Who was he waiting for?
"Excuse me," said an older man in a leather coat, walking past on the way to the mall.
"Sorry." Nat shifted over to let him pass, but he didn't move.
"You a NASCAR fan? Me, too!"
"Sorry, it's not my hat," Nat answered. She didn't want to be remembered or draw attention to herself. The man moved on, unblocking her view of a bright red pickup that was just pulling into the front of the parking lot. A black man in a Sixers cap and black down coat got out of the truck, hustled to Houlihan's, and made a beeline for Graf's table.
Nat squinted behind her sunglasses. Something about the man looked familiar. Were they friends? Did the man know Graf was a bigot? The man sat down opposite Graf, and they started to talk, their heads bent together. She kept watching. She figured that they couldn't talk long because the karate lesson couldn't last more than an hour. It had taken half an hour to get to here from the karate studio, in traffic. Graf didn't have much time. That meant neither did Nat.
She pulled down her cap and went back to the Neon, walking past the red pickup. It was an F-250. The license plate was from Pennsylvania. She strolled casually around the back of the truck-which was when she saw it. A little Calvin decal. Where had she seen that before? A blurry picture flashed through her mind. Darkness. A patch of ice. The Ford F-250. The side of the driver's face barely visible through the dark glass. Then she knew where she'd seen the man. He was driving the black pickup that had crashed into her and Angus.
Was it possible? She rechecked the license plate. It was Pennsylvania, not Delaware. But license plates could be switched. Pickups could be painted. It had been a few days. Could it be the same pickup? it couldn't have looked more different from the black one. It was a loud cherry red, with shiny white pinstripes running along the sides. On the back of the truck bed was a memorial, painted in flowery white letters. It read,
IN MEMORY OF ANJELA REYNOLDS, 2002-2006.
Still. Was it the same truck, painted red? Was it the same driver who had crashed into them? She looked around, but nobody was watching. Shoppers walked quickly because it was so cold. She reached into her pocket for her keys, stepped up to the side of the pickup, and walked between it and a Dodge Caravan, making an inch-long scratch in the side of the truck. A jittery black line appeared out of nowhere. The pickup was black underneath the bright red. It was the same truck and the same driver.
Whoa. Nat turned and walked away, trying to act casual as she headed for the Neon. Questions clicked away in her brain, and she felt all her senses on alert. How did the pickup driver and Graf know each other? Had Graf had anything to do with the crash? Why would this guy have wanted to hurt her and Angus? Was he part of a drug ring? She wished she could talk it over with Angus, but she'd left the damn cell phone. She had to figure it out herself. It gave her a new plan. She would follow the pickup driver, not Graf, when he left Houlihan's. She had almost reached the Neon when she heard a woman’s voice, shouting shrilly in the parking lot.
"Help!" a woman cried. "Help, somebody!"
Nat turned on her heel reflexively, and to her surprise, an old woman was pointing at her.
"Stop that girl!" The old woman had an open cell phone in her other hand. "She keyed that man's truck! I saw it! I called 911!"
Nat froze, taking in the scene all at once. Shoppers stopped in their tracks and turned to her. The pickup driver and Graf came out of Houlihan's. The old woman hollered to the pickup driver, waving her cell phone. He and Graf turned toward Nat. Graf's expression changed after a beat, when he recognized her.
And came running at her.
Chapter 37
Nat turned and ran for the mall entrance, its twin doors clearly marked. Shoppers walked in the parking lot in all directions, and' she bolted around a mom and a little boy with a balloon, then a flock of little girls in party hats. She blew through the glass doors like an explosion. Her hat flew off. Her purse bumped against her side. Her heart pounded with exertion and fear. She ran down a wide beige-tiled corridor flanked by Houlihan's and Jos. A. Bank. Whitney Houston sang about somebody to love. The hall ended in a glitzy fountain, and Nat veered to the right, almost slipping, then glanced back. Graf was coming on strong, closing the gap between them, knocking a man out of his way.
She flew down the corridor, past a jewelry store with sparkling window displays, looking for a way out of the mall or a store to hide in. Two women leaving Kitchen Kapers looked aghast, and Nat realized that they were seeing a terrified little woman being chased by a big burly man. Three women came out of Lane Bryant and frowned at the sight, obviously thinking the same thing, and behind them two pregnant women stood talking outside of Mother Maternity.
They were in a mall. In other words, girl country.
"Help!" Nat screamed. "My husband's trying to kill me!"
"My God!" one of the older women cried, closing ranks behind Nat. "Security! That poor woman, her husband's chasing her!"
"Stop that man! He's abusive!" The pregnant women joined the outrage. "Stop him! The bully!"
Nat screamed, louder, running down the shiny mall corridor. "Save me from my husband! He's going to kill me!"
"Watch that!”
“Look!”
“Check it. That jerk in the flannel's going to beat up his wife!" Horrified shoppers stopped to watch. Some shouted for security. Others pointed. In no time Nat had the complete attention of the crowded mall, and they were all on her side. She rounded the corner in front of JCPenney and almost plowed into a throng of teenage boys in blue football jackets.
"Guys, please!" Nat yelled. "My husband's trying to kill me!"
"Hurtin' a chick?" one of the players said.
"That's so not cool," said another, as they formed an offensive line. Still fleeing, Nat looked back to see Graf running into the football players, who tackled him to the ground. Converging on the fracas were two security officers, running down from the second level.
She was too terrified to look back again, but there was no way Graf could catch her now. A sign showed an arrow to the exit. She took a fast right and streaked down another hall, past startled shoppers. She had to get out of here. Sooner or later Graf would explain everything and call the cops. She burst through the exit doors, hit the cold air running, and darted across another busy parking lot, trying not to get hit by a car. She sprinted through the parking lot and came to a road and another building. The sign out front read, Chester County Library.
A library? They wouldn't come looking for her there. They would expect her to escape to her car, but if she did that now, she'd be spotted. She ran to the large library, which was all tan stone, modern sloping roofs, and smoked glass windows, and when she got near the entrance, slowed her pace, arranged her clothes, and slipped inside.
She exhaled in relief the moment she stepped inside, finding the hushed atmosphere a sanctuary. The library was large and modern, with a thick gray-blue carpet, a wide entrance aisle, and double-sided bookshelves down the middle. The circulation desk was on the right, with brown signs that read, Payments, Returns, and Library Cards. Patrons collected around the desk.
Nat turned right, passed the desk, and down a wide aisle, where she could see that the foot traffic was less. She ducked into the stacks to hide. Books surrounded her, and she felt at home among the plastic covers and Dewey decimal system. A line of red skulls on the spines signified that the books were mysteries, her favorite. Then she caught her breath, noticing a lineup of computers on the other side of the room. The reference section. Almost no one was there.
She left the stacks and crossed to that area, passing up rows of computers for the back of the room, where modern wooden carrels held more computers and green-bound periodicals guides. The only other patrons in the area were a gaggle of teenage girls, talking and giggling away, undoubtedly hiding out for their own reasons. Nat was short enough to pass for one of them, if she acted the part. She made a beeline for the seat next to them, took it, and hunched over the computer keyboard, keeping her face down. They were all gathered around a computer monitor, so she did the same thing, logging onto the Internet. She cruised online and giggled when the girls did, keeping her head down.