Impulsively, Gretchen set the brake, jumped out, and ran to the back of her car. She read the license number with no time to spare for glancing at the other driver, and jumped back into her own car as the light changed. As she drove, she wrote down the number.
The Jetta stayed right behind her. She switched lanes. So did the Jetta.
Maybe jumping out at the light hadn't been the smartest move she'd ever made. What if the driver had shot her? Or tromped on the accelerator and crushed Gretchen against her own car?
What did the woman hope to accomplish by following her? Gretchen wanted to pull over, stomp back to the other car, and demand answers to a growing number of questions. Did the Jetta driver want the box of Kewpie dolls? It just happened to be in her car's trunk at this very moment. If she gave it up, the scare tactics might stop. The lethal scorpions and mysterious packages with creepy messages inside might go away. It made sense to get out of the middle, wherever that was. Let them know she wasn't a threat any longer and didn't want anything to do with the Kewpies. Aha! She had a plan.
At the next intersection, Gretchen stopped abruptly when the light turned to red, and she trotted to the back of the Echo with her hands up in classic surrender position. The Jetta driver's mouth dropped open at the same time that Gretchen popped the trunk and removed the box of broken Kewpie dolls. She placed it on the hood of the Jetta, directly in front of the driver's window. Relieved to note that she wasn't facing the barrel of a pistol, she managed a weak wave and ran back to her car just before the light turned green.
As she turned onto Lincoln Drive, she watched the woman leap from her car and grab the box. Horns blared behind the Jetta as the light changed again, and the traffic hadn't moved.
Gretchen dug in her purse for her cell phone.
"I'd like to report an incident of road rage," she said when the Phoenix Police Department's dispatcher answered. She filed the report, giving all details including the numbers of the Jetta's license plate and her own cell phone.
"I'd like to know who that car is registered to."
"We'll send a car. We have one close by," the dispatcher said.
"I just want the name of the driver."
"That's not up to me. I'm a police dispatcher, not your personal information clerk."
Whatever happened to the courteous, helpful public servant of the past?
"Go about your business," the dispatcher advised.
"We'll be in touch."
"Sure," Gretchen said, with no idea why she'd bothered calling the police. All she wanted was the name of her pursuer, and she couldn't even get that. Once her complaint passed through enough red tape to produce the information she needed, she would have died of natural causes. Or unnatural causes.
Ten minutes later, she was driving home with an alert eye out for the Jetta and a bag of green chile burgers from a fast-food drive-through in the passenger seat. Her cell phone rang.
"I hear you had a close encounter," Matt said.
"Of the third kind," Gretchen responded cautiously, the photograph of Albert vivid in her mind. "News travels fast. I didn't know you hung around dispatch centers."
"I don't. This one requires special attention, so they notified me."
"I should be flattered." For the first time, Gretchen realized the power of his position. Was he having her watched? As a detective in the Phoenix Police Department, his authority extended further than that of an ordinary patrol cop. He had access to everything and everyone. Frightening, once Gretchen really thought about it.
"Just tell me what happened," he said, sounding concerned.
"This car has been following me in a very aggressive way. It almost hit me. Whoever it is, is trying to scare me. It's working."
Matt asked her to repeat the license number.
There was a long pause on the other end. Then Matt told her the name of the person registered to the black Jetta. Her turn for a long pause. He must have thought she hung up, because he said, "Hello? Are you still there?"
She groaned audibly.
"This is extremely embarrassing for me," he said.
"Great. Just great. I'll leave you to handle it. If it happens again, I'm filing harassment charges."
Gretchen hung up.
She had just given her box of dolls, the one she hoped to use in negotiations; to Matt's crazy, estranged wife.
"Well," Nina said from the other end of the line. "Bonnie told us she was a psych case. Now we know for sure."
Gretchen swung into her carport just as her ear, pressed against the receiver, was beginning to hurt. She made a mental note to add more minutes to her cell phone plan and buy a headset. "Why me? She doesn't have any reason to follow me."
"She must have caught on."
"Caught on?" Gretchen turned off the ignition.
"It's obvious to everyone but you that Matt's hot on your heels, and it isn't because he wants to give you a speeding ticket."
"That can't be true."
"It is. You both have foolish smiles on your faces whenever you run into each other. Stop fighting against it and go with the flow."
"Do you think Bonnie told his wife about me?"
"It isn't a long shot. I bet that's exactly what happened. Blabby Bonnie's been trying to set you two up for a while now." Gretchen imagined Nina grinning widely. "You and Matt want to go out with Eric and me tonight?"
"Give it up, Nina. I'm not dating Matt. He hasn't even asked me out."
"This is the twenty-first century. You don't have to wait for him to ask you. Turn the tables. Get aggressive."
"Butt out, Nina. I'm still trying to extricate myself from one man."
"I'll put a bug in Matt's ear."
"Don't you dare." Gretchen knew her aunt certainly would dare. The idea might have appealed to Gretchen yesterday. Today, after seeing the photo of Albert Thoreau, she had too many doubts about Matt.
She decided not to tell Nina about Albert's beating until she had concrete information to back up her fear that Matt had attacked the homeless man. She hoped it wasn't true. It seemed so out of character for him.
Of course, she had badly misjudged Steve. She had believed in him, too.
"Did you pick up Daisy?" Gretchen asked.
"She's working with Karen's dog right now."
"What should I do about the box of Kewpies? I can't believe I gave it to the wrong person."
"Forget about it," Nina said. "You'd have to ask the queen bee for it back, and you know what the queen does if she spots a new queen emerging?"
"I don't want to know."
"She kills the new queen."
On that positive note, Gretchen signed off and grabbed the bag of green chile burgers. They smelled wonderful. One for now, and two for snacks later. She had to find time to cook a healthy meal one of these days, instead of existing on junk food. Like two days of hot dogs at the doll show and these cholesterol-soaked burgers.
She rounded the corner of the carport and dug for her house keys, wishing again that her purse was more organized. Everything she needed always seemed to rest at the very bottom.
When she stepped onto the porch, she saw it.
A package propped up against the door, positioned so she couldn't miss it.
Postal stamp-Phoenix, Arizona.
Handwriting-the same.
Gretchen thought about ignoring it. Maybe if she didn't acknowledge its existence, it would vanish.