Don't Look Behind You Part 2

"I'm sorry too," I said. "I was pretty horrid. I didn't mean that crack about your being old."

"If you'd said it today, I'd have had to agree," Jim said wryly, lifting his hands and grimacing as he flexed them. "At least in my line of work I don't get writer's cramp. I pity your mother if she ever gets arthritis. There's no way hands like these could keep pushing a pen all day."

"She doesn't usually write in longhand," I told him. "That's probably one of the reasons she's so b.u.mmed out at night."

"We're all b.u.mmed out," said Jim. "We're going stir-crazy. Why don't I see if I can pick up a few board games? Do you and your brother play Scrabble? Or what about Yahtzee?"

"Bram can't spell well enough for Scrabble," I said. "He likes Monopoly, though, and Family Feud."

"If they're not in the shop downstairs, I'll check out the mall," Jim said. "None of us needs another night of the b.o.o.b tube."

After he left, I remained outside on the balcony, fighting the guilt I felt at not having come clean with him. I knew that I should have told him I'd sent Steve a letter. On the other hand, there was really nothing to be gained by that, 42.

and it wasn't as though what I'd done had put us in danger. There were ways for people to trace a phone call, but after listening to Mother's conversation with Max, I realized that even the FBI, with all their sophisticated technology, couldn't trace a letter that was sent through the mail.I stayed outside awhile longer, trying to sort things out in my mind until, around 4 P.M., the overcast dissolved in a drizzle and I was forced to move back inside. There I found Bram in the living room, sprawled on the floor, watching TV through half-closed eyes like a zombie."Jim's gone out," he said. "He went to the mall.""He's gone to buy some games we can play tonight.""I wish we could go swimming," Bram commented wistfully. His round face suddenly brightened as an idea struck him. "If Jim's at the mall, then he won't be back for a while. It's starting to rain, and the pool won't have anybody in it.""No way," I told him firmly. "We've got to live by Jim's rules." The moment the words were out, I felt like a hypocrite. I decided that when Jim got back I'd make my confession. The worst he could do in response was to bawl me out again, a small price to pay for dumping a weight off my conscience.For lack of anything better to do until his return, I plunked down on the sofa and gave myself over to the Sat.u.r.day Afternoon Movie, an adventure story about an ill-fated wagon train lost in the Arizona desert. For the next half hour Bram and I sat in silence, watching as the cast was reduced by a third by a smallpox epidemic and listening to a frontier woman scream her way through childbirth.The newborn infant had just been kidnapped by Indians when I heard a knock at the door, and a voice called out, "Housekeeping!" Hauling myself up from the sofa, I went over and looked out through the peephole. There in the hall was the familiar, uniformed figure of one of the hotel maids, standing next to a cart piled with linens and cleaning supplies.

43.

"The maid is here to make up the rooms!" I called to Mother, who was at work at her desk in the bedroom. "Shall I tell her to come back later after Jim gets back?"

"She's running so late, we can't ask her to wait," said Mother. "Besides, I'm dying for a shower, and we're out of clean towels."

So I opened the door and immediately wished that I hadn't. I stood there with one hand circling the k.n.o.b and the other poised in readiness to undo the chain lock, experiencing the unsettling feeling that something was wrong. The woman who stood in the hall appeared anything but threatening. She was slender and tall, with blond hair and very dark eyes. The fact that I didn't recognize her wasn't surprising, as most of the hotel staff was off on the weekends and part-time workers subst.i.tuted for the regulars. The maid wore the regulation blue shirtwaist dress with MAYFLOWER embroidered across the breast pocket and was manning the usual pushcart loaded with cleansers. True, her dress hung loose and was a little too short, hitting her just above her kneecaps, but that wasn't all that strange either, since if the woman only worked on Sat.u.r.days and Sundays, she might have borrowed a uniform from a full-time employee.

"What's the matter?" Bram asked me. "Why are you standing there?"

"Nothing's wrong," I told him, feeling like an idiot. Still, I continued to hold the door, not liking to appear foolish, yet oddly reluctant to open it the rest of the way. I wasn't able to pinpoint what was disturbing me and finally decided that it had to be the woman's eyes. I'd heard people use the term "black" in regard to eye color, but usually when you looked closely at someone whose eyes were described as black, you discovered that they were actually a very dark brown. This woman's eyes did not fall into that category. They were literally black, so the pupils were lost in the irises, and they dominated the rest of her face completely.

44.

45.

"Then why don't you open the door?" Bram persisted."That's what I'm doing," I told him, and slid back the bolt. At that precise instant I knew what was making me uneasy. My attention had been so caught by the maid's strange eyes that I had not taken in two other odd things. Her cheeks and chin were darker than the rest of her face, and her eyebrows were a different color from her hair.I must have projected my panic at that discovery, because before I could move, she hurled herself forward, ramming the door so hard with the side of her shoulder that I found myself sliding back like an inefficient doorstop."Bram!" I yelled. "Come quick! Help me hold the door!""What do you want to do that for?" Bram asked casually, his eyes still glued to the flickering screen of the television set."Mother!" I shrieked. "Come fast! I need your help!" I couldn't believe the incredible thing that was happening. No cleaning woman would strong-arm her way into a hotel suite! Yet that was exactly what this woman was doing. The door was slowly and steadily being forced open, and I couldn't resist the strength being used against me. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. Mother had emerged from the bedroom and was hurrying toward me, but a million miles of floor s.p.a.ce still lay between us, and I knew that she was not going to reach me in time to help me.Then, through the widening gap between the edge of the door and the frame, I caught sight of Jim at the very end of the corridor, striding purposefully along with his arms filled with packages. A moment later the sacks were flying through the air and Jim was racing toward me with his left arm extended like a battering ram and his right hand fumbling frantically beneath the flap of his jacket. The next thing I knew, the maid had spun to face him, and Jim was shouting, "April, shut that door!" The sudden release of pressure accomplished that for me, and the door slammed closed with a crash that rattled the windowpanes. I shovedthe bolt into place and punched the lock in the center of the k.n.o.b, and then just stood there trembling, weak and shaken with shock and terror, my knees so rubbery they threatened to buckle under me.By this time Mother had reached me and was braced against the door, although she obviously had no idea what was happening. From out in the hall there came a thump and a curse, followed by a pop like the sound of a cork coming out of a champagne bottle and the crash of the linen cart slamming into the wall."What's all that racket?" yelled Bram, scrambling up from the floor, belatedly realizing something exciting was happening."Stay back from here!" ordered Mother. "Who is that person, April? What in G.o.d's name's going on here? That wasn't any maid""She's not even a woman!" I said shakily. "She has five o'clock shadow, and she's wearing a wig that doesn't match her eyebrows. She-I mean, he-tried to shove his way into the room. If Jim hadn't come when he did, that guy would be in herel"In the corridor outside our room there was now only silence, an unnatural silence more frightening than the sounds of conflict.Cautiously, Mother moved to put her eye to the peephole."What do you see?" I whispered after a moment."Nothing," she said. "But that doesn't mean he's not there. He could be standing out of my line of sight, flattened against the wall right next to the doorway. And Jim-I don't see him-he isn't there either." She raised her voice and called out, "Jim, are you out there?" When n.o.body answered she backed away from the door, clutching my arm and dragging me back along with her. "We've got to get out of range. If that man has a gun, there's nothing to keep him from firing it through the door.".

46.

"But Jim may be hurt!" I protested. "We've got to get help for him!""We're not going to open that door," Mother said firmly. "I'll call the front desk and tell them there's been a fight in the hall outside our room and we need Security to come up and check things out here."It was probably less than five minutes, but it seemed like an hour before the security guard arrived and announced himself."Keep back," Mother cautioned. "We can't be sure who it is." She crossed to the door and again peered out through the peephole. "The chain lock's on, and I'm keeping it on," she said loudly. "What's going on out there? Is anybody hurt?""There doesn't seem to be anything wrong," the man in the corridor told her. "Whatever it was you heard, the disturbance is over.""You mean there's n.o.body out there?" Mother asked incredulously."There's no one here and no indication of a problem. Actually, there aren't many guests on this floor right now. We hosted a convention this week, but it was over yesterday, and most of the people checked out last night or this morning.""The hall can't be empty," I whispered. "I saw Jim there. And we both heard him fighting with the man who was dressed like a maid. It doesn't make sense, unless"-a thought occurred to me-"unless the man tried to escape and Jim ran after him.""I hate to phone Max, but I guess I'll have to," said Mother."Uncle Max will be mad if you do," Bram piped up nervously. His face was white, and his lower lip was trembling. "He told us we couldn't call anybody, even Lorelei.""I couldn't care less how mad he gets," said Mother. "Jim's disappeared, and we have no way of knowing what's 47.

happened to him. It's Max's responsibility to see we're protected, and if Jim is in trouble, then Max needs to deal with that."

She called Max first at his office and then at his home, and finally ended up leaving a message on his answering machine. Then we settled ourselves to an evening of tedious waiting. The drab, gray afternoon skies slid into twilight and then into darkness without the grace of a sunset. Lights went on in the windows of the wing across from ours, but the night was too damp for people to be out on the patio, and an eerie quiet replaced the usual bustle of social activity in the party area under our windows. Mother didn't want to open our door to room service, so we dined on cheese and crackers and Bram's stash of candy bars, while outside our balcony doors the rain kept oozing down in a halfhearted drizzle, streaking the gla.s.s with slivers that looked like tears.

When Max arrived at last it was three in the morning. Although none of us was in bed, Bram was asleep on the sofa and Mother and I were dozing in chairs in the living room.

One glimpse of Max's grim face dispelled all my drowsiness. It was clear that he hadn't come with rea.s.suring news.

"Have you talked to Jim?" Mother asked him.

Max shook his head. "We can't afford to wait to hear from him either. Get packed as fast as you can so we can get out of here. In another ten minutes this place will be swarming with cops, with the media perched on their shoulders like a bunch of vultures. I don't want you people interrogated by the city police, who don't know your situation and may leak your ident.i.ties."

So we stole away in the night like escaping criminals. With Mother steering my sleepwalking brother by the shoulders, we took the service elevator down to the kitchen, where we groped our way through a maze of counters and stove tops. The darkness was broken at erratic intervals by 48.

the nervous flicker of dials on microwave ovens, and we left the building by a door that led to a service ramp.Max's car was parked behind the garbage bins at the back of the hotel. The odor of rancid meat and spoiling produce contrasted strangely with the damp, clean smell of the night as we loaded our bags in the trunk and got into the car.Once we were out on the freeway, Max turned in his seat. "You said he was dressed as a maid. Did you see his face?""He was wearing a wig, so his hair was covered," I told him. "I think, though, it must have been dark, because he had dark eyebrows. And his eyes were so black they looked like they didn't have irises.""I know who that is," said Max. "His name's Mike Vamp. I should have guessed that he'd be the one they'd send for you."

6.

The sky in the east was just beginning to turn pink when we completed the sixty-mile drive to Williamsburg and Max pulled into a parking s.p.a.ce in front of a motel on the edge of town. He got out of the car and unlocked the door of one of the units, and the rest of us followed him inside.

The room was dimly lit, and it took me a moment to take in the fact that there was a man stretched out on one of the two double beds. Then he sat up, and I saw that it was my father.

"Dad!" I cried, and hurled myself into his arms.

He hugged me back so hard I thought my ribs would crack. Then he stood up and held out his arms to Mother.

"Oh, George!" she exclaimed. "Thank heaven, you're really all right! I've been so frightened for you!"

"That goes both ways," said Dad, holding her close and reaching out his other arm for Bram.

Max closed the door and carefully relocked it. "The big reunion can wait for later," he said. "There are things I haven't told you yet, Liz."

50.

Mother turned in Dad's arms. "What sort of things?""Come sit down, honey," Dad said gently, drawing her down beside him on one of the beds. "There's something important we're going to have to discuss.""Loftin's case is being appealed," Max told us. "That means that in less than a week he'll be out on bail. It also means that if the judge decides there was a mistrial, George will have to testify all over again. He's still in serious danger, and so are the rest of you.""But we can't keep living in hotels forever!" I exclaimed, horrified by the thought of returning to the Mayflower."Of course you can't," agreed Max. "That was an emergency measure, and it served its purpose, but now you need more permanent protection. Have any of you heard of the Federal Witness Security Program?"The color left Mother's face. "Oh, Max, no way! You're not about to get us involved in that!""The program's run by the U.S. Marshals Service," Max continued, ignoring her outburst as though he had not heard her. "It's supposed to be highly successful. Over fourteen thousand people have been relocated and helped to start their lives over in a safe environment.""Helped to start their lives over!" Mother repeated incredulously. "George and I are happy with the life we Havel We love our home, we have friends and careers, our children are happy in their schools-how can you suggest we begin life over at this point?""What is this?" I asked in bewilderment. "What program are you talking about?" I couldn't recall ever seeing Mother so upset."The Witness Security Program is just what the name implies," Dad explained. "It's designed to provide protection for people whose lives are in danger because they've blown the whistle on federal criminals. The program relocates those witnesses and their families. They're secretly 51.

moved to a different part of the country and given new ident.i.ties so n.o.body can trace them."

"I don't want to move!" cried Bram. "Then I can't play with Chris!"

"And what about Steve!" I exclaimed. "I won't leave Steve!"

"I know this is tough," said Dad. "I'd give the world if I hadn't gotten us into it, but the fact of it is, we are in it, and there's no pulling out. You know about the letters that I've been getting. After what happened today, we have to take them seriously."

"The person who wrote those letters could be bluffing," I said. There was no way I was going to agree to leave Norwood! "That man who tried to shove his way into our hotel room might only have been planning to put a scare into us. There's no way we can be sure he intended to hurt us."

"Mike Vamp doesn't play pattycake, April," said Max. "He's one of the most notorious. .h.i.tmen in the country. It's not just because of his name that he's known as 'the Vampire.' He follows the scent of blood as though he's got a hunger for it."

I closed my ears to that statement. "I won't leave Steve!"

"I'm afraid you're not going to have much choice," said Max. "There's something I haven't told you. We did find Jim tonight."

"I don't understand," began Mother. "Then why did we have to-"

"The reason I was in such a rush to get you out of the Mayflower was because I knew it was due to be invaded by police." Max paused and then continued. "Jim was shot in the head. His body was crammed in a linen closet at the end of the hall. He was carrying a gun, but he never got to use it. Apparently he wasn't able to get it out of his holster."

For a moment we were all too stunned to react.

"His hands," I finally whispered. "He had arthritis in his fingers."

52.

"Then he should have known better than to take on this job," Max said. "The man was a former cop, he wasn't any neophyte." He placed a hand on Dad's shoulder, and although he wasn't smiling, his voice had a rea.s.suring warmth to it. "I've got to get back to Richmond and see to things there. If I make it home by tonight, I'll call you from Susie's place. Tomorrow I'll get the relocation paperwork started. The sooner we get you out of Virginia, the better."After he left, Dad went over and locked the door again. Then he came back and tried to put his arms around Mother."What happened tonight was tragic, but Max is right," he said. "Jim Peterson was a professional who acted irresponsibly. If he had a physical problem, he should have said so. If he couldn't do the job, he shouldn't have taken the a.s.signment.""George, I don't want to hear this. Jim was our friend." Mother pulled free of his embrace and turned to Bram and me. "Children, get into bed and let's all try to sleep for a while. Maybe, when we wake up, this will make more sense to us. Either that, or it will all turn out to have been a nightmare."Of course, that didn't happen, but impossible as it seems, we did sleep heavily, as though we had been drugged by some gigantic tranquilizer with residual effects that lingered in our systems long after we awakened late in the morning. We spent the days that followed sprawled across our beds, leafing through magazines and watching the same soap operas and nonsensical game shows that we had watched at the Mayflower. There was a question I knew I ought to be asking myself, but it was too painful to contemplate, so I let it slide away. My mind felt fuzzy, unfocused, disconnected from my body. When I got up to switch channels or to go to the bathroom, I felt as though I were groping my way through fog, and once I slammed into the corner of an open dresser drawer and never even realized I had hurt myself 53.

until I was standing in the shower that night and glanced down to see a large purple bruise on my hip.

I realize now we were all in a state of shock. In my mind, of course, I knew that Jim was gone, but on a deeper level I didn't believe it. Every time I heard a car pull into the parking lot outside our motel room, I half expected the door of our room to pop open and see him come striding in with his arms filled with board games.

The account of Jim's murder rated only two paragraphs in the Richmond Times-Dispatch, but there was a lengthy obituary in the Norwood Gazette, which we found at a newsstand a block from our motel. I read it as though it was one of Mother's novels, a fictional story about an invented character. It listed as survivors a wife, two sons and a daughter, and a large a.s.sortment of grandchildren, but I wouldn't allow myself to think of them as people, just as a meaningless list of names without faces.

If I could have attended the funeral it might have been different. That ceremony gives death a stamp of authenticity, like the words "The End" on the final page of a novel. When Grandpa Clyde dropped dead of a heart attack in the middle of a golf game, I couldn't accept that fact until I went with my parents to the funeral home and saw the flower-decked casket with my grandfather in it. Only then did his death become reality to me, and only then was I able to start my grieving.

Since we couldn't go to Jim's funeral, we tried not to think about it. The day came and went, a slate gray day that was humid and heavy with rain clouds, and I knew that if Jim had been there his hands would have been aching. We closed off the sight of the day by drawing the drapes across the window and spent it as we did every other, reading and watching television, while outside the rain started falling, gently at first, and then progressively harder, on the roof, on the sidewalk, on the parking lot and, for all we knew, back in Norwood, on Jim Peterson's grave.

54.

Max had not a.s.signed us a replacement bodyguard, and he had not strictly forbidden us to leave our motel room. He had suggested that we go out as infrequently as possible, so we confined our outings to places like motel coffee shops and pizza parlors, and occasionally, in the evenings, we went to the movies. We'd been given a list of motels at which Max had made reservations for us, and at checkout time each day we left one motel and took a cab to the next. Every evening Max phoned us from his daughter's apartment to make sure we were safely resettled.On the third night he told us we could expect a representative from the U.S. Marshals Service the following day. Rita Green, a sharp-featured woman in a polyester pantsuit, arrived at midafternoon. She settled herself in a chair in the corner of our motel room and studied our faces as though she were casting a play and we were actors auditioning for parts."I'm here to discuss relocation arrangements," she told us. "I a.s.sume that Max has explained the procedure to you.""Actually we've been told very little," said Dad. "Please fill us in on how things are going to be handled.""The first step, which we're working on now, is to fix you up with new ident.i.ties," said Rita. "There are several possible ways of going about that. We're obtaining yours by the 'dead infant' method, Mr. Corrigan. With that, we search county birth records for a child who was born in approximately the same year you were but who is now deceased. We then apply for a copy of the birth certificate. Since records of births and deaths are not commonly cross-referenced, there's seldom any problem obtaining a duplicate.""What about the rest of the family?" Dad asked her. "They're going to have to have the same last name I do.""Since it makes no difference what your wife's maiden name was, we'll obtain her birth certificate the way we do yours," Rita said. "Then we can have a marriage certificate 55.

made out in your new names and planted at a bureau of public records. Of course, in the case of the children, the birth certificates will need to be falsified so their last names will be the same as yours and their mother's. Once you have your birth records, you can apply for other forms of identification like voter registrations and Social Security cards under your new ident.i.ties. After that it's a simple matter to get a driver's license, which is actually the most important doc.u.ment of all."

"What about putting the children in school?" asked Mother. "Won't they need to have transcripts and inoculation records?"

"We'll falsify those as we do the marriage certificate and have them mailed directly to your children's new schools from a small private school in Vermont that we use for that purpose. There are people there who work with us on school transcripts. They have more 'former students' than any other school in the country."

"You mean our grades won't count anymore?" Bram asked hopefully. "Can all my Needs Improvements be changed into Excellents?"

"That's the sort of thing we try not to do," said Rita. "The transcripts should be a true reflection of your abilities. If your sister is poor in math, for example, and the math teacher at her new school decides to look up the grades she was making at her old school, we don't want her transcripts to make her out to be a math whiz. The less attention you draw to yourselves, the better. You don't want anything that's going to make people suspicious."

"Where are you going to be sending us?" asked Dad.

"That hasn't been decided yet," Rita told him. "In fact, that's the princ.i.p.al reason I'm here today. We want to put you someplace where there's as little chance as possible of your running into people who knew you before. Because of that, I need to know something about your backgrounds."

"I was born and grew up in Pittsburgh," Dad said oblig- 56.

ingly. "That's where my relatives live, what there are left of them. By that I mean there's an aunt and some cousins. My parents and brother were killed in a car wreck the summer after I graduated from high school. For the next few years I drifted, not caring much what I did, trying one job after another, the way kids do. When Liz and I met, I was working at a resort in the Catskills. I've never been west of the Mississippi River, and I've never been farther south than we are right now.""What about you, Mrs. Corrigan?" asked Rita."I'm an only child and grew up in Norwood," said Mother. "My mother still lives there and is very active in social and civic affairs. Apart from her, I don't have any close relatives, and except for the years I spent at Duke University, I've never lived anyplace other than Virginia.""It sounds as though the West Coast might be a good location for you," said Rita. "It's easy for people to lose themselves in California. It's such a big state, and people keep coming and going there, so n.o.body bothers to question where anybody comes from.""I don't really think that's a good idea," said Mother. "I might be recognized by librarians and English teachers."Rita seemed disconcerted. "Do you have some connection with the California school system?""Liz is an author," explained Dad. "She writes books for children. Last year she won the California Young Readers Medal and made an acceptance speech at a state librarians' convention.""Do you make many such appearances?" Rita asked Mother."Only at conferences of educators," Mother told her."That's a dangerous kind of exposure," Rita said, frowning. "No matter where we place you, your kids will be in school. All it takes is one teacher who's heard you speak, and word will be out that you're not the person you're supposed to be."

57.

"I'm supposed to be giving a talk next month," said Mother. "How can I let the conference people know I won't be there?"

"We'll take care of that. Just give us a name and phone number." Rita turned to Dad. "Do you have any other questions?"

"Where will we get the money to live on?" Dad asked her. "How can I find a job if I don't have references?"

"We'll try to fix you up with something," said Rita. "We keep on the lookout for businesses that can be bought up inexpensively for our witnesses to operate. If you're the owner and manager of your own small business, n.o.body will have any reason to ask you for credentials."

"You mean I have no choice about what line of work I'm in?" Dad sounded as though he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Not much of one, I'm afraid. It depends on what's available."

"That doesn't sound very encouraging," Dad said grimly. "Any business that people are selling for peanuts isn't too likely to have much potential as a money-maker."

"We'll give you some cash to tide you over," said Rita. "In the meantime we'll see about liquidating your a.s.sets. I'll have papers drawn up for you to sign that will give our department the authority to handle the legalities. What do you own besides your house and furniture?"

"Two cars," Dad said. "A Volvo station wagon registered in Liz's name and a Chrysler sedan registered in mine. Jointly we own some shares of mutual fund, an income-producing utility stock, and a batch of CD's. My broker, John Scarbrough, is with the Dean Witter company. I also have retirement plan holdings built up at Southern Skyways, but I guess it's too much to hope I can get my hands on those."

"We'll have an attorney file papers to claim them," said 58.

Rita. She paused. "Are we set, or do you have more questions?""I have one," Mother told her. "What about my mother? I haven't had any contact with her for weeks now.""Max told me he's been in touch with Mrs. Gilbert," said Rita. "He offered her the option of making this move with you. She said she didn't feel she was in any danger and didn't want to leave her friends and activities.""But we can't just disappear from her life!" exclaimed Mother. "She's stubborn and independent, but we're her family] What if she were to get sick or be hurt in an accident? She has to know how to reach us in an emergency.""You'll just have to trust there won't be an emergency," said Rita. "As things stand now, you're the ones in danger, not your mother. You can't go into this program without breaking ties with people back home. It's hard, I know, but there isn't any alternative."Bram spoke up suddenly. "What will happen to Porky?""Porky?" Rita repeated, regarding him blankly."My dog," said Bram. "My grandmother put him in a kennel. By now he's probably scared I'm not coming back for him.""I'm sure your grandmother will take care of your dog," said Rita. She started to look away and then turned back again. "Is it a trick of the light, or are this child's eyes different colors?""It runs in the family," said Mother, immediately defensive. "My father had one blue eye and one brown eye.""I'm afraid this is going to create a problem," said Rita. "Something this unusual will attract attention.""Maybe I can wear dark gla.s.ses?" Bram suggested, sidetracked momentarily from the subject of Porky."Yes, for the present that's the best we can do," said Rita. "As soon as possible, though, you'll have to get contacts.""Contacts!" Bram squeaked in horror. "I don't want contacts!"

59.

"You won't have to wear them forever," Mother consoled him.

"How long?" I asked. "How long are we going to be gone?" The talk about Dad going into business and Bram and me starting new schools had been very disturbing. Why should we have to consider such unlikely possibilities? I'd a.s.sumed that the appellate court hearings would take place that summer. Surely that meant we'd be back in Norwood before school started.

Before Rita could respond, Bram exploded into tears. "I won't wear contacts!" he shouted, going suddenly hysterical. "I don't want things stuck in my eyes, and Lorelei can't have Porky! He's my dog, not her dog! She doesn't even like him!"

The scene that followed was one of such emotional chaos that there was no more opportunity for sensible discussion. That night, however-after Bram had wept himself dry, after Rita had left to go back to Washington, after a dinner of carryout Chinese food and an evening spent watching sitcoms-I lay in bed, surrounded by my sleeping family, watching the play of lights on the wall across from me as cars sped along the highway in front of our motel. It was only then, thinking back on that strange conversation, that I realized the question I'd asked had never been answered.

7.

Rita was back again in five days. This time she brought some official-looking papers in a folder that contained among other things four birth certificates and a marriage certificate.The name on my father's birth certificate was "Philip Weber," and my mother's was "Ellen Paul." The marriage certificate was made out to show their true wedding date."At least we can celebrate our real anniversary," said Mother.Bram's new birth certificate gave his name as "Jason Weber," and mine showed me to be "Valerie Weber," a name that I instantly hated. Not that I had ever been any too crazy about my real name. I'd always thought it sounded like an ingenue on a soap opera. But I knew there was no way I could ever be comfortable as "Valerie." When I heard that name the picture that leapt into my mind was of Steve's old girlfriend draped all over my own date, Bobby Charo, at Sherry's Christmas party.

61.

"I will not be a 'Valerie,' " I said. "That name has bad vibes for me. Why can't we choose our own names?"

"Names are the least of our worries," Rita said shortly. "Our main concern is to get you people relocated. A major effort is being made to find you, and we want to get you transferred as quickly as possible."

"What's happened now?" Dad asked warily.

"Your mother-in-law had a phone call. The man identified himself as Mrs. Corrigan's editor. He told Mrs. Gilbert a movie producer wanted to buy the film rights to one of her daughter's books."

Mother's face lit up with the first real smile in weeks. "Did he say which book they want? What studio is it?" When Rita didn't reply, her excitement faded. "I take it you don't believe the call was legitimate."

"We know it wasn't," said Rita. "We called your publisher. The editor who was supposed to be trying to reach you was away on vacation. n.o.body in the office knew a thing about a movie offer."

"Of course not," Mother said with quiet acceptance. "I can see now that the whole thing had to be a setup. A movie offer would have come through my agent, not my publisher, and neither of them would have tried to reach me through Lorelei. I don't think they even know what my mother's name is."

"A man like Vamp knows all the angles," said Rita.

"I don't like this," said Dad. "How soon can we get out of here?"

"You leave tonight," Rita told him. "It's all taken care of. I have you booked on a six P.M. flight to Florida."

"Florida!" Dad exclaimed. "That doesn't make sense. The drug trade in that state is the highest in the country."

"Vamp knows that too," said Rita. "It will work in your favor, because it will be the last place he'll expect us to send you. You'll land at the Sarasota-Bradenton Airport, but your final destination will be Grove City, fifty miles east of 62.

there. You're to travel in pairs, and your reservations have been made in the names of 'Freeman' and 'Gross.' That way, your tracks will be covered. Neither 'Corrigan' nor 'Weber' will appear on the pa.s.senger list."Up until then, life had seemed to be stopped in a holding pattern like a frame of a broken movie reel. Now, abruptly, the film was running at triple speed, and in one brief moment we were jerked into frantic motion. For the next ten minutes we dashed about, grabbing up clothing, unplugging the hair dryer, and tossing our scattered belongings into suitcases.We were ready to walk out the door, when Rita said, "Wait a minute. Something has to be done about Valerie's hair."At first I didn't take in who it was she was talking about. Then, with a start, I remembered that / was Valerie."What's wrong with my hair?" I asked nervously."It's much too eye-catching. The color and length will make you stand out in a crowd. We're going to have to cut it before we leave here.""No!" I cried. "I've been growing my hair for years!" My hands flew up protectively to cover my head. "I'll wear a wig or a scarf, but I'm not going to cut it!""It's much too long to fit under a wig," said Rita. "As for a scarf, n.o.body wears scarves in the summertime. Most physical characteristics can't be changed, but we can change the length of your hair, and it's important we do it.""Mother!" I cried in anguish. "You aren't going to let her?" But even as I spoke, I knew it was hopeless. Mother had never worried about appearances, and her own short hair was cut in a blow-dry style that Lorelei and I had always agreed looked terrible.I wasn't given time to argue my case. Within minutes I was standing in the bathroom with a towel draped over my shoulders and my eyes screwed shut so I wouldn't have to watch in the mirror as Rita hacked off my beautiful hair 63.