Relatively Dead (18 page)

I got out of the car wearing my black sweater and jeans. “Wear white after dark.” Was that a slogan from my youth, warning pedestrians to make themselves visible to cars? I wanted to be
in
visible. I’d just have to watch out for cars. I walked a few steps along the street and made out Kelly’s garage in the alley with the aid of a dim streetlight.

All right, but I couldn’t stand here for two hours. There was no parking in the alley, itself, so I couldn’t move the car there. Although traffic was sparse and pedestrians even sparser, I would be conspicuous just hanging out. I crossed the street, strolled to the corner, turned left, and walked past Kelly’s house. The lights were still on. I couldn’t see inside because of the closed curtains. Presumably, he couldn’t see out.

I walked halfway along the block, crossed the street, and went back on the other side, never going beyond the point where I could see Kelly’s lights. The other houses also showed lights. The curtains of one house were open. I looked in the window as I passed and saw a television set tuned to a cartoon show, but no living person. If I couldn’t see them they couldn’t see me—right?

I continued to walk up and down the street, across from Kelly’s house. After thirty minutes, I passed a woman walking a dog so small I didn’t see it at first in the dim light. I carefully avoided stepping on it, and the woman and I smiled and nodded to each other. I realized she would probably be coming back this way. I didn’t want to pass her again, so I continued around the same block I’d driven around earlier, with three left turns, hoping Kelly wouldn’t leave before I got back.

When I arrived at the other end of Kelly’s alley, I looked along it, but Kelly’s garage was too far away for me to pick out. No cars were in the alley. I hoped he hadn’t left. I considered walking the length of the alley as a shortcut, but scuttled that idea because if Kelly did get into his car and head toward me I’d be the deer in his headlights. There was no place to hide.

I quickly finished my circumnavigation of the block without using the alley. I passed my car and the alley again at the other end. Still nothing happening in the alley. When I got back to the corner of the street Kelly’s house fronted, and on which I’d seen the dog walker, I looked up and down it for her. She’d apparently returned home. I rounded the corner and looked for Kelly’s lights. They were still on. I gave a sigh of relief.

***

An hour later I was still strolling and keeping my watch. I heard fast footsteps coming up behind me. Startled, I went to the edge of the sidewalk and looked around. A young man wearing a hoodie was rapidly approaching. I couldn’t see much of his face. Would he rob me—or rape me? It was too late to run.

As he passed me he spoke in a gruff voice. “Better get your ass home, honey.”

I watched him speed away, wondering what his accent was, wishing my heart would slow down. In spite of my abstinence I suddenly needed to pee. Doubtless a result of my fright. What did real detectives do in a situation like this? I knew if I left my post for fifteen minutes, Kelly would be gone by the time I returned.

I supposed a man would pee in the alley where he was unlikely to be seen. No way was I going to do that. I knew a car would appear as soon as I pulled down my pants. The only thing about men I envied was their ability to pee while standing.

As I was debating what to do, the upstairs light went out at Kelly’s house. I quickly headed toward the side street that crossed the alley. I hesitated, still in sight of Kelly’s house, to see if the downstairs lights would be turned off. Two minutes later the whole house went dark.

I quickly went to the entrance of the alley. I crossed the street to be less conspicuous and closer to my car. My heart sped up again when I saw one of the doors belonging to Kelly’s garage open. I got into my car where I was no longer able to see the garage, and opened a window.

I heard the sound of an engine starting. I started mine but didn’t turn on my lights. I wouldn’t be able to hear Kelly’s car if it went the other way along the alley. I shut off my engine. The engine noise of the other car grew louder, then softer. Backing out. Louder again. Steadily louder. It was coming my way. I started my engine again.

Even though I was expecting it, I jumped out of my skin when the car lights suddenly appeared out of the alley, headed almost directly toward me, looking like ghost lights in a haunted house. The car turned left. If it had turned right, I
would
have been the deer in the headlights. I tried to read the license plate. I got a snapshot of the three letters: BFD. How to remember them? All I could think of was “Big Fucking Deal.”

The car turned left again at the corner, taking it past the front of Kelly’s house. I turned on my lights as soon as it was out of sight, and drove to the corner. When Kelly’s car was a half-block away I turned the corner and followed it.

A series of stop signs kept us stopping and starting. I slowed down when Kelly stopped so I wouldn’t get too close to him. When he started I sped up so I wouldn’t get too far behind him when I stopped. As long as there wasn’t any other traffic, that worked.

Then we approached an intersection with a stoplight. Kelly moved into the left-turn lane. There wasn’t anybody between us; I had to follow him into that lane. I stopped behind him, wondering if he knew I was following him. It was too dark to see his head inside the car, and the headrest on his car seat obscured it, anyway. I comforted myself with the thought that even if he looked in his rearview mirror he wouldn’t be able to see my face or get a good description of my car. I also memorized the numeric portion of his license plate.

A green arrow gave us permission to proceed. We turned onto a major street; I think it was Pico Boulevard. Kelly turned into the second from the center lane. I turned into the left lane and fell back a little, still worried he might get suspicious if I stayed right behind him. We continued in that formation for several blocks and then stopped at another light. Traffic was moderately heavy. Several cars were between Kelly and me, but I could still see his car, since it was in a different lane.

The light turned green and we proceeded. He caught me by surprise when he moved into a right-turn lane. I couldn’t change lanes because of the traffic. I saw him turn right as I sped by.
Damn. Now what?
Maybe I could recover. I did a U-turn at the next stoplight and came back to this intersection, finally turning left after a wait of what seemed like hours.

I cruised along slowly, not having any idea where Kelly had gone. After a quarter of a mile I saw a shopping center on the right. It was eleven o’clock at night. The stores were closed. No cars were in the parking lot. I was prepared to pass it when I saw lights at the far end of the row of dark buildings. Then I saw some parked cars near the lights. A large neon sign proclaimed it was a member of one of California’s major supermarket chains. It must be open twenty-four hours a day.

Open stores needed employees, even at night. It was worth a shot. I pulled into the parking lot and cruised slowly up and down the aisles between the parked cars, looking for a light-colored compact with “BFD” in the license. It was one of the cars farthest away from the market. It contained the correct letters, and the numeric part also corresponded with my memory. My heart jumped when I saw it. He must be an employee. If he were just buying some food, he would have parked closer to the store. Employees were probably required to leave the more desirable spots for customers.

I parked some distance away from Kelly’s car and then went back to it and peered in the windows with the aid of lights in the parking lot. A plastic cup sat in the drink holder. That was it. The inside of the car looked clean. Nothing was on either the front or back seats. I couldn’t identify it as the car that had almost run me over. I had only seen that car as a frightening shape in the dark, and the sound of its engine had been that of a much more powerful vehicle that Tom’s compact, or at least it had sounded like that to my scared ears.

Now what should I do? My bladder told me. I fluffed my hair to make it look longer,—it had grown out since I found my identity—raced to the store, and went inside. I headed straight to the first employee I spotted, who was at a customer service counter, and asked where the bathrooms were. I corrected myself and said restrooms. That’s still a euphemism, but I doubted she’d understand loo or WC. I’d heard that in Canada they said washrooms, which at least makes some sense. She pointed to the corner of the store. I got there just in time.

When I came out, feeling much relieved, I grabbed a hand basket and walked around the store, throwing in some crackers, cheese, and a couple of other items. I tried to spot Thomas Kelly, but none of the half dozen employees I saw came close to my admittedly inadequate picture of him. I began to doubt myself. Maybe I’d made a mistake, or been the victim of several coincidences.

I went to checkout and placed my items on the counter. The female clerk was middle-aged, with a bouffant hairdo that probably needed help from hairspray to keep it in place. She asked me in a loud and cheerful voice if I’d found everything all right, and then scanned my purchases with a dexterity that spoke of years of experience.

“Yes, I did. Are you open twenty-four hours a day?”

“That we are. I like to work the night shift. It’s quieter and it’s fun to be up when most of the world is sleeping.”

“When did your shift start?”

“Eleven. Just a few minutes ago. Eleven to seven. Been doing it for years.”

“Does Thomas Kelly work here?”

“Tom? Sure and he’s the night manager. There he is now.” She nodded toward the aisle behind me as she placed my items in a bag. She turned up her already ample volume. “Tom. This young lady would like to speak to you.”

Actually, I didn’t want to speak to him. I was unprepared. I turned my head and saw a middle-aged man approach, wearing the official red market shirt. He wasn’t any taller than I was and could stand to lose a few pounds, but he wasn’t in bad shape. His body looked the same as that of the man at the Western Union stakeout, as nearly as I could remember.

His graying hair was short. I wouldn’t call him handsome, but he had all the normal facial features in a fairly symmetrical pattern. His nose was a little large. Then I saw the ring in his right ear. I remembered it from the description given by the Western Union clerk.

He walked up to me. It was too late to escape.

“Hi, I’m Tom Kelly.”

“Aiko Murakawa.”

The only one of my names he wouldn’t recognize. His voice could be that of the scammer I’d heard on the phone. I stuck out my hand, wanting to see his. We shook hands. Whatever had been wrong with his hands, it was gone, except perhaps for a residual red mark or two. I didn’t get that good a look at them, but the Western Union clerk would never be able to identify him. Officer Watson was right.

What now?
Think fast, Carol
. I started to babble. “I owe you an apology. I’m afraid I’m a bit nosy. I recently joined the California Genealogical Society, and when I was filling out the form I asked about members who were searching for Boyds. Your name was mentioned and it stood out because you live near me. One of the men said you worked for a supermarket. At least that’s where I think I heard that. I’m not really sure. Maybe it was someone—”

Tom’s laugh interrupted me. He had a high-pitched, grating laugh. “It doesn’t matter. At least you found me. Do you…need help carrying your stuff out?”

It was my turn to laugh. My “stuff” weighed no more than five pounds. My act as a ditsy woman had worked. He was coming on to me. Perhaps I could use this to my advantage.

I imitated my grandmother’s southern accent. “Why, yes sir, that would be mighty kind of you.”

Tom picked up my bag. I caught the checkout clerk rolling her eyes.

I suspected Tom, since he was the night manager, didn’t carry out bags for many customers. He followed me outside. I wondered whether he’d recognize my car from when I was following
him
. Was this a bad idea? I couldn’t really grab the bag away from him and take off. I decided to keep the conversation going.

“So, anyway, I gather you’re interested in genealogy, too. And that you’re looking for Boyds.”

“Yes.” He hesitated. “Uh, my roots go back to Northern Ireland.”

I spoke in an excited voice. “I have Irish ancestors, too.”

“You don’t look Irish.”

I unlocked the car doors with my remote.

“On my mother’s side. My father is half Japanese and half everything else.”

I didn’t want this to sound too much like the genealogy of Cynthia Sakai, or it might jog his memory. But since I was using a Japanese name, I couldn’t very well say I was Korean. I hoped his picture of Cynthia came from grainy newspaper photos, and that seeing me wouldn’t remind him of them.

He opened the back door and placed the bag of groceries on the backseat with exaggerated care while I opened the front door. I decided it wasn’t proper to tip someone you were trying to seduce. He closed the back door and stood, not quite looking at me.

“Since I’ve joined CGS I’ve found out a lot.”

“Ooh. I’d love to see what you’re doing. It might help me with my research.”

He didn’t answer immediately, and I thought he was going to walk away. Then he spoke in a tone that said he wasn’t sure of himself.

“You said you live close by?” I nodded. “Maybe we can meet someplace and I can show you. There’s a-a library not far from here.”