Lawrence Block - The Best American Mystery Stories 1999

Phil finally came on the line. “What’s up?”

I told him. He said, “What is it with you? Everything you do turns into some kind of major disaster. What do you want me to do? There’s no law against taking a sudden trip.”

“I don’t know, Phil. Can’t you stop her, check on the welfare of a minor, something like that?”

“You see her mistreat the kid?”

“No, but—”

“You got the license plate?”

I had committed it to memory before Jeri Lynn got in the car. I gave it to him and described the car. He said, “She’s going to be in county jurisdiction pretty quick and soon as she hits the Interstate, she’s in state trooper territory. I don’t know... I’ll see what I can do. Stick with her. I’ll call you back.”

When the phone rang again, we were on the Interstate, headed south, about a mile between us. Phil asked where I was, then said, “Okay, a state trooper’s going to pull her over on some pretext, but chances are they aren’t going to find any reason to hold her. They’re just checking to be sure the little girl’s okay. I don’t know what else I can do. She hasn’t done anything wrong. She’s got a driver’s license and a valid registration.”

Ten minutes later a state trooper streaked by in the fast lane. He changed lanes, slowed, and followed Jeri Lynn’s car for a mile or so before turning on his light bar. Both cars drifted into the breakdown lane and stopped. I drove past them. Jeri Lynn was out of the car, standing by the back bumper. The trooper was pointing at a rear tire, which did look a little underinflated. Jeri Lynn was nodding her head rapidly. I pulled onto the shoulder half a mile down the road and looked behind me. Jeri Lynn was still out of the car. The trooper was leaning inside the driver’s window, apparently talking to Kristin. A moment later, he walked back to his car. Jeri Lynn got back in hers, and soon after that, I heard them both drive past. I didn’t see them because I was looking the other way in case Jeri Lynn decided to check out the driver of the Camaro parked by the side of the road.

I’d followed the Toyota about five miles farther when the phone rang. Phil said, “The trooper says Kristin seems fine, told him all about her teddy bear and how she’s going to be in second grade next year and how her mama’s taking her to see some friends in Idaho. He didn’t see anything suspicious. Jeri Lynn was a little nervous, but getting pulled over by a cop does that to people.”

“Something’s wrong.”

“Tell me what and if it’s against the law, I’ll do something about it. You got plenty of gas?”

I did, but a trip to Idaho hadn’t been on my agenda. “Yeah, I guess I’ll stick with her. She has to stop sometime.”

“Just watch how you handle it. You don’t have any business hassling her either. Enjoy the drive.”

Jeri Lynn exited the Interstate in Baker, stopped at a gas station to have some air put in her rear tire, then pulled into the parking lot of a store across the street. Kristin got out of the car and followed her mother inside. They both looked hot and sweaty. I’d been traveling in air-conditioned comfort, but I bought a couple of sodas from a vending machine at the gas station in case I got thirsty. I was back in the car when Jeri Lynn and Kristin came out of the store, Jeri Lynn carrying a brown grocery bag and a six-pack of Pepsi.

She found the on-ramp to I-84 after a couple wrong turns. We headed southeast at a steady sixty miles per hour and before long we crossed the state line and entered Idaho.

I wondered how much money Jeri Lynn had. She’d pulled the old the-check-is-in-the-mail routine when she thought I was from the finance company, and Kristin said she didn’t have a job. Welfare payments don’t stretch too far. If she had a credit card it was probably maxed out, and a daddy who “went away” probably wasn’t paying child support. She wasn’t likely to have much cash. Unless she was dealing drugs, and that’s why she was on the run.

She had started to panic when she thought I was a cop, so she had to be up to something. Since she didn’t have any outstanding warrants, I figured it wasn’t the past she was running from, it was something in the present that she didn’t want the cops to find out about.

The phone rang thirty minutes later. “Where are you?” Phil asked.

“Approaching Boise.”

“I talked to her landlady. She’s lived there eight months, doesn’t always pay the rent on time but that’s the only problem. Strictly off the record, I checked out the apartment. She doesn’t have much and none of it’s illegal. What’d you say to her exactly?”

“Not much. She kept jumping to conclusions and interrupting me. First she thought I was there to repo the car, then I told her I’m a PI and she thought I was a cop and started getting fidgety and I told her I’m a private detective and tried to explain about the doll and she slammed the door in my face and five minutes later she was packed and running.”

“Doesn’t make any sense. Maybe she was already planning to leave before you got there.”

“No way. She was yelling at Kristin to get her clothes and throw them in the suitcase and she was crying, too.”

“Still doesn’t make any sense. You must’ve said something to set her off.”

“Honest, Phil, nothing . She barely let me get a word in edgewise anyway. I didn’t even have a chance to tell her why I was there before she shut the door. Any chance of finding out if she’s got family in Idaho?”

“I’ll give it a try. Talk to you later.”

When we reached Boise, she left the Interstate to fill up the tank, but instead of stopping at the first station, she drove around, checking prices I assumed, since she finally stopped at a no-frills gas station with prices a few cents lower than the others. I drove past and pulled into a full-service island at another station. While a kid in greasy coveralls topped off my tank and checked under the hood, I kept an eye on Jeri Lynn’s car at the station a block away. Jeri Lynn and Kristin had walked around the side of the building to the restroom.

When she finally left the station, she headed toward downtown instead of back to the Interstate. I’d second-guessed wrong and had to make an illegal U-turn in heavy traffic to follow her. Ten minutes later we were lost in downtown Boise. Jeri Lynn must have been confused when she left the gas station. Eventually she found the street we’d come in on and headed back toward the Interstate.

I was one car behind her when we stopped at a traffic signal near the gas stations we’d stopped at earlier. The driver of the blue pickup between us suddenly jerked his wheel hard to the right and drove into the parking lot of a hardware store. I swore under my breath. Behind me, the driver of a delivery truck tapped his horn, wanting me to move forward and fill up the gap left by the pickup. I saw Jeri Lynn’s head tilt up as she checked her rearview mirror. I bent my head down, hoping she couldn’t see me clearly. Behind me, the delivery truck’s horn blasted, loud and long. I sighed and drove forward. Jeri Lynn was looking into the mirror again. Just as the light turned green, she turned around in her seat to get a better look at me. We were close enough for me to see the shock in her eyes, the fear on her face. The driver behind me laid on his horn again. Jeri Lynn turned around and drove off.

During the mile-long drive back to the highway on-ramp we passed dozens of open businesses, several pay phones, a cop directing traffic around a fender-bender, and a patrol car parked in front of a donut shop. Help was all around, there for the asking, but Jeri Lynn wasn’t asking. She knew I was behind her, knew I had been following her for a couple hundred miles, but she wasn’t scared enough to get help. Or maybe she was too scared of what the cops might find out if she complained about a private eye following her across the country.