Finding Mercy (21 page)

“I cleared it with the floor manager. Did you keep all the tags together so they can ring the stuff up?”

“Just like you said. All we need is to get arrested for shoplifting.”

“Ella, I took care of it. I asked at the information desk near where we’re going to check out. She got the manager and I told her our stuff was stolen, but I have a feeling she thinks we’re a couple of hayseeds eloping.”

“Hayseeds? Is that what the
Englische
really think of the Amish? And we’re telling so many lies,” she muttered, following him and the cart toward the front of the huge store. “Pretty soon we won’t have any conscience left at all.”

“I used to wonder how my boss managed that, the years of lies and cover-ups. But I like the idea the manager thought we might be running off together to elope instead of just hide out.”

“You’re starting to sound like
Grossmamm,
” she said, keeping close to him, though there were few folks in the store aisles now. She knew she was getting cranky, but she couldn’t help it. Besides being exhausted and upset to be so dependent on him, she didn’t like his attitude. But then, what did she expect? That he’d tell the store manager they were running from killers and had just avoided getting thrown off a tower?

She decided to change the subject. “I was thinking there might be something in the fake clown’s suitcase you could wear or use,” she told him.

He pushed the cart up to the only open checkout aisle. Ignoring her, but with a smile at the middle-aged, plump cashier, he said, “Lindsey over at the information desk got the manager and she told me it would be okay to wear some of the clothes out of the store. She said just give you the price tags, so if you need to ask her about th—”

“Oh, Lindsey and the manager already told me and described you,” the woman said with a blush rising right through the rouge on her cheeks. “She said to take good care of the handsome man who got a black eye when he and his girlfriend got mugged and their suitcases taken.”

The woman didn’t so much as look at Ella, which was just as well, she thought, because she was rolling her eyes at Andrew, who was evidently starting to act like Alex. Clever and in control now, that was him. In his element, even though they were running for their lives. And smooth with the ladies. That made her wonder if he had someone back in SoHo in New York.

Had she been crazy to come along? No, she knew this man, didn’t she? He’d been an
Auslander
in her world as she now was in his. Surely, Alex Caldwell could not be completely different from her thoughtful, caring Andrew Lantz.

Outside, as they carried their packages to the car, the sun looked balanced on the edge of the horizon like a big, red ball. “I saw a sign that there’s a rest stop about twenty miles ahead,” he told her as he unloaded their cart and handed her the things to put in the trunk he’d opened without even touching it. In the mingling of harsh parking lot lights and pale daylight, he pulled the hit man’s suitcase over to the edge of the trunk.

“I was going to wait until it was really light for this, but I’m too curious,” he told her, snapping it open. “No cell phone here either! Just clothes, clean T-shirts, a shaver. I wouldn’t want to wear anything of his, so I’ll forget you said that. And—more money! I guess they paid him up front for taking me out.”

She stared at the packet of fifty-dollar bills Andrew was fanning through. “Maybe,” she said, “he had double money because, after what happened to me in the Home Valley, he was paid to get rid of you first—then me too.”

She peered down into the depths of the suitcase. There was something else still inside, something square and black.

“Look,” she said, pointing, “a billfold. Even more money?”

“Here,” he said, “hold this,” and thrust the packet of bills into her hands.

He reached in and pulled the billfold out, one that appeared to be black alligator skin. Andrew flipped it open and, through a little plastic window inside, they stared down into the frowning face of Michael F. Moreland, of Atlanta, Georgia, born 04/06/65, the man who had tried to kill them, no doubt, for the money she now held.

Andrew said, “I’m going to email this info to Gerald Branin from a library somewhere he can’t trace me. Either he’ll use it to find who hired Mr. Moreland, or—if he’s the one who’s given me up—he’ll realize I’m on to him and back off.”

“Or get even more desperate to keep you quiet. Anything else in there—like a contact’s phone number or name?”

“Not that I can see. Not even a credit card, insurance card, nothing. Have gun, will travel light. Divide that money up, and we’ll put it in our pockets. You see, sweetheart, pockets come in handy, and I do like you in those jeans.”

Pockets? Jeans? Sweetheart! As he opened the car door for her and she climbed in, she guessed it was official now. Like it or not, on the run or not, in love with Alex Caldwell or not, she had officially jumped the fence to the world. Could she ever find her way back home?

21

IT WAS THE first time she’d ever slept with a man—that is, slept next to one. By the time they’d driven off the highway to follow Route A1A through St. Augustine, even Andrew was starting to fade. He’d pulled off the highway and followed the signs to Crescent Beach, where they actually drove on the wide stretch of sand, though he had to steer around a chained barrier. Hopefully no one would see or find them here. They parked by some dunes where they could hear the steady sound of Atlantic Ocean waves even through the rolled-up windows.

Despite the fact that Andrew dozed instantly, Ella was so wound up it took her a while to fall sleep…to fall for Andrew…to fall from the water tower, but she didn’t hit the ground…kept rolling down the long, grassy hill toward her lavender…

That rhythmic roar in her ears…her blood pounding? Was that the sound of the waves as she rode them up and down with Andrew? Oh, no, it couldn’t be the panic pounding in her head, surrounding her with dark water in the pond at home!
Help me, I’m drowning…

She tried to swim, to keep her head up, to breathe. A scarecrow nailed to a lavender cross floated by in the flood, then a clown, a horrible clown with a big gun. Someone tried to put a mask on her face, tie her up so she couldn’t swim. As tired as she was, she had to wake up, stop the drowning fears…
ya,
the man with the gun! He was going to shoot her!

Bang! Bang-bang!

With a gasp, Ella jolted wide-awake. Daylight, not darkness. Oh, she was in the car with Andrew! A white, green and gold car marked St. Augustine Beach Police sat nearby. And an officer was knocking on the driver’s side window. Or was he really a policeman? If that killer could dress up like a clown, then who knew…

Andrew turned the key in the ignition and rolled the window down. “Yes, Officer?”

“You two all right?”

“Just driving north and didn’t want to fall asleep at the wheel,” Andrew said. “Is there a problem with parking here for a few hours of sleep?”

“Sign back there about restrictions, and you drove around a chained barrier that was there for a reason. Where’re you from?”

“Atlanta, Georgia. I’m Mike Moreland, and this is my wife, Ellen.”

That’s right, Ella thought. Georgia license plates were on the car, but if the officer looked in the trunk, he’d find the other ones. Andrew had thought fast to call himself by the hit man’s name because that was the only driver’s license they had. But Andrew looked nothing like that killer. And he’d said,
My wife, Ellen.

“How you doing, ma’am?” the clean-cut policeman said and touched a finger to the bill of his hat. “You two don’t like to take turns driving, huh?”

“Oh, he’s much better than I am at that,” Ella blurted. At least that wasn’t a lie. She used to worry that Andrew didn’t sound Amish enough, but now she had to worry about her own talk. She knew full well that her people, however good their grammar, had a particular cadence to their speech.

“You’ll need to move on,” the policeman told them. “I can lead you to a nearby motel or a store parking lot.”

“I’m wide-awake now,” Andrew told him. “Sorry about missing that sign, Officer. We’ll be leaving town now. Thanks again.”

He started the car. The officer followed them out. As they left the park, Ella glimpsed a wide strip of sand and whitecaps rolling in. She had to admit that some worldly lies had saved them again. And the biggest one was that she was his wife.

* * *

“Don’t you think we should leave town since you told that officer we would?” Ella asked as Andrew pulled the car into the drive-through lane of a McDonald’s and ordered Egg McMuffins and coffee for them. They were in a line of cars, since it was breakfast time. It was the first time she’d noticed he had stubble on his usually close-shaved face. Young Amish men looked like that when they first started to grow their beards. With or without facial hair, Andrew had a fine face, even if he looked tired and tense right now.

“I want to send that email to Branin from the library here before we head north again, and I’m starving,” he explained, jolting her back to what she’d just asked.

“In Wooster, I think you have to have a library card to use a library computer. And are you sure, just in case Mr. Branin’s the one who has turned against you, that he won’t be able to trace where you sent the message from?”

“That’s my sharp-minded partner in crime! No, emails with phony addresses are untraceable if sent from libraries or internet cafés, especially if you don’t use your credit card. It’s called spoofing. And if he could trace it, he’d only know we were here and not that we’re heading out. When we get our food, I’ll ask where the library is. We’re on a roll since that cop didn’t ask to see my driver’s license. Even frowning, I don’t resemble Mike Moreland. We’ve been fortunate on the road so far.”

“Not fortunate, blessed,” she corrected him.

“Okay,” he said, turning to look at her with the hint of a beguiling smile. “Blessed.”

Midmorning, as soon as it opened, they went into the library just off Ponce De Leon Boulevard. Of all things, it sat right next to a merry-go-round. At least Andrew hadn’t left her in the car, she thought, but he asked her to sit over in the corner while he headed for the library laptops. She could see him across the room, chatting and smiling with several people who were waiting in line to use them. Why didn’t he try to keep what he’d called a low profile? Actually, he seemed to be concentrating on one woman, a blonde with a big laugh. Ella told herself she shouldn’t be surprised that the woman gave Andrew her library card and let him step ahead of her to take her place.

In less than ten minutes he was back to Ella. “Let’s use the restrooms and head out,” he said. “Mission accomplished.”

She hurried after him, then slowed her steps. Alex Caldwell, alias Andrew Lantz, was sure good with women, even ones he didn’t know, oh,
ya,
he was. So had she fallen for a man who was real skilled at his own disguises? Was she just another willing woman who was more than happy to go along with his wishes?

Ella banged the door shut to her restroom stall. Her only choice was to trust him now. But she was going to have to keep up her guard, not only in case another hit man found them, but because, in a way, the former Amish Andrew was a hit man of another kind.

* * *

The next day was a blur. Cars, trucks and highway I-95 seemed to roll endlessly past and toward them. Rest stops, fast-food places, gas stations, back in the car. She dozed sporadically, but Andrew seemed ever vigilant, uptight on coffee and whatever he was thinking.

“So how long will it take us to drive to your neighborhood in New York City?” she asked.

“We’ll leave this car in Washington, D.C., with no plates on it or in it. We’ll put everything we need in our backpacks and take Amtrak—that’s a train—from Union Station into New York’s Penn Station, about a three-hour trip. Then from there, a subway to SoHo. And we won’t be going in my front door.”

Her head spinning at all the places he mentioned—the capital of the country?—she said only, “I can imagine. But can you be sure your back door isn’t watched too?”

“We won’t use a back door either, not exactly.”

He said no more about that. Was he keeping back something that would upset or scare her? At least he had it all planned out. But she felt even more distanced from him to realize that he knew all about these huge cities, so far in miles and mood from the places she knew and loved.

It took them almost a half hour of cruising to find a rare curbside parking space in Washington. They emptied out her small suitcase that had once been her grandfather’s and put all their belongings into their two backpacks. She was in awe of what she’d seen in the short time they’d driven into and around Washington: massive white marble buildings, wide avenues, huge open areas with monuments to long-dead leaders, lots of drivers, tourist buses and walkers. And a glimpse of Capitol Hill not far from here, swarming with people even at this midafternoon hour.

“I know it’s warm,” he said, “but you’d better pull your hood up on that jacket to hide your long hair. No, wait—I have an extra baseball cap. Let’s just stuff it up under this.”

She had no idea who the Florida Gators were, but, with his help, she got her long, heavy braid up under the cap. How strange to wear something with a bill, but it did help shade her face just like the bonnet she was missing. To her amazement he whipped out a pair of sunglasses for her too.

“Got these at Walmart. I figured you’d refuse to wear them in the car, but we’re going to be around a lot of people and, when my name went public about a big trial, there were photos of me in the papers. Both of us need to hide our faces somewhat and blend in.”

She put them on, and this world went even darker. At least she agreed that the sunglasses, hat and backpack hid her a bit. She watched him as he removed both license plates with a screwdriver he’d found in the car, then threw all three sets of plates in a trash can. He wiped the interior of the car down with wet rags he’d picked up at a gas station to obscure fingerprints.

“You left the car unlocked,” she said as they started to walk away.

“With the key on the dashboard. I’m betting someone steals it. If the cops find it first, I don’t need them dusting it and IDing Moreland’s or my fingerprints—and two pairs of mystery prints. You and
Grossmamm
were never fingerprinted, were you?”

“Not that I know of. We never trusted the government, and here you’re just learning that.” He only muttered something she—blessedly—couldn’t catch.

Ella was amazed at the train and bus station with its people, noise and too many shops to count under a sky-high, curved ceiling. Union Station seemed more like a shopping mall where escalators connected three floors of stores with pretty, potted plants all over. That greenery was the only thing that reminded her of home. They bought sandwiches, root beers and their tickets to New York.

As Andrew had said, the Amtrak Metroliner they took north was a train, but a fancy one. The city, the river, then some rural scenes zipped past outside her window. She wanted to take it all in but a constant hum and the movement lulled her to sleep. She woke with her head on his shoulder and another train, a twin to this one, whooshing past in the other direction so fast it made her dizzy.

Another huge city, packed tighter and higher than Washington, appeared outside their window. It grew even thicker and bigger: bridges, tall buildings close together, streets clogged with cars, trucks and taxis. Her stomach cramped. She did not know the distance in miles, but she was so far from home.

They put their backpacks on again, and she followed Andrew off the train and out through a turnstile into the flow of people. Down they went on escalators into the depths of the city. She soon saw that people who were in an extra hurry ran up or down the moving stairs. Others evidently expected it, because they moved way over to the right and let them charge past on the left. She had to be careful not to turn and slam the runners with her backpack.

Andrew bought subway tickets. They waited as a different kind of train without an engine whooshed in and out of the lighted area with sunken tracks. Looking down them, she could see an entrance to a dark tunnel. Amid a crowd of people, even with Andrew so close—he looked more excited than nervous now—she felt alone.

The second train that came roaring out of the tunnel was theirs. Amid the push of people, they got on but couldn’t find seats. They had to hold on to a pole as the train plunged into the dark throat of the tunnel. At least the lights stayed on in here. When they went around a curve, Andrew put one hand on the back of her waist to steady her and she leaned gratefully against him. Another lighted station, then another flew by. They stopped at some, not others. The rhythmic clatter of the train was endless. She lost count until he said, “This is us.”

Ella knew what he meant, but that was a scary thought:
This is us.
She tried not to judge too hastily, but so far, this was not her, nor could it ever be.

* * *

“This is not my usual subway stop,” Andrew whispered as they got off the train and climbed stairs out of the station. “Too many people might recognize me there. We’ll have to do some extra walking. Ella, I knew you’d have culture shock here and I’m sorry for that. I’m sure it’s much harder to go from the peace of the Home Valley to this hectic pace than the direction I went.”

“
Ya—
I mean yes. Thanks. I’ll be all right.”

When they emerged from the subway station, it was getting dark, which must mean it was around eight. “Okay,” Andrew said, “we’re going to need some food to take home with us until we can get a few groceries in, though I guess I left some canned and frozen stuff. I’m going to send you into that sandwich shop over there—see the sign Café Habana? I’ve been in there too many times to go waltzing in now. Take this thirty dollars—don’t dig the stack of money out of your pockets anywhere around here—and get us a couple of roasted pork sandwiches and something to drink. Maybe a side of slaw or salad. I’ll be right here. Here, let me hold your backpack. You’ll have to stand in a line.”

“They eat this late? Okay, like I overheard someone say here, no problem.”

Again, feeling she was sleepwalking, Ella carefully crossed the street to the restaurant and got in the carryout line. The place was busy; it took a while to wait her turn. It smelled great in here. Her stomach rumbled so loud she hoped others didn’t think it was thundering outside. She placed her order, paid what they asked, took the food and the change and went back outside.

Strange, but she felt a little thrill in her stomach to see Andrew—Alex—waiting for her. He helped her into her backpack and carried the sack of food as they walked down a street named—why, it was called Wooster, the same name as the city closest to Homestead!

And it was probably good too he’d brought them here, because again she noted that New Yorkers on the sidewalks didn’t really look at or greet others like at home. They just kind of passed them by. She tried to copy that
I’m busy
inward look, but she still couldn’t help studying others. Some folks looked happy, some sad. Most seemed in a huge hurry, maybe to get home after a day’s work. It was pretty obvious that some were outsiders, probably tourists, as they gawked and slowed down to look around.