Identical Stranger. Alice Sharpe
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No one was around. The ground was muddy after this run of wet weather but it was also covered with pebbles—I couldn’t see any footprints. What could the police do?”
“Investigate,” he said gently. “Also, they’d be in the position to tell you if similar incidents had happened to other hikers due to weather or even vandals. They might have been able to help you understand if the falling rock was personal or accidental.”
“Okay, you make a point. But I keep thinking police will question friends and acquaintances and word will get back to Buzz. What’s he supposed to do from half a world away and what if the paper foxes are just some stupid prank? Anyway, I woke up ridiculously early this morning and ordered room service to be left in the hall while I took a shower.” She retrieved her purse from the floor beside her, grabbed something from its depths and showed it to Jack. “This was on the tray when I uncovered it.”
Resting on her deeply scratched palm he found an origami fox folded out of a dollar bill. “I called Housekeeping at once to see if they’d put it there,” she continued. “They hadn’t, of course. I put the tray back in the hall and called you. Then I left. Once it was light, I stopped for a long walk on the beach. Nothing happened and I almost called you back to cancel but I figured you were already on your way.
“So anyway, I drove to Seaport. I always stay at this hotel and I thought if you and I met here, you could help me figure things out. After I checked in I went up to my room to collapse but the maid wasn’t finished cleaning so I came back to the dining room for breakfast. While I was waiting for my order, a man walked into the restaurant, made eye contact with me and immediately took a seat at the bar. I swear he was staying at the same hotel I was at when the rock fell. His being here could be sheer coincidence, of course, except that I have a feeling I’ve also seen him in Astoria.”
“Did you talk to him?”
She shook her head.
“Could he be the painter from your neighbor’s porch?”
She thought for a moment. “No. This guy had light brown hair and a trimmed beard... The painter was taller, darker, bigger. And maybe older.”
“How about the guy you glimpsed in the parked car?”
She thought again. “Really hard to tell. By the time my backbone rebuilt itself this morning, the man had left the restaurant.” She rubbed her eyes and took a deep breath. “If this guy is following me and leaving little gifts, I want to know it before I get home and he invades my house again or drops another rock on my head.” She took another breath before adding, “Jack, I know it’s a lot to ask but do you think you could help me confront him?”
“Of course. And if it turns out he’s just a hapless traveler, I’ll drive back to Astoria with you and see what we can do there. First we have to find this guy.”
“And you won’t tell Buzz.”
“We’ll leave him out of it as long as we can. That’s all I can promise.” He didn’t add the same deal would exist concerning police involvement.
“Okay.”
“And I have to ask. Could anyone you know be behind all this?”
“What? No!”
“Someone you don’t know well, then, someone with whom you’re in a legal battle.”
“Legal battle?”
“Well, the origami is folded out of money, right? Why? Could it be because someone thinks you or Buzz owe them something?”
She shook her head. “Neither one of us is in any kind of argument with anyone, legal or not. Buzz’s friends are all scientists more concerned with sea ice extent than money and none of them live locally. My friends are firefighters. They’re family to me. I’m an only child. My parents are deceased. I’m alone in the world, really, except for Buzz.”
“And Buzz wasn’t having trouble with anyone before he left?”
“No. None of this makes any sense and that makes me think it’s all in my head.”
“The origami fox isn’t in your head,” he reminded her.
She rubbed her eyes. “No, it’s not.”
“Nor was the falling rock.”
She looked unsure about that but he wasn’t a big fan of coincidences. The boulder could easily have killed her—probably would have if she wasn’t in tip-top shape.
And that meant someone wanted her dead.
“I have an idea,” he told her. “Why don’t I take photos of the men in this hotel while you get some rest. You can look at the pictures later and we’ll go from there.”
She started to argue with him, but he stood firm. Her eyes were bloodshot and she kept rolling her shoulders as though yesterday’s fall had hurt her neck or back. “Please, Sabrina. Get some sleep. In the long run, it will make everything go faster. Trust me.”
She finally agreed and he insisted on escorting her to her hotel next door and upstairs. They exited the elevator and turned toward the long, beige hall as a man in coveralls carrying a toolbox entered the freight elevator a few steps away. Jack heard the whirring of the motor as it descended.
“Where’s your luggage?” he asked after Sabrina had opened her door and he’d preceded her into her room.
“Still in my car.”
He checked the locked door to the balcony, the bathroom and the closet. “What are you driving?”
“Buzz’s old SUV. Why?”
“If you’ll give me your keys I’ll run down and get your things for you,” he told her.
“All I want to do is climb under those blankets and sleep. I’ll get everything later.”
“Okay, but don’t forget to slide the dead bolt after me,” he added and fervently hoped that when this was all said and done, Buzz would understand why Jack didn’t immediately get ahold of him no matter where he was.
Before he settled into a good chair in the lobby, he bought a cup of coffee at a kiosk he suspected had been created to service the dozens of human resource conference attendees milling around the hotel. As far as dropping everything to drive here, that hadn’t been all that hard. He was in the middle of two cases but he got a buddy to cover one and the other could simmer a couple of days. The only other thing he’d had to do was cancel a date he hadn’t been real interested in going on anyway.
Phone on camera mode, he clandestinely began taking pictures of every adult male he saw, customer or employee, bearded or clean shaven, tagged with a conference badge or not. Some of them seemed highly unlikely when compared with the brief description Sabrina had given—no facial hair, too heavy or tall or short—but all those things could be altered by a clever con man.
He’d just returned from his second run to the coffee kiosk when his roving gaze took in Sabrina moving away from the check-in desk. He set the coffee aside and walked over in time to catch her halfway to the door. “There you are. Ready to look at the pictures I took while you snoozed away the afternoon?” She had changed clothes, put on a coat and acquired a smattering of raindrops in her hair and on her shoulders. She’d been outside? She must have gone out to her car to retrieve her luggage. How had he missed her leaving the hotel, coming back inside to change and then apparently leaving again?
“I beg your pardon?” she said.
He finally looked past the raindrops. “I stand corrected,” he said. “You skipped the nap and went to a salon instead. I hear that can be just as fortifying.”
Her hand flew up to touch the lilac strands running through her glossy dark hair. “What I did with my afternoon is none of your business,” she said with a defiant tilt of her chin and then ruined the effect by shrinking back. “I’m sorry. That was rude.” She raised her hand as if to pat her