Catherine Nelson - Zoe Grey 02 - The Trouble with Theft (10 page)

Dix’s yard and the one
next to it were full of swimsuit-clad bodies, lawn chairs, coolers, and a
kiddie pool filled with what I could only identify as vegetable oil. Two girls
in bikinis were in the pool, slipping and sliding with each other, while the
others looked on, cheering. It was their home version of mud wrestling.

I spotted Dix among
the onlookers, a beer in his hand, cheering one of the girls. I parked the
truck a block away and pocketed the cuffs and a canister of pepper spray. I
have a stun gun my friend Sadie gave me after I’d been kidnapped and shot, but
I don’t often carry it. In order to use it, I need to be within an arm’s reach.
I’m already pretty good at defending myself within an arm’s reach. Amy had been
teaching me karate since we were kids. She held several black belts, so I felt
confident in my skill. And after what happened six weeks ago, I’d resumed our
lessons.

What I really needed
was a tool I could use from a distance, and I thought I might get in trouble if
I went around shooting people. Pepper spray was a good alternative. It had some
distance to it, and it was usually pretty good at disorienting people long
enough for me to catch up to them. There was always the risk of exposure when
using pepper spray, but I’ve been in my fair share of trouble; I’d been sprayed
more than once. It still stung like hell, but it wasn’t disorienting to me
anymore. Fortunately, the air was still this morning.

I was dressed in
shorts, a t-shirt, and my favorite Keen sandals. Already the temperature was
eighty. My hair was piled in a knot on top of my head, and I had on sunglasses.
The sun was hot on my exposed skin, and I thought I could already feel it burning.

I hurried up the walk
and cut through the lawn toward Dix. One of the girls in the pool lost her top,
and everyone started screaming. In their excitement, several of the onlookers
jumped up and down, celebrating. Dix was one of them. Too soon he was turning in
my direction. Then he spotted me. I had the pepper spray ready, but I was still
fifteen feet away.

I raised the can,
pointed it, and pressed the trigger. At the same time, I felt the wind pick up.
Everyone standing between Dix and me screamed as the spray hit their faces. I
saw Dix take a face-full, but instead of grabbing his face and crying like
everyone else, he charged forward. I saw him coming and inwardly grinned. I
could do hands-on.

Prepared to take him
down, I sucked in a breath and got a snoot full of the spray. I choked, an
involuntary reaction to the burning in my mouth, nose, and throat. My eyes were
watering like little faucets behind my glasses, and everything was blurry. I
reached out for Dix at the same moment he leaned down and barreled into me with
his shoulder.

He knocked me into a
girl screaming and flailing her arms, crying about dying, and I lost my
balance. I tried to right myself, but it was hopeless. All I could do was watch
as the kiddie pool full of oil rose up to meet me, finally swallowing me. I
landed with a huge splash and an eruption of laughter from those not crying and
holding their faces.

I slipped twice trying
to get out. Finally, I stood in the grass beside the pool, oil dripping off me
and pooling at my feet. I was covered in the stuff, almost from head to toe.
Looking down, I saw a red and white bikini top stuck to my shorts. I peeled it
off and handed it to the girl still standing topless, wiping at her eyes, which
were now very red.

I didn’t even bother looking
for Dix. Even with the face full of pepper spray, he was long gone. One thing I
had to give him, the guy was a runner.

It’s moments like
these I remember why I have the waterproof seat cover in the truck. I’d gotten
it after transporting my first FTA. Just to be a jerk, he’d wet his pants,
soaking the seat. I’d had to have it professionally cleaned, which wasn’t
cheap. It had taken some searching, but I’d finally found the industrial seat
cover. It wasn’t cheap either, but everything wiped right off of it. And there
had been quite a bit to wipe off since starting this whole fugitive
apprehension thing. It was well worth the money.

I used a rag I found
to wipe off my hands as best I could, then I got in and drove home to clean up.

__________

It took almost half an hour to get
all the oil off the seat cover and the floor, which, fortunately, was rubber
and not carpet. I went through a roll of paper towels and half a bottle of
degreaser. Since I was already at it, I went ahead and cleaned the rest of the
truck, vacuuming, wiping off the dash, and washing the windows. I cleared out a
bunch of trash and other stuff that had collected on the floorboard behind the
seat.

By noon, I was back on
the hunt. The truck was clean, I was clean, and I wasn’t quite so pissed off at
Dix anymore. Of course, the damage had been done. I dropped by the office long
enough to bring in Fink’s body receipt, and after one look at my face, Amerson
asked if I’d been maced.

From there I motored
south on Timberline to Grandma’s neighborhood. Since I’d done some thinking
last night, I thought I had a little better idea of what was going on, even
though I still had no real idea what was going on. But I had a new angle I
wanted to play with her, and, optimist that I am, I hoped she’d open up to me.

As I stopped at the
stop sign at the end of Grandma’s street, I saw flashing lights and several
emergency vehicles parked outside her house, including a crime scene van. I
stared down the road and saw a uniformed cop come out of her house. Whatever
was going on, it was going on at her house. I had a feeling whatever it was, it
wasn’t good.

I left her
neighborhood and went south on Timberline to Horsetooth. I needed time to think,
and since the inside of the truck was clean, I thought I should wash the
outside. As I approached the light, I pulled into the right lane. I noticed a
silver Cadillac sedan change lanes three cars behind me.

I drove through the
intersection and made a right onto Big Horn Drive. As I did, I noticed the
Cadillac also signal to turn right. I filed this away and made the next right,
pulling into the carwash. I wasn’t the only one with this idea and had to wait
briefly for a stall to open up. I used the time to roll down the sides of the
top and do some thinking.

At first I thought
about Grandma and what might have happened to her and why. Then I thought about
Danielle Dillon and why Grandma might have been trying to protect her. I
wondered what kind of trouble she might have been in. Why had she attacked a
banker named Vandreen?

Then I thought about
where she might be. This led me to think about Cory Dix and where he might be.
I wondered if I’d ever be able to bring him in. That got me thinking about how
he kept making me look like an idiot and ruining my clothes. Inevitably, this
brought me to Priscilla and the subject I didn’t want to think about—had been
trying
not
to think about.

For the duration of
the carwash, I compared Priscilla and her fancy clothes and expensive education
and big-time job to me and my life. I cursed her colorfully and wondered why
the hell I couldn’t have run into her five years ago, when I was the youngest
woman ever promoted to a regional management position within the property
management company I’d worked for, making six figures a year, wearing diamonds
and Vera Wangs, and driving a Mercedes.

From the carwash, I
drove directly to Front Range Community College. As I drove away, I noticed the
Cadillac parked at the edge of the gas station lot. The driver wasn’t getting
gas. Maybe he’d gone inside for something.

I’d taken two
semesters at Front Range Community College before giving up school and moving
to Denver for a guy. I couldn’t figure out now why I’d never gone back and
finished; every reason I came up with seemed stupid compared to Stanford and
Harvard. When I got to the school, I checked in at the front desk then waited
twenty minutes for an admissions counselor to call my name. I followed him
through a maze of cubicles to the one he called his and sat in the chair beside
his desk.

“How can I help you
today?” he asked.

“I need to go back to
school.”

“Okay. So, you’ve
taken some classes previously?”

“Yes. About eight
years ago.”

He turned to the
computer, asked me my name, and punched it in. He looked over my record then
turned back to me.

“You’ll need to
reapply, but there is no application fee and everyone is accepted. You won’t
need to take placement tests because you’ve already passed higher level classes
than we place in. When did you want to start?”

“Immediately.”

I knew classes had
already begun. Amy was taking a math class this summer, and she’d started a
couple weeks ago. But I thought maybe I could start anyway.

“Okay, you seem very
motivated. That’s probably good. I’m afraid summer session has already begun; however,
we can certainly get you signed up to start in the fall.”

“Can’t I just join
late and, you know, catch up?”

He looked at me.
“Classes have been in session for four weeks. It’s just too late to start this
summer. Let’s get your admissions stuff done, and you can start in the fall.
Classes begin August 24
^th
.”

I sighed. “Fine. Let’s
do that.”

“Great. Do you have
any idea what you might want to study?”

“Probably something
science related.” I’d planned to be a nurse the first time around.

He nodded. “There are
lots of great careers in the science field. All right,” he said, standing. “Why
don’t we just switch places, and you can fill out this application.”

I sat down at the
computer and typed in my information. Ten minutes later, I submitted it, and we
switched back. I’d been looking over a course catalog while I’d been waiting
for my appointment, so I knew what classes I wanted to take. I told the
counselor, and he put them in.

“This works out to
fifteen credits,” he said finally. “That’s a lot. I don’t usually recommend
that.”

“I really need to
finish quickly.”

After a moment, he
turned back to the computer. “I hope your motivation lasts you through the
semester.”

A short time later, he
printed my billing statement and schedule. I thanked him, stopped at the
cashier window, and paid my tuition. Then I walked over to the bookstore and
bought my books. It took two bags to carry them back to the truck. I had made
zero progress finding Danielle Dillon, and I had let Dix get away a third time,
but I had enrolled in classes. I felt very accomplished. And, if possible, I
felt a little bit smarter already. I was never going to go to Stanford or
Harvard, and I probably wasn’t going to be a lawyer, but I sure as hell wasn’t
going to let Priscilla Casimir, archnemesis and bitch, have the last word.

Before returning to my
truck, I’d stopped in the student center and asked the kid at the information
desk, who looked twelve years old, if I could borrow the phone and a phonebook.
He informed me no one used phonebooks anymore then looked up the number I
needed online. I dialed my voicemail, jotted down my messages, then called
Starbucks again, asking if Dix was scheduled to work. He wasn’t.

Next, I returned
Ellmann’s call, dialing from memory. I’d needed Ellmann’s phone number once, when
kidnappers had stolen my phone, but hadn’t had it memorized. I’d immediately
remedied that, memorizing not only Ellmann’s number, but a dozen others I
thought I might need one day.

“You never checked
in,” he said.

Translation: I was
worried.

“I’m fine,” I said.
Then I thought of the Cadillac. It was probably nothing, and I debated even
mentioning it. Ellmann was clearly already worried. I didn’t want to work him
up needlessly.

“Did you get Dix?”

“No,” I said, pulling
my notes from my pocket. “The bastard got away again.”

“Slippery, huh?”

“You have no idea.” I
paged through my notes, looking for a notation regarding a silver Cadillac. I
didn’t remember one, but it could have been there. “Say, do you know anyone who
drives a silver Cadillac?” If such a car were connected to his case, which he
thought was connected to Danielle Dillon in some way, it might mean something,
might get me some new information to work with.

“No. Why?”

“No reason. I just saw
one this morning. Thought I’d throw it out there.”

“You saw a random car
and thoug—is someone following you?” Ellmann can do things like this, make
these leaps. It’s something I love and hate about him.

“I’m not sure.
Probably not. No, I don’t think so.” I mentally rolled my eyes. Why did I even
mention it?

“You’re better than
that. If you have a suspicion, a feeling, it’s probably accurate. Do you think
someone’s following you?”

I sighed. “It’s
possible. I thought I saw the same Cadillac twice.”

“Did you get a plate
number?” To his credit, he wasn’t mad. It’s like Ellmann had accepted these
sorts of things were inevitable with me.

“No, I was trying not
to overreact.”