Every Now and Then-Part 1

Every Now and Then

Part 1

Although I'm still reluctant to admit it, looking back on it now maybe Rick is right. Maybe it was a dumb thing to do. Or at least dumb in the sense that I didn't confide in him as to where I was going. Nor did I call after I got there and realized I could use his help. If our positions were reversed I suppose I'd be pretty ticked off, too. But a lot of the reasons he's so upset are exactly the reasons why I couldn't talk to him about the whole thing in the first place. I knew he wouldn't understand why I so willingly offered her my help. I knew he'd only give me grief over that decision. And possibly he should have. But regardless of what he would have said I'd have gone anyway. No argument he could have offered would have changed my mind. I'd have gone anyway, and the results would have been the same. And I suppose that's why he's so angry.

S&S S&S S&S S&S

The last person I was expecting to hear from that night in mid-January, 1997, was Janet Fowler. As in Janet Fowler my ex-wife. Despite the fact our marriage had more or less ended on amiable terms almost two years earlier, I hadn't seen her or talked to her since I'd departed from Seattle on the Precious Cargo in May of 1995.* I'd returned to the city of my birth, and the only place I've ever really thought of as home, San Diego, California. Rick and I reopened Simon and Simon Investigations shortly after my arrival. The first couple months were lean, but within a short period of time we reestablished ourselves with old clients and old contacts while successfully seeking out new clients and new contacts. Our calendar was soon full and our bank account once again growing.

I hadn't had reason to look back in a long time. Until that night. Until the phone rang and it was Janet on the other end. Her voice was tentative and small, as though she wasn't sure what my reaction would be.

"AJaay?"

To be honest with you she was the farthest person from my mind when I crossed my kitchen floor and snared the phone on the second ring. She didn't have to identify herself. Just the way she said my name immediately told me who my caller was. Despite having lived more of her {1995 Reunion Movie - Simon & Simon: In Trouble Again *Precious Cargo - By: Kenda Buxton} adult life outside the state of Florida than within its boundaries, she never had lost that hint of a Southern accent that would occasionally slip through on some words. When she wasn't consciously thinking about it my name was one of those words. At those times she would emphasize the second letter dragging out the J sound in a way that I'd always found amusing,......and sexy, back in the days when thoughts of sex and Janet were often one in my mind. Although I had no Southern accent to cover, I doubt I was able to keep the surprise out of my voice.

"Janet?"

"Yes, A.J., it's,....it's Janet."

My first thought was something had happened to her father. Myron had stayed in touch with me since the divorce, calling me once or twice a year to see how I was doing and to shoot the bull about Simon and Simon. My former father-in-law, as well as one-time boss, hadn't lost his love for the P.I. profession. Although he now spent more time at the race track than he did on stakeouts, he still loved to experience the job vicariously. Therefore I was pretty sure Janet would call me if ill health, an accident, or death were to befall the seventy-four year old man.

"Is everything okay?" I asked. "Has something happened to Myron?"

Evidently Janet's thoughts weren't running in the same direction as mine. She was momentarily confused.

"Daddy? No. No, nothing's happened to Daddy. Why would you think something's,....." She broke off there. I believe she realized then that I was hard pressed to come up with any other reason for her call.

"Oh,....oh, ummm, no. No, A.J. Daddy's fine. As a matter of fact I just returned from Florida a few days ago. I flew down and spent two weeks with him."

"That's nice." I well remembered Seattle's winters. "You picked a good time of year to get away."

She chuckled, and I could almost see her parting the draperies with a hand. "Yes, I did. It's snowing out right now as a matter of fact. I'd say there's already three inches on the ground."

Despite the pristine mental picture her words painted I well remembered having to get up before dawn on many a winter day to shovel our driveway and sidewalks just so we could make it to work on time. It was abundantly satisfying to know if I walked out my door right at that moment I wouldn't even need to put on a lightweight jacket, let alone a hat and gloves.

It was almost as if she'd read my thoughts when she added, "But I know you don't miss it one bit."

It surprised me how much that one sentence hurt. Hurt because, although we hadn't spoken to each other in almost two years, she still knew me so well. Sometimes it's comforting to have someone know you in such an intimate way they can anticipate what your reaction will be to every aspect of life. That's how well Janet had known me. I don't think I was prepared to find out that's how well she still knew me.

"No, no I don't miss it," was all I said in return.

A long, awkward pause followed. I'd be lying if I didn't admit there wasn't plenty of questions I could have asked and plenty of topics I could have brought up. After all, we hadn't spoken in twenty months. But she was the one who made the phone call. I wasn't about to give her the impression that in any way, shape, or form did this contact on her part mean anything to me.

"So, ummmm.....how are things?" she asked.

"Fine. Things are fine."

"Is your Mom okay?"

"Yeah, she's fine. Keeping busy with more activities and projects than I can name. You know Mom."

I could tell she was smiling when she replied with warmth, "Yes, I know your mother."

I suspected Janet and Mom still kept in contact with one another just like Myron and I did, but I never asked my mother about it and she had never volunteered any information of that nature. But she and Janet shared a friendship bordering a mother/daughter relationship that went back over twenty years now, therefore it wouldn't have come as a shock to discover the two of them talked on the phone every so often or exchanged letters and greeting cards.

"And how's,....how's Rick?"
Rick had long been a sore subject between us, and I suppose even a portion of why we'd divorced.

"He's fine, too. Same old Rick."

She let that one drop, which was just as well. I'm sure she could have come up with at least a hundred smart remarks to my "Same old Rick," statement.

"And Toby?" She inquired about our basset hound who had come to live with me after the divorce. "How's he doing?"

I glanced down at the sausage-round dog who was slumbering on the throw rug by the kitchen door. "He's okay. Sleeping as usual. When he's not doing that then he's eating."

Janet laughed at the joke we'd so often shared in regards to our unambitious hound.

"Doesn't sound as though much has changed."

I looked around my house on the Grand Canal. I'd done some redecorating since I'd purchased it back from Rick. As a matter of fact I had just completed giving every room an overhaul. I'd started with the kitchen when I'd first returned, worked my way through the downstairs, and had just finished painting and wallpapering the upstairs the previous week. New carpeting was due to arrive within the coming month, new furniture for the den and living room right along with it.

"Some things have changed," I said to Janet, "but I suppose more than not they've stayed the same."

There was hesitation on her part before she asked her next question. "And you're,.....happy? I mean, things are going good for you?"
I thought about that a moment. It's not very often anyone comes right out and asks you if you're happy. But after a few seconds of reflection I could honestly say I was. Had I achieved everything I wanted out of life? No. Had I met every goal I'd set for myself? No. Had I experienced some disappointing failures and painful times? You bet. I can't imagine that any of us don't. But I had come to terms with all those things in recent months and knew that more often than not, the good outweighed the bad.

"Yes, Janet, I'm happy."

"I'm glad," she said, and I could tell she really meant it. "I never,....well I never wanted to cause you pain. You're the last person I would ever intentionally hurt."

"I know."

I didn't tell her she needn't take all the blame for our failed marriage, I had caused us just as many problems as she had. I suppose I should have voiced that assurance to her, but right at the moment my mind was occupied with other concerns. It was obvious to me there was more to this phone call than the desire to catch up on old times with the ex-husband. She sounded tired and stressed and worried. As though she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders and didn't know where else to turn for help.

"Janet, what's wrong?"

"Wrong?"

"You sound upset. Are you all right?"

"Yes, A.J., I'm fine. I just,.....I have sort of a problem and I,...well the reason I called was because I need you to recommend a good P.I. to me. One who lives up here in Seattle, of course."

Finally something about this phone call made sense. Naturally she'd turn to me for a recommendation regarding a Seattle P.I. Much to my former wife's dismay I had gotten involved in private investigation work again while employed at the law firm of Bloomdecker, Hershaw, and Clark. I had come in contact with a number of local private investigators during that time. Those that I didn't know personally I knew by reputation.

I was all business now and presumed her need involved some case she was working on for the D.A.'s office for whom she was the chief prosecutor. I'll admit I was a little surprised she'd need to call me for such advice. Generally attorneys have a pool of two or three reputable P.I.'s they draw from when circumstances warrant such a move.
"I assume this is for work? For the D.A.'s office? Without breaching any ethics can you tell me what kind of case it's pertaining to?"

"No, A.J. No. What I mean is, yes I can tell you what the case is about, but no, it's not for the D.A.'s office. It has nothing to do with work. This is,.....this is personal."

"Oh. Oh, I see."

I stopped there, waiting to hear what and how much she was going to reveal to me.

"I,.....A.J., I'm being stalked."

"You're what?"

"I'm being stalked."

I rounded the counter and hiked myself up on a bar stool. I got the sudden feeling this was going to be a much longer conversation than I had originally presumed.

"Start at the beginning," I said calmly. "Tell me everything that's been going on."

"Oh, A.J.,......I, you don't know how much I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me. You don't know how much I need,.....well how much I need a friend right now."
"Yes I do, Janet," I soothed. "If you recall there was a time in my life when I needed a friend and you were the one waiting there to listen."

Her, "I know," was quiet and reflective of all that had caused us to travel full-circle. She had been the person I turned to when the pain of Erica Garcia's murder threatened to be my undoing. Our marriage was a direct result of all Janet had so willingly offered me back then.*

"Let me repay you that debt now," I said. "Tell me what's happening."

She took a deep breath and began. "It started this past fall. On October fifteenth. I recall the date because I came home late from a banquet given in honor of a retiring judge. I was about halfway to the house when I thought I was being followed. I remembered what you and Daddy always told me to do if I found myself in such a situation so I drove around a little bit. Took several different routes, but he stayed with me. I was just getting ready to go to the nearest police station when he passed me and drove off into the night. I thought then that I was mistaken. That he just happened to be someone going my way. But the next morning he was parked outside my house."

"And it was the same guy?"

"At the time I didn't know for certain, but I suspected it was. From there it's escalated. Sometimes he follows me to work or from work, sometimes he parks outside my house, sometimes I'll be having lunch with a friend and see him standing across the street from the restaurant, and now,.....well lately my phone's been ringing at all hours of the day and night. When I answer it he,.....he tells me what he's going to do to me."

I didn't ask her to go into detail. I could easily imagine what type of threats the man was making.

"What happens if you don't answer the phone?"

"He leaves the same type of messages on the answering machine. It's gotten to the point where I have no choice but to leave the phone off the hook. He's even started calling me at work, A.J."
The guy had to be pretty bold, or absolutely stupid, to be calling a district attorney at work and making obscene threats to her.

"What about the police?" I asked. "I assume you've talked to them about this?"

"Yes, I have. Numerous times. They think he must have a scanner in his car. Every time I make a complaint about him he disappears before they get here. They've had me try calling in on another line so my report won't be broadcast, they've tried staking out my house and office, they've tried everything they can think to, but they just can't seem to catch the guy. He,....he seems to have some kind of sixth sense, some kind of uncanny ability that allows him to know the officers every move. That's why I went to Daddy's. I thought if I was a away for a couple weeks he'd tire of his game and leave. Pretty naive, huh?"

"No it wasn't," I assured her. " If nothing else it was worth a try."

"The police have provided me with an escort to and from work, but he never shows up when one of them is with me. When we call the whole thing off he's back again."

"And you have no idea who he is?"

"No, absolutely none. I've never gotten a good look at his face, but I don't think I know him."

Although it isn't unheard of, a woman being stalked by a complete stranger is fairly unusual. Generally such a crime is committed by former boyfriends or ex-husbands who can't come to terms with the end of the relationship.

"I'm to the point where I feel I have no choice but to hire some kind of body guard," Janet said. "As well as someone who can determine who this guy is in a way the police don't seem to be able to. That's why I called you. I need to know what P.I. in the Seattle area would be good at this type of job. I,........I'm so scared, A.J. I'm so scared."

She started crying then, letting out all the fear and frustration I knew she'd been keeping bottled up for months. I could easily guess she'd let very few people in on what was happening. She had always been extremely private about her personal life. I doubted her father even knew the trouble she was currently experiencing, later I would find out I was correct.

"Janet, don't cry. Don't cry, babe. It'll be okay." I didn't give it any conscious thought when I called her 'babe'. It was a pet-name that went all the way back to our years together in Florida. For some strange reason using it again didn't seem nearly as out of place as it should have. It took her a while to calm down. I could hear her blow her nose, then she apologized to me for getting so upset, just as I knew she would.

"Don't worry about it," I said. "Hey, if you can't call and cry on your ex-husband's shoulder whose shoulder can you cry on?" That made her laugh like I knew it would.

"Oh, A.J.," she scolded in jest, "what am I going to do with you?"
"Probably the same thing you did with me two years ago," I joked. "Kick me out."

"I didn't kick you out!" she protested, and she was right. She hadn't. When the time came to dissolve our marriage I left on my own accord.

"I was teasing you, Janet. You're right, you didn't kick me out. I found my way to the door all by myself." There was an uncomfortable pause that spoke of the pain we both still carried within over the demise of our marriage. I quickly used words to cover it over.

"Listen, Janet, I'm coming up there."

"Oh, A.J., no. No. I couldn't ask you to do that."

"You didn't ask me, I volunteered. That is unless,....unless you'd prefer I don't."

"No, no, it isn't that. It's not that at all. I just,....well it wasn't my intention for you to make such an offer. I simply called to see if you could recommend someone."

"I realize that. And I am recommending someone. Me."

"A.J., I....,"

"Janet, I don't mind. I don't mind at all. If it's okay with you then I'll fly up tomorrow. If you'd rather I not, for whatever reason, just say so."

"I,....if you're sure. If you're certain I'm not inconveniencing you in any way then yes, A.J.,......yes, I'd like it if you came up." The relief in her voice was easy to detect. "But only if you'll let me hire you."
"Janet,...."

"No, don't say it. I won't let you come unless I hire you. Signed contract and all. If you're coming up here than it's because you're working for me. I won't have it any other way."
I could see the wisdom behind her words and knew I'd demand the same of her if I was ever in need of her services as an attorney.

"All right. Signed contract and all."

"And no breaks either. I mean in regards to the fee."

"Okay, no breaks," I agreed. How well I suddenly remembered her stubbornness. We hung up shortly thereafter. I could hear her smile when I reminded her to lock all the doors, keep the draperies pulled, set her home security system, and turn on the outside lights. I told her I'd call her the next morning to let her know what time my flight was arriving. I planned to rent a car at the airport, then be waiting to escort her home when she came out of work.

"A.J., I....I don't know how to thank you."

"No thanks is necessary, Janet."

"Somehow I knew you'd say that," she offered right before she hung up the phone.

And somehow I knew she'd say that.

S&S S&S S&S S&S S&S

I stood in my galley starin' at the phone in my hand and hearing the 'buzz, buzz, buzz,' of a line that's been disconnected. I had no idea what to make of the call I'd received from my brother. I had just poured milk on my Wheaties when the phone rang. For a brief second I thought of lettin' the answering machine pick it up so my cereal wouldn't get soggy, but at that time of the morning it was unlikely my caller would be anyone other than Mom or A.J.

"Yo?" I said in way of greeting around my spoon.

"Rick, it's me. Sorry to interrupt your breakfast."

"No big deal. Just don't mind me if I keep right on eatin'. You know how I hate soggy cereal."

"Go ahead, eat," A.J. said. "This won't take long anyway. Listen, I'm going to be gone for a few days so,...."

I had to admire the way he tried to breeze on through relayin' that information. As though I wouldn't find it odd that out of the clear blue he suddenly felt the need for a little vacation.

"Where you goin'?" I asked as I bent over my bowl.

"Uh,....to visit a friend. We don't have much happening at the office right now so I don't think,...."

"When are you leavin'?"

"Umm,....in a couple hours."

"A couple hours?"

"Yeah."

His 'yeah,' was nonchalant and carefree as if he always called me on a moment's notice to say he was leaving in a couple hours and would be gone for a few days. In my best demanding big brother voice I barked, "A.J., what's goin' on here?"

And in his best innocent little brother voice he answered, "Nothing. Nothing's going on. I'm just going to be gone for a few days, that's all."

"What about Toby?"

"Mr. Gorman's going to take care of him for me."

"Mr. Gorman?"

"Yes."

"You can bring him over here. He can stay with me and Rex, ya' know."

"Yeah, I know. And thanks for the offer, but it's not necessary. Mr. Gorman walks three or four times a day ever since he had that heart bypass surgery last year so he said taking Toby along was no trouble."

Now that was weird. Not that old man Gorman wouldn't take good care of Toby, and overall Toby doesn't need much taking care of to begin with, but it was weird that A.J. wasn't bringing the dog over to my place. He always had before whenever he was going to be out of town. I got the distinct impression my sibling didn't want to see me face to face before he left for wherever it was he was going. That impression was hammered home even more when A.J. quickly said his goodbyes. It was as if he didn't want to be on the phone with me any longer than necessary for fear I'd ask him questions he had no desire to answer.

I hung up the phone and pushed my cereal bowl aside. I mentally reviewed what little I had learned from our brief conversation. A.J. was leaving in a couple hours to go visit a friend and would be gone a few days. Period. And every single bit of this sudden trip was so far out of character for him I began to wonder if it really had been my brother I was just talking to.

I mulled over gettin' in my truck and driving to his place before he left, but what the hell was I gonna say? "Hey, A.J., you can't leave until you tell me where you're goin'!"

No, I couldn't say that. In the first place I had no right, and in the second place my kid brother was forty seven years old. Not exactly a kid anymore, and certainly not obligated to answer to me for any reason. Plus we had always respected each other's privacy. Runnin' Simon and Simon like we do means we're together more than we're not during some weeks. Now we've always been close, so that's not necessarily a bad thing, but we'd both be lyin' if we didn't say we need some space from each other as well. And to that extent we rarely intrude on one another's time away from the office or pry into one another's personal affairs.

I tried to shrug the whole thing off by tellin' myself A.J. would explain everything once he returned from wherever it was he was goin'. The nagging questions stayed with me, however, as I washed my breakfast dishes, made my bed, and showered. It's as I was shaving that revelation dawned.

A.J. had been dating a hell of a sexy gal by the name of Lauren Albright for a little more than year now.* She had two young sons from a previous marriage who were crazy about my brother. For some reason I was suddenly certain this mysterious trip had to do with Lauren.

I bet he's takin' her away somewhere to ask her to marry him. He always has been a romantic. Or maybe he's already asked her and they're goin' outta town to get hitched. That'd be somethin' A.J. would do considerin' both he and Lauren have already been married once. Yeah, I can picture it now. Some quiet little seaside town, just the two of them for the next few days, and then when they come back he'll tell me and Mom they tied the knot.

I reached for my toothbrush, totally at peace with my self-made explanation.

It all makes sense. With Mom bein' gone right now on that cruise to the Bahamas, and then plannin' to visit relatives in Florida for another three weeks, A.J. can go off and get married without her bein' the wiser. Not that Mom won't be thrilled. She loves Lauren, and is nuts about Shane and Tanner, but she'd want to make a big deal over the whole thing and throw 'em some kinda reception filled with family and friends. I know A.J. wouldn't want that the second time around. I've got a feelin' he just wants something quiet and unobtrusive. Regardless of what he might say, I know he's still smartin' from everything Janet did to him. The last thing he'd want is to have some big deal made over another marriage.

I can honestly say it didn't bother me in the slightest that A.J. didn't confide his plans in me. I couldn't blame him and Lauren for wantin' to make this a private affair. Once Mom got back from her trip we'd take them out for a nice dinner. Maybe she and I could get them a gift certificate to some hotel or resort somewhere and I'd offer to take the boys one weekend so they could make use of it.

I briefly wondered what their plans were in terms of whose house they were gonna live in and the like, then pushed those thoughts aside as I left for work.

A.J. and Lauren crossed my mind on several occasions that day. Each time they did I mentally wished 'em good luck.

S&S S&S S&S S&S S&S

I've always hated parking garages. These modern multi-level structures with their thick concrete support pillars, deep blind corners, and dim lighting seem to be a breeding ground for men bent on violent assault of women. For just that reason Rick and I continuously caution our mother to avoid making use of them, especially at night. When Janet and I were married I passed the same cautions on to her. Unfortunately that ominous structure I dislike so much is the only available vehicle accommodation for employees of the District Attorney's Office of Seattle.

The afternoon was giving way to early evening by the time I wound my rental car seven stories up tight curves and sharp bends.

My plane had touched down at Seattle-Tacoma International Airport, referred to as Sea-Tac by the locals, at ten minutes after one. I called Janet from a pay phone to let her know I'd arrived and to ask what time she planned to leave work.

"I should be done around six," my ex-wife told me.

I glanced at the people rushing by me laden with suitcases and

carry-on bags. "I'll be waiting for you. What level are you parked on?"
"Seven."

It seemed strange to have to ask her the next question. "You still drive the BMW?"

"I still drive a BMW," she acknowledged, "but not the one you're familiar with. I sold it last year."

I knew the mileage had to have been getting fairly high on Janet's ten year old silver luxury sedan. Sounding more like a husband than I intended to I said, "Smart move."

If she thought anything of my tone or words she didn't mention it. "It was giving me problems on occasion. Anyway, I'm driving a black one now. Black with brown leather interior. It's a '96. Parked in section D."

"I'm sure I'll find it. See you then."

"Okay. And, A.J.?"
"Yes?"

"Thanks again. For everything."

I smiled. "Don't thank me yet. I haven't done anything."

"Yes you have," she responded softly before breaking our connection.

Forty-five minutes later I was leaving the airport's parking lot in a deep blue Ford Contour GL. I didn't want anything too flashy, or too expensive, so settled on the comfortable new-model sedan that offered plenty of leg room. I stopped for a late lunch at a restaurant I'd been fond of when I'd lived up here.

The Soup Kitchen was decorated in warm wood tones and dotted with small tables that sat no more than four. They catered to the noon time crowd from local offices with twenty-five different homemade soups on their menu and a variety of cold sandwiches. It was two-twenty when I walked in. There couldn't have been more than seven people scattered throughout the dining area. I placed my order at the cafeteria style counter. By the time I walked to the other end to pay the cashier my cream of broccoli soup, turkey sandwich, and a Coke were waiting for me on a red tray.

I chose an empty table in front of the wide picture window that faced the sidewalk. I took my time eating while watching white wet stuff spit and drop and flutter as though it wasn't quite sure if it was supposed to be snow or rain. The sky was a deep slate gray, the afternoon already growing dim. How well I remembered the perpetual gloom and precipitation of Seattle in January. It had been sunny and sixty-eight degrees when I'd left San Diego that morning. Why in the world anyone would want to make their home in a northern climate was beyond this Southern California boy.

Businessmen and women rushed by on the sidewalk hunched into their nondescript trench coats while clutching briefcases to their sides as though their lives depended on all that was contained within. I smiled slightly as I glanced down at my blue jeans, maroon ski sweater, and tennis shoes. When I lived up here I was one of them. One of those nameless, faceless people in an all-weather trench coat. An all-weather trench coat that if it had gotten mixed up in a group of trench coats I'd have had no hope of identifying again as mine. God, I had been so unhappy. So unhappy, and in so many ways unsuited to the white-collar, nine to five lifestyle.

I realize now that revelation came as much a surprise to me as it did to everyone else. Especially my wife.

I wiped my mouth with a napkin and left my dishes stacked neatly on the tray. I grabbed my bulky jean jacket from the back of my chair, slipped into it and snapped it closed. When I stepped out into the cold I berated myself for not having brought a winter parka and hat. Granted, the jacket fell almost to my thighs and with my heavy sweater underneath provided enough warmth for short excursions between the car and buildings. If I found I was going to be out in the elements for long, however, I knew I'd need to stop somewhere and buy something warmer. I'd been in such a hurry to leave the house that morning I never thought to reach in the far recesses of my closet for the winter coat I rarely had a use for. By the time I realized my error the Boeing 767 was passing over Portland. A little too late to ask the pilot to turn around.

The clock in the Contour registered fourteen minutes after three when I slid in. With almost three hours to kill before Janet got out of work I drove around, not really caring too much as to which direction I headed in as I refamiliarized myself with the city. I flicked on the windshield wipers and let them swish slowly back and forth. By four-thirty I was fumbling for the switch that would cause the headlights to awaken from their resting place in the car's streamlined frame.

At five I paid the parking attendant at the garage that housed Janet's car. I tried to recall the man's name, he was the same hulking African-American who'd held the position back when Janet and I were married. I had always wondered how his bulk fit in the narrow booth that protected him from the weather. I smiled at him when I handed him my dollar. I never did come up with his name before he allowed the wooden rail to raise that otherwise hindered my path. I guess it didn't make any difference one way or another. He didn't seem to recognize me nor did he return my smile. I suppose I was just another white face in the sea of white faces he'd seen every day for twenty years now.

I was lucky and found an available spot on level seven. Although I had hoped from something close to Janet's car, I was several sections away. But beggars can't be choosers so I was satisfied to park and keep a careful, yet subtle watch.

I propped the folded Seattle Sound I'd purchased out of a newsbox at the airport on the car's steering wheel. I perused the front page without losing sight of what was going on around me. All was quiet in the damp concrete space for the moment. I didn't see anyone loitering about. As a matter of fact no activity whatsoever was occurring in the garage until I heard a car engine purr to life about ten minutes after I'd arrived. I thought that was rather odd since I could see the elevator from where I was and no one had disembarked from it. But then there was a stairwell around the corner. I knew it was possible someone had come up that way. My current vantage point wouldn't have allowed me to see a person entering in that manner.

With as dangerous as parking garages are known to be I couldn't imagine why anyone would want to make use of an isolated stairway, but certainly the person might have gotten mixed up and exited the elevator on the wrong level, then chose to race up the stairs to the correct one. Rick's great for doing that. Regardless of whether it's a parking garage with brightly numbered levels, or the vast flat parking lot with neon letters that identify each row at Jack Murphy Stadium where the Padres play, the man can never find his way back to his vehicle. I learned a long time ago to pay careful attention to whatever section, level, or block he leaves his truck in. If I don't we spend hours walking around in circles looking for it, arguing the whole while as to where we each think it's located.

None of that mattered anyway. The smooth sound of what I identified as a Chrysler moved away from me. I turned to get a glimpse of no more than its tail lights before it vanished around a corner and headed down the ramp that would eventually take it to the street.

The elevator dinged to life shortly after that and kept on dinging as file clerks, secretaries and clerical workers ended their day. For the most part they were women in a variety of ages, sizes, and colors. They usually walked off the elevator in groups of twos or threes, but every so often one would exit alone. Darkness had fallen around us now. The dull yellow lights recessed in the low ceiling cast too-short patches of illumination about the area leaving a fair amount of cars and corners in menacing shadows.

I sat the paper on the passenger seat and watched. No one paid any attention to me. Not one woman noticed the lone man observing her. That scared me. It scared me on Janet's behalf, on my mother's behalf, and on behalf of every woman I had ever known and cared about. I realize it was the end of a long working day. Their minds were on picking this kid up from basketball practice, and this one up from day-care, while somehow getting another one over to the library so he could get his school project done before the next day's deadline. In-between all that she needed to stop at the grocery store, put gas in her car, get supper on the table, supervise homework, and do a load of laundry before collapsing in bed to share some quiet time with her husband.

If she didn't fall asleep first.

Obviously the last thing any of these women were worried about was me. Which was why it was good my reasons for being there had nothing to do with committing a crime against any one of them. All of them would have made for vulnerable, easy targets.

It was getting close to six p.m. when I once again took a closer look at my surroundings. This time I didn't care if I was subtle or not as I turned my head and craned my neck. I still didn't see anyone sitting in a vehicle as though on the lookout for Janet. Nor had any cars entered this level since I'd arrived. At this time of night people were more interested in going as opposed to coming.

Men began exiting the elevator now. I recognized a few as being colleagues of Janet's. I hunched down in my seat a bit, not having any desire to encounter those I knew. First of all I didn't want to go through the endless uncomfortable questions that were bound to prompted by my presence. Generally a former husband doesn't show back up in his ex-wife's life two years after the divorce. Especially when the union had produced no children, therefore giving the man little if any reason to stay in contact with the woman.

Secondly, it was quite possible Janet's stalker was someone she worked with. As much as I hated to acknowledge that fact, it's highly unusual for a woman to be shadowed by someone she doesn't know. Yes, in the case of celebrities it happens on an all-too-frequent basis, but in the case of private individuals the occurrence is rare. Granted, there's a lot of nuts in this world, but most of them aren't going to make a full-time job out of stalking you just because he or she admired you from afar in the produce section of the grocery store.

At the moment, however, Janet's male colleagues didn't appear to be interested in anything other than going home. Engines turned over one after another until a fine fog of exhaust fumes settled around me like damp mist off a bay.

It didn't come as a big shock when Janet's predicted six o'clock quitting time stretched to six thirty. While staring at the silent elevator door I told myself, No doubt she's still as absorbed in her work as she was when I was married to her.

I briefly wondered where that bitter thought had rooted its way up from, but decided some things are best left unpondered. Especially the painful happenings that eventually tore our marriage to mix-matched shreds of cloth neither one of us had any hope of piecing together again.

By the digital clock in the Ford it was six forty-seven when she finally emerged from the elevator. Other than appearing to be a bit rushed, she was as together at the end of the day as I knew she must have been at the beginning. Not a hair was out of place and her predictable tan trench coat was precisely buttoned and belted. A silk scarf swirling with bright reds, golds, and greens lay within the folds of the coat's lapels. Her makeup appeared fresh, but like always, never overdone. I knew no matter how closely I observed I wouldn't find a run in her stockings or a scuff mark on her expensive high heeled shoes.

Her head turned toward me when she heard the buzz that indicated I'd opened the car door but left the keys in the ignition. She paused and offered me a small, uncertain smile. The same small uncertain smile I offered her in return as I, too, paused.

Those first few seconds were awkward, uncomfortable and painful, just like I had known they'd be. We finally moved toward one another like two twelve year olds being forced to cross a school gymnasium and dance. Our steps were small, stiff, and most of all, surprisingly enough, shy.

She appraised me from head to toe while nodding. "A.J."

"Janet," I nodded in return. "You look good," I complimented, and I meant it. Actually she was gorgeous like she always had been. Time hadn't marred her natural beauty, I doubt it ever will. My mind drifted back over twenty years. I could see both of us the first day we'd met in the Peerless Detective office in Miami. It's an overused cliche I know, but I fell in love with her the moment I laid eyes on her. It had only turned me on more, and made me more determined to win her favor, when she played hard to get in the coming weeks.* My tenacity served me well. We'd become engaged the following year.

I reached toward her head, then drew my hand back realizing I no longer had the right to make such a gesture.

"You cut your hair," I stated the obvious. Her long chestnut locks were gone. Instead her hair was short, styled close all around her head fitting it snug and neat like a bathing cap. It would take me a while to get used to it, but I had to admit it looked darn good on her. It was chic, fashionable, and easily took ten years off her age.

She raised a self-conscious hand, running it over her skull. "Thanks. It took me a long time to decide to do it. But once I finally took the plunge I was thrilled with the results. I should have had it cut years ago. The mornings are a lot less hectic now."

I smiled with memory. Her hair had always taken the better part of her preparation time each weekday morning. Which meant she usually raced out of the house with a half-eaten bran muffin in one hand and a battered banana peeking up from a compartment of her purse as though begging to be rescued.

I guess since we were talking hair it was only fitting her next comment was, "You shaved off your moustache."

Much like she had brought a hand to her head, my fingers rose to briefly brush across my bare upper lip. "It's been gone for quite a while now. I got rid of it the day we set sail for home."**

I didn't think about how damning those words might sound. As though I was telling her the minute I was free of her I had gotten rid of something she'd liked. Something she'd encouraged me to grow. Granted, it was a small thing. Just a moustache. But even small things signify special times in our lives.

Something momentarily flickered in her eyes, but whether it was hurt, regret, or just plain weariness I'm not sure. As quickly has it arrived she chased it away.

"You look great," she said. "Still as boyishly handsome as I remember."

She laughed when I blushed. It's hard to imagine after our long history together she could yet evoke that type of reaction from me, but she could and she knew it. She was perfectly aware there's nothing that causes me more discomfort than to have my looks commented on or fawned over. My parents always taught me one's looks, be they attractive or otherwise, are simply the superficial trappings of all human beings. What really counts is who we are inside and how we treat those around us. When I reached my teen years and it became apparent the face I'd inherited from my father was an instant attractor of girls, my mother often reminded me, "A.J., the man who builds his life around a handsome face builds that life on unstable ground. His looks can be destroyed in an instant by an accident of some sort or ravaged by an obscure disease. If that person's whole life has been about nothing more than an attractive face he won't have very much left to rebuild with, now will he?"

I don't know how much of that I understood when I was sixteen, but by the time I was graduating from college it made a lot of sense.

I shrugged a shoulder in Janet's direction. "Boyishly handsome, maybe," I reluctantly conceded, "but not for much longer. My part's shorter than it used to be."

I bent my head just enough so she could see what I was talking about. I'd kill myself before I'd acknowledge it to Rick, but indeed the natural part of my hair on the left side of my scalp was beginning to recede. I'd first noticed it about a year earlier when I was showing Shane and Tanner, the children of the woman I'm currently seeing, some old pictures of Rick and myself when we lived down in Florida. It was then I realized a number of years had passed since that portion of my hair had grown of its own will all the way over my forehead.

Janet laughed again at my words and at the forlorn expression that accompanied them.

"Oh, A.J., if you live to be one hundred you'll die with a full head of hair. Don't worry, there's plenty up here yet."

I knew she wasn't giving it conscious thought when she gently ran a hand through my hair, ruffling it slightly as though it had just been kissed by a gentle summer breeze.

We offered each other an apologetic smile when I stepped away from her. At the same time she allowed her hand to fall back to her side.

I covered the awkward moment for both of us by reaching for her briefcase. I escorted her to her car while scanning the surrounding area. Unless her stalker was hiding outside his vehicle there was no one present but the two of us.

"Has he ever been waiting for you up here?" I asked quietly as I took her keys from her and unlocked the driver's door.

She looked around as if she expected him to jump out from behind the nearest pillar. "Not that I'm aware of. He seems to be on my tail once I'm on my way home."

"I don't imagine I need to ask this, but have you changed the route you take?"
"Yes. Many times. Dozens as a matter of fact. He,...somehow he just always seems to know."

"Okay," I nodded, "we'll talk more about it later. You're tired. Let's head home." I swiftly corrected myself. "To your house I mean."

"Yes, I know what you mean." She paused in the act of getting in her car. "There's not much there in the way of food. I haven't had an appetite lately so it seems rather pointless to go to the store."

So it wasn't just my imagination, her frame did appear too slight underneath her heavy coat. "Janet, you can't quit eating," I scolded.

She dismissed my words in the same manner a woman dismisses any unwanted admonishment from her ex-husband.

"I know. I haven't. I just don't have much there right now other than some fruit and lettuce. Where do you want to go?"

"I don't care. Some place close is fine."

She suggested a restaurant we used to frequent on occasion. The food was good, the service quick, and except on weekends the atmosphere quiet. I nodded my agreement, stood by her car until she'd locked the door and started the engine, then made quick strides to the Contour. I was right on her bumper as we wound down seven levels to the street. Of course I didn't have much choice in the tight confines of the garage.

Once we were on the road I stayed several car lengths back. No one appeared to be tailing her. I even turned down some side streets Janet didn't take, knowing I'd pick her up again in a few blocks on the main thoroughfare. Again, no one seemed to be doing anything out of the ordinary or taking special interest in the snazzy attorney in the BMW.

Janet had practically grown up at Peerless Detectives, not to mention having been Myron's office manager for ten years before obtaining her law degree. Therefore she knew the P.I. business inside and out. She never looked over her shoulder when she exited her car and crossed the well-lit street to the restaurant. She didn't have to look to know I was there.

I pulled the Ford in several parking spots behind Janet's German made car. I sat there a couple of minutes just watching. Once again I couldn't detect anything suspicious. Two more cars pulled up shortly after I did, four women on a 'girls night out' disembarked from one and an elderly couple, the man shuffling along behind a walker, from another. Obviously none of these people were giving Janet trouble.

A full ten minutes went by before I exited my vehicle and jogged across the street. I found Janet waiting in a secluded corner booth. She'd already been given menus. She was sipping a glass of deep red wine, another one sat across from her. Unless her alcohol consumption had vastly increased since we'd been married that second glass was intended for me.

"Did you see anyone?" She asked as I slid into the wide plush booth. Its back rose up behind me several feet affording us the privacy we needed.

"No, nothing. Unless your stalker is eighty-five and uses a walker, that is."
"No," she smiled slightly, "he's not. I don't suppose I'd be so damn scared if he was."

I started to reach across the table to offer her a touch of comfort, but just as quickly snatched my hand back. I wrapped it around my wine glass instead. God knows things were safer that way for both of us.

"Don't worry. We'll get to the bottom of this."

I took a long sip of the bitter liquid. I'm not any more of drinker than my ex-wife, but I will admit a chilled glass of wine and a good meal are often just what the doctor ordered after a long, tiring day of travel.

Janet nodded toward my glass.

"I hope you don't mind that I ordered that for you."

I smiled as I took another sip and turned my attention to the menu.

"Do I look like I mind?"

I couldn't see her smile, but I knew it was there. We made quick work of ordering when our waitress returned. I think Janet expected me to question her more regarding her recent troubles, but I decided to forego that until we got back to her home. She needed some distance from the situation so I kept the conversation light. We talked a little about her work, a little about Simon and Simon, a little about her father and my mother, and I told a few amusing anecdotes about Toby. By the time we rose to leave it was nine o'clock and she looked beat. I was glad her home was only a few blocks away.

I reached for my wallet as I stood, but she laid a hand on my arm to stop me.

"No, A.J. I'm paying."

"But....,"

"Don't," she ordered. "Don't start some trip down ego lane. I told you I'd only allow you to come if I could hire you. You're on the clock now. This was a business dinner."

"Janet, no, I..."

She shook her head. "Forget it. If you want to argue you'll have to pick another opponent. If part of playing security guard for a client means eating dinner out then you bill that client for the meal. You know you do."

"Not always."

She rested a hand on her hip. "Like when?"

I almost said, "Like when the client is an old friend, lover, and my former wife to boot." I had a feeling that wouldn't be too wise, however, especially the lover part, so I cracked, "Like when Rick forgets to save the damn receipt, that's when."

Janet laid down enough cash to cover our bill plus seven dollars for the tip before leading the way to the door. "Then it's a good thing you left Rick home this trip."

Knowing fully well how infuriated Rick would be if he found out where I was and why, I couldn't help but think, In more ways than one, as I followed her out of the building.

Once again, nothing out of the ordinary aroused my suspicions as I trailed Janet to the house. There were a few brief moments when I thought we'd picked up a tail. A car well behind me took every turn we did until we came to Janet's block. The vehicle finally turned in the opposite direction and disappeared, causing me to assume the driver was one of Janet's neighbors headed to his or her own home.

Janet hit the button on her garage door opener and guided the BMW to its usual spot. I pulled the Contour in beside her. I had debated leaving it at the curb, but decided against that for now. If Janet's stalker watched her every move as precisely as she claimed he'd soon enough be aware of my presence. But since, because of his absence this evening, we seemed to have an advantage over him I chose to keep it that way. I wanted nothing more than the satisfaction of sneaking up from the rear of his car, grabbing him by the throat and scaring the bejeezus out of him just like he'd been scaring her. And while I was at it I'd be obtaining his license number, taking note of his physical description, and letting him know quite firmly it would be in his best interest to never be seen by the lady again.

The garage door was already easing its way down behind me as I exited my car. For a moment twin 'ding ding dings' sounded as I reached into the back of the Ford for my suitcase and Janet reached into the back of the BMW for her briefcase and purse. We slammed our car doors one after the other, the sounds echoing off the walls of the nearly empty garage like gunshots.

A broom was propped up in one corner, a city recycling bin and a plastic garbage can on wheels lined the north wall. Other than those few items the structure was bare of anything that would indicate a man resided in the house. There wasn't even a lawn mower anywhere to be seen leading me to conclude Janet hired someone to do her yard work now. When we'd been married we'd done that job together. While I mowed our big lawn Janet tended to the trimming, edging and flower beds. Or at least early in our marriage she did. As time went on and her job took up more and more of our personal lives, she began leaving all the outside maintenance to me. Eventually that became another issue in a long line of issues we fought over. How well I could still recall the senseless arguments that only served to pull us farther apart.

"A.J., it's not worth fighting over! We'll hire someone to do the yard work for heaven's sake!"

"No!" I had hollered back from my position on the other side of our kitchen table. "I don't want to hire it done! We already have a cleaning lady for chrissake! What the hell's next, Janet? A goddam chauffeur?"

"You're being ridiculous and you know it!" She accused. "You tell me you don't want to spend your entire Saturday working in the yard so I tell you we'll hire a lawn service. But then you refuse to entertain the notion! I don't know what the hell has gotten into you!"

"Gotten into me? Nothing's gotten into me! It's you and that damn job of yours that's causing us problems. It's not the yard work I'm griping about, Janet, it's the fact that it's something we used to do together. Something we enjoyed doing together, that you can no longer find time for! Just like you can no longer seem to find time for a multitude of things we used to enjoy doing together."

"You're not a child, A.J. You certainly should be able to entertain yourself without me by your side every minute of the day."

"Oh, I can, Janet. Believe me, I can," I answered bitterly. "But I shouldn't have to. We're married, dammit! I thought spending time together was what marriage was all about. Or at least it used to be what this marriage was all about until someone decided to rewrite the book without asking me how I felt about it first."

"A.J.?"

My ex-wife's beckoning brought me back to the present. She didn't question me regarding my momentary lapse of attention. Instead she unbugged her security system and unlocked the door that led into the house.

She paused in the wide back hallway and took her shoes off. She bent down to pick them up, carrying them the rest of the way. I took my shoes off as well, but left them on the rug she had sitting below a row of thick oak hooks. I hung my coat up on one of the hooks, left my suitcase on the floor next to the wall for the time being, and followed Janet into the main part of the house that was lit up with automatic timers. I tried not to be too nosey as we strolled down the long hallway, passing a large bathroom and then a modest sized laundry room during our journey. We emerged together into the vast living room/formal dining room.

Janet had rented this home for several months after the home we owned together sold. Once our divorce was final she purchased this

two-story house that was situated in a quiet, upscale neighborhood full of professional people just a few blocks from the quiet, upscale neighborhood we had lived in as husband and wife. I had been in the home a couple of times back when we were separated, but never for very long and never beyond the living room.

Janet laid her briefcase and shoes by the stairs that led up to the bedrooms. She took off her coat and placed it over the railing.

She turned and offered me a smile. "Would you like some coffee and dessert?"
"Dessert?" I echoed with gentle teasing tone to my voice. "I thought you said you didn't have anything in the house."

"I don't. Or at least not much anyway. I did manage to make a run to the bakery before work this morning to pick a few things up. Just because I'm not eating doesn't mean you don't have to."

I chuckled a bit at that.

"Anyway, I have a small cake here. Would you like a piece?"

"Sure," I agreed.

I trailed her into the kitchen and helped as best I could considering I didn't know where anything was at. We carried our plates and coffee cups out to the living room. I sat in one of the easy chairs, Janet sat on the couch. She placed her dishes on the nearby end table and curled into the corner of the sofa, bringing her long legs up to tuck them underneath her. Her movements were inhibited by her skirt, but she made a few adjustments and soon appeared to be comfortable.

I watched her pick at her cake. She never really did anything other than move crumbs around the plate, reminiscent of what a three year old does when she's more interested in playing with her food than eating it. I didn't comment on her actions while I ate my piece and drank my coffee.

When I was finished I set my dishes on the end table Janet's resided on. I'd spent most of the day mentally reviewing everything she'd told me on the phone the previous evening. I now had some additional questions for her.

"Janet, have you ever gotten a good look at the guy's face?"
"No, not really. The few times he's come close enough for me to see his features he's always wearing sunglasses and has the hood up on his coat. Otherwise it's been at night and too dark for me to see much of anything."

"What about his size?" I pressed. "Is he a tall man? Short man? Fat, thin, does he limp, does he...."

"He's tall," she immediately acknowledged. "At least six foot four. And he appears to be have a big build."

"Big? Like how? Heavy set?"

Her eyes lifted to the ceiling in thought. "No. Not heavy set as in fat if that's what you mean. Just big. A sturdy build I guess you'd call it. But again, it's hard for me to say because the few times I've seen him standing outside his car he's always had on a bulky winter coat. I don't know if all the bulk is his, or if he's got himself layered in clothing to mask his true size."

"And you don't recognize him at all?"

"No. I don't have any idea who he is."

"Think, Janet. Think hard. Could he be someone you tried? Or a family member of someone you tried? Could he in any way be related to a past case?"

"The police have asked me those same questions, A.J. I can't tell you anything other than what I've told them. If he is someone I've run across in the capacity of my work, I don't remember him."

"Which probably means you never had reason to personally meet him," I concluded.

"Probably," she agreed. "But again, I've never gotten a good enough look at him to really know who he might be."

"And you have no idea where you might have first seen him? Or rather, where he might have first seen you?"

"What do you mean?"
"You said you first noticed him when he followed you home from the banquet you were attending. Was he at the banquet?"

Her brows came together with concentration. "No. No, I don't think he was. But then there were so many people there. Close to two hundred. And the tables we sat at only held eight. I suppose it's possible he could have been somewhere else in the room and I never noticed him."
"Would anyone have a list of people who were at the banquet that night?"

"Oh I don't know, A.J. That's been over three months ago now. I suppose it's possible Judge Sheridon's secretary might still have a list. She's the one who worked with his wife to arrange the whole affair. The RSVP cards were mailed to her home. I guess I could ask her if she still has a list."

"If she doesn't then ask her if she can put a list together by memory. Possibly between herself, the judge, his wife, and you, the four of you can reassemble everyone who was in the room that night."

She appeared dubious. "I'm not certain we can. I doubt that even between the four of us we'll come up with all two hundred names."

"More than likely you won't. But I bet you'll come close. Now what about the police? What do they think?"

"They're frustrated, the same as I am."

"Do you feel they've been doing everything they can to help you?"

"Yes," she nodded. "They've been wonderful."

That didn't surprise me. Janet did, after all, hold an important position within their city government and legal community. They certainly didn't want to be on the receiving end of the kind of publicity that would be generated if Janet's stalker did manage to hurt her, or worse.

"But they've never gotten close to this guy, you said?"’

"No, never. As I stated on the phone, he always seems to be one step ahead of them. They assume he has a portable police scanner, but what other types of access he has they don't know." She dug her fingers into the arm of the couch. "He's smart, A.J. He's very smart. They have a trace on my phone, but he never stays on the line long enough for them to garner anything from it."

And if they were able to trace it they'd probably discover he's calling from a pay phone, was the pessimistic thought I left unvoiced.

"What about his car? What type of car does he drive?"

"It depends on what day of the week you're talking about."

"Huh?"

"He keeps changing vehicles. Sometimes he's in a car, sometimes he's in a truck, sometimes he's in a sports utility vehicle. Sometimes they're old, sometimes they're new,....."

"Any particular make or model?"

"No," she shook her head. "Not that I've ever noticed anyway."

"I don't suppose you've written down what he's driving on what days?"

"No, I haven't." The regret in her voice was plain to hear. "I should have been though, shouldn't I? That information might have been a help to you."

I shrugged. "It might have been, then again it might not have been. Don't worry about it. Just start doing it from tomorrow forward. Write down everything. If he's following you write down the day and time and the route you're taking. If he calls, record that as well. If you notice him some place, in a restaurant or store, write it down."

"I should have been doing that all along," she berated herself. "I would have advised a client in this same position to do it. I know better than to be so careless."

I leaned forward and touched her knee. "Hey. Stop it. We can't go back and reconstruct what's already happened, but we can start keeping track of it now. Maybe something will make sense once we see it on paper."

Her hand came down to briefly cover mine. Her flesh was warm and inviting. Too inviting.

"A.J., do you think,.....do you think there's any hope of catching this guy and getting him out of my hair?"

I smiled at her words while at the same time sliding my hand out from underneath hers. I sat back in my chair, knowing it was best to keep some space between us. "Janet, I promise you, before I leave here I'll have this guy out of your hair."

"Really?" The hope in her voice was strong and impossible to ignore. "Do you really think so?"

"Yes, I really think so. He may be able to dodge the police, but he won't be able to dodge me. In the first place, as far as we know, he's not even aware I'm here. In the second place he's not going to be able to monitor my every move like he seems to be doing with the cops. If he wants to play cat and mouse he's going to find out soon enough he's playing the game with the wrong guy."

Janet smiled. She well-knew my tenacity and stubbornness. If I said the guy would be out of her hair before I left for home then I meant it.