Every Now and Then

 

 

By: Kenda

                                                          

 

Every Now and Then is a sequel to the novel, Precious Cargo.                                                     

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

     Although I'm still reluctant to admit it, looking back on it now maybe Rick is right.  Maybe it was a dumb thing to do.  Or at least dumb in the sense that I didn't confide in him as to where I was going.  Nor did I call after I got there and realized I could use his help.  If our positions were reversed, I suppose I'd be pretty ticked off, too.  But, a lot of the reasons he's so upset are exactly the reasons why I couldn't talk to him about the whole thing in the first place.  I knew he wouldn't understand why I so willingly offered her my help.  I knew he'd only give me grief over that decision.  And possibly, he should have.  But regardless of what Rick would have said, I'd have gone anyway.  No argument he could have offered would have changed my mind.  I'd have gone anyway, and the results would have been the same.

 

     And I suppose that's why he's so angry.

 

 

S&S    S&S     S&S     S&S     S&S

 

 

     The last person I was expecting to hear from that night in

Mid-January, 1997, was Janet Fowler.  As in Janet Fowler, my ex-wife.  Despite the fact our marriage had more or less ended on amiable terms almost two years earlier, I hadn't seen her or talked to her since I'd departed from Seattle on the Precious Cargo in May of 1995.

 

     I'd returned to the city of my birth, and the only place I've ever really thought of as home, San Diego, California.  Rick and I reopened Simon and Simon Investigations shortly after my arrival.  The first couple months were lean, but within a short period of time we reestablished ourselves with old clients and old contacts, while successfully seeking out new clients and new contacts.  Our calendar was soon full, and our bank account once again growing. 

 

     I hadn't had reason to look back in a long time.  Until that night.  Until the phone rang and it was Janet on the other end.

 

     Her voice was tentative and small, as though she wasn't sure what my reaction would be.

 

     "AJaay?"

 

     To be honest with you, she was the farthest person from my mind when I crossed my kitchen floor and snared the phone on the second ring.  She didn't have to identify herself.  Just the way she said my name immediately told me who my caller was.  Despite having lived more of her adult life outside the state of Florida than within its boundaries, she never had lost that hint of a Southern accent that would occasionally slip through on some words.  When she wasn't consciously thinking about it, my name was one of those words.  At those times she would emphasize the second letter, dragging out the J sound in a way that I'd always found amusing...and sexy, back in the days when thoughts of sex and Janet were often one in my mind.

 

     Although I had no Southern accent to cover, I doubt I was able to keep the surprise out of my voice.

 

     "Janet?"

     "Yes, A.J., it's...it's Janet."

 

     My first thought was something had happened to her father.  Myron had stayed in touch with me since the divorce, calling me once or twice a year to see how I was doing and to shoot the bull about Simon and Simon.  My former father-in-law, as well as one-time boss, hadn't lost his love for the P.I. profession.  Although he now spent more time at the racetrack than he did on stakeouts, he still loved to experience the job vicariously.  Therefore, I was pretty sure Janet would call me if ill health, an accident, or death were to befall the seventy-four year old man.

 

     "Is everything okay?"  I asked.  "Has something happened to Myron?"

 

     Evidently Janet's thoughts weren't running in the same direction as mine.  She was momentarily confused.

 

     "Daddy?  No.  No, nothing's happened to Daddy.  Why would you think something's..."

     She broke off there.  I believe she realized then that I was hard pressed to come up with any other reason for her call.

 

     "Oh...oh, hum, no.  No, A.J.  Daddy's fine.  As a matter of fact, I just returned from Florida a few days ago.  I flew down and spent two weeks with him."

 

     "That's nice."  I well remembered Seattle's winters.  "You picked a good time of year to get away."

 

     She chuckled, and I could almost see her parting the draperies with a hand.   "Yes, I did.  It's snowing out right now. I'd say there's already three inches on the ground."

 

     Despite the pristine mental picture her words painted, I well remembered having to get up before dawn on many a winter day to shovel our driveway and sidewalks just so we could make it to work on time.  It was abundantly satisfying to know if I walked out my door right at that moment I wouldn't even need to put on a lightweight jacket, let alone a hat and gloves.

 

     It was almost as if she'd read my thoughts when she added, "But I know you don't miss it one bit."

 

     It surprised me how much that one sentence hurt.  Hurt because, although we hadn't spoken to each other in almost two years, she still knew me so well.  Sometimes it's comforting to have someone know you in such an intimate way they can anticipate what your reaction will be to every aspect of life.  That's how well Janet had known me.  I don't think I was prepared to find out that's how well she still knew me.

 

     "No, no I don't miss it," was all I said in return.

 

     A long, awkward pause followed.  I'd be lying if I didn't admit there wasn't plenty of questions I could have asked, and plenty of topics I could have brought up.  After all, we hadn't spoken in twenty months.  But she was the one who made the phone call.  I wasn't about to give her the impression that in any way, shape, or form did this contact on her part mean anything to me.

 

     "So, hum...how are things?"  She asked.

     "Fine.  Things are fine."

 

     "Is your mom okay?"

 

     "Yeah, she's fine.  Keeping busy with more activities and projects than I can name.  You know Mom."

     I could tell she was smiling when she replied with warmth,  "Yes, I know your mother."

 

     I suspected Janet and Mom still kept in contact with one another just like Myron and I did, but I never asked my mother about it, and she had never volunteered any information of that nature.  But she and Janet shared a friendship bordering a mother/daughter relationship that went back over twenty years now, therefore it wouldn't have come as a shock to discover the two of them talked on the phone every so often, or exchanged letters and greeting cards.

 

     "And how's...how's Rick?"

     Rick had long been a sore subject between us, and I suppose even a portion of why we'd divorced.

 

     "He's fine, too.  Same old Rick."

 

     She let that subject drop, which was just as well.  I'm sure she could have come up with at least a hundred smart remarks to my, "Same old Rick," statement.

 

     "And Toby?"  She inquired about our basset hound that had come to live with me after the divorce.  "How's he doing?"

 

     I glanced down at the sausage-round dog. He was slumbering on the throw rug by the kitchen door.  "He's okay.  Sleeping as usual.  When he's not doing that, then he's eating."

 

     Janet laughed at the joke we'd so often shared in regards to our unambitious hound.

 

     "Doesn't sound as though much has changed."

 

     I looked around my house on the Grand Canal.  I'd done some redecorating since I'd purchased it back from Rick.  As a matter of fact, I had just completed giving every room an overhaul.  I'd started with the kitchen when I'd first returned, worked my way through the downstairs, and had just finished painting and wallpapering the upstairs the previous week.   New carpeting was due to arrive within the coming month, new furniture for the den and living room right along with it.

 

     "Some things have changed," I said to Janet,  "but I suppose more than not they've stayed the same."

 

     There was hesitation on her part before she asked her next question.  "And you're...happy?  I mean, things are going good for you?"

     I thought about that a moment.  It's not very often anyone comes right out and asks you if you're happy.  But after a few seconds of reflection I could honestly say I was.  Had I achieved everything I wanted out of life?  No.  Had I met every goal I'd set for myself?  No.  Had I experienced some disappointing failures and painful times?  You bet.  I can't imagine that any of us don't.  But I had come to terms with all those things in recent months and knew that, more often than not, the good outweighed the bad.

 

     "Yes, Janet, I'm happy."

 

     "I'm glad," she said, and I could tell she really meant it.  "I never...well I never wanted to cause you pain.  You're the last person I would ever intentionally hurt."

 

     "I know."

 

     I didn't tell her she needn't take all the blame for our failed marriage, I had caused us just as many problems as she had.  I suppose I should have voiced that assurance to her, but right at the moment my mind was occupied with other concerns.  It was obvious to me there was more to this phone call than the desire to catch up on old times with the ex-husband.  She sounded tired, stressed, and worried.  As though she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders and didn't know where else to turn for help.

 

     "Janet, what's wrong?"

     "Wrong?"

 

     "You sound upset.  Are you all right?"

 

     "Yes, A.J., I'm fine.  I just...I have sort of a problem and I...well the reason I called was because I need you to recommend a good P.I. to me.  One who lives up here in Seattle, of course."

 

     Finally something about this phone call made sense.  Naturally she'd turn to me for a recommendation regarding a Seattle P.I. Much to my former wife's dismay, I had gotten involved in private investigation work again while employed at the law firm of Bloomdecker, Hershaw, and Clark.  I had come in contact with a number of Seattle private investigators during that time.  Those that I didn't know personally, I knew by reputation. 

 

     I was all business now and presumed her need involved some case she was working on for the D.A.'s office, where she was the chief prosecutor.  I'll admit I was a little surprised she'd need to call me for such advice.  Generally attorneys have a pool of two or three reputable P.I.'s they draw from when circumstances warrant such a move. 

     "I assume this is for work?  For the D.A.'s office?  Without breaching any ethics can you tell me what kind of case it's pertaining to?"

 

     "No, A.J.  No.  What I mean is, yes I can tell you what the case is about, but no, it's not for the D.A.'s office.  It has nothing to do with work.  This is...this is personal."

 

     "Oh.  Oh, I see."

 

     I stopped there, waiting to hear what and how much she was going to reveal to me. 

 

     "I...A.J., I'm being stalked."

 

     "You're what?"

 

     "I'm being stalked."

 

     I rounded the counter and hiked myself up on a stool.  I got the sudden feeling this was going to be a much longer conversation than I had originally presumed.

 

     "Start at the beginning," I said calmly.  "Tell me everything that's been going on."

 

     "Oh, A.J., I...you don't know how much I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me.  You don't know how much I need...well how much I need a friend right now."

     "Yes I do, Janet," I soothed.  "If you recall, there was a time in my life when I needed a friend and you were the one who was there to listen."

 

     Her, "I know," was quiet and reflective of all that had caused us to travel full-circle.  She had been the person I turned to when the pain of Erica Garcia's murder threatened to be my undoing.  Our marriage was a direct result of all Janet had so willingly offered me back then.

 

     "Let me repay you that debt now," I said.  "Tell me what's happening."

 

     She took a deep breath and began.  "It started this past fall.  On October fifteenth.  I recall the date because I came home late from a banquet given in honor of a retiring judge.  I was about halfway to the house when I thought I was being followed.  I remembered what you and Daddy always told me to do if I found myself in such a situation, so I drove around a little bit.  I took several different routes, but he stayed with me.  I was just getting ready to go to the nearest police station when he passed me and drove off into the night.  I thought then that I was mistaken.  That he just happened to be someone going my way.  But the next morning he was parked outside my house."

 

     "And it was the same guy?" 

 

     "At the time I didn't know for certain, but I suspected it was.  From there it's escalated.  Sometimes he follows me to work or from work, sometimes he parks outside my house, sometimes I'll be having lunch with a friend and see him standing across the street from the restaurant, and now...well lately my phone's been ringing at all hours of the day and night.  When I answer it he...he tells me what he's going to do to me."

 

     I didn't ask her to go into detail.  I could easily imagine what type of threats the man was making.    

 

     "What happens if you don't answer the phone?"

 

     "He leaves the same type of messages on the answering machine.  It's gotten to the point where I have no choice but to leave the phone off the hook.  He's even started calling me at work, A.J."

     The guy had to be pretty bold, or absolutely stupid, to be calling a district attorney at work and making obscene threats to her. 

 

     "What about the police?"  I asked.  "I assume you've talked to them about this?"

     "Yes, I have.  Numerous times.  They think he must have a scanner in his car.  Every time I make a complaint about him he disappears before they get here.  They've had me try calling in on another line so my report won't be broadcast, they've tried staking out my house and office, they've tried everything they can think to, but they just can't seem to catch the guy.  He...he seems to have some kind of sixth sense, some kind of uncanny ability that allows him to know the officers’ every move.  That's why I went to Daddy's.  I thought if I were away for a couple weeks he'd tire of his game and leave.  Pretty naive, huh?"

     "No it wasn't," I assured her.  "If nothing else it was worth a try."   

 

     "The police have provided me with an escort to and from work, but he never shows up when one of them is with me.  When we call the whole thing off he's back again."

 

     "And you have no idea who he is?"

 

     "No, absolutely none.  I've never gotten a good look at his face, but I don't think I know him."

 

     Although it isn't unheard of, a woman being stalked by a complete stranger is fairly unusual.  Generally such a crime is committed by a former boyfriend or ex-husband who can't come to terms with the end of the relationship. 

 

     "I'm to the point where I feel I have no choice but to hire some kind of body guard," Janet said.  "As well as someone who can determine who this guy is in a way the police don't seem to be able to.  That's why I called you.  I need to know what P.I. in the Seattle area would be good at this type of job.  I...I'm so scared, A.J.  I'm so scared."

 

     She started crying then, letting out all the fear and frustration I knew she'd been keeping bottled up for months.  I could easily guess she'd let very few people in on what was happening.  She had always been extremely private about her personal life.  I doubted her father even knew the trouble she was currently experiencing. Later, I would find out I was correct.

 

     "Janet, don't cry.  Don't cry, babe.  It'll be okay."  I didn't give it any conscious thought when I called her 'babe.’  It was a pet name that went all the way back to our years together in Florida.  For some strange reason using it again didn't seem nearly as out of place as it should have.               

       It took her a while to calm down.  I could hear her blow her nose, then she apologized to me for getting so upset, just as I knew she would. 

 

     "Don't worry about it," I said.  "Hey, if you can't call and cry on your ex-husband's shoulder, whose shoulder can you cry on?"

     That made her laugh like I knew it would.  "Oh, A.J.," she scolded in jest, "what am I going to do with you?"

     "Probably the same thing you did with me two years ago," I joked.    "Kick me out."

 

     "I didn't kick you out!"  She protested, and she was right.  She hadn't.  When the time came to dissolve our marriage I left on my own accord.

 

     "I was teasing you, Janet.  You're right. You didn't kick me out.  I found my way to the door all by myself."

 

     There was an uncomfortable pause that spoke of the pain we both still carried within over the demise of our marriage.  I quickly used words to cover it over.

 

     "Listen, Janet, I'm coming up there."

 

     "Oh, A.J., no.  No.  I couldn't ask you to do that."

 

     "You didn't ask me, I volunteered.  That is unless...unless you'd prefer I don't."

 

     "No, no, it isn't that.  It's not that at all.  I just...well it wasn't my intention for you to make such an offer.  I simply called to see if you could recommend someone."

 

     "I realize that.  And I am recommending someone.  Me."

 

     "A.J., I--"

 

     "Janet, I don't mind.  I don't mind at all.  If it's okay with you then I'll fly up tomorrow.  If you'd rather I not, for whatever reason, just say so."

 

     "I...if you're sure.  If you're certain I'm not inconveniencing you in any way then yes, A.J....yes, I'd like it if you came up."  The relief in her voice was easy to detect.  "But only if you'll let me hire you."

     "Janet--"

 

     "No, don't say it.  I won't let you come unless I hire you.  Signed contract and all.  If you're coming up here then it's because you're working for me.  I won't have it any other way."

     I could see the wisdom behind her words, and knew I'd demand the same of her if I were ever in need of her services as an attorney.

 

     "All right.  Signed contract and all."

 

     "And no breaks either.  I mean in regards to the fee."

 

     "Okay, no breaks," I agreed.  How well I suddenly remembered her stubbornness.

 

     We hung up shortly thereafter.  I could hear her smile when I reminded her to lock all the doors, keep the draperies pulled, set her home security system, and turn on the outside lights.  I told her I'd call her the next morning to let her know what time my flight was arriving.  I planned to rent a car at the airport, then be waiting to escort her home when she came out of work. 

 

     "A.J., I...I don't know how to thank you."

 

     "No thanks is necessary, Janet."

 

     "Somehow I knew you'd say that," she offered right before she hung up the phone.

 

     And somehow I knew she'd say that.

    

 

 

S&S    S&S     S&S     S&S     S&S

    

 

     I stood in my galley starin' at the phone in my hand and hearing the 'buzz, buzz, buzz,' of a line that's been disconnected.   I had no idea what to make of the call I'd received from my brother. 

 

     I had just poured milk on my Wheaties when the phone rang.  For a brief second I thought of lettin' the answering machine pick it up so my cereal wouldn't get soggy, but at that time of the morning it was unlikely my caller would be anyone other than Mom or A.J. 

 

     "Yo?"  I said in way of greeting around my spoon.

 

     "Rick, it's me.  Sorry to interrupt your breakfast."

 

     "No big deal.  Just don't mind me if I keep right on eating. You know how I hate soggy cereal."

 

     "Go ahead, eat," A.J. said. "This won't take long anyway.  Listen, I'm going to be gone for a few days so--"

 

     I had to admire the way he tried to breeze on through relayin' that information.  As though I wouldn't find it odd that out of the clear blue he suddenly felt the need for a little vacation.

 

     "Where you goin'?"  I asked as I bent over my bowl.

 

     "Uh...to visit a friend.   We don't have much happening at the office right now so I don't think--"

 

     "When are you leavin'?"

 

     "Hum...in a couple hours."

 

     "A couple hours?"

 

     "Yeah."

 

     His 'yeah,' was nonchalant and carefree as if he always called me on a moment's notice to say he was leaving in a couple hours and would be gone for a few days.

 

     In my best, demanding big brother voice I barked,  "A.J., what's goin' on here?"

 

     And in his best, innocent little brother voice he answered,  "Nothing.  Nothing's going on.  I'm just going to be gone for a few days, that's all."

 

     "What about Toby?"

 

     "Mr. Gorman's going to take care of him for me."

 

     "Mr. Gorman?"

 

     "Yes."

 

     "You can bring him over here.  He can stay with me and Rex, ya' know."

 

     "Yeah, I know.  And thanks for the offer, but it's not necessary.  Mr. Gorman walks three or four times a day ever since he had that heart bypass surgery last year, so he said taking Toby along was no trouble. He’ll fill Toby’s food and water dishes every day for me, too."

 

     Now that was weird.  Not that old man Gorman wouldn't take good care of Toby, and overall Toby doesn't need much taking care of to begin with, but it was weird that A.J. wasn't bringing the dog over to my place.  He always had before whenever he was going to be out of town.  I got the distinct impression my sibling didn't want to see me face to face before he left for wherever it was he was going.  That impression was hammered home even more when A.J. quickly said his goodbyes.  It was as if he didn't want to be on the phone with me any longer than necessary for fear I'd ask him questions he had no desire to answer.

 

     I hung up the phone and pushed my cereal bowl aside.  I mentally reviewed what little I had learned from our brief conversation.  A.J. was leaving in a couple hours to go visit a friend and would be gone a few days.  Period.  And every single bit of this sudden trip was so far out of character for him I began to wonder if it really had been my brother I was just talking to. 

 

     I mulled over gettin' in my truck and driving to his place before he left, but what the hell was I gonna say?  "Hey, A.J., you can't leave until you tell me where you're goin'!" 

 

     No, I couldn't say that.  In the first place, I had no right, and in the second place my brother was forty-seven years old.  Not exactly a kid anymore, and certainly not obligated to answer to me for any reason.  Plus we had always respected each other's privacy.  Running Simon and Simon like we do means we're together more than we're not during some weeks.  Now we've always been close, so that's not necessarily a bad thing, but we'd both be lyin' if we didn't say we need some space from each other as well.  And to that extent we rarely intrude on one another's time away from the office, or pry into one another's personal affairs.

 

     I tried to shrug the whole thing off by tellin' myself A.J. would explain everything once he returned from wherever it was he was goin.’  The nagging questions stayed with me, however, as I washed my breakfast dishes, made my bed, and showered. It's as I was shaving that revelation dawned.

 

     A.J. had been dating a hell of a sexy gal by the name of Lauren Albright for a little more than year now.  She had two young sons from a previous marriage who were crazy about my brother.  For some reason I was suddenly certain this mysterious trip had to do with Lauren.

 

     I bet he's takin' her away somewhere to ask her to marry him.  He always has been a romantic.  Or maybe he's already asked her and they're goin' outta town to get hitched.  That'd be somethin' A.J. would do considerin' both he and Lauren have already been married once.  Yeah, I can picture it now.  Some quiet little seaside town, just the two of them for the

next few days, and then when they come back he'll tell me and Mom they tied the knot.

 

     I reached for my toothbrush, totally at peace with my self-made explanation.

 

     It all makes sense.  With Mom bein' gone right now on that cruise to the Bahamas, and then plannin' to visit relatives in Florida for another three weeks, A.J. can go off and get married without her bein' the wiser.  Not that Mom won't be thrilled.  She loves Lauren, and is nuts about Shane and Tanner, but she'd want to make a big deal over the whole thing and throw 'em some kinda reception filled with family and friends.  I know A.J. wouldn't want that the second time around.  I've got a feelin' he just wants something quiet and unobtrusive.  Regardless of what he might say, I know he's still smartin' from everything Janet did to him.  The last thing A.J. would want is to have some big deal made over another marriage.

 

     I can honestly say it didn't bother me in the slightest that A.J. didn't confide his plans in me.  I couldn't blame him and Lauren for wantin' to make this a private affair.  Once Mom got back from her trip we'd take them out for a nice dinner.  Maybe she and I could get them a gift certificate to some hotel or resort somewhere, and I'd offer to take the boys one weekend so they could make use of it. I briefly wondered what their plans were in terms of whose house they were gonna live in and the like, then pushed those thoughts aside as I left for work. 

 

     A.J. and Lauren crossed my mind on several occasions that day.   Each time they did I mentally wished 'em good luck.

    
    

S&S    S&S     S&S     S&S     S&S

 

    

     I've always hated parking garages.  These modern multi-level structures with their thick concrete support pillars, deep blind corners, and dim lighting seem to be a breeding ground for men bent on violent assaults of women.  For just that reason Rick and I continuously caution our mother to avoid making use of them, especially at night.  When Janet and I were married I passed the same cautions on to her.  Unfortunately, that ominous structure I dislike so much is the only available vehicle accommodation for employees of the District Attorney's Office of Seattle.    

 

     The afternoon was giving way to early evening by the time I wound my rental car seven stories up tight curves and sharp bends. 

 

     My plane had touched down at Seattle-Tacoma International Airport, referred to as Sea-Tac by the locals, at ten minutes after one.  I called Janet from a pay phone to let her know I'd arrived, and to ask what time she planned to leave work. 

 

     "I should be done around six," my ex-wife told me. 

 

     I glanced at the people rushing by me laden with suitcases and carry-on bags.  "I'll be waiting for you.  What level are you parked on?"

     "Seven."

 

     It seemed strange to have to ask her the next question.  "You still drive the BMW?"

 

     "I still drive a BMW," she acknowledged,  "but not the one you're familiar with.  I sold it last year."

 

     I knew the mileage had to have been getting fairly high on Janet's ten-year-old silver luxury sedan.   Sounding more like a husband than I intended to I said,  "Smart move."

 

     If she thought anything of my tone or words she didn't mention it. "It was giving me problems on occasion.  Anyway, I'm driving a black one now.  Black with brown leather interior.  It's a '96.  Parked in section D."

 

     "I'm sure I'll find it.  See you then."

 

     "Okay.  And, A.J.?"

     "Yes?"

 

     "Thanks again.  For everything."

 

     I smiled.   "Don't thank me yet.  I haven't done anything."

 

     "Yes you have," she responded softly before breaking our connection.                            

 

     Forty-five minutes later I was leaving the airport's parking lot in a deep blue Ford Contour GL.   I didn't want anything too flashy, or too expensive, so settled on the comfortable new-model sedan that offered plenty of leg room.  I stopped for a late lunch at a restaurant I'd been fond of when I'd lived up here.

 

     The Soup Kitchen was decorated in warm wood tones and dotted with small tables that sat no more than four.  They catered to the noontime crowd from local offices with twenty-five different homemade soups on their menu and a variety of cold sandwiches.  It was two-twenty when I walked in.  There couldn't have been more than seven people scattered throughout the dining area.  I placed my order at the cafeteria-style counter.  By the time I walked to the other end to pay the cashier my cream of broccoli soup, turkey sandwich, and a Coke were waiting for me on a red tray. 

 

     I chose an empty table in front of the wide picture window that faced the sidewalk.  I took my time eating while watching white wet stuff spit, and drop, and flutter, as though it wasn't quite sure if it was supposed to be snow or rain.  The sky was a deep slate gray, the afternoon already growing dim.  How well I remembered the perpetual gloom and precipitation of Seattle in January.  It had been sunny and sixty-eight degrees when I'd left San Diego that morning.  Why in the world anyone would want to make his home in a northern climate was beyond this Southern California native.

 

     Businessmen and women rushed by on the sidewalk hunched into their nondescript trench coats while clutching briefcases to their sides as though their lives depended on all that was contained within.  I smiled slightly as I glanced down at my blue jeans, maroon ski sweater, and tennis shoes.  When I lived up here I was one of them.  One of those nameless, faceless people in an all-weather trench coat.  An all-weather trench coat that if it had gotten mixed up in a group of trench coats I'd have had no hope of identifying again as mine.  God, I had been so unhappy.  So unhappy, and in so many ways unsuited to the white-collar, nine to five lifestyle.

 

     I realize now that revelation came as much a surprise to me, as it did to everyone else.  Especially my wife.

 

     I wiped my mouth with a napkin and left my dishes stacked neatly on the tray.  I grabbed my bulky jean jacket from the back of my chair, slipped into it and snapped it closed.   When I stepped out into the cold I berated myself for not having brought a winter parka and hat.  Granted, the jacket fell almost to my thighs, and with my heavy sweater underneath provided enough warmth for short excursions between the car and buildings.  If I found I was going to be out in the elements for long, however, I knew I'd need to stop somewhere and buy something warmer.  I'd been in such a hurry to leave the house that morning I never thought to reach in the far recesses of my closet for the winter coat I rarely had a use for.  By the time I realized my error the Boeing 767 was passing over Portland.  A little too late to ask the pilot to turn around.

 

     The clock in the Contour registered fourteen minutes after three when I slid in.  With almost three hours to kill before Janet got out of work I drove around, not really caring too much as to which direction I headed in as I re-familiarized myself with the city.  I flicked on the windshield wipers and let them swish slowly back and forth.  By four-thirty I was fumbling for the switch that would cause the headlights to awaken from their resting place in the car's streamlined frame.

 

     At five I paid the parking attendant at the garage that housed Janet's car.  I tried to recall the man's name. He was the same hulking African-American who'd held the position back when Janet and I were married.  I had always wondered how his bulk fit in the narrow booth that protected him from the weather.  I smiled at him when I handed him my dollar.  I never did come up with his name before he allowed the wooden rail to raise that otherwise hindered my path.  I guess it didn't make any difference one way or another.  He didn't seem to recognize me, nor did he return my smile.  I suppose I was just another face in the sea of faces he'd seen every day for twenty years now.

 

     I was lucky and found an available spot on level seven.  Although I had hoped for something close to Janet's car, I was several sections away.  But beggars can't be choosers, so I was satisfied to park and keep a careful, yet subtle watch. 

 

     I propped the folded Seattle Sound I'd purchased out of a news box at the airport on the car's steering wheel.  I perused the front page without losing sight of what was going on around me.  All was quiet in the damp concrete space for the moment.  I didn't see anyone loitering about.  As a matter of fact, no activity whatsoever was occurring in the garage until I heard a car engine purr to life about ten minutes after I'd arrived.  I thought that was rather odd since I could see the elevator from where I was and no one had disembarked from it.  But then there was a stairwell around the corner.  I knew it was possible someone had come up that way.  My current vantage point wouldn't have allowed me to see a person entering in that manner.

 

     With as dangerous as parking garages are known to be I couldn't imagine why anyone would want to make use of an isolated stairway, but certainly the person might have gotten mixed up and exited the elevator on the wrong level, then chose to race up the stairs to the correct one.  Rick's great for doing that.  Regardless of whether it's a parking garage with brightly numbered levels, or the vast flat parking lot with neon letters that identify each row at Jack Murphy Stadium where the Padres play, the man can never find his way back to his vehicle.  I learned a long time ago to pay careful attention to whatever section, level, or block, he leaves his truck in.  If I don't, we spend hours walking around in circles looking for it, arguing the whole while as to where we each think it's located. 

 

     None of that mattered anyway.  The smooth sound of what I identified as a Chrysler moved away from me.  I turned to get a glimpse of no more than its taillights before it vanished around a corner and headed down the ramp that would eventually take it to the street. 

 

     The elevator dinged to life shortly after that and kept on dinging as file clerks, secretaries, and clerical workers ended their day.  For the most part they were women in a variety of ages, sizes, and colors.  They usually walked off the elevator in groups of twos or threes, but every so often one would exit alone.  Darkness had fallen around us now.  The dull yellow lights recessed in the low ceiling cast too-short patches of illumination about the area, leaving a fair amount of cars and corners in menacing shadows. 

 

     I sat the paper on the passenger seat and watched.  No one paid any attention to me.  Not one woman noticed the lone man observing her.  That scared me.  It scared me on Janet's behalf, on my mother's behalf, and on behalf of every woman I had ever known and cared about.  I realize it was the end of a long working day.  Their minds were on picking this kid up from basketball practice, and this one up from day-care, while somehow getting another one over to the library so he could get his school project done before the next day's deadline.  In-between all that she needed to stop at the grocery store, put gas in her car, get supper on the table, supervise homework, and do a load of laundry before collapsing in bed to share some quiet time with her husband - if she didn't fall asleep first.

 

     Obviously the last thing any of these women were worried about was me.  Which was why it was good my reasons for being there had nothing to do with committing a crime against any one of them.  All of them would have made for vulnerable, easy targets. 

 

     It was getting close to six p.m. when I once again took a closer look at my surroundings.  This time I didn't care if I was subtle or not as I turned my head and craned my neck.  I still didn't see anyone sitting in a vehicle as though on the lookout for Janet.  Nor had any cars entered this level since I'd arrived.  At this time of night people were more interested in going as opposed to coming.

 

     Men began exiting the elevator now.  I recognized a few as being colleagues of Janet's.  I hunched down in my seat a bit, not having any desire to encounter those I knew.  First of all, I didn't want to go through the endless uncomfortable questions that were bound to be prompted by my presence.  Generally a former husband doesn't show back up in his ex-wife's life two years after the divorce.  Especially when the union had produced no children, therefore giving the man little, if any reason, to stay in contact with the woman. 

 

     Secondly, it was quite possible Janet's stalker was someone she worked with.  As much as I hated to acknowledge that fact, it's highly unusual for a woman to be shadowed by someone she doesn't know. Yes, in the case of celebrities it happens on an all-too-frequent basis, but in the case of private individuals the occurrence is rare.  Granted, there are a lot of nuts in this world, but most of them aren't going to make a full-time job out of stalking you just because he or she admired you from afar in the produce section of the grocery store.

 

     At the moment, however, Janet's male colleagues didn't appear to be interested in anything other than going home.  Engines turned over one after another until a fine fog of exhaust fumes settled around me like damp mist off a bay.

 

     It didn't come as a big shock when Janet's predicted six o'clock quitting time stretched to six thirty.   While staring at the silent elevator door I told myself, No doubt she's still as absorbed in her work as she was when I was married to her.

 

     I briefly wondered where that bitter thought had rooted its way up from, but decided some things are best left unpondered.  Especially the painful happenings that eventually tore our marriage to mix-matched shreds of cloth neither one of us had any hope of piecing together again.

 

     By the digital clock in the Ford it was six forty-seven when she finally emerged from the elevator.  Other than appearing to be a bit rushed, she was as together at the end of the day as I knew she must have been at the beginning.  Not a hair was out of place, and her predictable tan trench coat was precisely buttoned and belted.  A silk scarf swirling with bright reds, golds, and greens lay within the folds of the coat's lapels.   Her makeup appeared fresh, but like always, never overdone.  I knew no matter how closely I observed, I wouldn't find a run in her stockings or a scuff mark on her expensive high heeled shoes.   

 

     Her head turned toward me when she heard the buzz that indicated I'd opened the car door but left the keys in the ignition.  She paused and offered me a small, uncertain smile.  The same small, uncertain smile I offered her in return as I, too, paused.

 

     Those first few seconds were awkward, uncomfortable, and painful, just like I had known they'd be.  We finally moved toward one another like two twelve year olds being forced to cross a school gymnasium and dance.   Our steps were small, stiff, and most of all, surprisingly enough, shy.

 

     She appraised me from head to toe while nodding.  "A.J."

 

     "Janet," I nodded in return.  "You look good," I complimented, and I meant it.  Actually, she was gorgeous like she always had been.  Time hadn't marred her natural beauty, I doubt it ever will.  My mind drifted back over twenty years.  I could see both of us the first day we'd met in the Peerless Detective office in Miami.  It's an overused cliché I know, but I fell in love with her the moment I laid eyes on her.  It had only turned me on more, and made me more determined to win her favor, when she played hard to get in the coming weeks.  My tenacity served me well.  We'd become engaged the following year.

 

     I reached toward her head, then drew my hand back rea