Reluctant Witness (17 page)

“I’ve got one.” I held out my wrist to show
her the Citizen Chronograph Jared had given me as a gift early in
our relationship.

“Wow, you have good taste,” she exclaimed. “I
don’t think I have anything quite that fancy in my arsenal.”

“It was a gift,” I shrugged, not really
wanting to remember.

“Someone spent a pretty penny on you.” I
could see Jojo taking note of the diamonds surrounding the
mother-of-pearl watch face.

“He could afford it,” was all I said before I
busied myself with my suitcase, suddenly feeling overwhelmed once
more. It seemed to happen a lot more often these days. Was it my
guilt over Jared’s death that was finally catching up to me?

“Okay, I think I’ve covered everything,” she
decided. “Now, let’s hit the road.”

A short time later, we were in the Dodge
Dart, bags in the trunk, dog on my lap. Jojo had several more last
minute instructions for me as she navigated the Dulles Toll Road. I
tried to keep track of every one of them, but my head was already
spinning.

“What if I forget something?” I asked,
fretful.

“Don’t worry, Marigold, I wrote it all down
and put it all in your briefcase. You’ll do fine. So will Kary.”
She reached across and patted the sleeping dog. He opened his eyes
briefly and then closed them again.

“He always was a good little sleeper,” she
laughed. “Once, when Linc went off on assignment, we took him with
us on vacation. We had a ten-hour drive, and I swear that pup slept
through eight of them. I’m going to miss him. I was looking forward
to his staying with us. Promise me you’ll take good care of Kary,
Marigold.”

“Absolutely,” I smiled, “like he was my own.
It’s the least I can do for Lincoln, after everything he did for
me.”

“He’s a good man. I just wish he’d get his
head on straight when it comes to women. A man like that....”

“What?” I prompted her to finish her thought.
She smiled, shaking her head slightly.

“He’s so smart that he’s dumb. Maybe it’s
because he grew up in a family of boys. Or maybe it’s just that
when all’s said and done, he’s just not a manipulative kind of guy.
It’s like he thinks every woman who yanks him through his paces is
some kind of goddess.”

“What does that mean, his mother is a saint
and therefore all women must be equally worthy by virtue of their
sex?”

“Well,” she sighed as she turned into the
entrance for the airport, “you’d have thought he’d have figured out
how wrong that is by now, wouldn’t you? Liz is a very
down-to-earth, astute woman, with a good head on her shoulders. She
doesn’t take any nonsense from her sons. Maybe Lincoln thinks any
woman who bosses him around has his best interests at heart, like
his mother. Believe me, it’s just not true.”

“Some men just have to learn the hard way,” I
shrugged. “Too bad, because he’s a nice guy.”

“Not to mention easy on the eyes....” Jojo
shot me a mischievous grin.

“There is that,” I giggled. “Those eyes!”

“Don’t tell Tom I told you this, but if I was
twenty years younger, I’d be all over that boy!”

“He’s no good to any woman, though, until he
gets over Deirdre. As long as she’s yanking his chain, he’s
useless.”

“Too bad we can’t fix that, Marigold.” She
pulled into the short-term parking garage, did two loops before
finding an open spot, and then popped the trunk. “He’d be a real
keeper.”

“Tell me about it,” I groaned, unable to keep
the note of resignation from my voice. “It’s such a waste!”

Kary had one last chance to relieve himself
as we walked towards the main terminal entrance. He soon made his
way over to a fire hydrant. When he finished, I unzipped his travel
carrier and tucked him inside for the long journey through Dulles
International Airport. He was a good sport about it, but I could
tell he didn’t enjoy the experience of being jostled around in a
mesh carryall. Who could blame him?

At the Delta departures desk, I checked my
suitcase with the help of the FBI support services coordinator.
Once it was accepted and the tag was scanned, we made our way to
the “All Gates” entrance for the security checkpoint. Jojo had
arranged for me to have a government-issued ID card, so that I
could enter the TSA pre-check security line.

“There’s Bobby,” Jojo announced, nudging me
in the side as she waved to a short, non-descript man wearing a
black leather jacket and blue jeans. “He’s here to make sure you
get on that plane. We don’t want any unnecessary surprises.”

The introductions were brief and cordial.
After shaking hands with the newcomer, I got Kary out of his travel
carrier for the scan and we all stepped up to go through the
electronic gateway. A couple of TSA workers took a close look at
the FBI agent’s proffered credentials and a piece of paper he
handed them, stating that he and Jojo were on official FBI business
and would accompany me to the waiting area, to make sure I boarded
my plane safely. The taller of the two uniformed women hurriedly
waved the boss over. Next thing I knew, the three of us were led to
a small office, where Mary Thornworthy, the shift supervisor,
invited us to sit and wait for the flight to be called.

“If you’d like to be escorted onto the
aircraft after everyone else is seated, that would be fine,” the
fifty-something woman informed me. “After all, you’re flying in
first class, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Thanks,” I said, rather flustered to be
getting so much attention. After all my years of flying under the
radar, it felt odd to be singled out as the subject of so much
attention.

“Mary, I appreciate that,” said the
smooth-talking FBI agent in a voice that could melt butter.
“Susan’s had a rough couple of weeks and we just want her to have a
secure, comfortable flight.”

“I don’t know if you’re aware of this or not,
but we have an air marshal aboard this flight,” the security
officer told us. “I can let him know Susan’s on the flight, and
that way, you’ll have some peace of mind.

“That’s perfect,” Jojo smiled. “I’m glad
she’ll be in such capable hands.”

The next forty minutes were
spent sitting in the TSA office, away from the public eye, with
Kary on my lap, chatting about ordinary things. Bob gave me a list
of his favorite quintessential Atlanta experiences, and Jojo added
a few of her own. Fifteen minutes before the dog and I were due to
board, Kary went back into his carrier and we hiked to from the
main terminal to Concourse B, making our way to the gate. By the
time we were notified by the Delta agent that it was time for me to
take my seat on the plane, I found myself tearing up.
What is wrong with me? I’ve only known Jojo a
short time, and yet I’m sad to say goodbye. The stress must really
be catching up with me. I’m getting too attached to people I don’t
really even know.

Much to my surprise, the feeling turned out
to be mutual. I was enveloped in a tight embrace by the FBI support
services coordinator.

“You take good care of yourself, Susan,” she
said, bear-hugging me, “especially that ear of yours.”

“I will. And thanks for everything.”

Jojo leaned in and whispered in my uninjured
one. “If I had a daughter, I’d want her to be just like you.
Whatever happens, you have a good life.”

“You too.” I thought about my mom and how
much I missed her. For just a little while, Jojo gave me back that
sense of having someone care about me, and it had felt good. “And
thank Tom again for everything.”

“Don’t worry, dear. You’ll have the chance to
do that yourself,” she called after me. “Give my best to Jeff!”

With a deep intake of air, I steeled myself
to go on alone, one foot in front of the other, through the door
and down the long accordion hallway to the waiting plane. For a
brief moment, I hesitated, thinking it was impossible to do this
one more time all by myself. How could I restart my life yet again,
meeting a new group of people who would look after me?

Kary picked that moment to shift in his nylon
bag, fortuitously reminding me I wasn’t really alone at all. I had
my canine companion with me.

Part Two: Coffee, Crime,
And Con Men In The Caribbean

Bicknell’s Thrush migrates to the Greater
Antilles in the Caribbean every winter, but extreme weather events,
such as hurricanes, and the loss of tree cover through
deforestation and over-development further reduces the natural
island habitat, puts the songbird at risk.

Chapter Sixteen

The flight was uneventful. I had a window
seat on the right, thanks to Jojo, one that just happened to help
to conceal that injured ear of mine. Every once in a while, I would
reach my hand down and touch the mesh window of Kary’s carrier,
just to let him know I hadn’t forgotten him. I could feel that tiny
nose press back.

I passed the time engrossed
in
The Secret of White
Jasmine
. I loved the Caribbean setting and
the island intrigue. For the better part of an hour and a half, I
let go of my apprehension and felt myself transported to crystal
blue waters of Isla de Margarita, where the sinister Alex de Becque
plied naive women with bogus promises and stolen treasures, even as
he successfully conned them out of their fortunes. His game
crumbled the day he romanced the gutsy Belinda Darnell, who just
happened to be an Interpol agent tracking a missing Fabergé
egg.

The closer we got to Georgia, the more I
began to feel my stomach churning in anticipation. Glancing out the
window, I could see the ground below now, and I knew it was only a
matter of time before the landing gear would come out and the plane
would bump along the runway, depositing me into my new life.

We were on the ground, taxiing to the
terminal, when I saw a fellow passenger firing up his phone. A
moment later, he was talking to someone named Beverly, whose tinny
voice came through loud and clear. That reminded me that it was
time to turn on my new phone for the first time.

Extricating it from the bottom of my purse, I
found the power button and depressed it. Jojo had made me a cheat
sheet for quick operations on the phone, and as soon as the screen
lit up, I found I already had a text waiting to be read.

“Ask your driver how he got
his name, and when he tells you, you’ll know for sure he’s with
Jeff,”
it said. It was signed Abe.
Reminding myself that Jojo gave everyone aliases that she said I
would recognize, it didn’t take long to realize this was from
Lincoln. Smiling to myself, I felt a little thrill at the thought
that the FBI agent was still involved in my life. Maybe I couldn’t
have him as a romantic partner, but I was glad to have him on my
case. There was just something about him that seemed to raise my
spirits.

When passengers in the first class section
began to disembark, I grabbed my briefcase from the overhead
compartment, tucked my snakeskin clutch inside it, and slid the dog
carrier out from under the seat. A moment later, I was on my way
into the terminal to find my driver.

I found him over by the clock tower. He was
holding a large white card with my alias printed on it in blue
marker, the letters all in capitals.

“I’m Rocky,” he told me as I greeted him.

“You’re Rocky, like Sylvester Stallone’s
stair-climbing character?”

“No, as in ‘Rocky and Bullwinkle’,” said the
diminutive man. “You’ll understand what I mean when you meet
Jeff.”

“Okay.” I gave him a quick smile, not really
understanding his point, but mindful of Lincoln’s instruction to
ask. “Dare I wonder how you two came up with that?”

“We went to high school together. I was the
superstar, he was my sidekick. And now...well, you might say
there’s been a bit of a reversal in our roles.”

“Ah, it must be tough being his driver,” I
replied, thinking I was commiserating with the man.

“You think I’m his driver?” He gave me a big
grin. “Lady, there’s no need to feel sorry for me. I handle
security for Roaring Kill Productions, Jeff’s company.”

“Sorry. I just assumed...and I shouldn’t
have,” I apologized, embarrassment flushing my face.

“Don’t worry about it. I was a cop for twelve
years before old Jeff hit the big time and recruited me. I learned
a long time ago not to sweat the small stuff.”

“Roaring Kill...why do I know that name?”

“Ever been to the Catskills? It’s a
well-known hiking trail, not far from the Devil’s Tombstone.”

“That explains it. Still, it’s a great name
for a production company that creates thrillers.”

“Indeed.” He took my elbow, steering me in
the direction of the baggage claim area. We continued chatting
while we awaited the first of the many bags down the conveyor
belt.

Fifteen minutes later, Rocky led me out of
the terminal on our way to the parking garage. We were just about
to make our way over the crosswalk when I spied a notice for the
airport’s dog park.

“Oh, do you mind if we pop in, so Kary can
have a quick pit stop?”

“Sure, why not?”

We walked the few hundred yards to the fenced
enclosure, chatting about the weather in Atlanta this time of year.
The moment I had him out of his travel carrier and on the pavement,
the eager Shih Tzu pulled on his leash, clearly in a hurry to
relieve himself.

“Why don’t I stay here, with the bags?” my
companion suggested. “You two go ahead. Take your time.”

“Thanks.” I opened the gate, invited my
canine friend in with me, and then secured the latch. Rocky settled
himself against the fence to wait for us. He had his phone out and
it looked like he was checking messages. As an Atlanta police
officer passed by, I noticed he stopped to greet Rocky. The two men
got into an animated conversation, laughing out loud as they traded
words.