The Escape Artist

  She was appalled. "There is no comparison. No analogy. This guy's girlfriend is a tramp."

  "What makes her a tramp and you not? The fact that you're an attorney and she's a mere secretary?"

  "Why do you always have to attack me?" she asked, her voice rising. "I thought you didn't want me to have to censor what I say to you? Do you enjoy fighting with me? It's as if you're waiting for a chance to jump down my throat again." She was talking fast, trying to evade the logic in what he was saying. She didn't dare entertain the idea that he might be right.

  "I just find it hard to listen to you compare yourself to your betrayed client."

  "I wasn't talking about the infidelity part of—" She stopped walking suddenly and shut her eyes, trying to rid herself of the trapped feeling that was closing in on her. When she opened her eyes again, Ron was looking at her closely.

  "That's what it's all about, isn't it?" she said to him. "You've been angry with me ever since I told you I'd slept with Jim. I never should have told you. You're never going to let me forget it."

  "I was disappointed in you, yes. I've never given you grief about the affair because I didn't want to come off as your judgmental big brother. But when you start comparing what you're going through to what this poor client of yours is experiencing, when you can't even see that she is Susanna and not you, then I can't keep my mouth shut any longer."

  "I really believed Jim when he said his marriage to Susanna was over."

  "You did it in the woman's bed. How would you feel if your client told you she'd come home and found her husband and his girlfriend together in her bed?"

  "I'd feel outraged, but that's totally different."

  Ron laughed. "How exactly is it different?"

  "Because her husband's a self-centered, arrogant bastard."

  "Oh. Jim's a nice guy, so that makes it all right."

  Peggy was exasperated. "Look, I didn't want to fight with you again. I just wanted—"

  "You downplay your part in what happened with you and Jim. You take no responsibility for—"

  "I'm ashamed of what I did. Is that what you want to hear me say? I convinced myself it was all right, because Jim said it was. I was upset when Susanna came home early, but I didn't really feel sorry for her, because Jim always said that she …" Her voice trailed off. She was sick of this argument, sick of defending herself. She let out her breath and sat down on a large rock close to the sidewalk. "I don't know what I think anymore," she said. "I'm confused." She looked up at her brother. "I had lunch with Linc Sebastian the other day."

  "Did you?" Ron rested one foot against the rock, but remained standing.

  "Yes, and he said some things that shook me up. I shouldn't listen to him. I don't know why I did. Ordinarily I can shrug off whatever he says, but sometimes he sounds so sincere."

  Ron nodded. "I think Linc is sincere," he said. "He doesn't care enough about what people think of him to bother lying to them."

  Peggy let Ron's words sink in. She knew they were the truth, but she didn't want to hear it. "So now I'm mixed up."

  He sat down on another rock opposite her. "About?"

  "Everything. There's a part of me that wishes Linc did know where Susanna was. I wish he were slipping her money. The fact that she has no insurance for Tyler really distresses me."

  "I'm confident she'll get Tyler medical care one way or another."

  "But let's say we never find her. Even with the Missing Persons show, it's possible that we never will. I'd rather know that she's out there with good insurance and plenty of money for Tyler than for her to have to struggle to take care of him."

  Ron's smile was slow to form. "That's the Peggy I know and love," he said, his voice gentle. "Welcome back, Sis. I know that deep down you have Tyler's best interests at heart, but when you start directing your hostility at Susanna, I tend to forget that."

  Peggy put her head in her hands. "Being angry at Susanna gives me something to do," she said. "Otherwise I sit around feeling helpless. Jim says we should leave everything up to the 'authorities,' and the authorities say—"

  "Forget about what Jim wants and what the authorities want," Ron said. "Take a few steps back from this mess so you can see it clearly. Then follow your own head and heart, all right?"

  She stared at him. "I'm not sure that would make any difference," she said.

  Ron got to his feet and leaned over to help her up. "I think it will make all the difference in the world," he said.

  She thought about Ron's words as she made dinner that night. She couldn't shake her brother's anger at her, nor could she shake her guilt. Ron was right. She hated to admit it, but she was no better than the "skanky secretary" Bonnie's husband was shacking up with. Right now, she didn't like herself very much.

  Still, she'd appreciated her brother's counsel. There was something freeing about approaching the problem with a fresh eye, but she knew as she sat down to the table with her husband that she would have to tread softly in presenting her thoughts to him.

  Jim had expressed surprisingly little interest when she'd called him to tell him about Missing Persons. "I'm amazed they'll have Tyler's case on this soon," was all he'd said, and if she hadn't known better, she would have thought there was disappointment in his voice. He was extremely busy at work, she knew. Even now as he sat at the table, he kept glancing at his watch and jotting notes on a pad resting next to his plate.

  "I'll have to go back to the office after dinner," he said.

  "I was hoping we could talk a little."

  "Can it wait till the weekend?"

  "I just have a few questions about Tyler's medical care."

  "What about it?"

  "Well, is there any way you can keep him on your medical insurance even though you don't know where he is?"

  "What do you mean?"

  She wasn't sure what she meant. "Let's say the Missing Persons show doesn't work out, and we still don't know where Tyler is," she said. "Then I guess what I'm asking is, could Susanna still use your insurance for him without having to let you know where she is?"

  "It would be great if she tried," Jim said. "We could probably catch her that way."

  "But…the most important thing is for Tyler to have good medical care, right? And if Susanna could use your insurance for him, she could get him the best, but she'd have to be assured we wouldn't try to track her down, or—"

  "Have you lost your mind?"

  "I'm just rethinking some things. I mean, even if we never got Tyler back, wouldn't you want to know that he's getting good care?"

  Jim looked at his watch again. "If Susanna wants my insurance for him, then Susanna can damn well bring him home," he said, his face reddening.

  She was put off by his anger, but could hardly blame him. She'd suddenly changed her thinking about the whole situation. She couldn't expect him to catch up to her that quickly.

  Jim slipped the notepad into his shirt pocket, and it was obvious he was finished with the conversation. "I've got to go," he said. He leaned across the table to kiss her before standing up. "I'm not sure what time I'll make it home," he said as he picked up his briefcase from the counter. "I'll give you a call."

  "All right."

  She sat at the table for a long time after he left. Finally, she got to her feet and walked into the study. She opened Jim's filing cabinet and pulled out the file on their health insurance. She wasn't certain what she was looking for. A way Susanna could file claims without Jim ever knowing about them, she guessed. The claim forms and information booklet didn't tell her much. She jotted down the company's phone number and was putting the papers back in the file when her fingers caught on a slip of paper. She pulled it out and saw Jim's handwriting on the lined sheet.

  S—Here's the list of some Boulder MDs who perform abortions. I'd appreciate it if you'd get it done before your second trimester, since the price goes up after that.

  There followed a list of six doctors, along with their phone numbers and addresses.


  Peggy stared at the list. Hadn't Jim said he'd never given Susanna the names of doctors? What else had he lied to her about?

  Back in the kitchen, she did the dishes and mopped the floor, trying to keep busy, trying to quiet her thoughts. But it was no use. When she finished cleaning up, she dialed Ron's number.

  Ron answered, and she was relieved to know he was home.

  "Can I come over?" she asked. "I think I have some decisions to make."

  –34–

  Linc picked up the stack of faxes and sat down in the leather armchair in his studio. He whisked through them quickly, hunting for anything that might be from S.T.U. Downe. Nothing. So what did he expect? He was supposed to be getting on with his life, yet every day he went over his faxes with a fine-tooth comb. He wished now that he'd played "Suzanne" for her during his last show. He pictured her with her ear to the radio, waiting and hoping, only to be hurt by his omission.

  The faxes were of the usual "please play this for me" variety, except for several pages that looked like copies of newspaper articles. He found the cover letter accompanying them and saw that it was from the reference librarian in Annapolis.

  Attached are articles from The Capital, the Annapolis daily newspaper, relating to the people on the list you gave me. I found the information by checking last year's papers for the dates you gave me on the list. It actually turned out to be quite a simple task, and as you can see, there is one possible connection between these people. I hope this is helpful to you. Give my best to Grace.

  Linc read the first article. Then the second. By the time he'd finished the third, he was certain he understood the connection. And if he was right, Susanna was in grave danger.

  Dropping the faxes to the floor, he pulled the phone book from his desk drawer. Within minutes, he had reservations on the next flight to Washington.

  –35–

  The gray dawn light was slipping through Adam's bedroom window when Kim awakened Wednesday morning, and she could hear the patter of rain against the glass. She rolled over to see Adam sitting up against the headboard, leaning into the light from his night table lamp as he sketched on the pad propped against his knees. A dream, no doubt. She smiled sleepily, searching her own head for dreams from the night before, but finding only hazy images and details too thin to grasp.

  Obviously, though, Adam was having no such difficulty. He was sketching furiously, and she sat up to peer over his shoulder. He either didn't notice or didn't mind the intrusion. His sketch was of a garden scene—a vegetable garden, with winding vines and huge squash and a dozen or so sunflowers edging one side.

  "Interesting," she said.

  "I'm going to skip working on the mural today." Adam began sketching a picket fence behind the sunflowers. "I want to get started on this painting."

  "It's raining out anyway." She suddenly remembered what day it was. November thirteenth, the next date on the hit list. She'd still seen no mention of the bizarre list either in the paper or on the news.

  "Today was supposed to be the day for that next guy on the list to be…you know," she said.

  "Oh, right." Adam stopped sketching briefly. He kissed her cheek where it rested on his shoulder. "Don't worry about it. I'm sure it's all been taken care of."

  "I hope so. You'd think there would have been something on the news, though, wouldn't you?"

  "Trust me, Kim. The cops could not possibly ignore the letter I wrote." He started to draw again, and she rolled onto her back and stretched. She could hear Cody babbling contentedly to himself in Liam's room.

  "I'd better get up," she said. "I have a ton of work to do today." It wasn't a complaint. She welcomed having her workday spread out in front of her and a paycheck promised at the end of the week. Standing up, she pulled on her robe. "Are we still on for painting together tonight?"

  "You bet, although I have to warn you, I might be completely immersed in this by then." He nodded toward his sketch pad. "Sometimes I get so caught up in what I'm working on I don't even notice who's around. That hasn't happened in a long time, but I have a feeling this particular piece is going to—"

  "Don't worry," she interrupted him. "Nothing would please me more than to see you lost in your painting."

  She got dressed and made breakfast for herself and Cody. Adam was still propped up in his bed by the time she peeked into his room to say good-bye.

  "I'll see you tonight," she said.

  He barely glanced up from his work. "Okay," he said. "See you later."

  She spent the day at her computer, stopping only long enough to take Cody for a walk. It was getting cold out and garage sale season was over. She would have to spend money soon on winter clothes. Thrift stores, maybe.

  She returned to Adam's at seven that night, and he greeted her with a quick kiss at the back door. "Hi," he said. "Come see,"

  She followed him upstairs and into his studio, where the painting he'd been working on all day was well on its way to completion. The sketch he'd made that morning had been transformed into a canvas filled with those intense Soria colors—the yellow of the sunflowers, blue of the sky.

  "I love it." She stood back to take it in. "The colors are fabulous."

  "I've had a great day," he said. "Don't mind me if I ignore you, all right?"

  She didn't mind a bit. She settled Cody in Liam's bed and had just returned to the studio when the doorbell rang.

  "Oh, I forgot," Adam looked distracted. "That's probably Cherise. She said she'd stop by to pick up the painting of the sailboats for the gallery." He set down his brush and wiped his hands on a rag.

  "I can give it to her," she said. She knew he didn't want to be pulled away from the studio.

  "Would you? It's ready to go. It's wrapped and standing by the front door." He looked at her gratefully. "Thanks, Kim."

  "You're welcome." She went downstairs and opened the front door.

  Cherise stood in the porch light, a wide grin on her face.

  "Hey, lady!" She stepped into the room and grabbed Kim by the wrist. "Haven't seen you in a while."

  Kim couldn't help but smile at gallery owner's boisterous greeting. "I know," she said. "It's good to see you."

  "Where's the man?"

  "Upstairs in his studio. Completely engrossed in a new painting."

  "Oh, that is music to my ears!" Cherise looked down at the wrapped painting at Kim's side. "I gotta see this one right now, though. Do you mind?"

  "Of course not. Come into the kitchen." She led the way. "Want something hot to drink? How about some cocoa?"

  "Sounds good to me." Cherise unwrapped the painting on the kitchen counter, while Kim filled mugs with water and hot chocolate mix and put them in the microwave.

  "Oh, this is a beauty." Cherise propped the painting against the cabinets. She stood back to look at it, and Kim turned around to see the familiar trees and sailboats.

  "That's a Soria, all right," Cherise said. "I'm so glad he's painting again." she cocked her head at Kim. "I have the feeling you're behind that, huh?"

  "Oh, I don't know." Kim licked the cold cocoa from her spoon before putting it in the sink. "Maybe enough time's passed, finally."

  The microwave beeped and she took out the mugs and handed one of them to Cherise.

  "Thanks, hon." Cherise sat down at the table. "And you're painting too, Jessie told me. When are you going to have something for me to hang in my gallery?"

  Kim laughed. "I hope you're not holding your breath. I'm no Adam Soria. Besides, I don't have much time to paint. I've gotten a few word processing jobs, finally. They're keeping me busy."

  "Well, at least one of the three of you is bringing in some money."

  It took Kim a minute to realize who the "three of them" were. Jessie, Adam, and herself. She liked being considered part of a trio.

  "Adam has a little bit of the insurance money left," Cherise said, "but Jessie must be living on her good looks." She shook her head. "I'll tell you, the quicker Adam can turn out more paintings like that one"
—she pointed to the canvas on the counter—"the quicker he can make himself a living again. People love his work. Tourists come by, asking where they can see paintings done by the mural painter. I show them what I have in the gallery, and they always want to buy one." She took a sip of her cocoa. "I swear, they'd buy a painting right that second, but Adam's so weird about it, you know what I mean? He won't give me permission to make a sale for him. Always wants to know first. He likes to come down and meet the people buying his work. He's crazy, if you ask me. A couple months ago, this elderly couple came in and they wanted to buy that one with the leaves—you know the one I mean?"

  Kim nodded. It was one of her favorites.

  "But I couldn't reach Adam, couldn't reach him, kept trying, and they finally had to leave. Frustrating! I told him, 'Adam, you need to carry a pager.' Turns out he was over at Computer Wizard, returning a loaner computer or something like that. I asked him, is that as important as selling a painting? I said, if you're going to run around—"

  Kim did not hear another word out of Cherise's mouth. Her hand holding the cup of cocoa froze halfway to her mouth. "What did you say?" she asked. "He was returning a loaner computer?"

  "You know, a computer the store lends out when you .., well, I don't know how all that stuff works." She gave an annoyed wave of her hand. "I'm computer illiterate and plan to stay that way. Anyhow, I told Adam he'd better just forget about computers and pick up his paintbrush. But back then, he really didn't care. Now though—" She interrupted herself to lean closer to Kim. "Are you all right, honey? You look a little green."

  Kim stood up, her legs shaking. "I'm fine. I just…the chocolate's a little too rich for me, I think." She dumped her cocoa into the sink.

  "Oh, no." Cherise leaned back in her chair. "That man better not have knocked you up already."

  "Cherise!" Kim tried to smile, but she wasn't sure if the effort was successful.

  Cherise stood up. "Can I disturb him? I want to see what he's working on."