CHAPTER 28
I pulled into the small gas station on the outskirts of town to grab myself a drink, and I also needed a moment to think. I couldn’t just drive back into town—that would be a bad idea. I needed to be more sneaky about this; I needed a moment to figure out my game plan. How was I going to get around without being noticed by Mike? And, also, where was I going to stay? I couldn’t check back into the hotel he’d checked me out of this morning. And, last time I’d looked, the entire town was booked up.I really didn’t like cats!
I was also driving a Porsche, which stuck out like a sore thumb. At least it wasn’t red! I looked at my tiny back seat; there was no way I would be able to sleep in there, if push came to shove. I sat in the parking lot and looked around. I was hungry; I needed food and I thought better on a full stomach, anyway. I went into the shop and raided the junk shelf, and then walked back to my car, thoughtfully. How was I going to pull this off? Was it even possible to go back to town and somehow fly under Mike’s radar . . . ?
And then I saw it.And it dawned on me.Thismight be my best, my only chance to get back in unseen and blend in. I looked around to make sure no one was watching me, and then I tiptoed towards the car with the photo of a large cat on the side, and the wordsLady Catterly of Kitashiawritten in gold underneath. The car was like a shrine to Persian cats. It was completely overboard, right down to the fluffy tail stuck on to the rear window. I crept closer. A bumper sticker or ten had caught my attention—Persians are my lifeandMay the fluff be with you, which depicted a Persian cat wielding a lightsaber. Under normal circumstances, a girl like me might have laughed, but my circumstances were not normal. Come to think of it, my circumstances had been very abnormal since I’d walked out of that damn elevator. I blamed the elevator for this! Was it possible to blame the elevator for the fact that my whole life seemed to have gone off on a strange tangent? Since I’d found those letters, things seemed to have spiraled out of control, as if someone else was in charge of my life and I was just going along for the mad, crazy ride.
I reached down quickly and picked at the corner of one of the stickers with my nail. It peeled back and I pulled it off. And then I pulled another one off for good measure. I walked back to my car as casually as possible, whistling a made-up tune as I went. I walked around to the back of my car and looked down at my license plate. A smudge of mud on it caught my attention . . .Dare I do it?
But I did. I reached down with my finger and, using the smudge of mud, I turned thePon my license plate into anR. I burst out laughing. ThePwas finally getting its little sloping line! I was pretty sure fiddling with your license plate reallywasbreaking the law, and I realized it probably wasn’t enough to fool Detective Mike.Mike . . .the irritatingly attractive policeman who’d tackled me and then shackled me. Who’d cuffed me and kissed me, but not in the way women fantasize about. Who’d locked me up and then released me. Who’d made me want him more than I cared to admit to myself . . .
“Whateves,” I hissed under my breath, as I stuck the Persian-cat stickers on to my bumper and climbed back into the car.
Now to (hopefully) find some kind of accommodation. I opened the booking app and typed in the parameters of my search. I clicked and waited with bated breath, and there, lo and bloody behold, two places miraculously came up. One was right in the center of town, a typical-looking budget hotel, and the other one was slightly out of town, five kilometers away. The one in the center of town was probably a bad idea—more chances of bumping into Mike. I looked at the pictures of the out-of-town one, and a strange feeling welled up inside me. The house seemed familiar in some way, and yet I’d never seen it before. But there was something about it that seemed to make it impossible for me to look away from the photos. And they were gorgeous. It was an old colonial-looking mansion, set in a magnificent green garden. The available room was huge. Wooden floors, pressed ceilings, a fireplace, and a desk that looked out over the river. It was perfect—much better than that beanbaggy Ibiza desk I’d had in the other place. I could imagine myself writing there. I quickly pressed theBook Nowbutton and breathed a sigh of relief when the transaction was approved on my credit card.
I sat there and thought about what I was about to do, and I quickly realized that the illusion I was trying to create was not yet complete. I needed one more thing before I could head back to town. And I knew where I would get it.
