Copyright © 2003 Sandra Levy Ceren. All rights reserved. 

    Keeping a safe distance, Courtney tailed Sebastian, this time, to an upscale apartment house. She parked under a eucalyptus tree behind a large SUV where her little red Miata would be dwarfed and less conspicuous.

    After waiting a few minutes, she darted into the building, snapped a photo of the tenant roster and jogged back to her car. She opened a window to let in fresh air.

    Prepared for a stakeout, she had brought along a thermos of hot tea and a crime book on tape. She was adjusting the earphones when her car door opened and a short, stocky middle-age man slid into her car seating himself beside her. Her stomach dropped a few notches "Who are you? What do you want?" she yelled.

    The man sneered. Courtney starred at his craggy profile. The stubble on his long chin and his beady eyes glistened in the lamplight. She recognized him as a man she'd seen several times on campus. His grease stained gray windbreaker and dirty jeans suggested he could be a laborer. The revolver clutched in his thick hand stated he meant business.

    "Is this a carjack?" she muttered.

    "No."

    "What then?" Her voice trembled.

    "Why are you tailing Sebastian Dawes?" he asked.

    "Who? I don't know anyone by that name."

    "Guy's got a lot of aliases. Let's take a drive, up north, girlie."

    Girlie! She’d only heard that word in vintage gangster films. Terrified by the Neanderthal's gun aimed at her, Courtney's heart raced. She started the car and headed to the freeway where she would most likely have to pass the California Highway Patrol station. She figured that as soon as she reached it, she would lean on the horn and floor the accelerator to call attention.

    "Keep to the speed limit," the man said as if reading her mind.

    Courtney did as she was told. Her thoughts whirling, she scanned the area for a means of escape. Perspiration trickled down her back and under her armpits. Her blue UCSD sweatshirt clung to her. Her long, sandy hair was plastered to her forehead and neck.

    "My boyfriend is waiting for me. I’m never late. He’ll call the police."

    "Shut up and drive," the man said.

    If she hadn't agreed to play sleuth for her best friend Lara, Courtney wouldn't be in this predicament. The man she had been stalking called himself Sebastian Morris, the boyfriend of Lara's mother. Lara suspected he was a fraud, a fortune hunter, but her mother had laughed at the accusation and said Lara was jealous.

    "Sebastian is too good to be true," Lara had told Courtney. "I need proof to show my mom he's a phony. You know how to check up on people, so help me, please," Lara begged, handing Courtney his photo and car license number.

    Courtney, a computer savvy young woman, was a mystery buff and had once worked part-time as a clerk at a detective agency. She had been happy to oblige her distraught friend.

    The results of her research revealed Sebastian Morris had not registered a car, nor had a license issued by any state Motor Vehicle Department. The car he drove was registered to Sheila Murphy of Phoenix. As Courtney dug deeper, she learned Sheila Murphy was deceased and Sebastian Morris had no records with credit card companies or banks. Either he had given Lara's mother a bogus identity or was careful not to leave a paper trail. Her suspicions heightened, Courtney had decided to shadow him.

    During the course of three evenings she had tailed him to a total of six expensive looking homes at least thirty miles apart from one another. He remained at each one on the average of one and half-hours. Courtney logged in times and places, and learned the homeowners were single women. She marveled at the man's stamina.

    She should have supplied the information to Lara and let it go, but the chance to play sleuth was too intriguing to ignore. If only she had considered the danger.

    "I'm thinking of killing you," the gunman said slowly.

    The hair rose on back of her neck. "Why? I haven’t hurt anyone."

    "Then you don't know what you're missing." He threw back his head and laughed.

    Equipped with the gun and an awful odor like furniture polish, the man seemed deranged.

    Nauseated, Courtney gulped. "I'm going to be sick."

    "What?"

    "I have to throw up," she whimpered.

    The man shook his head. "Better not, or I'll shoot you."

    "I can't help it, she mumbled, covering her mouth with her hand. "Shoot me and the car will spin out of control." She gagged. "Let me pull on to the shoulder to vomit," she said, gagging again.

    "Damn it, all right! Don't you dare try to run from me. I've got this," he said, shoving the weapon into her ribs.

    "I'm not stupid," Courtney said.

    But she had been stupid. Stupid and reckless. Why did she have to stalk Sebastian Morris? It wasn't simply to help Lara find out if her mother's boyfriend was sincere. Courtney's passion for intrigue had been too easily fueled. She wondered how one of her fictional detectives would escape from the gunman. Although unpracticed in a martial art, she was on the college track team and figured she could out run him. But what of the gun?

    Courtney edged the sports car on to the shoulder. The headlights illuminated the hedge of pink oleander that grew alongside the freeway.

    "Okay, get out and don't try anything funny," the man said, waving the gun at her. He hopped out of the car, slammed the door shut, motioning her to get out and to walk in front of him.

    Courtney saw her chance. She floored the accelerator and raced back on to the empty road abandoning the gunman in a cloud of dust.

    A shot rang out, but she had zigzagged too rapidly to meet his aim. She sped toward the Highway Patrol station, her heart slamming against her chest.

    Minutes later, her knees shaking, she walked into the one story stucco building and stood at the reception desk.

    "May I help you?" asked a young officer in a short sleeved tan uniform.

    Courtney, lips quivering, explained her ordeal. The officer took notes as she gave a description of the gunman and the locations of the abduction and escape.

    "You’ve had a fright," he said. "Take a seat and a few deep breaths while I dispatch some officers to the site. He'll soon be apprehended and you can make an identification."

    After the officer made the call, he asked, "Would you like some coffee?"

    "No thank you. I'm too wired, already."

    She found the young officer appealing.

    "Are you a high school student?" he asked.

    "No. A sophomore at UCSD."

    "Sorry. What's your major?"

    "Computer Science," she replied.

    "I just graduated from San Diego State. I'm planning to go for a masters," he said.

    "In what?"

    "History. When I finish, maybe I'll go to law school."

    "A perennial student, huh? Oops. I hope that didn't sound contemptuous."

    He shook his head. "I like school. Maybe I'll teach."

    "Sounds good to me." Comforted by the small talk, she began to relax.

    The conversation continued for a while and then the young man cleared his throat. "Maybe we can get together sometime?"

    "That would be nice." She paused. "Let's exchange phone numbers." She jotted hers on a piece of paper.

    He handed her an official card with the embossed logo of the California Highway Patrol. Courtney read the imprint of his name: Eric S. Dawes. She shuddered. She hadn't noticed the name tag on his shirt.

    "Is your middle name Sebastian?" she asked.

    He raised his eyebrows. "What?" He hesitated. "It's just an initial. By the way, why were you sitting in your parked car listening to a tape far from home this time of night?"

    "I was checking on someone."

    "A cheating boyfriend?"

    "Yes." She hesitated. "But not mine."

    "Are you a private eye?"

    "No. I did it for a friend."

    "That’s very dangerous."

    She nodded. "Don’t I know it."

    "The guy you were tailing, was he the one who abducted you?"

    "No."

    Courtney wanted to tell him more, but his name put her off. She heard a buzz in her ears—like a warning bell, but with Eric’s kind manner and his uniform, she had to trust him. "I'm positive that man would have hurt me. He sounded like a real sociopath. I'm sure glad to be here."

    "I’m glad you’re here, too." Eric smiled.

    They continued to chat until he had to answer his phone.

    He hung up, frowning. "I’m sorry. Several CHP units were dispatched to the area, but they haven't found your gunman. The train station isn't far from the site. He could have hopped on the northbound."

    She cupped her face in her hands. "Oh, no!"

    "Don't worry. His description went out to all law enforcement agencies."

    "Then I can leave now. If he's caught, won't I be contacted?"

    "Sure." He hesitated. "Wait a second, please. At what address is your car registered?"

    "My off campus apartment. Why?"

    "If he has your vehicle number you could be in danger. Can you stay somewhere else?"

    Courtney didn’t want to go home and endanger herself or her roommates, nor did she want to stay with Lara and her mother. If she stayed with her parents in Los Angeles, she'd miss school. "What's the chance he'll be apprehended tonight?" she asked.

    "Well, if it doesn't happen in a few hours, I'm afraid, we've probably lost him."

    She shivered, hugging herself. "What a predicament! He's the fugitive, but it sure feels like I am. It's my own damn fault," she mumbled, scribbling her parent’s address and phone number on a slip of paper "Here's where I'll be for the next couple of days." She slid the paper to him.

    He glanced at it. "I’m from L.A., too. Please be careful," he warned.

    Courtney checked the time. Her parents should be watching the eleven o'clock news, now. She phoned them from her car.

    "Anything wrong, honey?" Dad asked. His baritone voice soothed her. She knew she could count on him for support and good judgment. Her mother, an artist was affectionate, but disorganized and easily panicked. The family therapist had told them the holes in Mom's head fit the bumps in Dad's.

    "Don't worry. I'm fine and halfway home. I'd like to stay there for a few days."

    "Uh-oh! Is it school? A boyfriend?"

    "None of that. I'll tell you when I see you."

    "We'll wait up for you."

    Courtney drove the familiar route to Hacienda Heights, an upper middle class tree-lined neighborhood where she’d grown up. She pulled into the driveway of her parent’s two-story California-Mediterranean house, grabbed her backpack, and rang the bell.

    Clad in a green velour pantsuit matching her eyes, her mother opened the door. "Baby!" She wrapped her thin arms around Courtney. "Are you okay?"

    "I'm fine, but I missed you and decided to take a few days off to visit. Spur of the moment."

    "She's like you, Sue. Spontaneous," Dad said.

    Courtney pecked him on the cheek.

    Her parents asked her the usual questions to which she supplied the appropriate answers. Mom seemed to accept Courtney's visit as that of a child hungry for family affection. Dad knew better.

    An only child, Courtney had fought for independence from her suffocating parents. She recalled the battles over curfew and chores. Family therapy had helped.

    "Your room is ready for you," her mother said. "I shoved all my art supplies into the hall closet."

    Courtney frowned, imagining the mess. After her first year at the university, her room at home was converted into her mother's studio. "I'm sorry to put you out, Mom."

    "It's no bother. Glad to have you home." She yawned.

    "Sue, go on up to bed. You'll have time with Courtney tomorrow."

    "Yes, dear. Are you coming up soon?"

    "In a few minutes. I have to finish grading papers."

    Courtney was amused that her father, a law school professor, had married her mother, Sue, and had named their daughter Courtney. She wondered if there was something unconscious at play in his choice of names.

    As her mother climbed the stairs, blonde hair dancing on her shoulders, Dad beckoned Courtney into the kitchen. "Some cocoa?"

    She nodded. "I need your help, Dad."

    "Sure thing," he said, sliding two mugs of cocoa into the microwave oven. "A few seconds." He handed Courtney a platter of cookies and carried the steaming mugs into the family room.

    Her dad seated himself on his Eames chair and Courtney sat cross-legged on the leather sofa. She scanned the familiar room, noticing with comfort that little had changed since her childhood. The Danish teak furniture looked as good as new. Dad's hair was thinner and the blond had turned to gray, but he remained a robust man who jogged every morning.

    She sipped the cocoa and related her ordeal.

    Her father glared. "You meant well, but weren't smart. You were out of your league."

    She bristled. "I don't need your reprimand, Dad. I know it was a big mistake. I need a solution. A plan of action."

    "All right, then. Trade cars with Mom for awhile. She'd love to drive a cute red convertible. Take her sensible Volvo until this is settled."

    "Yeah, no one would associate me with that ten year old car Mom uses for a purse."

    "This will be a chance for her to clean it up." He munched on a cookie. "What about moving from your apartment?"

    "We have excellent security there, but I’d rather be here, tonight.

    "Understood. Listen. Change your hairdo. It's too long anyway."

    "Daaad!"

    "Short hair is fashionable. Mom will take you to her hairdresser."

    "Maybe I'll have it dyed plum."

    "Don't you dare, Courtney."

    She laughed and then got serious and told him the highway patrol officer's name.

    "It could be a coincidence. It may be a common name. Let's see." He pulled out a phone book, flipped through it and ran his finger down a column. "There are several Dawes. None with S or Sebastian."

    "Now that I know Sebastian Morris is A K A Sebastian Dawes, I have more to go on."

    Her father's face turned crimson and a vein on his forehead throbbed. "Courtney, leave it alone. I forbid it!"

    I forbid it! Fighting words. Courtney took a deep breath. "I know you mean well, Dad, but where’s the harm in just checking him out on the computer? I'll have the proof Lara needs."

    "It's not your business. Tell her what you've learned about him and recommend she hire a real detective who knows what the heck he's doing!"

    "He? Maybe the detective is a she."

    "Where did you get that from? Women Studies 101?"

    Well, she hadn't gotten it from her mother who had accepted Dad's pushy and old-fashioned ways. She had come home for support and advice, but found herself on the same old battlefield. To his credit, Dad had made small changes. Easily accepting her decision to live in an off campus apartment; he wasn't a total male chauvinist.

    "Okay Dad. Let's stop playing our old tapes. I'll do what you say because I think you're right."

    He sighed. "You mean you won't dye your hair plum?"

    The next day Courtney called her roommate to say she was at her parent’s house and cautioned her not to reveal the address to anyone for any reason. She promised to explain later. Something gnawed at her. Something she had neglected, but couldn’t remember.

    Distracted, she allowed Mom to escort her to the beauty salon and had her stringy hair trimmed and styled. Courtney liked the new image.

    "Sue, how would you like to drive Courtney's cute car for a week or so?" Her dad asked her mom.

    "I don't get it, Bert. Why would she want that?"

    "To give you a treat. Right, Courtney honey?"

    "Yes. I mentioned to Dad that I'm tired of all the guys coming on to me on the freeway. I need a break."

    Her mother smiled. "It would be fun to drive a little sports car."

    "There's a catch, Mom. You've got to clean out that purse you call your car."

    Her mother moaned. "I get it. You've plotted this together, huh?" Grinning, she hurried into the kitchen and collected a large plastic sack.

    The two women gathered in the garage where Mom threw all the loose items from her Volvo into a sack labeled "Sue." "If you put all that stuff in my car, Mom, there won't be room for you!"

    The next morning Courtney drove the Volvo back toward San Diego. Passing the CHP station, she thought of Eric and smiled. The neglected chore came to mind and she headed toward the courthouse.

    At the Records Department, she keyed in Sebastian Dawes' name and learned that eight female plaintiffs had won judgments against him in small claims court, but his debt remained. She copied the information.

    When she arrived at her apartment, a blinking red light indicated two messages on the answer phone. She pushed the Play button.

    "Hi, this is Eric Dawes. Sorry no news here. I'm off this Saturday evening. Can we get together? Please call."

    "Hey, Court. Lara here. Miss you. Got something important to tell you. Call anytime."

    Courtney punched in Lara’s number, but was connected to voice mail. She left a detailed message.

    She phoned Eric and made a date to meet at Pete’s Pizzeria on align="LEFT" Saturday at seven.

    The next day Courtney left her apartment for school by bike. She wore dark wrap around sunglasses, her new hairdo, the school uniform—jeans and a sweat shirt and carried her books in a tattered backpack instead of her usual one. Despite her precautions, Courtney couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching her. She looked around, but couldn't confirm her suspicions.

    She was eager to meet Lara on the track during their usual run. During class, Courtney frequently checked her watch. Finally, the time had come.

    She scanned the area for her friend. Lara was usually early. After twenty minutes, Courtney became frantic—her pulse raced and her palms grew sweaty. Now, she knew how her mother's panic attacks felt. She pulled out her cell phone and called Lara. Again, she spoke to her voice mail.

    Courtney checked her own answer phone remotely and heard Lara's hysterical message: "Court. I told Mom what you found out and she confronted Sebastian. He admitted he's in debt to mobsters. He asked Mom to help, but she refused. They broke up over it and Mom is terrified that the bad guys will come after him at our place. We're leaving for our condo in Maui. I'll call when we arrive. Thanks for everything."

    Courtney's sleuthing was almost done. All she needed was to be sure the gunman wouldn't come after her. She called her Dad and related Lara's message.

    "Assume the thug who abducted you and let you get away was connected with the mob. He enjoyed frightening you, that’s all. He’s too stupid to find you. What would he gain."

    Revenge, Courtney thought. "I’m still scared."

    "Now, you won't take any more chances."

    With no news of the thug or Lara, Courtney’s anxiety persisted. She felt shadowed and kept looking over her shoulder. On campus, once she glimpsed a man skulking behind a tree and twice behind a stack of books in the library.

    Concealing herself in the string of cycling students, she rode her bike to her apartment, planning to call the campus police.

    When she reached for her phone she noticed the blinking light on her answering machine.

    She had a message from Lara. "Hi, Court. Things are better. Mom was depressed, but after a few long cries and luxuriating here in Hawaii, we’re both more relaxed. Because of you, her opinion of me is restored."

    Good, Courtney thought. Lara and her mother were safe, but what about me? The gunman hadn’t been caught and she had to stay alert. On the positive side, she’d met Eric because of it.

    When Saturday evening rolled around Courtney dolled herself up in a long navy skirt with a deep slit on the side, and a white Tee shirt. She slipped on her sandals and admired the new look. She hoped Eric would too.

    She scanned the restaurant. Italian travel posters were plastered on the walls and red and white checkered cloths covered tables adorned with Chianti bottle-candle holders. Finally, she spotted Eric seated at a table in the corner. He stood and waved to her. She caught her breath. He looked divine in his khaki Dockers and black oxford shirt.

    He pulled out a chair for her. Despite her Women Studies class, she considered his gesture sweet and quaint. "You look different, Courtney. Even more pretty." He grinned.

    "Thank you. You look nice, too."

    "Good news. Today, a guy fitting the description of your gunman was stopped for a broken taillight. Because he was belligerent and had an open bottle of beer, they booked him. They found a small revolver in his car. His photo was faxed to the station." Eric pulled out a folded paper from his pocket and handed it to Courtney. "Is this him?"

    Courtney stared at the grainy black and white picture and nodded.

    Eric made a call from his cell phone. "Yes. She's identified him." He clipped the phone back on his belt and patted her hand. "Let’s have dinner, then I’ll drive you to the jail. You can I D him in person and they’ll add abduction to the charges."

    "Fine, but it's a weird thing to do on a date."

    "I hope next time will be more normal," he said.

    Could she really trust Eric S. Dawes? Suppose he was connected to Sebastian Dawes and this was a ruse to abduct her? Like Lara’s mother’s boyfriend, he seemed too nice to be true. Better safe than sorry. "I’ll follow you in my car," she said.

    "Okay," he said, a perplexed look on his face.

    At the jail, she learned the gunman was the brother of one of the women whom Sebastian Dawes had swindled. Seeking revenge, he had tried to prevent Courtney's interference.

    Two weeks passed and she had not heard from Eric. She wondered if it was because of her paranoia, or if he played dating games to avoid appearing too eager. Or was Sebastian Dawes his father?

    To distract herself she clicked on the TV and watched a mindless sitcom, soon interrupted by a breaking news bulletin.

    The local reporter pointed to the police and ambulances parked outside a warehouse where a shoot-out had just occurred.

    "Two men in serious condition are being airlifted to U.C.S.D. Medical Center. Police have identified one of the men as Sebastian Dawes also known as Sebastian Morris, an escaped convict." An old photo of him flashed on the screen. He was the man Courtney had stalked. "The other man is known mob member, Ken Rhodes."

    Relieved, she sighed, but her suspicion about Eric’s family remained.

    A week later Eric called, having returned from a vacation. They made a date to meet at Pete’s Pizzeria that evening.

    She slipped into a short denim dress and Birkenstock sandals and brushed her hair until it gleamed. She smiled at her reflection.

    At the restaurant, Courtney spotted Eric seated at a table, photos of his trip spread in front of him. Courtney peered over his shoulder.

    "Good to see, you," he said. "I’d like you to meet my family." He identified each member on the photos. When he pointed to his father, Courtney felt flushed. She threw her arms in the air and cheered. The man on the photo was not the man she had stalked.