Six Years

“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.”

I swallowed. “What did she say?”

“‘Remind him of his promise.’”

Silence.

I took a step closer to her. “I kept that promise,” I said. “I kept it for six years. Let me in, Julie.”

“No.”

“Todd is dead. If there was a promise, I kept it. It’s over now.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Check the Lanford website. You’ll see an obituary.”

“What?”

“On the computer. Todd Sanderson. Check his obituary. I’ll wait.”

Without another word, she stepped back and closed the door. I didn’t know what that meant. I didn’t know if that meant she was going to check the website or if she had had enough. I had nowhere else to go. I stayed there, facing the door, waiting. Ten minutes later Julie was back. She unlocked the screen door and gestured for me to come inside.

I sat on the couch. Julie sat across from me, stunned. Her eyes looked like shattered marbles.

“I don’t understand,” she said. “It says he’s married with kids. I thought . . .”

“You thought what?”

She shook her head sharply. “Why are you so interested in this anyway? Natalie dumped you. I saw you at the wedding. I thought you’d never show up, but Natalie knew you would. Why? Are you some kind of masochist?”

“Natalie knew I’d show?”

“Yes.”