One look at the fake gun on the floor froze the guy where he was. Holding the tape protectively, I scooted past him and out the door. I only caught a brief glimpse of the guard waving at me, threateningly, with his flashlight.
By the time Abner found his feet, I figured, I’d be safely out the front door. But once I’d accomplished that—escaping through the main entrance right as the CLOSED sign was being posted—I had another problem. What to do now?
A local sheriff’s car stood in the mansion driveway. A traumatized tourist was recounting his ordeal—Stanley and the ledge—to a bemused cop. I took a deep breath. I slowed my pace and ambled like a normal guest, albeit a sweaty and bleeding one. I made it by before anyone could ask a question.
Then I walked a little faster. I saw another vehicle parked a few feet away. It had been waiting.
“Just so you know, I’m not taking you to New York,” Annabelle said, starting her truck.
“That’s okay,” I said, sitting again amid her buns. “The bus station will be fine.”
—
I had considered asking if Annabelle might offer me a hayloft, or a hammock, or wherever rural people slept. But getting back had to be my priority. The overnight bus ride would give me time, at last, to relax.
Once onboard, any relief that having the Clown afforded me was shortlived. I had bought the next day’s Times and opened it to the Metro section.
ASSISTANT SOUGHT IN ACTOR’S MURDER
Police are looking to question Katherine Emond, a personal assistant, in the apparent slaying of actor Graus Menzies. Emond, 29, had been staying in the same hotel as Menzies while he shot the movie Beach Head in Manhattan. The sixty-two-year-old actor was found dead of a stab wound in his room on Wednesday night. He was best known in America for his role in the 1976 comedy-drama Macaroon Heart, co-starring Gratey McBride …
Beneath the story was a photo of Katie, which looked like it came from her high school yearbook. She’d hardly aged in the interim—mentally or physically—and would be easy to recognize.
What was the good of getting the world’s second-most-coveted film if I was an accomplice to murder? With Graus’s tape in my possession, I even had a motive.
And, as I may have mentioned, I liked Katie. I only hoped she had stayed inside.
—
Outside was more dangerous than I had even imagined. When I reached the city and turned the corner on my block, I saw something that chilled my blood.
A police car. Double-parked outside my house.
It was unmarked, but if you’d lived in town as long as I, you start to recognize them. Maybe it was the red bubble light sitting, less than inconspicuously, on the dash.
Sneaking by a cop in Manhattan was a lot harder than in sleepy upstate. Especially when it was Detective Florent.
He was leaning against the car, staring off, finishing a smoke. I immediately lowered my head, turned around, and started retracing my steps. I crushed a shopping bag carrying breakfast for Katie—and, not incidentally, the cassette—against my chest.
“Hey! You!”
The corner had been so close, only two steps away. But there was no point in running for it now.
I froze. I remembered that James Cagney had replaced Spencer Tracy in Robert Wise’s Tribute to a Bad Man. Composing myself, I swiveled slowly around. I reminded myself to be as boring as possible. Something told me that would be the easy part.
“Yes?”
We stood at a standoff, with almost a full block between us. Florent didn’t stop slouching against the car. After a second, he moved the smallest amount possible. He twitched his second finger at me.
I had no choice but to obey. As I approached, he got into the driver’s seat. I flashed a quick glance up at my apartment window. Obscured by the fire escape, a woman stood there, watching. Then I got in the car beside him.
FLORENT LOCKED ALL THE DOORS.
“Welcome home.”
I swallowed down what was now a very dry throat. How long had he been waiting? He seemed to be sporting stubble.
“Thanks.”
“Somehow I knew it would lead back to you.”
I had the terrible suspicion that rattling off geeky sentiments wouldn’t distract Florent today. His Central Casting cop face had never looked more serious or, interestingly, less handsome.
“Movies are nice,” he said, “but real life is a little bit more serious.”
“I beg to differ,” I couldn’t help replying.
I saw Florent grimace, as if he were restraining himself from smacking me.
“But maybe,” I said, quietly, “that’s a discussion for another day.”
Too annoyed to speak, the detective just pushed a poorly Xeroxed photograph at me. It was of Katie, the high school one.
“You know her, right? Let’s not waste time.”
I held the picture at an appreciable distance, as if trying to focus farsighted eyes. I squinted, stalling for as long as I could.
“Now, let me see …”
“Because she’s been seen around here.”
“You don’t say …”
I was roiling inside. As I’d feared, Katie had been fidgety and wandered. It was her wont.
“We do have informants, you know. All over this crappy neighborhood.”
“Well, it’s a lot better than it used to be,” I said. “There are some nice restaurants now. And they’re building that new apartment house that—”
He talked over me. “When I rang your bell, your cousin told me there was nobody else there. But it won’t take long for me to get a warrant. Don’t you want to avoid that?”
My cousin? Had he met Katie? Was the picture not that good a likeness? Or had she gone out to get hair dye, or something? This time, I didn’t have to fake my confusion.
“I really don’t know what you’re—”
“Look.” Florent leaned so close I could tell he’d just used one of those mouthwash strips. “Maybe this act fools all your midnight-movie, trivia chatroom, blow-up-doll-loving friends. But you’re playing in a whole other league now.”
I had no idea how real the threat was. Search warrants were items from cop movies to me. He was right that I was now deep inside an unfamiliar place: real life.
