Swept Away (21 page)

“We'll see about that. Are you free tonight after work?”

“Yes and no. I have to baby-sit at six so my mom can go to work.”

“Oh, not to worry—we can take care of little brother.” She winked at Hedda. “Don't give up yet. We'll get this handled.”

Hedda just looked at Jennifer, unbelieving. “Sure,” she said.

* * *

The minute Alex got to work, before the briefing even started, he told his partner everything Jennifer had told him, bringing her up to speed.

“We're going to be forced to talk to Dobbs,” Paula said to Alex. “There's no getting around it.”

Alex knew it. In his efforts to locate Barbara Noble he was coming up empty. There was no indication she was dead, but no indication she was alive, either. In trying to trace her movements, he'd discovered she had gone from one vacation home to another, from a spa to a cruise—all out of the country. A couple of phone calls revealed people who claimed to have seen her—but what if that wasn't really her? Anyone could be a stand-in.

“I just hate to draw Dobbs's attention back to Jennifer. I'd like to know what he wants from her first.”

“We have to call him before he calls us,” she said.

“You do it,” Alex said. “At least make it look like it's a police thing, not a neighborhood thing or a romance thing.”

Paula peered at him. “So—it is a romance thing?”

“Well, I'm
trying!
There have been one or two little things clogging up the works! Like a possible murder.”

Paula put the business card from Dobbs on her knee and dialed her cell phone. “You have to admit, if that's what happened, she has good reason to be scared.” She listened for a second. “Yeah, Dobbs, this is Detective Aiken from Las Vegas Metro. I want to run something by you, might be information you need. We have a C.I. who says he has it on good authority that Nick Noble killed his wife, Barbara.” She listened for a moment. “Well, how we got it was the C.I. claims it happened here in Vegas, at the hotel where he was staying. It's pretty murky since we can't get any confirmation from the hotel that the wife was in town, and we haven't been able to confirm our efforts to locate her.” Again, she listened. “Well, I was told by the concierge of a spa in Costa Rica that she had been there, but she hadn't been to that spa before, so they weren't familiar with her. Coulda been anyone, huh? Huh? Oh, yeah? Oh, yeah? No, sorry—I can't give that up. But I don't think this has anything to do with Noble—our C.I. was trying to trade us anything under the sun for a walk and I just thought I'd give you a call. Better to be safe than sorry, huh?”

She clicked off and looked at Alex. “Barbara Noble is not dead.”

That seemed to knock him back in his chair. He waited for more.

“I doubt Dobbs believes we have a confidential informant, but since he knows we know they're watching Noble, he was able to verify that Barbara Noble is alive and kicking. But here's the thing that's a little strange—he didn't ask me for any details of the alleged ‘death.' Why do you suppose that is?”

“Because he knows all about it. Because he knows everyone who was there.”

“You're going to have to tell Jennifer. And between the two of you, see if you can figure out why she'd be a threat to Noble, since we know she didn't witness a crime. More important, let's see if we can figure out what the FBI wants.”

* * *

Jennifer would have enlisted the assistance of Rose on the shopping trip in any case, but the issue of needing a car clinched the matter. Besides, the only shops Jennifer knew about were on the strip—Chanel, Armani, Brighten—and she couldn't help quite
that
much, even if she had once frequented those shops. Jennifer needed some direction for shopping for prom dresses she could afford. And Rose had a black belt in shopping.

“Do you think she's going to let you buy her a prom dress?” Rose asked.

“I think she'll show sufficient resistance,” Jennifer said. “She's really proud. So, worst-case scenario, we do a little shopping, a little trying on, see what's good, and then go back for the dress later.”

“Ah,” Rose said. “Then we knock her over the head on prom night and pour her into it?”

“Whatever it takes,” she said.

“This is a strange thing you're doing,” Rose pointed out, unable to resist letting her eyes rove over Jennifer's attire.

“I know. I hate proms. What they do to girls is offensive to me. Everybody in that age group gets all overwrought at this time of year, panicked at the thought of going or not going. It isn't really all that important, is it? Which is why, at the age of thirty, I am still thinking about the effect that proms had on me. And why I don't want Hedda, who has a chance to put on a pretty dress and go, to miss it over a car insurance payment.”

Rose smiled at this. “You don't want her to regret missing it at thirty.”

“Let's just try to make this sort of fun. Okay?”

Jennifer phoned Alex at work to tell him what she was doing and to ask if he'd have time to drop by later. He promised to be waiting at her house when she finished the shopping trip. Then she and Rose gathered up Hedda and her little brother, Joey, and headed down the hill to the Henderson Mall. At seven years old, Joey wasn't very excited about shopping, but it turned out that he was very easily bribed with a promise of ice cream at the end of the evening.

It was only a twenty-minute drive, but it was twenty long minutes as Hedda kept any trace of enthusiasm from her expression. She sat quiet and serious in the back seat next to her brother, her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes downcast. “Did you bring any of the pictures of your favorites along?” Jennifer asked her. She shook her head. “Do you have anything in mind?” she tried. Again, Hedda shook her head. “Are you going to speak tonight, or just shake your head?” Hedda raised her eyes and shrugged.

As they were entering the mall, Hedda dragging behind, Jennifer whispered to Rose, “This is more what you'd expect from a girl in Hedda's circumstance. Ornery. Surly.”

“She usually copes so well.”

“Too well, I suddenly realize,” Jennifer said.

The mood prevailed even as Jennifer and Rose gathered up dresses for Hedda to try on. Hedda went through the motions of fitting and rejecting them one at a time. Jennifer thought it was probably her pride—not wanting to take charity from anyone. Or possibly she feared her mother wouldn't allow it in the end. And it started to look as though Hedda could get out of this arrangement by failing to find a suitable dress.

But then it happened, as it so frequently did—she was captivated and turned upside down by a slim pink sheath with feather straps. The moment Hedda slipped into it, pulling the straps up over her shoulders, she began to glow.

“Oh, my,” Rose said.

The dress was narrowly fitted and sank into a low V-shaped neckline with a very low back, also in a V, all lined in the same soft pink feathers.

“It reminds me of my boa,” Rose said.

Hedda's tattoo peeked out from her lower back, just above the dress, and she smiled as she looked over her shoulder to spy it. There was a slit in the skirt on the left side, baring a shapely leg to the thigh. With just the right pair of high-heeled sandals, she'd be the dancing queen.

The color, with her creamy skin and coal-black hair, was stunning. Her burgundy highlights, which Jennifer sincerely hoped she would get rid of for the prom, even complemented the dress. And the feather straps were so unique—the dress didn't even need jewelry. But Jennifer was already thinking about a small necklace and maybe a thin, sparkling bracelet.

Finding the dress was almost as painful for Hedda as it was exciting. Tears gathered in her eyes and Rose sprang at her with a tissue. “Don't!” the older woman commanded. “It might water-spot!”

“I can't do this,” Hedda said. “I just can't.”

“Don't be so silly!” Rose said. “Can't you see it's more fun for us than for you?”

“It is, Hedda!” Jennifer said.

“My mom probably won't let this happen,” she said with a giant sniff. “She's all pissed off about it, anyway. She thinks it is so selfish of me to want to do this. I didn't even have the guts to tell her about this shopping trip. I said we were going to watch a movie at your... I mean
Louise's
house.”

Joey was busy making faces at himself in the floor-length mirror. “Won't someone tell?” Jennifer asked Hedda, glancing at Joey.

“Maybe. Maybe not. It's not like they
talk.
”

“Hmm, I feel some ice cream coming on while you two finish up business,” Rose said. “I'll meet you down at Stone Cold. Take your time.”

Jennifer didn't even think about the strange fact that Rose had left the shopping to her, someone she didn't think had an ounce of taste. Rose took Joey away.

“Why wouldn't your mom let you go?”

“Because she's mad about everything. She's jealous and pissed off all the time. And she hates me.”

“Hedda, mothers don't hate their daughters. It just isn't—”

“Believe me—if I weren't the baby-sitter, I don't think she'd keep me around.”

Jennifer stroked her upper arm. “Sweetheart, your mom is probably just in a constant bad mood because she has to work so hard all the time. It's not your fault, after all.”

“Yeah, that's what you think,” she said, slipping the dress down over her shoulders and reaching for her baggy T-shirt.

Jennifer remembered seeing Hedda hand over her earnings to her mom and never even get a thank you, much less a hug. She remembered the woman's errant fist all too well. And then there was that issue about drinking a little too much and bringing home “company.”

“Well, I'm sure you're wrong,” she said in spite of all that. “But no matter what's going on with your mom, we can work around it—this isn't about her. This is about you. But one thing at a time. Let's get the dress, find some shoes, and then we'll work out the details.”

“It might be a waste of money,” Hedda said.

“Look, if it doesn't work out, we can always return the dress. But I like to think positive.”

“I'd like to, too,” she said. “But I have more experience in this than you do.”

“I know, kiddo.” Jennifer looked over Hedda's shoulder and met her eyes in the mirror. “When I was your age, I didn't trust my crazy mom a bit,” she said, knowing Hedda couldn't possibly know how wacked out her life was. “It's hard, being a teenager. I know you don't believe this now, but even the luckiest teenagers feel like they're underprivileged. Sometimes, just feeling like the world is against you all the time, you just don't take advantage of the opportunities that actually do come along. I know I didn't. I just accepted the idea that I was alone and no one could help me. Hedda, this is an opportunity. You're not as alone as you think. It's a pretty dress. We can keep it at Louise's house. If you think you need to, you can get dressed for the evening there.”

“Behind her back?” she asked.

She shrugged. “I hate lying. But I hate for you to miss your only chance to go to the prom even more.”

“Isn't that kind of devious?” Hedda asked.

“It is. I'm a very bad influence.” Plus, it made her very angry to think that Sylvia would actually deny Hedda something so special, especially if it didn't put her out at all.

“I don't know...”

“Decide later, then. Right now—we need some shoes.”

Later, when they were walking with their packages to the ice cream shop, Hedda asked, “What opportunities would you have taken advantage of?”

She thought for a minute. “I would have tried to get an education. I had a couple of teachers tell me I was smart enough to go to college and I didn't believe them. When believing them was tempting, I thought I'd never, in a million years, be able to afford it.”

“Could you have afforded it?”

“No,” she said with a smile. “I should have let someone help me.”

* * *

After Hedda and Joey were dropped off at home, Jennifer carried the dress and shoes back to Louise's house. There were some lights on; her heart picked up a little speed as she realized Alex would be waiting for her.

“Hey!” she said when she entered, and saw that he had brought Alice home from the veterinary hospital. She draped the dress over a handy dining room chair, left the shoes on the table and went immediately to Alice. The Lab stood and wagged, but only took a couple of delicate steps in Jennifer's direction, so Jennifer knelt on the floor in front of her. “Easy does it, girlfriend,” she told the dog. “Don't want to overdo it.” To Alex she said, “How's she doing?”

“She's making great progress. Sam thought she'd do better here with you than in the kennel. Don't get her excited....”

“Like I could,” she laughed.

“We went outside for a little while.” He nodded in the direction of the dress. “I guess that means you had success.”

“She looks absolutely beautiful.”

For a moment neither of them spoke, and very slowly Jennifer became aware that something hung in the air between them. Something perhaps ominous.

“I have some good news and some bad news,” Alex finally said.

twelve

“What could the FBI possibly want with me?” she asked, a sense of panic dropping into her gut.

“They won't say. You're not in any trouble, I know that. It was when I tried to look into Nick Noble's background that the red flag went up and an agent contacted me wanting to know what I was looking for. They do that—flag the computer file to see if any other police agencies are interested in their suspect. It might give them more evidence to bring him in. Noble wouldn't know that—unless he has an informant in the bureau.” He shrugged. “I told the agent I'd seen the missing-person flyers in my neighborhood and wanted to check it out.”

“But that was a while ago...” she said.

“Yeah, it was. But I had to go back to the fed to find out about Barbara. Paula made the actual call. She told the agent we had a confidential informant who claimed Mrs. Noble had been murdered by Mr. Noble at the MGM Grand. The fed said he could guarantee that didn't happen. They've been watching Noble for a long time—they know his wife.”

“Then what did I hear? What did I see? She was dead, Alex. I just know it.”

“How long were you gone from the room?”

“A couple of hours. Maybe a little more. But—”

“Come here,” he said, patting the sofa beside him. She went to him and he held her hands as he said, “A lot could have happened in that time,” he told her. “Barbara could have been drunk. Passed out.”

“But I saw blood.”

He shrugged. “A little? A lot? Splatters? The kind of splatters that could come from a bloody nose caused by a slap?”

She turned that over in her mind. “Nick had an ice pack on his face. Maybe it was his blood. But she was lying facedown and it looked to me like the back of her head was all wet and kind of matted.”

“If she hit him in the face hard enough to hurt him and draw blood, it is possible one of his assistants could have hit her in the head with something like a bottle or a vase...? Something that contained water? Is it possible that in two hours of fighting with her husband she started drinking heavily and passed out? And maybe someone tried to revive her by throwing water on her? Or how about this—the wetting of the hair was something that happened in the argument—he threw a drink at her. Two hours later she was asleep, thanks to some booze, some Xanax?”

She pulled her legs under her and sat on them. “I guess anything's possible. So, why would he be looking for me?”

“Jennifer, he's into you. You're his squeeze.”

“He called me a bimbo. He wanted ‘something done' about me.”

Alex tried to keep his smile to himself. He pinched her cute chin between his thumb and forefinger. The way she looked now, she just didn't qualify. “He likes bimbos. Maybe he just wanted to make sure you got an explanation before you said anything that would get him in trouble. Maybe he wanted to be sure of your silence.”

“It didn't sound like that, Alex.”

“In the moment, it didn't. But the feds are watching him, and in watching him they're very sure who Barbara is. If they say she's alive, she is.”

In the way a person's life can flash before their eyes, Jennifer quickly reconsidered everything. Was it possible Nick had been singing in the shower because he had a tune on his mind rather than because he was wicked and unremorseful? And had he sent his guys looking for her after her disappearance because he wanted her back?

“You know,” Alex said, “he might have been worried that something happened to you. Or maybe it occurred to him that if you'd had an accident or been the victim of a crime, he might be blamed.”

“Does this mean I'm not in danger?” she asked very softly, very cautiously.

“To tell you the truth, Jennifer, I'm not sure where we're at. I think the big X factor here is what does the FBI think you can tell them?”

She curled herself up a bit smaller and leaned against Alex. Reflexively, his arms went around her. She chewed on one of her short nails, thinking, shaking her head.

“You were with him a couple of years,” Alex said.

“I know this isn't easy to grasp, but we had an arrangement. Like an arranged marriage without the marriage. We never talked about it. I knew what my role was—it wasn't complicated. I worked on being pretty and being absolutely no trouble. In exchange for making him look good, he was very generous. Believe me—he had money to throw away. Nick is the kind of guy that if you asked him why he has eight yachts, he'd answer that he just sold one.”

“Unbelievable. I can't even relate.”

“Believe me, after the way I grew up, hand to mouth, it's very easy to get used to that lifestyle. But the thing that made it work for me was that I made sure I was emotionally unavailable. I was remote—that's probably why he wanted me so much. And I ignored the fact that he had these goons with him all the time. I never listened to his conversations. I learned how to close my ears and concentrate on filing a nail or reading a book. I had no expectations. I was as low maintenance as a statue.”

“Where was your security?” he asked.

The thing that she'd been most proud of suddenly seemed shameful. But she was committed to telling him the truth. There was a lot more truth to tell him, but she'd take one thing at a time. “He was extremely generous. I was headed for an early retirement, but I'm sure it never occurred to him I was saving in order to stop being his mistress.”

“So—can you think of anything about Nick that would interest the FBI? He's been arrested before, you know. Fraud, trafficking, money laundering.”

“The minute I saw what I thought was Barbara's dead body it came to me that I'd been in serious denial—that clearly Nick was a thug himself. Maybe a mobster. But honestly, I can't give you any specifics. I never saw anything illegal. From time to time I'd meet business associates of his—nice people, to the last one.”

“What about his investment properties? Anything there that didn't gel?”

“It was perfectly legitimate. I'm sure I was hired because I looked good and could deal with people, especially businessmen.”

“Is it possible it was a setup to run money through a legitimate corporation? Did you actually see the buildings, the offices and the tenants?”

“I did,” she said. “They were very real.”

“There's an easy way to get to the bottom of this,” he said. “We can set up a meeting with the feds and they can ask their questions.”

She chewed her lip for a moment before saying, “Do I have to talk to them?”

“No. But it's always better to be cooperative.”

“Can we stop the clock for just a little while?”

“It wouldn't be good to wait very long. They could find you before you have a chance to go to them.”

“Could you get into trouble for not telling them where I am?”

“Yes. But not the worst trouble imaginable. Don't worry about me.”

“Could we wait till the prom is over? Till the lambs come?”

He pulled her closer. “I don't know if we have that kind of time.”

* * *

Jennifer sat down at the computer after Alex left. Although it took hours, Jennifer wrote Louise the entire story of how she came to be a bald-headed waitress in Boulder City. She stayed up till the wee hours in order to get it all down. She even gave the details about her part-time job as a girlfriend to the rich old gents. And what at the time seemed the harrowing witnessing of a murder, and how she had finally braved bringing Alex into her camp and asking for his help.

...So you see, Louise, I am not what you thought I was. I didn't tell you a tenth of the truth about me. I apologize, I was afraid. But I fully intend to see this through, to talk to the FBI, to try to get my life back. Not that life, but one that makes more sense. The life I'm living right now, as Doris the dog-sitter/waitress, makes a lot of sense.

Your friends will take care of Alice very well, should anything go wrong.

Thank you, and again, I'm sorry for the deceit.

Love,

Jennifer

She forgot to turn off the computer when she went to bed. In the morning when she woke, there was a message from Louise.

My dear girl—Jennifer,

Never question my judgment! You are exactly what I thought—honest, decent, wise and fearless! You've been through quite a lot and have proved you have the stuff great women are made of. I couldn't be more proud of you. And I am profoundly proud to be your friend.

Love,

Louise

* * *

The next day as Jennifer waited tables for the breakfast crowd, visited the library, walked around the park—without Alice for the time being—there was a new spring in her step and her smile was a little quicker. She greeted people a bit more enthusiastically than she had. The message from Louise lifted her heart and made her feel fifty pounds lighter, despite the fact that she still had much to deal with.

She realized that in just around three months, she had created a kind of lifestyle that she had always craved and had never before been able to envision. She had
friends.
She felt she belonged. She wasn't working at keeping up some pretense that would keep her image intact.

There was a vast difference between having a career and living one. In her old life, the life of Jennifer, there was no difference between her vocation and her personal life.

The news that Barbara Noble was alive and well changed a few things, also. Despite the fact that the authorities wanted to talk to her, she now had no more reason to fear Nick Noble than she did the day she got onto the MGM Gulfstream with him. She didn't know what condition her condo and car were in—it was possible that in anger over her disappearance Nick had appropriated them. But she still had bank and investment accounts. She was no longer destitute.

That early retirement she had been saving for was going to come much earlier than she anticipated. She wasn't going back to that other life, and although she couldn't deny strong feelings for Alex, it had nothing to do with him.

Over the next week Alice began to get around better, nearly ready for her return to the park. Her appetite was improved and Jennifer was hopeful that she would greet Louise happily in the fall. Alex had taken on the habit of having his breakfast almost daily at the diner, not to mention frequent visits next door in the evenings, but he had not yet been invited to spend the whole night.

She did a little shopping, had her short cap of dark hair trimmed, plucked some of her new eyebrows into an attractive shape and bought a little makeup. Nothing fancy, just some liner, gloss and blush—not that she needed it. The sun on her cheeks gave her a glow, as did her relief. The patrons of the diner didn't know what caused the new effervescence, but they noticed.

Ryan rode his police vehicle, the mountain bike, up onto the sidewalk while she was sweeping and said, “Doris, I've been thinking. Maybe we should catch a movie on your day off.”

She almost dropped the broom. The shock on her face made her look stricken and she was speechless. He had barely ever spoken to her, and he had never flirted.

“Or, maybe we should get a bite to eat somewhere.”

“Ryan,” she finally mustered, “did you just ask me on a date?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I'd pay, too.”

Don't laugh, don't laugh, don't laugh, she instructed herself. “How nice of you. But Ryan, I don't have any days off.”

“None?”

“Not with Alice recovering from surgery.”

“Well, jeez—when are we going to go out, then?”

“We'll just have to talk about this later,” she said. She hoped that “later” she might be able to tell him she was seeing someone. But until Alex knew everything about her, she wouldn't dare presume. And then there was the FBI. What an odd triangle.

“Okay. How's Alice doing?”

“Pretty good. How about a cup of coffee? Or a Coke?”

“Sure,” he said, parking his bike and sauntering into the diner. Once inside, he found a couple of guys he knew. He never specified the coffee or the Coke.

Jennifer went behind the counter, fixed a cup of coffee and said to Buzz, “You'll never believe what just happened. Ryan asked me out on a date.”

“Ryan must be the only guy around the diner who doesn't know you're already dating someone.”

“Did you ever get the idea he wanted to
date
me?” she asked, still a little stunned. Hedda came in the back door for work, stashed her purse in the pantry, grabbed her apron off the hook and joined Jennifer behind the counter. “Ryan just asked me out on a
date,
” she said to Hedda.

“Get outta town!”

“Seriously,” she said, and carried the cup of coffee over to his table. He was in a conversation with the guys and seemed to have already forgotten about Jennifer.

When Jennifer was once again behind the counter, Hedda asked, “What did you say?”

“I said, ‘Would you like a cup of coffee or a Coke?'” She shook her head in bemusement.

“If you're in no hurry to leave, I have a couple of quick errands,” Buzz said.

“We'll be fine,” she assured him. She watched in satisfaction as he served up a meal into a take-out carton. “Mrs. Van Der Haff?” she asked.

“Yeah.” He grinned. “She asked me if that girl is ever coming back. I told her one of these days.”

“Today?” she asked.

“Actually, I have a couple of stops. Next time.”

It wasn't long before the diner was empty again. When Jennifer was stacking some dirty dishes, she asked Hedda if she could manage alone. “Sure,” the girl said. “Adolfo is here if anything challenging comes up.”

Jennifer went to the little bungalow near the Sunset Motel in which Sylvia and the kids lived. There was a small window of opportunity to see Sylvia alone—while Hedda was at the diner. And before Sylvia went to work. She thought she'd just get the lay of the land and, if it seemed prudent, speak to the woman about encouraging Hedda to go to the dance and have a good time.