When we reached Ramsey, the driver said, “Okay, bud, where to?”
It was four in the morning-clearly too late (or, depending on your point of view, too early) to visit Natalie’s sister. Plus I needed rest. My head hurt. My nerves were shot. I could feel my body quake from exhaustion.
“Let’s find a motel.”
“There’s a Sheraton up this way.”
They’d require identification and probably a credit card. “No. Something… cheaper.”
We found one of those no-tell motels designed for truckers, adulterers, and us fugitives. It was aptly named the Fair Motel. I liked that honesty: We aren’t great, we aren’t even good, we’re “fair.” A sign above the awning announced “Hourly Rates” (just like a Ritz-Carlton), “Color TV” (mocking those competitors who still use black-and-white), and my favorite part: “Now Featuring Towels!”
This place wouldn’t require ID or credit card or even a pulse.
The woman behind the desk was in her seventies. She looked at me with seen-it-all eyes. Her name tag read MABEL. Her hair had the consistency of hay. I asked for a room in the back.
“Do you have a reservation?” she asked me.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Yeah, I am,” Mabel said. “But the rooms in the back are full. Everyone wants a room in the back. Must be the view of the Dumpster. I got a nice room overlooking a Staples store, if you’d like.”
Mabel gave me a key to room 12, which ended up not being as nightmarish as I imagined. The place looked fairly clean. I tried not to think what this room had probably witnessed during its lifetime, but then again, if I stopped and thought about it, I wouldn’t like to think about that in a Ritz-Carlton either.
I collapsed into bed with my clothes still on and fell into one of those sleeps where you don’t remember falling asleep and have no idea what time it is when you wake up. When morning hit, I reached for my iPhone on the night table but, alas, I remembered that I didn’t have it anymore. The police did. Were they going through it? Were they seeing all the places I had searched, all the texts I had sent, all the e-mails I had mailed out? Were they doing the same at my house on campus? If they had gotten a warrant to track me down via my iPhone, wouldn’t it stand to reason that they also had enough to search my place? But then again, so what? They wouldn’t find anything incriminating. Embarrassing maybe, but who didn’t have some Internet searches that were embarrassing?
My head still hurt. A lot. I smelled like a goat. A shower would help but not if I had to change into these same clothes. I stumbled into the bright morning sunlight, shielding my eyes like a vampire or one of those guys who spent too much time in a casino. Mabel was still behind the desk.
“Wow, what time do you get off?” I asked.
“Are you hitting on me?”
“Uh, no.”
“Because you might want to clean up a little before you make your big move. I got standards.”
“Do you have any aspirin or Tylenol?”
Mabel frowned, reached into her purse, and pulled out a small arsenal of painkillers. Tylenol, Advil, Aleve, Bayer. I chose the Tylenol, downed two, and thanked her.
“The Target down the road has a big-n-tall section,” Mabel said. “Maybe you want to buy some new clothes.”
Great suggestion. I headed over and bought a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt, not to mention a few undergarments. I also bought a travel-size toothbrush, toothpaste, and deodorant. My plan was not to stay on the run for very long, but there was still one thing I wanted to do before I surrendered to the authorities.
Talk to Natalie’s sister in person.
Last purchase: A disposable cell phone. I called Benedict’s cell, home, and office. No answer at any of them. It was probably too early for him. I wondered who else I should try and decided to call Shanta. She answered on the first ring.
“Hello?”
“It’s Jake.”
“What’s this phone number you’re calling from?”
“It’s a disposable phone,” I said.
There was a pause. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”
“Two Vermont cops were looking for me.”
“Why?”
I quickly explained.
“Wait,” Shanta said, “you ran away from cops?”
“I didn’t trust the situation. I thought those people would kill me.”
“So surrender now.”
“Not quite yet.”
“Jake, listen to me. If you’re a fugitive, if law enforcement officials are looking for you-”
“I just need to do something first.”
“You need to surrender.”
“I will, but…”
“But what? Are you out of your mind?”
Maybe. “Uh, no.”
“Where the hell are you?”
I said nothing.
“Jake? This isn’t a game. Where are you?”
“I’ll call you back.”
I quickly hung up, mad at myself. Calling Shanta had been a mistake. She was a friend, but she also had other responsibilities and agendas here.
Okay, deep breath. Now what?
I called Natalie’s sister.
“Hello?”
It was Julie. I hung up. She was home. That was all I needed to know. The phone number for a taxi service had been prominently displayed in my motel room. I guess a lot of people don’t like to come to or leave the Fair Motel with their real cars. I called that number and asked for a cab to pick me up at Target. I ducked into the men’s room, did as much washing as a sink would allow, and changed into my new duds.
Fifteen minutes later, I rang Julie Pottham’s doorbell.
She had one of those screen-glass doors in front of the wooden one, so she could open one, see who it was, but still be locked behind the glass. When Julie saw who was standing on her front stoop, her eyes grew big and her hand fluttered toward her mouth.
“Do you still want to pretend you don’t know who I am?” I asked.
“If you don’t leave right now, I am going to call the cops.”
“Why did you lie to me, Julie?”
“Get off my property.”
“No. You can call the cops, and they can drag me away, but I will come back. Or I’ll follow you to work. Or I’ll come back at night. I’m not going away until you answer my questions.”
Julie’s eyes darted left and then right. Her hair was still mousy brown. She hadn’t changed much in the past six years. “Leave my sister alone. She’s happily married.”
“To whom?”
“What?”
“Todd is dead.”
That slowed her down. “What are you talking about?”
“He was murdered.”
Her eyes widened. “What? Oh my God, what did you do?”
“What? Me? No. You think…?” This conversation was quickly spinning out of control. “It has nothing to do with me. Todd was found in the home he shared with his wife and two kids.”
“Kids? They don’t have kids.”
I looked at her.
“I mean, she would have told me…” Julie’s voice drifted off. She looked shell-shocked. I hadn’t expected that. I figured that she knew what was going on, was part of it, whatever the hell “it” was.
“Julie,” I said slowly, trying to get her refocused, “why did you pretend you didn’t know me when I called?”
Her voice was still far away. “Where?” she asked.
“What?”
“Where was Todd murdered?”
“He lived in Palmetto Bluff, South Carolina.”
She shook her head. “That makes no sense. You’ve made a mistake. Or you’re lying.”
“No,” I said.
“If Todd was dead-murdered, according to you-Natalie would have told me.”
I licked my lips, tried to keep the desperation out of my voice. “So you’re in touch with her?”
No answer.
“Julie?”
“Natalie worried this might happen.”
“What might happen?”
Her eyes finally found focus. They hit mine like a laser. “Natalie thought you’d come to me someday. She even told me what to say if you did.”