Double Doublecross (9 page)

He made a decision to discretely question her about it that evening. It was possible she had a perfectly good explanation for him, but for now, Rick had other things to think about.

Money was in short supply and the Christmas holiday was looming on the horizon. Somehow he had to buy gifts for Stan, Helen, Pat and Jake James and, of course, Sara. Sara was the real problem. The others were easy to please. Rick came to the conclusion that a fine piece of jewelry would fit the bill—maybe a broach, but nothing too expensive. He inwardly made the decision to visit the local mall during his lunch break the next day.

He looked around the office, noticing Pat getting ready to go home and Stan finishing off some paperwork. It was now getting dark, and a drizzle was settling in, covering everything with a damp cloak of moisture. He slipped on his coat, grabbed his umbrella and told Stan he was leaving.

Getting into his car, he had an uneasy feeling about questioning Sara about the incident regarding Pat James' observation. Would she take offence thinking he was prying into her private life? Would her explanation clarify the situation? He decided he was going through with it just to appease his curiosity.

The freeway was congested as usual, and he decided to take the surface roads home. They were slower but at least he would be moving. Turning into his street, he was at last free of the traffic. The street was almost empty except for a few parked cars and a tall lonely figure walking quickly through the hazy drizzle. ‘Not a good night for a stroll,' thought Rick. Not many people walked in poor weather especially without
an umbrella, which was part of the standard wardrobe in that part of the world in winter.

‘His car's probably parked nearby. Might be the white Mercury Grand Marquis parked up the road a bit. Yes, that's the one he's getting into,' he thought. He drove his car into the garage and entered the house through the connecting door.

Sara was busying herself in the kitchen, and Rick caught the aroma of food being prepared.

“Hi! Smells good. What's for dinner?”

“Just a steak, jacket potato and peas, followed by vanilla ice cream and chocolate sauce,” Sara said. “It'll be ready in about ten minutes. Sit down and take a load off your feet.”

“I'll just freshen up before dinner. Won't be long,” he murmured.

Something perplexed Rick as he caught a whiff of the same cologne he had detected at lunchtime, only this time it was much stronger. It was now quite evident to Rick that somebody other than himself and Sara had been in the house. He would play his cards over dinner, not making it too obvious he was curious regarding her personal affairs. How and when he would touch on the subject put him in a predicament. Perhaps during dessert would be the best time. They would be more relaxed by then.

Rick opened a bottle of Merlot from one of the Napa Valley wineries thinking it would help to loosen her tongue. He wanted an answer, even if it was just another fabrication. They chatted lightly about the forthcoming holiday period, skiing, and the reason for business being slow.

“I think you should know that I'm going through a lean period as far as finance is concerned. I just saved the bank from foreclosing on this house. I might have to sell it if
things don't pick up soon,” Rick said quietly, waiting for Sara's reaction.

“That would be a pity, Rick. It's such a beautiful place, but if you must, then you must. Got to stay afloat, you know. Now let me get dessert,” she said dismissing the subject.

She wasn't interested in his personal financial problems. She wanted someone with money or she wanted money of her own. The dessert of vanilla ice cream covered liberally with chocolate sauce and crushed pecans sat before Rick who picked at it in a leisurely manner.

“I thought I saw you in a car with somebody the other day. I forget which day it was. Good-looking guy with light colored hair. Is he a friend of yours—agent or something? By the way, this dessert is great, and thanks for cooking the dinner,” Rick said.

“Oh! That's okay. It didn't take long to prepare.”

“What about the guy I saw you with? Is he an actor?” said Rick, pursuing the subject casually.

“No, no,” said Sara. “That's my brother. I don't get to see him often. He works in Seattle most of the time, and I get to see him now and again when he's in town on business.”

“Nice car he drives. What was it, a Toyota or one of the other Japanese makes? Light color, wasn't it?”

Sara hesitated and found herself floundering for words as her mind raced to give him an answer. “It's a white Mercury. He always buys American. Patriotic, you see.”

“Well, next time he's in town, bring him round. I'd like to meet any member of your family. Now, how about a cup of coffee? I'll make it, and you sit down and put your feet up. It's my turn to do some kitchen work,” he said.

Rick went into the kitchen and thought about her explanation. So Pat had seen her with a blonde man, and
she admitted being in a car with him. Yet, she had never mentioned she had any family living or dead. As for the white Mercury, he'd noticed a tall, blonde man getting into a white Grand Marquis as he entered his driveway that evening.

Trying to put all these facts together, he came to the conclusion somehow things didn't add up, but there was no point in laboring over it at this point in time. Still, he considered probing for a while as he served the coffee.

“What does your brother do for a living in Seattle? Does he work for one of the big corporations up there?” he asked casually.

Sara searched for the right words.

“Oh, well, he works with a group of people. I don't exactly know what he does. Sometimes he's involved with Carl Regis …”

Her voice trailed off. She realized that she had given up more information than she intended.

“Carl Regis! Isn't that your old friend? You never mentioned how he made a living.”

“I think he's a consultant or something. Do we have to talk about him? I thought I told you I'm
finished
with him,” she said abruptly.

“You're right and I'm sorry. Let's forget it. Well, it's time for some shuteye. Some of us have work to do tomorrow. What's on your schedule for tomorrow?”

“Nothing much. I'll do a bit of holiday shopping. There's only three more shopping days to Christmas, and I must get something for Stan and Helen. I'll see you in the morning. Good night, Rick.”

Sara was about to retire to her room when her cell phone rang. Although it was at her fingertips, she made no apparent attempt to answer it.

“Aren't you going to answer it?” Rick asked.

It rang twice then stopped. Sara said nothing. Again it rang and stopped. When it rang again, Sara switched on hurriedly and answered, “Hello, this is Sara.”

“It's me, Carl. Can you talk?” the voice said on the other end.

“I'm sorry. You must have the wrong number,” Sara said casually, but her heart was racing and pounding. She hadn't expected a call from Carl at this time of night.

“I'll call tomorrow,” Carl said softly and rang off.

“These wrong number calls are a bit of a nuisance,” Sara murmured as she put the phone down. “Well, goodnight Rick. See you in the morning.”

With that she made her way to her room.

Rick sat there staring at nothing in particular and thinking hard. He had watched Sara when the phone rang. Although it was close to her hand, she made no attempt to answer it, even when it rang for a
second
time. On the third set of rings, she answered immediately, almost in a panic—or so it seemed.

He sat there for a while thinking about the other events surrounding her. After a while he stood up, looked around, checked the doors, and decided to turn in for the night.

T
he following morning Rick was aroused by the smell of fresh coffee brewing in the kitchen. Slipping on his robe, he yawned, stretched and made his way to the kitchen as if drawn by a magnet to the aroma.

Sara was there in her bathrobe, making scrambled eggs, bacon and toast. He looked at her in complete surprise. This was very unusual. She was generally asleep or just waking up when he left for work around eight thirty in the morning.

“Good morning,” he muttered sleepily, waiting for her to give some sort of explanation.

“Hi! Good morning. It's about time I made some breakfast to kick off your day. How many slices of toast do you want?”

“Just a couple,” he said.

“What time do you have to be at the office?”

“Around eight to eight thirty. Stan or Pat will open up. I don't think I have to be too early. There's not that much action this time of year. Maybe I'll go in late for a change,” he said.

“Why don't you go in early and shock them? Then you can get a good start to the day and maybe finish early. The
change might do you good.”

“Good thought, but I'm not going to get into bad habits. I don't want to give anybody a heart attack. It's tough enough getting to work as it is. Besides, Christmas is almost here, and I don't want to upset my work buddies,” he said with a laugh.

As he sat down at the small kitchen table, his breakfast was put in front of him and his coffee replenished. Silently, he started on his eggs, bacon and toast. His day was starting at breakneck speed. He decided to take his time and eat slowly, sipping his coffee now and then. When he finished his breakfast, he sat back and took another sip of his coffee.

‘There must be a reason for this,' he thought, ‘Perhaps she's becoming domesticated.'

No, that was not her style. Anyway, what did it matter? He had a good breakfast cooked for him, giving him more time to get showered, shaved and dressed in a leisurely manner.

“I think I'll take my shower. Why don't you take your coffee with you and get ready?” she said anxiously.

“Okay, okay! Just give me a few seconds to wake up. I'm not used to all this rushing around in the morning. Where's the coffee?” he laughed. “Got to get the heart started and the brain switched on.”

He made his way to his bathroom muttering to himself, “Hell! Talk about the bums' rush. Better slow down or I'll end up in the nut house.”

He showered, shaved and dressed, ready for the office in record time. Then he sat in his recliner and picked up the paper to catch up on the latest news and sport. The stock market was taking another beating, depleting his portfolio to an uncomfortable level.

Obviously he was in the same boat as many others, except
for the fact his house mortgage payments were on shaky ground and his financial position was in poor shape. This was not a good start to the day and he walked lethargically to the garage door. Muttering a
see you later
to Sara, he made his way through the connecting door, got into the Lincoln and drove to the office feeling low in spirit.

It was now nearly eight thirty, and Sara decided to dress before she called Carl. Somehow she knew he wanted to speak to her urgently. The late call the previous evening suggested he had something important to tell her. Perhaps it was okay to move back into his apartment. She was uncomfortable living in Rick's house and longed for the privacy and independence that the condominium had to offer.

Finishing her shower, she dressed casually and sat in her bedroom chair. She dialed Carl's number, hanging up twice then dialing again. Carl answered the phone.

“Hi, Sara. I knew it was you using our communication code. Can you talk freely?”

“Yes, he's gone off to work. Couldn't talk last night. We were having coffee after dinner. What do you want?”

“Hope it was only coffee you were having,” Carl said jokingly. “Listen carefully. I want you to do something urgently so don't interrupt until I've finished. I want you to take the Tourister bag with my clothes in it, take off the yellow ribbon, but don't throw it away. Then put the bag into your large suitcase and drive up here right now to Seattle and make sure you make it by Christmas Day. Also, bring the yellow ribbon with you. Have you got that?”

“I can't do it I …”

“Don't argue with me. Just do it. Now listen carefully. You must drive up, don't fly. That's important. Do you
understand?”

Sara felt uncomfortable, “But …”

“No
buts
. I haven't finished yet. Don't interrupt. Just listen. Our future and my life depend on our working together. We're talking big money here, so get these instructions straight and don't screw up. Are you ready to take this down?”

Sara felt weak and nervous. She wondered what he was up to. She stood up and walked around the bed, not knowing what to think.

“For God's sake, are you still there? Speak to me!” Carl shouted.

“Yes, yes! I'm still here. What—”

“Get a pencil and paper and write this down. Are you ready?”

“Just a minute … Okay, I'm ready.”

“Go to my Seattle apartment block with the cases at three o'clock in the afternoon on Christmas Day. Go to the furthest bank of elevators from the foyer. Then go to the third floor and wait for me there. I'm depending on you to be prompt. This is very important. Dress down and don't wear any makeup. Just look plain and as anonymous as you can. We will exchange Tourister bags then you will tie the ribbon around the bag I give you. Put the bag inside your large suitcase and get the hell out of there fast. Have you got that?”

“Yes,” said Sara, at a loss for words.

“Good,” Carl said. “Now repeat those instructions I've just given you.”

Sara read the instructions back to Carl.

“What can I say to Rick Jacobs? I'm supposed to be going to dinner at Stan and Helen Turner's on Christmas Day.”

“Who the hell are they? Don't answer that. Just do as I say.
Get up here and carry out the instructions I just gave you. Keep in touch and don't answer any calls. Just do it.”