Chapter 27 #2
At the age of thirty she wrote one that seemed to her to be good enough to share.
She invented the nom de plume R. J. Rakuse, and began writing letters of inquiry to literary agents.
In two years, R. J. Rakuse’s books were earning hundreds of thousands of dollars, and then more, and then much more.
There were no photographs of R. J. Rakuse, she never agreed to public appearances or even business meetings, never agreed to interviews.
Her agents helped protect her privacy and wrote the appropriate rules into her publishing contracts.
Jane used her burner phone and called the number that Carolyn Striker had sent her a few years earlier.
The phone rang only three times, and then a voice came on.
“Thank you for calling Temp-Fine Cookware.” It was Carolyn Striker’s voice.
“The associate you are calling is not available right now, so please leave a message after the tone.”
Jane said, “Remember me?” then ended the call.
She kept walking because that was the way to avoid being really seen and remembered.
She looked in store windows as she went, not because she was interested in the displays, but because large store windows gave her a chance to scan the reflections in the glass to detect people who might be watching or following her.
The phone in her pocket vibrated. She looked at the number and tapped the screen. “Hi,” she said.
Carolyn’s voice said, “What happened? Have they found me?”
“Not you,” Jane said. “Me.”
“Oh my God. Come right away. I’m still in the place where you planted me. Can you remember your way?”
Jane said, “There’s a complication. In fact, three of them. I have a husband, a baby, and a teenager.”
“Good for you. Bring them with you.”
“I’ll call when we get close.” She ended the call and kept walking.
The call had taken about fifteen seconds, and neither of them had mentioned a name or an address.
Jane’s past had become so complicated that she couldn’t ever be sure who else might be hunting her in addition to the ones she knew about.
There were the assorted criminals she had robbed of their victims, but there could also be law enforcement people who might have stumbled on one of the deceptions she had used to help her runners assume new identities.
She continued walking, watching for the signs as she always did—people who were sitting in parked cars or trucks that never moved, sets of workmen who didn’t seem to have an obvious project or purpose, vehicles that went by the same spot more than once, people who stared.
When she was satisfied, she went back to her hotel.
Before she went upstairs, she watched through the entrance windows to see if anyone reacted.
When she returned to the suite, she saw that a waiter was moving off down the hallway pushing the breakfast cart in front of him.
She used her key card to get inside and then looked through the peephole in the door to see if the waiter produced a phone. He didn’t.
“What’s wrong?” Carey said.
“Nothing,” she said. “Not a thing.”
“Good,” Carey said.
She said, “This is our last morning at this hotel.”
Carey said, “That’s right. Of course, if we wanted to stay longer, I’m sure they’d let us.”
“Not necessary,” Jane said. “I’ve arranged for us to stay with a friend.”
“Where does the friend live?”
“A suburb of Pittsburgh. It won’t be as fancy as this, but it’s not a hotel, it’s not in the middle of everything, and there’s no reason anybody would expect us to turn up there. It’s a nice area, and it’s quiet.”
“You seem to know a lot about it,” Carey said.
“I picked it out for her about twelve or thirteen years ago,” Jane said. “She’s still there.”
Carey said, “That’s long enough to sound like a good bet.”
There was little packing to do because Jane, Carey, and Katie had not taken more out of their suitcases than they needed each day. Jane soon turned her attention to making sure nobody was forgetting anything. She sat down on the bed beside Katie. She said, “Have you been paying attention?”
“Sure,” Katie said.
“Is there anything else you want to know?”
“The woman we’re visiting. Are you able to tell me anything?”
“About my age, smart. Was once in trouble through no fault of her own. She loved to write stories and things, which was something she never mentioned to me at the time. She only told me about it after she had sold a novel to a publisher and wanted advice about how to keep from putting herself in danger. I gave her some—to use a pen name and not get her picture taken. People liked her books, and over time, they began to sell well enough so she could live on the proceeds. I haven’t talked to her in maybe four years, until this morning.
The name I gave her was Carolyn Anne Striker.
The name she made up for writing is R. J. Rakuse.”
“Oh my God,” Katie said. “I’ve read about three of her books.”
“You’re worried about something else. What is it?”
“We worked pretty hard to find me a school and get me in and everything. What are we going to do about that?”
Jane hugged her and said, “I don’t know yet.
If we have reason to stay away past the day when school starts in the fall, we’ll let them know we’ve changed our plans.
We’ll try to get you into a good school wherever we are.
If that fails, Carey and I can homeschool you for this year.
If we don’t know something, we’ll learn it with you. But first choice is a good school.”
Carey appeared in the doorway. “How’s the packing going?”
“It’s done,” Katie said.
“Give me a minute to change May,” Jane said.
“I just changed her,” Carey said. “I also left the tip for the housekeeper, and called to ask the parking people to bring the car.”
“Then we’re set,” she said. “Let’s go.”
They all left the suite and walked to the elevators.
When they reached the lobby, Carey went to the desk and turned in their key cards while Jane and Katie and May waited across the room for him.
The car was waiting for them, and in a few minutes, they were all buckled in, and the car was moving toward Route 76 and the long drive west from Philadelphia toward Pittsburgh.
After a few minutes Katie fiddled with her phone, and then announced, “Philadelphia to Pittsburgh by car is three hundred and five miles, and takes about five and a half hours.”
“Okay,” Carey said. “Let’s do it.”
It took them seven hours, with Carey and Jane taking turns driving, and stopping at intervals for baby care, restrooms, food, drinks, and gas.
Jane drove the last stretch because she knew the way to the house.
The town of Lowery had changed in the past twelve years.
The house Jane had found for Carolyn Anne Striker had been on the outer edge of the town, with a rail fence beside the yard that kept a few of the neighbor’s dairy cows in their pasture during the day.
Now, the hundred acres where the neighbor’s farm had been was a residential development four blocks wide and even longer the other way.
There was a new Audi parked in the street in front of the house.
Jane pulled up behind it, and the driver’s door opened, and Carolyn got out.
She walked up to Jane’s window, leaned in, and said, “Don’t turn off the engine.
I still own this house, but I don’t live in it anymore.
I rent it out. Follow me to my new place. If I lose you, it’s 440 Old Pike Road.”
She got into the Audi and drove. Jane said, “I don’t love changes of plan, but I’m sure she has a reason, and she’s a smart person.”
They followed her for about a mile, until they saw the Audi drive along a stone fence and turn at a gate on the left and go up the pavement about fifty feet.
She stopped her car until they were inside the gate too, and then pressed a remote control and the gate moved along its track to close.
She drove up the farm road made of fine gravel and Jane followed her to a large white farmhouse.
There was a traditional-looking red barn with a circular Pennsylvania Dutch hex sign above the loft that showed tulips in the center and the phases of the moon around the rim.
Carolyn got out of the car, opened the barn doors, drove her Audi in, and beckoned Jane to pull in beside it.
Jane drove in, got out of the car, and as Carolyn stepped up to hug her, Jane took a good look at her.
She hadn’t seen her for several years, but she still looked about thirty.
She was a small, thin person, with very good posture that made her seem to be about five feet eight.
She had long, light brown hair and wore a good pair of jeans and a work shirt.
“You look great,” Jane said. “Obviously you’re taking care of yourself. Are things good?”
“Yes,” Carolyn said. “Thanks to you. It occurred to me after you called that you probably have so many people praying for you to so many versions of God that they’re all getting sick of hearing about you.”
“I’ve got to hope not,” Jane said. “Thank you for inviting us.”
“So let’s see who ‘us’ is.”
“This is my husband, Carey,” Jane said.
Carolyn shook his hand and smiled. “I always thought there must be a husband somewhere. I’m pleased to meet such a lucky man.” She turned to Jane. “I guess the luck started with being handsome.”
Jane lifted May out of her car seat and held her. “This is May.”
“You’re a wonderful baby, May,” said Carolyn. “Lots of potential.”
Jane nodded to Katie, who overcame a bout of shyness or possibly fear, got out of the car, and shook Carolyn’s hand while Jane said, “And this is Katie.”
“Your older daughter?”
“No, but we’re relatives, and she’s living with us now.”