stove, she turned off the kettle and let herself out the door of the log house. She was in way too deep with the Bayers.

****

A motorboat’s buzz broke through the afternoon silence. As it got louder, Nikki speculated that someone must be lost if they’d found their way near Half Moon Bay. Nikki rose from the couch and, gazing out the front window, saw one man in a rented aluminum boat aiming straight for her dock.

Even with the binoculars, she didn’t recognize him. Not Harold. Ten feet out he threw the anchor over the side. He seemed to be contemplating what to do as he bobbed in the waves he’d created. He didn’t look like much of a boater. Photographers and reporters usually came in groups of two and he was alone.

When he wasn’t looking, she lowered the front blinds then picked up the binoculars again. From the kitchen window she watched him take a black case from the floor of the boat, open it and extract something. Her heart sank as she realized what was in the case: a long lens camera.

She was not alone, anymore.

This was it—the moment she’d been dreading, and waiting for.

“God dammit all to hell,” she whispered, just as the phone rang.

“It’s Phyllis. They’ve found you, and if you don’t want to talk to them, you better get out of there fast.”

“Too late. One is pointing his camera at my house this very minute.” She sank into the chair. “If they knew where I was, why did they wait this long?”

“I don’t know but, according to what I’m reading right now, you were in Louisa Lake a few days ago at the doctor. Reporters are headed to the lake to take pictures of a possibly pregnant Goldy.”

“Oh, no!” There was nothing Phyllis could do aside from issuing statements to throw them off the trail. “Tell them I’m out of the country, just in case it works.”

When she looked outside again, Nikki was horrified to see two more boats anchoring and another one approaching. “Oh, my God, Phyllis, there’s four boats in my bay.” True, they were only press, not killers, but they were invading her life and she didn’t want to give in to them. Was the FBI still around?

The fourth boat pulled up alongside the others. They’d probably rented boats at the marina after hearing the road was near impossible without four wheel drive.

Glancing at the computer screen, she stopped in her tracks to see a photo of her in the brown wig getting into her SUV in town. Taken at the medical clinic, it showed her with an ultrasound picture in her hand. The caption read “Gold Found!”

The wig was useless now.

Could she still make a run for it? Putting Elvis in his traveling bag with his head sticking out, she slipped on her runners and grabbed the car keys hanging at the back door.

A quick peek through the window before she opened the door revealed red and blue in the forest across the road. She squinted to see two men crouching in amongst the forest undergrowth. Was it the FBI agents? Her heart lifted, until she saw their cameras pointed at the very back door she’d almost walked through. She was trapped.

“Dammit! Shit! Dammit!” Nikki stomped her feet and Elvis jumped out of the tote bag to escape her swearing tirade. “Sorry, Elvis,” she called. “Mommy’s happy now,” she said in a high, light voice.

Her house was surrounded.

What were the options? The only way out was to let them photograph her. They’d get a shot as she ran to her car, like a criminal. She could wear a coat over her head, jump in her car and race down the old roads, hoping to out run them. They’d follow her to Seattle probably, all the way to Quinn’s.

And they’d win after all she’d done to keep the press at bay. She’d bought herself seven weeks. The idea of surrender sat heavily on her chest as she glanced over to the computer screen. “Gold Found.” Someone had circled her wig and written “Real hair? I think not,” and circled her tummy with the words “Baby bump? I think so.”

“God dammit.”

Someone in town had taken a photo of her that had been blown up to a grainy depiction. Even the ultrasound in her hand had been zoomed in on to invasive proportions. Who would do that in town? She hardly knew anyone besides Harold. Then a thought came to mind. She’d call Harold and see if he could escort her out of this mess. Maybe he could get the press to back off enough for her to get to her car, without being photographed.

Harold didn’t pick up his phone so she left a message for him to call her at the house. Her vivid imagination had Harold tied up, surrounded by press in his little office, everyone waiting for Goldy to call.

Gateman hadn’t responded either, so now it was a matter of waiting. She’d do her hair and makeup just in case she was photographed. As she stared at the heating curlers in her bathroom, Nikki considered a float plane. Just getting to the plane, she’d be photographed. Besides, it was dusk and she doubted that float planes flew in the dark. A quick glance revealed that several more men had arrived on foot and were now scattered in groups at the side of her road. Good God, did they not have anything else to report this week?

At least there were no cars or news vans. Nikki was glad Pete had been locking the gate lately. The press vehicles were probably half a mile back at the gate, which could be good if she sped by them in her car. They wouldn’t make it back in time to follow her. Then she remembered that she’d have to get out of her car to unlock the gate. If she could just find Harold, she could ask him if the reporters could be taken to jail for trespassing.

Nikki stared at the phone, willing it to ring, as she put curlers in her hair. On a whim, she tried to call the Dickerson house and got a recording that it was disconnected. That made sense. What was she going to say to the Bayers anyhow? “Oh, just so you know…those boats and the people lurking in the woods are after me.” They knew.

Finally, Gateman called back to say their agents were standing by to help her leave. Just say the word.

When her hair and makeup were photo-ready, Nikki changed into her jeans and sat on the bed thinking about her escape. Should she wait another hour for darkness to set in? It was cold at night now. Maybe the reporters would go back to town to sleep or just give up. She could make a run for it then. And hope she wasn’t tailed. Shit.

The upstairs bathroom afforded her a view to a portion of the road she couldn’t see from anywhere else, and when she peeked out, what she saw was not good news. The road had filled up with reporters carrying flashlights. The colors through the trees made it look like someone was having a cocktail party on her dirt road. Except the party-goers all had cameras, very expensive cameras with long lenses, in case Goldy should come out her back door.

Some jerk was looking at his camera using the flame from a lighter. An open flame in the woods. This was getting out of hand now. She wished they’d just let it go. But they would never do that. This was their livelihood and many of them had small mouths to feed back home. Beyond the need to make money, Nikki understood the thrill of the chase and the feeling of victory when they got a good shot of her.

She leaned against the side of the window frame, feeling like the prisoner she’d made herself. With one protective hand on her tummy, she imagined sneaking through the trees in the dark to the main road. Harold could pick her up and put her in the jail for the night. No one would look for her there. But even if she got out the deck door without detection, how would she see to run through the trees? If they saw someone making a run for it with a flashlight, they’d chase her. She’d walk out the door in another hour, if they didn’t leave, give them their picture and hope no one followed her God-knows-where.

She turned from the window and there he was, standing in her doorway.

Nikki yelped and jumped back against the wall.

Elvis barked once.

“How did you get in here?” Nikki held her breath.

“It wasn’t so hard.” He looked smug. “I’m assuming these guys are after you.”

“They are.” Under different circumstances, having Pete Bayer standing in the doorway to her bedroom would have been a fantasy come true. But, not only was he off limits, but the house was surrounded by press.

“Tell me they didn’t get a picture of you walking in to my house.” She tried to sound upset, but in reality she was strangely pleased to see him and not just because he was a familiar face.

“No picture.” As he stepped toward her, the strange look on his face made her question his motive. He lowered himself into the armchair.

“Why are you here?” She sat on the bed opposite him, and waited.

Leaning forward, with his hands clasped in front, he looked earnestly into her eyes. “I have a plan.”

“Why would you have a plan?”

“If you want to escape this mob, I can help. I’m good at this.” He paused. “There are a lot of them out there, and I’m assuming, if you wanted to talk to them, you’d have done it by now.” He raised his eyebrows.

Nikki nodded.

“Let’s get you out of here then.” He almost grinned and she wasn’t sure she wanted to trust anyone who saw this as a game. Then she remembered that she’d been on her way to leave anyhow. “Let’s hear your plan.”

****

It was pitch dark outside and, although only a few boats bobbed around in the bay, the crowd assembled on the road had increased. Probably the marina had run out of rental boats. Nikki had been pacing and swearing for hours.

Harold had called when Pete was at Birch House and Nikki asked him to get his sorry butt out there to tell the throngs that Goldy had left days ago. Pete grabbed the phone from her and instructed Harold to move the people back to the gate and look authorative when explaining the consequences for trespassers. “Wear your gun,” he’d said. “Let them see it. Be firm.” He also suggested Harold grab the FBI agent at the road to help. “Oh, and bring a few deputies.”

Pete gave Harold orders like someone used to being in charge of covert operations and Nikki was surprised that Harold agreed.

“If the press is determined to spend the night in the trees, let’s not make our move until they’re tired and cold.” Pete was now running the show. “Wish I had a snow machine,” he whispered to himself.

Nikki had given Elvis a doggy downer pill she used for plane rides that put him in a no-bark state, and after putting him in the dog travel case, Pete took him early to the log house so Nikki wouldn’t have to carry him later.

The night was conveniently black without a moon to light the forest. At exactly 1:24, Nikki snuck silently out a side window and rounded the house. Harold would lock up the place in the morning but for now, he was busy standing on a fallen cedar just up the road addressing the crowd of thirty or more press. Exactly as Pete told him to do.

Nikki could hear snippets of what was being said.

“Remember...being lenient...private property...” Nikki imagined him waving his arms, gesturing wildly. “If everyone… get along fine.”

She stole her way to the trees at the beach, then alongside the bay. The men waiting in the boats were making enough noise that she didn’t have to worry when she stumbled over a tree root and caught herself on one hand before going down. She’d wrenched her wrist but would worry about it later.

“Good evening, gentlemen, or should I say good morning?” Harold’s son, Travis, was on the dock shining a flashlight directly at the faces of the photographers in the boats. “Nice night for fishing.” He chuckled to himself. It was cold and Nikki doubted the photographers had worn appropriate clothing.