Final Masquerade Read Free

replied indignantly. “Do you have herbal tea?"
    "I don't think so,” mimicked the voice in the board. “We just have tea. Regular tea. From a bag. In a cup. With boiling water. Want some?"
    "Fine."
    "That'll be one seventy four at the second window. Please pull forward."
    At the back of the parking lot, she tucked the car beside a yellow bakery van. She dunked her tea bag absently in the cardboard cup, waiting for it to become both strong and cool enough to drink. How long would it take Stefano's men to arrive? Was it worth making a run for it? No, there was no outrunning those animals. The real question was whether they'd kill her here and make it look like a robbery, or haul her back to Santa Barbara and make it look like an accident. Or maybe Stefano would lock her in some hidden room in the cellar and let her wither away the rest of her miserable life alone.
    She located the headache pills in her purse and tapped out a pair of tablets. Then, as an afterthought, added another for good measure. She swallowed them dry, all the while scanning for Officer Shea's car. Good God, what had she gotten herself into?
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Two
    A sip of scalding tea helped dislodge the lumps of aspirin stuck halfway down Paige's throat. An elderly Ford Taurus with rust in the wheel wells and a dent in the passenger door parked a few spaces away. A man of medium build and nondescript clothes hopped out. One hand ran two index fingers across a pencil-thin mustache. The other swung at his side as he trotted toward the building.
    Keys. He carried no keys, didn't put any in his pocket. Paige pushed the trunk button beside her left knee. Not bothering to take keys or purse, she seized the suitcase from the trunk and slammed the lid. As nonchalantly as possible she strode to the Taurus, opened the door, tossed the case across the seat and climbed inside. The bag thumped onto the passenger side floor, crunching a litter of fast food wrappers, and blasting the aroma of ketchup and mildew throughout the car.
    As hoped, the key was in the ignition. The engine groaned. “Come on you piece of shit. Turn over.” She held the key in position then added. “Pleee-ease.” After an eternity of grinding, the engine sputtered to life.
    Paige controlled the urge to squeal the tires and grinned wondering if a Ford Taurus’ tires could be squealed. She eased the car out of the parking spot and waited behind a minivan attempting to make its way between the busy morning commuters. She gunned the car through a tiny gap in the traffic, something she'd never dare with the Mercedes, and grinned in satisfaction, turning up the ramp and onto the highway, seeing no reason to alter her original plan.
    Paige often took Stefano's Lear jet for her shopping trips to Oakland or Frisco, or even Boulder. She loved to browse the shops in Oakland's Rockridge Market Hall, rarely purchasing anything, content to be on her own, free.
    She was sure one of Carlotta's duties was reporting her whereabouts. Someone would be dispatched to check her ‘shopping’ story, but Paige's itinerary took her nowhere near Rockridge Market, nowhere near Oakland, and nowhere in California as a matter of fact.
    She settled back in the Taurus, adjusted the seat and mirrors, checked to see if she was being followed, then pushed the speedometer to ten miles per hour above the limit. The aroma, tattered seats, and kid-fingerprinted glass sent quivers to her toes. She urged the car faster, wondering if the owner had auto-theft coverage. At the higher speed, a vibration from beneath her feet rattled the windows and bounced the keys against the steering column. The car held together, but Paige's headache pounded.
    She took the turnoff for Route 152 toward Fresno, a place without much to offer as far as she was concerned, which made it a perfect place to get lost. Getting lost wasn't exactly what she'd put in the letter at dawn that morning; a letter sent to her ailing mother in Miami. Mom